itsoftaus

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[mrskokushibo]

Sweetness

Mitsuri x fem!reader x Obanai

Warnings: Sex, Smut, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Slight girl on girl action, Threesome

Summary: The atmosphere of a warm and sunny day at the start of spring permeates this short and hot smut. You get interrupted in your chores, but honestly, the distraction is exactly what your deprived body needs.

Masterlist

The otherwise so neat garden beds outside the Butterfly Mansion were in need of some pruning. As you were squatting and pulling out the freshly sprouted weeds, your efforts were accompanied by the gentle buzzing of bees collecting nectar from the delicate, first flowers of spring, and by the chirping of industrious little birds. The air was balmy, but not yet hot enough for you to brake in sweat, thus you were very comfortable and worked through the entire length of the garden bed without much effort.

Suddenly, there was a fluttery sound above you and as you looked up, two forest pigeons landed, one by one on a branch in the tree. The male was performing the courting dance routine, spreading his wide fan-like tail in an attempt to attract the female. You smiled to yourself at the ways of nature and proceeded to put away the gardening tools in the shed. As you washed your hands in the outdoor basin, you remembered to check on the laundry drying on the line on the other side of the courtyard.

You took your time strolling across the lawn to the clotheslines, the washing fluttering in the breeze, creating an opaque filter for the bright sunlight. It was already dry, the smell of freshly washed cotton overpowering the spring scents momentarily. You began the meticulous process of folding each and every sheet neatly and putting it down in the laundry hamper. It took a while, but you did not mind as it gave you time to savor the surrounding for a while longer.

Ready at last, you picked up the basket and began to walk toward the front door. As you looked up to the Sakura tree near the doorway, the two pigeons were now mating, the soft rustle of feathers and quiet guttural sounds accompanying the quick and ferocious ravage. You shook your head and smiled again.

The sweet scent of the spring air lingered on the linen now so neatly folded in the laundry basket that you were carrying. You sniffed the bedsheets, enjoying the fresh smell, and walked into the building closing the door behind you using one leg. The place was so quiet and clean, only a few dust particles were hovering in the ray of sunlight coming in through a side window. Other than that, it was spotless. Every time you had the Butterfly Mansion to yourself, you cleaned up and organized everything the way you wanted it to be. You took great pride in your unnoticed work. It did not bother you that you stayed in the shadows servicing the flamboyant, excentric hashiras, and demon slayers. You knew your effort provided them with a safe and cozy environment to recuperate and heal after their dangerous missions.

As you were walking through the long corridor, on your way to the storage room, you could not help but notice an open door at the very end of it. No one was supposed to be here at this time of day and you were told that the Hashira would all be out on missions this week. You slowed your footsteps and made them light and as silent as possible. But as you began nearing the room, quiet, muffled sounds were reaching your ears. At first, you thought that maybe the window was open and it was bird- and animal sounds that were coming in from the outside. And that maybe the opened window was what caused a draft that made an unlocked door fling undone. The closer you got though, the more you realised what these sounds were. You could now make out whispers and an occasional high-pitched giggle, blended with quiet moans and deep, raspy grunts… The sounds of, yes… sex…

Since you were quite unsatiated lately due to your lonely existence, your body began to react in that familiar and dizzying way. You quietened your steps even further and continued your advance toward the source of the lewd noises. It was now entirely obvious what was going on in that room and you began to make out familiar voices. Putting down the basket quietly on the floor, you decided to sneak up to the door and peek in. *Just a little peek* you told yourself. You did not want to be nosy, but at the same time, the urge to see what was going on was too strong, now that you were beginning to get aroused.

As you reached your destination, you could easily hide behind the half-open door and watch unnoticed, and there, on the bed were Mitsuri and Obanai, going at it like two rabbits. She was on her back, flushed cheeks, eyes closed, and moaning in pleasure, with Obanai between her legs humping away and eliciting deep grunts. He was squeezing her large and plump breasts and you could see how he was licking them and sucking on the erect little nipples adorning the two luscious and perfectly round plump mounds.

‘Oh, yes, baby. Suck them…just like that. This feels so good…’

‘You know how much I love these tits, my love. Just touching them makes me hard.’

He then whispered something inaudible in her ear, causing her to blush even more and giggle.

‘Well, make me come and then maybe I will let you put your cock between them. I wouldn’t mind some cum on my face.’

She giggled again and he grunted speeding up his pace.

Your panties were soaked now from this performance and your hand moved almost instinctively to touch yourself. At first, you were rubbing through the fabric, but soon enough, that was not enough and you moved them aside and began rubbing yourself between your folds, making your way to your now very stimulated clit.

Mitsuri was moaning louder now and within minutes, she climaxed, arching her back, causing her magnificent rack to bounce up a little. Obanai was not ready yet and he straddled her torso and positioned himself just beneath her breasts.

‘You promised’

He kissed her pouting mouth and squeezed her breast with his thighs, placing his cock between them, it was as if it got swallowed by them. He then began pumping and groaning loudly.

‘Fuuuuck…they feel good. I will not last long like this. Lick my tip, baby’

She stretched out her delicious little tongue and like a kitten lapping up milk, she was lapping up the precum on the tip of his cock whenever it was emerging from between the large tits.

‘I’m coming…oooh!’ He grunted and thick ropes of cum shot all over her neck and face.

You too were too aroused to hold back and came with a loud moan. And this was when they noticed their spectator.

‘What the fuck, I thought you said we were alone’ Obanai hissed, talking to Mitsuri, but looking annoyed in your direction.

‘No, dear, don’t be mad at her. We are the ones at fault here.’

She giggled and smiled at you.

‘Did you like what you saw?’

She tilted her head sweetly and you could not help, but think what an adorable person she really was.

‘You know, why don’t you join us? I feel like fucking some more.’

She turned to Obanai: ‘What do you say? Would you like some more? And think, fucking two girls instead of one. What a treat, hey?’

He mumbled something, but clearly, the temptation was taking the better of him, as you could see his cock already getting hard again.

‘All right, whatever you wish for, my sunshine.’ They kissed and Mitsuri stretched out a hand to you.

‘Come over, darling. Do not be shy. This will be fun.’ She smiled at you as you began walking over to her.

It was as if you were an insect lured in by the sweetness of honey, everything about Mitsuri oozed femininity and gentleness, it was as if she emanated a rosy aura that made your senses tingle and sing. Your slow, cautious footsteps at last placed you right next to her, touching her small, but surprisingly strong hand, you found yourself placing a kiss on her moist lips. It was as if you were in contact with a freshly bloomed rose, still moist with morning dew.

She began helping you to remove your clothes and very soon you were just as naked as the other two occupants of the room. Your eyes were fixated on her breast and she noticed.

‘Don’t be shy, sweetie. Touch them’

And without any more encouragement, you placed your hand on her roundness and began stroking and squeezing, causing her to moan a little. You continued to kiss, your tongues slowly finding each other and nudging gently between the softness of feminine lips. You could feel her hand slide down your belly, down to your sex, beginning to rub gently, with soft small movements. You did not want to leave her unattended and began to reciprocate the action.

The sweetness of it all was indescribable. A pleasure only comparable to biting into a plump, freshly made Sakura mochi or taking a cool bath after a hot day. There was heat too, a passion of a different kind, a wish for more, and a will to give. The lack of masculine aggression in the softness of both your actions and the pure and unadulterated lust for her touch was making your body almost limp. Your juices were streaming down your legs and you were both drowning in each other and in your arousal. You were getting very close to crossing over the line leading to the peaks of pleasure when you were interrupted by Obanai clearing his throat. He was obviously watching, engulfed in his own neediness, as you turned around, you could see him seated at the end of the futon, stroking his painfully hard cock.

Mitsuri looked at him with a smile, her hands still on your nipple and between your legs:

‘Oh, sorry Obi, we are neglecting you. How about you lie down and let us both take care of you.’

He did not wait and lay down flat lazily, while Mitsuri gave you another lewd kiss and directed you to where his head was.

‘How about we ride him... I take the cock and you take his face.’

You nodded and both of you took your respective positions facing each other. He groaned deeply as Mitsuri sank herself down on his hardness, her sweet high-pitched moaning making you want to touch her even more. She began riding him at a slow and gentle pace, her breasts bouncing only slightly. You were not fully seated on Obanai’s face yet, but that changed quickly when a pair of rough, strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his lips and stretched out tongue, that in an experienced manner found its way straight into your sopping wet pussy. You moaned now too as he was licking and swirling his tongue in and out of your opening.

‘Move a bit for me. You will have some more friction like that.’

You could hear him speak through the wet licking noises, his voice muffled by your cunt pressing on his mouth.

You began grinding your hips back and forth on his mouth, and sure enough, you started to feel so much more. As you worked out a good rhythm your attention went back to Mitsuri, who leaned into you, pressing her breasts against yours, the impossibly luscious softness against your own multiplied the pleasurable sensations and you began to caress her breasts and play with her nipples.

She reciprocated and soon you added the softest of kisses to the already so lustful actions. You felt on the edge of consciousness. Your core began to clench achingly and a few more bucks of your hips and you were squirting all over Obanai’s face while squealing noisily. As you kept riding out your high by continued grinding your hips on his mouth, you intensified your nipple action on Mitsuri’s breast. She could barely hold back and a moment later climaxed with a loud moan. The two of you were panting heavily, chests heaving and flushed cheeks covered with sweat. In the meantime, Obanai kept pumping into Mitsuri and as she kept kissing you, he threw a strong sloppy thrust into her and came with a quiet growl.

The three of you were now lying down, spent from your activities.

‘Well, that was quaint.’ Mitsuri giggled.

‘We should so do this more often, don’t you think?’

You could not help but agree. You nodded and closed your eyes, listening to the sweet sounds of spring coming through the window.

Banners by @cafekitsune and @adornedwithlight

[satellite-evans]

Look at the stars

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his Y/N spend a joyful day picnicking and stargazing with their children <3

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: tooth aching fluff

A/N:

This was a request from @pear-1206 , I hope I did your request justice, love xx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The sun was warm and golden, casting a gentle glow over the lush countryside. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the sound of birds chirping merrily. It was the perfect day for a picnic, and Benedict Bridgerton couldn't have been happier to spend it with his wife and children.

Benedict and Y/N had always shared a mutual disdain for the relentless scrutiny of society. From the moment they met, they found solace in each other's company, both preferring the quiet beauty of nature and the simplicity of family life over the pomp and circumstance of high society. Benedict was hopelessly devoted to Y/N, captivated by her spirit and the way she saw the world. She had a way of grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered.

Today, they had chosen a secluded spot in the picturesque countryside of Kent, a place far enough from their estate to ensure complete privacy. Nestled under the shade of an ancient oak tree, the spot offered a breathtaking view of rolling hills and a gently flowing brook nearby. The grassy field stretched out before them, a sea of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. Their children, a boisterous five-year-old boy named Thomas and a giggling two-year-old girl named Violet, were already darting about, chasing butterflies and exploring the wonders of nature.

"Thomas, be careful!" Y/N called out, laughing as their son sprinted after a particularly fast butterfly, his little legs pumping furiously. He stumbled over a small mound of earth but quickly picked himself up, his laughter ringing out across the field. He waved back at his parents with a wide grin, dirt smudging his cheeks.

She turned to Benedict, her eyes sparkling with joy and a hint of motherly concern. "He's going to wear himself out before we've even unpacked the basket."

Benedict smiled, his heart swelling with love as he watched his family. "Let him. It's good for him to have space to run and play." He set down the picnic basket and spread out the blanket, patting the spot next to him. "Come, love. Sit with me."

Y/N joined him, resting her head on his shoulder as they unpacked the basket together. They had prepared all of their favorite foods: fresh sandwiches with a variety of fillings, ripe strawberries, an assortment of cheeses and crackers, a freshly baked loaf of bread, and, of course, a bottle of fine wine. Benedict carefully laid out each item, ensuring everything was in easy reach for their little picnic.

"I can't believe you managed to pack all of our favorites," Y/N said, smiling as she unwrapped a loaf of bread still warm from the oven. "It's like you read my mind."

Benedict chuckled, leaning in to kiss her temple. "I had a little help from our cook, but I wanted today to be perfect for you and the children."

Violet toddled over, her tiny hands reaching for a strawberry, and Benedict handed one to her, laughing as she eagerly bit into it, the juice dribbling down her chin. "Delicious, isn't it, my sweet?" he asked, wiping her chin with a napkin.

Violet nodded, her eyes wide with delight. "More, Papa!" she demanded, holding out her hand for another strawberry.

Benedict obliged, giving her another juicy berry. "Here you go, darling. Enjoy."

Thomas ran back to the blanket, breathless from his adventures. "Mama, Papa, look!" He opened his little fist to reveal a handful of wildflowers. "I picked these for you, Mama."

Y/N's eyes softened as she took the flowers from Thomas. "They're beautiful, Thomas. Thank you." She arranged them into a small bouquet and placed them in a little jar they had brought along. "They add the perfect touch to our picnic."

Thomas grinned, proud of his contribution. "Can we eat now, Papa? I'm starving!"

Benedict laughed, ruffling Thomas's hair. "Of course, my boy. Let's see what we have here." He handed Thomas a sandwich, watching as his son eagerly took a bite.

Y/N began to serve the cheese and crackers, arranging them on a plate. "This cheese is from that little shop in town, isn't it?" she asked, recognizing the distinct aroma.

"Indeed it is," Benedict replied. "I know how much you like it."

She smiled warmly at him. "You always remember the little things."

As they ate, they talked and laughed, sharing stories and memories. Y/N recounted a humorous incident from their last family outing, making Benedict chuckle. "I still can't believe you managed to get us lost in our own backyard," she teased.

Benedict shook his head, a mock expression of horror on his face. "I maintain that it was all part of the adventure."

Thomas piped up, his mouth full of sandwich. "Papa, are we going to play tag later? I want to show you how fast I can run!"

Benedict nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Absolutely. But be warned, Thomas, I’ve been practicing my tag skills. You might not be able to catch me."

Thomas giggled, clearly relishing the challenge. "We'll see about that!"

Violet, not wanting to be left out, clapped her hands and babbled excitedly. "Tag! Tag!"

Y/N laughed, her heart full. "Looks like you have two little competitors, Benedict."

After they finished eating, they played a spirited game of tag. Benedict and Y/N took turns chasing the children, their laughter echoing across the field. Thomas was a blur of motion, his little legs pumping as he dodged and weaved, while Violet toddled around, giggling whenever someone pretended to catch her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape, they gathered up their things and made their way back home. After a quick supper and baths for the children, they all headed outside again, this time with a blanket and pillows to lie on as they stargazed.

Benedict carried a sleepy Violet in one arm and a basket with their essentials in the other. "Do you think the stars are brighter tonight, or is it just me?" he mused aloud, looking up at the clear night sky.

Y/N smiled, holding Thomas's hand as he skipped alongside her. "Maybe they're shining just for us," she replied, her voice filled with contentment.

The night sky was clear, a tapestry of stars twinkling above them. They spread out the blanket on the grassy hill behind their home, arranging the pillows for comfort. Thomas immediately lay down, pointing up at the sky with excitement.

"Look, Papa! I see the Big Dipper!" he exclaimed, his small finger tracing the constellation.

Benedict chuckled, lying down next to him. "That's right, Thomas. And do you see that bright star over there? That's the North Star. Sailors used to navigate by it."

Thomas's eyes widened with fascination. "Did they use wishing stones too, Papa?"

Y/N laughed, settling Violet in her lap. "I think they relied more on maps and compasses, love. But a wishing stone could come in handy in a pinch."

Violet, still clutching her pebble, looked up at the sky with wide eyes. "Stars! Pretty!"

Benedict pointed out another constellation, his voice a soothing rumble in the stillness of the night. "There's Orion," he said, tracing the shape with his finger. "And over there is the Great Bear."

Thomas stared up in wonder, his small hand clutching the wishing stone. "Can I make my wish now, Papa?"

Benedict nodded, his eyes meeting Y/N's. "Go ahead, son."

Thomas closed his eyes, whispering his wish softly. When he finished, he placed the stone on his chest and sighed contentedly. "Your turn, Mama."

Y/N closed her eyes, holding Benedict's hand as she made her wish. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her heart full. "Your turn, my love."

Benedict took the stone, closing his eyes. He didn't need to wish for anything; everything he had ever wanted was right here with him. But for the sake of tradition, he made a wish anyway: for endless days like this, filled with love and laughter.

Thomas squirmed, curious. "What did you wish for, Papa?"

Benedict grinned, ruffling his son's hair. "If I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

Thomas pouted playfully. "That's not fair! I bet you wished for more wishing stones."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Knowing your father, he probably wished for more of your mama's cooking."

Violet clapped her hands, clearly enjoying the banter. "Wish! Wish!"

Benedict leaned over to Y/N, his voice low and filled with warmth. "I actually wished for moments like this to last forever."

She rested her head on his shoulder, her voice soft. "I love you, Benedict Bridgerton."

He kissed her forehead, his heart overflowing with happiness. "And I love you, Y/N Bridgerton. Always."

Thomas, ever the inquisitive one, looked between his parents. "Does that mean you wished for more picnics and stargazing, Papa?"

Benedict chuckled. "Something like that, Thomas. I wished for more time with my favorite people."

Thomas grinned, satisfied with that answer. "I like that wish."

Under the vast, starlit sky, surrounded by the warmth of their family, they knew they had everything they could ever need. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day, and as they drifted off to sleep, they dreamed of many more days just like this. The gentle sounds of the night filled the air, and the stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, as if in agreement with Benedict's silent wish.

[kedreeva]

Okay, I haven't wanted to talk much about the peafowl lately, been just kinda dealing with Stan's passing, but! I have news I don't want to keep quiet, so here we go with a little announcement.

