#thinking about how every adult in his life has failed him

[every-dayiwakeup]

Something about Flayed Billy still showing up for work, watching people carefree and having fun in the pool... 

Even before he was flayed, he had to see others enjoying what he used to have. 

And to top it all off, he finally had a position of some authority in his life (plus getting as close as he could to the water, where he belongs) ... 

The Mind Flayer took that away from him, too. 

I think about those disgusting “parents” ogling him like a piece of meat, and if he ever for one second thought they actually noticed something was wrong. When they didn’t, it only confirmed in his mind that the only good thing about him happens to be his looks.  

[the-whispers-of-death]

boy oh fucking boy would Boss be pissed if he ever met Stones dad. now in the introductions i wrote him as being more of a formality leader but that don't mean he wouldn't eviscerate anything that laid in his path (he was an IRIS operative afterall)

if Boss knew all the details of Stones childhood (and believe me he has the means to find out) the chances of Stones dad living another day would drop to -5. that mans life subscription is canceled Boss can be Stones new dad.

Kali: Hey Stone, why are you paranoid about your foods and drinks being drugged/poisoned?

Stone, nonchalantly: Oh my father used to drug my food and glasses of water to hammer the point in that I couldn't trust anyone.

Boss & The Lions: *writing Bharat's name down to kill him as soon as possible*

Guess Bharat's wife is becoming a widow and his second son is going to be fatherless. It's probably for the best, you know. I'm surprised his wife, Aarna, still stayed with him after hearing how he kicked Stone out. But she probably agrees with him that he needed to do it in order to start over with a new family.

[fondcrimes]

the "labru chapter" is the kabru chapter

this is a dungeon meshi love manifesto, but not in the way you think. sorry not sorry for the labrubait

what makes chapter 76 so amazing is kabru’s desperation has little to do with laios specifically. it’s not just about kabru being obsessed with laios and making sure he doesn't cause tragedy, either. I think this chapter emphasizes kabru's struggle with the concept of love and companionship. the point of this chapter is that every critical part of kabru collides at once and renders him useless.

(disclaimer: this post includes a lot of projection/speculation but it's to understand kabru's character arc i promise. for clearer analysis and examination of how kabru's ideologies are constructed, check out this really great post)

kabru is a lone visionary

in ch 76, kabru’s threatened by lycion exposing his true intentions to laios not only bc he wants to prevent laios from joining marcille in her destruction, but also bc laios is also from a short-lived race and kabru needs an ally in his power struggle against elves (esp when the chips are down)

but has kabru really accepted his need for allies in his plight? kabru has spent his adult life suppressing a human urge to connect meaningfully with others. he even keeps rinsha et al. at arm's length in the name of achieving his masculine hero complex/survivor's guilt goals. he's already quite disillusioned bc most adventurers don't have the same goal as he does. so he uses people and gets on their good side for systematic support. he’s well-intentioned and takes care of his party. but the idea that an ally could also protect HIM and make HIM feel safe as well doesn’t really register with him until later on in the narrative bc camaraderie and allyship, at its core, is about acknowledging intimacy. kabru struggles with intimacy sub-textually (his self-neglect and social insincerity) even though he knows how to simulate it to gain others' trust.

but he can’t crack laios, he can’t get him to listen. for lack of a better word, kabru is spoiled by the fruits of his superb perception and emotional intelligence. he also doesn’t cope well with failure (bc his goal is too valuable to ~not~ devote himself to) he puts too much value in conquering laios and when he thinks he's failed, he basically crashes out. the real problem is he still doesn’t understand his true feelings--not feelings for laios, but the root of his desire. the root of his goals and the endless search for companionship.

kabru is a strategic historian

at his core, kabru is a storyteller. he tells himself a variety of stories about his trauma and his goals, which serve as motivation and to some extent, self-protection (as shown in his conversation w mithrun). he deeply understands the role of storytelling in regards to the construction of history and drastic shifts in power.

as an utayan, he understands that the tragedy that overcame his people was not random, but resulted from elven negligence of a disenfranchised people. it is imperative for kabru to cement himself as a voice for otherwise voiceless people. in his story, he has no choice but to handle the hero, if not become the hero himself.

kabru even has a story about his pursuit of laios, mainly that laios is currently the most capable person of defeating the mage and that he must do whatever it takes to ensure laios doesn’t fuck it up. his instincts are right, sure, but at first, he places special value in laios’ capabilities that almost seems unearned… like yes he’s studied the island adventurers with frightening expertise, so it makes sense he would have a good idea about who is the most equipped to succeed. but his early suspicions of the toudens seems to complicate my perception of his knowledge by adding emotional depth and a layer of tinhattery so to speak.

canonically, kabru has been rebuffed by laios multiple times (which is so... lolll) when he's talking with his party, kabru hides behind the excuse of dungeon but he’s been trying to get his attention this whole time. to me it reads like he's got a bruised ego from being ignored and is being a hater about it (so real lol). it's funny bc kabru is usually great at taking shit from others (esp elves) if it means nobody suspects/interrogates his true intentions and he can keep the peace. so why does laios tick him off so bad? now we have to get into the psychoanalysis of it all!

kabru is a cynic

first and foremost, kabru’s cynical philosophy about humans is challenged by the touden mission. but plenty of people don’t care about the impact of their actions, so why does kabru obsess over the toudens at the start? I figured kui changed gears with kabru's characterization following his introduction, but I want to try to connect it to kabru's unresolved survivor's guilt. kabru is the sole survivor of a catastrophe caused by negligence and oversight. he criticizes the negative impact of the toudens' generosity and naïveté and confirms his cynical worldview (the road to hell is paved with best intentions), but still maintains a level-headed perspective. on the other hand, kabru's interactions with laios are tinged with irrational jealousy/resentment/desperation, even prior to kabru learning laios' character/intentions as an adventurer. I cannot emphasize enough that I am employing a neutral definition of jealousy here--it seems kabru is jealous of the freedom to not care the way laios does not care about the fate of the island. this isn't to say laios doesn't care about humans, he does, but he seems so singleminded compared to kabru esp in ch 76. kabru sees laios going to the literal end of the world to save his sister. laios gets to be human selfishly, kind-natured but ultimately self-prioritizing.

kabru correctly assesses motives (besides his own maybe). falin said she’d do anything to protect laios and marcille. laios has been socially rejected by people his whole life, and at first, he only cares about his sister and monsters. kabru has survived horror but only by accident… he doesn't agree with their pov and more importantly, it doesn’t exactly compute with him. the toudens are wholly unaware of their impact, which does not sit well with kabru at all, who understands the impact of negligence better than anyone else, esp how it ends up harming the less fortunate and extremely marginalized in society. it's reminiscent of the age-old trolley problem. while kabru has been the victim of senseless pain, I suspect kabru can’t yet make sense of senseless love. he gets to look down at their cause and call it selfish because it directly contradicts his lived experience.

kabru is an ethicist with a heroic streak

it's easy to glean that kabru wants to be the hero utaya should’ve had. while he's hardcore and intense, but not paranoid enough to do something rash. he uses violence as a means of achieving peace. he's self-aware enough to know his skill limits, which seems rational at a glance but the pressure he puts on himself suggests he views himself as inadequate until he achieves his goal. the races of humans are so split up and he sees that this is a matter of power first and foremost.

with the canaries, kabru submits to political pageantry to make a separate case for innocent people. senseless tragedy is unforgivable, but so is the "too little too late" reality of the canary system. he takes on the impossible task of rallying people together to save the dungeon. one read is that he's saving his childhood self from trauma perhaps by saving those like him… he's wishing someone did something before it got bad, wondering why nobody intervened when they had every opportunity to step in. it’s deeper than a sense of duty or fairness, this is about betrayal and retribution.

throughout his life, kabru struggles with the material inequity and limits of love. the human population is fundamentally segmented into a hierarchy due to lifespans and access to power/resources. his mother was the only one who loved him in utaya and she was ostracized because of his appearance and then she was killed due to senseless tragedy. his frustration with the elves encapsulates this idea perfectly, because he is aware of of the limits of their empathy as a long-lived race and adjusts his strategy and rhetoric accordingly. I think milsiril’s love for kabru is genuine, but still infantilizing and smothering due to the racial imbalance. this continues to inform his politics, as he views their perception of short-lived races with contempt. the worst offense is that their bigotry is nonsensical, meaning their hearts cannot be reasoned with.

dungeon meshi is a story about power and politics, yes, but genuine love and acceptance are the catalysts of change and equality. the "invisible gulf" that marcille is referring to is the inability to view other races with love and care. such is the essence of camaraderie. kabru's backstory, family history, and beliefs/motivations raise two important questions for me: who gets to be loved enough to survive, and then to thrive?

kabru is a monster

the emphasis on distinguishing between humans and monsters is quite interesting too. of all sentient beings, who qualifies as worthy of "human" treatment? who deserves empathy and acceptance? kabru seeks these answers to fix the world, but also to justify his place in it.

kabru's lack of self-worth is evident here, but what’s more interesting is he knows many humans suffer worse fates than some monsters. the dehumanization/neglect of fellow humans does not compute, if the premise is humans are superior to demi-humans/non-humans because mutual empathy and understanding. he clings to the superiority of humanity as an appeal to ethos to those in power despite what he might actually believe about himself. to kabru, the true injustice is that humans won’t even save “inferior” humans despite being the same. his unclear heritage manifests as guilt, as he feels directly responsible for his mother's suffering because he is monstrous. then here comes laios, a human who somehow can find it in himself to love monsters.

kabru doesn’t want laios to love him, per se, but laios’ love for monsters and for falin reveals life-altering possibilities for kabru: there is a world where someone could love him even if he were a monster. there is a world where somebody would go to extreme measures just to save him. kabru does not know the extent of laios' trauma but recognizes a sort of kindred spirit but inverse. taking off the ship goggles here--it has less to do with laios specifically, and more to do with what his beliefs/abilities represent for the trajectory of the world (because kabru studies how beliefs/abilities manifest into material reality, after all)

kabru is seeking the power of love

in a different story, kabru would be laios’ archnemesis. they would have a disastrous battle of opposing worldviews in their struggle for dominion. kabru has every right to want to take laios out bc while his affinity for monsters is sympathetic and even charming, it is still a natural threat… kabru has the true hero pathology. he believes he only deserves to live if he can save people for a variety of reasons/traumas. he should do whatever it takes to exterminate laios. but the expectation is subverted in chapter 76 bc we see kabru’s curiosity and ongoing quest for understanding win over his worst fears.

I feel like I’ve been projecting a lot but bear with me... a huge part of kabru’s character is him trying to figure out how to matter to people, or figuring out why people matter to others in general. it’s not to say he doesn’t matter to his friends or milsiril, but why else would he bother with all the manipulative people-pleasing? it would be less meaningful if he had ulterior motives like greed or power, but he plays into people's expectations/desires for a disastrously noble cause. he’s still actively living in his trauma as a deeply traumatized adult. it’s pure serendipity that laios can send him right back to his past and then pull him right out again. I don't think it's crazy to say kabru (correctly) projects a lot of shit on laios bc he doesn’t know how to deal with those injustices and barriers between people himself.

this is also why I believe kabru's beef with laios is as personal as it is strategic. we have to consider the trajectories of their character arcs (their big missions, respectively) in relation to one another as foils. if laios' love for falin can move mountains and do impossible things, kabru is subconsciously drawn to the magnitude of that love like a magnet. his response to cognitive dissonance is quite remarkable as well. at the root of his unbelievable capacity for understanding and curiosity is the deep wound of being unloved and unprotected. kabru does not avoid or run away from his fears, he quite literally keeps running toward them and follows it down to hell. he wants to identify the true source of his deepest wound.

to me, this omake connects his childhood curiosity to his search for love, almost as to ask “is there enough room for me to be loved?" and the same can be said for marcille's character arc/ backstory. her biracial heritage has caused her great existential pain and social isolation.

in dungeon meshi, the issues of protection and justice continue to be interpreted through love. if kabru were to go back in time and save utaya, he would’ve needed incomprehensible magic, a supernatural power to save himself, his mother, his hometown. in contrast, laios' mission to save falin is just one manifestation of the surreality of love, all of the impossibilities it permits. the touden party wade through invisible gulfs to save falin, but also each other. kabru doesn’t hate their story, he just can’t fathom it yet.

kabru is a skilled strategist and communicator. and does not listen to his heart or body until he’s absolutely forced to do it. he has insane goals and expectations for himself and will go to great measures for those goals. as cerebral and cold as he might seem, it’s critical to understand that his character arc is about love too. in my opinion, it’s almost as if he’s trying to change his reality in hopes of finding love. my favorite thing about kabru is that he has all the narrative makings of the perfect misunderstood villain who self-destructs at the end of the story. but kabru is too smart for that, too focused on the big-picture impacts and the historical trajectory of the cause. instead, kabru finds the wherewithal to stand down once he understands that laios is capable of loving humanity like he does, or that he could help him see the value in humanity at all.

to love is to understand, and then to surrender.

[saerins]

°୨୧ INEVICABLY, UNDENIABLY

+ gojo satoru x f!reader | wc 3.3k | content: fluff, modern au, friends to roommates to lovers, timeskip thing; from high school -> adulthood, alcohol, implied sex, children, marriage, gojo is mostly clingy and annoying and we love him for it, the years and age correspond to his actual birthdate, take this as my birthday fic for him <3

summary: despite seemingly having it all, gojo satoru’s goal has always been the same all these years you’ve known him—all he wants in life is you, and only you. during his birthday this year, gojo counts his blessings.

2006; seventeen.

the day you agreed to be satoru’s partner in homeroom class is the day you signed away your sanity. not because satoru’s hard to get along with or that he’s rude or slacks off, but because it’s hard not to fall for a boy with such pretty eyes and even prettier lips who likes to say the most beautiful things.

getting to know satoru is like taking a deep in the clearest, coldest ocean after an entire lifetime of being dipped in molten lava. he’s annoying, refreshing and eye-opening all in one.

satoru shows promise in the first lesson, doing fairly well at cooking and sowing, although afterwards he just falls off because you end up having to teach him how to properly use alcohol in his cooking so he doesn’t burn himself or that you’d end up patching his fingers up since he accidentally pokes himself a lot more than the average human would.

still, it’s not his fault he isn’t naturally talented in the home economics department. he is in sports, you find out, after a few months of being in the same class as him.

“hey, y/n.” he’s leaning back on his chair, depending on its hind two legs for support. it’s become his habit during class to bother you whenever the teachers aren’t in.

you were assigned the seat diagonally behind him, and it’s become a habit for you to ignore him—mostly because most of the time, it’s nonsense that falls out of those lips, especially after you’d gotten close. it’s his sign of affection, you realise.

“hey y/n, i’m being serious this time, i need to talk to you,” satoru whines, pouting and sighing in that over dramatic way that only he can.

that’s also not the first time he’s tricked you into acknowledging him so all you do is look at him, a smile appearing that you failed to suppress, and bring a finger to your lips, signalling for him to hush.

unperturbed, satoru smirks and gets to scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it (annoyingly and quickly) into a swan before handing it to you. he winks at you, and you’re immediately driven not to give him satisfaction by reading it. instead, you bow slightly and stuff it in your pencil case, making satoru pout again and giving yourself the sweet taste of victory.

the rest of your sophomore year in high school, you find yourself growing closer to satoru, an unfamiliar feeling growing inside of you. you find that you like knowing what makes him tick, and even the way he says your name, or even watching him ace every kind of sport and then having him blow a teasing kiss to you after each win.

“y/n, i’m so jealous of you, how’d you manage to get gojo satoru of all people?” one of your classmates whine, swooning endlessly over him.

you only laugh it off, deigning to think too much of it.

it’s weird; he’s most of the schoolgirls’ crushes, but you’ve never considered him to be yours. maybe it’s just a fleeting feeling that will go away with the test of time.

yeah, that should be all that is.

2007; eighteen.

“why not? we’re practically going to the same college.”

with time, you thought that maybe satoru would become a little more sane. like how growing into adults, you slowly shed the ridiculous dreams you had as a child. but he’s not, if not—he’s even more insane.

