#And Dust and Cross share a look before saying he's probably in his room

[somegrumpynerd]

@pigeonstab Your tags on the comic made me snort this morning so here, a quick alternate ending to the truce au

[rizsu]

ex-husband!gojo, who wakes up every morning to his disappointment. it's been well over a couple months, yet he still extends his arm to feel for you.

ex-husband!gojo, who still has your contact saved as his main emergency contact. he uses this to his advantage— ringing your phone with the excuse of being "too drunk to drive." it works. he isn't exactly high off his brain, but he has alcohol in his system.

ex-husband!gojo, who happened to spot you with another man. who is he? is he your friend? your lover? perhaps you met after the divorce? whatever the status is, it doesn't help to soothe his jealousy. it's not like he can walk up to you — you might issue a restraining order against him.

ex-husband!gojo, who finds himself at your doorstep. it's late, storming, and you're probably asleep. he doesn't move. mind set in chaos as he ponders whether he should leave or ring the bell. he wants to see you, but the look of disgust he might receive is something he isn't ready to face.

ex-husband!gojo, who's shocked that you opened the door. he didn't ring the bell. were you already there? probably. his throat ran dry, unable to speak a word. you're leaning on the door's frame, arms crossed as you tilt your head. "you need something, gojo?" you asked, not willing to receive an answer.

"can i — can i come in?" he stutters, a little shocked at the use of his surname. the little sparkle of hope that you continue using his first name has been dusted.

ex-husband!gojo, who's fidgety in your home. your silence isn't helping him relax. hell, he hasn't known relaxation ever since the divorce. "help yourself to the kitchen. sleep wherever, i'm going back to bed," your voice held no volume of softness. it was as if you were but a stranger, yet he refuses to let you become one.

"then, may i sleep in your room? on the floor, of course," he's hesitant with his request, deciding it's best to justify himself, "i don't know my way around this house."

ex-husband!gojo, who's yet again stunned that you allowed him in your room — let alone your bed. now he's as still as a stick, unable to fall asleep due to his itching urge to pull you into him. you're most likely sound asleep, uncaring to the man you once called your husband.

ex-husband!gojo, who calls out to you, keeping his voice low as he speaks, "can we talk?"

you replied to him, voice still holding its tone of harshness, "what is there to talk about?"

"anything. how's life been for you?" he keeps his speech short, afraid of annoying you. it's a little late for that, however. you're already annoyed by the attempt of useless talks. "just get to the point, gojo."

and so he follows, sighing before he reveals his intentions, "i fucking missed you, that's all."

ex-husband!gojo, who's surprised when you sat up. although your room holds no light due to the black-out curtains, his eyes adjusted to its darkness, being able to see your every feature. your face, hands, neck, collarbone, chest — everything. he misses being able to run his hands through your body ever-so lovingly. when you lowered yourself right above his face, his eyes kept your gaze. your jaw's clenched. why does he look as if he lost everything? wasn't the divorce mutual?

ex-husband!gojo, who's rendered speechless when your voice cracked. he didn't expect it, nor did he expect you to say what you did. "i missed you, too." did you really miss him? he feels as though he's being lied to. raising a hand to cup your cheek, he shares his words, "really? then why not act on it if you're not lying?"

ex-husband!gojo, who happily accepts your kiss, moving his hand from your cheek to your nape. softly pushing you closer to himself — and to deepen the kiss. it's soft but rough. passionate but seeping with hatred. it's everything at once. you're pulling at his hair, purposefully tugging it as if you're using it to distract yourself from the escaping emotions. he's the same. using his other hand to travel along the junction of your neck and shoulder, squeezing it each time he feels to let the tears flow.

[f1gments]

DEVOTION - Gojo Satoru

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Flushed skin, soft kisses, moments of infatuation, whispers of adoration, crossing oceans, pure unadulterated love and seeking solace in one another with Satoru.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x female reader

word count: 7.4k words

R18, slight manga spoilers (?) making out, smut, nipple licking,oral sex, blowjob, vaginal fingering, missionary, doggystyle, vaginal sex, creampie,teasing & dirty talk, soft gojo, late night sex

a/n: pls don’t expect much from this fic lol. just wanted to update with a gojo fic i had in my neglected wips. enjoy!

If you’re a minor pls don’t interact I beg.

You’ve been having those dreams again. 

The same ones where you try to stop Satoru from going to the station in Shibuya. You try to tell him that the person who’s stuck in the body of his best friend isn’t Geto Suguru, but an imposter who knew that he could manipulate Satoru by showing up that night. But it’s too late. The part that constantly appears in your visions is the one where you try to scream out tell him it’s a trap and to stop the person possessing Suguru’s body. 

You stir awake and slowly open your eyes just a little to see the moonlight brightening the bedroom. A sense of relief fills you when you realize you’ve just been dreaming again, that you’re in your shared apartment with Satoru again. You let your eyes close once more as you reach out an arm across the bed, searching for warmth. Instead, you’re met with cool sheets beneath your hand, touching the empty spot where he usually sleeps, guessing that he probably hasn’t gone to sleep yet. 