I've been helping a friend of mine with a bunch of peafowl genetics work lately, as he's trying to prove out a really neat phenotype of speckled and white peafowl that showed up in his breeding stock, and he just spent tens of thousands of dollars importing two new morphs from Europe: European violet (aka, my dream morph) and Ultramarine (pretty and only otherwise being produced by TWO breeders in the WORLD). When Bill heard about Stan, he asked if I was going to go to a large farm auction that's a few hours from my house. I don't, normally, since it's a few hours from my house and the auctions usually make me kinda sad when it comes to peafowl (they stress out SO MUCH) even though it's cool to see how much they're going for at a wider audience auction.

Then he told me he would be going, and that if I wanted to come down the day before the auction, he'd bring me another male, to replace Stan. I had already made plans to hang onto Bismuth, at least for a few years, and to pick up babies from Indie x Arcana/Eclipse this november, including a male, so I didn't really need another male, and don't have the cash for one anyway. He said no, he meant one of the split EUV males from last year's first-USA breeding. For free. As a thank you for helping him.

To put this into perspective, importing the birds is a ~$10k affair, per bird. I had fully resigned myself to never even SEEING one of these birds in person, much less ever owning one. Even if someone else got them imported, they would remain thousands of dollars for the first few years, and quickly become mixed with other stuff, potentially even be lost by people breeding to purple. He went in on a group import with another breeder and they have both just started selling the full-color birds for over $2k apiece (alongside Ultramarine, which before their import was bred by TWO people in the WORLD, and babies from that are going for almost $7k each, but EUV is more widely spread). Splits (like the one I will be getting) are being let go for $750. This is also the color I have desperately wanted since I first saw them 8-10 years ago (though I believe they've been around slightly longer), but that I had resigned myself to never actually having.

To put it mildly, I'm probably going to burst into tears when I see Bill and this bird. It's going to be super embarrassing. And then I'm going to have to build more pens. And then I'm going to have to get as plain-blue, pure-indian blue hens as I can find, and become one of the most serious curators of plain pure EUV in the US, because I know the other two who have them currently will be outcrossing to other patterns/colors immediately and the people buying them will likely be doing the same, and everyone will be clamoring to make them into high Spaldings ASAP, or won't know not to cross them to purples and wreck the color.

Here's the sire cock, the one imported:

You will notice that this bird is purple in full sun, from the sunny side. That's the main difference between European violet and US purple- a US purple looks blue until you get the right angle on the sun vs the bird vs the camera, and you have to get the bird between you and the sun, so the purple is often in the shadow side- visible to the eye but not the camera. EUV is just purple. Even from the sunny side!!

And the Ultramarine, in case you were wondering about their color:

(pics reposted w/ permission from Bill)

The breeder is Spring Creek Peafowl, and in case anyone is secretly a peafowl breeder or knows other peafowl breeders with too much money that want in on a new color morph, he DOES have UM pairs and EUV hens (and more split males) for sale currently, for less than the only other person in the US that has them. They're still pricey, but cheaper. I WISH I had the extra to have my friend add on an EUV hen, but alas, I will have to wait to make my own in a few years. Even just the opportunity to do so is something I never expected to have!

[perfectlyoongi]

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who holds power-point presentation nights at the end of each quarter. it was his idea, obviously; a small excuse for Jungkook to be able to stay up all night talking to you. the themes were free, many of the chosen ones were absurd, but it was in the fun of that little game that Jungkook delighted his soul. with each power-point you presented, Jungkook saw a new side of you: what you liked, what you didn’t like, what you wanted, what you dreamed of — those nights were a free pass for Jungkook to get to know you better than he already knew. and he would make a point of continuing that tradition of yours. “and today i’m going to explain why you are every flavor of ice cream we’ve ever eaten together. For starters, you can be as sour as lemon ice cream. then…”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who goes to the playgrounds with you at night. when the city was quieter and calm was the blanket that covered every street, you and Jungkook would venture out to the various playgrounds in your neighborhood. they were moments that would forever reside in your tender memories. the laughter that echoed through the park brought a little joy to that grey city; the small screams that were heard in the park woke up the city to a more hopeful reality. the city parks were sacred to you. once again wearing the essence of a child and returning to times of innocence, you and Jungkook played on the slides and swings, a quick game of tag warming you on the coldest nights, pure happiness running through your veins. “thank you for sheltering my inner child. thank you for playing with me and bringing together all the pieces of me that were scattered throughout my heart.”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who tells you that you are the unicorn for his barbie. you and Jungkook had seen all the barbie movies when you were kids and since then Jungkook believed that you were the unicorn in his life. bringer of happiness, your essence was unique: you painted Jungkook’s soul with the softest pinks and the warmest yellows; you glowed with your presence, always so happy and excited to be with Jungkook; you were magic itself spreading across the cosmos, all the stars blessing you with some of their dust to make you as radiant as a unicorn. it was only natural for Jungkook to be the barbie, for the barbie may not need a ken, but any barbie wouldn’t say no to a unicorn. “you leave a trail of magic wherever you go and it is in this stardust that i can find my happiness. thank you for being my barbie’s unicorn.”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who turns all promises into pinky promises. none of you remembered how it started, you just knew that it was a tradition that would last until old age. no matter how important or great the promise was — you and Jungkook would always intertwine your pinkies and seal that promise by pressing your thumbs together. that way, you had to keep your promise, there were no excuses. that’s why you bought a horse mask to wear at your high school graduation dinner. that was why Jungkook used your make-up before his driving test. that was why you and Jungkook would love each other forever — it was written on your pinkies and sealed in your thumbs. “i promise i will always buy you socks with stars when i see them. and i also promise to see the stars with you until the last star goes out. pinky promise.”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who sends you pictures of pigeons saying it was you. the number of pigeons that existed in his neighborhood was fantastic. some brown, others white, some thin, others too round to walk, the truth is that a wide variety of pigeons walk the streets of his neighborhoods. and in all the pigeons, Jungkook remembered the times you fed them on your field trips. in all the pigeons, Jungkook remembered the times you scared away the pigeons just to see them flying freely. in every pigeon, Jungkook saw a memory of you — it was only natural for him to connect your essence to these special birds. “i was leaving the house and i saw a pigeon sticking its head in a water pipe. it looked like you when you’re eating chips.”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who pretends to be your boyfriend when someone messes with you. whether in the middle of the street, in a bar or before entering a store, it didn’t matter. every time Jungkook noticed that you were receiving unwanted attention and that sooner or later they would approach you, he acted quickly. wrapping one of his arms around your neck and pulling you close to him, Jungkook almost instantly adopted a more serious, larger posture. with his eyes fixed on whoever bothered you, protecting you from the various looks and mouths, Jungkook wasn’t afraid to talk to them, to show that you were unavailable and that it was better for them to continue on their way. Jungkook would always protect you, that was a long-established certainty, no matter what he had to do for your well-being. “if you have any problems or don’t feel safe or whatever, i hope you know that i’m always here, okay? use me however you want, but make sure you’re okay.”

BEST-FRIEND!JUNGKOOK who confessed to you when you came back from the grocery store. he had helped you with the monthly shopping, just because he could carry all the bags. Jungkook always made sure to carry the bags, he never let you carry the bags and you knew he would send you to the ground if necessary just so you wouldn’t carry the bags. but at the end of the day, although still carrying the various bags, Jungkook walked more slowly. was he tired? his face was expressionless, he was completely lost in his thoughts. and it was when you were getting ready to ask if he was okay that he took a deep breath and called your name. it would be at that moment. “you know? i really value our friendship, i really do. i think that of all the relationships i have, yours is the only one i don’t want to lose. and i like you too. a lot. how… how the moon likes the sun.”

[heliads]

Ink Stains

Moving from Amity to Dauntless was quite the lifestyle change. Still, nothing rocks your boat more than meeting Eric Coulter for the first time, especially when he seems to like you more than he should.

masterlist

Creativity does not flourish much in Dauntless, nor art for that matter. It is strange, then, that you, so fully borne of both, would choose this bloody faction as opposed to any other. Your birth faction, Amity, is better suited to your temperament and interests, but you had hardly realized that when you underwent the Choosing Ceremony. All of us must leave our homes when we grow up, and only very few can return.

Dauntless seemed like the furthest place you could run, so of course that was the one you chose. You missed it later, only after loathing it, blaming it for your troubles, and finally admitting that it might have been a good home to you, but only after far too long.

Sometimes, you think that’s why the city decided to force its inhabitants to choose their home faction when they’re so young. At that age, all you want to do is escape, so you pick something strange and foreign, a faction that your family would hate so you could fight back against them. When the dust clears and you realize that the past was not so terrible after all, you are in the middle of a strange place with no way of returning, so you have no choice but to fight to stay there.

It would instill a truly fascinating sense of dedication in its transfers, to say the least. Or perhaps no one is like that at all, and it is just that you have made a mistake with no way to fix it. Maybe you should have stayed in Amity after all, been content with familiar nothingness and learned to fake your smiles at least as well as your mother, or save your anger for when no one can see it, like your father.

You don’t think you were meant for Amity, though, not really. It vexed you to no end, the simplicity of it all. You did enjoy the painting, the artists that sprung up in every corner, common as dandelions, but that wasn’t the end of it. The rules were chafing yet vague, the expectations ever-changing. It should have come as no surprise that you would leave.

Besides, you did well in Dauntless initiation, to the great surprise of just about everyone there. They saw your brightly colored clothes when you leapt from the roof, but soon enough you blended in with the lot of them and people would double take when you told them you hadn’t been born in Dauntless proper. The thought that you could be from Amity of all places was insane, and had it not been for the fact that you still remember the waving gold of the fields, the high flying birds that soared above your head, you would have believed it as little as your new friends.

Despite your best attempts to immediately separate yourself from your former faction, you couldn’t shake the memories completely. That’s why you didn’t shoot for one of the top jobs or security positions. Those were snapped up by the really good kids, the ones who aren’t just not carefree but genuinely heartless.

You ended up taking a position among the ranks of tattoo artists and quickly soared to the top. Amity had taught you clarity and control in your art, and soon you were known for your original designs. More often than not, Dauntless looking for a new pattern would ask you to draw something directly as opposed to just using one of the countless templates already printed out.

It gives them a sense of originality, for one thing. No one tattoo is ever the same when it comes to your works. It saves members of the faction from the embarrassing experience of showing off a new tattoo just to see the guy across from you roll up his sleeve to reveal the exact same thing.

Soon enough, your name has spread far and wide across Dauntless, and you get more and more customers by the day. That’s how you know that you ended up choosing the right faction and way of life after all, and it’s also how you meet Eric Coulter for the first time.

Eric is somewhat of a mixed bag. He only graduated from initiation a year or so before you, so he didn’t lead your training when you first joined the faction. You’ve heard he’s a total killer, both in the fighting ring and at every other moment of the day, so you were more than a little uneasy when he first darkened the door of your shop.

You’re not really sure what you expected when he showed up in the beginning. That he’d yell at you, maybe, like you’d heard in whispers. Apparently he’d go off on anyone if he felt the need– someone taking the wrong water glass in the mess hall, or an idiot trainee who didn’t get ready in time– or he could have just been there to complain about some failed regulation you didn’t know about.

Instead, he was nice, actually, which was somehow even more unsettling than if he’d just been the harsh training leader he is to everyone else. He’d spent a lot of time admiring your works, even offering up a rare compliment here and there. At last, he’d decided on an initial design, and taken a seat on your chair.

Most clients talk at least a little while you’re tattooing them. New initiates usually rattle off their difficulties, grateful for an ear that won’t judge them or try to use their weaknesses to gain a position or two in the rankings. Experienced Dauntless sometimes swap gossip or discuss various pieces of information they’ve heard from contacts in other factions. Others just stay silent the whole time, thinking through ideas they’ll barely even hint at to you.

One of your friends has tattooed Eric before, and they told you he’d been absolutely icy the whole appointment, hardly even saying a word except to point out which tattoo he wanted. Maybe he’d just had a bad day then, because you and Eric actually end up talking the entire time. 

He complains about the initiates being unable to so much as tie their shoes without needing his directions, and laughs when you counter his stories with what you’ve seen outside of the scheduled training hours. Eric asks you about how you started tattooing and seems genuinely stunned that you grew up in Amity.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” he tells you over the hum of the tattoo needle, “you’re, like, normal.”

You laugh at that. “The Amity are normal, Coulter.”

He narrows his eyes. “They’re weird. Happy-go-lucky strangers. Not you, though,” he adds quickly, “you’re tough. A real Dauntless.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take offense if you insult the Amity,” you grin, “I left for a reason, believe me on that.”

Eric frowns. “What was the reason, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You sigh, staring at the design you’re working through for a moment before getting up the strength to continue. “I clashed with the higher-ups a lot. If you weren’t totally happy and living life all the time, you felt like you were disappointing them. Everyone there claims that they’re only ever nice to them, but the faction leaders told me I was a screwup more times than I could count. Even my own parents.”

When you risk a glance up, you notice that Eric’s expression has twisted down into something colder, something almost like rage. “They were wrong. They shouldn’t have said that.”

“I know,” you laugh to yourself, “I did well in initiation, obviously they should have guessed that.”

After a while, Eric is convinced to laugh a little alongside you, but the anger doesn’t erase itself from his features for some time. “Yes,” he mumbles almost to himself, “they should have.”

The rest of the session passes without incident. The next day, you find yourself waiting at your empty station. He was supposed to come back to finish the piece, but he’s a few minutes late, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s on purpose, that you said or did something to chase him off. It could be nothing, of course, but you never know.

He ends up hurrying in soon enough, the slightly quickened beat of his walk the only sign that something is on his mind. You look up when he arrives, allowing yourself a small smile. He did come back, then. You were not too much.

“Glad to see you,” you say, “I was worried I scared you off with my inherent Amity-ness. I’ve heard it’s bad for Dauntless. Ruins the whole stoic demeanor if we smile too much.”

His lips twitch upwards briefly, but whatever had been bothering him before tamps that forbidden emotion down soon enough. “No, not your fault in the slightest. Some initiate was using the wrong kind of gun during today’s drills, nearly put another kid’s eye out. I don’t even know where he got the thing, but it happened anyway.”

“Ah,” you say with a knowing look, “Initiates.”

“Always initiates,” Eric grumbles, but he allows his smile to stick this time, and you think that maybe he isn’t as bad as the rumors allow.

The rest of the session is just as good, if not better. Eric is kind to you, says things that grow increasingly apparent to be jokes. It’s funny, you’d always heard that he was this terribly cold guy, but everyone else must have gotten him at a bad time. Either that, or that’s the Amity in you seeing the best of everyone. Still, you’re certain that his good attitude whenever you’re around isn’t faked. It can’t be.

There’s silence from him for a while. You don’t take it personally, or you shouldn’t, anyway– Eric’s a busy guy, you know that from his words alone if not from always seeing him rush around the compound. He’s a Dauntless leader, he’s not going to be hanging around a tattoo shop unless he’s actively getting new ink.

Then, about a week or so later, he comes back in. Busies himself with looking at the patterns for a while even though you both know he’s not going to get something anyone else could have. This time, he talks to you, asks what you wish you got to draw more often. When you answer, he has you put that in his latest design. It makes your stomach tie itself in tight knots, more intense than even when you’d thrown yourself off the roof on your first day on Dauntless earth.

Confusingly, Eric stops you when you’re about halfway through, says that’s all the time he’s got and that he’d like to continue tomorrow, if that’s alright with you. You ask him if he minds having an incomplete tattoo on his arm and he just laughs, tells you he’ll pull his sleeves down or something. It’s a terrible excuse, but it’s what he wants and so that must be what you want, too. It’s good business. You can tell yourself that when you’re lying awake at night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Eric comes in almost every day, demanding increasing progress on his tattoos. You don’t know why he insists on doing them piecewise– it’s not pain tolerance, he’s got more of that than anyone around and it’s not like Dauntless Leader Eric Coulter would ever admit to something pathetic like pain. It must be something else, then. It must be.

The tattoos spiral and change as they spread across his skin. They’re a mess, to be honest, no cohesive pattern, like he’s picking the templates with his eyes closed and only the goal of covering as much flesh as possible. 

You tell him his tattoo sleeves aren’t as coherent as they could be; he laughs, asks you to use your Amity artistry to make some sense of them. He seems unruffled by your accusations of poor taste. Later that same day, Eric punches someone’s nose in because some drunk fellow stumbling out of a party made the mistake of questioning the inked patterns. The idiot said the same things you did, more or less. One of you received a rare smile, the other, a broken bone. It makes no sense.

At some point, he’s going to run out of skin to tattoo. You warn him of this and he grins, flashing dagger-sharp teeth at you. Says that’s why he’s asking you to go so slowly with it. Inch by inch, he cedes control to you. You want to question what that means, but some part of you is scared to ask, scared that he’ll change his mind and leave, or worse, ask someone else to do it.

The last day comes, and this time you know it’ll be the end with certainty. Eric asks you to ink his throat in thick stripes, almost like you can see the angles of his spine through the skin. You sit there, trying to focus on your needle, finishing the design, instead of anything foolish like his head in your hands, his eyes resting quietly on you. He can’t talk while you’re working on his neck like this, but the weight of his gaze says enough anyway.

You finish the last stroke and allow yourself to sit there for one final moment, waiting for it all to be over. Your fingers rest on the smooth expanse of his cheekbone, and Eric raises his hand to cover yours.

“Well,” you say at last, trying to keep your voice light, “it’s been an honor to tattoo you, Eric.”

He smiles. The brief, unwelcome thought that this might be the last time you see him do that flashes through your head, and you banish it just as quickly. That’s not something you want to think about right now, if ever.

“I’d say I’m the one who’s been honored,” he returns, “you’ve got the best work in the faction and everyone knows it.”

You feel some small surge of pride in your chest when he says it, hot and bright like the Dauntless flames. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me in a different way,” he offers, “Drinks tomorrow night, maybe? On me?”