“we haven’t got the results yet, satoru.”

“i’m pretty sure we’ll get in though.”

“and what’s your basis for that?”

“i’m never wrong about these.”

as always, satoru lives in his own little bubble and you can’t help but to sigh. in his head, both of you will get into that same college you applied for and he has it all planned out: “we get into college, sign up for whatever classes, and then rent an apartment together—genius right?”

that was satoru just moments ago, elbows leaned over the grocery cart as he grins at you, beaming like a dog waiting for their owner’s approval. now he’s still doing the same, except you’ve flicked him on the forehead before turning your attention to the aisles because apparently, he says he hates the food at home and would rather have what you’re cooking.

he’s made it his life mission to invade your meals over the weekend, squeezing himself into your family, bonding with your sibling and your parents and only then did you realise what you forgot in the first place: satoru is one of the most charming people to ever walk the earth. your siblings constantly ask about the next time he’s coming over, and your parents are just waiting for you to announce that he’s your boyfriend—which he’s not, but he sure likes to make it seem that way.

another thing you notice about satoru thanks to your now-weekly grocery runs: he likes to wander around way too much, and complains afterwards when he finds you after losing you.

“y/n!”

it’s like routine by now; the way satoru rushes over to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and sticking his cheek against yours, telling you how he almost died because he thought he lost you—like the drama queen he is. by now, all you can offer him is a ruffle of his hair before you carry on like normal, as though your heart isn’t beating right out of your chest from that simple proximity.

because satoru, despite his generally icy look, is always warm; his body heat, his cheeks, the way he looks into your eyes all the time, even his fingertips when they brush against you.

you think he’s especially warm when he falls asleep beside you after watching a late night movie, his head nuzzled in your neck, hands somehow rested over your own. your favourite thing about the friendship, though, try as you might to deny it, is how satoru’s hands always find yours when he walks you home, fingers lacing around your own as if it’s second nature.

ever since then, these routines have become a staple, and perhaps even does your growing feelings. the inexplicable one.

2008; nineteen.

satoru was right.

both of you did get into the same university, and the same course, with different minors so at least there’s some differences. so of course, satoru did not let the shared apartment idea go. though, of course, thanks to your initial hesitance on the matter, the only available apartment is a 4-bedroom, entirely too big and hence you’d convinced satoru to just rent the other bedrooms out for extra change.

and no, satoru does not need extra change because his family’s loaded (which you realised you didn’t even know before this) but at least this would allow you to not dwell on whatever you’re feeling too much. university is going to be stressful enough without the added consideration of your possible feelings towards satoru.

then enters geto suguru—your new roommate who, thankfully, steals enough of satoru’s attention so you have some breathing room. turns out, they’re like two peas in a pod. but while you and satoru major in business, suguru majors in psych. so that still means satoru’s around just you most of the time.

some routines change; like how movie nights are shared amongst the three of you in the living room instead of just you and satoru in your room. or how during grocery runs satoru still runs up to you when he finds you again except this time, an exasperated suguru is beside you sighing at him, always a “how do you stand this guy?” rolling off his tongue. the most surprising one for you might be how meals include suguru now and satoru’s the one who does the cooking now, and funnily enough, he’s absolutely great at it. no ounce of hesitation as he flips the pancakes, or stirs the fried rice—no whining about how it’s too hard because he’ll get burns on his fingertips and has to ask you to tend to his wounds.

but some change in a different way. they leave no room for someone else, like how satoru always finds your hands to hold on to, keeping you within a reach too close to pass as just friends but both of you refusing to label it anything else anyways. it leaves no room for other people to butt in and whisk either of you away.

and for now, at least, both of you are okay with just that.

2009; twenty.

participating in different activities and clubs inevitably mean that you and satoru wouldn’t be attached at the hip most of the time. and of course, while that leads to satoru becoming even clingier when you’re both home (not that you’re complaining when it’s nice to feel wanted from the very guy you’re completely not having a crush on), both of you are in separate social circles.

satoru occasionally has his friends over, the ones you don’t really know that well. the one where you can only remember names like haibara because he’s extra friendly and yuki because she’s one of the prettiest people you’d ever seen and nori because she’s a mix of the two. you’re nice, and cordial to all of them, although you can’t really say the same for satoru.

occasionally you and suguru invite your friends over, because nicely enough, you both have the same interests. it’s mostly shoko and nanami, a med student and law student respectively, but both of which satoru loves to annoy to no end. lucky for you, shoko is strangely naturally tolerant of his antics and nanami shrugs it off as white noise.

“y/n, surely you’d rather spend time with me rather than that blondie?” satoru always asks, pouting as he looks at you over his shoulder during breakfast—a constant whenever you have plans that involve nanami.

it’s kind of cute.

“mmm, that’s a secret,” you’d always tell him, knowing that satoru’s pouts won’t last all day anyway. it’ll relegate to an excited grin whenever you’re back after that.

you’d never really had to face your feelings, then, until all of you gather one night, before the holidays officially start. you should’ve known that something would be different this time, especially when there’s alcohol involved. naturally, in the circle you sit in, satoru asks people to scoot over, purposely sitting beside you, as close as he can, close enough that your arms and knees practically brush.

it’s just for a simple game of truth or dare, and it’s innocent enough until someone asks nanami and he says truth, and his truth is that out of everyone he knows, he’d most likely date you. beside you, while everyone else is whooping at the declaration, satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, though he says nothing about it. and you’re not really emphatic about it until someone dares nori to kiss the guy she wants to date the most and she kisses satoru, deep and slow, in front of you, haibara letting slip that she’s had a crush on satoru for a while now.

satoru’s five shots in and tipsy and he was imagining that was you and maybe that’s why it lasted for five seconds before he pulls away.

and when it comes to satoru?

as though noticing his dilemma, suguru gives an amused smile as he states his dare, “kiss the girl you most wanna marry.”

he doesn’t waste a single second in pulling you close and kissing you, his alcohol-tainted lips pressing against yours, daring tongue teasingly prying open your lips, chuckling as he feels you kiss him back.

“not most,” satoru corrects right as the both of you pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours and both of your half-lidded pair of eyes still staring at each other.

“what?” you’re almost breathless, forgetting that everyone else is watching.

“the only girl i wanna marry.” and you think he’s never looked more handsome, genuine smile plastered on his face and pretty blue eyes threatening to pull you in.

while everyone moves on, satoru doesn’t—he keeps you there with him, telling you for the first time in four years since he’s known you, “i love you.”

the next week, after you get home for the holidays, the first time being away from satoru in a while, you manage to find your old pencil case, the folded paper swan satoru folded for you all those years ago still inside, somehow forgotten.

curious, you finally open it, finding his message enclosed inside, bringing a smile to your face.

i’m gonna marry you one day.

2010; twenty-one.

dating satoru is like finding a new hobby that you’re effortlessly good at.

despite living under the same roof, instead of finding out the ugly, you find the good in each other. even with suguru in the mix, you all live harmoniously like you have been since the start. except now, satoru likes to sleep in your room, both of you fooling around and occasionally forcing suguru to tell you to pipe down.

satoru is still full of surprises, sometimes pulling up with his car as though both of you don’t sleep under the same roof, telling you that he planned a date and to dress nice. he buys you flowers even if you’re not particularly fancy of them and surprises you by buying things that simply reminded him of you.

dating satoru is like finding out that the right person for you will always think of you and your feelings, no matter the circumstance. the way he makes sure to tell you if he has to hang around nori, or the way he asks if you need anything when he passes by the grocery store alone, or going so far as to memorise your cycle so he knows exactly what to show up back home with.

by the time it’s your one-year anniversary and his birthday comes and you ask him what he wants, all he can answer is “you” and for the first time, you can tell he isn’t trying to be annoying or cheeky or flirty—satoru is surprisingly simple and his answer always has been and somehow always will be just you.

2013; twenty-four.

you still remember the day satoru got down on one knee, his handsome smile even more radiant under the golden hour glow, those still-beautiful blue eyes gleaming even from beneath his bangs.

just an intimate proposal with your closest friends, both shoko and suguru helping to distract you in order to create a successful surprise, while nanami and haibara helped with the decorations and photography.

thanks to them, you’re laughing now, at your wedding reception, looking at all the ways you nearly found them out that day, exactly one year ago, in the form of pictures. and thanks to the best man’s toast, you find out that suguru’s always known about satoru’s feelings, and just how deep his emotions for you ran.

“i won’t forget how much he whined about y/n getting close to nanami. that was probably the one time his whining got so out of control that i wanted to stuff a pillow over his face,” suguru divulges, garnering laughs around the hall, including from you, as your new husband pouts and squeezes your hand.

thanks to that, nanami finds the need to disclose during his speech, “i have never intended to date nor had such thoughts about y/n. my truth during that game of truth or dare was simply the result of a process of elimination—” and haibara cuts him off to give a more fitting speech, fits of laughter all across the room.

that day, you steal glances at satoru, wondering how you got so lucky to be with someone who loves you so much and continuously proves so with every passing day.

“satoru?” you call to him softly that night, as you both find yourselves completely bare in the bedroom of your new apartment, one to yourselves.

his piercing blue eyes flick up to meet yours, relishing how it feels like inside of you, every time as though it’s the first. “yeah?” it’s breathy, because he’s about to lose himself.

“i love you, satoru, and only you, forever and ever,” you tell him, finally knowing that in this life, it will always be gojo satoru for you, and that it’s the same for him too.

he only chuckles, pulling you close, “forever me and you, baby, only us.”

2023; present day.

“wow, more than ten years, i think i need to give you a trophy for that, y/n.”

satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

beside him, suguru laughs at shoko’s comment. this time, the six of you find yourselves at a round table in a seafood restaurant during satoru’s birthday, talking about how it’s you and satoru’s tenth year together too.

“i’m not too much, am i?” satoru teasingly asks you, although you only shrug in amusement before drinking your glass of water as an excuse not to answer.

you’ve always been like that, but it’s part of what satoru likes about you. scratch that, he’s loved every part of you since he met you. it’s like it was meant to be; or so he likes to think. there’s an undeniable pull that always lulls him back to you. to satoru, there’s never been question that you’re the only one for him, maybe that’s why it’s so clear-cut.

“you’re just so head over heels for me, huh?” you ask him, a smug grin on your face, the conversational context something he’s missing since he’s been zoning out in his thoughts.

since the first time he saw you, he’s been drawn to you every second of every day. maybe that’s why he did all those stupid stuff like pretending not to be able to cook and ‘accidentally’ burning himself to get you to tend to him, or purposely pricking himself with the needle and asking you to put a plaster over it just to feel you close. even those times at the supermarket when he purposely loses you so he can find you again and see your helpless smile and feel the way you rub his head affectionately afterwards.

maybe it’s stupid too, how he had to silently admit he knows how to cook all too well because he didn’t want suguru to taste your cooking when he first moved in. it was something satoru felt he wanted to himself, something he wanted to keep between him and his future wife. or how a wordless stare between him and suguru during that game of truth or dare was all suguru needed to know that satoru wanted to make you his at that very second, afraid that kiss between him and nori would make you hesitant.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you though, because you know him better than most people do. there were never any pointless arguments or unrecoverable friction.

as they sing happy birthday annoyingly loud like best friends do, chanting for him to make a wish—his hands find yours again as they always did, he can honestly say that there’s no other way he’d rather live his life. you’re made for him and he has you and the little mini yous at home so really, there’s nothing that he has to wish for.

except, maybe, one thing, if he could be selfish.

in this life, and every other life, he’ll want to be with you and only you, forever.

[remlionheart]

you're the thoughts that can't be tamed

and i'm trying to be sane

⋆˙⟡♡ MDNI. whewww. the people demanded more high / toxic!megumi and the people got more high / toxic!megumi. tw for angst, daddy issues, drug use, smut. 4.3k words. all characters aged up 21+. ๋࣭ ⭑ life held no promises - it was a fact that you and megumi were made well aware from a very early age. from sleeping under blanket forts as kids to sneaking through windows as teenagers, he'd always been your one constant in a sea of variables. but what happens when the tides become strong enough to pull him away too? ๋࣭ ⭑ this was fucking emotional to write, not gonna lie. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ⋆˙⟡♡

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

“No one else has what we have.”

Those were Megumi's favorite words to say to you.

On the nights where both of your dads would take off together, deciding that they were done being responsible for the two of you for a few days, you would hide under blankets in his room and laugh at the things that only 9-year-old you would understand.

You'd keep yourselves occupied with video games and books and dive so far into each other’s imaginations that you'd completely forget about the world around you.

It was all late-night summer air, swinging in your backyard for hours, and the way that you two were somehow able to turn something as damning as parental abandonment into adventure.

As teenagers, reality became harder to sugarcoat but there was still that same unfettered energy between both of you that made it doable.

At 14, you'd sit on the edge of his bed during the wintertime, drinking beer that you'd stolen from Toji's stash and exchange secrets in-between drunken kisses that neither one of you would be brave enough to acknowledge the next day.

You'd walk to school together with matching tired eyes and unkempt hair and he would tell people to fuck off when they’d ask you why you'd been wearing the same hoodie for a week straight.

He'd sneak through your bedroom window on the nights that your house didn’t feel safe just to lay with you, running light fingers through your hair while sharing a set of tangled headphones to drown out the sound of your parents arguing.

The things that he couldn’t tell his other friends, the things that he couldn’t tell his family, the things that he could barely tell himself – he'd tell you.

You were two halves of two very broken homes. Rigid and unstable when apart but perfectly balanced when together. From spending practically every weekend together to essentially raising one another since none of the adults in either of your lives had any interest in doing so – he was right:

No one else had what you had.

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

Nobara's ceiling fan creaked steadily above you as you stared back at it, trying but failing to swallow down your emotions.

You rolled over, careful not to wake her as you reached for your phone to see the time "3:33" displayed across the screen. With a heavy sigh, you unplugged it from the charger and crept out of bed, keeping your movements light as you made your way into the living room.

You wrapped one of her knit blankets around your shoulders, sinking down onto the couch like you'd done so many times over the last few weeks you'd been staying here. There were bags under your eyes that you were convinced would never go away. Tear stains on your cheeks that felt like they'd been permanently adopted by your skin.

Thinking about Megumi was nothing new, it was the unfamiliar pain that came along with it that you couldn't quite adjust to. The way your chest tightened and your insides burned with each memory that surfaced. What used to be the most comfortable part of your brain was now the one place you were desperate to stay away from.

"So you're leaving then?"

You'd replayed the last conversation you'd had with him so many times, it still felt like you were in his room most days. A ghost that wandered the halls, hopelessly waiting for him to come back no matter how much time passed.

You had struggled to look back at him that night, his pupils dilated from the Oxy he had taken. There was something so unnerving about being so close to him and so far away from him at the same time. How physically, he was within arm's reach, but mentally, there might as well have been galaxies separating you.

Your voice betrayed you, shaking as you fought to keep your resolve. "That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

He was silent, his worn-down demeanor saying more than his voice was capable of at the time. You watched his hand twitch at his side as if his own body was attempting to fight against his sentiment. "Just go."

You stared at him, forcing yourself to take in his pale face and hollowed out blue eyes. You'd seen the whole thing. The entire progression of the boy who used to build blanket forts with you to protect you from the outside world to the boy who'd taken your virginity on a rainy September night when you were 15 because "you both deserved to know what it felt like to be loved" to the vacant 22-year-old who was standing in front of you with nothing left to offer to you or himself.

You'd been there for every day and every moment that had led the two of you down that one pivotal breaking point, but you still couldn't fathom it. You didn't have it in you to fight with him. Didn't have it in you to push back or yell or fall apart in front of him like you both thought you would.

Instead, you did something much more damning: you mirrored him. Leaving him with an empty, "Okay." as you closed the door to his apartment and disappeared back to your car, realizing that his words still reigned true, only they held a new meaning - no one else had what you had, not even you.