You sigh and slip out of bed to look for him. Your soft voice echoes in the hallway of the apartment when you call out his name and when you reach the living room, you see him standing at the balcony, in nothing but dark gray sweatpants. 

You’re not sure if he heard you since he doesn’t make any attempt to turn around. You come up behind him, gently touching his back with your fingertips. He starts to turn around but stops as you press yourself into him, hands and forehead resting on his back. Your eyes close shut when you feel his warmth despite how cold it is outside.

Sleep is a foreign concept to a man who barely lets sleep reach him, forever wide-eyed and watching the bright illuminating lights of the city and the few cars that drive on the streets below. It comes with being someone of his position. 

“I thought you were sleeping.” he quietly claims, his voice a deep smooth velvet.

“And I thought I was sharing a bed with someone.” you sigh, inhaling his natural scent and the sillage from the cologne that lingers on his skin. Satoru turns to face you and grabs your hand to hold it against his cheek. 

He then brings it to his lips, a small smile on his handsome features. He reminds you of the midnight sun that is beyond the horizon. His fingers are much longer than your own, the knuckles curling around your palm, almost swallowing it up whole and you find yourself thinking how uncanny it is that they fit so beautifully together, jigsaw pieces that match perfectly.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask softly. 

“You.” he replies simply before he leans down to kiss you deeply, pulling your body closely to his. He leans down, into you and quickly dusts his lips against your own, pretty and light and shooting electricity up your spine. The briefest of touches already makes you both feel utterly dizzy, drunk with exhilaration. 

Satoru kisses you like it’s the first and last combined – again and again. His cold fingertips turn warm as they cup your chin and your breath gets taken away in return for soft lips against yours, the gentle scraping of his teeth against your lower lip then the uproar in your gut takes a toll when his forehead meets yours, the same time his arm comes around your waist to pull you closer, as if he’s afraid you’d disappear. If you asked him to describe it, he’d probably say he’s incapable of doing so. 

But inside, kissing you feels like he’s a desperately dehydrated man, who discovers water for the first time in weeks and dives into the cool liquid, inhaling it until he feels full. Satisfying a yearning with an immensity that is only completely understood in all of its sensational intensity when he presses his lips to the soft seam of your own.

When the pair of you finally separate, catching your breath, you notice that his eyes are shimmering like an ocean reflecting moonlight, his white hair softly blowing with the gentle breeze. He appears completely dazed with his gently swollen mouth, intoxicated by the way you drew love from his lips with your own, evoked with the flick of your tongue.

You remember your blurry, teared vision struggling to recognize that it was indeed him the day he came home. That it was Satoru. They couldn’t grasp that it was his snowy white hair, now a slicked dark silver from accumulated sweat and drizzle, a few stray strands swooping over his sharp eyes.

A strong, sure hand brushes up your nightgown — nimble fingers bunching it into curls of soft silk and lace while your lips place themselves onto the pulsepoint on his neck. His hands go up to cup your chest where your nipples have slightly gotten hard underneath the blue fabric from his previous actions, making him grin. 

The man standing in front of you is Gojo Satoru to the absolute core, for anyone who knows him by his facade. This is the real him. But you have always been one of the special few that knew his labyrinth of a heart. The endless wrong turns and hurdles and traps. His burdens are your burdens but he never seems to think so. You also knew that Satoru had tucked his heart right beside your own and deemed the spaces between your ribs a place for it to call home. 

Your body gets pushed onto the cold metal railing of the balcony, but you don’t care in the least. As you drink in everything that Satoru gives you, your tongue slides into his mouth, eliciting a low groan that leaves you shuddering. The hands that grabbed your dress before are now pushing the soft fabric up your thighs. Higher, higher, not high enough. 

“Satoru,” you gasp as he impatiently thrusts his weight between your legs. 

“Not here.” You shake your head. “Why not?” he murmurs, kissing your neck. You put a hand on his chest to stop him and give him a look. “The neighbors could see us.” A playful smile pulls the corners of his lips up. “And? You say that as we haven’t done it in public before.” You slap a hand over his mouth. “Enough.”

You scoff and push yourself past him to enter the house. “Should’ve stayed in that damn box.” you mumble under your breath, making him chuckle as he follows behind you. You walk to the kitchen to get yourself a drink from the fridge. 

Your mind drifts to when Satoru opened up about who he was. Who he really was on the inside. The way he talked about being the strongest was like a heavy burden that sunk ships into the depths of dark oceans, that swallowed light and only provided eons of black oblivion. It seemed to hook into his bones and dragged him down, down, and at the time you wondered, for somebody who must have had the world at his feet with such abilities and power, how he could experience such a feeling, a distaste for the life that he has.  

You pour your drink into a cup and turn to look up to see Satoru staring at you with an unreadable expression as he leans against the kitchen counter in the opposite direction. 

“What?” 

Satoru, eyes still weighted with the pull of desire, gazes at your thighs, the way your dress has hiked itself up to reveal the smooth flesh further when you bend over slightly to place the cup into the sink. His fingertips itching to touch you, especially with the sensual flicker that skirts your gaze when you turn back to face him, though instead, he settles for words.

