#i’m too ducking ugly for anyone to love

[inwhatgalaxy]

.

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

You sell yourself to the Doll House to pay your mom’s medical expenses, only to discover your trainer is the guy who bullied you relentlessly in high school: Gojo Satoru.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Gojo’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Chubby Reader. Dubcon. Pet Play. Bullying. Collars/Leashes. Fingering. Anal sex. Vaginal sex. Bondage. Dildos. Humiliation. Oral sex. Tons and tons of cum. Gojo being an asshole.

Gojo looks confused, as if you just spoke a different language to him. “Hurting you? Was I too rough with the training? I’m sorry, I thought you liked-“

“No, not the training!” you yell. The training was the only part of this whole thing you enjoyed. “It’s all the sarcastic remarks about me being cute or little or ‘highlighting my best features’! Saying all those things when I know what you really think of me! And now saying you love me?! You want to keep me?! How stupid do you think I am? How cruel do you have to be to try to get my hopes up just so you can laugh at me?!”

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why would I try to trick you? I wasn’t being sarcastic! Fuck, why are you so insecure?!”

You stare at him with your mouth dropped open, totally stunned. “You made me this way!” you scream, tears flooding your eyes. “You gave me this insecurity!”

He actually looks offended. “How?!”

“You made fun of my looks for two years! You, the most beautiful person in the school, laughed at me, said horrible things about my clothes and body, gave me that awful nickname, made me feel ugly and disgusting… made me hate myself!”

“I never made fun of your looks!” he says, his voice getting loud. “I thought you were beautiful! Why would I make fun of your looks?!”

“You called me Chubby Bunny!”

“It’s a cute nickname!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Even if you thought that, didn’t you notice that everyone was laughing at me because of it? You started that! And you laughed right along with the others! You made my life hell!”

He draws back as if he’s been slapped. “I… I just teased you… I-“

“That was more than teasing, Gojo! I was terrified of you! You were my boogeyman. If I heard your voice coming down the hall, I ducked into a room or hid around a corner until you were gone, because I was so afraid of what you would say or do to me!”

“What? No! I never hurt you! I couldn’t have… I was crazy about you!”

You can’t believe what you��re hearing. Is he actually rewriting history to make himself feel better? “What about when you tripped me in the hallway? I twisted my ankle. I couldn’t even get up by myself. Geto had to help me! And while I was on the floor, another boy walked by and said I looked like a seal! A few of them made seal barking noises at me for days after that!”

The outrage in his expression is gone, replaced by a look of uncertainty. “I didn’t know anyone said that. I was just joking around. I tripped my friends all the time, even Shoko! I just wanted to see your reaction.”

“So you saw it,” you say, your voice a little more quiet now. “Did you enjoy it? Watching me limp away in tears?”

“No! I actually felt bad about it, I swear! I even thought about apologizing, but Suguru said I should just leave you alone.”

“But you didn’t leave me alone, did you? You took my things, you made constant comments about my clothes. You laughed so loud whenever I made a mistake in class or even dropped a pencil, which got everyone else laughing too. You made me the laughingstock of the class! Why did you do that to me?! What did I ever do to you?!”

He looks hurt, almost sad. “I wanted your attention. You always ignored me. Every girl in the whole school paid attention to me, except the one girl I wanted. And the only way I could get that was to make you mad. I just… wanted you to look at me.” 

“I did look at you then, didn’t I?” you ask. “I looked at you with fear. You made me dread going to school.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking one step toward you. “I didn’t realize I hurt you so much. I was just a dumb kid back then. I can make it up to you, I can-“

“No, Gojo, you can’t.” Tears are running down your face. You wipe them with the back of your hand before going on. “Do you remember when you grabbed that love letter I was about to put in someone’s locker, and read it out loud?”

He flinches. He definitely remembers. “Yeah, and I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, I know!”

“There’s something you don’t know about that letter,” you say. “I actually wrote it two years before that. I wrote it for you, back when I was in love with you. But I was too shy to even anonymously sneak it into your locker. I was afraid you would somehow find out it was from me, and be disgusted. But I couldn’t throw it away, just like I couldn’t completely throw away my feelings for you, no matter how badly you treated me. So I held onto it. And when I started liking someone else, I realized all those same feelings applied to him. So I tried to drop it in his locker. But you grabbed it, and read it, and laughed. What you were laughing at, Gojo, were my feelings for you!”

Horror is written on his face. He has the same expression as someone who has just been informed that a family member has been in an accident. “I didn’t know… I was jealous… I’m so sorry!”

You don’t engage with his apology. You don’t have the mental strength to do that right now, so you continue airing your feelings. “Even after graduating, I had a complex about my body. I wouldn’t let anyone see me naked, not even my boyfriend. He probably broke up with me because of my hang ups. Eventually I was able to bury my feelings for you, the love and the hate. But then… I came here…” you say, your voice breaking as you begin crying again. “And all those feelings came rushing back to me! I worked so hard to forget about you! And now… now my heart is in tatters!”

There’s a flicker of light in his eyes. “So you do have feelings for me! Even now!”

You scoff, wiping your eyes again. “Yes, but that’s the problem! Loving you is hurting me! Because it makes me feel low and weak and pathetic. I even started feeling lucky that someone as perfect as you could hold back their disgust long enough to fuck me.”

“Don’t say that!” he practically yells, his face twisted in pain. “This whole time I thought I was the lucky one! Fuck, I’ve practically been permanently hard since you got here! I spent my high school years dreaming of touching you. Even when I’ve been training dolls, even when I was fucking them, I imagined they were you!”

You shake your head. “It’s too late. You already did the damage. I can’t be your doll. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve owned me for far too long. I can’t let you literally, legally own me for ten more years. It would destroy me.”

He seems to be at a loss for words, his eyes shimmering and wet, like he’s about to cry. 

You wipe your face again. “I can’t stay in here tonight. If you touch me, I might crumble. If you’re serious about feeling anything at all for me, you won’t do that to me. I’ll ask the owner if I can sleep in one of the empty rooms.”

“No, I’ll go. You can stay here,” he says, his voice unusually gentle. He grabs a few things and then heads for the door. Before stepping out, he looks at you again. “I really am sorry,” he says to you, and then he’s gone. 

************************

Not long after, Gojo is knocking on Suguru’s door, not caring what he might be interrupting. It takes a few minutes for his friend to answer, his long hair slightly messy and his face annoyed. “What is it, Satoru?” 

Gojo doesn’t even say anything, just looks at him. 

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “Let me guess. You told her you’re keeping her and she told you to go to hell.”

“It was so much worse than that!” Gojo practically whines. 

With a sigh, Suguru says, “Let me clean up in here and I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”

An hour later, the two friends are sitting at a table, cups of tea in front of them. Gojo has told Suguru every word of the conversation he had with his doll, twice. 

Suguru takes another sip from his cup. “I tried to warn you when she first got here, but you wouldn’t listen. You never listen.”

Gojo is leaning over the table, his head on his arms. “I thought it would work out. I thought making her fall in love with me again would be easy. And it sort of was. She said she still has feelings for me!”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that part a dozen times already,” Suguru says, sitting his cup back on the table. “But for her, you’re the person who ruined her life just to get attention. Loving you only makes her feel worse. I don’t blame her for wanting to get away from you.”

Gojo looks up. “But I didn’t know! I didn’t know so many other people were making fun of her because of stuff I did, I didn’t know about the letter. I didn’t know I was hurting her so much!”

“Now you know,” Suguru tells him. “The question is, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”

************************

The next morning, you wake up in Gojo’s bed. It smells like him, and you can’t help remembering all the things you’ve done in this bed with him. 

But it’s over now. You’re going to talk to the owner and tell her to find a buyer for you as soon as possible. Gojo can move on to his next doll and hopefully both of you can put this whole mess behind you. 

The owner agrees to meet you in the welcome room to discuss your situation, and you find her standing in the center of the room. A folder is tucked under her arm.  

You open your mouth to speak to her, but Gojo suddenly rushes in. “Did you bring it?” he asks the owner, not even looking at you. 

The owner opens the folder and pulls out a paper. “Here it is, her contract. She is now your doll.”

“Wait!” you yell, confused and angry. How dare he do this after everything you said last night! You read your contract, you know you can reject him as your owner if you give sufficient reason. You’re pretty sure your history with Gojo would qualify. Still, the fact that he’s ignoring your wishes makes you livid. 

Before you can approach him, he turns to face you and holds your contract up in front of him. “You probably won’t believe me, but I planned to do this from the very start.”

With that, he rips the contract into tiny pieces and lets them fall to the floor. 

You freeze, watching the shreds of paper falling before your eyes. 

“You’re free,” he says. “You’re not a doll anymore.”

Your eyes widen. The owner sighs and shakes her head, saying, “Gojo, do you understand what you’re doing? This was your one doll to keep. You can’t ever pick another.”

“I know. I’ll never want another doll anyway,”

he says, then looks at you again. “I know this doesn’t make up for what I did to you, but I hope it can be a start.”

You feel your eyes becoming wet again. You’re free! You don’t have to give up ten years of your life after all! You glance at Gojo, unsure of what to say. 

“I never wanted to own you,” he says, his face a little sad. “I just want you to be happy. If you believe anything I’ve told you, believe that.”

“I… uh…” you flounder for a moment, trying to decide what words to use before finally settling on, “Thank you.”

He smiles at you. “Maybe someday, if you want to, we could try being friends? No pressure or anything. Just think about it.”

You nod, somewhat dazed. In the end, you leave with his phone number and return to your normal life. 

It takes over a month for you to text him. Just an awkward, “How are you?” that he replies to within seconds. You can almost feel his excitement to hear from you. 

“I quit my job as a trainer,” he tells you. “I just wasn’t all that into it anymore.”

You wonder if it’s because of what happened between the two of you, but don’t ask. A small part of you is relieved that he doesn’t currently have some other woman on a leash in his room. 

For the next couple of weeks, you and Gojo talk via text and phone calls. He never asks to meet up, and never tries to pressure you in any way. You do discuss your past some more, calmly this time. He listens quietly to everything you say, apologizes over and over, and (only when you’re ready to hear it) explains why he did all those things. 

His reasons were so childish and petty, it makes you realize he was just fifteen or sixteen years old when he did those things. Maybe it’s not fair to keep punishing someone for things they did at that age, if they’re trying to make it right as an adult. 

One night you have another anemic spell, and your friend is at work. The only family you have is your mother, and she’s still hospitalized. Nervously, you text Gojo. He’s already told you to let him know if you ever need anything, but the thought of seeing him face to face again makes you uneasy. 

Still, he shows up at your door in a flash, a bag full of food and DVD’s hanging on his arm. Seeing him standing there in your living room, so tall and so beautiful, makes your heart race.

“Did you faint again?” he asks, looking so worried. 

“No, I just felt dizzy and weak,” you tell him. 

“Then just relax,” he says with a smile. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he does. He cooks for you, brings you hot tea, and sits on the couch with you watching movies. He stays until the next morning, and you’re a little surprised that he never tried to tempt you into sleeping with him. You remember that the last time you weren’t feeling well, he did the same thing. 

To be honest, you’re a little disappointed. 

After that, the two of you are officially friends. You talk often, always checking in on each other’s days, getting to know each other’s habits and schedules. 

The friendship doesn’t last long. 

The first time you go to his place to “hang out just as friends”, both of you give in. 

One minute you’re sitting on his couch, laughing and talking, and the next you’re wrapped in his arms, his tongue in your mouth, his hands tugging at your clothes. 

He spreads you out naked on the cushions and eats your pussy like a man starved, saying how much he missed you, missed tasting you, missed watching you cum. He goes at it for over an hour, making you climax so many times you practically forget how to speak, only able to whimper and gasp. 

Then, he fucks your ass, absolutely railing you. You’re so overstimulated by this point that you just want him inside you, no matter what hole he uses. Overwhelmed by your own feelings, you start crying. Gojo holds you close to him, hugging you gently, rubbing your hair, whispering sweet words into your ear as he fucks you relentlessly. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re so beautiful. Feels so good inside you… Fuck, you’re incredible!”

You know what he’s doing, and it only makes you even more emotional. He wants you to know what he thinks of you. He doesn’t want you to question how attractive he finds you. He doesn’t want you to feel insecure. 

The two of you begin dating after that. You couldn’t ask for a sweeter, more supportive boyfriend. He takes care of you, pampers you, treats you like a queen. He even goes with you to visit your mom in the hospital. And through all this, you feel like you’re finally beginning to heal. 

And when the two of you are alone, and very horny, sometimes you go back to being his Bunny. Not Chubby Bunny, he’s never called you that since finding out how much it bothered you, but just Bunny. 

Right now, you’re in the living room of his apartment, all the curtains closed and the door locked. You’re wearing your collar, bunny ears, and thigh high stockings, and nothing else. Your hands are handcuffed in front of you, and you’re on your hands and knees, your legs trembling as you crawl toward Gojo, who is tugging on your leash. 

It’s hard to crawl with two huge dildos shoved inside you, one in each hole, both of them vibrating and rotating wildly. Earlier, Gojo got on his knees behind you and jacked off until ready to cum. Then he stuck just the tip into your pussy and filled it full. With his fingers, he scooped up the cum that leaked out and pushed it into your ass. Then he put the dildos in, leaving them to churn and stir up his cum, telling you not to let them fall out. 

It feels so good, being full of his cum, the sensation of it swirling inside you. But there’s one more hole that hasn’t had any yet. So you crawl between his spread thighs while he sits on the couch, looking down at you lovingly. You nuzzle his clothed crotch with your face and say, “Please fill my mouth, Satoru~”

You’ve only recently started calling him that. It felt a little weird at first, after calling him Gojo for all these years, but you love the effect it has on him when you purr out his name like that. 

You hear his breath catch in his throat, but he manages to compose himself. “Such a naughty, greedy Bunny! I’ve already filled two of your holes! Why don’t I just put the third dildo in your mouth?”

“No, please! The real thing… in my mouth… please,” you whine, staring up at him with glossy eyes. “Your cock tastes so good, Satoru… please feed me your cum!”

His eyes go wide, and you can just barely hear him mutter, “Holy fucking fuck!”

You’ve leaned by now that he’s totally weak to your begging. You’re the one handcuffed and leashed, but Gojo would move heaven and earth to please you, to watch you lose yourself to pleasure. 

“Th-then I guess I’ll fill that pretty mouth,” he says, his hands fumbling with his pants in his hurry to get them open. He stands up, towering over you. There’s a faint blush across his pale features, and he’s breathing a little harder than usual as he pulls out his cock. You open your lips, your tongue partially out. He grins. “You’re gonna have to open wider than that, Bunny, or this huge dick won’t fit.”

You lick your lips, then open your mouth wider, and he immediately shoves in. He fucks your mouth, thrusting into it, hitting the back of your throat, groaning when your tongue laps at every inch it can reach. 

“F-fuck! Your fucking mouth… so good…”

These moments together are so much hotter now that you can fully enjoy them, knowing he finds you irresistible. It makes you feel sexy, desired, loved. Knowing you can make him lose his mind gets you wet every time. 

Just when your jaw is starting to get sore, he pulls out so that he’s barely in your mouth, and shoots his load inside it. There’s so much! 

“Don’t swallow it yet,” he says, his face slightly red, his hair messy. He grabs the third dildo and pushes it into your mouth, turning it on low so that it can slowly stir his cum in your mouth, spreading it to every inch. Then he stands back and watches as all three of your holes, full of his seed, are fucked by the gyrating toys. 

You moan around the dildo in your mouth, locking eyes with him. He’s panting, his eyes wild with desire. Before your eyes, his cock gets hard again, standing tall and gorgeous just like him. 

He drops to his knees behind you and uses his hand to pump the dildo in your ass, in and out, making obscene squelching noises. With his other hand, you feel him pull the dildo out of your pussy. He holds it up, and you look at it over your shoulder. It’s dripping with his cum and your wetness. 

“Gotta be inside this pussy,” he mumbles, and then he’s thrusting into you, deep and hard enough to make your body jerk with his motions. You’re sore from being fucked by the dildos, which are almost as big as Gojo’s cock, but you wouldn’t pass this up for anything in the world. He pushes the dildo into your ass to the same rhythm as he fucks your pussy, making your eyes roll back as you release muffled cries. 

Gojo is grunting behind you, losing himself, babbling out words. 