You nestled into the couch, using your phone to put the same song on repeat as you tried to close your eyes again. Out of all the grievances you'd experienced throughout your life, you had never considered until recently how much harder it was to mourn the living than it was to mourn the dead.

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi had barely slept in the last three days. His thoughts were blurred by hazy white pills and scattered flashbacks of the things he should've never said to you and worst of all...

The way your face used to light up when you'd wake up next to him and what a jarring contrast it was to have his eyes flutter open to an empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand instead.

"I feel awake when I'm with you."

He'd said it to you one morning when you'd both just woken up, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your shoulder, his arms still wrapped protectively around you from the previous night's sleep.

"I'm listening." You hummed, propping your head up to meet his blue eyes in quiet encouragement.

He wasn't always the best with his words - you both knew that, but he still tried as he kept his fingertips featherlight against your skin. "I'm always so tired, but... not when I'm with you."

He remembered the way your pupils bloomed while he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting himself say the things he'd usually be too afraid to admit. "I... feel like the only time life really makes sense is when we're like this, you know...? When we're both half asleep tangled up in each other."

You cried, your hands finding the back of his neck as your lips met his in a gentle mid-morning daze.

It was the first time you'd said it - it poured out in between breaths and tears, opening up like a floodgate once it began: "I love you." you whispered against his lips. "I love you." You repeated while you pulled him on top of you. "I love you." as he slid your shirt above your shoulders. "I love you." only, it was his voice this time fanning across the nape of your neck. "I love you." he exhaled again, carefully sliding into you. "I love you." you moaned, your eyes completely fixated on him as he thrusted harder.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

The nostalgia was so intense it rang through his ears, his stomach churning violently. No matter how much he tried to bury you, you were still everywhere. Stuck to the walls. Stitched in his blankets. Embedded into his skin.

Panic swelled in his chest, his hand shaking as he dug the cellophane baggy out of his hoodie pocket and promptly shoved two oval-shaped pills into his mouth. 

"That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

The answer wasn't yes because he didn't love you, the answer was yes because he did love you. Because after all that you'd been forced to deal with between your dad and his, the last thing you needed was for another man you trusted to let you down the way he was.

"Just go."

It wasn't that he wanted you to, it was that you needed to.

𓆩🖤𓆪

"You're not responsible for him." Nobara said as she handed you a cup of coffee, taking a seat next to you on the couch. "You realize that, don't you?"

Despite her rough edges when it came to men, she was truly the gentlest friend you had. She was patient. Kind. Non-judgmental. She listened to your feelings no matter how repetitive or morbid they may have been. There really weren't enough 'thank you's when it came to how much she'd been there for you over the last few weeks.

You dropped the blanket from your shoulders and took a sip, struggling to look back at her. "I know, I just -" you faltered, your eyes still locked onto the steam rolling off of your mug. "I just hope he's okay..."

It was the longest you'd gone without seeing him and no matter how many times she'd tried to remind you that you couldn't hold yourself accountable for his well being, you still felt an odd sense of responsibility for him. It was a feeling that you'd held onto for so long, you weren't sure how you were supposed to even separate yourself from it now.

Nobara let out a stifled breath, shooting you a pointed look as she took her own sip. "Has he ever been okay?"

The question was damning enough to bring your attention to hers, your breath hitching in your throat as you looked back at her.

"Look, I know you love him." Her hand was on your shoulder, her eyes softening a bit. "But you can't save him."

Flashbacks of an 11-year-old, chubby-cheeked version of him smashed through your mind. The way the warmth of his hand contrasted the coldness of your feet as he helped sneak you in through the sliding back door. You apologized to him for having to risk getting him in trouble just to let you in, but you couldn't be at your house for another minute. Even at his young age, he looked so perplexed by your guilt, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. "If you're ever in trouble, I'll always come get you."

There was such an indescribable amount of safety laced into that one sentence alone.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Nobara's grip tightened on your shoulder, gently trying to pull you back to reality, but his words were suddenly everywhere. His promise echoing on an unwanted loop as you sat your mug down on her coffee table and grabbed your phone.

Even with the falling out you'd had, he never stopped sharing his location with you. It wasn't an invitation back into his life by any means, but it was proof that his sentiment from all those years ago still held merit. That no matter what happened, he'd always know where to find you and you'd always know where to find him too.

Her expression was serious as she watched you, trying to find a tactful way to say what she needed. "I can't stop you." She finally exhaled, "And you know that I'll never tell you what to do, but..." It was that same sense of comfort you'd felt as a child, only this time it came in the form of protective brown eyes. "Remember that you're important too, okay? You matter just as much as he does."

Your body stilled, your stare lingering as you nodded back at her. A wave of the same fear you'd felt that night on his back porch swept over you again. "I know." You said softly. "We both matter. That's why I have to at least try."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi stood under the warmth of his shower, letting steam fill the room as water beaded off of his pale skin. His eyes were heavy, his stomach struggling to keep up with the deficient mix of painkillers and nothingness he'd been offering it the last few days.

He was tired - physically, mentally, spiritually.

Absolutely drained in every sense of the word.

He let the water pour over him until it began to run cold, his hand finally reaching for the dial when he was certain there wasn't a drop of heat left for him. He reached for a towel, haphazardly running it through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. The bloodshot stare of his reflection was haunting, a painful familiarity laced into the tidal wave irises looking back at him.

"One day you'll understand." It was something that he had heard more times than he could count growing up. "One day you'll fuckin' get it." Megumi had always written it off as a jaded excuse from the man who'd raised him. A despondent explanation for his father's shitty behavior in place of an apology. But as he stood in front of the medicine cabinet in his empty apartment, he realized that for the first time maybe it wasn't an excuse for his father's neglect. Maybe it had been something much worse: a warning.

His fist slammed into the mirror without a second thought, an impulsive blur of blood and shattered glass flying past his face as he watched his hollowed-out reflection fracture and drop to the ground in tiny, severed pieces.

"Megumi...?"

Any fleeting amount of relief that he'd gained from the impact was instantly stolen by the softness of your voice.

His head snapped up, the bathroom door cracked open just enough for your eyes to lock with his.

He'd heard as a kid that the only time angels were visible to human beings is when they were needed the most. He didn't believe it back then, but it was the only explanation he could find to explain seeing you in his hallway.

He blinked back at you slowly, his gaze drifting from his battered knuckles to the blood staining the wall in front of him, to the floor that was covered in glass shards.

You didn't hesitate. Didn't pause to ask for an explanation. Didn't flinch at the scene you'd walked into. You just stood there, observing him in quiet understanding.

Time felt like it had come to a grinding halt as he watched you extend a hand out to him with all of the patience in the world. You were goodness incarnated and he was so undeserving.

"Let me help you."

𓆩🖤𓆪

His grasp was warm, his cut up fingers tangling cautiously into yours as you helped pull him away from the wreckage.

He followed behind you, letting you guide him back to his room where you promptly began cleaning and bandaging his injuries. It was almost nostalgic to be sitting with him like this again. Memories of middle school and the way he'd plop himself down on the edge of your bed after his most recent fight surfaced through your mind as you tended to his wounds.

You were almost done, lifting his wrist up to double-check your work when his hand broke free from yours. His thumb suddenly finding the underside of your chin to tilt your face up to his. It was the first time all night that you'd been able to look into him rather than just at him.

"You have a pretty big gash on your middle finger, but -" your voice was barely audible, completely overruled by the way he was staring at you. "It should be okay..." you swallowed, struggling to hold onto the calmness that you'd fought so hard to maintain thus far. "Where's your vacuum? I'll grab it real quick and –"

"Why're you here?"

Your mouth opened and then closed again, the wheels in your head viciously turning as your eyes searched his. There was an extensive list of reasons as to why you were here. A never-ending list, really. And he knew that just as well as you did.

You looked over him carefully, drawing in a shallow breath before pulling away from his hand. "A promise is a promise, right?"

His pupils widened, a glint of what almost resembled anger flickering across his face. "You've gotta let that go, you're smarter than that."

It was enough to snap your attention back to him, resentment settling heavily into the pit of your stomach. "Yeah well, unlike you, when I said 'always', I meant always - not 'always' until it got too hard. Or 'always' until I'm done. I meant fucking always, Megumi."

He leaned in closer to you, his tone every bit as sharp as his expression. The heat from his body was suddenly noticeable as it filled the small space between you. "God, you're dense sometimes. You really don't get it, do you? I didn't tell you to leave because things 'got too hard' or because I was 'done'." His stare was piercing, his face only centimeters away from yours. "I told you to leave because no one deserves to treat you like this. No one deserves to hurt you. No one, not even me. I don't get some pass just because of a promise we made as kids."

The scorned rebuttal you had lined up abruptly died on your tongue by his last sentence. The air felt stagnant and far too thick to breathe. Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill the longer you looked at him, but you fought with everything you had to keep them at bay.

"I guess we're both facing the same problem then." Your tone was light despite the crippling weight your words held. "Because no one deserves to hurt you like this either, not even you."

It felt like every late-night conversation, every right and wrong decision, every major life lesson that had played out between the two of you had only been practice for this one grave moment.

You watched the first small crack form in his concrete demeanor as you rested your hand on the back of his neck. Could almost hear the second one splinter down when his fingers traced along your jawline, catching tears you didn't even realize had fallen. Could practically feel the reverb of how shattering the third fracture was as he leaned in and attentively parted your lips with his tongue.

"I think the only time life makes sense is when we're like this."

You pulled him in closer, letting the past and present blur together through gentle, desperate touches. His grasp tightened around your waist, neither one of you able to stop what you'd started. You'd kissed him so many times before, groveled for him in so many different ways, but you weren't sure that you'd ever known this type of fervency for anyone or anything else in your life.

His hands were calloused, damaged but still tender as they ran through your hair, pulling your head back slightly. His mouth drifted to the side of your neck, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "I love you." It was so faint that you weren't sure if he had actually said it or if it was just another part of your past coming back to haunt the both of you.

He hovered over you, gradually leaning you back into the mattress as the towel wrapped around his waist fell to the floor. You followed his lead, letting him delicately slip your t-shirt up over your head. Your heart stuttered in your chest, watching his eyes roam over you as he unbuttoned your shorts.

There was something so intimidating and overwhelmingly comforting about how well he knew you. Every freckle. Every scar. Every blemish. There wasn't a single part of your body that he hadn't familiarized himself with over the years.

His fingertips traced easily over the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked intently with yours. "You're sure this is what you want?"

His movements were calculated as he drew up towards your center, keeping his touch featherlight and his voice low. "You could have anyone else you wanted, you know that? Probably even have a pretty normal life without me.”

You shook your head at him, trying not to squirm as he slid a slender finger into you. "Just you." you whispered.

His thumb brushed against your clit with just the right amount of pressure while he added another finger. "I'm hard to love." He reminded you, his eyes glazing over as he watched your hips thrust up towards him.

"D - don't care." you moaned, trying to keep your focus despite the way he was picking up the pace, plunging innn and outttt of you, only going deeper with each time you tried to speak. "I... don't - oh, f...fuck."

"You don't what, baby?" Your walls were wrapped around him so tight, swallowing him hopelessly as you writhed beneath him. You opened your mouth again, but your thoughts were all but stolen from you as he slammed into you, rendering you a whimpering mess. "Words." he demanded.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, trying so hard not to soak him, but your release and emotions were all threatening to flood out at once the harder he went. You were grabbing onto him, clenching around his fingers as they continued their relentless assault on you.

"I don't want easy," it was almost one word with how breathlessly it came out. "I don't want easy –" you repeated, your body needily bucking up towards him again. "I want you. I'll always want you." you were finally at your breaking point, drenching him as he looked down at you with feral adoration. "Fuck Megumi, please."

He withdrew from you, his composure a bit more feverish as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard, urgent.

"Bend over for me." He said against your lips.

He helped you roll over, grabbing your thighs to lift you into position while you arched your back for him and buried your face into the softness of his comforter. The absence of his fingers was short-lived, his tip suddenly prodding at your entrance.

He went in slow, watching you carefully as he held onto your hips for support and pulled you onto him. His pace was determined by your breathing. You were taking him so well, your body practically melting under his touch as he entered you, but he wanted every confirmation he could get that you really were in this as much as he was.

"I love you." you panted, tilting your head to look up at him over your shoulder. "I love you." you said again, feeling the hesitation from him finally start to dissipate.

His grip dug into your sides, each thrust rougher than the last. "Say it again." He nodded.

But you could barely get the first word out before he buried himself into you, taking away every last bit of resolve you had left. He leaned over so that his body was locking yours in place, his breath trailing across your shoulder as you shook underneath him, heady little whines filling the space between you.

His hand wrapped delicately around your throat while his voice picked up where yours had left off. "I love you." he exhaled.

Your eyes widened when they caught his. There was something so irrevocably binding about the way he was looking at you, it almost felt like an agreement. A soul tie. A meeting between angels and mortals. A promise where "always" really meant always.

"I love you." You whispered, not breaking away from his stare as his pace quickened. His thrusts were unyielding, his body becoming just as needy as yours while your nails dug desperately into his sheets. "I love you." you let out again, your walls nearly smothering him. "I love you." you whined, feeling yourself clench and spasm around him. "I love you." He groaned, holding you in place as he filled you - his cum mixing with yours, sealing the unspoken contract you’d both created.

"I love you. I love you. I love you..."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi was careful not to wake you the next morning. He slipped out from under your grasp with all the caution he possessed as he got to his feet, throwing a pair of boxers on and sliding a black hoodie over his head.

He grabbed the empty bottles that were littering his nightstand before closing the door to his bedroom and heading to the kitchen. It was the first time he'd woken up sober in roughly 3 weeks. The clarity that came along with it was almost too much to handle as he looked over the state of his apartment. The piles of dishes. The destroyed bathroom mirror. The blood stains on the floor of the hallway.

It all told a story, painted an entirely too vivid picture of his own self destruction. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, finding a cellophane baggy filled with the last 4 Oxys he had.

He took a breath, looking over them. Knowing that they were the one thing that could make everything feel so much more bearable and all it would take was one quick swallow. "God damnit..." He sighed.

Your footsteps were too light for him to hear as you crept around the corner, watching him dump the contents of the baggy into the kitchen sink.

He hastily turned on the water, fighting the urge to fish them out as he let them disappear down the drain. Today might hurt. Tomorrow might hurt. But as he turned around and caught your eye, he quickly realized that they weren't the only thing that could make everything better, they were far from it…

"Need some help?"

No matter how out of control life got, he would always have one advantage: No one else had what he had.

𓆩🖤𓆪

[wilwheaton]

mr wil wheaton i have a serious question what is your honest opinion on “shut up, wesley!” jokes in the big ‘24.

i ask this because almost every time without fail i comment on a star trek related post even if my comment had nothing to do with wesley crusher i get a “shut up Wesley!” (with that exact capitalisation on the W in wesley and nothing else) in my replies. all these people are like 25+ (aka prehistoric ice age ex dinosaur neighbours (no offence)) why do they have a grudge on a 15 year old acting ensign anyway.

I am so sorry people say that to you. It's so insulting and degrading.

When someone says that to you, they are loudly telling on themselves, revealing how weak and afraid and petty they are. I like to imagine the smallest dog in the world, barking its head off at its own shadow. Oh, bless their heart.

More directly to your point, I wrote about this seven (holy shit seven?) years ago:

I just looked at it for the first time in an age, and I'd love it if you read all of it. If you don't have time for that, here's part of it that I think directly answers your question:

People have been saying this to me since I was fourteen. I’m nearly 45. I’ve heard this for the entirety of my adult life. It’s annoying. It isn’t funny, it isn’t clever, and it’s just become obnoxious. More than that, though, let’s put it into dramatic context: an adult says that to a kid who is doing his best to help, to do his job, to live up to the expectations that have been placed upon him. It’s used to shut him down, to disregard and silence him. And it turns out that, holy shit, the kid was right all along. In context, if we accept that it’s all real: Picard never says that to Riker, or Geordi, or Tasha, or to literally anyone else under his command because that would be profoundly unprofessional. But there are different rules when you’re dealing with the kid among the adults (and, believe me, the producers and directors on TNG treated me the exact same way).