“Nothing, just admiring how beautiful you are.” he replies, giving you no time to feel embarrassed when he walks over to close the space between you both. You are instantly reminded of how kissing Satoru could never, ever possibly become old and boring. 

He brushes a gentle finger down your cheek then cups your jaw with a hand while gripping your hip with another. “I can’t decide on what I want to do with you.” 

Impending scenarios race behind your eyes, and all you can do is groan when you open them to look up at him as he towers over your smaller frame. “I know what I want,” you hum with a growing smile and brazen eyes.

“And what is that?” he hums in response, sending you careening into another plane when he brings up one of your hands to his lips and leans down to playfully nip on your index finger. 

Your vision focuses for a second to observe his tousled hair, his angular nose, and into bright mischievous eyes, blue of every dancing sky, infinite hues illuminated by newborn light. 

“Why waste time talking about it when we can show each other exactly what we think?” you tell him. In seconds, you’re lifted up onto the kitchen counter making you gasp in surprise as when the cold marble touches the back of your thighs.

A warm breath rolls down your face as he chuckles—a low, honeyed sound that took you by surprise the first time you ever heard it—before he murmurs, “I figured you of all people would take any opportunity to speak what’s on your mind.”  

You tut before rolling your eyes. “Well, now I do have something on my mind, but you’re certainly not going to—”

Satoru shuts your annoyance up with his lips again. He takes your arched back as an opportunity to slide an arm underneath your waist, kissing you deeper and rendering you thoroughly speechless. His mouth leaves yours only to descend down your jaw, trail down your neck, latch onto your pulse. Enthralled, your legs squeeze his hips. A mewl leaves your lips while your hands frantically skate across his broad shoulders, and when your nails leave tiny red half moons on his bare skin, you feel his cock harden and push further into your center. 

Seconds later, you’re being lifted up off the counter and Satoru wastes no time to carry you to your shared bedroom. 

Your back hits the mattress as a hand shoves the hem of your nightgown above your waist. Before Satoru moves any further, his lips nick your ear and cause you to elicit a soft moan towards the ceiling. “That’s it,” he whispers, pushing his mouth into your neck hard and making you bite your lip, “You sound so pretty, baby.” 

The groan you suppressed comes out in earnest, and your fingers dig into his shoulders at the same time. “I wanna hear you, too,” you admit, earning a low rumble in your ear. 

“Thought you didn’t like me being loud.” he teases. You click your tongue in annoyance. “That’s only when you talk too much, now hurry up.” 

“So impatient.” Satoru chuckles in amusement. “Open your legs for me.” 

The command makes you whine, but when you slowly spread your thighs only for Satoru to shove them wider, a full whimper leaps from your throat. A few light taps on your thigh are what you get before your lover cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not getting shy now are you?” he says with confidence and a bit of suspicion. 

“Shut up.” 

“I thought you said you wanted me to hurry up.” He says jokingly, until he notices the anxious expression on your face. 

Warm, large hands stop to rest on both your thighs. It’s not like you haven’t had sex during the past few weeks, since he returned. But somehow tonight things feel a bit different. You can’t figure out why. During his absence, you never really had the thought to see anyone else. You were too busy with missions and you mostly spent time with just Shoko or got too busy with work. Your days were filled with nothing but constant worry and anxiousness over Satoru being gone. 

No one could really replace the feelings you had for Satoru. The both of you had gone through a lot. There were too many precious memories together for you to simply be able to move on to someone else. So you really wanted to take things slow with him, just for tonight. To be able to feel all of him. To make up for all those days and nights you weren’t with him. 

“Are you alright?”

“It’s just. I want us to take our time for tonight.” You tell him simply. He immediately understands what you’re telling him and he stands to bend his body over your smaller form between the silken sheets. “I’ll be gentle then,” he murmurs before molding his warm lips onto yours once more. 

Each kiss he had given before had been full of passion, but this one is different. He’s being much more gentle compared to before. There is nothing but comfort in his touch, and you can feel any stress drip from your body and tenseness dissolve from your bones. If this is earth, then what is heaven?

Heaven is the gliding of slender fingers under your dress, looping around your lace panties. It is a groan tucked into the dip of your collarbone, a palm fasting itself against wet warmth that elicits ecstasy through your veins, the final shreds of your underwear abandoned to the floor, no longer required, never needed in the first place. It is the touch of his mouth marking fields of lavender and dusty rose across the sensitive skin of your throat.  You don’t register the way he has shifted far enough to close your legs together, slipping your panties off with ease, before widening them again. 

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Satoru kisses down your neck again, but he descends lower, his teeth grazing the slope of your breast before his mouth picks one to kiss over your lacy gown. A warm palm closes over the other, squeezing before pulling the material down, and when your breasts spill over they are enveloped with his tongue and large hands once more.  “Satoru,” you gasp, arching your back and digging your elbows into the mattress. One of your hands shoots into his soft platinum locks, and your tug causes his grips on your hip and leg to tighten immediately. 