“Fuck… fuck… I love you so much… this cock belongs to you… every ounce of my cum belongs to you… everything I am… yours…”

He thrusts in deep enough to make you scream, and shoots loads of hot cum into your core. After pulling out, he quickly pulls out the dildo in your ass, sticks his cock in, and shoots out the rest of his load. 

He’s panting as he turns you over, so that you’re lying on your back, your legs splayed, creamy cum dripping out of both holes. He reaches over and gently pulls the dildo from your mouth, watching as your tongue continues to lick at it, collecting any remaining cum from the sticky object. 

“Just how much do you love my cum?” he asks, staring down at you in awe. 

You run your tongue around the edge of your mouth. “It’s delicious,” you say. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, pulling you up and unfastening the collar. 

You snuggle into his arms as he helps you to the bathroom, enjoying how incredibly sweet he is during after care. 

The two of you have come a long way.  Even now, you’re not certain you’ve one hundred percent forgiven him. And occasionally you remember something terrible he did to you and it makes you uncomfortable around him for a few days. But he’s putting in the work to make it up to you, and you’re having a wonderful time enjoying being his girlfriend. You couldn’t ask for a happier ending than that. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv @ladytamayolover @nanam1nx @deegausserr @voids-universe @hinata7346 @maflorex @issracollen @xkittiecatx @ryumurin @emrys3456 @mysecretesc8pe @typicalloser3 @gabriiiiiiii @fvsm4x @tyunhyukamyloves @rottmntrulesall

[ghouljams]

I’m just saying that Soap has the discord. Because I’m right and he bangs his head against his desk at how fucking dense Ghost is. - ☀️

All Soap does during lab(aside from making sure his students aren't blowing anything up) is scroll through the latest discord updates. He's really rooting for his mate, but goddammit he thought Ghost was better than this. He's never known the man to balk at a little flirting, certainly never seen him awkward around women. This is the man that boasted being "quite the opposite" of ugly?? Soap cannot believe it, he refuses to believe it.

Ghost complains about Love at the bar and Soap can't believe it! The woman is practically throwing herself at him and Ghost either can't see it or doesn't care. "She's not serious about it," Ghost tells him halfway through a bourbon when Soap's been staring at him too long, "even if she was she's too sweet for my taste." Which is a straight up LIE and they both know it, so Soap take it upon himself to investigate this Anthropology professor that's "too sweet" for his best mate.

Of course said investigation is really just crashing Love's office hours and spending the first five seconds staring down her shirt before she ducks into his line of vision with a sly smile and a "Dr Mactavish!" that could make a man turn over in his grave. He gets it now. He understands what the problem is. Ghost wants to marry this woman. That's what the problem is: she's too much his type. He'd be a bad mate not to do his due diligence and make sure she isn't going to break poor ol' Simon's heart though.

It takes exactly no time for him to realize that this woman is 1. Insane and 2. Absolutely serious about Ghost. Soap flirts with her a little to test if she's just a flirt and she's friendly but nowhere near as... in depth as whatever the hell she's doing with Ghost. Actually Soap is more tempted to call what she does with him flirting than what she does with Ghost flirting. That's foreplay. He goes back to the bar and does not look at Ghost or mention it to him.

He tells the discord later, "She's going to fuck that old man" and has to leave it before anyone realizes there's a professor in chat.

[mediumgayitalian]

It starts really…really stupid.

The Apollo cabin is having a movie night. Will’s DVD collection is bigger than his textbook collection, which is saying something, because he is a nerd. They baited Nico with a pirate movie: then, when he was comfortable and moon-eyed and unable to keep his mouth shut for a good twenty minutes after the end credits, they started phasing in the rom-coms.

Evil. Manipulators, the lot of them; so incapable of lying that they’re masters of bending the truth. Nico would leave, except they literally barricaded the door and keep all the lights on so there are no shadows for him to duck into (something he should have questioned from the very beginning, but unfortunately as soon as the Pirates of the Caribbean theme started playing, his reasoning skills hopped on a train and fled back to the Lotus Casino in 1938. So).

“This is stupid,” Nico grumbles, not that anyone is paying him any attention. Every single one of Will’s siblings stares at the TV with their chins in their hands, completely ignoring any and all of Nico’s (very valid) criticism.

Not that it stops him. “This is less realistic than Davey Jones,” he insists, largely just so his grievances are Known and Aired Out. The leading man says something stupid and cheesy, and three seperate doofuses in his company genuinely swoon. Nico scowls as hard as he can, pulling a blanket over his head. “Idiotic and cheesy.”

Nico pointedly isn’t following the plot — not that there is one — so he has no idea what’s going on. He squints. The leading man is wearing some ugly suit, too tight, and the leading lady collapses tearfully in his arms, thanking him about something.

Will sighs dreamily. Nico scowls harder.

“When is it my turn,” Will laments.

Kayla reaches over blindly and pats him on the head. She ends up more smacking him gently and lovingly on the face, but Will doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t we all want to know.”

“You don’t understand,” Will says dramatically. He flops backwards, hands flailing. Nico peeks over from under his blanket. His Head Medic camp shirt has ridden up in his dramatics, showing a sliver of skin. Nico flushes and intentionally looks away, focusing on his friend’s face.

“When will a rich, attractive older man come waltzing in here and offer to put me through med school, huh? When will my dream come true?”

Nico is 90% sure that Will is joking, but without his permission, be blurts out —

“You’d run off with some guy you don’t know?”

“Without hesitation!” Will cries. He yanks himself back upright, making Nico jump, arms thrown up and forehead creased. “You know how broke I’m gonna be when I’m done school?”

Nico doesn’t answer, but Will doesn’t wait for one.

“Very! I grew up on a pullout couch, which, I love my mom, and I love our apartment, but I want — I want —”

With his long, lanky limbs and flushed face, he begins to remind Nico of a kettle. He refrains from pointing this out. His siblings, on the other hand, openly snicker at him, dividing their attention between the movie and throwing popcorn at their eldest brother’s head.

“I want an Alaskan King! And — a mahogany desk! With lots of drawers! And windows! Floor to ceiling windows! And a rooftop garden!”

He glares playfully at his siblings, who are all giggling now, pointing fingers at them all.

“Lemme tell you right now. A man walks in here offering me that and a cheque for any school I want and it’s over for you people. I’m gone. You can fend for yourselves.”

“Yeah right,” Austin snorts, disbelieving. He reaches over and pinches Will’s thigh, cackling when he squawks. “We can’t even get you to leave the infirmary at the end of your shift. You’re stuck here forever, Rapunzel.”

“Just you wait! My prince will come!”

“As if he even wants a prince,” he hears Kayla whispering to a giggling Gracie, who responds with a cheeky, “Not when he’s got a king!”

Nico doesn’t know who they’re talking about, but the fact that there’s someone — his vision goes green. He has to tamp down a genuine snarl which is — ridiculous. And out of nowhere.

He cuts another glance to Will, who is still muttering petulantly. Every few minutes, he hears something about an “open floor plan” and “high pressure showers”.

He gets a very, very stupid idea.

———

The first mistake (because that’s what it is) is easy to explain away — the Hades cabin is still under renovation.

Well. Mostly.

“Please,” Will is begging, eyes big and pleading and painfully, beautifully blue. “Please? I’ll bring movies! And Yan’s Wii! And get Cecil to lend me some of the games he — uh, acquired! Pretty please!”

Nico has to bite back the you could be toting a pack of Lastrogonian giants with you and I’d still let you in that so desperately wants to come out of his mouth.

“Bring snacks and I’ll consider it,” he says instead.

Will beams. His eyes nearly squeeze shut, when he smiles like that, and there’s nothing Nico can do about the sharp inhale that rips through his chest. He blinks the spots away from his eyes, everything suddenly a little brighter, covered in golden sunlight.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pumping his fist and jumping up and down like a lunatic. Nico is so endeared that it aches something awful in his chest, and his cheeks smart from the size of his smile. “Sleepover! After my shift, di Angelo, I won’t be late!”

Yes, you will.

“I lock my doors and set a skeleton guard to watch it at eight,” he warns with a throat suddenly dry. “I mean it, Solace. I’ll sic the harpies on you.”

Will laughs as he jogs towards the infirmary, clearly not believing him. Nico watches him go the whole way, jumping when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“You,” says Drew Tanaka, blowing a bubble with her gum, “are a humiliating case, di Angelo.”

He shoves her, scowling. His face feels sunburnt. “Shut up.”

He absolutely does not spend the day moping after the infirmary, despite whatever rumours Drew’s lying mouth might spread. He has a job, thanks. He runs three separate sword fighting classes, and the younger kids are insane, so he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Not that he is. But. Hypothetically, if he were to be distracted, he isn’t. Yeah.

He sits with Percy and Jason at dinner, distractedly wolfing down his food. Some kind of barbecue. He is not paying attention.

“No, Jase, we can say whatever we want, he’s not listening —”

“If he decides to stab you I am going to let him —”

“What’s going on?” Nico interrupts, looking up for the first time.

Percy smiles angelically, placing his hands under his chin.

“Nothing, Nico dear.”

Jason bangs his head on the table.

“I’m gonna…leave,” Nico says, slowly. “Y’all…do whatever you’re doing.”

“You said y’all,” Percy says gleefully. “You said y’all.”

Nico flushes hotly. “I did not. Shut up before I summon Jules-Albert to run you over.”

Percy cackles. Even Jason laughs. Nico throws his plate at them as he stomps away, sprinting extra quickly past the infirmary for no reason at all.

Time seems to slow down after dinner. For all Nico knows, it actually does. It wouldn’t make a difference. By the time there’s a knock on his cabin door, the sun has well past set, and Will is smiling sheepishly.

“I didn’t hear my shift alarm,” he says, the second Nico opens the door.

Nico sighs. He bites the corner of his mouth, hard, so it doesn’t do something stupid like turn upwards or something.

“There’s ADHD, and then there’s you, Solace.”

Will leans into his personal space and presses an over-exaggerated, smacking kiss to his cheek before he can stop him. Nico goes scarlet.

“But you love me anyway!”

There are no thoughts left in Nico’s brain to refute him. The only thing shaking around up there are alarm bells and KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! repeated over and over again like a gong.

“Hngh,” he says, intelligently. Will doesn’t seem to notice, striding confidently right into the cabin.

“I brought the Wii and movies and stuff, like I promised, and I’ve been saving this chocolate I bought last time I went into the city — woah, when did that get here!”

Will freezes in the middle of the cabin, gaping. Nico nearly walks right into him.

‘That’ is the giant, brand-new bed tucked snugly in the far right corner — an Alaskan King.

Nico clears his throat, shrugging.

“Remodelling, remember? The coffin beds had to go. And no one else but me sleeps here, so. Hazel has her own bed on the other side.”

He gestures to the other corner, where Hazel’s — smaller — bed sits, empty, coral pink comforter straightened neatly. Will barely even glances at it.

“What! But I thought you already renovated the beds —”

“Temporary.”

Will squints at him for a moment. Nico squirms, trying to hold his gaze. He’s not lying — they were temporary. Of course, he only made the decision that they were temporary a week ago, but. Well. Truth is truth.

Evidently, Will decides that he isn’t going to get a real answer out of Nico or he doesn’t care to get one, because he quickly turns away and, with a running start, jumps and sprawls himself on the gigantic bed.

“Oh, gods,” he groans, and oh, gods, indeed, is Nico ever going to get a fucking break or is his face just going to be stuck like this all the time. “Gods, Neeks, I am going to move in here. I don’t even — look! I can stretch all the way and I don’t touch the edge!”

“I see that,” Nico says weakly. His shirt has ridden up again. Nico bites back the confessing comment he wants to make about undershirts and how Will should invest in them.

“Man, I feel like I could pass right out,” Will sighs, eyelashes — they are so long and so blonde who decided that who gave him that right — fluttering shut. He grabs on of Nico’s pillows and curls around it, content. Nico stares. And stares.

After too much time has passed, Will cracks an eye open, smiling slightly. “Well, don’t just stand there, Death Breath. Bed’s more than big enough for us both, now. Get over here.”

Miraculously, Nico does, managing to unglue himself from the floor and look anywhere but the long, languid stretch of Will’s body.

(They play four straight hours of Mario Kart — or, rather, Will spends four straight hours losing. When they finally fall asleep, they’re so far apart on the giant bed they might as well be in different countries — but Nico wakes up in the middle of the night with his arms around Will’s waist, and practically throws himself on the ground for the rest of the night.)

———

The next thing he does is just…embarrassing.

“I think you look hot,” Mitchell, Piper’s brother, assures him kindly. He pats Nico’s flaming cheek. “Honest. And it’ll work wonders! Will’ll be struck.”

“Why do people keep saying that,” Nico croaks. “I don’t even like him!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

With Mitchell’s unwavering — if teasing — assurance, Nico finds the courage to step out of the Aphrodite cabin and into the waning sun. He’s grateful he waited until after the summer ended to do this — the fewer people around the witness, the better. His reputation is hanging on by a string as it is.

A wolf-whistle rings out the second he steps off the porch, making him scowl. Cecil, unfortunately, is far too used to being on the receiving end of it and does not even flinch.

“Looking spiffy, Ghost King!”

“Bite me,” Nico growls back, and is only aware of the trap he’s walked into when Cecil gleefully says, “I believe that’s Will’s job, actually —”

He wisely scampers away before the skeleton Nico summoned can murder him.

The second he’s out of sight, Nico slumps.

What is he doing.

“Aw, jeez, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lemme tell you the gar-bage I had to endure tod — Nico?”

Nico whips up to face the voice. Will stands a few feet in front of him, unmoving, wearing his scrubs today — heavily stained, yikes — and his favourite pair of ratty cargo shorts. The expression on his face is oddly inscrutable.

“Are you…going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, flushing and repeating himself when his voice cracks three separate times. “Yeah, I’m. Um. Ambassador of Pluto duties, you know. I’m expected in New Rome in a couple hours.”

It’s not quite the truth — he is going to be in New Rome in a couple of hours, but his reason for being there is fabricated. Literally.

“I didn’t know you were visiting today.” Will steps forward, almost trance-like. His eyes are glued to somewhere around Nico’s chest, and he reaches out — hesitantly, although he’s never been hesitant to touch Nico in all the time he has known him — to brush his fingers over Nico’s collar. “This isn’t what you usually wear.”

Nico swallows. No, it is not. Usually, his Ambassador of Pluto uniform is his black toga. (It still is. If he was actually on duty and showed up in anything else, several Romans would have his head. Good thing he’s full of it.) But right now, he’s wearing a tailored, black silk suit made by hand by some dead Byzantine seamstress whose name Nico could not pronounce if he tried. Diamonds glitter in the lobes of his ears, freshly pierced, and his rings are more polished than usual.

“Special occasion today.”

Will doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His hand still curls at Nico’s collar, millimeters away from his neck, heat boring into his skin.

“You clean up nice.” An expression Nico can’t name flits across his eyes, and Nico’s breath catches, and then he’s grinning, too-wide and teasing, reaching up to dig a hand through his hair. “But maybe ditch the hair gel, Wilbur Robinson, and just let —”

“Gah! Get off of me! You’re the worst!”

Will stumbles back as he shoves him, weak from laughter, and Nico’s stomach flips.

———

The third thing is maybe the most ridiculous out of all of them — and almost gets him killed.

“I’m starving,” Will complains, apologizing to the random New Yorker who just walked into him. (Nico rolls his eyes. Will would get eaten if Nico wasn’t here — he is too soft for the city. He’s gonna get shoved into a puddle or something; he’s so unwilling to elbow his way through a crowd that Nico has to hold his hand so as not to lose him. Definitely not a city boy, that’s for sure.) “And we don’t have to meet Argus for another two hours — can we stop for food? I want something fried. Desperately.”

“I guess so,” Nico sighs, pretending to be more put-out than he is. Will doesn’t buy it for a second, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt.

“C’mon, Nicholas Hoult. There’s gotta be a diner around here somewhere, and I still want to go shopping after this.”

He lets Will pull him around, even though they’d probably get somewhere faster if Nico leads. Will stops every three seconds to listen to a busker, or observe particularly interesting graffiti, or attempt to pet a pigeon. It shouldn’t be cute, it should be embarrassing because Will truly never gets out, but it is — endearing. A little. Even if Nico can feel his stomach eating itself.