[radiocrypt-id]

The bad kids haven't really looked too closely at the Rat Grinders (meta wise I know it's a commentary on different play styles and how shitty xp farming is and how op players/parties can become by doing the bare minimum if they put in the time while everyone else plays the damn game) but I find the split perspective problems absolutely fascinating. I can't wait for the Bad Kids to look at the Rat Grinders with envy and anger that the Rat Grinders got to live a normal highschool life without all this insane danger and experience being a teenager without it being the end of the world for them. Right now they just hate the Rat Grinders energy and are matching it back (which is a very high school thing to do. To have beef with a whole other group of kids and not even know why but you'll die on this hill because they started shit first)

Because to the Rat Grinders, from a purely outside perspective, the Bad Kids are fucking monarchs of the school, right? They skipped classes, ran around town, fought people, got arrested, hung out with a big devil? Every new staff member came at their recommendation? One of them has both her dads working at the school?? The destroyed school property, got teachers killed, straight murdered the coach? These fucking kids run around and are apparently scott-free? because the principal liked their chaos enough to let it go and help them avoid the police? To the Rat Grinders, the Bad Kids are untouchable. They're exempt from the law. They're liars, cheats and need to be humbled. It's unfair. From everyone elses perspective, it really does look like the Bad Kids have been given crazy favourtism.

Meanwhile, all of the Bad Kids have died at least once. They've been irreparably changed and are in a constant state of fight or flight. They assume everything is dangerous and anyone might be an enemy because for two goddamn years that was the exact case! They couldn't trust any adult first year! Literally anyone could have been infected with Kalina second year! who knows what happened with the Night Yord but I fucking bet they had issues with Yorbies pretending to be helpful just to kill them! Everyone, for two years, has been out to get them! They can't even sleep! And now they have to grind so hard or they fail. Adaine has a seemingly full time job after school basically every day because she literally can't afford to live? Fabian has taken on the most physically strenuous classes and sport one dude could and has dreams of also being a social legend because he's fucking lonely in that big house and he just wants to fill it. If anyone in the party fails or dies Riz is shit out of luck and wont ever get into a university? He so desperately wants his friends with him so he's working over time and ignoring his limits to make up for his party members not caring about the future. Fig is going through the strangest arc I've ever seen in my life? she's hard avoidant and taking three classes, so a 250% work load, because she's desperate to fill her time so she can't think about all the other work she has to do that if she ignores too long could crush her under the debt of her band from her label, or how alone she feels without her girlfriend around. Gorgug is so desperate to prove himself that he's doing four years of school work in one, trying to play catch up and also prove himself at the same time, he's taking it all so seriously but also is so fucking tired. And Kristen. Mother fucking Kristen "hey girlie" applebees. Expected to dedicate her life to a god with no direction, with the weight of failure being her gods death, while also being in school and also at your friends insistence needing to run for student body president and getting your priorities so mixed up and being completely left behind by her peers who didn't have to rework their entire world view and understanding of life in the span of a few months every few months.

The Bad Kids are in a terrible place. They're suffering. I want them to just say it out loud, to stop pretending they have it handled and are fine. I want Riz and Adaine to yell at the party to get their shit together. I want Fabian to tell someone how alone and abandoned her feels. I want Kristen to scream at Cassandra that she agrees, that it's not fair, she's just a kid, how could she be enough all on her own with no help? It sucks a god can only rely on a child, for both the god and child! They're both suffering from this arrangement! Neither is happy! I want Gorgug to beat the shit out of Porter with his inventions and rage at the same time, to make the best shit and use it in the most stunning way anyone has ever seen. I want Fig to finally get some freaking help, to have her teachers and parents reach out in a meaningful way and stop telling her to figure it out alone because clearly the pressure is too much for her to handle and she's drowning. I want someone, anyone, to look at the Bad Kids and tell them to stop. To help them. But I know it wont be that easy. I know it'll be the Rat Grinders yelling at how unfair it is the Bad kids get everything while they're on the sidelines that'll get under the Bad Kids skin and they'll yell about how awesome they are and that they didn't ask for any of this shit to happen to them and to fuck off. I know it's gonna get so much worse before it gets better. I know they'll figure it out and that it'll be a painful road there.

[hritika13-tamboli]

Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs List 2...

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Series :

Day by day || dilf!jungkook x best friend!reader (f) | single dad au || @hansolmates

Summary : a series of drabbles about two best friends raising a child together

Aim for the heart || hitman!jk x female reader | hitman au || @writemywaytoyourheart

Summary : Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

Bedeviled || demon!jungkook x female reader | demon au || @writemywaytoyourheart

Summary : Money. Fame. Power. Love. Health. Courage. Strength. Humans will trade their souls for anything, unaware of how their selfish desires will fade away as they do; growing feeble and pathetic, until there's nothing left but the ghost of their youth, cowering in a corner until old age disposes of it.  Convincing yourself to go to the Underworld? Easy... Walking through to get something that you've waited many years for, accompanied by a demon that will stop at nothing to make sure your soul belongs to him? Maybe not so much. Making deals with the devil is a tricky business; one you might not have realized could end in something much more painful than death itself if you make a single mistake.

Animal : Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 || Boxer Jungkook x Reader | boxer au || @cutaepatootie

Summary : The girl looked at the man who was in his 60s , lying on the hospital bed fighting for his life, he was trying to talk with her “I don’t want to go without telling something.” The girl frown looking at the old man “What do you mean, Mr. Jeon?” “I don’t want to die without telling someone about her,” he says, his voice softening when he says ‘her’. “I don’t want to disappear without the world knowing about her and what she did for me.” “About her?” the girl frowns. Maybe his daughter? His sister? The man turns his head and faces the girl, a soft, distant smile plastered on his lips. The gesture is nostalgic, sad, almost loving. “Y/N,” he murmurs, the name rolling off his lips softly, just as softly as the waves of the sea roll over the sand. “Her name was Y/N.”

Into the woods || goblin jungkook x reader | goblin au || @junqkook

Summary : getting hurt and stumbling upon a goblin in the forest leaves you completely at his mercy, though you aren’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing.

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One-shot :

The habits of the broken heart || Jungkook x reader | soulmate au || @softykooky

Summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak.  alternatively, “You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Something in the heir || knight!jungkook x palace woman!reader | non-royalty palace au || @hisunshiine

Summary : The king of your empire will be leaving soon to head off to fight against Soiros, a foreign enemy, and his seven knights of the order of Bangtania will lead the way. One of the seven, Jeon Jungkook, with his dark eyes and easy smile, is someone you long for. Children believe he has slain dragons, and adults think he’s killed over one thousand Soirian soldiers. Everyone thinks he is a heartbreaker, making his way through every unwed wench in the land...but all he wants is you.

Miracle of the season || Angel Jungkook x Fallen Angel F! reader | angel au | soulmate au || @cybrsan

Summary : Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. When a familiar face pops up, you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

Amortentia || Jungkook x reader | hogwarts au || @jungkxook

Summary : jungkook loves everything strawberry but the simple pleasure is always kept hidden, stowed away as if some hideous secret to protect the rumours that had built up around him — until a love potion outs him.

Black magic   || human!jk x witch!reader (f) | magic uni! au || @hansolmates

Summary : a witch with an ambition for learning, you stumble across a crushing spell in the middle of the forbidden section. of course you have to try it out! what happens when the crushing spell not only has jeon jungkook crushing on you, but you crushing on him?

(Un)crushed    || human!jk x witch!reader (f) | magic uni! au || @hansolmates

Summary : you’ve liked jungkook for the longest time, but you believe it’s time to cut the cord—literally 

What's wrong?  || Jungkook x reader | slice of life!au || @oddinary4bts

Summary : Reader overhears Jungkook talk to his friends and mention how she’s always clinging on to him and doesn’t let him breathe sometimes and that she’s annoying because she’s too loud and energetic. When he comes back home she acts the complete opposite and tries to avoid him without letting him know what’s going on, until he realises that he actually prefers her clingy and loud🥺

High demand || Dealer! Jungkook x Reader || @bunnyhugs77

Summary : modern day Romeo and Juliet

Coin toss ||Jungkook x reader detective | agency au || @yoondoze

Summary : you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

[multific]

Soft and Smooth

Yautja x Reader

You were only a child when you were taken, you don't even remember your parents much.

You remember the fear that you felt. You remember the chains and the cage you were put in. But nothing much.

You grew up amongst Yautja.

You were a slave to a family of them.

A father, a mother and four younglings.

You served them.

And you served them right.

It was all you knew after all.

One day, your tribe was attacked, you were only a teenager when it happened.

The family you served suffered greatly, the mother and a youngling lost their lives. It was tragic.

Since you grew up with them, you learned their language but somehow you still couldn't always understand them. You were really good at reading but when they talked, you couldn't understand many things.

But you did understand that when you reached a young adult age, your master wanted to sell you to be prey for the next hunt.

You simply overheard their conversation.

His sons only arrived back from a hunt themselves, they all got their first kill and your master was very proud of them.

One, in particular, was extremely against the idea of giving you up. He was the oldest of the sons, T'un'tou.

You often heard how great of a warrior he was.

He lived on his own by now, but often visited his father.

Since he was the oldest, he moved out a while ago now, even got his first kill a while back. 

Sometimes Yautja was an extremely confusing species. Other times, all of their actions made the most sense.

Like now, you were confused.

T'un'tou took you to his ship and told you that you are his now.

But he didn't say, slave or human.

Just his.

And now you were off to a new home to serve a new master.

But T'un'tou was very different from his father.

Your years living with him were short. He was already out of the home when you were just beginning to grow into the woman that you were today.

You didn't know much about him, and you couldn't recall much either.

But he was rather kind to you.

He took you to his home and even gave you a room.

The Tribe he lived in was the Hunter Tribe. A rather proud tribe who went on hunts more than the others. All members were extremely proud and strong.

The bones in T'un'tou's home were proof of his great accomplishments. 

You lived with him for months, one time, he arrived back with a set of bones. He handed them to you and you nodded. You assumed he gave it to you so you can put it on display for him.

But it wasn't the reason. 

It was meant to be a gift. A courting gift.

You were just too used to being a slave, you never thought it would be more.

Of course, you knew about their techniques and things. Yet, you failed to realize that it was happening to you.

T'un'tou being the rough warrior that he was loved soft things. 

Every female he tried to be with, he always looked for softness, but he never found it.

Then, he remembered his father had a human.

A female human at that.

Humans were supposedly soft and fragile creatures.

So, he decided to visit his father more and more often.

And the rumours were true. One time, he touched your arm as you placed food in front of him, it was exactly what he craved.

Soft and supple skin against his rough one.

T'un'tou learned from his father that since all his sons left, he had no use for you and was thinking about selling you or giving you away for a hunt.

T'un'tou took this opportunity and asked his father to give you to him.

He gave you enough space to get comfortable and once he decided the time has come for him to court you.

He checked in with the healers and you were strong, you could bare a child of his which was great news, something in the future he could use.

T'un'tou also learned that by giving you his blood you would be able to have a longer life.

After that, he brought you to the healers monthly.

You didn't question it, you dared not to.

But you did notice how handsy he was.

He liked to touch your arms and one time he nearly gave you a heart attack when he suddenly touched your leg.

"Soft." he said and it was a word you understood. But he confused you.

Later that evening, he asked you to join his bed, for nothing more than sleep.

You felt like a soft toy. A bear plushie that he used so he could sleep. 

But somehow, you didn't mind.

He arrived back with more and more bones. Giving them all to you and each time you wondered just where you should put them. Now having a designated place where each bone from him would go.

Then, one evening, after spending almost a year with T'un'tou you finally figured it out.

He was courting you.

It made sense why he talked about an offspring with the healer each month you were there. And also why you received blood each time. 

You didn't really have a choice, did you?

You either die or accept that T'un'tou wanted you as his mate.

You wouldn't say no, you didn't wish to die just yet.

And T'un'tou was kind.

It wasn't much of a relationship starter but it was something. Given that Yautja could be extremely dangerous, kindness wasn't really something they were too familiar with.

You smiled as T'un'tou arrived back for the night. You were already in his bed, ready to sleep when he entered.

Seeing you comfortable under the furs, he felt at ease.

He soon found his place behind you, pulling you to his chest, ready to sleep.

How could such a huge and dangerous killing machine be so kind?

Somehow, you both knew in that moment, you both accepted each other. Now, all you needed is a mating ceremony so you could make it official and you would be finally his. 

---

T'un'tou was a great mate.

Very eager but gentle.

He finally had the softness he craved his entire life.

And with his offspring in your belly, he felt full.

However, your pregnancy brought the best and the worst out of you.

But no wonder, you had a little half-human half-yautja baby under your heart!

T'un'tou was taking really good care of you making sure you have everything you need.

You have been craving some strange things lately.

He noticed you preferred meat almost raw meat at that. He was nervous it might poison you.

He never once left your side, not even when the opportunity came for him to go on a hunt. 

He decided to stay with you and watch you.

He became your shadow basically.

Of course, you knew he wanted you and the baby to be safe. He wanted to protect and provide.

But then, he had an opportunity extremely rare and he knew he needed to go.

"I'll be fine." you told him as he left with the ship.

And you were fine.

Thinking about names, trying to figure out a way to make your bed more comfortable.

The tribe accepted you when you were wed to him.

Each day, your child grew bigger and bigger.

When your mate came back, he was delighted to see you so round. He felt like a truly victorious Yautja.

He presented you his kill, but of course, you couldn't care for the bones and skulls. You cared for him.

You did notice a new scar on his shoulder, pouting as you run your fingers over it multiple times. 

You knew to them, it was a sign of battle and victory, but all you could think about was the pain he must have felt.

It made you sad but you were proud of his achievements. 

Since he arrived back, he didn't leave your side for even a second constantly having his arms around you or his hand on your stomach.

"So soft," he said. "Soft and gentle." he said as his hands ran up your back, you felt his claws ever so slightly graze along your skin.

He never hurt you, you knew that.

"I often feel the baby move." you told him and you knew he didn't understand you but it was okay. You grabbed his hand and pulled it to your stomach, waiting for another kick which soon came.

"Strong." you told him in his language and you knew Yautja couldn't smile, but his eyes said it all.