You smile back at him. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” he grins, standing so he can look down at you. “I’ll pick you up then. It’ll be fun. Maybe you can teach me some of that Amity optimism.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. It would suit him, you think, smiling more, trusting you so he can let down his guard. Looking at him, at how his eyes brighten when he laughs, you think it already does.

divergent tag list: @dindjarinneedsahug, @poisonmenegan, @ozyynka, @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

[sanjoongie]

𝞣Ꮒ𝗲 ԍаm𝖊𝑠 𝗪℮ 𝞠𝒍𝑎𝑦

➸Pairing: Villain! Han Jisung x Hostage! Reader (f) 

➸Genre: smut

➸Au: hero/villain au

➸Trope: s2l

➸Word Count: 1,736

➸Warnings: dom! Jisung, sub! Reader, roleplaying (everything is consensual, they play the role of villain/hostage because it thrills them both), nicknames (little bird), bdsm (tied up), usage of fuck machine, degradation, rimming, aftercare (for sub and dom), soft sex, creampie

➸Rated: 18+ MDNI

➸Summary: when getting kidnapped by a villain turns into something much more sexier and healthier, you don’t really have a reason to complain

➸Beta: @flurrys-creativity

➸A/N: credits to @anyamaris for helping expand on this plot bunny and encouraging me to write more skz 🥺

➸divider by @cafekitsune

At this point, you might as well have forgotten that you were a hostage and Jisung the one who had kidnapped you. In a not-so-elaborate plot to get an all-powerful tool to take over the world, Jisung had kidnapped you to lure the hero to his hideout. What had started as a simple hostage situation, had quickly turned into something entirely different.

Jisung used his signature cane to slowly pull your panties to the side, revealing just how dripping wet your cunt was for him. He smirked, eyes never leaving your pussy. “What’s this, kitten?”

You whined and squirmed. Somehow, Jisung had acquired a gyno’s chair and strapped you to it. With your feet in the stirrups, your legs were spread and restricted so you couldn't close them. “That’s for Chan, don’t look.”

Jisung’s eyes darkened at the mention of the hero. “For Chan, hmmm?” He hummed. He turned the inside of your panties to lick the slick off there. “Cum meant for someone else always tastes better.”

Your body flushed with the forbidden and shame. Chan wasn’t coming for you. That had been apparent after a few weeks. In fact, after Jisung even came to this conclusion, he let you go. But the heartache of realizing that Chan would not have saved you; that he cared more for the world than you, broke something in you. You had become extremely attached to the man who had kidnapped you, and he you. You knew your worth with the villain Han Jisung.

So now you played out a little scenario, in the deep dark recesses of Jisung’s hideout. One the both of you enjoyed fully. To stop, it would simply take your safe word and then Jisung would unstrap you and cradle you in his arms. But until that moment happened, the scene was on.

Jisung licked his upper lip slowly, savoring the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. “Now, are we going to play this the easy way or the hard way?”

You turned your head stubbornly, playing the role of the hostage unwilling to betray her hero. “I’ll give you nothing.”

Jisung clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That’s too bad.”

He stood up from his stool and maneovered a fuck machine towards your lower half to replace him. You swallowed loudly as you saw what you were up against. 

“I think this will suffice to get you to sing, my little bird,” Jisung cooed.

You pretended to struggle in your restraints, but if you were being honest, you were getting wet in anticipation for what was to come. “It won’t work!” You insisted. 

Jisung stood behind the machine on wheels, pushing the thick dildo attached to it closer and closer to your glistening pussy. An evil smile pulled up a corner of his lips. “Open wide, little bird.”

You let out a high whine as the dildo pushed past your pussy lips and into you by a fraction. The ‘head’ of the dildo rested there, waiting until the machine was turned on. Jisung’s tongue was caught between his lips in concentration, making sure you were set up perfectly. “Is that enough lube for you? Do you need more? It’s going to be a while.”

You shook your head. “I don’t need anything from you, villain,” you snarled half-heartedly. 

Jisung moved away from the setup, meandering to a chair he had ready to view your ‘torture’. He put his cane to the side and steepled his fingers to watch the action. “You know what to say to make this stop,” Jisung reminded you of your safeword. It was also programmed into the fuck machine to stop if you so much as uttered it. 

You braced yourself for what was about to go down. You tried not to wriggle your lower body in excitement. “Do your worst. Chan will save me in no time. I’ll give you nothing.”

Gripping the head of his cane, Jisung clicked on the button at the top and the machine began to move slowly. You laid your head back and groaned as the dildo pushed in and out at a low pace. It was thick and it was curved, so even though it was slow, the tip was dragging against your g-spot and making you feel good almost immediately. 

“Fu-fuck you,” You gasped. 

“I’d love to, little bird, but you’ll have to ask nicely,” Jisung said in a sing-song voice. 

You bit down on your lip to muffle your noises. You were barely getting fucked at low pace but the entire scenario flat did it for you. You came in no time and you felt your shame from head to toe.

Jisung giggled. “That easy to get off, huh?” The fuck machine stopped without a prompt from you. Jisung wasn’t interested in overstimulating you, he simply wanted you to come as many times as possible. 

“I was imagining Chan, so yeah, it’s that easy,” You retorted.

Jisung’s eyes narrowed, not impressed with your comeback at all. “A different position then, I think.”

Jisung fondly rubbed your wrists, ankles and legs as he undid the bindings that had held you in place. He dipped down to share a kiss with you on your lips but you turned your head so that his lips hit your cheek. Jisung clucked his tongue again. “Stubborn little bird.”

This time you were face down, ass up. Your arms were bound at the small of your back. Your feet were bent under you. Once the dildo was pushed inside of you again, you whimpered softly. Somehow taking it from behind from a fuck machine made everything a little bit more dirty. Not to mention the angle made you feel a little bit more of the dildo inside of you.

“I won’t be so nice to you now, little bird,” Jisung muttered softly. “We’ll go at a faster speed and hear you really sing. You know how much I enjoy your nonsensical babble when you’re getting fucked good.”

Once, Jisung had finger fucked you while you were sitting on his lap in his office where he did most of his diabolical planning, to the scenario that you were on a hostage call with Bang Chan. You had become a mess under his fingers and you both had loved every moment of it. You could tell no one of the soft after care Jisung gave you, cleaning up your messy cunt and tears, but it was also one of your favorite memories with him. 

Jisung turned on the fuck machine and you descended into pleasure. “Hnnnnnnn,” you moaned as the dildo moved in and out of you at the pace you usually preferred getting fucked. 

Jisung stood by you this time, a little to your right. “Is the machine fucking you good, little bird?”

“Sungie,” You whimpered, breaking the scene. “ ‘s so good.”

Jisung felt a little thrill run through his body at the pet name. He adored you, truth be told, and he loved giving you exactly what you wanted which also happened to align with his own kinks. 

“You’re folding like a stack of cards,” Jisung murmured. “Should I send you over the edge?”

Jisung paused, his heart beating against his chest, threatening to leave, waiting for your go ahead to give you even more pleasure.

“Do you worst, villain,” You said weakly, barely getting back into the scene. That was your green light for Jisung.

Jisung pulled apart your ass cheeks, careful of the dildo moving in and out of your cunt. He then licked your puckered hole and you moaned so loudly, his dick throbbed in his pants. He continued to lick the sensitive nerves, poking his tongue slowly into you, only adding to the stimulation your lower half was receiving. 

“Jisung,” You groaned. 

“How come you always want more from me, little bird, hmmm?” Jisung mused out loud. “You are insatiable for me, aren’t you? I bet you don’t debase yourself like this for Bang Chan. I bet you let yourself loose because you’re with me. Is it because it’s okay to be dirty with a villain? Or is it that you truly feel safe to let your dirty side out with me?”

When you didn’t respond, your mind half gone to the lust, Jisung upped the speed of the fuck machine. The pace sent you over the edge, coming so loudly that Jisung started to grind into the side of the gyno chair, needing some type of relief. You whined because you were coming down from your high, so Jisung turned the machine off. 

You barely registered Jisung untying you from everything, but once he had you cradled in his arms, you snuggled into the warmth he provided. “Sungie,” you called out to him.

“Was it okay, love?” Jisung checked in. 

You opened your eyes and saw that the villain had been tucked away and Han Jisung, with his inquisitive brown eyes, was staring back at you. He needed reassurance that everything went according to your wants and desires. “Jisungie, you did so wonderfully. That was exactly what I wanted.”

Jisung spent the next hour paying loving attention to your body. He washed you in a tub, allowing his fingers to skim every part of you, to make sure you were taken care of. The process also allowed Jisung to come down from his dominant persona, and to slip into something more warm and caring. 

You were donned in a fluffy, terrycloth robe and Jisung took you to his bed. He always did love how soft your skin felt after washing you, juxtaposed with the marks his restraints left on your peach-bruised skin. After laying you down on his dark bed, he undid the robe and licked his lips at your body being framed by the garment.

“Now I get to have you, right?” Jisung asked. “You’ll let me make love to you, right?”

“ ‘course, Jisungie,” You agreed, happy and tired, but not the least bit satisfied.

And so, with his arms wrapped around you, Jisung made love to you while laying sideways on the bed. He murmured words of love and affection, kissing your shoulder softly, as he thrusted inside of you. You came quietly, convulsing around Jisung’s cock. 

Jisung wasn’t so lucky. He came loudly; a groan full of gusto and a nose scrunch. He had not donned a condom, so he creampied you gladly. 

“Jisung,” You whined. “You’re leaking out of me!”

“ ‘s okay,” Jisung reassured you, slurring from his orgasm. “I’ll clean you up all over again.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face. Best thing that ever happened to you was being kidnapped by a villain.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets - Epilogue

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support throughout the story my darlings! I hope you enjoy the epilogue as well, ILYSM! ❤️

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Thank you to @theskytraveler for helping me with the story and the chapter!

Series Masterlist

3 YEARS LATER

“And this flower right here is called a mock orange, any idea why?”

The cheerful babbling was the only answer you got and you felt yourself smiling wide, turning to look at her better. Camellia was the cutest baby you’d ever seen and you were pretty sure it wasn’t just because she was the most perfect combination of you and Benedict. The only person in your life that remembered you as a baby was Josie, and she swore up and down that she looked more like you than Benedict but you weren’t so sure.

“Very good!” you said. “Because it looks like an orange flower!”

Camellia clapped her hands excitedly, as if congratulating herself for guessing right, kicking her legs back and forth in her high chair, accidentally dropping one of the many pencils on the table in front of her but she didn’t even notice.

“And what about this one?”

“Fwo?”

“Flower, yes,” you said, nodding fervently and she gave you a huge grin. You went to pick her up from the chair and approached the table in the middle of the huge greenhouse.

 “This is your flower my sweet, see? Middlemist Red Camellia.”

She gasped when she heard her name. “Me!”

“Mm hm, the most beautiful and precious flower in the entire world!” you said, tickling her stomach while kissing her cheeks, making her happy giggles echo in the greenhouse. You fixed her hair, still smiling bright and took a look at the paper she was drawing on before, full of different colored squiggly lines.

“Perhaps your papa is right, you are to be a big artist,” you said as you walked to the glass door. “A painter like him hm?”

“Papa!”

“And your aunt Lottie says you will be a writer and your uncle Teddy says you’ll be a sculptor…” you said as you stepped out of the greenhouse into the huge garden, the sunlight falling upon you. You grabbed the little hat by the door and placed it upon Camellia’s head while she held onto you, playing with your necklace.

“So many ideas!” you told her as you passed by the winter garden, enjoying the chirping of the birds. A couple of butterflies flew by you, no doubt because you were very close to the butterfly garden and Camellia held her breath, pointing at the blue butterfly.

“Mama!”

“I can see that my love,” you said, pressing a kiss on her small chubby hand, and walked past the orangery. “They’re very beautiful, are they not?”

She nodded fervently, making grabby hand motions as if trying to call the butterflies to her.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you said, still walking through the main garden. “They all think like that but do you want to know what I think?”

She nodded her head again, still listening to you very intently.

“I think you might just become the biggest botanist in the world,” you whispered. “I mean it only makes sense, no? You already know so many flowers!”

Camellia pointed at the pear tree and turned to you. “Mine? Mine?”

“Let’s get you one then,” you said with a small laugh, reaching up to grab and pick the pear off the branch. You dusted it off, then gave it to Camellia who made a happy cooing sound, trying to dig into it. You raised your head to look up at the house, a warmth spreading through you as your gaze fell upon the window of Benedict’s studio, then you turned to Camellia.

“Let’s go see papa, hm?” you asked her, then made your way to the house to enter the foyer. You hummed a song and climbed up the stairs, then put Camellia down when you entered the hallway leading to Benedict’s studio.

“Go ahead.”

“Papa?” Camellia called out, running as fast as her tiny legs allowed her, reminding you of a duck. She was still holding the pear tight in her fist, and you walked right behind her to make sure you would be able to catch her if she fell. “Papa!”

You let out a laugh as you heard Benedict’s footsteps and he stepped out of the studio, his jaw dropping as he saw her and he immediately leaned down to catch her before she could smash herself against his legs.

“Oh here’s my sweet!” he said as he hoisted her up into his arms, smothering her in kisses, making her giggle happily before he turned to you, that fond look crossing his eyes, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Hello my love.”

You smiled, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Hello to you too,” you said, letting out a small laugh as he stole another kiss from you. “I figured you needed a break or so.”

“And you were right,” he said, winking at you before turning to Camellia. “How is she always right, do you know?”

Camellia offered him the pear she was holding and Benedict gasped.

“For me?”

“More like it was for her but she’s willing to share,” you said and Benedict grinned.

“Come on,” he nodded in the direction of the studio and walked inside with Camellia in his arms, and you followed them.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you sang in a teasing manner, pulling the hat off Camellia’s head and Benedict shot you a mischievous look.

“Mm, what am I doing?”

“You think you can turn her into an artist if she spends enough time here.”

“I can’t help if she’s naturally talented,” Benedict defended himself. “I mean have you seen her work?”

“The…the squiggly lines?”

“The squiggly lines!” Benedict nodded, rocking Camellia. “She’s a genius artist even as a one-year-old.”

“I still support my botanist theory.”

“Maybe she’ll be both?”

“As you can see my sweet, no high expectations whatsoever,” you told Camellia who was listening to both of you as if she could understand everything you were saying.

“You can be anything you want to be,” Benedict told her as she rested her head on his shoulder, yawning. “Including an artist. Just saying.”

You walked closer to the canvas to see that the background was almost done, and tilted your head.

“What’s this going to be?”

Benedict shot you a grin and pressed his lips on top of Camellia’s hair. You checked the clock on the wall, then rang the bell.

“That one is going to be her,” Benedict said, softly rocking her and you smiled.

“Aw,” you said gently, and walked to caress her soft cheek with your finger. “Did you hear that my sweet? Your own portrait?”

Camellia sucked on her thumb, her eyes closing slowly.

“Is she sleeping?” Benedict whispered and you nodded.

“She is,” you murmured, rubbing her back and turned your head when someone knocked on the door.

“Ma’am,” Paula said. “Mr. Bridgerton. Would you like me to take her for her nap?”

“That would be good Paula, thank you.”

She smiled and took Camellia from Benedict, careful not to wake her.

“I’ll be right there,” you told her and pressed a kiss on Camellia’s head before Paula walked out of the room with her. You turned to Benedict and he entwined his fingers with yours, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey,” you said as he buried his nose into your hair. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm hm, now that you’re here.”

You smiled softly and squeezed his arm. “Are you still tense about the gala?”

He heaved a sigh and you pulled back a little to look up at him.

“Ben, that painting got auctioned and sold in two minutes because everyone was outbidding each other,” you reminded him. “People are talking about you the same way you used to talk about Gordon, everyone agrees that you’re a genius artist, the whole ton—”

“Yeah but it’s different,” he mumbled. “Tonight, it’s only friends and family.”

“Shouldn’t that be comforting?”

“Technically yes but…” he trailed off and shook his head slightly. “Never mind.”

You cupped his cheek, raising your brows. “Tell me.”

“It’s easier when it’s just strangers,” he said with a small chuckle. “Museum owners and Academy directors and such. It’s different when it’s family and friends, and I’d hate it if they thought all those other people exaggerated—”

“Everyone in the Academy and countless artists and museum owners who were on the verge of a fight to get your painting, they all exaggerated?” you asked with a small smile. “All of those people at the same time?”

Benedict thought for a moment. “When you say it like that…”

You let out a laugh and stood on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his, and he heaved a sigh when you pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tonight is going to be amazing,” you assured him. “I promise you.”

He shot you a mischievous grin, then leaned down hoisted you up into his arms, making you squeal.

“Benedict!”

“There’s no harm in starting the amazing night a bit early,” he said as he carried you to the sofa and you let out a laugh.

“Scandalous behavior!” you joked and he winked at you, then leaned in to kiss you.

                                                *

Of course the night of the gala went perfectly, as you knew it would. Both your family and Benedict’s had been so excited and were very proud of him, and you could see it melted away the last insecurity that had been gnawing at him before tonight.

His speech that he dedicated the painting -and his inspiration- to you was enough to bring tears into your eyes but you managed to hide it by burying your face into his arm, earning an “aww” from the crowd. After the speech, people scattered along in the gallery to talk to each other, and if you said so yourself, everyone seemed to be having fun. Benedict was talking to Gordon, Henry, Margery and Lucy by the corner, Anthony and Lottie looked like they were in their own world while Colin kept whispering things to Penelope’s ear, making her giggle. Eloise seemed to be in a deep conversation with Simon while Daphne watched them with a small smile, and you smiled at Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury as Teddy wheezed past you.

“Teddy don’t run!” you called out and he stopped for a moment.

“But I’m being very careful!” he assured you and returned to chasing Hyacinth and Gregory. Your aunt held up her hands, gesturing surrender as she gave him a fond look and your uncle chuckled.

“If he changes his mind about being a sculptor…”

“He can become a professional runner,” you joked and turned to Josie and Bess.

“So yes, we’re going to Paris before the season,” you told them. “Around like a month before, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Andrew will give you a list of things to bring from there, just so you know,” Bess said said and you let out a laugh.

“I’m alright with that. Wait, where is he anyway?”

Josie cleared her throat. “I think he and Felix are in the orangery—”

“The moon garden, my love,” Bess corrected her and you raised your brows, stifling a laugh.