Will brightens when he finally stumbles across some gaudy, mint-green painted, hole-in-the-wall family restaurant, beaming back at Nico like he won a sparring match rather than stumbled upon somewhere to eat. But his eyes are squished shut, the way they are when he’s genuinely excited, and some early January snow dusts his golden hair, and his nose is red from the cold, and it’s just —

It’s a lot.

They find a booth tucked in the back corner. Will slides in next to Nico, not across from him, and it makes him — flush, for some reason, cheeks glowing as bright as Will’s massive, dorky scarf.

The waitress brings them sodas. Nico doesn’t remember ordering them, but it’s cherry coke — his favourite — so he must’ve. Will has a water, because he’s annoying and pretentious, and he tries to blow his straw wrapper at Nico but he’s too fast and catches it. Will pouts.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll show you fun.”

He’s balled up the wrapper as tiny as possible and flicks it at Will’s face before he can stop him, except it hits him in the — eye, and Will shouts in surprise, and Nico jumps and rushes to apologise but he’s laughing too hard for it to be sincere, and Will scowls playfully at him, and Nico bangs his knee on the rickety table trying to move it and it only makes him laugh harder, and Will cracks soon, too. And he can’t sing for shit but his laughter is musical, low and baritone and a little raspy on the edges, like the country music he loves so damn much. And all the laughter gets sucked right out of Nico’s lungs as he watches him, bright-eyed, red-nosed and freezing, still wearing his stupid parka even though it’s barely below forty degrees, and he is suddenly achingly truly and obviously the most beautiful thing Nico has ever seen in his life, and he thinks oh, no. But it doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

———

(After the diner, they go window shopping, and Nico feels like he can’t function. His chest aches with new knowledge that he doesn’t know where to put. New York air is disgusting but Will smells like eucalyptus and sunshine, always, and the look on his face when they pass a dusty antique shop is blinding. He’s rambling about old anatomy textbooks and gods knows what else and Nico nods along with a stupid, endless smile on his face that he couldn’t tamp down if he tried.)

(In the back of the shop there’s a big, ancient, beautiful mahogany desk. It has a divot for an inkwell and more drawers than Nico can count. It’s nine hundred dollars. Nico pulls out the credit card his father gave him for emergencies, buys it before Will can stop him, and shadow travels all three of them — himself, Will, and the unbelievably massive desk — back to Cabin 13, passing out immediately after to the sound of Will’s shout.)

(His father is the first thing he sees in his dreams, arms crossed, legs tapping.)

(“I believe I told you that card was for emergencies,” says the Lord of the Dead, “not crises over cute boys.”)

(“You were down so bad you kidnapped your wife instead of talking to her like a normal person,” Nico blurts, and immediately wishes he would melt into shadows.)

(He wakes up to another arms-crossed, foot-tapping figure: Will lectures him for two and a half hours. He times it.)

(But Will does all his paperwork in the Hades cabin, now, skin glowing amber under the Greek fire torches, often falling asleep on the smooth wooden surface. He hasn’t spent a night in the infirmary in months. Often, if Nico can wake him, he’ll crawl into Nico’s massive bed, curling all six-two of him into a ball around the centre and puffing tiny little snores into his pillow.)

(His cabin smells like eucalyptus and sunshine all the time, now.)

———

He tells himself that this will be his last thing.

(It isn’t.)

It takes him four separate times to muster up the courage. It’s — humiliating, is what it is, and he’s never been a coward except for maybe about this one thing.

“Dude,” says Katie Gardener, the fifth time he walks by her cabin without saying something, “this is getting embarrassing. Pull yourself together.”

“I’m — pulled,” he defends, wishing he didn’t get red so damn easy. “And — what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at college, or something?”

“College ends in April, stupid,” she says, as if Nico has more than a fourth grade education and would somehow know that. He refrains from sticking out his tongue because that is Undignified, and clearly he is the more mature one of the two of them. “What do you need, flowers for Will or something? You don’t need to bother. He likes dandelions.”

“I know what flowers he likes,” Nico snaps, and wallows in immediate despair as she snickers. He should consider having Will remove whatever part of his brain is responsible for Stupid, Emotional Outbursts. Or just get a lobotomy. Whatever’s faster, honestly.

“I need — a garden.”

“…A garden.”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” he begs.

Perhaps college has somehow made her merciful — which he doubts, anyone who sustains a relationship with Travis freaking Stoll stopped worrying about mercy long ago — or perhaps he truly is that pitiful. But she relents, rolling her eyes and muttering something about stupid teenagers and refusal to communicate, blah blah blah. Nico knows he’s a mess. He would appreciate it if everyone else politely pretended he wasn’t. She comes back minutes later with a truly massive bucket of soil, a handful of gardening tools, and several packets of seeds.

“Well, you don’t have a lot of space for it, kid, seeing as your cabin is kind of tucked —”

“I want it on the roof,” Nico interrupts. He manages to keep his face in check. “Uh, that would make the most sense, anyways. It’s flat and I can get there easy and — yeah.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Years of Hermes cabin pranks have left her with a truly magnificent BS detector, but after a moment she sighs.

“Whatever, kid. Let’s go. Nothing will grow for a couple months, anyways.”

———

The last thing is what, eventually, gives him away.

The issue is that camp is crowded in the summer. And, really, he would have gotten it done in the spring, except he needed help — he needed an architect.

And he only really knew one, and her school year was kind of packed.

“You want,” says Annabeth slowly, “to entirely restructure your cabin.”

Nico squirms. “I just want to change the windows,” he mumbles.

She stares at him, fingers steepled, for what feels like ten solid minutes. At minimum.

“Kid —” Nico scowls, she is barely three years older than he is and technically almost a century younger — “installing floor to ceiling windows in your cabin will restructure it — entirely.” She pulls out a paper and pencil out of, as far as Nico can tell, absolutely nowhere, and begins to sketch. “There are foundations here, see? So everything has to be moved and reorganized to keep the structure standing. I can’t just, like…knock out the wall. It doesn’t work that way.”

Nico slumps. “So it’s not possible?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, offended. “I just said it won’t be easy. Gimme a couple hours, I’ll have blueprints.”

She barely hears him as he thanks her, nose already pressed to the paper. Nico smiles at her anyway. She’s the best and brightest of them for a reason, after all, and he appreciates her help.

The walk back to his cabin is a surprisingly pleasant one. A lot of his friends (which, woah) are finally back, and Nico is realising he’s missed them, and it’s nice to see them again. It’s also nice to see camp as busy as it is, as much as he likes the quiet chill of the winter months. All the cabin doors are wide open as people sweep out the dust, shake out sheets, air out the staleness that has been locked inside some of them for months. Chatter fills every corner, and the air smells like strawberries.

His small smile widens as he approaches his own cabin — the flowers he and Katie planted a few months back have started to bloom, and with them comes the memory of Will’s gasping excitement when he’d seen them, the smile that lit up his face. They’re regular plants, but Katie — enchanted them, somehow, protected them; even when Nico is having his worst days, they don’t wither. (And they keep growing, too. Nico has taken to picking a flower every morning and leaving it in his (Will’s) desk — to brighten up the room, on paper, but the flower always ends up whenever Will is by the end of the day. (And, more often than not, tucked behind his ear, locks of golden hair caught among brightly coloured petals; a crown of his own making.)

The cabin is empty when he walks in, unsurprisingly considering how often Will is usually locked in the infirmary for the first week of camp.

(He’ll be back tonight, to do his paperwork before heading back to his cabin. Nico’ll have to be sure he actually makes it back to his cabin — Chiron has been turning a blind eye, because Will needs more sleep and Kayla and Austin can handle themselves, but the little kids need their counsellor. Well, most days.)

Nico stands in the door and realises: things have changed.

Maybe a silly thing to think. But — a year ago, this place was unliveable. Dark, and dreary, coffin-shaped and miserable, it was no wonder it had never felt like home. But the sight of Hazel’s bed (and the sketchbook she left on it last time she was here) fills him with warmth, and the windows are always open, now, so even the air feels lighter. Dozens of Will’s textbooks are strewn around the room, Lou Ellen’s jacket hangs on the back of the desk chair, a deck of cards is sprawled on the floor. A sun lamp is plugged into the wall. Nico’s giant bed is unmade. He’s got laundry peeking out of the closet doors, and he needs to clean his bathroom. A pair of obnoxiously patterned flipflops sit by the door.

It looks lived in. It looks like somewhere that can be lived in, and most of all, his friends — Will — have been living in it with him.

He swallows the lump in the back of his throat, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

It takes him time to tidy up. He leaves Hazel’s sketchbook where it is, along with most of Will’s stuff — although he shoves a couple textbooks in random drawers when he trips over them. He puts the rest of his friends’ stuff by the door so he doesn’t forget to return it, and makes his bed (which, frankly, he hardly does, because it’s a massive pain — he tucks in one corner of the mattress cover and has to freaking summon Jules Albert to get to the other. But it was worth it). He barely makes it to dinner, too distracted to hear the horn.

“Finally,” bursts a voice sometime around nine, throwing open the door and flopping on the bed. Nico smiles, setting down his game and running light fingers through Will’s frizzy hair. He groans, leaning into it.

“I hate the first week of camp!”

Nico snorts. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! It’s miserable! It’s all —” he contorts just face, mocking — “‘Will, do this.’ ‘Will, do that.’ ‘Will, I forgot how hard the climbing wall was and incinerated myself.’ ‘Will, we need you to treat the group of kids Clarisse beat up.’ Will, Will, Will! Constant!”

“How dare they take up all your time,” Nico says, grinning.

“Right! They should be less — I dunno, disastrous! I am one person! I can only be pulled in so many directions at once!”

Despite all his complaining, the slightest of smiles pulls at Will’s mouth — as Nico would expect. He’s exhausted and perpetually overworked, sure, but there’s nothing in the world Will relishes like being needed.

“I just —” He sighs, leaning further into Nico’s touch. Nico’s throat goes dry. “Man, I’m so glad we have this place to ourselves. It’s the only privacy I get. Sometimes I just wanna close the blinds and never come out, you know?”

Nico freezes. “Uh.”

“And it’s — nice, in here. Smells like you. And it just, well —” He smiles, broad and soft, and, suddenly, Nico understands his father on a level he never thought he would. If Will looked him in the eye and asked him for all the riches under the Earth, asked him to defy Zeus, asked him to rule the dead — Nico would bend time and space to do that for him. He understands, abruptly and wholly, why loving mortals ends in tragedy, why the gods promise more than they can give. He wants to give Will everything. “I like when it’s just you and me sometimes,” he says, softly. “It can be nice to disappear.”

There’s so much love bursting out Nico’s chest he doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels like every part of him is screaming his affection, every molecule is straining to meet with Will’s. He’s dizzy.

“I,” he starts, then freezes again. He doesn’t know what — what. Every thought he’s ever had hits him at once, and he can’t pick one out, can’t think with all the clutter in his head.

Will perks up. “Yes?”

“I have to. Cancel. My plans. With Annabeth.”

Will deflates. “Oh.”

There is something here, something charged, something about to change — and Nico is losing it. He panics.

“I asked her to restructure the cabin!” he shouts, startling Will. He squeezes his eyes shut instead of looking at those wide, wide blue eyes. “To! Make. Floor to ceiling windows.” He waits a bit. “Apparently you can’t just bust down the wall. You have to. Restructure.”

It’s silent for so long Nico is half-convinced Will left, if it weren’t for the faint sound of him breathing and the heat Nico can always feel leeching off of him. He peeks his eyes back open.

“Why?” asks Will quietly when their eyes meet.

Nico swallows. It takes several tries to moisten his throat enough to speak. “Why what?”

“Why do you want to…have floor to ceiling windows?”

“Same reason I wanted this massive bed,” he admits, quiet, whispering, near silent. “Same reason I — changed my Ambassador uniform. Same reason for the desk and the —” he stumbles over his words, blushing — “the garden and the flowers and — this, right now.”

“Nico,” says Will, very very quietly.

“I just. Well. You were joking, you know? And, gods, it’s been a year, now, but I think you were telling the truth? A little bit? And anyway, I want you to have the things you like, and —”

“Nico,” Will says again, louder this time, a particular quality to his voice Nico can’t name. He falters.

“…Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Nico doesn’t even have the chance to be offended. He doesn’t even have the chance to think. Before he can rationalize the situation and connect the dots in front of him, Will’s hands are sliding into his hair, his face is inches away, and then they’re kissing.

They’re kissing.

Will tastes like Blistex, like mint gum, and like the breath he sighs into his mouth. His eyes are closed, and for a full six seconds before Nico recovers enough to close his, he has the best view of his pale, fanning eyelashes that he’s ever seen — long enough to think: oh, this is a child of the sun. He smells familiar and — intoxicating. Nico never wants to know pure air again, never wants to move without the brand of Will’s over-heated hands on the back of his neck. Never wants to forget the rough scrape of Will’s chapped lips, the tiny little sounds and sighs he makes every time Nico moves their mouths, the slightest curl of his lips when he smiles, unable to hold it back. The rapid beat of his heart, pressed against his own chest.

“Nico,” he says again, slightly more urgent, pulling away just enough that their lips still brush every time he speaks, “Nico, I love you to death.”

“I would do anything for you,” Nico chokes out. He meets Will’s eyes and tries to — communicate it to him, tries to beam his thoughts into his head. “I would — move the moon and stars for you, do you understand that? Do you know how precious you are to me? My tesoro,” he says, feeling Will’s breath hitch. “Il mio cuore. Il mio cuore battendo, sole.”

For a second Nico frightens himself. He’s never spoken words like that to anyone in his life — not his mother, not Bianca, not Hazel, nobody.

But Will’s smile is radiant. And he still holds Nico, gently, and says over and over, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Something slots back into place in his chest.

[ash5monster01]

hii!! could you write something for charlie dalton and an insecure reader (they are already dating)? ive been feeling kind of ugly lately😭😭 tysm

I’m so sorry this has taken me so long, I hope everything has been going okay. Insecurities can really suck sometimes, but we just have to remember we’re all beautiful in our own way <3

Perfectly Me

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, self doubt, insecurities, anxiety

Summary: Dating cool and confident Charlie is proven to be hard when most of the time you’re insecure about everything about yourself.

word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

Charlie had always been Charlie. You weren’t entirely sure where he got it from. Somehow after all these years in boarding school he had found a confidence that set him apart from the others. You had never met anyone else that had lived life with their chin so high and smile so wide. He was confident, fun, popular, and you felt everything but. When he had chosen you it was shocking. How could daring and brave Charlie seek out the only girl that kept her head ducked and mouth shut. Yet somehow he did and everyday since you had been questioning why.

Especially on days like today. Days where Charlie’s laugh bellowed loudly through the lunch room as you sat quiet as a mouse beside him. Girls looked on with adoring looks and boys laughed after every sentence that left his mouth. His presence was large, everyone saw him, everyone liked him. It was so intense that as you sat beside the boy you loved you felt more invisible then ever, especially to him. He didn’t see you, there is no way he could have. You were nothing but an inanimate object beside him and you had only ended up in this position from a cruel trick of fate. Not only were you now invisible but humiliated because you couldn’t compare to him. You never could.

When the bell sounds you’re the first out the door. You didn’t want to wait and see if Charlie even acknowledged you, it would hurt too much if he didn’t. You barely went noticed as you left anyway so it would be no surprise if he didn’t notice either. But he did. His proud look turning into one of confusion as he spotted your form rushing away. He had wanted to kiss you, stare into your pretty eyes for a moment longer, but you were gone in the blink of an eye. He wondered why, it almost feeling like you were trying to escape him. This very thought plagued him the rest of the day as he awaited a moment to see you again.

Once classes were over it took him forever to find you. He felt like he had turned Welton upside down in search of you until he finally found you curled up on a window seat in the library. Your eyes were cast downward at the book in your hands, your forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window where you sat. You were so beautiful and his heart yearned deeply for you in that very moment. He wished you didn’t feel so far away. He just wanted you two to be okay. As much as he talked about always having a girlfriend he never thought he’d be lucky enough to have one, especially you.

“Found you” you jump slightly at the sound of his husky voice. He’s lifting your feet and sliding beside you before you can react. He doesn’t make any notion that the window is cold against his back as he finally looks at you.

“I wasn’t hiding” you finally say, a bit nervous in his presence which you hated.

“Felt like it” the sad way he drops his gaze from you makes your heart clench. You hadn’t meant to hurt him but he had unintentionally been hurting you.