Latching onto a nipple, Satoru gives it a hard suck while twisting the other enough to make you cry out, and you can feel your legs shaking. “Don’t stop.” you cry, gripping his hair tighter. 

“God.” Satoru abandons your breasts to the chill of the room as he goes back down between your legs. Your dress is fully bunched around your waist and Satoru spreads your thighs apart, revealing your center like a rosebud in bloom. However, the pause that greets you makes you frown and close them. 

“Stop staring like that.” You push his hands away.

He ignores you and pulls your legs apart again. “Quit it,” he hummed, sounding too satisfied for his own good. “Be nice or I’ll change my mind and make you scream instead.”

Teeth nick your thigh, and the dark laugh you hear has you growing wetter than you already are. Satoru brings his face closer to your cunt, inhaling your natural musk. 

“You smell so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. But the fingers that slide across your folds tell you that you don’t need to, and you throw your head back in pleasure. The wetness you feel has pooled onto the bedsheets and is now being coated on Satoru’s long fingers, one after the other rubbing your clit in slow, tiny circles and sliding deliciously up and down your slippery folds.

His fingers twitch against your covered slit. They drift across it wide, up and then down, and his mouth is parted in a complete loss for words. 

You start to shake in need, but a firm hand shoves your stomach back onto the bed. “Relax, baby,” Satoru orders. “Let me take care of you.” 

When you settle back onto the bed, you squeak as your hips are yanked forward to the edge. Your legs are hoisted onto Satoru’s shoulders. Words are lost on your tongue as his hot muscle dives into your center. You can feel the way your walls immediately flex, you can hear the loud wet laps and sucking noises when he works on your clit.

He feasts on you like a man starved. 

Everything feels familiar yet new again at the same time, like you hadn’t already experienced this with him before and the sheer intimacy has your eyes squeezing shut. Moans spill constantly from your lips. 

You meet his eyes again, and he shoots you a sideways grin as you feel a sudden swipe come across your heat, making you let out a breathy moan. You feel him moan into you, sending vibrations up your body making you grip tightly on his hair. 

“Satoru,” you gasp. Frazzled, your arms flail to find anything for purchase, only to settle on the sheets beneath you, where your fingers grip tight, knuckles going white. He looks up with a hooded gaze, groaning into your center when he sees your newfound position. Your lidded eyes drink in his wet lips, and your foggy mind barely realizes that it’s your juices that coats his face until he dives back down again. When Satoru’s tongue fully presses into your core before his soft lips suckle your clit, you cry out in need for more. Instantly, that is what you’re given: long, deft fingers enter your folds to the knuckle, curling up to hit a spot that has your entire being soaring into the ceiling. Exquisite. You’re floating. There’s something inside of you winding and winding. 

“Come for me,” is the last thing you hear before your body obeys. A white light blinds you and curls your toes, snaps your limbs rigid and has your knuckles aching as you grip the sheets even harder. The loud whine you hear is your own, you recognize, and you bite your lip to smother its volume. His warm mouth closes over yours, and you can taste yourself. 

“As much as I want your pretty lips around my cock right now,” Satoru rasps into your mouth, “I can’t wait any longer this time. I need you.” 

Your fingers are pried off of the sheets—you hadn’t known you needed help with it until Satoru assists you with slick digits of his own.  

Satoru moves back to pull both his sweatpants and boxers off. Broad, rippling shoulders come down to a defined chest and stomach, and powerful thighs encase a cock so large and pretty that you can’t take your eyes off of its curve. He looks at you smugly, to which you return with a smirk. 

You take him by surprise when you pull him by the arm and push him onto the bed. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

“I wanna make you feel good.” 

“I thought I – oh fuck,” he hisses, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he steadies himself on his palms when you don’t waste any more time to lick a single stripe from the base of his cock to the tip before you wrap your hand around it, giving it a good tug with a twist of your wrist. Satoru grunts in response, his eyes fluttering shut as you repeat the gesture with your mouth a few times to create some lubrication for the movement of your hand up and down his growing shaft.

Satoru throws his head back with a long groan and his eyes leave yours to close shut as his mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape while your hand works. You switch between easing the tip of his dick into your mouth, circling your tongue around the head, and the tugs of your wrist until he is releasing breathy, choked sighs into the quiet air of your bedroom. 

You kiss sloppily around his pelvic area, toying with the sensitive skin as you graze your teeth across the upper skin of his thigh; He jumps a little at the movement, making you grin. You’re avoiding the thing he wants most, which is to be taken into your mouth fully. But you like the way he reacts to being toyed with too much to give in just yet— his head kicked back into the pillows, legs rigid and toes flexing, hands stilled on the covers beside him because they are just itching to grab your head and direct it to where he needs you most. 

The movement of your hand up and down Satoru’s shaft slows as you lower your face to his balls, sucking one into your mouth. You toy with it for a minute before moving to the other, all while keeping the slow movement of your wrist going. You begin to wonder how long Satoru will let you keep him in this spot, but just as you do so, he speaks up in his usual hoarse, quiet voice.

“Fuck,” Satoru grunts. “Can you stop teasing already?”