“Of course they are,” you muttered and heard someone calling your name. You turned your head to see who it was, then made your way to Lottie and Anthony.

“Hello you two.”

“Y/N,” she said with a huge smile, still holding Anthony’s hand. “We already said goodnight to Benedict, we didn’t want to leave before saying goodnight to you.”

You tilted your head. “You’re leaving already?” you asked. “Is everything alright? Is Edmund—”

“Oh Edmund is fine!” she assured you quickly and Anthony nodded.

“He’s probably asleep already.”

“It’s just—I tire very easily nowadays,” Lottie said, making you pull your brows together. Anthony and Lottie exchanged smiles and Lottie bounced on the balls of her feet in an excited manner, making your frown deepen for a moment before the thought dawned on you and your jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?!” you whispered and Lottie giggled, nodding fervently.

“You’re the first to know,” she whispered and you let out a laugh, then pulled her into a hug.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you!”

“To both of you obviously—” you said with a laugh, then hugged Anthony as well, making him chuckle as he hugged you back.

“We haven’t told Benedict yet,” he told you as you pulled back. “You know with the gala and everything.”

“Oh he will be very happy for you!” you said and Lottie bit on her lip.

“I wish to be the one to tell him if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely!” you said, waving your hands. “Go on then, go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’d better,” Lottie joked and squeezed your hand, then they both walked out of the gallery. You looked around, then took a step towards Eloise but someone touched the small of your back, making you look up.

“Well if it isn’t the genius artist,” you teased Benedict and he shot you a happy grin.

“Come with me?”

“As long as we’re not going to the moon garden because if I walk in on them again…” you muttered and he tilted his head.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said and let him pull you out of the gallery. You both passed through the foyer and he led you outside, still holding your hand.

“Ben, where are we going?” you asked with a laugh and he stopped by the main garden, moonlight falling upon you both, showering the gardens in silver. Even though it was the thousandth time you were seeing this gorgeous view, it still managed to take your breath away.

Speaking of things that managed to take your breath away…

You looked up at Benedict, his handsome face under the moonlight, your heart skipping a beat before you giggled.

“Are we sneaking out of your own gala then?”

Benedict shot you a mischievous smile, then shook his head.

“No I merely…I wanted a moment with you,” he said. “Just you.”

You bit down on your lip as he pulled you closer, his fingers stroking over your hair. Your eyes fluttered close when he brushed his lips against yours and you smiled into the kiss, grazing your nails over the nape of his neck, making him heave a sigh.

“Congratulations Mr. Bridgerton,” you whispered. “Your gala seems to be a success.”

He smiled softly, pressing his lips on your temple. “Seems to be, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

You hummed. “Is it too early to say I told you so?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

“Well then, I told you so,” you said, sticking your nose up in the air. “And you should listen to me all the time because to be honest, so far I’ve—”

“I love you,” he said, and your eyes snapped up to his, a smile warming your face. You let out a giggle and pulled him down so that you could kiss him.

“I love you too,” you whispered and entwined your fingers with his, then took a step towards the house.

“Come on,” you said. “It is your gala my love. Let’s go and enjoy it.”

The End.

[obae-me]

Forgive me if this is a little out of the blue (and for the atrocious grammar-) but I must ask, what’s your opinion on Lucifer Morningstar, Mr. Pride himself, subconsciously showing off to the MC as a way of courting?

Like he’s basically a bird demon right? And you know how when trying to find a mate birds will show themselves off dramatically usually by showing of their feathers or dancing? Now I can’t really see Lucifer busting a move for MC, but I can definitely see this dork doing everything he can to look all “grand” and “cool” for MC, and he won’t even realize he’s doing it! It just happens automatically. Whenever he’s in MC’s general vicinity he’ll automatically make sure he has perfect posture and move with a graceful poise that you can’t help but marvel at, he’ll also start speaking more poetically in hopes of making MC swoon at his words, he’s basically just automatically going into “formal gentleman mode” to show off. And it gets even worse when he’s in demon form! He’ll ensure his horns are in tip top shape and his wings will subconsciously begin to puff up and open wide when in the presence of MC just so Lucifer can really show himself off all like “Look at me don’t I look so amazing and desirable?” Maybe he’ll even go as far as showing off his flight skills to MC to really drive in just how dorky cool he looks. God forbid any of Lucifer’s brothers witness this, they’ll experience so much cringe it nearly kills them!

MC also definitely catches onto what Lucifer’s doing even if he doesn’t realize it himself. But they won’t point it out, they always think it’s really funny especially when they catch him acting more crass until he notices they’re there and does a complete 180 in behaviour. They also have to admit his tactics are kind of working, Lucifer is very marvellous to look at…. I do however like to imagine that on one random night where MC’s helping Lucifer in his office, they’ll just offhandedly say something like “You don’t have to show off to me all the time you know? I actually think you’re cuter when you’re just your normal self” before bidding Lucifer goodnight and leaving the poor man at his desk blue screening.. poor guy XD

Oh, Anon, how in the world did you find the technology necessary for cracking my head open and taking a good look at my brain? Because I think about this kind of stuff ALL the time!

The only difference being, I find it so much funnier to have an MC that's completely oblivious to this kind of behavior for the longest time. He's been doing this sort of thing essentially the entire time they've been down in the Devildom, and he's PRIDE, so the prim and proper steps to his feet and the way his head is held high and the end of his coat-tails gracefully fluttering behind him just must be normal for him, right?

So they go about their days completely in the dark, and all of Lucifer's brothers have to simply watch this happen for months.

The way he'll purposefully go out of his way to show off, giving 120% in everything he does and in such an effortless way with his chest almost puffed out in pride. Keeping himself neat and clean and shiny, dressed in vibrant and royal shades of blue and red.

The way his wings are almost always spread wide when they're around.

Keeping his voice smooth and deep, with a hint of a vibrato in his voice.

Both an oblivious MC and a knowing MC are great options. And I absolutely approve of them calling him cute in any scenario, because come on, let the strong stoic men get called adorable sometimes.

In any case, my Lucifer brainrot is as strong as ever, thank you, Anon.

[fishnapple]

Crystal reading : Your energetic field

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Feedback is much appreciated ❤️

Masterpost

Buy me a drink or book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. Rose quartz group :

Your energy feels very warm and big.

Solid and abundant.

Like a ripe apple orchard under the shining sun.

Lots of red colour.

When interacting with others, you have a grounding effect on them, transporting them to a safe place.

It's active but soft at the same time.

Others may not pick up your emotions clearly because they are too busy focusing on your actions or your appearance.

But they can sense the creative force from you,

your mind is always busy, thinking up ideas

and bringing them to life.

The saying 'Fortune favours the bold' would suit you very well.

2. Citrine group

Your energy feels very open and expansive.

Like an eagle spreading its wings wide.

Carrying in its claws the gift of love.

Because you have such a strong core

that you're able to do that.

There are lots of luck and abundance in your material plane.

People would even say that you have a "rich" energy.

But that richness didn't come from nowhere.

It came from intense dedication and the absolute vision you have for yourself.

But like the image of a bird flying high,

others sometimes feel that you are out of reach, a little detached from them.

After all, you have no problem flying alone in your unique journey.

3. Amethyst group :

This energy speaks volumes.

If your energy would show itself as a person, then they would be a spiritual leader or a teacher.

A unifying force that rallies people from all different walks of life.

Your beliefs and faith don't always follow the common line.

You follow the beat of your own drum.

That's what makes people want to follow you,

to listen and learn from you.

Your words are powerful,

their impacts are not exactly on the mental but more on the emotional side.

Transporting people to a land where they don't understand but still want to explore.

4. Apatite group

You have a very gentle energy,

quite subtle,

that encloses your surroundings.

Creating a soft cocoon.

Your energy would feel very comfortable in the setting of high spirituality.

You blur the line of hard physical world and elusive psychic world.

There's not much ego showing.

You're very protective and private about your inner emotions and feelings.

People would create all kinds of assumptions and fantasies about you.

Even those that are close to you may not be able to read you very well.

Your energy would feel so simple yet so elusive,

like trying to hold water in your hands.

5. Carnelian group :

Your energy is scattered.

There's something unresolved deep within that you may not be aware of.

It pulls you in all directions.

You still show your light to the world.

But right now, it's a bit dimmer.

People would feel quite confused about you.

Your energy needs a home to rest.

Taking good care of your daily life in small steps would help tremendously.

This is a transitional time.

Some old values would be transformed

giving birth to a new self,

bringing in reward to all aspects of your life.

Love.

[ae-neon]

Two of A Kind (snippet)

Loosely Pride and Prejudice inspired.

Eris Vanserra crested the hill on his steed. It was rare for the prince to find himself with no immediate business to attend to and so, he had decided to make the trek from his post on the Summer border to the Ember Palace on his own. Had hoped to give himself enough time to sort through the tangle of thoughts and feelings he now faced.

Before him, the valley which housed the heart of the Autumn Court spread out. Sparkling lines of golden sunlight reflected off ripples in the water gardens, it’s edges bursting with greenery. Seven-foot-tall, white-feathered cranes dotted the landscape, hunting the tiny red dragons that darted about. And narrow stone bridges crossed between the handful of islets crowned by pavilions and weeping willows.

Ahead of the garden stood the Ember Palace, cradled to the East and North by jewel toned woods of oak, aspen, birch and maple. The palace was enormous: four storeys tall and sprawling with 3 000 rooms; built to bring every House of Autumn under the watchful eye of it’s Lord. There was no doubt it was a befitting capital, but Eris could not shake the pit in his gut which told him it was too big to be a home. That in this change of residence, something intangible would once again be lost forever.

He urged Windrunner forward into a gallop until they crossed the wide West Bridge and rode into the forecourt. The place was bustling, buzzing with servants carrying furniture and ornamentation into the building, all it’s windows and doors thrown wide open as more staff cleaned and decorated.

A familiar fae male, uniformed in the Palace staff’s beige vests, came forward to greet him, “Your Highness.”

“Has everyone else arrived?” Eris dismounted, entrusting the reigns to the man’s waiting hand.

“Yes, His Majesty called them to his study half an hour ago, though Her Majesty has not yet joined them.”

Eris took the stairs two at a time and slipped through a tall, open door as sails of white lace curtains billowed in the breeze. He waved a dismissive hand at the servants who had paused in their tasks to greet him, “Carry on, please.”

His own doubts aside, the palace was undeniably magnificent and Eris could admit his father’s decision to reoccupy it was the right one. Autumn needed them here. And, with a court as notoriously cutthroat as this, it was wisest to have it’s restless nobles where you could see them.

He removed his leather gloves and hooked his wrist behind his back, watching in idle fascination as chandeliers were mounted, busts dusted and lounging chairs unveiled. The tap of his polished boots fell under the movements and murmuring voices, but it was all much quieter than he’d imagined. The squawk and song of birds still managed to carry up from the gardens, down from the forests and echo through the halls. That, at least, felt familiar. The Forest House too, despite being a smaller castle nestled up in the mountains, had also always echoed with the nature that surrounded it.

Eris moved through the enormous building, passed busy kitchens and empty libraries, until he reached a crimson hallway in the North Wing. He had slowed his sure stride in this part of the palace, almost surprised by the intimacy of the portraits that lined the walls. In them, he and his brothers grew – from little boys who cradled puppies to proud men, each with a phoenix perched on their arm. In some they stood austere, in others they seemed to be caught in some innocuous moment; reading or playing at their mother’s feet.

He'd paused when his eye had caught on one in particular: Beron Vanserra standing tall with a hand on the shoulder of each of the two boys in front of him. Eris’ stomach twisted as his amber, fox eyes shifted between the two boys – their identical dimpled smiles, their wine coloured hair and the violet flames cupped in their hands. So alike, he could not even tell which of the two he was.

He turned at the sound of voices as two figures approached; his mother’s head servant, Silas, clucking around her. To anyone passing by, the sight of a servant so familiar with the Lady of Autumn might have set their hackles rising but those who knew the two understood they were in a constant balance of excitement and put on airs, and had been for centuries.

His mother was in a rare state of undress, adorned in a loose indigo shift and a robe made entirely of snow white crane feathers. The colour popped against her warm brown skin and glowing golden eyes – from head to toe, she was the picture of the Autumn Marshes and its people. Silas, a harpy fae, had a bead of sweat running from his tawny widow’s peak, no doubt from the inferno of heat the Lady Lorien was unintentionally radiating.

“Mother,” Eris greeted, lips tugging upwards and dimples creasing his lean face, “Do try not to cook Silas."

“Oh!” The heat was almost instantly gone and Eris let himself be pulled into a hug, taking in the scent of cinnamon and vanilla that wafted from her curling crimson hair. "My darling boy, you're finally here."

“Your Highness,” Silas gave a small bow in greeting and thanks.

Eris leaned back and cast a glance between the two, his eyebrows lifting at the heat that had been coming off his mother and the shifting of Silas’ eagle eyes, “Now, what news has the two of you so vexed?”

The two shared an unsubtle, conspiratorial glance.

“Silas...” Eris began but his mother wound her arm through his and tugged Eris along, waving a dismissal at her servant who took the opportunity to flee before he could be interrogated.

She led them to the heavy mahogany doors at the end of the hallway which creaked open at a wave of her hand. Eris felt her power reverberating through the very foundations of the palace and rippling outwards into the manicured gardens and wild forest beyond. It was clear that years of absence had taken it’s toll and his parents would need to hold a ceremony soon, to feed the land and in turn renew their connection to it. Between the upcoming court season – the first in 500 years – and a possible Hunting Rite, Eris could only imagine how wildly different Autumn was about to become.

The room beyond the doors was an airy space, it’s left dominated by a massive fireplace whose ochre flames were as familiar to Eris as his own.

At the centre of the room, four leather couches surrounded a table where Lucien and Marcel now played chess while Sebastian loomed over them, likely trying moderate the two notorious cheats.

To the right, Beron Vanserra sat at his desk, glancing above the rim of his glasses as Eris and Lady Lorien entered.

Eris glanced up to find Ash and Oak leaning against the railing of the upper loft, where their father kept a small library. They waved in unison.

As usual, Eris tried not to dwell on Apollo’s absence.

An ivory furred pup which had been asleep at Marcel’s feet popped it’s head up and hurried over. Eris bent down to lift the little creature up and cradle it against his chest as his mother floated towards the lounges, draping herself across an empty one with a loud sigh. It seemed whatever had been whispered between his mother and her butler was about to be revealed.

For a moment, united in mischief, no one spoke. Lady Lorien sighed again. Louder. Finally, Beron seemed to be at the end of whatever he was penning, set down his quill and addressed his wife, “Something the matter?”

“I have, just now, received word from cousin Edgar that Celeste Hugard is engaged to William Aisling.”

“A congratulations are in order then,” Marcel said dryly, still not risking lifting his eyes from the game.

Their mother ignored him, “It is a terrible shame. Miss Hugard is said to be the most handsome woman of the Court, and as the Hugard's only child, is to inherit a fortune.”

“And?” Beron cocked his head, his face as inscrutable as always. Their father was the opposite of his lady wife in everything from temperament to physical appearance. Beron favoured the East of Autumn: brown hair so dark it was almost black, evergreen eyes and the pallid tone and stoicism of someone who had been born under near constant cloud cover.

“And,” Lady Lorien sat up, flustered, “Well it is a waste, isn’t it? When we have five handsome boys with no lack of talent or manners among them?”

Eris almost laughed. Ash and Oak did laugh. Their father shot them a look, “If your assessment of their manners rings as true for their beauty and talent, then perhaps Celeste Hugard has made a prudent choice.”

“You are missing the point, my Lord.” Lorien Vanserra ploughed on, “As you’ve refused to host a ball here at the palace, the Hugard-Aislings will have the honour of throwing the first party of our new era – one which I will have to attend, and there be accosted on my failing to have any of the boys marry. And make no mistake, this humiliation will set a trend; if the handsomest woman at Court could so easily overlook a Vanserra then what of the second or third? Our boys will be made beggars, my Lord.”

Eris slid his gaze to his father, who seemed almost contemplative for a moment before the ghost of a smile graced his lips, “I see, then you will have to impress upon the court, before the Hugard-Aislings can, that the Lady Lorien is the handsomest woman at Court and that her sons are – in equal measure – ‘handsome boys with no lack of talent or manners among them’.”

She pouted, “Buy it is too late now to-"

Beron interrupted her with a hand on the papers piled on his desk, “The Aislings, the Darrows, Lady Birchwood, Lord Bellecourt, Sir and Lady Dechamp, the Ivermont Harwoods, the Davenport Harwoods, the Archerons, the Lavilleine Du Ponts, Celeste Hugard, all of the Rowans and that new boy from Lafon – the painter – have all already confirmed their attendance.”

*

Odd place to end, yes. But that's cause I'm mainly posting this snippet to bully myself into finally taking on the Neris pride and prejudice fic as an active project.

As with all my longer fic I will start posting it on ao3 when I get to 3 chapters.

Please do not mind the use of man/woman/people - I tried to use male and female and I gagged, sorry

Also, I don't know if my English is up to the task of this formal style but I'll try 🥲

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie Munson was having the kind of high where your hands were as floaty as your thoughts.

World tinged with a droopy-eyed vignette, he watched smoke loop lazily towards his window, twirling opaque in beams of light.

A knock sounded on his door, and Eddie simply stared at, unwilling to move.

His thick thoughts had him almost convinced he'd imagined it when it came again, a little louder and a touch more frantic.

'I should get up,' Eddie thought, with zero intention of following through.

The bed was too comfortable, his limbs velcroed in.

Someone started cursing, just barely heard through the thin trailer walls.

Eddie tracked it as it moved, circling around, a thread of concern wormed its way through the soft, engulfing fog.

It sharpened to a needle point when his window was thrust up with a bang. Seconds later a puff of hair climbed through, followed by broad shoulders and a build that could only belong to a grizzly--or Steve Harrington.