“I know” you whisper and Charlie looks up to see the sad expression you wear, one that matched his own.

“Can you tell me why?” he asks and you notice how small he seems here. He isn’t loud and proud Charlie, he’s your boyfriend who’s afraid you’re going to say something that hurts him and even worse you know what you have to say is going too.

“I don’t know why you’re with me Charlie” you say, officially closing your book and giving him your full attention.

“What do you mean?” he asks and you bring your hands to your face, sighing into them before looking up again.

“I’m not like you Charlie. You’re good looking, popular, outgoing. I’m just not” you say, exasperated and tired of not only being insecure about everything else in your life but about this too.

“Yes you are!” and this has you chuckling dryly, so tired of being lied to.

“No Charlie, I know it, you know it, and the rest of these imbeciles do too” you say, arms crossing over you chest and Charlie sighs as he presses a hand to his forehead.

“You are to me” he says calmly and you feel your heart rate accelerate at the confession. Charlie dares a glance at you to see your face flooded with sadness and confusion. He had never meant to make you feel small. “You’re the only girl for me. Maybe you’re not all that outgoing but that’s okay. I need someone who is going to bring me down to earth. I wanted to kiss my girlfriend today before she left after lunch and instead I watched her run away from me. I don’t try to make you feel worthless, I’m just so used to being loud and bold to hide the fact that I’m terrified my life won’t turn out the way I want it to. The only thing I’m sure of is you”

“Is that true?” you ask and Charlie chuckles even though none of this conversation is meant to be funny.

“It’s the most true thing I’ve said all week” he tells you and finally you take a good look at your doe eyed boyfriend. His floppy brown hair hangs in his eyes and the crooked smile on his face is still only ever directed at you. He loves you the way you love him, for all the things neither of you are. So you scoot forward and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry I assumed the worst of you” you tell him and he gives you a tight lipped smile that you happily lean forward and kiss.

“I’m sorry I expected too much of you” Charlie apologizes in return and you smile before locking your lips with his own again. Pulling yourself closer to him your book slides from your lap and lands with a loud thud that has you both giggling quietly in the back corner of the library. Charlie doesn’t care about the attention it might’ve brought and kisses you good and hard again.

The best thing about Charlie is no matter how insecure you are, at least he will always be there for you. You balanced each other out and balance was the most important key to life. Balance love, balance work and art, and you shall be free.

[zukosdualdao]

through all of the shadowy corners of me

zutara month, day three: (re)meet ugly/meet cute. @zutaramonth

summary: as katara's plans on the anniversay of her mother's murder fall apart, she ducks into a teashop to wait out the storm and finds herself familiar with the rude tea server she comes face to face with and promptly bursts into tears. because of-fucking-course.

warnings: grief, nightmares, references to kya's murder (and ursa's disappearance, though that is less explicit), and references to ableism wrt facial differences. also, just, some lightly gratuitous swearing, on behalf of katara's no good very bad day. she deserves it.

other notes: title taken from landon piggs’ falling in love at a coffeeteashop. because i am basic in that way.

Katara’s pretty sure the universe is conspiring against her.

First, it was the fucking felt-tip markers being all dried up—damn it Sokka—she needed for the posters for the protest she was supposed to head.

(She tries not to think about how really, first, it was the dream she woke up from, that she wakes up from often, but especially on this day, the dream with fearful eyes and the ominous drip of blood and the feeling of too late too late too late. The dream that is also a memory.)

Someone had to make the posters—because seriously, why was the school shutting down the campus food bank when a third of the student population was food-insecure?— so she missed her first class of the day to get new ones from the closest craft store, over half an hour way with traffic. There was supposed to be a quiz, too, and the professor is notoriously stubborn about absences and make-ups. 

And then there was this huge storm, so they couldn’t even have the protest today like they’d planned.

Now, as Katara ducks out of the rain and into the tiny little hole-in-the-wall ambient tea shop—The Jasmine Dragon, the sign had said—which is all warm lighting and soft ringing laughter from the bare few patrons inside, she figures she can at least get a cup of something hot to drink. It’s been a truly horrible day, and she can’t wait to get back home, sleep for ten hours straight, and wipe it from the record of her memory, but right now, this is her one saving grace.

So, when she gets to the second place in line, very patiently waiting as the server at the front snipes at the man in front of her, part of her wants to reel up to confront him. Sure, she knows customer service can be a day-in, day-out nightmare—she didn’t spend her first two semesters waiting tables because it was fun—but really, he could at least try to be a little nicer. The man wasn’t doing anything wrong, as far as she could see.

When she gets to the front, Katara opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know what—and is caught off-guard to find that she recognizes him faintly. With his eyes the color of amber, swoopy, dark hair, and a shiny, painful-looking burn scar set against the left side of his face, on her right—yes, he was a boy who was in Sokka’s class back in high school. And he was a total jerk, barely speaking a word to anyone except to get into arguments, whether with teachers or other kids. She didn’t know him all that well herself, but she’d never liked him from the stories Sokka told or for the way he seemed to bristle at everyone and everything as she watched from a morbidly curious distance.

Zuko. Yes, she remembers him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice almost a snarl when she spends a beat too long taking in his features, though he’s not looking at her, instead glancing down at his scratchpad. “I’m supposed to tell all of the customers we’re out of the oolong,” he adds in a rough voice, without looking up.

Katara wants to rage, wants to scream, why does he think he gets to treat people like that, god, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and treat me like a person when you’re being a dick—but instead, she bursts into tears. 

Very loud, messy tears. It’s been a long day.

And, well. He certainly looks up then. 

“Um,” Zuko says in lieu of an actual reaction, his right eye wide. His expression has softened considerably, his mouth shaped in surprise, his browline furrowed. “We have jasmine?” he tries.

Well, she thinks as he stands there stiffly, the perfect image of a deer in headlights, before reaching over the counter to push the napkin dispenser toward her, this is humiliating.

At least it’s not terribly busy in here. There’s no one standing beside her, and she only feels one or two worried glances from the tables, the shop mostly empty.

“Sorry,” Katara says through her tears. “God, I’m sorry. I just—I’m having awful day,” she says, motioning to her face as a way of explanation before yanking a napkin out from the dispenser to dry her face.

Zuko’s lip curls in what she thinks might be sympathy. 

“Me, too,” he admits on a sigh. “Sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” she says, shaking her head and smiling through still teary eyes. God. “A cup of jasmine tea would actually be nice.”

“Sure.” 

She pays quickly and tries to ignore his eyes as they follow her over to the tiny round table she chooses in the corner. One cup, she thinks. She’ll drink one cup of tea and be out of here quicker than even the lightning flaring outside, before anyone can say anything about it, and then head back to her apartment and think through every turn in life that got her there, sobbing in line at a tea shop as a mean boy she knew from high school tried not to call her on it.

But he has other plans, because when he brings her order to her, he doesn’t just leave like he’s supposed to, standing there for several awkward moments that feel as though they’re spanning lifetimes.

Yeah. The universe is definitely conspiring against her.

“So… you’re… good now?”

Katara stares at him blankly for a moment, feeling her jaw grow a little slack.

“Are you… checking on me?”

A beat. “I’m just very committed to customer service,” Zuko deadpans, and Katara can’t help but laugh.

“Right,” she says. “Yeah. I’m… good. Thank you.” He nods—just once, a rigid jerk of his head—and starts to turn on his heel to leave.

But for some reason, she suddenly doesn’t want that. He’s being… almost kind of sweet, and it’s so incongruous with the memory she has of him that it kindles a new kind of curiosity.  “We went to school together, you know,” she says quickly, before he can fully turn around. He pauses in his tracks. “You probably don’t remember, but—”

“I remember you,” Zuko says before she can even finish. She frowns, intrigued. “You always wore your hair up in a braid and those loops. And once, even though we barely knew each other,” he adds with the faint traces of a smile, “you told off that kid when he was… uh…” The smile fades.

Katara remembers suddenly. It was an overcast day, not unlike the way this one had started, and Zuko had been sitting alone in the courtyard, not bothering anyone (for once) as Katara made her way to lunch when she saw some other kid go up to him to start needling him, saying horrible things about his scar. Very loudly.

Katara hadn’t liked that, so she’d marched right over and told the kid so. Also very loudly.

She’s pretty sure that’s the only time she and Zuko even tangentially interacted, and even then, they hadn’t spoken any actual words to each other. Everything else she knew about him came from stories and distant observation.

“When he was being a dick,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Peering through his eyelashes, he adds more quietly, “I’ve always remembered that.”

“Really?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway.”

“I don’t like cruel people.” He nods, hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly downcast and looking almost a little ashamed. It makes her sort of sad. “Do you have time to sit?” Katara asks suddenly.

He looks surprised as he glances back at up her. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re working, so don’t worry about it if not,” she adds in a hurry, tripping over he words. “I just thought maybe…”

“My shift’s actually over,” he answers, and suddenly, there’s a soft, sort-of-shy smile playing on his lips. “I—I could sit.”

He pulls the chair out and sits while Katara sips at her tea. It really is quite good.

“This is almost making up for the rest of my day,” she laughs, and his face scrunches up, maybe almost amused.

But then, the expression morphs. “Why was your day so bad, Katara?”

She’s surprised to find he ever knew her name, let alone remembers it now. He really is full of surprises. 

She could tell him the simple version, the actual events without the why she was taking it so hard, without divulging what it was really about… but, well…

He seems sincere enough in asking, at any rate.

“I just… I lost my mother when I was really young,” she begins to explain, feeling sort of choked-up and tight in her chest again, but no tears threaten to fall right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and she looks up to meet his gaze, swimming with undeniable sympathy. “That’s something we have in common.”

She looks at him for a long moment, surprised. This is something they share, then. Something they can understand about each other. “I’m sorry, too. It’s awful. And… today is the anniversary. I usually just try to keep busy, but…”

“But everything went wrong?”

Katara hums.

“That’s the fucking worst,” he says bluntly, and Katara laughs then. He has very little tact, it seems, but also, yeah. It is. And it’s nice for someone to be able to… just say it. To feel it with her.

“It is the fucking worst,” she agrees. “But… I really am doing better now.”

“I’m glad,” he says, but he frowns, staring down at his hands, which are splayed on the table. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your day."

“I mean… the rest of my plans for the day have sort of fallen apart, and I should probably wait out the rain anyway, so I might, uh,” she says, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. “I might stick around for a while. Get one more of these,” she nods down to her cup, warm and solid in her hands. “You know.” She takes another sip.

His smile glints, but it’s soft, too, definitely as shy as she feels. “I could do with a cup.”

Katara’s own smile grows wider.

The kindly older man who runs the shop—Zuko's uncle, Katara learns quickly—brings them out another round of jasmine, two cups this time, and Zuko slowly raises his in a cheers motions motion, a little awkward and a lot funny.

“To awful days?” he says with a raise of his brow.

“And to perfect storms,” she adds in agreement, laughter bubbling in her chest.

They clink their teacups together.

[obitohno]

stay

fushiguro toji x reader

synopsis ⤸

you know that loving toji is forbidden, but you just can’t help yourself.

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, student-teacher relationship, age gap, angst, forbidden relationship, unrequited love, love confessions, make up sex, creampies, spooning, cowgirl, missionary, reader is twenty-three, toji is in his early forties, professor fushiguro

word count ⤸

7.1k (semi-edited)

a/n ⤸

i have to confess that i’m not the biggest fan of jjk, but i like the characters, n atm, i have major toji brain rot, it’s literally taking over my mind. i think that the forbidden love suits him, so this is the result of me not being able to stop thinking about ‘professor fushiguro’, hhh. this is my first jjk au, so i hope that you enjoy it :)

reblogs are appreciated ~

it’s long past nightfall, and morally, you know that you’re not supposed to be sneaking around the university campus in the middle of the night, but alas, here you are, skirt riding up the length of your thighs as you hoist yourself up and over the iron-welded gate that is supposed to keep you locked out of the building that you’re currently aiming for. you land on the other side of the gate with a soft grunt, hands breaking your fall onto the tarmac, barely avoiding scraping your knees in the process. rushing your way over to the side door of the age-old building of the staff quarters is harder work as you have to duck behind the bike shed, and weave under a particularly leafy shrub-like tree, to avoid alerting the security camera that glares red from the upper wall.

once you reach the door, you make quick work of picking the lock with a hairpin, the corners of your mouth tugging into a small smile when you hear the tell-tale click that announces your success. the door swings shut behind you, and once you stand inside the main hallway, the thrill of potentially being caught makes your pulse race so harshly that you actually feel your neck throb with each beat. you swallow down the anxiety that belatedly rears it’s ugly head, and you quietly make the short journey to your destination. 

professor fushiguro’s quarters are, luckily for you, the only ones that are located on the ground floor. it not only makes your mission easier to achieve, but it also lessens the unlikely chance of other members of staff loitering nearby when their quarters are on the upper floors. the only downside is that the kitchens and lounging areas are also located on the ground floor, but you’ve made this trek countless of times, and so far, you’re yet to encounter anyone other than the very man that you’re here to visit. 

all too soon, your fist is raising to gently tap the wooden frame that you’re well accustomed to, once, twice, thrice, before your hand limply falls to your side. although quiet, the sound of your knock masks any noise that may come from inside, and you fail to hear the soft laughter coming from somewhere behind the door. when there’s no immediate answer, you frown, and your hand raises to repeat the action, only to freeze when the door is suddenly yanked open to reveal a familiar shot of dark hair and a pair of forest coloured eyes that stare down at you, rounded with bewilderment. 

he blocks the doorway, obnoxiously tall frame towering above you, and his expression is anything but welcoming. ‘what are you doin’ here?’ he hisses down at you, dark brows pinching together. 

‘uh, it’s wednesday?’ you remind him, taken aback by his odd behaviour. ‘we always—’

‘you didn’t get my text?’ he interrupts you, glancing over his shoulder. at this exact second, you hear something, or rather, someone, moving around in the apartment behind him, and your eyes widen upon realising that he’s not alone. his head whips back toward you, and he whispers furiously, ‘you can’t be here.’ he then tries to pull the door shut behind him, but it’s too late. 

‘toji? darling?’ 

it’s a woman’s voice, you recognise, stomach twisting with nausea when you catch the brief look of embarrassment that passes over toji’s features. understanding the situation, you back away from the doorway—away from him—and you thickly swallow the lump that has formed at the back of your throat. 

he has the audacity to whisper your name, but when his hand reaches for you, you flinch out of reach. ‘it’s not what it looks—’ 

you don’t stick around to listen to the rest of his lie. 

you’re already halfway down the hall when you hear him mumbling behind you, ‘—s’just a student askin’ ‘bout test papers.’ 

‘this late?’ the woman’s voice questions. 