Pure happiness.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[frigidwife]

i would like to ask ur opinion on this bc u are one of maybe 5-6 iwtv blogs that i trust and i don't know if i am simply biased but i think u are very thoughtful and fair in ur analysis of iwtv. because even among self-proclaimed louis lovers/understanders, i have seen the idea that louis "could not and would not" save claudia from the fire, or choose her over armand, or that louis was also abusive to claudia if not the Most abusive, or that he "let" lestat/armand destroy her. and i agree that louis failed claudia in some ways (though saying that feels much too vague at this point) and that liking characters doesn't mean apologizing for their flaws and i understand the reflex to spotlight claudia's mistreatment as many fans are so quick to dismiss her importance. but i think people get so caught up in emphasizing claudia's tragedy that they end up falling into victim-blaming rhetoric and ironically de-legitimizing really important aspects of her character and impact. so i wanted to ask though, how do you think louis actually did fail claudia? and should we call claudia's death louis' failure?

ty for valuing my opinion 🥹 i agree w you completely people emphasize claudia's tragedy at total expense of her personality...which sucks bc i love her personality...i think louis actually primarily failed claudia in the exact way that every single parent fails their child. if you've read frankenstein it's about the inherent monstrosity of creation--inherent hubris of creating something whether it's a creature, a work of art (the novel itself!), or a child (shelley's miscarriages and her relationship with her parents haunt the novel). you create something that is a part of you and a mirror of you, you confer your expectations as naturally as breathing, even with the best of intentions, but now the creature/novel/child exists outside of you, outside of your body and your imagination, autonomous, with desires and effects you couldn't have dreamt of, and there is something terrifying and painful in that chasm even in the best of conditions. and this is more broadly true of loving anyone. and in that sense i don't think louis's turning of claudia is really more selfish than having a child ever is. it's not an aberrant or evil desire. so that's one layer.

and then the next layer is the conditions. louis cannot stop seeing claudia as his daughter, even if he calls her sister. she'll always be his daughter. and again this is an almost fundamental condition of being a parent. even if ur parents make an effort--and louis is making an effort--to see you as equals, that foundation is underlying it and can't come undone. the problem is that normally, even if maybe you're always a baby to your mom deep down, you're also functionally an adult in the real world. but claudia is an adult who is constantly belittled and condescended to and treated as a child from all corners. so she goes from louis who can't see her as her own person because he cant stop being her parent to an outside world that can't see her as her own person bc it's structured to deny children's autonomy, and girls' in particular, and especially black girls'. AND THEN the abuse. “you chose lestat over her again and again” i think people take daniel as word of god a lot even when the show has demonstrated that daniel is less than careful talking and thinking about abuse, when it comes to both louis and claudia. Louis chooses to take lestat back, can’t kill him for good, chooses to commit to armand, tells her to put up with the coven’s abuse. those are choices that hurt claudia terribly. but they also exist in the context of abuse. over two decades of debilitating destroying violence and then a new man who tracks him down and dangles his and claudia’s life over him as penalty from the jump. louis is constantly calculating risk based on what they’ve experienced and the same way claudia’s trauma drives her into the waiting arms of a cult, louis’s means he sees enduring as his strongest means of survival . and even from before that from keeping his family afloat under jim crow —performance, self sacrifice at the expense of closeness with grace and paul; using “weakness to rise”. so when louis tells claudia to endure its bc he cannot imagine a way out. which is a failure sure and something claudia can and does resent him deeply for but is entirely and categorically different from what lestat and armand inflict on her . his “choosing armand” is never really about him liking armand particularly it’s him deciding he knows what’s best for both of them—again seeing claudia as his child—to the extent that he won’t even tell her about armand knowing their secret.

this isn’t selfless it’s foolish it’s prideful but the story very clearly is not Louis picking a man over his daughter. (claudia calls out what he wants in a companion in 2.01—“if he can’t call you pretty and take you ballroom dancing” Armand won’t even light his cigarette). i think people have constructed this narrative which funnily enough is the exact same one armand uses to gaslight louis with in 2.05 ("you threw around her name for cover, but you always went back to talking about him" or something like that). Which is really obviously a victim blaming narrative lol like the amount of joke posts that r essentially saying Maybe if louis wasn’t so cock hungry his daughter wouldn’t be dead. Okay?? i think its absolutely fucking insane to call her death louis's particular failure when she was lynched. by armand

and you can tell by episode 6 claudia has realized louis isn’t picking armand over her. her frustration with him is with this martyrdom that she never asked for or wanted, that clearly isn’t “you and me” either. Like you cannot tell me she believes “imagine me without the burden of her” means louis is happy and relieved to see her go Bc she’s not stupid and she’s seen him happy before. If she really thought he meant something like that she wouldn’t behave towards him as she does in the rest of ep 6 and doing the trial. completely ignoring her personality

there is also a hopefully really small subset of people who think pointing out how patriarchy works Is gender essentialism who posit louis as the primary perpetrator of misogynoir in order to justify their fundamental queer human right to call lestat femme . and then expect pats on the back for acknowledging #intersectionality . which is. absurd.

[queer-n-here]

UHM-UHM-

Yeah I have no shame to just not ask anonymously- anyways!

May I please request a 6'1 reader who is stoic, bold, also handsome as Dazai but ain't a womaniser, and is VERY quiet. With Dazai. He works at the ADA with him. He follows Dazai around like literally, he acts and opens up more to Dazai than he does with others, he literally doesn't care if Dazai was In the pm (they met at 14) or abt his crimes, he can read Dazai's emotions And can see through him, they R lovers, he is loyal asf to Dazai. He Also is rich asf and has better fashion tastes! Pls make both a oneshot or hc or ANYTHING ABT THEMMMMM

(I'm very desperate BC of a certain fantasy of mine)

Ah, I gotchu you bruv.

[ Also, let's do a little quiz. What country do y'all think I originate from? Like, based on my language and writing and just... Yeah.]

And yep, I'm double posting today!

Canonically, there are no mentions of Dazai's past before the Port Mafia, so I made stuff up. Hope you like it!

Contents: Uhh...a lot. I got... *winces* I got carried away.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, suicide and violence, Dazai's life is sad and so are these hcs.

You and Dazai met when you two were 14 each. It was a chance encounter, really. Both of you were orphans, and both of you were ability users, even though Dazai knew more about his ability than you did yours.

Both of you currently had no one in the world. That was the key factor that brought you two together. Struggling to get by and find a place of your own in the world, you met.

Neither of you opened up at first, cautious and calloused as you both were. It just happened; it didn't happen one particular day, and before you two had realized, you'd become each other's sole support.

You turned fifteen, and three months later Dazai met Mori.

He told you about it later, describing in the sort of detail no one else would get to hear how he'd rescued the Port Mafia leader from an enemy gang, unintentionally impressing him and securing Dazai a place in the Mafia.

You didn't like it. The job was dangerous, and you didn't want Dazai's hands to get stained with blood. When you told him this, he laughed it off, and said that he could handle it. You dropped the matter.

He was wrong.

You watched as Dazai changed, despite his promises and assurances. He grew ruthless, cruel in a way that made you ache as you watched him, silent. He started hating everything, even himself, and sometimes you thought he hated you, too.

He had a beautiful heart, you knew. But Mori was destroying it.

You talked to Mori about it, too. You might not have anything on him, yes, he was richer and way more powerful, but you had your ability, and you were ready to fight to death. Before you could, however, Dazai intervened.

That was the first time you two fought. After that, you went to him and told him you wouldn't care if he didn't want you to. If he wanted to keep going down the path that he'd chosen, you wouldn't stop him.

Sometimes, you look back and wonder if there was something you could have done for him other than what you did. You still can't think of anything.

You opened up a small business after that, and it slowly grew to a scale larger than you had expected.

Then you two turned eighteen. Finally, you were able to register your enterprises under your own name, being a legal adult. You and Dazai got wasted that night, and you watched fondly as he tried and failed to put his coat on so you two could go and meet Ango and Odasaku.

They had probably begun then, your feelings for Dazai. You were only comfortable enough with him to actually talk, and not just say what was absolutely required and then shut up.

He knew you in a way no else did. No one else knew what it looked like when you smiled, or threw your head back and laughed freely. No one else knew what it was like when you cared, when you brought over Dazai's favorite refreshing drink every time you visited him in summer. Or when you helped him change his bandages, touch gentle and careful against his soft skin.

And you knew him the way no else did. No one else knew what it was like when he was genuine, when he'd look up at you with earnest eyes. No one else knew what it was like when he flushed slightly, the red of his skin always starting from the tips of his ears and descending to his cheeks. No one else knew what it was like when Dazai protected, when he offered to use his contacts in the Mafia to get rid of your competitors, even though you declined every time. He had enough blood on his hands without you pitching in.

Eight months after that, he left the Port Mafia. He came to your apartment crying that day. His face was ashen, his shirt was covered in blood and his lips were trembling. The tears that had been collecting in his eyes for who knows how long finally spilled when he saw you, and the only thing you could do for him in that situation was open your arms and let him cling onto you. He kept saying 'Oda's dead... He's dead...'

That night, Dazai changed. Thankfully for the better. That flame in his eyes was gone now, the one that made you worry if he would burn himself and the world.

Dazai slowly stopped hating after that. You and Ango were the only two he trusted, the only two he would be genuine with. He didn't close up in a way that hid his smile, or in a way that made him withdraw from people. Quiet the opposite. He pushed himself outward, adopting a cheery persona that joked around and bewitched everyone.

The only smiles that weren't created but slid across his face on their own were ones that he smiled with you, and Ango.

You couldn't help but feel slightly bittersweet. Dazai was out of that hellhole, that cursed gang that was making his heart black. But Odasaku was dead.

After that, as your twenties arrived, Dazai joined the Armed Detective Agency. You were happy, then.

You two celebrated at a lavish restaurant. Your business had grown to be Japan's No. 1, and the money that spilled in with it was something neither Dazai nor you had expected.

But your hopes for the ADA were too high. Sometimes, Dazai still wanted to leave. He said he wanted to kill himself, and even though he would always laugh it off, you couldn't help but notice that his eyes would always grow hollow when he spoke of it.

And so the only thing you could do was love him. You loved him and tried your best to let him know, buying him unnecessary gifts and putting him on top of your mental priority list. Even your staff knew you loved him; it was apparent and obvious.

Dazai was probably the only one that didn't notice it, that genius dumbass.

And so you tried harder. You had never been good with words, but you tried to be vocal about your feelings, telling him he was cute when you thought so, and saying that he looked good when he did.

Dazai still didn't notice. The day he found out was when you got drunk and blurted it out.

You still don't have a lot of memories from that night, and Dazai says that you passed out soon after confessing. He finds it funny now, even though he didn't back then.

Your confession made Dazai pull up a wall against you. This surprised you, hurt you, and you tried apologizing, tried to get him to just talk to you. You told him that it didn't matter if he didn't return your feelings.

Something was hurting Dazai, you could tell. But he just wouldn't talk to you, going so far as to changing his phone number without telling you.

So you showed up at his workplace. Kunukida knew you by sight; you often came to pick Dazai up from work. You two had a big fight, shouting in one hallway of the agency building, making such a ruckus that Ranpo and the others came over to watch.

It ended with Dazai turning around to leave, and you were planning to let him go. But then you saw a tear glisten at his cheek last moment, and hence gave chase.

You chased him down all the way from Yokohoma to Kawasaki, only stopping when Dazai collapsed in the middle of a street, his frame shaking with sobs as he started hyperventilating. You crouched down beside him and pulled him to your chest, rubbing his back and conducting his breathing, your voice soft as it told him to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale....

He fell asleep on your shoulder, in the middle of nowhere. You carried him back to your house, and tucked him into a warm bed. The next morning, he wouldn't meet your eye.

Usually, you would have let him; there was hardly anything that Dazai would do that you would disapprove of. But lately, you had been going against his wishes a lot, so you decided to do that one more time.

When he tried to leave, you pinned him to a wall and forced him to look at you. It wasn't difficult, Dazai had never really worked out, even as a part of the Port Mafia. His fighting style was more quick and clean moves than brute strength.

It worked well in your advantage as he tried to struggle against your hold and failed miserably, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall.

"Dazai," You said. "If you want me to disappear from your life, I can do that." He looked up at you, eyes wide and blurred. "But there's one catch. You have to say it. Say it to my face, tell me to leave, and I swear on my own life, I'll vanish. You won't ever see me again." And then the tear that had been collecting in his eye all this time fell, sliding down his cheek and onto the collar of his shirt. His arms went limp in your hold, and he wobbled forwards. You caught him as he fell, and he sobbed into your shoulder again. His hands were clutching at your shirt as if for dear life, and even as you rubbed his back, more tears fell from his eyes. You held Dazai through his breakdown. The next time he spoke to you, he said the words, "I like you too much." It was a silent confession, almost muffled into your shoulder as the post-crying exhaustion overtook. You pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into his temple.

It was alright after that. You asked Dazai why he tried to run away, and the only thing he said was that he got scared. He chose not to explain, and you chose not to push him.

Now, everything is good. Dazai's job at the ADA does worry you sometimes, even if it's for the good, it's dangerous, but you know he loves his job, no matter how many jokes he makes about Fukuzawa's violation of the Labor Laws. And he loves you, that's all you've ever needed.

Being in a relationship with him is not always easy. He still speaks of dying, and the thought of him leaving you makes you panic. Sometimes, you still don't know what to do to make him feel better. But you manage to work through it.

You love Dazai, after all. You have ever since you two were kids.

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[whaledenwtf]

Professor!Gale x Reader - Extra Credit

Oh yeah, its all coming together. I really like the idea of Professor Dekarios and I find teachers really hot (and so is Gale). Also, since this is a student teacher scenario, I imagine the age difference to be about 10 years, with you being around 25 and Gale being 35. Both legal and consenting adults. So many people have already contributed to this scenario and I decided to try!! Hope I do this hot wizard justice. :)

AO3 LINK: Here

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: Here (MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN PLEASE REQUEST STUFF)

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Body Worship ( Female Receiving), Squirting (hehe), Creampie, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex on a desk (you're welcome), Praise Kink, Power Imbalance, CONSENSUAL Teacher and Student Dynamic, Slight Angst, Speaks of Academic Anxiety and Fear of Failure

My priority is always trying to keep the characters as close to their in-game personality as possible!!

WORD COUNT: 6892

You have been attending Blackstaff for the last couple of years. Nothing was truly noteworthy in that time, until your last semester of your last year. You were a flourishing wizard, excelling in every class. Until you were seated in his class.

In your first day of class with Professor Dekarios, you were taken aback by his good looks. You were so used to old stuffy wizards for professors that you could never fathom them to be young, and attractive. You were distracted by his looks, and then his knowledge. He's well-read, and holds the interest of all his students. You knew that most of your classmates were attracted to the wizard, but you felt so incredibly awkward sitting in his class spending the majority of it fantasizing about him.

"Here are your current marks in my course. Most of you are excelling-" He gives a pointed glare to the backrow of the class, who are all giggling at his attention. "But for those who find their grades are... less than subpar, you can speak to me after class or in my office hours." Your hands brush when he hands you your grade, and your heart speeds up a bit. After everyone has received their grade, you hear groans of exasperation and gasps of elation. Flipping over the paper, your eyes widen.

A-

This can't be right you think to yourself, questioning what you have done to slip from your perfect A+ average. Logically speaking, you knew this wouldn't kill you outright, but it sure felt like it would.

"Now, we will continue today's lesson with the history of the evocation spell Green-Flame Blade. Interestingly, the spell's origins come from-" His voice drowns out. Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. You felt... anxious; confined and claustrophobic. You feel a minor tremor go through your body. You snap out of it, and look up to see everyone packing up to leave. How long was I not listening? You ask yourself. You felt guilty, your wandering mind has allowed you to lose track on your priorities. You couldn't fail. You had to succeed, and push yourself further than you have ever had in your life. The line to speak to Professor Dekarios was not as long as you expected, but your anxiety had slowly increased with every second you were left waiting. Once the person in front of you had left, you step closer to his desk, shy and nervous.

"Ah, Miss (Y/N)! How can I help you today?" He is standing behind his desk, slightly bent over so he could lean over it.

"I wanted to speak to you about my grade, Professor Dekarios." He furrows his brows.

"You're grade? I'm surprised, considering you are my best student-" He shuffles closer to you, conspiratorially. "Between me and you, the entire class has an average of C+. You're the student who I see the most potential in." You blush at the words. You were surprised that you were his best student, considering the many talented and intelligent peers you were surrounded with. You find it difficult to believe the course average is a C+.

"I want to know if there is anything to raise my grade. I find this to be unacceptable, and wish to boost my grade." You whisper quietly. He hums.

"You remind me of myself when I was a young wizard. Despite the fact I excelled, I felt the need to better... the best." You've heard the rumours about your professor. He was once Mystra's Chosen, and the whirlwind romance was all anyone could talk about. One doesn't simply get chosen without reason; you had to have unimaginable potential and have such an understanding of the Weave that Mystra herself would welcome you.

"I remind you of yourself?" He hums in affirmation. He begins packing his things, before glancing up at you.

"You think that this grade is the end of your world. That the universe itself will implode around you." He states it as though he read your mind, and you wonder if he casted detect thoughts on your mind. "I see no issue with your grade, (Y/N). In all my years of teaching, you're the first student who even reached an A grade in any of my courses. You're an intelligent, talented wizard." You shake your head, frowning.

"Please, Professor Dekarios. Let me prove myself to you." He finishes packing up, before standing at full height and rubbing his beard.

"Well, perhaps I can find something that would be stimulating enough for your caliber." You smile wide then, and squeal.

"Oh thank you! Thank you! I won't let you down." He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

"Come to my office hours later tonight and we can further discuss what can be done." You nod, your cheeks straining from how wide your smile was.