Grizzly Steve struggled trying to dodge all the shit flung around the room-unfamiliar with the path Eddie had taught himself and his bandmates.

He’d long found that a room covered in items made a pretty combination alarm system and booby trap, a fact he told Wayne repeatedly.

"Jesus I thought you were a bear." Eddie said jolting back in delayed action as Steve stood with a huff, hands on his hips.

"If you could answer your damn,--a bear?" Steve narrowed his eyes huffing dramatically. "You thought I was a bear!?"

Eddie managed to sit up on his elbows. "Sorry man. You were just kinda." He tilted his head. "Beary."

"Whaa-- tha' hell" Gareth announced his presence with a mutter, sitting up besides Eddie with his hair looking like an entire birds nest. It obscured his view, and he sleepily lifted a hand to comb through it.

It did absolutely nothing, as his curls immediately flopped back down into his eyes.

Steve froze.

"Ah." He said, looking between Eddie and the lump of blankets making up Gareth.

Steve's voice abruptly pitched itself adorably high. "Ahhh--"

The blush that spread across his face was an equal delight and Eddie knew it was a bad idea to drink it in, aim a dopey little grin Steve's way, but figured he could blame any backlash on the weed.

At least that's what said weed told him would work, and he was happy to comply.

"Harrington?" Blanket-Gareth asked, like he wasn't sure he was awake.

Which collected Eddie's wandering consciousness enough for a couple of cohesive thoughts. "Hey, mon cher," he hummed, rolling a hand out to Steve. "Bad night?"

"I--yeah, uh, no, I mean--shit. Sorry." He cast a panicked look towards the door. "I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie made a tutting noise. "After all the effort you just went through to get in here? Stick around, man. Take a load off."

He tossed him what he hoped was a confident, dazzling gleam and not something half psychotic.

It was always a 50/50 chance when you were that high.

"What is happening right now? Do you guys do this often?" Gareth was waking up at speeds entirely too fast for Eddie so he flapped his free hand at him, in what he hoped conveyed 'stop it you shit before Steve bolts like a deer.'

The younger man's eyes were certainly wide enough, his whole body tense. "I don't wanna disturb you guys. I um," Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "--didn't know you had company, sorry Eddie."

Then, in a painfully awkward voice that made him want to take Steve and tuck him against his chest, added "Sorry Gareth."

"What are you apologizing to me for--oh my God do you think I'm boning this moron?" Gareth had finally shed the blankets, face shifting so quickly through emotions that Eddie couldn't help the giggle that escaped him.

"Be nice, Gary, god." He chided, through snickers, as if Gareth was teasing them and not asking a legitimate question. "Stevie, go grab that blunt I have on my dresser and come lay down."

"You are literally holding a lit blunt right now." Steve pointed out, cheeks fully inflamed with embarrassment and eyes stubbornly not looking at Gareth.

Who groaned and flopped face-first back down on the bed, apparently over this entire situation.

Eddie look down at his hand in mild surprise. "So I am!"

He put the blunt he found in-between his fingers to his lips, inhaling a lung full of smoke.

Held the blunt out, wiggling it at Steve when he just stood staring until Eddie exhaled.

Something in Steve's eyes changed, a glimpse of that painful, living wound of a secret he was hiding inside himself surfacing and Eddie automatically knew what caused it

"Gareth doesn't care that you're here, he's just not a morning person." Eddie explained gently, still holding out the joint.

Smiled encouragingly when Steve still looked unsure.

"Promise. You can chill here if you need too, Pop Culture. Neither of us will bite" Eddie made a come here gesture and was happy to watch as Steve hesitantly approached. "Well, at least we won't until you ask really nicely."

Then he winked because apparently shooting himself in the foot continued to be his default reaction to Steve Harrington.

Gareth said into his pillow; "No we fucking won't, you muppet."

It was muffled, so Eddie ignored it.

"If you're sure--" Steve muttered lowly, and they both ignored how clearly relieved he was.

Took the blunt with fingers that trembled ever so slightly.

Slowly, they passed the blunt back and forth a few times, Steve standing over Eddie.

Who enjoyed the way the younger man relaxed, inch by inch. Like the anxiety and stress was being exorcised out of him.

Couldn't see anything physically wrong for once, but knowing Steve Eddie wasn't at all positive he wasn't hiding some random, ridiculous wound on his torso somewhere.

Graciously, he gave Steve the last puff of the joint, waiting until Steve had stubbed it out and down in his ashtray before carefully touching his arm (above the wrist, with his hand clasping comically slow around his skin.)

Started tugging just as slowly when Steve figured out what he was doing.

Eddie grinned at the snort he got, as Steve gave in and reluctantly got into the bed, Eddie shoving Gareth practically into the wall to make room.

A loud, incomprehensible grumble erupted, but Gareth otherwise made no complaints as Steve tucked in.

The bed wasn't built for two people let alone three, meaning they all ended up practically on top of each other, but Eddie didn't mind.

Steve clearly didn't either, with how fast he dropped off to sleep, his body curling even further into Eddie's than it had before.

Best friend cuddling his back and Steve tucked against his front, Eddie happily nodded off, warm and content.

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through your phone, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, leaning into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.” CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: additional warnings: depictions of past abuse and childhood abuse, misogyny, violence, assault/battery. See Ao3 for extended tags. Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2 WC: 10.8k

The sun is warm today. 

It coats the exposed stretches of skin on your arms and legs in a cozy, yellow glow. Shadows from the leaves dancing on the branches of the tree behind you cast across your face, splotches of blueish-gray that provide a hint of coolness on your relaxed posture.

The sky is your favorite shade of teal, with fluffy, white clouds spread across it far and wide, forming funny shapes and animals that only you can discern. There’s a bunny-looking one that you’ve been following for a while now, watching as it extends its legs while bounding lazily across the eonic, untold cyan. You’ve named it Marshmallow for its resemblance to those bird-shaped, sugar-coated treats.

Which doesn’t really make sense, but you don’t care all that much. It makes sense to you.

So far, the story you’ve created about Marshmallow is simplistic, but it’s giving you something to do. Marshmallow is frollicking in a massive meadow, running around between tall stalks of indigo grass and snowy flowers. She’s celebrating her freedom after escaping the maws of a vicious wolf, bouncing back and forth in joy as she claims the sky as her home, where no wolf can catch and eat her so long as the sun shines through the heavens.

There, she is safe to chirp and thump her little feet and fly as much as she desires, no longer fearing being trapped in the muzzle of a hungry beast.

In the far distance, you can see a smear of dark gray hugging the horizon. It’s not close enough for you to fathom how big it is, but you can tell by the streaks underneath it that it’s raining over there. The flowers will be happy, you think. Fresh water to help their roots spread and their petals bloom.

You like days like this, where it’s quiet and calm. Birds spring from the electricity cables spanning down the length of the street, a bug occasionally buzzes past you, and the air smells sweet.

Your legs swing back and forth lazily over the short, cement-brick wall in front of your house. The light stone is brisk under your palms, a comfort in the burn of summer. You’ve already had a crisp icy-pop earlier, but now you’re uncertain if you should have saved it, as the temperature has gone up quite high.

It’s peaceful out here, but, confessedly, incredibly boring.

Yet, you savor it all the same. Anything is better than being in there, where your heart rarely has a chance to settle, always tapping on your veins to keep them active and roaring with blood laced too heavily with poisonous adrenaline. It’s nice to have an opportunity to rest and relax, a rare moment of serenity, even if you do feel a little lonely.

Glass shatters somewhere behind you. Skin meets skin.

You wince.

The world grows a little more dim. The bunny splits in half.

Tranquility can only last for so long under the richly fragrant blooms of the Callery pear hiding you from the sight of those within the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!?”

You stand up slowly, your fingers already growing jittery as you brush off the dirt and prickling twigs that dug imprints into the backs of your thighs. The heat no longer bothers you.

“Can’t you do anything right!? Can’t even get me a fuckin’ beer! You’re useless!”

“I’m–”

They left the kitchen window open again, the mesh serving to let air in while keeping insects out. It does nil to block sound.

“This is the one fuckin’ time I get a goddamn break from supporting this fuckin’ family, and this is how you repay me? By droppin’ my goddamn bottle of beer?”

You’re scared. You don’t know why you are, he always gets like this. He’s always yelling.

You think you’re used to it by now, you try to tell yourself that you are, but your heart still pounds uneasily in your chest. It feels like there’s ice in your veins, prickling and spreading frostbite in tiny kitten nips. It spreads to your stomach, growing heavy and sinking lower and lower, steel through honey.

You hate being scared. It makes you feel sick. You wish you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“I’m out there, breakin’ my back every damned day for you and that stupid brat–” you flinch, “workin’ my hands to the bones, and all I want is a drink to wind down after a long day of work.” It’s midday on a Saturday. He woke up an hour ago. “I ask my lovely, darlin’, sweet little wife to get me a beer, and what does she do?”

You think you can hear a woman mumbling something, but it’s hard to make out over the man’s screams.

He bangs his fist on the laminated kitchen counter, by the sink. Metal utensils stored to dry clink against each other from the force. “Answer me, woman!”

“You…bumped…accident–”

“Speak up!”

“Y-You bumped into–”

“Oh, so, now you’re goin’ off and blamin’ me?”

A sob. “It was an accident.”

“It’s always a fuckin’ accident with ya, ain’t it? Always forgettin’ shit, always lazy, always so clumsy. All you women are incompetent. Can’t even get me a damn drink without wastin’ my hard earned money. The money that supports your livelihood, by the way.”

There’s a hiccuping sound, followed by another bang on the counter.

“Now you’re throwin’ hysterics! You ungrateful whore, fuckin’ manipulative bitch, usin’ crocodile tears. I’ve been so kind, so patient, so lenient with you,” you tried to count the bruises he left on her one time, but you lost track after thirteen. “But, you’re just so fuckin’ spoiled, yeah? Damn hag. It’s ‘cause of me you get to sit your pretty ass at home all the time and do nothin’ all damn day while I’m out there, breakin’ myself for a useless bitch of a wife.”

Your nails dig into the tree’s bark for support. A white petal twists and ebbs as it falls from a flower above, landing on your shoulder.

She’s silent beyond short gasps of air and phlegmy sniffles. A stifled choke here and there.

“Don’t ignore me, bitch,” he hisses, then groans in defeat, as if he is choosing to surrender and indulge her. “Agh, it’s pointless, you’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand. You damn women are always so fuckin’–”

He says a word that makes you cringe horribly.

The heavy stomping of boots follows his tantrum, then there’s complete stillness. You wait outside for a long time, hesitating. You want to go to the woman, to comfort her despite your young age and inherent naivety.

You startle out of your skin when you hear the screechy garage door open and hare around the bulking trunk of the tree to hide behind it. Your back presses into the rough material, breaths barely filling your lungs before they’re pushed out again. Your skin crawls at the subdued sounds of the man’s mad ramblings, too indistinct for you to make out.

His tone tells you enough. It tells you he’s angry, and that he’s saying a lot of bad words that you’re not allowed to say. 

Bad words hurt people, baby.

As hidden as you can manage to be, you peer around the calleryana, grimacing at the loud, metallic thump of his car door slamming shut. You watch as the contraption, old with time and lack of maintenance – ‘It’s vintage,’ he slurs, bragging about the red machine like a proud father that treats it better than he treats his own teeth. Better than he treats you. – coughs and rattles down the short length of the driveway.

It turns along the curb, twisting ‘til its nose faces your direction. You jolt back out of sight.

You’ve always despised the sound it makes, the horrid noise passing by you and growing quieter as the car chugs down the gray asphalt. Like a dying goat. Or, cats yowling as they tear into each other in the dead of night. Jarring and uncomfortable, instilling a sense of dread in you.

You wait for a long time like this, staring blankly at the end of the street, holding your breath. You wait for the car to reappear at the turn, to come back no sooner than it had gone. You wait for him to loop the neighborhood. 

If he’s in the same mood, or worse, who knows what could happen. Maybe, he’ll have the courage to pull the trigger and end it all with a swift right hook this time.

Minutes or hours later, the street remains empty, and you exhale the breath you’ve been holding, allowing yourself to cautiously hope he won’t return for a while.

Itchy imprints are left on your palms, the backs of your arms, and upper back as you peel away from the tree and sneak across the yard to the rear of the house. Even though he’s not here anymore, you still walk on your tip-toes and avoid stepping on sticks or leaves.

The backdoor is open. It leads into the living room, with the kitchen doorway on your right. From this angle, you can see the fridge and sink. The cup holding the clean utensils has been knocked over.

You walk forward and turn left, instead. You stick to the walls, where the wooden floor doesn’t creak as loudly, and make your way to the bathroom. The light flickers on, struggling for a few seconds. Its orange illumination is dim and makes you nauseous.

You pull out the stool from the cupboard under the sink and pop it flat, then climb on top to reach the mirrored cabinet above the faucet. It’s a singular, fluid action; a habit, muscle memory honed over time.

You pry open the semi-shiny, scratched panel and dig around through the mess of products inside. You push aside aftershave, old tubes of half-used creams, rusted safety razors, and bottles of miscellaneous concoctions that intrigue and scare you in equal measure.

You collect the needed items, stacking a stocky, dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, knock-off antibiotic gel, and bandages into your arms. It’s not as heavy or hard as it used to be, and you don’t forget anything after so much practice.

Hopping off the stool, you shuffle your way to the kitchen.

From the doorway, you can see the woman sitting on one of the dining chairs, partially facing you. Her face is in her hands. Her shoulders tremble with mute weeping. There’s green glass and something wet spilled across the floor.

You’re careful to mind your step and veer around it.

If she’s aware of your presence, she doesn’t react, and says nothing. She doesn’t lift her head as you wriggle your gathered spoils onto the table, diligent in making sure none fall off. She doesn’t make any noise as you pull out a chair beside her and hoist yourself onto it. She’s eidolic as you sort the items around into a neat order for easy access.

She only responds when you reach a small hand forward and curl it around her wrist. Your fingers barely reach halfway. 

“Mama.”

Her movements are lethargic, tired. She lowers her hands sluggishly and looks up at you, but she has that far-away glaze over her eyes. She’s staring at your face, but her mind is a million miles away, unseeing.

You learned it was useless to try and bring her back to earth when she’s drifted so far off. So, you don’t bother attempting. Not anymore.

There are a couple cuts on her face, one stretching diagonally under her left eye, and one curving from the right side of her chin to partially underneath it. A bruise is swelling along her temple, and an old ring of claw marks adorns her throat like a necklace. Dried tear tracks mar her visage, eyelids puffy and scleras red. He was forgiving this time.

She lets you guide her palms down to rest on her lap. Her muscles don’t twitch as you dampen a pad with hydrogen peroxide and delicately begin dabbing it on the wounds to clean them. The blood, no longer beading and trickling, fizzles under the influence of the solution. You take care to not get any loose fibers caught in the new injuries.

It was nice of him to leave the ones that are still healing alone. He isn’t always this kind.

You’re too focused on your work to notice when your mother comes back to herself. The fog over her irises lifts, replaced with a glassy sheen, but no tears remain to fall.

She looks a lot like you, just older, and fatigued. Faint scars linger and taint her sullen expression. Her eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow. Your eyes are the same color, as is your hair. Your upper lip follows the same curve hers does.

The only difference is your age, what you’ve been through.

Your bruises, along your limbs, weren’t caused by him.

You stopped asking questions a long time ago, too. Around the same time she stopped physically showing any sort of pain or discomfort she might experience from you taking care of her. You smear a thin layer of the gel over the cuts, capping the tube.

As you’re reaching for the bandages, she suddenly grasps your wrists, spooking you.

“Promise me, baby,” she urges you frantically, voice low. Like she’s afraid he’ll hear her, even though he isn’t home anymore. “Promise me you’ll never let a man tie you down.”

You gaze at her – at the shallow cuts on the side of her chin and under her eye, the rapidly swelling bruise on her jaw, the spot forming on her temple – and nod once. It’s not a difficult choice. Hell, you don’t have to think about it to agree. 

All you’ve ever known about love is that it does nothing but hurt those who experience it.

All you’ve ever known about love was taught to you by fists and shouts.

All you’ve ever known about love was that it would break you, like it broke her, if you let yourself fall to it.

Wordlessly, you swear you’ll never end up like your mother.

Audibly, you seal the vow. 

“I promise, mama.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

It’s cold outside.

The sun hid behind the wide expanse of ashen-gray clouds that painted the sky a new color, one of mottled Nile lily and argent. You could make out shallow waves and hills in the skyline, but not much else, the world washed in desaturated periwinkle.

It made for a great environment for pondering.

Months had already gone by since you made your vast move to this quaint little stead, all in the blink of an eye. It was nice; peaceful. The routine you'd built up kept where no other had before, and instead of boredom and mundanity, or the anxiety that came with getting too comfortable, you were enjoying yourself. 

You were content.

In the mornings, you'd eat breakfast with Satoru and oftentimes Suguru, then continue the well-proceeding renovations on your house. In the afternoons you'd work at Granny’s shop, and your nights were free. Usually you'd either go to the park for a while, hang out with your friends, or go straight to either Suguru’s or Satoru's house.

Geto-mama and Geto-papa took a particular liking to you and enjoyed having you over. You learned very quickly where Suguru got his spice tolerance from, the pair of parents being worse than him in overusing various pepper seasonings.

His parents were also ridiculously tall, especially his mother, who stood toe-to-toe with Suguru himself. He was the spitting image of her.

You underestimated how much Geto-mama liked plants until she sat your pretty ass on the armchair in her living room, threw a blanket over your legs, and proceeded to whip out decades’ worth of knowledge on all kinds of husbandry.

Which, actually, was very entertaining and engaging, with plenty of hands-on activities. You were now the proud mother of a cardboard egg carton full of itty bitty forget-me-nots. 

When she told you that she was a kindergarten teacher, it all added up.

She was a blast to listen to, every conversation with her energetic and fun. You had a great time everytime you hung out with each other, leading you to frequently exchange flower and vegetation pictures with her over text. She had some shockingly hilarious husbandry memes, and you’d never seen Suguru come close to pouting before he learned you texted with his mom more than you did him. 