‘she’s… dedicated,’ comes toji’s delayed reply, and you listen to his lady friend laughing as if the prospect of a student dedicated to their studies is somehow particularly amusing to her. her soft titter is cut short by the door slamming shut behind them. 

it isn’t until you’ve made your way out of the building and jumped back over the gate that it hits you properly. 

jujutsu academy is home to a student body of exactly fifteen thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven students, with majority of those students living in halls because the location is quite literally the middle of bloody nowhere as itadori yuuji had described it on the very first day that you’d met him. he’d helped you when you’d gotten lost in the library, and at first, you’d assumed that he was a fellow student, only to be taken by surprise when he’d revealed that he’s actually a member of the coaching staff in the sports department. it had turned out that the two of you are actually around the same age—give or take a few months here and there—and the two of you had bonded quickly. you told him that you were majoring in english literature, and that’s when he revealed, with a scowl plastered between his brows, that the head tutor of the english department is actually his best friend’s dad. yuuji’s depiction of professor fushiguro didn’t paint the man in a very good light, so when you attended your very first lecture, you’d been nervous about meeting the ugly old man with a constant stick up his ass. 

only, professor fushiguro was neither old or ugly, and he definitely didn’t walk around like he had a stick up his ass. in fact, you had been pleasantly surprised when you’d met a very fairly attractive man who had barely breached his forties, and the moment he’d smirked down at you, you instantly knew that you would be in for a world of trouble. 

because campus is a good three hour’s drive from the rest of civilisation, most of the staff also reside here during term time. and among them, there are one or two members that stay behind during the holidays when everyone has gone back home. and professor fushiguro is one of them, you’d discovered after quite literally bumping into him after exiting the library after a study session during the easter break. he’d seemed surprised to realise that you’d also chosen to stay on campus instead of returning home, and it had been evident that he was curious as to why, but he’d allowed you your privacy, as you had him. 

after that, he’d offered extra study lessons, but after just a few months, you realised that fuck, you liked him. at first, you’d passed it off as a simple crush on a man whom you clearly respected as your senior. but, that admiration had quickly burned into something more, and soon, he was all you thought about. one night, after consuming alcohol stolen from the kitchens in your classmate’s dorm, you had most definitely been drunk when you had eventually stumbled your way back to your own dorm. 

it is for this reason that when you’d passed by professor fushiguro in the hallway, you’d been filled with a false sense of confidence and had boldly pushed him against the wall and crushed your mouth to his. 

this confidence had faltered when he’d stood frozen for a few seconds too long. but when you’d moved your lips away from his, he’d chased after you, and had proceeded to kiss you until your knees were weak. 

that was two years ago. 

despite having recently celebrated your twenty-third birthday, you know that whilst he maintains the position of your tutor, your bond with toji isn’t one that can be shared in pubic, and so, the comfort of his quarters has become a private space that the two of you have made your haven, together, hidden from the eyes of everyone around you. and at some point during the last two years, your admiration for him has morphed into a love that is forbidden by both society and of the subject of your affections, himself. when you’d first started sleeping together, he’d made it perfectly clear that that was as far as things would ever go. you had both agreed to go exclusive, but there would be no relationship, and there would certainly be no feelings involved. you’ve clearly broken that promise, but as long as he never found out, then you thought that you’d be okay with any semblance of affection that he showed you. 

however, you’d failed to think of the possibility that he’d eventually find someone. someone that he doesn’t have to hide his relationship with—someone he genuinely loved. 

maybe it’s because you know that he is it for you, but the notion of him wanting someone else just hadn’t occurred to you. although he’d never voiced anything aloud, you had thought that you’d meant something to him. 

the realisation that you’ve been wrong this entire time makes you feel sick. you’re unable to stop the first tear that slides down the curve of your cheek, and it is quickly followed by many others. you choke on a sob that threatens to escape out of your mouth, and instead, you gnaw your teeth into your bottom lip and quicken your pace as the bottoms of your shoes scuff the ground with each footstep. the journey back to your dorm is a blur, mainly because of the tears that won’t stop pissing down your face, but you somehow manage to lock the door shut behind you, kick off your shoes and make your way to your bedroom, collapsing to the bed just as the first gut-wrenching wail heaves out from the pit of your stomach. you’re unsure of how much time passes as you lay there crying, but at some point, you must fall asleep because when your eyes open next, your throat is sore and there are dry track-marks that have crusted to the surface of your cheeks. a squint toward your bedside table shows that the digital clock now reads 03:51 and you exhale a long breath from your nostrils. 

your fingers blindly reach for your mobile phone and a quick glance at the screen shows that he had, in fact, messaged you, warning you that he had plans tonight. 

plans. 

enraged—at him or yourself, you haven’t decided yet—you scoff, and without reading the new message that he sent just an hour or so ago, your thumb and index finger press to power off the device. it lands with a clunky thud when you drop it onto the bedside table. you roll over, eyelids closing, and with this, you attempt to sleep. 

๑ 

three days later, and you’re yet to leave your dorm. you spend majority of these three days laying horizontal apart from when you have to use the bathroom. you’ve barely slept, you’ve not eaten either, and you’ve also missed several lectures, so you know that it’s only a matter of time before someone (yuuji) comes looking for you. it’s only with the guilt of potentially worrying the pinkette that you are convinced to finally venture from your dorm on the fourth day. 

you have an english lecture in less than an hour, but you figure that you should have enough time to find something to fill your empty stomach for the first time in ninety-six hours. you’re just about to enter the campus cafe when a loud, boisterous voice bellows your name and you turn just in time to see yuuji making a beeline for you just before his arms curl tight around your shoulders, squeezing. he collides with you so suddenly that it makes you dizzy, and aided by the fact that you’ve not eaten for days, you suffer a sickening bout of visual static. to your embarrassment—and yuuji’s horror—you sway, and your fingers clutch at his hoodie in an attempt to keep yourself upright. 

‘oh my god,’ yuuji exclaims, spluttering an apology as he guides you to sit on a nearby wall. he crouches before you, his hands enveloping yours, blurting several questions, one after the other, ‘where have you been? why didn’t you call me back? i’ve been calling you for days. are you sick? you look sick. can i do anything to—?’ 

‘food,’ you blurt, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to ease the ache that’s settling deep into your temples. ‘please.’

‘i’ll be straight back,’ he promises, and with a little hesitation, he leaves your side. blowing a puff of air from between your lips, you don’t have to wait long for yuuji to return to your side. he sits next to you, shoving a cinnamon bun and a bottle of coke under your nose. ‘you need sugar,’ he explains when you raise an eyebrow at his choice. he (im)patiently waits for you to devour the cinnamon bun and half of the bottle of coke before he says, ‘no offence, but you look…’ he grimaces, evidently unsure of how to finish his sentence without offending you. 

you don’t have to look into a mirror to know that bags have formed under your eyes, your hair disheveled because you didn’t bother combing it before you left out this morning, and your clothes are crumpled because you’d picked out the first outfit you’d found in the pile dumped on the floor by the foot of your bed. 

you know that you look like shit.

‘sorry,’ you mumble. ‘i’ve not been sleeping well.’ 

or, at all. 

yuuji is frowning, ‘has something—?’ 

you’re not ready for this conversation. mostly because you honestly don’t know how to explain that you’ve been having an affair with your professor for the past two years, nor admit out loud that you’re in love with said professor, or accept that you’ve spent the last three days wallowing in your own misery because said professor sees you as nothing more than a body to warm his bed. 

your frown deepens, ‘i really don’t want to talk about it… please. i-i’ll be fine, i’m just… i’m tired.’ 

he relents, but you can see that he wishes to argue otherwise. the fact that he doesn’t fills you with gratitude that you show by leaning to bump the side of your head against his shoulder. he leans into your weight, sighing. the minutes tick by, and eventually, you decide it’s time to make your way over to your morning lecture, despite how much you wish to go back to your dorm and sleep. yuuji offers to accompany you to the lecture hall, and with each step, your stomach anxiously twists with nerves. luckily, when you arrive, there are already people inside, and so you wave your goodbyes to your pink haired friend and quietly enter the hall. 

heart in your mouth, you pointedly refuse to look toward the desk at the front of the hall, where, from the corner of your eye, you see him sitting there, busying himself with fiddling with the projector. with his back to the room, he doesn’t seem to notice you, and instead of taking your normal seat at the front, you hide yourself at the back of the hall, sinking low in your seat in a bid to make yourself look smaller. 

it seems to work, the task made easier when the hall starts to fill with more people as the clock ticks closer to nine am. through heavily lidded eyes, you’re mindlessly following the scribble of your biro dragging across your notebook, so immersed in your drawing that you flinch when a calloused hand slaps this morning’s lecture notes onto your desk. your pen stills, and as quickly as the hand appeared, it leaves again, already moving on to hand out the rest of the sheets to his other students. only when he’s finished his task and starting the lecture, do you dare to look up from the note that is scrawled in the corner of your handout. 

he looks as rough as you feel. 

there’s a faint shadow tracing the sharp edges of his jaw from where a stubble is beginning to grow, the strands of his hair even messier than usual, and his skin is pale when illuminated by the beam of the projector. he doesn’t seem to have slept much either, the skin under his eyes appearing darker than usual. you stare, your chest heavy with the hope that maybe he’s just as affected by your separation as you have been. but that hope is quickly smothered by the ugly feeling of doubt, and your eyes reluctantly drag from his face, dropping back to the familiar haphazard scrawl of his handwriting. 

see me after class. 

๑ 

you do not see him after class. 

as soon as the bell tolls, you can’t hightail it out of there fast enough, merging with the crowd of your fellow classmates as you rush out of the room. but, because of your increasingly bad luck, you end up loitering at the back of the group as the lack of energy has you slowing your pace in an effort to not overexert yourself. they easily overtake you, some of them glancing at your unkempt state, and you’re left to wander down the hall by yourself. 

only, you don’t make it very far. 

just as you’re about to turn the corner, a warm, large hand wraps around your wrist and yanks. startled, your shriek is muffled by another hand slapping over your mouth, and then you’re dragged backwards, through an open door that leads to what looks like a storage cupboard. the door is kicked shut, and then you’re spun around, your back pressed against it by the hand on your shoulder. 

toji towers above you, arms caging you in with no room to escape. you have no choice but to peer up at that beautiful face of his, the corners of your mouth pulling downward when your eyes meet his. 

‘i called,’ he says, tone dry. 

you force what you hope to be a neutral expression, shrugging one shoulder. 

‘and?’ 

he doesn’t speak in favour of staring down at you, his jaw clenching. 

it hurts to look at him, you decide, and you tear your eyes from his face to glance at the unnecessary pile of brooms that are stacked in one corner of the very small room. he’s standing so close that you can feel his breath fanning across the side of your face, the sensation one that you’re familiar with. the corners of your eyes sting, and after a few moments of tense silence, your hand blindly searches for the door handle behind you. 

‘well, if that’s all—’

you pull on the handle, and the door inches open by a few centimetres, before his palm slaps down onto the wood, slamming it shut again. the noise makes you jump, eyes wide as your head turns to meet his glare. 

‘’s’that it, then?’ he hisses down at you, neck bending to lean closer. ‘you just gonna keep runnin’ from me?’ 

‘i’ve got class,’ you deadpan, head thumping back against the door. as if to prove your point, the next bell tolls, signalling the start of the next hour.  

‘don’t give a shit,’ he spits, eyes narrowed down at you. 

‘well i do,’ you retort, yanking on the handle so harshly that he has no choice but to step back when you elbow him out of your way. his hand grabs at your bicep, but the back of your hand slaps him away, irritation making your cheeks burn. ‘don’t touch me.’ 

he retracts his hand, but he’s staring down at you, hard. then, his façade crumbles, and you baulk when his expression falls, fingers shaking as he drags them through his messy hair. 

‘look,’ he says, voice thick with exhaustion as he looks down at you with as equally tired eyes. ‘just… come over? today?’ 

‘it’s not wednesday,’ you remind him. 

he frowns down at you, ‘i know.’ 

‘it’s monday,’ you reiterate, looking at him pointedly. 

‘i know,’ he stresses, uncharacteristically exasperated. ‘i’ll be free after six.’ 

he looks weary—an expression that you’re not accustomed to seeing on him—and you can already feel your body begin to deflate with defeat. your lips part, but your answer is cut off by the second warning bell. 

‘i have to go,’ you sigh, tiredly. you tug the door open and after checking that the coast is clear, you step out into the hall, glancing at him from over your shoulder. he simply stands there, watching, dark brows pinching to the middle of his forehead. 

that is the last you see of him before the door swings shut behind you. 

๑ 

after changing your mind several times throughout the day, it is well past six pm when you arrive outside toji’s quarters. 

outside, the sun is beginning to set, casting an orange glow across the carpeted floor through the window in the hallway. you haven’t knocked on the door yet, despite having arrived some minutes ago, your eyelids heavy as you stare at the grain in the wood. 

you don’t know what you’re doing here. 

there’s a niggle of hope that can’t help but grow with each second that passes as you loiter by the door. you try to quash it down, because, really, what are the chances of this conversation going in the direction that you want it to? you have higher chances of him having called you over to formally end things for good. 

that thought makes your heart hurt. 

but, before you can hesitate any longer, there’s the clicking of the door unlocking before it swings open. 

as usual, he towers over you. 

there’s a tense moment where the both of you simply stare at one another, but the moment breaks when he shifts to the side, creating enough room for you to slip past him. inside, you’re greeted by the familiarity of his apartment, the heating turned up to the exact temperature that you like. you kick your shoes off and place them next to the shoe rack, stepping further inside as you listen to him lock the door behind you. he steps past you, leading the way toward the lounge, and you follow, only to loiter by the doorway, watching him drop his weight onto the settee. 

you’ve never seen him look so haggard before, and worry gnaws at you when a pair of forest green eyes blink to meet yours. 

‘you gonna stand there all night?’ he asks, already beckoning you over with a tap of his fingers on the seat next to him. you reluctantly make your way over, sitting with your back pressed to the opposite arm of the settee so that you can face him. 

‘so?’ 

he frowns at you, repeating, ‘so?’

‘what’d you ask me over for?’ 

his eyes flash with something you can’t decipher, and then he’s running a hand through his hair again, tugging the ends between his fingers. ‘look, i meant what i said the other night; it wasn’t what it looked like.’ when you don’t offer a response, he continues, ‘she’s a family friend, i’ve not seen her for a long time—for years.’ at this revelation, you start to feel a tad silly for your reaction, but there’s also a part of you that nags that he’s not telling you the whole truth. and as if he can read your thoughts, he adds, ‘we had… a thing… when we were young—very young—but that shit is long over. we’re friends, nothin’ more.’ 

you chew at the inside of your cheek as you mull his words over. eventually, you settle on scoffing, nose curling as you reply, ‘dunno what you’re telling me for. what you do is none of my business.’ 

at this, his spine straightens, and the look in his eyes hardens, ‘what’s that s’posed to mean?’ 

a large of you is hopeful that what he’s told you is the truth, but another part of you is still bitter about the situation. ‘it means that i don’t know why you told me to come over just to talk about this shit—’

‘’cause you’re pissed at me?’ he interrupts, looking more and more perplexed by your words. ‘i’ve been tryna call you for days, but you don’t pick up. you wouldn’t even look at me in class, ‘n’ then you tried to fuckin’ hide like i wouldn’t notice.’ he looks more upset than you’d anticipated. ‘i didn’t want to send you off like that, but—’

‘but what?’ it’s you who interrupts him this time, anger boiling at your blood. ‘but it’s okay because i’m just some dirty little secret of yours?’

‘is that what you’re pissed at?’ 

he looks even more weary than he had five minutes ago. 

‘look, it’s not easy for me either, alright? you think i want to keep sneakin’ ’round like some fuckin’ teenager? ‘m too old to be stressin’ over this shit. i don’t want—’

‘this shit?’ you snap, his words cutting deeper than you thought they would. ‘is that all i am? just some shit?’ 

‘what? you know that’s not what i meant—’ 

you scoff. ‘of course you didn’t.’ 

he snaps back at you, ‘will you just fuckin’ let me explain?’ 

‘really, it’s fine,’ despite your words, you feel the tell-tale prickle of tears burning the corners of your eyes. ‘it was just sex, anyway, right?’ 

he recoils, flinching as if you’ve just slapped him. 

‘what.’

it’s not a question. the word is said so quietly that you barely hear it, tone so flat that you think that you’ve actually offended him. 

‘is that…?’ he clears his throat, nostrils flaring as he inhales a deep breath. ‘is that what this is to you? just sex?’ 

he has the gall to look pained, and you almost fall for it. 

almost. 

you stand from the settee, his eyes following your every movement. ‘that was what you told me, remember? those words literally came out of your mouth.’ 

he mimics you, standing up to his full height, eyes glowering down at you. ‘that was two years ago! of course it was just sex—i barely fuckin’ knew you!’ 

‘well, it’s not like anything’s changed!’ you raise your voice back at him, eyes wet. ‘it’s always me crawling to you. it’s always me sneaking around. it’s always me who is never enough!’ your voice breaks around a sob, your head lowering as you furiously wipe at your tears. 

‘don’t—’ he starts, voice suddenly hoarse. ‘don’t cry.’ he reaches for you, and despite yourself, you collapse against his chest, your cries muffled into the fabric of his shirt. his scent envelopes you, and the heat of him makes your head spin, and yet, you cling to him when his fingers bury into the tresses of your hair. his lips are at your temple when he murmurs, ‘everythin’s changed.’ 

you stiffen, but he holds tight when you try to pull yourself free. 

‘’s’been a long time since i was with someone. last time was when my boy was born, ‘n’ he’s ‘bout your age now.’ you hear him inhale sharply, nose pressed to your hair. his voice muffled, he continues, ‘then i saw you, an’ i thought you were real fuckin’ pretty. was pissed as hell when i found out you were one of my students.’ his arms tighten around you, ‘then, when you fuckin’ jumped me in the hallway, i thought my old ass was dreamin’.’ 