There is a part of you that wants to continue denying him, but you don’t. You let go of his balls from your mouth with a lewd pop and sink your mouth down onto his shaft as far as it will go. Satoru reacts with an outward groan and his body sinks into the mattress with relief at the warmth and wetness coating his cock.

You pull back to the tip but don’t let it leave your mouth completely, circling your tongue around and tasting the saltiness of his arousal before sinking down again. You hollow out your cheeks. The grunts, groans and breaths from Satoru only increase your desire to please him, so you fondle his balls with one hand while you work. 

Your own arousal coats the space between your legs. “Shit, baby, slow down,” Satoru croaks, hands finally making purchase in your hair. 

He combs the strands back from your face as you bob up and down a few more times; he looks torn between letting himself go in your mouth right then and there and tearing you from his lap so he can fuck the daylights out of you, but he finally makes a decision when his hands lightly push you away.

“You’re the one who rushed me.” You say after pulling back a string of saliva connecting from your mouth to the tip of his dick, and you swear you see Satoru swallow hard at the sight. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, playing coy. It takes everything in you not to smile a little at his reaction.

“Is it wrong to think you look pretty like this?” he murmurs, reaching a hand out to swipe the bottom of your plump lips with his thumb.  

“It would disappoint me if you didn’t.” you hum before going back down on him, the vibrations drilling electricity through his cock. 

No, no more, he needs you right now. 

Satoru slips his hand from the side of your face down to your chin, his thumb lightly putting pressure onto the dip beneath your lower lip in a silent demand to stop. Understanding, you come up and lock your gaze on his mouth, letting him draw you into a fervent kiss.

“I need you,” He breathes into the grooves of your lips, shivering when the tip of your tongue draws lightly against his own. “I need to be inside of you, baby. Let me show you how much I love you.”

He wastes no time to get up and grab the hem of your garment mumbling hands up before he gently pushes you onto the mattress. Satoru caresses you, holds you, like you’d never once fucked, like he never had his cock inside of you and enacted the greatest moment of his life. Your skin is an uncharted map, marked with fingers of the past that were too intoxicated to think twice, to enjoy and devour the expanses of smooth flesh. But now, he has all the time in the world to do that. Every single day, every waking second. 

Yet he still cannot get enough of you. Not even when his lips reach your throat and you are gasping into the shell of his ear, blooming meadows of lilac and blue on the delicate skin while his palms smooth down your sides. 

Your back arches off the bed with when his tongue circles around the perked bud of your left nipple, and Satoru situates his thigh between yours so that each time you move, your heated center grinds against his leg. He switches between the two — sucking, grazing and tweaking your nipples with his hands and placing pressure on your most sensitive parts until a strangled moan escapes your throat.

“God, that’s hot.” He grins up at you, moving from your chest to slant his lips against yours.

Taking the length in his palm, Satoru hovers above your still form, eyes never leaving your body. Obeying, you push yourself up into the plush sheets, gasping in surprise when a strong body immediately covers yours right after. “You really are impatient.” 

“I am.” He smirks. Your arms are thrust above you, and you let out a quick mewl as your wrists are pinned together with one of his hands. “And you are going to learn why in a second.” 

Months of tension, loneliness, regret. All of them melted away at the sound of you calling out his name. With the strong arms caging in your vision, veins prominent under their skin, Satoru steadies himself as he slots his cock in between your legs. Your moan at the feel of his nakedness escapes in a soft puff, and your nipples pebble in anticipation. Your boyfriend gazes unabashedly at your sex. When his lidded eyes come up to meet your curious ones, he swoops down to claim your mouth again, tongue rolling across your lips and jutting inside to tether his passion to your heart. You respond in kind, trying and failing to release your arms from his grip above your head. When your attempts prove futile, your whimper echoes into his mouth, and his deep chuckle stirs something primal within your core. 

Satoru’s ravaging continues as he leans his sharp cheekbones into the side of your face, his tongue licking fire along your neck. Unbeknownst to you, one of his hands wanders down to your folds, and you jolt in shock when familiar fingers slide along their path.

“Please,” you gasp in his ear, tightening your arms again and bucking your hips to move anything, anything at all in response to the pleasure. “Satoru, please.” 

“What do you want, hmm?” 

Your first attempt at a response is cut off by his teeth nicking the pulse on your neck, and your entire butt leaves the bed and thrusts into his beautiful fingers, causing them to slide deeper into your cunt. Satoru’s proceeding groan is enough to have you keening back for more, but you still have it in you to answer with, “You.” 

“You already have me.” he says as a matter of factly. 

“No, I mean”—you gasp as he moves his fingers around, thumbing your clit and causing slick to gush from your center—“I mean, I need you.” 

“That’s the same thing, sweet,” Satoru tuts, knowing full well he is being an ass. “I need you to be specific for me.” 

As you feel the incredibly hard cock against your thigh twitch in want, you wonder why the hell your lover is stalling. You try to jerk against his strong restraint on your wrists again, and he laughs at your feeble attempt. “You’re impossible,” you huff. 

“And you’re going to tell me what you want, or else you won’t be getting it.” 