Sure, it was barely a downward twitch of his lips, but he looked so much like a wounded puppy that you had to fix the situation ASAP.

Which meant texting his mother in secret.

His father was vastly different from his mother. The silent type who didn’t speak much, spending most of his free time sitting on the couch, filling out crossword or sudoku puzzles featured in the weekly newspaper. 

You chalked him up to be the type to emotionally close himself off, until you saw him embracing his wife while she cooked, face buried against the crook of her neck while she rambled his ear off about anything and everything. 

You picked up on how he followed her around soon after that, always trailing after her around the house, lamb and shepherd. 

They shared more similarities than you initially caught. He was a teacher, too – a professor of ethics at the nearby college, specifically. Though he wasn’t talkative, he made for fascinating and thought-provoking conversation when he was in the mood to chat.

Suguru was a lot like his dad, you concluded, based on careful examination of the way they interacted with others and the world around them. They were both the wordless protector types, speaking more in gentle touches, subtle expressions, and words of affirmation than with open, boisterous actions. They were observant and highly aware of the emotions of others, and acted well on them.

Which is to say, they could both read you like a book. They knew when you were thirsty or hungry before you did. You weren’t as close to Geto-papa, but despite his quiet nature, he made it clear to you that you could go to him for anything.

Unlike them, Satoru was nothing like his dad.

You met Gojo-sama once, and wanted to keep it at only once if you could help it.

He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything, quite the opposite. He was polite, courteous, and respectful.

Problem was, he scared the absolute bejeezus out of you.

He carried this constant aura of authority with him everywhere he went, stern and straightforward to a fault. Where Ijichi was a trembling mess in front of Satoru, he went ramrod straight when in Gojo Saichi’s presence. He turned himself into a statue, and you couldn’t discern if it was from fear or great reverence, because Gojo-sama was quite kind to him, all things considered.

You were still spooked by the man, though, and preferred to avoid him. Lucky for you, he more-or-less lived in a town a few hours away, far enough to need to take the train, as he was busy working.

The only person you’d seen him cower before was Granny, as she apparently also knew him since he was younger. Whatever that woman was built of, you wanted it.

One day, sometime in late summer, you broke the golden rule of avoiding the park on Thursday nights and very quickly found out why Aoi and her boyfriend fucked there. They went at it like rabid animals – hell, you thought they were animals at first. Then, you saw a bit more ass than you were bargaining for and bolted out of the park, swearing to avoid the bushes they had chosen to desecrate at all costs.

You had come to know most of the more commonly seen townsfolk by name now, but that was about it. You were still introverted, after all. Everyone outside your group was an acquaintance, generally. You knew some people better than others, whether by intention (Granny, Shoko, Utahime) while others not so much (Aoi's boyfriend’s ass), but that was fine.

You sighed softly as you watched lilliputian snowflakes drift past the window of Granny’s shop, your chin propped up on your palm. They stirred and danced, waltzing with one another, then came to rest on the ground.

It wasn’t cold enough for them to stick – winter in this part of Japan was fairly mild – but it was alluring nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you stopped everything to just…observe. You hardly had enough time to settle and let your lungs fully fill to admire the scenery anywhere else you went. A shame and a waste, you knew that. Some of the places you drifted to were revered for their natural beauty, or hypnotic architecture, or lively communities.

You’d be lying if you said you went to them with the first two in mind. Mainly, you drifted towards densely packed locations. The more people, the more sounds, the less you were able to hear your own thoughts. Clubs, dating apps, friend groups full of names you would never remember, nothing worked.

Being unable to think left you feeling like your sanity was being torn apart by ragged, filthy nails. It made you want to rip into your own skull to wrench out the obnoxious fucking buzzing. At first, you thought there wasn’t enough noise, that the rattling was a result of there being too much room in your cranium that let things clatter about.

Living above subs and stumbling your way into various parties, drinking your weight in liquor until you couldn’t think at all, making out with someone knowing that you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than light petting, nothing sufficed.

It’s possible you moving to such an isolated valley wasn’t such a difficult thing to believe. Something, something, insanity.

The passage of time seemed nonexistent here. When you arrived, you were slipping into summer, battling the hellish heat under the AC at Suguru’s house blowing on full blast, prancing in the river with Satoru, and now it was snowing. It felt like only yesterday, or at most before yesterday, you had arrived.

The memory of your first night on a floor you couldn’t believe you actually slept on in hindsight was so distant, yet merely a few hours back on the clock of your mind.

Intrusive thoughts – the same that told you to stab your hand, jump off a cliff, fantasize about your worst fears and subsequently having panic attacks because of it – persisted. Hard habits to kick, but they were significantly quieter nowadays. Further spaced out, too.

The voice of the demon clinging to your cervical spine, the one that urged you to run like your feet were on hot coals, had all but gone mute. Sometimes you got the thought, but it was more reflex than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, you found where you were supposed to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Granny’s calm voice roused you from your reverie, drawing your attention to her.

Like you, she peered at the slow-falling flakes, following the twirls and spirals they made when a mild breeze caught them. If you had to name the expression she wore, it would be reminiscence. You’d think that, after living here for as long as she did, one would be used to the sight of the year’s first snow. Impassive, even, or perhaps irked by the omen it brought, but the childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes told you otherwise.

You sensed you would never truly get used to it, either. 

“Yeah,” you matched her tone, returning your fixation to beyond the window. “I’ve seen snow before, but never really…”

Granny easily picked up on what you didn’t voice. “It’s quite magical.”

You nodded faintly, unbothered by the countertop digging into your elbow. 

The day was uneventful for the most part.

Geto-mama had stopped by earlier in the day to pass you a plate of mini lemon tarts, which you idly nibbled on while reading. She had taken to using you as a test subject for her experimental baked treats, and (to your massive relief, since you lived in constant fear of Satoru and Ijichi and their calamitous baking skills) she made amazing snacks, and taught you when she had the time to.

Everyone else was busy either completing preparations for the forecasted snowfall, promised to last the week, or they’re already bundled up at home, staving off the frost from within.

Which meant it was slow-going at the shop, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

It gave you time to catch up on the new manga series you’d picked up from the shelf of the store after becoming curious about it. It was an odd story, something about a boy whose body was doused in a fire that could never extinguish, but it kept your mind busy.

The tale under your hand was…difficult to stomach. Not for any massive horror or emotional reasons, no. Rather, it was so painfully cringy that you had to periodically stop and take a breath to steady yourself.

The plot was rather good, an interesting concept for a world that would make for a fantastic anime, but the author really enjoyed causing his readers physical pain from the dialogue. It made for fantastic taunting material, though, and Satoru and you enjoyed ripping into the characters.

It amazed you that this author apparently had a popular manga in both Japan and the States that was released only a couple years after this one, because wow. It was bad.

The dainty chime of the bell drew your attention away from your manga in time to see Suguru ducking under the door frame, giant that he was, a furoshiki-clad object in hand. A quick skim over the shop had his sights landing on you, locating his target. His eyes creased into slim lunes, the corners of his lips digging into the plush of his cheeks as he approached you.

You stepped out from behind the counter and oof-ed when his free arm encompassed you and tugged you into his hoodie-covered chest. 

He placed the side of his face against the top of your head and rubbed it endearingly. You never chalked him up to be the type for physical affection when you first met, but here you were, practically getting scented by a territorial feline.

“Hey, you,” he lilted, withdrawing after far too much time passed for the embrace to be considered a normal greeting between friends. His palm stayed in contact with your figure, gliding across the curve of your waist as he was pulling back, seemingly reluctant to part. It raised goosebumps on your nape and along the lengths of your arms.

“Hey, Suguru,” you welcomed, your lips subconsciously tilting upwards. Your heart filled your chest with a warmth akin to the heat the hot chai he frequently made for you. “What brings you here?”

“Brought you lunch,” he explained as he set the object down on the register counter. A succulent scent wafted towards you, forcing you to restrain your stomach in a chokehold around its neck like a crazed mutt. Decorum and politeness were vital in the presence of royalty.

You crooned, grinning wider at him. “Aww, Sugu, you didn’t have to do that.” 

He merely shook his head, tucking his hands into the center pocket of his hoodie. “It’s no problem. You mentioned you never tried somen or nikujaga, so I figured I’d make you some.”

His kindness and thoughtfulness had you swooning, so much so that you had faith even the biting chill of the world outside the temperate shop wouldn’t dare bother you.

“I’m serious, Suguru, you’re too nice to me,” you pouted playfully, to which he shook his head in disagreement.

“No such thing,” he replied, leaning back against the wall behind the counter. He jerked his chin towards the bento box. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, you untied the cloth and pulled it away, further unveiling the mouthwatering scent. The container was still hot as you scooted it off the cloth that you folded neatly, then frowned minutely.

“You didn’t bring a box for yourself?” You asked, worry etched into your brow.

He smiled at you. “I ate earlier, don’t worry.”

“Such a good man, dear,” Granny reappeared, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Your parents raised you well.”

“Thanks, Granny,” he said, keeping an eye on you to make sure you ate. His concern was assuaged when you began feasting contentedly, his shoulders loosening. “How’s the shop?”

The old woman waved her hand loosely. “Just fine. Not many have come in today. Oh, but your mother did.”

He nodded. “She told me she wanted to stop by and drop something off before she went to work.”

“Tarts!” You covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your words and pointed at the plate of half-eaten snacks next to you. “Sho yummy.”

“Ah, her lemon tarts? Those are pretty good.” He approved. “Don’t let Satoru know she gave you those.”

“How is Yoriko doing?” Your sorta-grandmother asked, since the topic was brought up.

“Mom is alright,” Suguru answered. “She’s fussing over the snow, as if it doesn’t snow every year.”

She complained indignantly. “She’s just like her mother, that one. Always worried about the smallest things. Your father is a terrible enabler.”

He snorted. “You think he’s any better? They enable each other, it’s an echo chamber.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Missing the forest for the trees,” she mumbled, then reached out and patted your head. “You can leave for the day after you finish eating.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really? But, it’s so early.”

“It’s alright, there won’t be much work to do today. You should go enjoy it.”

You were prepared to argue further, but were halted by the hard glare she gave you. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Granny.”

“Good girl,” she patted you one more time for good measure. “Eat up, now.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased.

“I am,” she deadpanned.

You balked at her.

A laugh rumbled in Suguru’s chest, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Can you believe this? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He cocked his head towards you. “She’s just being kind enough to let me steal you away.”

You grumbled as you stuffed more food into your mouth. “Unbelievable. The absolute gall of you people, passing me back and forth like a football.”

He and Granny exchanged light conversation, talking about his folks’ plans for their farm in the coming spring, once the cold season passes, while you nibble away until the box is empty and you’re stuffed.

“Thank you for the food, Sugu,” you sighed in satisfaction and slid off your stool, stretching your arms above your head.

“You’re very welcome. I hope you liked it,” he spoke as he gathered the bento back into its furoshiki.

You chuffed. “You kidding? Your cooking is always amazing.”

The elder jabbed your ribs painfully with her elbow, making you wheeze. Unperturbed, she cupped a hand around her mouth to mutter to you. “He likes you.”

“Granny, please,” you rubbed the spot she impacted. 

Your further objections were cut off when you found a scarf tossed over your shoulders, the fabric being looped around them a couple times to properly cover your neck and the lower half of your face. The culprit of the surprise attack stood in front of you, now sans his own scarf, as he was diligently securing it in place on you.

“Suguru,” you crinkled your nose at him as he tucked the ends of the fabric into the collar of your sweater. You didn’t fight him on it, but you did feel perhaps a teensy bit child-like with the way he cosseted you.

He merely smiled, cupping your cheek when he finished. “Indulge me.”

Granny gave you a knowing glance from your side.

You freed your chin to stick your tongue out at her before you were stuffed straight back into the scarf. It smelled like Suguru, like tea and spice and him, and you instinctively nuzzled further into the thick material.

“My place?” He moved a section of your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t bother you.

You acquiesced easily, offering to take the bento and furoshiki, to which he declined. You waved goodbye to the weird lady who kept looking between you and your friend while waggling her eyebrows as you stepped out of the shop. You had no idea who she was. What a strange person.

Cough.

The bite of winter nibbled anywhere your clothes didn’t cover as you met the outside world. Baby snowflakes began to gather and melt in your tresses, and you shuddered as a slight draft skittered past your legs.

His fingers easily slipped into the gaps between yours, palms pressed together as he tucked both of your hands in the pocket of his hoodie. 

That was the thing about Suguru – he knew what you needed without having to exchange words. He was nothing if not perceptive and observant, a caretaker at heart. Likening him to a guardian angel would’ve been an understatement, in your opinion.

It unsettled you at first, the way he would do something for you, whether or not you said something. You were nervous he could read your mind, but extensive testing (consisting of you saying random gibberish in your head) proved he couldn’t. He was simply good at guessing what you were thinking, and was spectacular at planning ahead.

Your thumb rubbed idle circles into the back of his hand, grazing over the prominent knuckles and thick veins there. 

You admired his hands a lot, everything about them. Their size, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, their strength. You liked that, regardless of the feats he was capable of pulling off with those hands, he was always attentive and dovish in the way he treated you.

You enjoyed watching him tear apart old cabinets the same way you enjoyed watching him leaf through a book. Those hands, the ones that dexterously tore out prickly weeds bare, were the same that affixed the fabric keeping your neck protected from the elements in place. Capable of destruction and creation in the same stroke.

The bones of his wrist were a particular draw to you, you couldn’t help but stare at them whenever the chance presented itself – you swear it’s not in a creepy way. Like a hand fetish, but not sexual. Was that a thing?

Ugh, this was just digging your grave deeper. You had to shift your thought process a hint to the left.

What else could he do with them? You’d bet easy money he’d be killer at knitting if he ever asked his dad to teach him. He had a good sense of textiles, knowing the texture of something before touching it, if he had to at all. 

A flake dropped onto the round of your cheek and you flinched, rubbing at your face with your free hand. As much as you loved winter, you were looking forward to getting to Suguru’s place to get the sprouting wetness out of your hair. You adored snow, but you’d rather snuggle up under a blanket and relax with him.

You craned your head back, taking in the expanse of ash, stretched from mountaintop to mountaintop. 

The crests were sugar dusted, fluffy powder so delicate, you could sink through it effortlessly. Icing glazed down in streaks, brooks and streams frosted by a thin layer atop them. If the town river had a thick sheet of ice over it, you could try to convince your friends to go ice skating with you. 

Satoru would be the easiest to convince, Suguru would be the hardest, and Shoko and Utahime would be somewhere in the middle.

Never having experienced nature to this degree, as you hadn’t given yourself the chance to in years past, you pined for a taste of all of it. Hiking in autumn, swimming in summer, sunbathing in spring…you doubted the snow would be dense enough to ski on, and the mountains were too short and steep, but ice skating was well within the realm of possibility.

Whatever season it was, you were determined to be part of it, and to take it with you.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours, hm?” Suguru eased you from your daydreaming.

You angled your head so you could see him and still fantasize about flying above the frigid clouds. “Suguru, are you any good at painting?”

His head tilted to the side, woefully reminiscent of a curious puppy. “Painting? I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of turning one of the walls in my house into a simple mural.”

“What kind?”

You ran your tongue over your back teeth in consideration. “I haven’t decided yet. Nature-esque would be nice, vines and stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “We can look at some inspiration together later, if you’d like.”

You grinned brightly. “Absolutely!”

He reciprocated the smile and reached for his door, making you realize you’d arrived. He hiked the furoshiki up to his forearm and curled his fingers around the knob, twisting it and pushing inwards. In seconds, you went from the crisp sting of wintertide to the protection of his home, shielded from the snow and chill. 

The scent of the food he made earlier permeated the residence, undertoned by a layer of sandalwood and agarwood incense.

While you were wriggling off your shoes, Suguru was undoing your scarf, pulling it off with smooth movements to hang it over the coat rack. His hands took your face into them, large thumbs rubbing over the swaths of plushness under your eyes to thaw them out.

“I’ll make you some chai,” he said, sharp, russet irises darting across your features. “Wanna sit in the kitchen while I do that?”

You nodded, fleetingly nuzzling into his hold to warm the tip of your nose. He obliged you, only releasing you when you were satisfied with the pleasant buzz tingling over your skin. He motioned for you to go ahead while he pulled off his hoodie and put his shoes away.

The walls of his home had become calming to you over time, the path to his kitchen now one you could follow automatically. You’d even gotten your own designated spot at the breakfast table in his kitchen. Sure, it was a two-seater, so it wasn’t saying much, but it gave you that happy, fluffy feeling anyway.

You slid into your seat as he came in, his hands busy with coiling his long, obsidian locks up into a messy bun that he pinned into place with a claw clip. He was always careful with his hair, taking measures to ensure its condition remained pristine and luscious. You admired and spited him for it; the former for his dedication, and the latter for inflicting you with the constant desire to play with the silk strands like a honeymoon lover.

Suguru was structured and organized in everything he did, preparing chai not excluded. Your jaw rested on the curve of your palm, your focus placed on him as he moved around the room with practiced dexterity.

If you were honest, this was one of your favorite things to do.

Sitting in silence while observing Suguru do his thing lured you into a drowsy sort of state. Not sleepy, but definitely cushy and snug, an invisible blanket laid over your back, weighted and heated.

He taught you how to make it – rather simple, once you know – but his tasted better than anything you could ever make. You could’ve been biased, but you wholeheartedly believed he made the absolute best chai.

A mug was slid over the tabletop to you, mouthwatering steam rising from it. You peered down at the milky-brown liquid with hearts in your eyes, hands grasping the ceramic without hesitation. Suguru enjoyed drawing cute things on the surface of the drinks he made, and used a shallow bowl of milk foam and a toothpick to painstakingly doodle a pudgy bear for you to gulp down.

“Thank you, Suguwu,” you crowed happily, almost feeling too bad for the bear to drink him.

Almost.