‘not old,’ you mumble into his chest, which, in response, vibrates with a low chuckle that echoes down your ear. 

‘older,’ he corrects, mirth lacing his tone. he then exhales, ‘it was just sex. ‘cause it was the only way i could think to keep you interested.’ you remain quiet, teeth biting into your bottom lip. ‘but d’ya really think i’d be lettin’ us risk everythin’ for this long if that’s all i really wanted? if you weren’t worth every second of it?’

you don’t know how to answer that. 

he sighs, his breath fanning across the top of your head. for a long moment, you remain enveloped in his arms, and then, in the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard him muster, he admits, ‘really fuckin’ love you, idiot.’ 

your heart is jackhammering away in the depth of your chest, and for a second, you dread that you’ve misheard him. but then you feel the thump, thump, thump of his own heart racing underneath your ear, and he’s yet to let you free from his embrace. your arms, previously pressed to his chest, move to slowly curl around his waist, holding him just as tightly as he’s got you. 

‘love you too.’ 

the words are whispered into the collar of his shirt, but he clearly hears you because his fingers are now guiding your chin to angle your face toward his. his nose bumps along yours, lips pressing to the corner of your mouth. you chase him, moulding your lips together, his tongue making quick work of caressing its way into your mouth. he groans, and then his kisses are fever-like, and he’s tasting every inch of your mouth as if he hasn’t done so a hundred times before. 

you’re kissing him just as eagerly, your hands snaking under his shirt just to feel his skin. he guides you backwards, edging you to the direction of the bedroom, and you allow him to do so with your tongue curling up the length of his. he pants into your mouth, hands leaving your body to fumble with the door handle. he kicks the door open, then shut again after you enter the room, and he pushes at your shoulders until you’re lying on the plush mattress of his bed. you peer up at him, watching as he crawls over you, his hair tickling your forehead when he leans to claim your mouth once again. 

in between kisses, you both slowly work your way through removing each other’s clothes and when naked, he finally presses in on top of you, pinning you beneath him. there’s a clear size difference between the two of you, and you like just how much bigger he is, your fingers tracing over the curves of his biceps as he shifts above you. the length of his cock drags between your folds, the blunt tip catching on your clit at just the right angle, and you whimper for him. he responds with a low rumble that makes his chest vibrate against where it is pressed to yours, his teeth gently scraping along where he’s mouthing at your pulse. your fingers tangle between the strands of his hair, and you welcome his hot breath fluttering across the surface of your neck, eyes closing and lips parting around the shape of another moan. 

he moves, hips bumping into yours, and your breath catches as his cock drags with a delicious friction that coaxes his name from between your lips. he repeats the action at the same time his teeth nip at your collarbone, tongue darting out to soothe the sharp pain that erupts, leaving a mark on your skin. you encourage the grinding by curling your legs up and around his waist, your ankles locking tight. the action pushes him closer, and your clit throbs along with your pulse each time it is abused by his bulbous tip which has swollen to a size that is more than impressive. initially, the width of him had been more than daunting, and it had taken a little getting used to the feeling of it stretching you wide, but by now, you’ve taken him more times than you can count, and your hole has learned to flutter at the promise of being filled soon. 

and fill you, he does. 

you’re not at all prepared for when he angles his hips and aims a tad lower, but he’s soon drilling into you, your cunt quickly moulding into the shape of him. your walls burn with the stretch, but each thrust punches a choked moan from the back of your throat, causing your fingertips to make their home in the sharp lines of his shoulders. you feel his nose nudging its way up to the shell of your ear, a smile curving the shape of his mouth when he moans, ‘feel so fuckin’ good f’me, pretty girl.’ 

the praise encourages the clenching of your walls, vice-like grip greedily forcing his cock further inside with each forward cant of his hips. he grunts with effort, pelvis snapping backward and forwards so quickly that you can hear the continuous creaking of the bed-frame as he has his way for you. his fingers buried in the tresses of your hair, he angles his mouth to yours once more, his tongue merging with yours in a messy battle that makes your clit throb, throb, throb for him.

‘fuckin’—fuck,’ he groans loudly, before he’s jerking his cock away from the safe cavern of your heat, a weak moan of protest escaping you before it dies on the tip of your tongue when his hands grab at you and easily lift you from the mattress. ‘’gainst the wall, pretty,’ he orders, guiding you until your palms are pressed flat to the wall, his stomach warm on your back as he traps you against the head of the bed.

once more, his cock is enveloped by your heat, and he quickly sets a pace that makes you dizzy with need. nuzzling into the curve of your neck, he sucks a fresh mark, and subconsciously, your walls flutter around him again. sweat is quickly forming on the surface of your skin, but it doesn’t stop you from snaking a hand between your legs, fingers quickly circling your forgotten clit. 

‘hng, fuck, baby, that’s it,’ he groans, pelvis clapping against yours. ‘touch yourself f’me—yes, just like that.’ he sucks in a hiss, the noise morphing into a growl, his balls slapping tight onto your folds as he roughly pistons into you. your gooey walls welcome the assault, your slick suctioning him back inside each time his length retreats from your pussy. 

‘h-a—ah!’ you cry out, toes curling when your first orgasm hits you so suddenly that even he chokes out a surprised chuckle, lips pressed to the back of your neck. you can’t help the slacking of your jaw as his name is loudly expelled from your mouth, your fingers reaching up to pull at his hair. the throbbing of your walls has him gripping your hips so tight that you’re certain to wake with bruises tomorrow, but he continues to fuck you through it, prolonging the tingling that pounds at your clit. arousal drips, creaming a white foam around the base of his cock, and soon, the wet sound of your connection can be heard loud and clear, which, in turn, encourages his cock to twitch inside you. it takes a short while for you to recover, and through every second of it, his girth continues to stretch you in the best possible way. 

‘t-toji,’ you gasp, his lips pressed to your temple. a particularly harsh thrust almost has you toppling over and you desperately cling to the headboard in order to steady your balance. ‘toji, i—’

‘love you.’ 

he beats you to it, the words gruffly echoed down the canal of your ear and settling deep in the centre of your chest, where it spreads warmth across the entirety of your body. you can’t help it—a tear slips from the corner of your eye, and he’s quick to kiss it away. 

‘should’ve—hng, shit, baby—should’ve… should’ve told you b’fore.’ 

yes, he should have, but you don’t voice this opinion aloud, as you’re now distracted by the fact that he’s now manhandling you into another position. 

his back pressed to the headboard, you’re now straddling his lap, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix when you accidentally slide down a little too far. you jerk up again, and he moans quietly, neck stretching slightly as the back of his head rests on the headboard. through heavily lidded eyes, he watches you bend and bow above him, the greens of his eyes now glittering emeralds at you. outside, the setting sun dances a golden glow across his face and down his neck and it warms the emeralds until they are molten. his full lips are parted, low groans of encouragement panted through them as he allows you to take what you need from him. there are minuscule lines that are gently etched into the corners of his eyes, probably caused by lack of sleep. your thumbs reach out to stroke over the curves of his cheeks, and your lips form a soft smile when he presses his face into the palms of your hands. your hips stilling in favour of focusing on your index finger that is currently tracing his bottom lip, his eyelids dropping further when he kisses the pad of your finger. you know that he’d only scrunch his nose in disagreement if you’d ever voice it aloud, but like this, he looks beautiful. you grin at him, leaning to brush your nose against his, your lips ghosting over the scar on the corner of his mouth. it’s rare for you to show your appreciation for the old wound, but it makes his breath hitch every time that you do, and you wait to hear the sound before your lips press to his. 

slowly, you roll your hips, and he responds by moaning into the cavern of your mouth. 

It isn’t long before your thighs begin to shake with exertion, and his hands clutch to your ass, helping you along as he guides you to slide your pussy up the length of his girth, before dropping you back down with a wet squelch that makes your ears burn. your slick coats him, pooling into the tangle of pubic hair that is nestled between his legs. your clit rubs at the texture of it, and with each roll of your pelvis, it brings you closer and closer to your second orgasm. 

all too soon, your thighs are shaking, and your nails scratch into the skin of his abdominal muscles, which tense beneath you. he huffs a laugh at you, but before you reach your peak, he pulls you from him, gravity dropping the heavy weight of his cock to thump onto his abdomen as you cry out from the loss. he shushes you with a short kiss, before shifting the two of you into the spooning position. 

for the second time tonight, his chest is pressed flush to your back, and his arms wrap tight around you, his long frame tucking in behind you, and his fingers stretch to tangle with yours. this time, he fucks into you slowly, and with his head lowered to yours, he kisses the back of your neck. the silence is tender, and he’s twitching more often now, and you suspect that he’s just as ready to fill you with his cum as you are to receive it. and just a few more thrusts drive you both to the completion that you seek. 

his whole body coils tight before it shudders, a long, drawn out sigh of your name whispered into your hair. the familiar gush of his seed claims your inner walls as his own, and your weak mewl of his own name as you come undone has him thrusting one last time before he stills. 

it takes a long time for your body to settle afterwards, your skin clammy and your eyelids drooping so low that you feel as if you’re going to fall asleep. 

fingers are brushed through your hair, a kiss warming the back of your ear, and then all of a sudden, a stream of thick, white liquid oozes all over your thigh as his cock unplugs itself from its home inside your cunt. 

you are already dozing when his weight shifts from the bed, only to return to press a damp flannel between your legs. the rough material catches on your stimulated clit, and you protest weakly, despite the fact that your eyes refuse to open. this routine isn’t one that you’re a stranger to, and so when he kisses the crook of your knee, you laugh tiredly, but lack the energy to tell him that it tickles. your brain is foggy, just teetering on the edge of sleep, when you mumble your affections very quietly. the three words still somehow reach his ears, even though your voice is muffled because your cheek is smushed into the pillow. a breath is kissed to the inside of your wrist, long, strong fingers making their home between yours. 

you don’t hear his response. 

when you wake later, it is after dark. 

there’s a familiar weight at your back, and you’re pleased to realise that at some point whilst you were asleep, he’s tugged the covers up and over you. for a while, you lay there, listening to the sound of him breathing, before you decide that it’s probably well after the time of which you should be making your way back to your dorm. however, when you make to sneak from the bed, the weight of his arm around your middle tightens. 

‘where you goin’?’ 

his voice is several octaves deeper than usual, tone groggily thickened with sleep.  

‘stay.’ 

you feel just as tired as he sounds, but you know that you have to leave. this part is always the hardest, and it usually leaves you feeling a little sick each time. but today, it hurts just that bit more than usual, and you really don’t want to leave. it doesn’t help that he’s also not aiding the situation as he cages you underneath his arm. 

‘i have to go,’ you croak, your own voice heavily laced with exhaustion. ‘have class in the morning.’ 

‘i’ll sort it,’ he promises, nudging his head closer to yours. his fingers search for yours in the dark, trapping them between his own again. 

‘toji, i—’

your protest is interrupted when his chest heaves with a very dramatic sigh that puffs across the back of your head. ‘said i’ll sort it. promise.’ 

you hesitate. you’ve never been risky enough to stay the night, having always been gone long before the sun starts to rise. but he’s relaxed, unworried, and despite your worries, you trust him. as if sensing your apprehension, he tightens his embrace, enveloping your frame with the heat and scent of him. your eyes blink shut, and you’re so tired that you’re almost falling asleep again. he murmurs your name into the dark. 

‘stay,’ he breathes. 

and so, you do. 

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack short take (72)

*Planning a fake funeral is hard!* Read [this] first.

Coryo: Hey, Class Press.

Felix: Yes, Snowy?

Coryo: Poor Aeneas just called me earlier and said that his little sister is getting discharged from the hospital today.

Felix: Who’s Aeneas again?

Coryo: The Banshee’s surprisingly nicer and smarter older brother.

Felix: The same guy who was forced to sleep inside a tiny doghouse by his parents for being born good?

Coryo: Yup. That Aeneas.

Felix: Oh, I remember now. Poor guy. He deserves better.

Coryo: Yeah. Poor guy. So are we going to celebrate Arachne Crane’s recovery or what?

Hilarius: Are we?

Festus: I’m not. She gave me a proper black eye for saving her screeching spidery ass.

Palmyra: She’s not dead?

Clemensia: Palm Palm, that’s mean. Arachne was almost choked to death by her crazy Tribute.

Coryo: To be fair, crazy Brandy was hungry. She wanted to steal and eat the spider’s ✨Heaven Bread✨.

Domitia: Hungry? But Tanner told me that Brandy stole his bread rolls, cheese tarts, and 2 cans of beer before the spider came and made her a sh*tty sandwich.

Coryo: She’s like Percy’s little gremlin. She won’t stop eating no matter what.

Persephone: True. Mizzen has a Tartarus like stomach.

Festus: And the raging appetite of a thousand grown men.

Persephone: He can even eat Domitia’s whole family farm.

Domitia: Even my sweet daddy’s baby duck sanctuary?

Persephone: Especially the baby duck sanctuary.

Palmyra: So Craney really survived Brandy Sharp Candy?

Diana: Fortunately.

Festus: Tragically.

Diana: Creed!

Festus: She punched me in the face.

Coryo: 4 times.

Festus: It still hurts.😞

Coryo: And now she’s wearing an ugly neck brace because of it.

Felix: Wow. Who would’ve thought that my weird prediction came true.

Gaius: Cool.

Diana: Does that mean that you’re now a seer, Class Pres?

Felix: I wish.

Apollo: In a scale of Dr.Gaul’s ugly mutts to Clemensia’s pretty Mr. Paris Patty, how ugly is Arachne Crane’s neck brace?

Sejanus: Pit bull rabbit mutt ugly.

Apollo: Really?

Sejanus: Truly.

Diana: I can’t wait to see it.☺️

Palmyra: But are you 100 percent sure that our local Banshee is still the same Banshee?

Sejanus: What do you mean?

Palmyra: What if she’s now a cat trap in a box and we don’t know what’s happening inside?

Coryo: She’s not Schrödinger's cat!

Palmyra: Who’s Schrödinger?

Domitia: Monty, please.

Palmyra: But she hasn’t replied to my emails for 2 straight days now.

Domitia: So?

Palmyra: That means she’s dead in my books.

Domitia: Do you want to know the real reason why the spider doesn’t reply to your weird emails?

Palmyra: Yes! I love honesty.😊

Domitia: She doesn’t like you.

Palmyra: Ok! So what’s the truth?

Domitia: She doesn’t like you!

Palmyra: That’s a lie. Everybody likes me. Even Dr. Gaul and her rainbow snakey snakeys like me.

Domitia: You need help.

Palmyra: I like kelp too!

Domitia: I hate you.

Palmyra: I date me too.😊

Domitia: You’re hopeless.

Palmyra: Thank you! You’re a nice friend, Tia.

Domitia: We’re not friends.

Palmyra: Best friends!🥰

Hilarius: Lol. I’m recording this.

Florus: But just to be sure, does anyone have legitimate proof that the spider is still the spider?

Sejanus: *raises hand*

Florus: Really? You of all people?

Sejanus: Yup! The other day, me, Coryo, Lizzie, and Creed had a secret slumber party inside her hospital room without her knowing.

Festus: We stole her ice cream.

Coryo: I ate her mother’s homemade apple pie. It was a little bit dry and flaky, but I still gave it a 7 out of 10 for trying.

Lysistrata: I stole her morphling bottles and sold them to Dennis.

Festus: I drew a mustache on her face while she was sleeping.

Sejanus: And I took some photos and short videos for Felix.

Florus: Photos? Photos of Crane sleeping?

Sejanus: No. They were photos and videos of Crane swearing and screeching at Lizzie and Festus.

Florus: Can you share them with me?

Felix: Flory, I posted them in our secret group chat, remember?

Florus: You made a secret group chat without me?!

Felix: Sh*t. I think Urban and Io forgot to add you.

Apollo: Don’t worry, Flory. I’ll add you.☺️

Florus: Thanks.😞

Pup: Actually, we’ve already added you in our group chat before.

Florus: Then why am I not in chat anymore?

Pup: I think Ban Ban and Andie accidentally kicked you out.

Florus: Why? What did I do?

Pup: They thought you were secretly Dean Highbottom in disguise.

Florus: Is it because of my profile picture?

Pup: Definitely.

Florus: My profile picture is cute and perfectly fine!

Pup: Your profile picture’s a fat goldfish drinking booze.