“Baby,” you pleaded, almost certain you weren’t capable of holding it in anymore.

Satoru shoves his hips down into yours, and the feel of his length presses into your core. You cry out in want, thrashing in earnest and groaning in a mix of frustration and pleasure. Smirking, he leans next to your ear and whispers, “Sorry. I just like seeing you like this.” 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you huff. 

“When it comes to you? Always.” There is a brief, light slap to your cunt, and your body jolts up until your fingers knock the dark wooden headboard above you. “What do you want, sweetheart?” 

“For my boyfriend to stop being an—” 

Another slap to your aching folds causes your back to arch again, your nipples grazing Satoru’s firm chest. “Try again.” 

You suck in a breath and exhale shakily, your legs straining with the constant pressure against your core and your arms growing beautifully sore above your head. 

“I want it.” You stare right into your boyfriend’s eyes. “I want your cock.” This makes Satoru snicker before his focus goes down to your pussy. 

“Fuck.” Satoru slides his fingers in one long swipe up your cunt again before bringing them to his mouth. As he licks them clean, you let out a shuddering breath, wondering how there is still room for you to swoon. “I knew my girl wasn’t shy.” 

Instead of a biting retort, you watch as Satoru leans down slowly to kiss you once more. He positions himself, sliding his hardened length against your slick folds and letting you feel just how thick and warm he is. 

His lips leave yours too soon, but it’s to tell you, “I’m putting it in, okay?” 

When you nod, Satoru slowly enters, and he’s just as big as before only since it’s been a while, it’s a bit of a stretch. You hiss at the feeling, and Satoru is merciful in the way he releases your wrists to sling an arm behind your head. His eyes never leave yours as he pushes in, inch by inch and both of your mouths fall open at the slick contact. Instead, breath rushes out, mingling warm in the air between your parted lips as you pant in anticipation. His hold on the back of your neck is gentle, and he whispers, “Oh god, thaaat’s it. I missed you so much. I missed this.”

You hum in delight. “Are you sure you missed me and not just the sex?”

“Believe me, it was the only thing that made me look forward to getting out of that place.” he says in a teasing tone. 

“You’re asking to be put back in that box so bad right now.” 

Satoru chuckles again before he leans down to kiss you. “I’m just kidding, baby. Don’t be so serious.” 

“Satoru, you’re killing the mood. Hurry up and fuck me already.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He replies before wasting no time to position his cock at your entrance. Satoru loves how your hair is splayed onto the pillow, teeth sinking into your lower lip as he slowly slides himself into you and it makes his mouth part at the image of it. Your freed hands immediately look for solace on his shoulders, gripping them while you follow his direction and take deep breaths. The intrusion starts to feel welcoming as your cunt adjusts to the sensation, your walls fluttering around his length and starting to suck him in further. 

“You’re so tight…” When Satoru is fully in, he stays as still as he can to let you get used to the feeling. “So, so good for me,” he tells you. “Open your mouth for me.” 

You immediately obey, sucking onto the two fingers he taps against your lips. You hollow your cheeks, and when Satoru groans, you swirl your tongue around his digits.

He swoops in to steal a kiss from you again, and he digs an elbow into the bed for balance as he starts to move. You love the way his brows scrunch in concentration, the way he looks down to watch himself make love to you while in the act, the way he makes you feel nothing and everything at once. When Satoru’s small thrusts end up not being enough, you tell him to go faster. He only laughs before obliging. 

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. The fingers that had summoned you curl around your chin now, forcing you to look only at him; his grip too strong to break free from.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you grin, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

Instead of responding, your boyfriend picks up the pace, his muscles rippling under his sweaty skin and his stray strands of platinum hair bobbing with each motion. Your moans and mewls mix with his deep groans, and you have decided that those are your favorite sound in the world. Maybe even better than the soft pitter patter of the rain that begins to fall outside. Feeling full and complete is unrivaled. 

Flushed and with your eyes squeezed tightly shut, your brow furrowed, you murmur his name senselessly, over and over like a prayer, a plea, a please, please, please that slips in breathless turns from your lips uninhibitedly. 

The feeling gets overwhelming. The more you look at him, the more you feel like you’re about to cry whenever your mind reminds you of what happened. Days where his usual corny jokes and occasionally immature behavior were replaced with days of you being cooped up wishing he’d come back to you, hoping that wherever he was that he’d be okay. You feel the incessant sting at the back of your throat as you fight back the tears that threaten to fall onto your cheeks.

For this beautiful instance in time, nothing matters, absolutely nothing but this. 

Your body is acting on instinct, moving with him and even wrapping legs around his built frame. The grunt and low fuck you get in return is a prize you sigh at, and when Satoru pins your wrists above your head again, you revel in the restraint.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he tells you, to which you respond with a grin. 

Your legs slide against his buttocks and the rest of his skin, but your muscles endure. His cock rubs against your walls in the best way possible—each stroke deeper than the last—and you know you’re close to euphoria. 