“You’re very welcome,” his hand settled on your nape as you lifted the edge of the mug to your lips, gently blowing on the tea, then taking a sip. “How is it?”

You purred. “So good,” you praised him. “Your chai is incredible.”

He chuckled and positioned his index and thumb an inch or so above your hairline. He pressed down, and you stiffened as a sharp spike of pain went through your temple – then you were melting with a satisfied sigh, sliding back into the chair. You had no idea how he knew where to poke and prod to have you turning into putty, but it left you feeling squishy and content, thus you had no complaints.

“Very good, I’m glad,” he said, accepting your compliments, both spoken and silent. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Put the mug in the dishwasher when you’re done, please.”

You nodded and murmured in acknowledgement, relaxing with a dopey smile as you sipped at your chai.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you’d gained a sort of philosophical appreciation for things like this. Stopping to smell the roses, feeling the snow on your lashes, tasting vanilla and black tea and cinnamon under your tongue, the things you hadn’t bothered to treasure, you now made sure to.

After a few minutes of slouching and drinking lazily, you sat back up and pulled out your phone, unlocking it to occupy your mind.

Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through some social media app, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, slipping into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.”

Unamused would be a good way to describe your mood. You weren’t very fond of weddings; they were loud, busy, and grossly romantic. Sure, the idea was nice on paper, but spending half a day (or, more often, far more) watching two people slobber over each other in a socially acceptable version of PDA always made you feel gross and invasive, like seeing something you weren’t meant to.

And envious, to some extent, but you preferred to not dwell on that.

“Take Suguru,” you suggested.

Satoru’s nose wrinkled like you waved something expired under his nostrils. “That old hag? No way, he’d kill all my game.”

You scoffed. “And I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tipped further toward you. “You are the game.”

“Very flattering,” you returned to your phone and tea. “Today I learned that I’m a game.”

He made an affronted noise and curled over you to stare into your eyes, making sure you had no choice but to stare back. “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, bunny, it’ll be fun!”

You set your cheekbone against your knuckles. “What’s in it for me?”

The Gojo heir puffed up his chest, going full peacock. “A date with me, of course.”

A tempting offer on its own, but not enough. “And…?”

“And,” he continued, “I’ll treat you to anything you like, just name it.”

You deliberated on what sort of ridiculous thing you could ask for that could get him to back off, partially because you really didn’t want to go to a wedding, and partially because you were curious about what the great Gojo Satoru could and couldn’t achieve.

What could you ask of him? You knew money was of no concern for him, in terms of anything your brain could come up with. You weren’t about to ask him to buy you a whole ass estate, no, you were thinking more in the realm of something purposelessly expensive but practical.

You weren’t a big fan of jewelry, hardly wearing the stuff. You’d had enough of world travel as it stood, so a flight to Spain or France or whatever was out of the question.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips unbidden. Plush, pink, parted with anticipation.

A kiss.

You caught the cringe that bubbled up the column of your spine by a hair. What ugly hell did that intrusive thought crawl up from?

Mentally picturing slapping yourself with a sad, wet newspaper and calling yourself a bad pooch, you jumped on the next thing you could come up with.

“Make soap with me,” you said.

Ah, finally, a good idea. You could use some decent soap to scrub your brain wrinkles free of filth.

He frowned. “Soap?”

“Yeah, like one of those soap-making kits. I’ve wanted to try one of those since I was a kid,” you clarified. 

“Done,” he agreed with a serious bob of the head. “What else?”

You blinked. What else?

As greedy as you could be at times, you already felt bad asking for the soap kit. You didn’t like people spending money on you, even if it was on Satoru’s tab. You knew his wallet ran deep, you were afraid to know how deep, but your point remained.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek.

You really didn’t want to go to the wedding, but you did kind of get his hopes up with that soap kit ask…

It’d be a good idea to know who you were up against.

“Whose wedding is it?” You queried 

His reply brought you a vast amount of satisfaction. “Aoi’s and her fiancé’s.”

Ohohoho, this you had to see. The bush-sex-freaks getting married?

Alright, worth it. “Fine, I’ll go–”

“As my date,” he insisted, not letting you finish.

You half-groaned, the sound ribbing more than anything else. “I’ll go to the wedding as your date. Happy, now?”

He cheered as if he’d won the lottery and pressed a giant kiss to your cheek, rubbing his nose vigorously against it for good measure. “Yippee! I knew you’d agree!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the up-quirk at the corners of your lips. “I swear to God, if you’re just using me to get numbers from girls–”

“I’m not,” he sneered, following you as you got up, gulped down the rest of your chai, and set the mug away into the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t dare do that, not when I already have the number of the girl I like.”

Something under your ribs twinged. The girl he…likes?

Whatever the odd pinch of discomfort was, you shoved it aside, refusing to address it. “Trying to get her attention by making her jealous of me, then?”

Duckling to mama, he continued to trail after you out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “Nope.”

You made a ‘hrm’ noise. “So, you’re the one who’s jealous and you’re trying to get back at her?”

“Nada.”

You gave up rather easily. “I got nothin’,” you declared, stepping into the living room.

“Don’t you get it? You’re– oh, hey, Suguru,” Satoru cut himself off to greet Suguru, who was reclined in the armchair, freshly showered and casually reading a book. “Didn’t know you were here.”

The nox-haired man halted mid-paragraph and slowly dragged his gaze upwards. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, further adding to that skeptical mom look he had going on. “You didn’t know I’d be in my own house? Yet you figured she would be?” He spoke incredulously and gestured towards you.

Satoru shrugged and dropped himself onto the floor in front of the T.V., tugging open the doors of the cabinet it stood on to withdraw a game controller. “Was lookin’ for her. She wasn’t at my place, since I just left it, and wasn’t at the shop. Next logical place: here.”

“What about the park?”

“In the fuck ass middle of winter?” He jeered. “I’m a himbo, but I’m not stupid.”

“Wow, he’s self-aware,” you commented dryly, climbing onto the couch and nestling into the corner closest to Suguru, tugging at the blanket on the back of it to drape it across your lap. “He did find me here.”

“Touché,” he conceded. “What’d he want from you?”

You used the armrest as a support for your back and tapped open your phone, searching for something to read. “Oh, just an invita–”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s commanding tone clipped through your words. “Play Smash with me!”

“No.”

The cotton ball sulked. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh. “Satoru, we played Smash just this morning for, like, two hours.”

Gojo’s lour deepened. “Not even if I added ghost peppers on top of the sugar?”

Geto’s upper lip curled. “Gross.”

You set one foot on the floor, keeping your other leg positioned on the couch, and used the coffee table to lean as far forward as you could to pat the absurdly fluffy mop of white Gojo called hair. “I’ll play it with you later, how’s that?”

If fireworks were a person, they’d be Satoru. Dark one moment, then lighting up the sky the next. “Okay! Wanna watch me play GTA, then?”

“Sure,” you assented, entertained by how his giddiness reminded you of a child opening presents on Christmas.

He got into the zone, navigating through the menus with a grace that told you he’d done this countless times. Watching another person play a game could be tranquilizing in its own right; you could turn your brain off and peep the horrors of him crashing a helicopter head first into a street in the middle of Los Santos. 

His manic tittering as he created the most heinous looking vehicle further added to the domestic atmosphere of Geto’s home.

You retrieved your phone at some point to scroll through it, then stopped when you saw a post of a girl showing off her fairy braid. You chewed on your lip, thinking, then dropped your device once you made your choice.

“Suguwu.”

“Mm?”

“Lemme braid your hair,” you demanded, making grabby hands at him. 

You couldn’t make a fairy braid as pretty as that, but you could sure as hell make a stellar normal braid.

He took one glance up from his book to you, then he was standing up from his arm chair to sit in front of you at the foot of the couch, already engaged with the words beneath his fingers again.

Satoru gaped, distracted from his game.

“Wh– you never let anyone touch your hair! Not even me!”

The noiret flipped the page as you carefully undid his bun, clasping the clip to the neck of your shirt. “That’s because you’d do unspeakable damage to my hair if I ever let you. Besides, nobody else knows how to treat hair well.”

A blue eye twitched. “Oh, yeah? And she does?”

Suguru opened his mouth to quip back, only to let out the most scandalous groan you’d ever heard when your nails scraped lightly across his scalp. 

Sweet disciples of Jesus H. Christ, what was that sound?

He reclined into your touch, book promptly forgotten on his lap as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“How long did it take you to find a routine?” You asked him, hoping to distract yourself before your imagination took off with the noise now permanently ingrained on your brain. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Trial and error,” he said with a rasp. “My mom has the same hair as me, so I learned from her. You?”

You combed your fingers through his silken locks with a delicate touch, moving slowly so as to not catch and tear any potential knots. Whenever you found one, you carefully untangled it before proceeding. “Trial and error for me, too. My life changed when I discovered leave-in.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Suguru mumbled.

You burst into giggles, your laughter fueled by Satoru’s baffled expression. In two seconds flat, he had dropped the controller and was directly in your face, brows set with determination.

“Braid my hair, too!”

You snorted horrendously and angled your face away out of embarrassment, Suguru’s chuckle making you laugh harder. “S-Satoru,” you heaved. “Your hair is too short to braid.”

“Don’t care!” He grasped your hand and planted it firmly atop his head, his demands made clear. “Do it anyway!”

“Okay– okay!” You panted, willing the rest of your chortling away. “Let me do Suguru’s hair first, then yours.”

Subdued, he sat on his knees on the couch cushion next to yours, and though he didn’t prod, he very much continued to reside in your personal space. His wide eyes were fixated on your hands as they worked sedulously to curve and twist Suguru’s hair into an elegant braid, intrigued with every shift and swoop.

You were no professional, but you were beaming with pride at the end. Using the claw you’d removed earlier, you folded the braid into itself, then pinned it into place, satisfied.

“There, all done,” you announced. 

Geto peeled his droopy eyes open, but made no move to stand and go back to his seat, fully content to stay where he was. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

Satoru threw himself over your lap, face down as he shoved one arm under and the other over the thigh pillowing his head and hugged it in a hold bordering on a death grip. “My turn!”

His poor parents.

Dealing with an adult Satoru was already hassle enough, considering his impatience and penchant for pestering the living hell out of you to get what he wanted. Kid-sized Satoru was probably eons worse, if the anecdotes from others were anything to go on.

You spoiled him, anyway. 

Your fingers carded through his hair, eliciting a loud purr. Given the significantly shorter length of his hair, you elected to transform isolated sections into micro braids. They held themselves together nicely, the rhythmic and repetitive motions lulling both you and Satoru into amicable quiet, disturbed only by the occasional scratch of pages sliding against each other as Suguru returned to his book.

It took you some time to figure out that Satoru had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even, cheek squished against the plush of your thigh. He was turned towards you, allowing you to inspect his features closely.

He really was beautiful. 

In gaps of time like this, where he wasn’t bouncing off the walls with energy, you could pick apart the details that made him who he was. 

His brows and lashes were the same shade of gardenia as his locks. Thick petals protected those whirlpools residing beneath, hiding the blue of a moonstone’s shine. His lips formed a natural pout, a tad glossy in the middle, dark magenta lining the inside. 

He had freckles, you discovered. They were faint, virtually invisible unless you were this near to him, but they were there. They dusted across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving him an extra boost to that boyish charm of his you had become partial to.

He really was handsome, blessed by the heavens, made in their image. 

Your susutake-eyed friend gained your attention with low-toned words, pulling you away from your veneration. “I’m guessing it was about the wedding?”

You took a few seconds to recall what he was talking about, the reason Satoru was looking for you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna be my plus-one?” Suguru inquisitioned.

You exhaled, drawn out and defeated as you laced your digits through the mane of the boy napping on your lap. “Satoru already coerced me into being his plus-one.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be my plus-one, too.”

Your brow knitted. “How so?”

Topaz locked onto you. “Simply by being my plus-one. We’ll all go together.”

Satoru stirred as you mulled over it, your motions pausing in fear that you woke him. But, he merely repositioned, his lanky arms moving to encase your waist so he could press his face against your stomach, then he sank back down into deep sleep.

Your heart fluttered, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

A bird, downy and young, burrowed into the nest behind the defensive embrace of your ribs, and chirped shyly. A fragile thing, one that cautiously set foot into a desolate and hollow place, hoping to fill it with feathers and, perhaps, an emotion akin to devotion.

It’d need compassionate hands to hold it, to nurture it, let it rise and spread its wings wide until they could sprout from your shoulder blades to return what was once lost.

You had to allow it to do so, though. You had to be the one cradling it to where you were most vulnerable, let it seep strength from your pounding heart, but you recognized that your warmth alone wouldn’t be sufficient. You had to let others in, let their hands clasp around yours, let them share the fires of their souls with you. 

In the past, such an idea was inconceivable. The nest had been empty for endless years for a reason, unsuitable for any kind of life, especially a docile and infant type.

You weren’t in the past anymore.

You were terrified to give anyone entry to the darkness that painted the walls of your ribcage, sapping all light that deigned to creep in, but…

How you longed to feel the sun on your skin, to feel the moon crowning you.

It didn’t have to be everybody, no. It could be just them, the celestial bodies you cowered from yet coveted.

Just Satoru and Suguru.

“Sure,” you decreed. “Why not?”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You twisted side-to-side in front of the mirror, examining yourself, dissecting every part of you.

You were standing on the rug in your room – your actual room, the one in your house, rather than Satoru’s. After months upon months of hard work, you were finally able to say you’d accomplished your goal of fixing it up to be properly habitable. 

And, yes, you’d stolen the rug from ‘your’ room back at his place to bring here.

One thing you didn’t consider about living alone after having so long to get used to living with Satoru was how lonely it could be, so the fluffy piece watered that feeling down. 

After you’d made the move here, he insisted the room in his home was permanently yours, and that you’d always be welcome there. Well, more accurately, he begged you to stay. While you were too enticed by the idea of having your own house and being able to live in it, you frequently slept at his anyway. It was hard to beat the repose that came with the familiarity of his estate, and knowing he was close by.

But, the benefit of having a solo-abode was that he couldn’t pester the living hell out of you while you got ready for Aoi’s wedding. 

Your makeup was flawless, as it should have been, given how long you’d been slaving away on it. You didn’t do your makeup often, so you were plenty chuffed with how it turned out. It only took two-and-a-half hours, too! 

…You were smart to start early.

The thin chain around your throat complemented the neckline of the dress Suguru and Satoru gifted you beautifully, glimmering like the sparkling dots decorating the profile of the fabric.

Breathable fabric followed the shape of your body, powdered with microscopic, iridescent glitters that fluctuated with every movement you made, catching the light zealously. Satoru had snuck it in with the soap kit, shutting down each of your attempts to reject the gift. 

Suguru had chosen the style, while Satoru selected the color. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t suit you. 

It was perfectly tailored to you, flattering and enhancing in all the best ways.

You wouldn’t admit to anyone that you spent ten minutes running your hands over your tits, waist, and hips after putting it on. You looked good. Like, good good, the kind of pop and spunk and beauty that you’d swoon over in a hit music video. 

You had a pair of sandals that were miraculously a match, which meant you could not only turn down Satoru’s offer to get you a new pair, but you didn’t have to worry about wearing beaten up sneakers, either. There was no way in hell you were letting that man buy another thing for you. He wouldn’t tell you how much the dress cost him, no matter how many times you banged on his chest and demanded answers, so anything more was out of the question.

He relented after bickering back and forth, giving you the relief to dress up without guilt.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As you finished fawning over yourself, there was a knock at your front door. Your heart rate spiked and you giggled, giving yourself a second to cool off, lest you looked too eager. No man liked that, you’d been told.

You skipped across your house, pausing to admire the accent wall in the living room. Suguru had painted a fairly simple nature scene on it of tree silhouettes encasing a mountain background, and it’d become your absolute favorite thing. You knew he was good with his hands, and you were elated with the results.

Giddy, you popped open the door, where you found the men of the hour awaiting you.

Oh, hell.

They looked like kings in those tuxedos of theirs, fit for royalty. They were already striking, you wholeheartedly believed they couldn’t possibly clean up any better. Boy, were you wrong.

Suguru’s gorgeous mane was interwoven into a plait that rested over his shoulder, dotted with baby’s breath flowers in resemblance to constellations, courtesy of Geto-mama. Satoru’s tresses were swept back, looking minimally less disheveled. You really couldn’t ask much from his hair, it did what it liked, when it liked.

“Oh, my god,” you said. “I wanna see you in suits.”

Suguru laughed, deep and rumbling, orbs glinting with mischief. “Next wedding, princess.”

“Look at you!” Satoru whistled, checking you out blatantly. “Damn, you look hot as fuck. That dress is perfect on you. Who picked it out for you?” He teased, sapphires glimmering. “I wanna get a drink with him sometime.”

Suguru snorted. “You don’t even drink, Satoru.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a drink with the handsome fella who dressed our girl up so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “You look fantastic, too, Satoru. Both of you! Seriously, you’re killing it! You’re gonna steal all the attention from the groom.”

“So long as your attention is on me, I don’t care,” he winked, taking your hand to ghost a kiss over your knuckles. Heat rushed through your being, adding to the blush you applied earlier.

Suguru bent over, pressing his own to the spot right in front of your ear. “You look beautiful, angel,” he murmured. Pulling away, the two of them presented corsages – one in blue and white, the other in lilac and black. 

You placed a hand to your chest, taken aback and flattered. You picked up on how their corsages matched the flowers they had respectively pinned to their breast pockets.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you snickered and offered out both arms for them to take and adorn.

They were coordinated as always, neither wrist bare for longer than the other. 

“They’re gorgeous,” you doted. “Thank you.”

Suguru’s palm slid up your forearm, digits pressing so tenderly into your skin, spawning chills under his touch. “Only right for someone as ravishing as yourself.”

You blushed, relishing in the praise. It was alright to indulge sometimes, you considered it a treat for finishing your home renovation. The opportunity was there to let loose and wash away all your worries, you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Coming from you,” you blew him a jesting kiss, which he pretended to catch. “Cheesy.”