Florus: It’s simple and symbolic.

Pup: Change it.

Lysistrata: Yo, can we share the photos with Lucky Flickerman?

Florus: That magical clown was added in the group chat before me?!

Lysistrata: Yes, but anyway-

Florus: Anyway?! Felix, explain yourself!

Felix: Don’t look at me. I didn’t add no magical clown in chat.

Lysistrata: I did.

Clemensia: Of course you did, Lizzie. Of course you did.🙄

Lysistrata: He said that he’ll give us 20 bucks, 2 crates of candy corn, a free bird show, and a bucket of chicken wings.

Clemensia: No. Just no. We are not sharing Crane’s ugly pictures with that clown and Capitol News.

Lysistrata: He’s a magician.

Clemensia: That’s not the point!

Lysistrata: He can talk to birds!

Coryo: I’m allergic to weird birds.

Festus: Same.

Apollo: Aren’t we all here to talk about Crane’s miraculous recovery and celebration?

Dennis: Hear me out-

Clemensia: No.

Dennis: Just this once. I swear that you might even like it.

Felix: Fire away, Denny.

Dennis: How about we arrange a fake funeral as a “welcome back” party for Crane instead? What do you guys think?

Coryo: A fake what?

Dennis: A fake funeral!

Festus: That sounds fun.

Dennis: An exclusive fake funeral for our local screeching Banshee and her dead sh*tty sandwich!😀

Clemensia: Dennis, that’s madness-

Sejanus: Denny, that’s brilliant! You’re a genius! A genius!

Coryo: I’m with Seji Pie.

Palmyra: Me too!

Hilarius: Let’s do it!

Felix: But just for formalities-

Clemensia: Or Panem’s sake.

Felix: Raise your good hand if you want to arrange a fake funeral for Arachne Banshee Crane tomorrow.

Everyone: *immediately raises their hand except for Clemensia*

Apollo: Yey! Fake funeral!

Clemensia: You guys disappoint me.

Diana: Are we going to sing ✨Gem of Panem✨?

Felix: Of course! It’s part of the ceremony.

Diana: Can we sing ✨Somewhere Over The Rainbow✨ after?

Felix: Sure! You and Coryo can sing the rainbow song together.

Coryo: But can Sejanus and I sing ✨My Heart Will Go On✨ after my duet with Ring?

Sejanus: Please, Class Pres! Let me sing with my Coryo! I’ll pay you 10 bucks and 4 crates of posca.

Felix: Fine. You can sing whatever love song you feel like singing.

Everyone: Yey!

Festus: But can I bring a big ass silver crane to serve as the main centerpiece for tomorrow’s funeral?

Felix: Are you talking about the weird looking long-legged bird or the one used for construction?

Festus: A big ass metal crane that my mother uses for construction.

Felix: A literal crane?! You want to bring a literal crane to poor Arachne’s funeral?!

Festus: It’s a fake funeral. Anything goes.

Felix: Why, Creed? Just why?!

Festus: Coryo and Seji Pie can even swing on the crane while performing ✨My Heart Will Go On✨.

Diana: Can I swing too?

Festus: As long as you wear my dad’s old neon pink harness.

Coryo: Wait. Are we going to jump down the crane after we sing?

Sejanus: That’s a good idea.

Festus: Don’t worry, Snowy. I’ll make sure that there’s a working ambulance nearby.

Coryo: Working? What do you mean by working?!

Festus: May the odds be ever in your favor, Bestie.☺️

Coryo: Thanks.

Sejanus: Just to be safe, I’ll bring 10 parachutes.

Festus: *turns to Felix* So Class Pres, what do you say? Metal crane or no metal crane?

Felix: Fine. You can bring your mother’s old metal crane.

Festus: Yey!

Felix: But just one.

Festus: No promises.

Apollo: Can we bring fireworks? I love fireworks.

Felix: One box each.

Apollo: You’re the best, Class Pres!

Dennis: Yo, I have another idea. What if-

Clemensia: Dennis, shut up.

Dennis: Hear me out, hear me out-

Clemensia: Suck a di-

Hilarius: Let the man cook!

Clemensia: He can’t cook.

Hilarius: Let the businessman cook!

Palmyra: I wanna cook!😀

Everyone: No.

Dennis: What if we use Creed’s crane to lift up Arachne’s empty casket while Diana, Sejanus, and Coryo are standing on it. What do you think?

Coryo: Standing where exactly?

Dennis: On the casket.

Coryo: While being lifted up?

Dennis: Yes.

Diana: Does that mean that we’re going to perform with the birds?!

Coryo: Not the birds!

Sejanus: I’m excited!

Gaius: That’s brilliant! Capitol News will love it!

Hilarius: I can’t wait to record that.

Dennis: And what if-

Clemensia: You’re an idiot.

Dennis: What if the rest of us are riding 12 pink chariots covered with white and yellow roses while Coryo and Sejanus are singing their love song above us! What do you guys think?😀

Felix: Why chariots? Why not cars?

Dennis: Because we’re Roman Empire fanatics, Class Pres.

Felix: True. We do love the Roman Empire and Greek Mythology.

Apollo: Do you know that I was named after the sun god?😊

Festus: Obviously.

Dennis: Fun fact! My first name is actually Dionysus.

Domitia: We’re still going to call you “Dennis” after this, ya know.

Dennis: I know.😔

Felix: But where exactly are we going to get 12 pink chariots before tomorrow’s event?

Dennis: Mama Cardew.

Felix: Right. I’ll call Livia’s mom later.

Apollo: How about the roses?

Felix: Coryo?

Coryo: Sure. I’ll ransack my grandmother’s garden again.

Dennis: Good! That settles it.

Felix: But where are we going to hold Crane’s fake funeral anyway?

Dennis: In front of the Presidential Palace.

Felix: We can’t! My granduncle might die from embarrassment.

Dennis: The President of Panem will love it! He might even give a funny speech tomorrow!

Felix: You’re killing me.

Dennis: Don’t be like that, Class Press. Your crazy Gran Gran loves attending weird funerals.

Felix: Dennis, please.

Dennis: I’ll give you a banned Lana Del Rey album next week.

Felix: For free?

Dennis: 2 Lana Del Rey albums.

Felix: Fine! I’ll call my crazy Gran Gran right now. *calls President Ravinstill*

Pres.Ravinstill: Hello? Is this the royal dog walker? My puppies are sleeping right now-

Felix: Gran Gran, this is Felix.

Pres.Ravinstill: Ah! My favorite son!

Felix: I’m not your son. I’m your grandnephew, remember?

Pres.Ravinstill: What do you want from your dear old Gran Gran, my sweet son and heir? Do you want another golden chair? I can give you another golden chair-

Felix: Can we arrange a fake funeral in front of the Presidential Palace tomorrow?

Pres.Ravinstill: Am I invited?

Felix: You’ll be speaking on stage.

Pres.Ravinstill: I approve!

Felix: Thank you, Gran Gran. You’re the best.

Pres.Ravinstill: I’m the best!

Felix: I’ll hang up now-

Pres.Ravinstill: But can your poor old man wear an extra large burrito blanket and a pink balaclava for tomorrow’s event?

Felix: Wear whatever you want. You’re the President, remember?

Pres.Ravinstill: Yes! I’m the President!

Felix: Goodbye, Mr. President.

Pres.Ravinstill: See you late, son.

Felix: *Hangs up the phone* Gran Gran approves!

Everyone: Yey!

Palmyra: Weewoo!

Festus: I love you guys!

Sejanus: So who’s telling Crane?

Coryo: It’s a surprise.

Sejanus: Nice! I love surprises.☺️

Clemensia: I’m homeschooling my children.

[timeskip]

Kalluto & Illumi drabble, 700 words exactly.

---

Illumi stands with his hands loose at his sides, hair flowing out into the open air. Kalluto watches him from closer to the door; the railing is high above the ocean, and Kalluto feels nervous despite himself.

“How have you been?” Illumi asks, turning his face towards Kalluto.

Kalluto blinks. They’ve been in silence for so long that he hadn’t expected anything from Illumi—they’re not close, barely brothers at all compared to their connections with Killua. “I’m well,” he says, softly. “The Phantom Troupe treats me well.”

Illumi hums.

“What about you?” Kalluto asks, out of obligation more than anything. The veneer of politeness disappears quickly, though—he’s good at twisting knives both physical and metaphorical. “I thought Father said to stay away from the Spiders, so why did you come?”

“Says the one who joined them,” Illumi says with a smile. Teasing, maybe, but his tone doesn’t come across.

Kalluto doesn’t wince. “Mother gave me permission.”

“Of course.”

“That doesn’t explain you,” Kalluto says. He and Illumi have spent years circling around each other in the Zoldyck mansion, so they know how to exist near each other—but since Kalluto left there’s been a heavy fog on all his interactions with his family.

Something he doesn’t want to think about.

Kalluto remembers being little and watching Illumi leave, just like most of the family did—assassinations take time away from the mansion, and Illumi was so good at it even before Kalluto followed suit. That was normal, and Kalluto has never minded being left with the butlers, or staying with his mother.

Back then, Kalluto had never watched Illumi kill anyone. Even when Illumi taught Kalluto how to start honing his Nen, it was built off expectations for Kalluto’s future, a future which Illumi had already reached.

All those expectations were funneled into Killua—and where did that lead them? Kalluto tries not to think about Killua leaving the family, running off with friends. Killua was allowed to come back and then vanish again; it makes an ugly feeling rise in Kalluto’s throat.

Illumi watches him silently for too long, enough to make Kalluto’s skin itch. His eyes are blank as always.

“Anyway,” Kalluto says, eyes pinned on the horizon. “Even if you’re here for Hisoka, it’s fine if you stay after we get rid of him. I’m sure the boss will accept you.”

“You really do talk like a Spider, Kalluto,” Illumi sighs.

Kalluto doesn’t look at him. This is a betrayal of the family—even if Mother gave permission, Father never has. Someday, Kalluto will be called back and forced to leave the Phantom Troupe. He’ll go back to that mansion, and maybe—just maybe—his brother will be back too by then. Things will slot back into place with Kalluto in the destiny he was born for, the thing which Illumi and their mother trained them for.

“I’m not staying,” Illumi says. “After I get what I need from Hisoka, there’s no need for me to play games with Chrollo—I just help him out when he needs me.”

“I understand.” Illumi is different from Kalluto. They’ve known this from the start.

“You, on the other hand,” Illumi adds, “are an actual member. You’re free to stay if you wish, of course—but Mother does miss you.”

Kalluto’s heart tightens into a knot. “I know,” he says. He loves Mother, had wanted to follow behind her skirt for the rest of his life. This is what made him feel worthy, once. But now, with the Phantom Troupe—now, with his whole life in front of him—

Kalluto turns his head toward the door. “I’ll consider leaving with you, when this is over.”

Illumi makes an approving noise—the same noise he used to make to Kalluto when he was able to use Zetsu with ease, a skill that would be perfect for assassinations. “You’re a good kid, Kalluto.”

Kalluto ducks his head. “Thank you.”

But he doesn’t feel as thankful as he wants to. He feels a bit like he’s spinning in circles, dizzy in the presence of someone so familiar, someone who took care of him, but never cared for him. As quickly as he can, he slips out the door and away from his brother.

[thepenultimateword]

Short Prompt #62

“You have the loveliest eyes,” A crooned, sliding into the seat beside B.

B shot them a dry look, angling their eyepatch in the dim bar light.

“Well, eye,” the annoyance corrected.

It only took about 3 seconds to identify their type. Peeking eyeteeth, hungry predator stare, corpse pale skin. Vampire. Not old school. Undead usually stuck to threads from their own era, and A’s lack of a waistcoat and cravat meant they were at least from this century.

B flicked up their collar and ducked the hole in their cheek into their jacket. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s your deal? Your friends dare you to come over or something? Trying to get a closer look? Yes, my skin really is this blue. No, pieces of myself don’t actively fall off. And no, I’m not going to tell you the story of my ‘undeath.’”

The vampire held their hands out in front of them. “Woah, fists down, sunshine.” They settled in firmer. “Do people really ask those sorts of things?”

“What? You’ve never been asked that before?” It came out a little more sarcastic than B had intended, and despite themselves, a bit of guilt edged in on the perpetually ravenous ache in their gut. It wasn’t the vampire’s fault they were a more fortunate undead than they were, the sort people ogled and romanticized and begged to come near—even at the risk of something dangerous.

But it was still infuriating.

Who did they think they were? Coming up here with their looks and their cheesy lines, thinking B would just fall all over themselves to bask in their attention. They weren’t stupid; they knew what was really happen—

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you were cute and wanted to talk to you.”

B gaped, forgetting too late to keep their chin tucked down. Surely they’d seen the hole, and all the teeth within, but for some reason A didn’t cringe.

That wasn’t actually possible right? People didn’t get romantic about their sort of dead. It was too messy, too ugly, too unstable. This was still a set up. Just like B had suspected. It had to be.

“Forgive me for not buying that…but I’m not buying that.”

They moved to turn back to their drink, but suddenly the vampire’s face was right in front of theirs. If anyone had lovely eyes, it was them, a deep molten amber that rippled in the light.

“We can go somewhere more private if you like,” they said, flickers of fangs showing through their sultry smile. “Just you and me. Would that prove my intentions?”

“Not really,” B said flatly.

A long sigh dogged the end of the vampire’s chuckle. After a moment, they held out their hand. “Come with me anyway? For spontaneity’s sake?”

B stared. And stared. And stared. Until they’d committed the glossy black tips of those slender-fingered nail points to memory. They supposed it really couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like a vampire could hurt them, not physically, and they were already prepared for the worst, so they should be emotionally sound too.

“Fine,” they said, accepting A’s hand.

People said a vampire’s skin was cold as ice, but temperature wasn’t really something B’s body recognized anymore. They’d been used to it for a long time, but for some reason in this instant, the lack of sensation hit them like a tidal wave. Soaking them in long past wants and wishes they’d thought successfully and deeply entombed.

They were probably going to regret this.

[monowritestoomuch]

How Hazbin Hotel Characters would react to you sewing clothes for them (that look amazing bc ur talented 😍)

(I am sewing obsessed yall I’ve been sewing for weeks and want to make Pinterest inspired clothes and also cosplay but I lack proper time and materials sadly so this is what I’m going to get)

(to all the people reading, I take writing requests on how they’d react! Please ask!)

Charlie:

-would totally be super happy and grateful you made her smth

-that something would either be a super nice looking dress or a new suit for her

-she would totally get into sewing and you two would become sewing buddies

-she would make sewing a bonding activity for the hotel

-would struggle with sewing at first but would understand it eventually

-she would get Vaggie in on it

Vaggie:

-would be surprised you made her something and would be suspicious at first but once she realized that you were just being genuinely nice she seemed grateful

-you totally designed her a new dress to match Charlie’s suit

-she would eventually ask if she could borrow some sewing materials

-which leads to Charlie finding her passed out at three am at her desk in the middle of sewing something for charlie

Angel Dust:

-like Vaggie, he would be suspicious at first

-but when he realized that it was /gen he would be surprised, not realizing why anyone would care enough to make him something

-you totally made him something IT GIRL themed and it wasn’t like anything super tight which was nice since he was usually constantly sexualized by val(cough cough asshole)

-he asks if you can make Fat Nuggets something too, or something matching to what you made for him

-he tells husk about your talents

Husk:

-doesn’t understand why you would go out of your way to make something for him

-you totally made him a new suit partnered with a hat that makes him look sharp

-he’s grateful even though he won’t admit it but will proudly wear what you made him for days

-avoids spilling anything on it, since you worked so hard and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

-and if anyone asks, he just likes the style, not any other reason

Lucifer:

-confused asf

-actually happy you made him something and compliments it awkwardly to no end

-you made him either duck themed pajamas or a duck themed suit, either which he loves

-proudly wears it showing it off to Charlie and the rest of the hotel and tries to avoid spilling anything on it or getting it dirty, alike to husk.

-gets Charlie to make sewing a hotel bonding activity

-asks you if you can make more, because he wants everyone to wear duck pride

Sir Precious(cough cough Sir Pentious)

(before he died)

-would be overjoyed

-you totally made him an ugly Christmas sweater and he loves forever cherishing it

-he asks if you can make some for his egg bois

-totally asks if Charlie can make sewing a hotel activity

-tries to sew you something in return and you love it even though it looks horrific to you it’s lovely and endearing

[lunaladybug734]

super rough draft/ wip ? of a steddie X reader I’ll probably never write

“Munson, after you’re done sucking face with your girlfriend, do you mind coming up here and helping us clean up?” Steve snapped, an edge in his otherwise familiar authoritative tone.