"I'll see you then." You begin to walk away from his desk, picking up your things. As you walk out of his class, you turn around to look at him again. He is turned away from you, and you admire him from a distance. You cross the threshold of the door, head held high. You will prove yourself.

You were grateful that you could change out of the Blackstaff uniform you were forced to wear. You were in a blouse and skirt, with your Blackstaff cloak around your shoulders. You knock on the door of his office, nervous and excited.

"Come in." Despite being muffled, you could tell it was him. You open the door slowly, before walking in and closing the door behind you.

"Hi Professor Dekarios." He smiles up at you from his seat, waving over to the two armchairs infront of his desk.

"Take a seat, Miss (Y/N)." You go to sit down.

"You can just call me (Y/N)." You tell him, biting your lip. His eyes glance to your lips for a moment before connecting your gazes.

"Alright, (Y/N). I went ahead and took the liberty of getting your transcript and I must say I am truly impressed." You glance down to his hands to see him holding a piece of parchment. "I had not realized I had such a prodigal individual in my class, though I am not surprised. You have exceeded my expectations for what I see in students. I can say with certainty that we are more alike than I originally thought." You blush at his words, the praise from his lips making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Thank you, Professor." He leans forward, to once again look over your transcript.

"That being said, imagine my surprise in seeing your transcript! Your grades are extraordinary. In both theory and practical courses you've achieved top grades." You hum as a response, nodding. His eyes snap up to yours, and you get struck by his beauty. In the light of his office, his eyes are a chocolate-brown. Despite having the most common eye colour, on him they seem well-placed. Perfect.

"Is there anything that may be affecting you outside of your studies? You may be my best student but I can tell your mind wanders elsewhere during my course." You blush and look down.

"My mind often wanders, and I am sorry about that." He hums, rubbing his beard in thought.

"Is there any issues at home? A particularly distracting significant other?" Your head snaps up at his words. He is watching you intently, his attention on you completely.

"Oh- um. No. No family to have issues with, and no relationship to be distracted by. Just me and my wandering mind." You see him exhale, and the tension in his shoulders leaves.

"Alright." He sounds pleased at the information. "Well, there isn't anything I can do regarding previous grades as they are already in the system-" You whimper, eyes watering. He stands to crouch next to where you are seated. He places a hand on your arm, rubbing it in a comforting matter.

"Please don't cry. I'm not particularly good at handling beautiful crying women. " You turn to look at him in shock.

"I'm sorry professor-" He cuts you off, still rubbing your arm.

"Please call me Gale." You nod, looking down. He goes to stand, knees cracking.

"However-" Your eyes snap up. "I may be able to give you an additional assignment that can boost your grade. Like I said, you're my top student and you don't need much to boost such a grade." In your excitement, you jumped up and hugged him.

"Oh thank you Gale! I won't let you down." His arms wrap around you as he chuckles.

"You can't disappoint me." He says with certainty. You look up at him blushing. His eyes glance down at your lips. After a breathe, you move away from him, biting your lip. He coughs, trying to clear the atmosphere.

"What do you need for the assignment?" He ponders this for a moment.

"As an exception, I'll accept anything. Whether that be a written assignment, practical application or otherwise." You smile.

"I can do that." He smiles at you, and you blush at his radiance.

"Perfect! As long as it is done before the final grades are processed the grade will be adjusted and your transcript unaffected." You nod excitedly.

"I'm forever in your debt, Gale." He waves you off.

"Pish-posh. Just trying to help." You turn to walk to the door, but before you can step further he grabs your hand gently. Your head snaps back to him.

"Please do not hesitate to speak to me if you need anything else." He squeezes your hand before letting go, and you've never felt such an acute sense of loss.

"Thank you. I may take you up on that offer." He smiles down at you.

"Take care of yourself (Y/N)." You nod, before leaving his office. You felt a sense of excitement, and were grateful for Gale's ability to bend the rules for you. You will not let him down.

The next time you see Gale was in class the next week. You decided to apply yourself further, and made it a personal goal to answer more questions and be part of more discussions. You can feel the ire from your classmates, but you ignore them in favour of basking in the validation and praise from Gale. "Very good, (Y/N)! The application of Mage Hand can be used only outside of combat! However, it can be used to pick up weapons. I remember once when-" He cuts himself off when a student raises their hand. You turn to look at the student, who you remember was one of the girls who usually interrupts class.

"So can we use it in the bedroom?" She asks flirtatiously. Her friends all giggle around her. You roll your eyes and look at Gale. He coughs to cover his shock.

"I-um. It can be." You smirk at his reply. His eyes glance at you and the side of his lips quirk up.

"Do you have any experience using it, professor?" He blushes.

"I don't think that's an appropriate question regarding the lesson." She sighs. Before anyone can speak up, the bell rings and people get up from their desks and leave. You walk up to Gale, holding your notebook. There are still some people in the class, wandering and speaking to eachother

"Hi Ga-Professor." He smiles at you.

"Hi (Y/N). How can I help?" He asks as he packs up his things.

"I have decided on what to do for the assignment." He perks up at your words.

"Wonderful! May I ask what you plan on doing?" You grin.

"It will be a surprise, but I will be casting a spell! No written assignment." He closes his bag and stands to his full height.

"I'm excited for your practical prowess. When do you plan on showing me this incredible act?" You think for a moment.

"Anytime that works with you." He nods to the door, silently asking you to follow him. You follow next to him as he speaks.

"I do not have any other commitments today." You bite your lip.

"Me neither." He opens the door for you, waving you to walk in front of him. You bow jokingly, before walking ahead of him. You both laugh as you walk out.

The walk to his office is filled with varying topics of conversation. From his Tressym, Tara, to topics regarding spells and their origins. You were slightly disappointed when you arrive to his office door, saddened by the end of your conversation. Once again, he opens the door and lets you in first.

"Let's get started! You are keeping me at the edge of my seat." He lays his things down before standing next to you.

"I've decided that I will be casting a spell above what you have taught us." His eyebrows jump up his forehead.

"Which spell?" He asks, curiously. You lay your things down, and raise your hands into position.

"Astral Projection." You tell him confidently. His jaw drops.

"Holy hells. Are you sure you will be able to cast it? What about the hour long casting time? Have you considered-" You cut him off as you begin the hand gestures.

"I've been concentrating for the last hour. I've also successfully casted this spell multiple times." You tell him. He leans forward on his desk, watching you intently. You begin to mutter the cast, the Weave flowing through you like water in a river. You look directly in his eyes as you mutter the last word, and then you feel yourself floating. Once you feel the ground under your feet, you look next to you and see Gale in awe.

"Phenomenal! You executed the spell perfectly- furthermore you concentrated during our conversation. I've never been so impressed by such a feat!" He tells you, his voice echoing in the astral plane. You grin at him.

"Did I pass?" You ask coquettishly. He laughs out loud, looking at the outline of his body.

"Pass? I'm considering sending a strongly worded letter to the Dean to have you graduate right away!" You laugh out loud. He walks forward, looking at the area in interest.

"Are you able to transport us into a different realm?" He asks excitedly. You giggle at his enthusiasm. He smiles at you.

"Of course. I have a place in mind!" You close your eyes, casting a silent spell. When you open them, you find yourself in your bedroom.

"Is this your bedroom?" He asks curiously. You nod, smiling.

"It is my safe haven. It's where I first casted most of my spells, and successfully astral projected for the first time." He walks around, looking at the stacks of books and trinkets with interest.

"It suits your style." He says gently. You blush at his words. He sits down on your bed, taking a book into his hands.

"Death and Divinity: A Godly Guide. Interesting tome." He tells you. You sit next to him, taking the tome in your hand.

"I was curious about death. It takes so much from us, and will take us too, one day." You tell him quietly, explaining how the tome got into your possession. He hums, placing a hand on yours.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." He says sadly. You turn to look at his profile, and see a sadness that seems exhaustive.

"Life gives us a lot. But it can also take. You're stronger than I am, especially after all you dealt with." You tell him as you squeeze his hand. His thumb caresses your hand gently.

"I am no stronger than any other man." He replies, looking at you.

"I find it difficult to believe that." You whisper to him. His eyes glance at your lips again.

"I'm afraid I am no different than any other. Quite ordinary." You glance at his lips, leaning closer.

"Nothing about you is ordinary, Gale Dekarios." He leans closer, and his lips graze yours. You drop the tome on the floor and grip him closer to you, basking in the comfort and warmth of his kiss. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands moving to grip your face as his tongue explores your mouth. You moan, leaning further into him. After a moment you separate, gasping out.

"I am so sorry." Gale apologizes profusely, standing. You stand with him, smoothing your hands down your clothes.

"Do not apologize. It's my fault." You tell him, embarrassed.

"I am the one who went further. I will be honest, (Y/N). You've captivated me. You are a constant in my thoughts. I apologize for being so unprofessional." Your heart sings at his words. You take his face into your hands and pull him into a kiss.

"The only reason I was distracted in your course was because I think of you. You occupy my thoughts- and I cannot stop." You tell him earnestly. His eyes widen.

"O-oh." You pull away to grip his hands.

"I'm sorry Gale. I understand this will only cause you problems. I can transfer course-"

"Absolutely not. Despite the fact that I am your professor, I can not imagine you removing yourself from my course. I- I do not want to let you go now that you are in my reach, and in my grasp." He tells you as he leans in, his breath fanning across your lips. He kisses you again, passionately. The back of your knees hit your bed, and you fall over. He climbs over you, still kissing you. As his hands begin to roam, your concentration snaps, and you find yourselves in his office.

The fantasy was ripped from you both. You are panting, eyes wide as you stared at your professor.

"I-" You start, breathless. He takes two steps forward, pupils blown wide.

"Please." He whispers. You wait for a moment, before the urge is too strong. You pull him down to kiss you, moaning and gasping into his lips. You open your mouth, and he spares no time in exploring it. Your tongues dance around each other, exploring and absorbing the other. You pull away when you hear footsteps outside the door. You jump from him as they get closer. You rush to hide under his desk, grateful that nobody could see you from the other side. The doorknob shifts, and someone walks in.

"Hi Professor Dekarios~" You frown as you hear the voice of that student who interrupted class today.

"To what do I owe the-" he harrumphs. "pleasure?" the way he said it with such disdain makes you smile.

"I heard another student speaking about an extra assignment and was wondering if it would be possible for me to have one as well?" You don't hear anything for a moment, but you assume Gale waved her over to the chair in front of his desk as you see his feet shuffle closer to you.

"I suppose I can do so. What did you have in mind?" He asks her as he sits down, trying to not kick you.

"I can think of a couple of things I can do to boost my grade." She says huskily. You bite your tongue, trying not to groan at her words.

"Well I am all ears." Gale tells her. You smile at his inability to understand her intentions.

"Well... We are here, in your office... alone." You can hear her lean forward by the way the chair creaks.

"Yes?" He asks her unsure. You stifle a giggle in your hand, which she didn't hear. He had heard your giggle, and nudged you with the toe of his shoe.

"I can do anything you like. Some have said I'm good with my mouth." He coughs out, and from your angle you see his eyes are wide like saucers.

"A-are you insinuating that- Absolutely not! I will have to send a letter to the Dean of the academy to have you cease your studies immediately-"

"B-but Professor-" She squeals out. He goes to stand.

"Not only is that incredibly disrespectful and unprofessional, but you make a mockery of wizardry itself. Leave now-" He says angrily, before pausing. "please." He ends softly. You hear her sobs as she runs out, the door slamming behind her. He sighs as he goes to lock the door. Once you hear the click of the lock, you make your way out from under his desk.

"I am sorry you had to hear that-" You wave him off.

"Do not apologize to me." He exhales loudly, rubbing a hand over his face which looked tired all of a sudden. You pick up your things which were hidden in the corner of the room.

"Are you leaving?" He asked sadly. You turn to him, biting your lip.

"I understand you have a lot on your plate, Gale. I do not want to add to it-" You walk towards him, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But I also do not want to overstay my welcome after such a situation. It doesn't change what I said and how I feel." You reassure him. He closes his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.

"I feel the need to apologize for ruining the moment-" You cut him off, taking his face into your hand and caressing it with your thumb. His eyes flutter open, eyes gazing into you with tenderness.

"There will be many more moments. If you'd like-" You take a random sheet of paper from your notebook and scribble on it before tearing it off and giving it to him. "Here is my address. Send me a pigeon or come visit me." You graze his lips once more, before pulling away and unlocking the door. You turn to glance at him once more, and see he is holding the paper, rubbing his lips softly. You blush and turn away, heading home for the day.

That night, as you are sitting on your couch and reading a novel you hear a knock at the door. Your bare feet patter against the hardwood of your floors. You open the door to see Gale standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a bag full of books.

"Oh! Hi Gale." You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he toes off his shoes.

"I understand you probably did not mean I could come over tonight, but I had to see you again." He tells you. You blush at his words, before taking the items from his hands.

"You are welcome any time. Please, take a seat. I was just reading." You usher him to the couch, where he takes a seat and looks around your home, interested.

"I brought a bottle of wine and some literature. I thought you would enjoy it." He tells you shyly. You grin at him, and he is struck by your beauty.

"I don't need anything to enjoy your presence, Gale. The thought is appreciated regardless. Let me get us some glasses so we can enjoy it together." He nods at you, smiling. As you walk to the kitchen, you ponder the day over in your head. You were in awe of what transpired today; between you admitting your feelings for your professor, to him reciprocating those feelings! From the student who over imposed, to your perfect cast of Astral Projection. It was a taxing day, and you are glad you could relax before tomorrow's sun rose.

As you walk back to your living room, you see Gale has stood and looked over your bookshelves.

"Are you impressed?" He jumps at your words, before turning around and smirking.

"Many of these tomes I have at home. Quite a collection you have here." You smile, putting down the two glasses on an end table next to the couch.

"Not as extensive as I wish, but I will hope to get there." He turns around to look further, before chuckling. He pulls out a slim novel, grinning.

"The Tale of Tadpoles and Illithids; Saving Baldur's Gate-" He smirks at you, as you blush. "Didn't think you were such a fan. Want an autograph?" He teases you. You snatch the book out of his hand, sticking your tongue out.

"Not my fault you are an accomplished wizard and author. I happen to enjoy reading all sorts of topics and... well... I was interested." You admit to him. He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in, before kissing the top of your head.

"I am interested too- in you, of course." He says confidently, before rushing in to add that last part. You laugh at his fumble, leaning your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"Is that so?" You ask him lowly, biting your lip. His eyes follow the movement, and he exhales softly. Now in the privacy of your home, in your space, you feel confident and sure of your actions and words.

"I do." He whispers. You pull away from him, taking his hand in your own and tugging him to the couch.

"Let us enjoy good wine and great company." You tell him, smiling as he gets comfortable.

"Thank you for-" He harrumphs, blushing. "-for letting me in." You pour the wine into the glasses, handing him one. You edge yourself closer to him, the heat of his body warming you in different ways.

"Of course. I won't leave you outside. I extended an invitation for a reason." You lean against your hand, taking a sip of wine. You moan at the taste, your tongue swiping across your lips to catch any stray drops. He blushes into his glass, all of a sudden bashful.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to speak about?" You ask him curiously, after a minute of silence. He looks down at the glass in his hand, swirling it around.

"I just wanted- no needed- to see you. I do not know how to traverse this path we laid out for ourselves... I mean, I am your professor! I cannot help wanting you in every way, and any way. Intellectually, spiritually, physically-" He ends huskily. You gulp a sip of wine, blushing into the glass. "You have taken my thoughts hostage, and I cannot help but be gravitated to you. You are phenomenal in ways I admire, and like a moth to a flame, I am magnetized." Your thigh bumps into his as you pull your legs up onto the couch.

"I am honoured that you think so highly of me. I can't help but feel concerned that you will realize I am not much. You've experienced so much, and I feel- no; I know- that I will come short of your expectations." You tell him honestly, sighing. His hand makes itself known on your thigh, his thumb caressing circles into the thin fabric of your lounge clothes.