But Satoru has different plans. He lunges in with two particularly hard thrusts before he pulls out completely, eyeing your messy state as he pulls you up, shifting you so that you find yourself on your knees somehow, underarms pressed into the mattress when he pushes your torso down with your ass in the air for him. He wastes no time to push his cock into you, pulling out a cry from you. He slides in easily from how wet you’ve gotten when he fucked you on your back. “Fuck you’re so wet for me.” You hear him say from behind you. 

You gasp as you drop down to your elbows from the feeling of him stretching you out in the most perfect way. He gives you a few seconds to adjust before he starts to move, and shameless noises start to leave your mouth instantly. You feel him grab your hips, and he starts to slam you back at the same time he’s thrusting forward, creating a deepness that has you seeing white. He bends over to kiss your back, making you arch yourself more into him. 

“Oh fuck.” you drawl out. 

Satoru’s lips ghost over your ear and you can feel him smirk against your skin when he asks, “You like that baby? You’re gonna show me what I missed, yeah?” he pants.

At this point, you don’t care how loud you’re being. Satoru on the other hand is enjoying this as much as you are. Each thrust has him feeling like he wants to have it his way and cum deep inside you. He moves back to look down where you’re both connecting, taking in the sight of his cock sliding in and out easily of your cunt. His teeth are caught between his lower lip when he sees the white ring around his cock, making him even crazier. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the room, arousing the both of you even more. Your moans are muffled by the sheets as you bury your face in the mattress. Satoru’s palms imprint their mark on your hips as he pulls them as close as he can while he thrusts repeatedly into you. 

“Ah, Toru, go harder.” you cry out.

“Oh, you feel so good.” he moans as he begins to thrust harder into you. You’re too lost in the pleasure that you can’t find the words to speak. You can only afford to respond with high pitched moans every time the tip of his cock touches that one spot inside of you. You feel yourself nearly reaching your high when suddenly Satoru pulls out again, pushing you onto your back while he steadies himself on his knees. 

“Wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum,” he smiles, before he pulls both of your legs apart to slide his cock up and down between your slick folds teasingly. A groan sounds from his throat, sending a rush through your body when warm lips come down to latch onto your breasts, and you throw your head into the soft pillow beneath you. 

“Satoru...” you whine. “Hmm?” he grins. 

“Stop teasing already.” you sigh in frustration. He chuckles at your neediness. “I know baby, it’s just fun seeing you like this.” You glare at him before you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Satoru takes this as a cue to take full command, settling on his knees and bringing both his hands to grip your hips as he continues to pound himself vigorously into you. No words are exchanged between the two of you, but the feelings are conveyed perfectly. Passion, longing, love. Everything unsaid the day he returned on your doorstep. 

“Oh,” you breathe, “Toru, you feel so good. Please don’t stop.” 

Everything from your hands gripping his arms to the way his cock fills you to the brim is too much, and your legs finally give and slam back down onto the sheets. 

Your body goes limp as Satoru thrusts into you, hard fingers digging wonderfully into your skin and brows knitted in pleasure. He continues to bite down on his bottom lip as he watches his cock disappear in and out of your pussy again and again, and your gaze is hazy as you watch his chest ripple with each thrust, enamored. You find sanity in the taste of his tongue and stability in your fingers grappling for mercy against his shoulder blades, close, so, so close.

You feel it before you recognize the winding. The edge you toppled from before is in reach again, and after a breathy moan you gasp, “I’m close, go faster, please.” 

God. He loves it when you get so needy, so desperate under him like this. He loves the way you call him by his nickname. It shows how much you’re tightly wrapped around his finger. He finds it adorable how one minute you’re giving him an attitude but the next you’re begging for him to fuck you. Just like right now. Which is why he doesn’t mind when you call him an asshole or roll your eyes at him when he says something stupid. Because at the end of the day, Satoru knows how to please you, he knows how to treat you right. That’s why you’re taking him like such a good girl, right? 

“Yeah? Then let go for me, cum for me baby.” he grunts, low and leaving no room for objection. One of his hands reaches down between you, a thumb rubbing your clit lovingly. The feeling is immense, and your vision blanks. Every limb in your body locks with pleasure. You can only describe the feeling as a constant wave crashing against your shore, slamming its powerful crests into you again and again. 

“You’re so beautiful.” You hear the words somewhere above you, but they’re blurry in your ears. 

Finally—slowly—your limbs settle back onto the bed. Satoru smiles down at you before asking, 

“Did I lose you before this?” 

“You’ll never lose me,” you confess truthfully. 

Satoru huffs in amusement before whispering something under his breath. You don’t have time to ask what he said before he starts back up again to chase his own high, and your body is heavy with content as you watch.

A hand threads beneath your hair to curl around the back of your neck and pull you up to press his mouth against yours. His lips are soft, and he sinks into the kiss with teeth and tongue and fire that makes your mind go blank. You let him nip at your lips until they’re swollen and sore, letting him twist his tongue against yours until you’re both gasping and his grip has turned to iron. You pour your entire body and soul into the connection, and your boyfriend's thrusts start becoming frantic and jilted. His free palm grabs your hip to steady your quivering form; your hands swing behind his shoulders. 