“Let’s go already!” Satoru butted in, hooking his arm with yours.

Suguru extended his for you to take, continuing to be the polite and proper of the two. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” You declared. For once, you were excited to attend a wedding.

So long as it was with them, you’d go anywhere.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 1

Spoilers for TwoHats. CW: Suicidal thoughts/ideation This chapter is meant to be loops perspective on LWL Chapter 1, some dialogue and moments is cut out, assuming you already read it and not wanting to fully duplicate it, so please read that chapter first, or reread if you need a refresher. Lines in Red are meant to show duplicate lines from the complimentary chapter

[Your consciousness slowly fades back into existence. The sweet embrace of oblivion leaving you. The unfamiliar surroundings of a forest clearing filling your senses before a ringing takes over your hearing. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, gripping yourself tighter as the ringing grows. You can't move, you can't speak, you can't...] (Was this actually real?... ) [What?... That voice... You can just barely hear it through the ringing. You focus, trying so hard to parse through the high pitched tone, only making it louder in the process. You have to find it! You have to... find him.] [Stardust?... Is that you?....] (LOOP!) [His voice shouts through your mind. It snaps you out of it, letting you regain control of your body. Your head falls into your hands, staring wide eyed through the your spread fingers, falling to your knees.] [Why?... Why are you back?... Why is this happening again?... You were free, it was over! Why do you exist again?! Why must you be forced through this endless torment?! Why can't you just die?!] [You sigh and collect yourself... you have to hold it together. If you're back, then something must be wrong. You need to be there for Stardust, helping him is the only blinding thing you're pathetic existence is good for anymore...] [You stand again, holding your arms lightly around yourself, waiting... You close your eyes and try to find him, trying to make that connection again. At first it's only static, but as you focus, and as they get closer, the picture becomes just a tad clearer. They seem to be running, frantic at that, rushing through trees, desperate to find you... Suddenly they come to a stop.] "Loop... LOOP! LOOP IT'S REALLY YOU!" [Your eyes shoot open as you hear his voice, suddenly tackled into a tight hug, slowly wrapping your forearms around them as you respond. You do your best to keep up your same little facade as always, even though you fully dropped the that mask during your last encounter. It was what you were best at now, so no use in avoiding it. Performing in your little play was all you could do now.] ------------------------------------------------------------ "30 YEARS?!?!" [You cry out, scattering every nearby bird from the trees.] [This can't be real... Stardust gets his happy ending and a whole BLINDING life, and you're just forced to exist further. You one and only use in this damned universe, taken from you... All you're left with now is his pity, offering you the cheap imitation of your former life. To be yet another character in his play... You suppose it's the only option you have at this point, other than simply wasting away in a tree, though that option did sound more appealing by the minute.] ------------------------------------------------------------- "... So what's the plan here anyways?-" [You begin, it couldn't truly be that simple... right? This wasn't your family. This wasn't your life... Not anymore... Does Stardust truly pity you that much he'd be willing to mess up his perfect little life by cramming me into it?...] “So, just Loop? No other details?” [... Why would he want another him around? Why would he want his family to know? You must be so pathetic! So broken beyond repair, so worthless, so disgusting to look at!... No... No if you were to even humor this silly idea of joining his family, you couldn't parade around as a hollow version of your old self... They're gone, dead... They're the lucky one. They don't have to suffer anymore...]

[koji-haru]

Swap AU Part: 11

[I think I died today, but I revived just in time to update this.]

Sera knew she shouldn’t rush them. The humans, after all, need time; the time to explore and discover the garden, and the time to grow and learn about one another. That was fine, some things simply needed time, and Sera was a patient angel. However, it had been a little over three years since both Adam and Lilith were created into the garden, and still, there were only two humans in the garden with no sign of a third one being made. Somewhere along the line, things seemed to have stagnated, and she couldn’t help but be a little concerned. Normally, she would simply ask Lucifer for any important updates, his job was to care for garden and its residents after all, however, the little playful angel seemed to have become unavailable as of late, and whenever she did finally get a hold of him, his answers were always the same: “Oh, they’re getting along great! They just like to take their time. There’s still so much for them to learn after all!”

It wasn’t like Sera didn’t trust Lucifer, but she knew he could get a little…distracted at times, and could’ve missed some details. And so she asked the other angel she knew that also visited the garden, Michael. And much to her delight, Michael apparently sometimes helped his brother around the garden. Sera knew that Michael was a pretty meticulous angel, so she found it a little odd when he essentially said the same thing as Lucifer when she asked about the humans in the garden. Of course it was good to hear that the humans were getting along just fine, however, if everything had been going as smoothly as the two brothers claimed, then what was the hold up? How come humanity hasn't multiplied yet? And so, while it was not in her intention to distrust the words of her fellow angels, Sera had decided to visit the garden herself; to seek answers to her own curiosity that others couldn’t seem to satisfy. 

“How dare you taint the first man!” 

The cold echo of Sera’s voice rang throughout the beach as she flew down from the skies and towards the two culprits by the shore, who in turn turned to her, frozen still by the harsh coldness of her presence. 

Eventually, Michael appeared to have been unfrozen from the shock of being caught, hiding the fist man behind him as he decided to face Sera. 

“Sera, calm down, I–,” What could he say? He had been caught, there was no denying what he had done. 

Sera stood in front of the two, towering over them both, her usual amiable demeanour absent. “Adam, come over here.”

Adam flinched as the high seraphim’s freezing tone washed over him. He had never been subjected to an angel’s wrath before, and feeling it now, he knew it was something he would never want to experience again. The urge to simply obey and avoid worsening things was strong as fear gripped his beating heart. But instead, Adam simply hid further behind his angel, holding one of his hands for comfort. Despite the fear, he simply couldn’t do it, he couldn’t abandon Michael to save himself.

“He doesn’t want to, Sera,” Michael said as he squeezed Adam’s hand behind him and unfurled his wings, shielding the first man away from the high seraphim’s cold anger. “Please calm down, you’re scaring him.”

Though, despite Michael’s attempt at placating Sera’s ire, the high seraphim only appeared to glow even blindingly brighter, her six large wings spread wide and tall behind her as her anger increased instead. She lets out a disgusted scoff, “You’ve really truly corrupted him.”

Near the tree line by the beach, Lucifer and Lilith walked hand in hand, looking for Adam. They had decided to bring him along with them to play, especially since he had been rather solitary in the last few days. They knew they had wronged him before, and so, this time, they were going to do better. 

Noises by the beach caught both of their attention. It wasn’t just the sound of the gently rolling waves or the sea birds' loud calls, no, it sounded like two people talking loudly, or more specifically, it sounded like conflict. Lucifer, ever the curious one, flitted towards the edge of the tree line, peeking out to look for the source of the sound, with Lilith quickly trailing behind him. His eyes scanned the wide, flat landscape of the beach until it landed on two, no, three figures standing by the beach, Michael and Sera, who both had their wings stretched wide open, and Adam, who appeared to be cowering behind Michael. 

“What’s happening?,” Lilith whispered beside him. “I thought Michael stopped visiting.”

Lucifer looked on wordlessly. He also had no idea what was happening. Normally, it was him being scolded by Sera. His brother, ever the dutiful angel, always got along well enough with the high seraphim. So this sight in front of him was a baffling one for sure. And how was Adam involved in this? 

Suddenly, Sera approached closer to Michael, harshly grabbing his arm, though he remained steady on his spot. The situation looked more serious than a simple scolding. And so, without thinking any further, Lucifer sped through the air towards the two angels. 

“Lucifer!! Don’t–!,” Lilith shouted in a whisper, one hand reaching out to try and stop the angel, though he was much too fast for her.

“Are you suggesting–?!” Lucifer could hear Sera’s voice rise in pitch, incredulity heavy in her tone.

“No, that’s not what I said, I–” Michael argued back.

“Sera! Michael!,” Lucifer yelled, stopping the two in their tracks as he landed in front of them. “What’s happening? Why are you fighting?”

Sera let go of her grip on Michael’s arm as she turned to Lucifer. “Your brother here,” she pointed harshly at Michael. “Is the reason why no development has occurred for so long in the garden. He has poisoned the first man,” she hissed. 

Lucifer looked towards Michael, then at Adam who remained behind him, shocked at the news Sera had just told him. Michael and Adam? Since when? His brother simply looked down and away from him, not from shame of loving the first man, but from the feeling of his hypocrisy being brought up to the surface as his brother, who he had reprimanded for having an affair with the first woman, stood in front of him. 

There was a brief, but deafening, silence between the four as Lucifer took in the revelation, letting everything truly sink in. 

“A-anyways, as I’ve said before,” Michael continued, not looking his brother in the eye. “I did not manipulate Adam! I would never do something like that! Adam…,” he looked back at the human behind him, smiling softly. “He chose me of his own accord.”

Sera rubbed her temples, feeling her head become heavier and dense with exasperation. “Do you not understand?,” snapped at Michael. “You are causing him to stray from God’s plan. That’s what he was made for. Do you plan to cause his unmaking?” 

The area between the four suddenly felt colder at Sera’s words, the threat of possible harm to the humans the brothers fell for lodged like a bullet to their brain, and suddenly, both only became concerned for the safety of their respective beloved. 

“Lucifer, you were responsible for the well being of the garden and its people. You’ve failed once already, don’t fail again,” Sera reprimanded. 

“I–” Lucifer looked between Sera and Michael, torn between the two, unsure of what to say. Of course, he wanted to defend his brother, he agreed with him after all. He believed that the humans shouldn’t have to be forced to follow and live a life they never asked for, but the thought of causing their unmaking, to return them to dust and be born anew. He couldn’t risk losing the Lilith he had already grown to love and care for. 

He looked Michael in the eyes, his ruby reds wide with apology, and guessing from Michael’s own look of sad understanding, it seemed that he already knew what Lucifer’s choice was. 

“S-Sera’s right, Michael,” Lucifer forced out. “To influence Adam like that…it’s dangerous. We shouldn’t try to thwart God’s plan.” 

“Lucifer..!,” Adam cried out from behind Michael, finally speaking up as he looked at his supposed friend, golden eyes pained from the betrayal. “How cou–”

Michael’s hand pressed against Adam’s chest, stopping him from saying anything further. There was no need to drag Lucifer and Lilith down with him, no need to escalate things further. If only he was to be punished, then that would be good enough for him. 

Satisfied with Lucifer’s words, Sera turned her attention back to Michael. “Michael, of all angels, I just couldn’t believe it would be you to do something like this. What happened? What skewed your principles?,” she sighed tiredly before straightening back up, heavenly glow brightening up again as she prepared to deliver judgement for Michael’s actions. “You are hereby forever banished from the garden. You are forbidden to interact with any of the humans. You will instead be assigned to the lands outside the garden, where you will handle the threats there. Be grateful that is all I’m giving you.”

The shame and guilt of the traitorous words he had just said against his brother and his friend made Lucifer unable to say anything further as he kept his gaze away from the two; too cowardly to face the pain and betrayal in their eyes. 

—-

Michael was banished from the garden. Banned from ever seeing Adam again. Adam was once again, alone in the garden. 

The moonlight shone brightly in the night sky, its serene beauty a shimmering reflection on the lake’s surface. The light bounced off of the water, lighting up the small area around it. Adam sat by the rock on the lake’s edge, the moon’s reflected light dancing across his doleful face. The night had a forlorn quietness to it, and so will the morning and the night after and the day after, at least for Adam anyway. He threw a small at the lake and watched it bounce across the water, its little plips and plops the only true sound around him. That is until he heard light fluttering accompanied by quiet approaching him. He knew who those belonged to, though he didn’t have the energy to turn and greet them. 

“Adam,” Lilith called out, her voice the gentlest he had ever heard of, as she sat beside him, though she ensured that there was a comfortable distance between them. Lucifer, on the other hand, opted to remain standing just behind Adam and Lilith. 

Lilith knew what had happened, in fact, she was there, though she remained hidden behind the trees, unwilling to bring herself towards the conflict. Lucifer had told her some more of the intricacies, and while she felt horribly for what happened to both Michael and Adam, considering she had first insisted Adam pursue the angel, she was also relieved to know that they, at least, had been spared and her secret with Lucifer remained hidden. It was selfish she knew that, but this was the best outcome. 

“I heard what happened…,” she started. “And I…I’m sorry.” She then glanced at Adam, who’s eyes remained glued to the moon’s reflection on the lake’s surface, then shifted her gaze towards Lucifer, tilting her head a bit. 

Lucifer stiffened at Lilith’s suggestion. He felt horrible, really. How should he even begin? Words and apologies were simply not enough, but he would try anyway. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves. 

“I- I’m so sorry Adam. I had to choose, and I–”

“It’s alright. You simply did what you thought was best. I’m sure Michael would agree with that,” Adam replied, his breath shaky as he tried to withhold his sorrow. “There’s no need to apologise.”

Lucifer finally decided to sit beside Adam, a hand on his back, rubbing it up and down. Lilith also moved closer, sandwiching Adam between her and Lucifer. The three watched the moon in doleful silence. A quiet sob the only other sound by the lake.

Part 10

Part 12

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

hc where minho gets his head stuck in one of those tight stage shirts, and instead of helping chan just tickles him, claiming he's "trying to help" LMAO

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 788

𝙖/𝙣: it has been one year since i posted my first fic, hoodie, which was also a minchan fic, so to celebrate, here's another! happy hoodie day, everyone <3

𝙩/𝙬: rough and soft tickles, minho gets stuck

𝒍𝒆𝒆: minho

𝙡𝙚𝙧: channie

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

“Whooo…” Minho sighed. “What a performance.” He groaned at the way the tight, stiff material of his shirt hugged his curves, not allowing for an ounce of breathing room. 

Chan shut the door to their hotel room behind him, fondly smiling as the dancer practically teleported to the suitcases to find something more comfortable to wear. 

“Ahhh…” Minho finally found his hoodie and sweats, immediately grabbed the hem of his shirt while Chan was searching for his sweatpants. 

Minho, desperate to get out of the stiff shirt that made his chest hurt, pulled it sharply over his head. 

Then it happened. 

“…Hyung?”

Chan turned to see what happened, just to let out a strangled laugh and hyena like cackles when Minho tugged at his arms, pinned high above his head by the shirt. 

The leader could hear a small grunt and Minho’s head popped up, hair disheveled and face slightly pink from embarrassment. "I might have been a teensy bit hasty..."

“Oh, Min…” Chan sighed, clearly amused. He walked over to the struggling dancer and traced along the shape of his pecs, causing poor Minho to squeak and stumble a little. 

Chan hissed in sympathy at the red marks along Minho’s torso, the shirt’s friction causing scarring to appear. 

He got the lotion, laying Lino down on the bed. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. 

“Aah—HAHA Hyung p-please just get the freaking shirt ohofff!!” Minho giggled cutely, squirming as Chan massaged the lotion into his upper torso. 

“Stay still or I’ll get your armpits too.” Chan deadpanned, fondness surging in his chest as Minho turned scarlet, suddenly letting out a boisterous squeal when Chan massaged the lotion into his belly button. 

“Does it tickle, Minnie?~” Chan teased, spidering around the area as Minho thrashed and cackled his heart out. 

“HYUHUHUNG HYUNG I CAHAHAN’T MOHOHOVE!!” Minho was teary eyed already, cute smile spread wide across his red, flushed face. 

“Oh, I know. Shouldn’t have gotten yourself stuck, huh?” Chan moved his fingers, gently spidering up the bare torso in front of him, earning shrieks and high-pitched giggles from the poor dancer. 

Hands massaged the lotion gently into his armpits, and Minho screamed, legs drumming frantically behind Channie. 

“NOHOHONONO IHIT TIHIHICKLES PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAP!!” Minho threw his head in every direction, letting out a plethora of happy little noises that had Chan’s heart almost exploding in cute aggression. 

“You’re too cute, I really can’t take it.” Chan mused, leaning down to kiss his little kitten on the cheek. 

He decided to give the younger a break, moving to his neck instead. Tracing along the area, he relished in Minho’s whimpery, cute giggles. 

“It’s so nice isn’t it? You act so tough in front of the fans and the others, but here, I have you giggling and squealing like this…all for me…” Chan sighed contentedly. Min squeaked at the leader’s words, teary eyes looking up at Channie with almost all the love in the world. 

“But of course, there are times where I need to get you back for all the mischief you’ve caused.”

Minho’s eyes widened before all hell unleashed. 

Chan ducked his head down, blowing raspberry after raspberry onto the warm skin of the kitten’s waist and belly button, hands reaching to knead torturously into the boy’s ribs, outstretched from all the thrashing he had done. 

Minho howled, stilling to let out a deafening scream before descending into the loudest laughter Chan had ever heard from him. 

“STAHAHAHAAHAP OHO MY GOHOHOHOSHH—PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

His arms trembled in the shirt, tears dripping into the collar as he cackled and laughed and squealed until his throat went hoarse. 

It was torture, but it felt so nice to laugh and laugh and not think of anything but how much happiness Min felt. He could feel his mind practically melting under Channie’s fingers. 

“IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES TOO MUHUHUCHH!! HYUHUHUNG I CAHAHAHANT I CANT STAHAHAP STOP STAHAP PLEHEHEHEASE AGHH!!” Minho babbled, laughter interrupting again. He was sure this was the worst wrecking of his life, he was unable to even think straight anymore. 

Before he could even comprehend it, his shirt came loose; Channie had stopped and had pulled it properly off of him. Minho felt unrelenting sleepiness overwhelm him, giggling hysterically and panting for air. 

“You okay, kitten?” Chan asked, slipping the dancer’s once-abandoned clothes onto his boneless frame. 

“Mhm…yeheheah…” Min mumbled, an unfamiliar need for the older next to him leading to the kitten grabbing Chan’s waist and pulling him into an open hug. 

Channie smiled as Minho shyly buried his head into his chest, arms slipping under the dancer to hold his sides, warmth seeping into his body. 

“…I’ll ask them to give you looser shirts.”

“That would be for the best.”