"I cannot let you think for a moment that you will come short of any expectations I have. You've exceeded any and all expectations I have had in others for the longest time. You're absolutely radiant. Let me show you." His hand begins to move upwards. You bite your lip as your gaze trails from his hand, to his face. He was already watching you intently, looking for any sign of denial.

"Please." You whisper, echoing his words from earlier today. He stands to take both your glasses and sets them down, before crouching down in front of where you are seated on the couch.

"May I?" He whispers, looking up at you. You can't help but feel as though he was a worshipper, and you, his goddess. You felt a pang of adoration for him, and cannot help but understand what enthralled Mystra when she came upon him. He was utterly irresistible, and you were tired of resisting against him and his charm. You nod, swallowing in excitement. His hands caress your calves, going up and massaging your thighs. He takes his time, even laying soft kisses on the top of the fabric covering your thighs. His eyes glance up as he does so, taking in the small gasps and sighs of pleasure coming from your lips. He slowly tugs the fabric of your pants down, pulling them off your feet and folding it with a gentleness you admire.

You are already buzzing in excitement, pupils blown wide and hands gripping the fabric of your couch. When he looks up from his task, he is aroused at the fact you were parading around without any undergarments.

"You little minx. I cannot wait to devour you. Would you like that?" You moan, your hand going to his hair and tugging as you nod excitedly. He chuckles at your enthusiasm, before his hands go to your knees to spread you open. You whimper as he does so, and the groan he lets out when he sees you spread open for him is whorish.

"Look at the mess you have made for me. Such a good girl for me." He whispers into the skin of your inner thigh, his beard scratching you deliciously. You whimper at his words, one of your hands going up to your top to pull it up over your breasts so you could play with them.

"J-just for you." He moans as you speak, inhaling your scent. Your core pulsates at the action, your cunt tightening around nothing as your slick leaks out.

"You smell delicious. I know I will get drunk off the taste of you." He tells you before kissing your clit. You arch off the couch, your foot sliding up and finding purchase on his back. He curls his forearms under your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the couch, and the show of his strength makes you moan out his name. He begins to lick your lower lips, moaning into you at your taste.

"Gods, I have dreamt of this for months. I will make sure you cum on my tongue more than once tonight. Consider that a promise, sweetheart." He says into your core, eyes looking up at you.

The picture you painted was gorgeous, with blushing skin and half-lidded eyes. Your hand is holding your breast in your hand, playing and tugging with its peak. He keeps his gaze on you as he expertly explores your inner sanctum. You gasp, moan and whimper at every flick and swipe of his dexterous tongue, his name a prayer on your lips. His tongue prods at your entrance, as one of his hands spreads you open further. He thrusts into you with the appendage, as his nose bumps into your clit. He pulls away to suck the pearl, groaning at the sight of you arching painfully off the couch in pleasure. Your other hand finds itself in his hair, tugging on it and pushing him further into your cunt. You feel the coil in your lower belly snap, and you shout, your body almost split in half from the way you arch. You can feel your spend rush out of you, squirting and coating Gale's lower half of his face; you think even his shirt is drenched. You have minor convulsions of oversensitivity and Gale continues to lick you, groaning at your taste.

"O-oh. P-please ah. I'm sensitive." You whimper into the air, body hunched over. You felt like jelly. As your eyes come into focus, you see Gale looking at you with a dark look in his eyes.

"I promised more than once. I will deliver through with that promise. Be a good girl and hold your legs for me." You whimper, your arms limply moving to hold them up for him. His arms uncoil from your thighs to gather some of your slick from the inside of your thighs. He looks directly into your eyes as he licks up the spend, his tongue weaving through his digits. You whine, gyrating your hips. He chuckles at the movement, before taking two of his spit-riddled fingers and thrusting them into you. He groans at your tightness, scissoring his fingers to spread you open.

"You are so good for me. Want me to make you feel good?-" You nod, whimpering. "Such a good girl. Can't wait to make you scream my name again. This time I'll make you cum on my fingers." You never expected Gale to be so forward and... dirty. Hearing those words come from lips that brought you to another dimension of pleasure was nothing short of thrilling, and your body was already begging him for more. You nod, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming need you felt for the man who spent the last twenty minutes worshipping your figure. He begins to thrust his fingers as his tongue laps up at your still sensitive clit. You knew you wouldn't last long with the way his tongue and fingers worked together to make you come apart for him.

Your hand finds itself back at the roots of his hair, tugging the strands. He groans at the action, kissing the side of your inner thigh as his eyes glitter with adoration.

"Gods. I do not know how I could ever let you go after tonight." He whispers. You suppose he was speaking to himself, but you heard him and you felt an overwhelming sense that your heart felt... full. You're not sure if it's the arousal, the adrenaline from the mind-blowing orgasm or something that is just Gale Dekarios, but you decided it was a dangerous feeling. Those three words made your tongue feel like lead, and his touch was distracting enough for you to only let out sounds rather than words. He started tracing letters on your clit, and you begin gyrating on his face again, his beard burning you slightly.

"That's it, sweetheart. Take what you need from me. Gods you are beautiful. I love seeing you like this." You gasp out when you hit your peak again, explosions behind your eyelids. You tightened around his fingers, whimpering and mumbling nonsense in your deliriousness. Your ears are ringing, and you just babble words. For a moment, he looks at you with shock before he gazes at you with adoration, petting your hair and kissing random parts of your body as you come down from your high. Once the last tremor goes through you and you can hear the world again, you look around and realize he is laying down under you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you struggle with the loss of time you faced.

"I-I never experienced... What happened?" You ask him, turning over so you were chest to chest. He chuckles at your questions, his hands caressing your back and arms.

"Not to toot my own horn, but you seemed very adamant in not coming back down from your high. Said such nonsensical things..." He whispered, kissing your lips. You fidget on his chest. your thigh bumping into his bulge as he groans.

"What did I say?" You whispered worriedly.

"You said you loved me-" You groan, hiding your face in his chest, which you now notice is shirtless. Just how much did you miss? "Now don't hide such a beautiful face-" His hand finds itself at the back of your neck, positioning you to look up at him. "I love you too, you know." He whispers, the hand at the nape of your neck pulling you forward into a passionate kiss. You felt overstimulated, between the kiss, your heightened adrenaline and the fact he laid his heart bare- you wanted to give yourself to him wholly. You pull away from his lips, hands on his chest so you could look down at him.

"I need you." You tell him blankly. His eyes widened.

"Do not feel the need to please me. What I did, I wanted to. I will never ask you to reciprocate." He tells you, his hand pushing away stray hairs and tucking them behind your ear.

"I don't remember stuttering, Professor Dekarios." In a sudden show of strength, he picks you up and lays you on the closest flat surface - your desk.

"Such a naughty girl." He tells you, groaning. As your back is laid flat on the desk, you spread your legs, biting your lip.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Your foot nudges the seam of his pants, toeing the button holding them up. He closes his eyes, biting his lip.

"If you continue that I will not last as long as I'd like." He tells you honestly, groaning. You pull your foot away, but he grabs it to kiss your calf. You smile up at him, as he gazes into your eyes adoringly.

"Gods. How lucky am I?" He whispers into your skin. You giggle, running a hand through his hair sweetly.

"I feel as though I'm the lucky one." You tell him, smile widening. His hand goes to the button of his pants, pulling it out of the loop. His pants fall, leaving him in his undergarments. He pulls those off too, leaving him completely bare. You raise yourself onto your elbows to admire him.

His physique was exquisite, with defined muscle and the perfect amount of hair. His chest had a light scattering of it, which then trailed down to his belly button before becoming coarser and showing a darkened happy trail, which was accentuated by his v-line. His trail goes lower until it reaches the base of his cock, as trimmed as the rest of him. What excited you, though, was his cock; it was like the rest of him- perfect. He was above average in length and girth, and the tip was flushed with pearls of precum leaking from his slit. He pumps himself once, then twice, before smirking down at you.

"Admiring what you see?" He asks cheekily. You bite your lip as your eyes trail back up to his face.

"I'd like a taste." You whisper sensually. He gulps loudly, before his hand goes to the back of his neck.

"Ah-That won't be necessary. I'd much rather bring you to the planes of ecstacy." You pout at his words.

"Next time I want to please you. Bring you passion." You respond. He smiles.

"Next time?" He's being cheeky again. You hum, taking your legs into your hand and bending in half to present yourself to him. Your hands are on the insides of your knees, and this angle shows your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He groans at the sight, and another pearl of precum leaks from his cock.

"Please... Gale. No more teasing." You whimper, watching as his hand strokes himself again. He nods, shuffling closer to you. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, bumping into your clit. You jump at the touch, gasping. You then feel the tip of him go to your entrance, entering it slightly before pulling away.

"GA-" You couldn't even finish saying his name, as he bottoms out in one thrust, both of you moaning in unison. His thrusts are slow but deep, his girth stretching you to your max; and his length poking at your cervix. He thrusts slowly, his eyes gauging your reactions and what you like.

"M-more." You whisper. He begins to speed up, the friction between you both making lewd noises that fill the space. All you can hear in your living room is the slapping sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy's wetness and the joined whimpers. He leans in closer to kiss you, his chest rubbing against your nipples. The change in angle also leads him to go deeper, his tip kissing your cervix much more roughly. You feel your end coming closer, your moans loud against his lips. He pulls away, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"Give it to me. Cum on my cock." He tells you roughly. You feel his fingers begin to rub tight circles around your clit. The coil snaps, and you cum around him, gasping his name repeatedly. As you ascend, Gale groans into your neck, your tightening walls bringing him to his end quickly. He stills, filling you with his seed. You both stay there, panting. As you descend from your highs, you feel yourself be lifted by Gale, who brings you to your bedroom.

He lays you on the bed, before going into multiple rooms. You hear him go aha! from your position on the bed. Lifting yourself onto your forearms, you see him walk back in with a cloth. He wipes you down gently, one hand on task and the other carding itself in your hair. Once he deems you clean enough, he lies next to you and pulls you into his arms. He kisses your forehead and sighs.

"Thank you." You tell him, curling into his embrace as you lay your head on his chest.

"For what?" He asks you curiously. You lean your head up to look into his eyes.

"For allowing me extra credit." He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back sweetly, excited for what your future will look like now that he is in your life.

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Like Real People Do - lh43

summary: luke spends time thinking about rosey and how she’s locked him out of her life the last few weeks. he shows up on her doorstep in one last attempt and she lets him in

warnings: small use of y/n, adult content, talk of blackmail, ex boyfriend being harassing, talk of nudes, sweet fluffy luke, depiction of depression overtaken room,

word count: 3.68k+

notes: hozier’s song ‘like real people do’ has been stuck in my head for days. so hence the name ✨ not really based of the title but title is used

adult content is used in this fic, 18+, minors do not interact. Thanksies🫶🏼

Rosey, wasn’t just a girl to Luke. She was the girl.

His girl.

Rosey, a girl who painted the world with her laughter and filled the air with the sweet scent of her favorite honey crop apple scented based shampoo and apple perfume. Her eyes, always bright and sparkling. Luke swore that they could outshine any gem, that her eyes held a depth that he found himself drowning in every time she looked his way. Her hair fell in soft waves just the way she liked for it to, framing her face perfectly. Luke had come to memorize the freckles that danced across her nose like constellations in a summer night sky.

Only she had a way of bringing light to the darkest of days, and Luke allowed himself to bask in her glow whenever she was near.

It was when Luke realized his feelings had grown beyond the confines of friendship that he began to notice the tiniest of things. Like the way she threw her head back when she wholeheartedly laughed at his jokes, how her cheeks flushed that shade of rosey red that never failed to make his heart race. The way she leaned into him when they would watch movies, how her body fit perfectly against his as if they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their rightful place. And the sweet, lingering scent of her apple shampoo and perfume always seemed to follow him around, leaving a trail of warmth and longing in its wake.

It was in the quietest moments that truly spoke volumes to him recently. When he sat alone where they used to sit together on the tire swings in his backyard, where the setting sun would have been casting a warm glow over her features, that Luke always found himself lost in his thoughts about her. He had found a four leaf clover and picked it. Had he found it months earlier maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here alone.

Months ago he had silently wished for the courage to tell her how he felt, to confess that her smile had become his reason to get out of bed in the morning, and her voice the sweetest melody to his ears, even when she squeaked along to Taylor Swift. He still found it endearing. Yet, fear held him back and then her relationship with Jason held him back. Then he took his opportunity, it seemed to have been mutual. But since that day he’s been alone, Rosey shutting him out. He’s not even sure she’s left her house. Luke has made numerous attempts to go across the street and see her. Her mom stopping his entry with sad eyes and a simple apology each time. The fear of losing her friendship, of her looking at him differently, of shattering the delicate balance they had so carefully maintained for years. The terrifying thought of losing her entirely was overwhelming.

He decided to try again today. The air was cool, the scent of rain lingered from earlier in the day’s downpour, almost as if it was mimicking Luke. The world felt like it was holding its breath waiting for the next heartbreak to happen.

He knocked gently on her door, the anticipation building in his chest like a pressure cooker about to blow. The door swung open and there she was, standing before him, looking just as beautiful as ever, yet sadder than he had ever seen her. The sparkle in her eyes had dimmed and her smile was forced, a mere shadow of its former glory. His heart ached for her, and he wished more than ever that he could just pull her into a hug and take away her pain. Luke’s arms twitched at his side merely able to hold back.

“Rosey.” His voice betrayed him in his attempt to sound strong, instead his voice cracked through the knot in his throat.

Her eyes met his, the pain in them resonating deeply within him. “Hey, Luke,” she managed to say, her voice quieter than the rustling leaves at their feet.

“Can I come in?” He asked tentatively, unsure of his welcome, after being turned away time and time again.

Had she known he’d come?

Rosey nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of life that resonated through her walls. The living room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay.

Luke’s heart sunk more at the simple sight of the curtains. She used to sit there and watch him and his brothers play out in the street for hours from the window. It slowly turned into her reading nook and their study spot. The open curtains were also Luke’s way of knowing she was home and he could come over. He knew then she really didn’t want to see him.

It was clear she had been crying. The evidence lay scattered across the coffee table in the form of used tissues and an empty pretzels bag.

“Rosey.” Luke whispered. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you letting me in? Letting me help?” His voice barely making it over the knot growing in his throat, fighting the urge to cry seeing his usual happy-go getting girl so deeply depressed.

Rosey took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sat down on the couch, her posture deflated, and motioned for Luke to join her. He sat down gently beside her, his arm instinctively reaching out to wrap around her shoulders. She leaned into him, the warmth of her body seeping into his, offering a small sigh of relief. “It’s Jason,” she began, her voice trembling. “He won’t leave me alone. After the breakup, he said he’d make sure no one else could ever have me, not like that.”

Her words hit Luke like a punch to the gut. He had always known that Jason was no good for her, but he never imagined the depth of his spite.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and measured, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Rosey took a deep, shuddering breath.

“After we broke up, he kept texting me, saying he had something to show me, something that would change my mind about him. He said it was proof of how much he cared. I was so stupid to believe him. He sent me these pictures... pictures of me that he took without my consent, and said if I didn’t take him back, he’d send them to everyone we know.” The tremble in her voice grew stronger, and Luke felt his blood begin to boil.

The room seemed to close in around them as she spoke, the very air thick with the weight of her words. Luke’s mind raced with a mix of anger, confusion, and fear for her safety. He had always known that Jason had a possessive streak, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. Jason hitting Rosey was a tough pill to swallow for Luke and now, the thought of anyone seeing Rosey in such a vulnerable state made his stomach churn.

In Luke’s mind she was already his ever since that day at his house.

“Rosey girl, he can’t do that, you’re not 18 yet it’s illegal. Do your parents know?” His arms tightened around her, practically pulling her into his lap in the need to keep her close to him. In fear she may disappear from in front of him again. Luke felt the need to whisper to her although it’s just the two of them in the house.

Rosey nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “They know, but the police said they couldn’t do anything since my face isn’t clear in the photos. They said it’s not enough to prove it’s me and that without that it’s just his word against mine. And everyone knows how convincing he can be.”