Steve liked to think he had evolved, that the mean spirited, judgemental kid that he used to be had grown up and changed, but it was clear a part of that “asshole” as so many people affectionately put it, was still in there, sneering with an ugly jealousy every time he saw Eddie the Freak Munson kissing, hugging, laughing with or even looking at you, because why him? How was a guy like that- who probably used 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner- the snide little  voice in his head added bitterly, able to have a girl like you? What could he possibly say so effortlessly to you to make you laugh like that, how could he be so calm and confident in your presence when Steve had to rehearse in the mirror for 3 hours every morning just to greet you for 1 second without stumbling, steve, the former king of Hawkins high who could charm the pants off anyone, was reduced to feeling jealous of Eddie Munson. The world must truly be Upside Down. 

“I’m sorry Steve,” you were saying, snapping him instantly out of his trance and bad mood. Your sweet voice and genuine smile made his cold exterior melt instantly, and he caught himself smiling back at you as your eyes met. “I didn’t mean to keep him, I’ll let him get back to work.”

“S’ fine,” he found himself replying quickly, and far too softly, ducking his head towards the register to avoid your unwavering gaze, “don’t worry about it.”

The fuck? The little voice of reason rang through, could he be anymore obvious?

“Poor Steve,” Eddie sighed, voice as  theatrical and airy as if he were narrating a D&D game, “jealous and embittered by his crippling loneliness.”

Robin laughed at that, making Eddie’s eyes crinkle with delight as you simply shook your head, fighting a small, sympathetic smile. 

Steve could tell Eddie was joking, but that didn’t stop his blood from running cold at the possibility that maybe his totally normal, not at all obsessive, crush on you was obvious to everyone else. 

“Come on Eddie,” you said, leaning forward on your tip toes to kiss the long haired boy’s cheek, “you go ahead and I’ll come back on my lunch break.” 

Steve pretended to busy himself at the register, counting quarters and dimes for the 4th time to watch Eddie hum with contentment, taking your head in both his ring adorned hands gently and kissing you once, twice, three times on the mouth. 

“I’ll see ya later, gorgeous.” Eddie said lowly, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs affectionately before opening the door to Family Video to let you out. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you, baby.” Was your reply, making Steve’s heart pang with a lethal combination of jealousy and guilt at the exchange. Eddie was a good guy, after everything the two of them had been through together, Steve had to admit that. He admittedly often found himself genuinely enjoying the long haired boy’s company, but even with that in mind, you were like a haze, blinding him to truth and reason and giving him a tunnel vision to see only what he wanted, you. 

[tokiro07]

Saw your posts about giving negator powers to one piece characters and I loved it! They were so many creative uses of Canon ones and also ones you made yourself, I wish I could do so many.

(Also as an epithet erased fan, I imagined what characters I could give a negator and I choose to give Giovanni one i called Unloyal, which make anyone betray what they care about the most, which caused all of Giovanni minions to try to kill each other and him when it manifested. Because I like angst and tragedy.)

The realization that I didn't give a single thought to how the One Piece Negators would have experienced tragedy like those from UU proper

Honestly that's very like me, I'm not too interested in writing angst myself, but that's absolutely fair

If I were trying to write Epithet Negators, I probably would have tried to find a way to incorporate soup into Giovanni's Rule, like...Unclean, allowing the user to generate unclean materials. In Giovanni’s case, when he thinks “unclean” he thinks stains, and nothing stains like soup, so he can conjure and manipulate soup, that sort of thing

I do see your point, the tragedy of Giovanni’s boys turning on him is much more in line with how Tozuka would make a character suffer, that’s just not how I like to approach things

To me, an Epithet is much more in line with a Rule while something like, say, Giovanni’s special skill for landing a critical hit every 13th attack would be something more akin to an Artifact, likely tied to his Soul Slugger Doom Bat. Let’s call it...Bad News Bears, that’s a baseball movie! 

Alternatively, his critical hits could be his Rule, either as a reinterpretation of Unluck (because of the 13 hits rule) or Unendurable (his attacks cannot be endured and he severely injured someone in a baseball accident), and his Artifact is...Duck Soup! Since it’s a silly ability, it should be named after a comedy, and it allows him to conjure a healing broth that he weaponizes by making it into Soup That is Too Hot with Unendurable

There’s really a shocking number of ways you can make this go considering how radically different the Epithet and Rule frameworks are

Let’s see how far I can take this...

Molly, Unintelligent - negates intelligence in a target; Artifact A Quiet Place creates a no sound zone

Giovanni, Unclean - negates cleanliness by manifesting dirty materials, which Giovanni interprets as staining soup; Artifact Bad News Bears deals extreme damage every 13 hits

Mera, Unsubstantial - negates the substance of a target, making it frail and weak; alternatively, Unhealthy and compensates with the Artifact Wreckfest to make others as fragile as she is

Indus, Untouchable - barrier

Sylvie, Unwaking - negates wakefulness in targets; Artifact Requiem for a Dream manifests dreams

Percy, Unguard - using her Real Ass God Damn Sword, Percy is able to cut through anything; Artifact Two Towers allows her to construct spires with various magical abilities

Ramsey, Untarnished - turns objects to gold so that they cannot rust or decay

Zora, Untimely - negates the current state of an object by moving it through its own timeline, into the past or future; Artifact The Good, The Bad and The Ugly allows her to fire her own energy as projectiles rather than using ammo

Maybe there’s better ways I could have gone about it, but this is the best way I could think of to accurately recreate the Epithets within the framework of Undead Unluck. I’m sure these could be used to create tragedies akin to those in UU, but the story of Epithet Erased is so different that it kind of feels artificial to me to inject tragedies that aren’t already there

Either way, thanks for giving me the excuse to dive down this rabbit hole, it was a lot of fun!

[iconicanemone]

Spiraling Thoughts

Somehow Wacko is set off, and starts having unwanted thoughts about themself.

Content warning for a spiral with unhealthy thoughts of self doubt and self visual criticism

It was a normal enough day. Nothing too noteworthy happened, nothing that could have set them off. But as Wacko stood there in front of their mirror, brush in hand with black fur tangled within the bristles, their mind wandered onto a familiar yet unwelcomed path.

God, I’m skinny. Wacko stared at themself in the mirror, eyes furrowing at themself. I look like some sort of refuge war victim, or like I’m starving myself for the kicks. 

They frowned, frustrated at themself. Wacko knew they shouldn’t be dwelling on those subjects, but the thoughts just kept popping up as Wacko looked over their reflection. 

I can see my own ribs? They rubbed along their side. Pathetic.

Do those scars have to stand out so harshly? They traced the prominent one across their stomach and then across their face. They could at least blend in better.

My hair looks stupid. They leaned in closer to the mirror, reaching up to give their hair a ruffle. I should just cut it. Or just cover it up with my hat again.

Wacko looked over to their hat, which they had hung over the bathroom doorknob. My hat looks even stupider than my hair. Who even wears trapper hats all the time?

Biting their lip, they turned back to the mirror to stare at themself in the eyes. I look so ugly. Why would anyone want to be around me?

Pushing away from the counter, Wacko slumped to the ground, curling up to hug their knees, thoughts they didn’t want swirling around their mind. 

I must repulse everyone around me. 

I could at least stand to be considerate of them.

I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. How am I supposed to even live my life? I’m doing everything wrong.

Wacko glanced up to where they could see their hairbrush on the edge of the counter and scoffed.

I can’t even stand looking at myself as I brush my fur. What a mess I am.

I should just go away and hide away from society so I don’t cause anyone any more problems. 

“Wacko!” 

The call and knock on the door caused Wacko to start. They quickly turned, hand bracing themself on the ground as the bathroom door opened. 

“What’s taking you so long?” It was Hell. The voice parasite turned physical love of Wacko's life. “You’re not having trouble again, are you?”

Peeking his head into the bathroom, Hell paused as he saw Wacko sitting on the ground. Grunting, he opened the door all the way and kneeled next to them, reassuring hand on Wacko’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a firm look on his face.

Wacko looked away, biting their lip as they ducked their head.

Hell sighed, adjusting so he was sitting on his knees. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

Wacko let out a laugh, though it sounded more like a sob to their ears. “Oh, you know,” They shrugged, keeping his eyes low. “The usual. ‘Oh I’m ugly and can’t do anything.’ kind of thoughts”

They buried their face into their knees, face growing hot at their confession.

Hell grunted, and Wacko felt his arms wrap around them a second later.

“I don’t care what anyone says.” Hell said into Wacko’s hair. “And that includes the voices in your head.”

“Does that include you?” Wacko couldn’t help but joke, resulting in Hell sputtering.

“If I contradict myself after this, then yes.” Hell said, before falling into silence for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“You’re beautiful.” He softly said, leaning to whisper it into Wacko’s ear. “Your eyes are wonderful. Your fur is so soft. And you are amazing, murderous tendicies and all.”

Wacko laughed, leaning more into Hell’s embrace as he continued.

“Your third eye is the best there is, and your wit could take the world by storm if you wanted. But wherever you want to go, I want to be there by your side.” 

Hell gently took a hold of Wacko’s face, leaning back to look into their eyes. “You’re going to do amazing things, and I can’t wait to be there to see it.”

Wacko smiled, tears in their eyes making their vision blurry “Thank you.” They said, leaning into Hell’s hand as they closed their eyes. “You bastard.”

“Anytime, my love.” Hell said, kissing Wacko on the top of their head. “Anytime.”

[writing-protocol]

Expected Outcomes

Keith scooted as far into the booth as physically possible and ducked his head. No one recognized him with the beard and braid, but sometimes he still felt like people were staring. Seated across from him, Shiro looked exactly like someone important, someone who’d won a war.

“Are you all right?” the older man asked. “Would you rather we go somewhere else?”

Keith shook his head and signed, “Here is fine.”

A waitress brought over menus, and Keith glanced over his with slowly growing concern. The food here cost more than he made in days.

Delicious smells wafted through the place, so he figured it probably tasted amazing. It was just out of his price range and maybe not the sort of place he would've gone to.

“Still OK?”

“Costs too much.”

“I invited you to lunch, Keith. I’m paying for it.”

“I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but you don’t actually have to this time around. Next time, you can take me to your favorite place, and then it’s all on you. Fair?”

The prospect of a next time sat heavy with Keith, but it was doable. Next time implied another meeting, implied something other than quiet solitude.

“OK,” the younger man signed and visibly relaxed.

“How’s life out here?” Shiro asked softly once they’d gotten drinks.

“Simple,” was the quick, painful answer.

Silence hung between them until Shiro finally said, “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting it. I just… I couldn’t not come, not see for myself if the man I loved was still alive somehow against all odds.”

“Alive is up for debate.” Keith let out a soundless sigh and stared at the polished table in front of him. His hands sat on the surface, too rough and dirty for the pristine setup.

“Can I ask what happened?” Shiro’s voice was so quiet that Keith wasn’t sure he heard at first, even with his superior hearing.

He wanted to say no and leave it there, build a wall between himself and this stranger who remembered him. It would be so much easier that way, but his heart wouldn’t let him take the easy way out.

“Mission failure,” he signed slowly, getting his bearings. “Concussion, amnesia, imprisonment. In that order. War ended, camp was liberated. Eventually, someone told me who I was.”

The admiral ran a shaking hand through his white bangs and hissed. “We thought we’d lost you. The Blade reported the failure, but the insurgents were long-gone by the time we got there. We tracked them a few months later, but if they’d captured prisoners, we couldn’t find them.”

“Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault.”

Shiro didn’t think he had the words to express his grief at that moment, and he’d talked plenty of Coalition members into nothing short of miracles. None of those compared to seeing his friend alive again.

The waitress returned with food this time around, sparing him the urge to apologize a dozen more times. He would let Allura know as soon as the opportunity arose, but damn if he was letting the love of his life out of his sight again.

Keith ate quickly, guided more by mild hunger than any social graces. He didn’t go long without food nowadays — the work paid enough for food and a roof over his head — but old habits died hard.

And he still remembered the damn camp.

Some of his first memories were ugly gray walls and the endless twisting of his starved insides.

“Um, listen,” Shiro said finally, barely able to look at his food. “Would… would you be offended if I hung out with you for the rest of the day? I’ll ditch the uniform and help out where you work. If you’re OK with that.”

Piercing indigo eyes stared at the admiral like he’d grown a second head, but eventually, Keith nodded. He let go of his utensils long enough to sign, “Do what you want.”

“Great. Let me let Allura… the current Altean representative know where I am. Do you want to, uh, see her?”

Keith stopped eating and set his food briefly aside. “I can’t eat and talk. I know who Allura is. She’s in the news.”

“Oh shit, sorry. My bad.”

“No worries.”

The soldier had no real recollection of Allura. On TV, she looked tall and proud, and maybe a little lonely despite that. Did he want to see her?

“Can I think about it?”

It was more than Shiro had been hoping for. “Yeah, of course, take as much time as you want.”

If you want to read more, click on the Memories tag and take a look.

[tojisun]

Unpopular opinion time! Gojo is a switch, but prefers subbing. Hes so tired of being the strongest and having to constantly keep his guard up. And the fact that he cant love anyone makes it worse. If he ever falls in love, his S/O will be used against him, and that gets ugly for everyone. He really just wants to be held and told that its all ok and have someone else be the strongest, even if its just for a second. He needs a break and to see you domming him makes him feel safe and relaxed.

YES! ABSOLUTELY YES! satoru deserves that break; he deserves to be taken care of, and he finds that in you.

just. satoru slipping into sub space because he knows you will treat him right. he knows that you will pamper him and protect him and give him everything he wants. and what he wants, more than anything, is you.

— satoru kneeling down by your feet, his head perched on your lap, practically melting into putty at feeling your hand playing with his hair. your gentle voice washes over him, telling him how good he is.

“my beautiful boy,” you whisper, smiling so tenderly at satoru and looking just as in love as he is. “my clever sweetheart, thank you for protecting us again today.”

you bow forward to press a kiss on the crown of his head, smiling when his eyes flutter, his pale cheeks burning and bright. “i’m so proud of you, darling,” you say.

satoru keens, almost breathless and looking winded. he ducks his head down, pressing his face flat on your thighs to hide his flushed cheeks from your adoring eyes.

you chuckle, shaking your head lightly, your heart swelling with so much love.

┈┈┈┈

— satoru begging so prettily, his chest heaving and his body tensing as another orgasm was smothered by the cock ring you’ve put on him.

it’s a pretty black thing that stands out starkly against satoru’s pale skin, and it beautifully highlights the angry flush of satoru’s weeping cock.

“please,” satoru cries, desperate and needy. “i wanna cum- please let me cum. please!”

“of course, sweetheart,” you say, inching forward to press a chaste kiss on satoru’s cheek before wiping away his tears. “you’ve been such a good boy. always been my good boy.”

satoru watches as your fingers work to unlatch the cockring, slipping it off him carefully, your touch so soft compared to the edging he’s begged for.

“toru,” you call. he turns his jewelled eyes to you. “i’m gonna help you cum now, okay?”

“okay,” satoru whispers, nodding softly.

you smile before pecking his bitten lips. “good boy.”

satoru gasps when your warm hand wraps around his sensitive length, your fist sliding slowly before tugging more firmly. pearls of precum build on his slit and you press a thumb over the wet head, knowing how satoru always melts at the feeling.

you watch, your eyes heady with desire, as satoru jumps, his ragged voice screaming your name.

“i’m gonna- i’m gonna-!”

hot cum splatters on your fist as satoru orgasms, his body locking and his jaw falling open for a soundless moan.

once satoru finally relaxes, you begin to carefully remove your hand around his length. satoru jolts, hissing at the quick brush, before going slack again.

satoru sags into your arms, boneless and exhausted. you kiss his forehead then the apples of his cheeks, before finally kissing him on his lips. satoru chases yours when you pull away so you kiss him once more.

“thank you,” satoru mumbles as you drop beside him, sounding sleepy.

“of course, darling,” you whisper back. “i love you, toru.”

satoru sends you a small smile as he works to cuddle you. then, he says, “love you too.”

just. sub!gojo 💘