Luke’s jaw clenched as he processed this. He had to help her, but the thought of anyone seeing her that way, even for a second, was unbearable. He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or uncertainty, but all he saw was fear and resignation.

“If the faces are unclear or can’t be made out, are you positive it’s you in those pictures, Rosey?” he asked gently, hoping against hope that there was some mistake.

Her gaze remained unwavering. “Yes, Luke. I know it’s me. I know his sick mind and what he’s capable of. He made sure to get enough of me that people would know it’s me, just not my face. It’s like he’s playing a twisted game with me, enjoying my pain without fully crossing the line he knows would land him in trouble.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and despair.

“I need to see them, Rosey.” Luke’s voice was firm, his eyes searching hers for any hint of resistance. “Just show me the blurry faces. I don’t need to see anything else.” He insisted. “I know my sweet Rosey.”

Her eyes searched his, a silent conversation passing between them as the gravity of the situation weighed heavy in the air. After a long moment, she nodded and reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before finally unlocking it. She scrolled through her messages, finding the dreaded thread from Jason, and handed the phone to Luke.

He took it with trembling hands, his stomach in knots. The first few pictures were blurry, as she had described, but then he saw it.

The mole on the neck of the girl in the photos.

His Rosey doesn’t have a single spot on her neck. He was positive.

Luke knew this for sure, yet he still softly grabbed her by the chin and moved her head around softly to complete the inspection.

“Babygirl, these aren’t you, it’s your blurry face on some other girl’s body.” Luke explains. His thumb softly caressing her tear stained cheek.

“How, how do you know? How can you tell?” Rosey hesitantly asks Luke leaning into his touch.

“From years and years of admiring your beauty. Memorizing every visible part of your body. Look here, this girl has a mole on her neck, you have no markings on your neck. Just right here.” Luke taps her nose for emphasis. Earning a small giggle and a smile.

Rosey lunges into Luke’s arm, her face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Lukey,” she whispers, her voice muffled against his skin.

Luke’s heart swells with a mix of affection and pain. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobs. Her tears dampen his shirt, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that she’s here, with him, and he’s going to do everything in his power to make this right.

“Rosey, I’m going to talk to your parents, and we’re going to deal with this. I won’t let him keep doing this to you. You’re worth more than his twisted games.” He whispers into her hair, inhaling the sweet apple scent that has become a balm to his soul. “I can’t go another second of another day without you.” Luke nearly whimpers, his heart cracking at the thought of her putting him out again after jumping into his arms.

Rosey pulls away slightly, wiping at her eyes. She sniffs and looks up at him, her gaze earnest.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out, Luke. I just didn’t know how to face you after everything. I was so afraid of disappointing you that I couldn’t even look at you without feeling like I had failed.” More tears fall, tracing a delicate path down her cheeks, reflecting the dim light from the window.

Luke’s heart feels as though it’s been ripped out of his chest and handed back to him in a million pieces and they’re slowly putting it back together while in each other’s arms. He cups her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the fresh tears. “Rosey, you could never disappoint me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just want to be here for you, to help you through this.” His eyes are filled with sincerity, his voice raw with emotion.

Rosey’s eyes searched his features, looking for the truth in his words. The sadness in her gaze slowly lifts as she nods. “I just... I just didn’t know how to deal with it all. And the thought of losing you, too... it was too much.” Her voice cracks, her grip on his shirt tightening.

With her eyes still on his, Luke leans in closer, his heart racing. The scent of her apple perfume fills his nostrils, and he feels like he’s been waiting for this moment for an eternity. Her eyes flick down to his lips and back up to meet his again, a silent invitation that sends his pulse soaring. He whispers, “Tell me to stop if I should, Ro,” his voice barely audible above the sound of their mingled breaths.

Rosey’s gaze holds his, and for a moment, she seems to weigh his words. But then, she tilts her head slightly, closing the space between them. Her eyes flutter shut, and Luke sees this is it. He’s been given the green light, and he’s not about to waste it. He’s been waiting weeks to feel this alive again. He presses his lips to hers, tentative at first, feeling the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. They were frozen in time, the air charged with unspoken confessions and long-held desires. It was then that Luke’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned in, the anticipation making his stomach flip just like the first time. He felt the warmth of her breath mingle with his, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Luke’s hand slid into her hair, feeling the softness of the strands between his fingers. A soft sigh leaves Rosey’s mouth and Luke nab’s his chance to explore her mouth with his tongue.

He’s dreamt of this moment happening again for what felt like forever. The way she melted into him was like she had been waiting for this moment too. It started off as the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever experienced, and moved to the sweetest and neediest kiss. And it left him feeling like he could conquer the world.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought them back to reality, but they didn’t pull away, lost in the moment. It wasn’t until they heard the unmistakable sound of her parents’ footsteps approaching that they broke apart, their eyes wide with panic.

“Y/n, honey, we’re home,” her mother’s voice called out from the hallway.

The two of them sprang apart, hearts racing, evidence of their passion filled kiss placed on both their faces, swollen lips, bliss filled eyes, messy hair and looking straight in the face of impending parental judgment.

Luke’s mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse for the intimate position they’d been caught in. If this was his house Ellen and Jim wouldn’t think twice about Rosey straddling across their son’s lap as she is. They have two older sons they had to live through.

He glanced at the phone still in his hand, the non-incriminating evidence of Jason’s threats a reminder of how they ended up this way. They both jumped to their feet as the footsteps grew closer, the sudden realization of the situation crashing over them like a wave.

“We need to tell them,” Luke murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Rosey nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. They stepped out of the living room, her parents’ footsteps drawing nearer. Her mother’s cheerful voice calling out to her was a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

“Y/N, we’re ho— oh!” her mother’s voice grew louder as her parents approached Luke and their daughter in the hallway to the living room.

Rosey’s mother stopped abruptly, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The way Luke’s hand rested protectively on her daughter’s arm, the lingering closeness of their bodies. The look on their faces was one of pure panic and shock, but it was quickly replaced with something else, something she hadn’t seen in her daughter’s eyes in a long time—happiness.

Her father’s voice cut through the silence, a teasing tone in his words. “Nice to see you let Luke in finally. Poor boy looked like a lost puppy every time he stopped by, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, sweetheart.” He winked at his daughter, trying to lighten the mood.

Rosey felt a blush creep up her neck, her eyes darting to her mother, who gave her a knowing smile. It wasn’t lost on her that her parents had noticed the change in her demeanor and the persistent presence of Luke at their doorstep.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Mom, Dad, we need to talk. It’s about Jason,” she began, her voice wavering.

Her father’s playful expression faded, replaced with concern. He stepped closer to them, his hand landing on her shoulder. “What’s he done now?” His voice was firm, the protective instincts of a parent coming to the forefront.

Luke’s arm instinctively tightened around Rosey.

“I.. uhm respectfully i look at the pictures.” Rosey’s parents eye’s widened. Her father’s face turning sour at the thought of another boy seeing his baby girl that way. Scaring Luke silent.

“Daddy listen.” Rosey urged her father.

Clearing his throat, Luke continued. “I only looked at the pictures from the neck up. Yes I know the faces are blurry but the amount of time I’ve known your daughter, and honestly the time I have spent in love with her I’m confident in my ability to know her by the features I’ve seen almost everyday since we were little.”

Rosey’s mom is looking at Luke in awe as he rambles about her little girl. The love he’s had for her has been evident for many years and if he’s truly on to something her husband may just finally let go and let him in.

“What are you getting at son?” Her father growing impatient.

“Ro, zoom back in them please?” Luke ask softly knowing even opening them still makes her queasy.

“If you look here, this girl has a mole on her neck. Rosey doesn’t have a single mole or freckle on her neck. The only place, that I have ever been able to see sir, she has freckles is across her nose.”

Rosey’s mother took the phone, her eyes inspecting the blurry images. She nods in understanding, looking back up at her daughter with a fierce expression. “We will deal with this, honey. Your dad and I will handle it. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Her father’s gaze switched from the phone to Luke. He studied him, his eyes intense and searching. Then he spoke, his voice a mix of relief and warning. “You’re right, son. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on her, keep her safe. Don’t let anything happen to my little girl. Just don’t let yourself learn where anymore freckles on my baby girl are!”

Luke laughs nervously at his last statement.

“I understand, sir. I promise to do everything in my power to protect her. She means more to me than you could ever know,” Luke replied solemnly, his love hazed eyes never leaving hers.

Her father’s gaze softened slightly, recognizing the sincerity in Luke’s voice. “Good. Because she’s going to need someone like you by her side.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to his wife. “Let’s go upstairs and talk this through, honey. I think these two have some things to discuss as well.”

With a knowing smile, her mother nodded, leaving them alone in the hallway. The air was thick with tension, but there was also a newfound sense of unity between them.

Luke’s hand found hers, and she laced their fingers together, feeling a rush of comfort at the simple touch.

The two sat back down on the couch, the earlier intimacy of their embrace now replaced by a shared comfort knowing her parents are pushing to overcome this latest hurdle.

“Thank you, Luke,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Really, truly I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. “You’ll never have to find out, Ro. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was firm, the words a promise that he intended to keep.

Rosey’s eyes closed as she melted into his embrace, letting out a sigh of relief. The tension in her shoulders visibly dissipated as she felt his comforting touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to just be in the safety of his arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long few weeks, and it filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Lukey?” She mumbled.

“Yes pretty girl?”

“Back to the last time I saw you, can I fulfill what I said? I want to be yours and just yours. Now and forever. A real relationship where I can kiss you like real people do and I can tell you I love you whenever and it not be weird and-”

Without allowing another word, Luke leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, silencing her nervous babbling with a gentle, lingering kiss. It was a promise and a declaration wrapped in one sweet embrace.

His eyes meeting hers the second they parted, and he uttered the ever so softest "yes" against her lips. “God, yes Rosey be mine.”

[toxictigertonic]

Three count em THREE whole people said they liked my headcanons and wanted more so I'm back with more, this time for how they sleep bc I think it's funny.

COYLE

- Like a damn ROCK.

- But also, extremely vigilant at the same time.

- You could pick him up, shake him, scream in his face, he sleeps. Door cracks open a little? Floorboard creaks? He's up and ready for a fight.

- I really hope he'd sleep in boxers but he strikes me as a butt ass naked kinda guy. Enter his room at your own peril he WILL fight naked.

- Sleeps with his arms to his side, stiff as a board. Dead center of the bed though so good luck if you're looking to share with him.

- Sleeps like that partly bc of military and partly bc if he sleeps on his side he drools.

- Snores like a fucking lawn mower. Has woken people up from a sound sleep bc of it. People are holding grudges.

- The sunglasses and hat stay ON.

- No blankets, no sheets. You can guess how awful this is with the whole sleeping naked thing.

- Sleep walker. Again, awful when you remember that he's nakey.

- One pillow. There is a perfectly head shaped dent in it from his bald ass dome.

GOOSEBERRY

- How many pillows can you fit on a bed? Okay now double it.

- Her bed has the comfiest blankets and the biggest quilt ever.

- Futterman gets his own pillow, so she sleeps on her back with one arm up on the pillow and the other resting on her stomach.

- This is because if he doesn't have his own pillow he'll complain. Also he'll get lost in the mess of blankets.

- She still does the Futterman voice in her sleep. Futterman talks in his sleep. Futterman does not say nice things in his sleep.

- She also talks in her sleep but she's talking about making sure the children are safe or that her pie needs to come out of the oven while Futterman says things about dental hygiene (and how you'll be taught about it whether you like it or not)

- The ONLY one of the prime assets that brushes her teeth before bed. Doesn't wash her face though.

- If she didn't have Futterman to worry about she'd be a side sleeper, pillow tucked under her head and blanket tucked up under her chin.

- She'd have one stuffed animal me thinks. I'd say it's the duck but that feels too simple. How about a mmm ratty old cat.

- Wakes up with the blankets off of her everytime. She doesn't know how it happens but it does.

- Wears the cutest pajama set ever. Futterman deserves pajamas too.

- Sleepytime tea connoisseur. Chamomile with cinnamon and honey every night.

FRANCO

- Again, God help us where do I begin.

- He is my little skrunkly so I say this all with love. Maybe. Potentially. Maybe a little hate.

- Would absolutely spend the money to get an adult sized crib to sleep in. Maybe Murkoff got him one just to make him a little less of a brat (affectionate).

- Sooooo many stuffed animals. So many. From classic stuffies to weird stuffed animals you never would've thought existed.

- He cuddles with the same one every night though, without fail. According to character ai it's a pink elephant so I'm going with that.

- I feel like he'd have a special pajama set for each weekday. Or he'd wear whatever the hell he was wearing during the day to bed. Not sure which.

- If he doesn't have the binky he'll resort to thumb sucking, he won't sleep if he can't have one or the other.

- Also needs sound to sleep, a silent room makes him antsy. Typically has cartoons going.

- (Sad one for those of you who like angst) Dreams about what life could've been like if he had a happy family. Wakes up in tears every time.

- (Cute one to apologize for that) He's clingy as all hell. If someone were to sleep in the same bed as him they'd become his human teddy bear. Good luck getting up this mother fucker has Grip and is so starved for positive attention.

- He wakes up groggy as hell. Give him 30 minutes after he's gotten up bc before then he barely remembers where he is.

- Kicks in his sleep. And they're not gentle kicks either that little bastard is MEAN.

- Drools, sorry not sorry.

- If you pet his head he'll be out like a light :)

Let me know if there are any specific headcanons you'd like to hear out of my noggin because I promise I have plenty. I can talk about these freaks alllll day.

[secondstar-acorn]

one of the things that makes me insane about lautski (among MANY) is how aware of each other’s boundaries they are and how they’re able to banter with each other without taking it to heart

throughout the show they’re lightly teasing each other (i.e. literally all of “if I loved you” and steph’s c+ bringing down pete’s gpa) but they’re also earnest with each other about the things they joke about when it counts!!! best example of that is in “cool as I think I am (reprise)” with:

“you’re not as cool as you think you are” “but you’re as smart as I know you are”

LIKE. OKAY. O K A Y. pete’s journey throughout the show has been realising he IS as cool as he thinks he is. he’s not insecure about it anymore. he stands up to max! he knows his worth! and steph knows that, so she knows this won’t hurt him. steph, throughout the show, has an aversion to being earnest, ESPECIALLY when it comes to her feelings for pete—I mean hell, that’s what “if I loved you” is all about. so when she gets scared and worried about what’s gonna happen to pete, she deflects with that familiar banter while knowing it won’t actually hurt him, just as an act of self-preservation. because she CAN LIE TO HERSELF, as wiggly says. but pete, who DOES have a better handle on his emotions imo, especially as he grows throughout the show, who has thought steph is smart from the very beginning (“smarter than she thinks she is” in “cool as I think I am”), and KNOWS steph is insecure, deep down, about her intelligence, responds with that earnestness. because steph needs to believe in herself for this to work, sure, but also because if he’s going to die, steph needs to know how smart and how special and how LOVED she is.

and he subverts the dynamic they have throughout the rest of the show: steph teases, pete laughs it off because he knows she thinks he’s funny. steph makes fun of pete’s bowtie and suspenders and being micro-peter, and pete says something witty, and: “I didn’t know you were funny” “neither did I” “I like funny guys”. and at the end, with pete telling her about tap dancing: “you’re such a nerd, spankoffski. but the bow tie’s growing on me.”

steph shows her love through that teasing, because she knows that pete doesn’t take it to heart, and because it protects her OWN heart. and she expects pete to tease her back, but he doesn’t this time. he loves her. he believes in her like her dad and her teachers and basically every authority figure doesn’t, and she needs to know she is respected. (I could make a whole other post on steph’s coding in npmd as having a learning disability and being utterly failed by the adults in her life, but that’s for another time)

so pete crosses into earnestness when it counts. and steph is affirmed and respected. they literally speak each other’s language.

IT’S LIKE YOU TEST ME, BUT NOT TO BEST ME.