Fingers rake marks across his back, and Satoru outright moans into your mouth before his thrusts are so rough that your body is shoved up the bed. 

“I’m not gonna last much l-longer.” He stammers as you begin to tighten around him, letting him know exactly how close you are. His thrusts become quicker and erratic while he leans down closer towards your face. 

You almost feel yourself reaching the third orgasm of the night, but it’s him you want to come before anything else. 

And he does seconds later, his voice gravelly as he groans above your face — your list of favorite sounds forever multiplying. You feel the warm sensation of his cum shoot into your cunt. Your eyes wander up to Satoru’s face, which contorts in pleasure at the new found tightness of your heat. You use your last bit of strength to move your hips along to meet his movements, and then after about a minute he stills himself inside of you. As his forehead presses into yours, you hug him close, almost brought to tears again from the emotions spilling from your chest. For a moment, nothing else exists. Only the feeling of his bare skin sliding against yours, the connection between your legs, and the souls dwelling within appear on this plane. It’s a strange thing to think about. But it is yours to store away in your memory forever.

You both lay there in silence, catching your breath. Basking in the afterglow. Your boyfriend then turns to you, resting on an elbow. The early morning shadow that casts into the room catches onto your skin, painting it with a pale glow, making you appear ethereal. Your lips are softly pouted, dried out roses that puff patient exhalations of air in time with the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

You turn your head to him. “Satoru?”

“What is it?”  

“I love you.” 

“I don’t blame you.” he grins. You glare at him and slap him on the chest making him laugh. “I’m kidding, baby.” He smiles down at you genuinely. “I love you too. More than anything else in the world.” 

Your lips connect, they connect in warm, rosy flesh, as if nothing could ever go wrong. That no matter what obstacles you both face, what hardships you must conquer, you will always get through it together. 

The same three words slip down your face once more and into your mouth, only to be thrown out again as you reciprocate. As you both pant in exhaustion, you already feel sleep start to claim you again as the early morning light peeks through the sheer curtains.

You make love two, four, twenty or a hundred times, enough for you to lose count on your fingers and for the sun to ascend from the horizon. It is moments like this, watching you out of the corner of his eye, absolutely adoring the soft exhalations you let out and beating heart against his bare chest, that he knows what he feels so strongly within his heart is the unconditional truth.

He is helplessly in love with you.

[mywhisperingwords]

almost | george f. weasley

summary: george and yours relationship was the definition of almost word count: 6.8k masterlist

It started with laughter.

Not yours—George’s. That low, rolling sound that always seemed to carry through the corridors of Hogwarts, chasing away any gloom lingering in the air. You didn’t know how he managed it, but wherever George Weasley went, he brought the sun with him.

And you? You were content to stay in the shade.

Your paths had crossed so many times that it felt inevitable. You shared classes, the Gryffindor common room, countless Quidditch matches, and a mutual knack for being in the right place at the wrong time. George always seemed to notice you in those moments—the way your head tilted when you were thinking, or how your lips curved ever so slightly when you were holding back a smile.

And then there was the teasing.

“You know, you’d be brilliant at a joke shop,” he said once, sliding into the seat beside you in the library. “With that sense of humor you’ve been hiding, you could put even Fred and me out of business.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t deny it. There was something about George that made you feel like you could be a little sharper, a little bolder than usual. He brought it out of you without even trying.

But you never let it go further than that.

Not when his gaze lingered on you a little too long. Not when your heart stuttered every time he gave you that crooked grin. Not even when he sat beside you at every Gryffindor party, leaning close as if the rest of the room didn’t matter.

Because you knew George. He was everything you weren’t—reckless where you were careful, loud where you were quiet, bold where you were hesitant. You were convinced he was destined for something far brighter than the mundane life you imagined for yourself.

But one evening in your sixth year, as you sat together on the Astronomy Tower steps, watching the stars and listening to the hum of the castle below, you let yourself wonder.

“What’s it like?” you asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

George turned his head, the moonlight catching the copper in his hair. “What’s what like?”

“To be you.” You gestured vaguely, as if that explained anything. “To be fearless.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual bright laugh—it was softer, quieter. “I’m not fearless, you know.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced.

“I’m serious!” he insisted, his grin faltering. “I just… don’t let it stop me. That’s all.”

You didn’t realize how closely he was watching you until you turned to meet his gaze. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you and the vast, endless sky.

But before you could say anything, before the moment could stretch into something more, George stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “Come on,” he said lightly, holding out a hand to help you up. “Fred’s probably wondering where I’ve gone off to.”

You hesitated, staring at his hand, before finally taking it. His grip was warm and steady, and you found yourself wishing he wouldn’t let go.

But he did.

And that was how it always went with George Weasley. Close, but never close enough.

&

It was easy to get used to George’s presence. Too easy.

He had a way of slipping into your life, filling spaces you didn’t realize were empty until he was there. Like tonight, at the edge of the Black Lake. The two of you sat on a crumbling old log, shivering slightly as the early spring breeze rippled across the water.

“I swear, if Snape gives us one more essay, I’m going to feed him to the giant squid,” George said, tossing a pebble into the lake with a dramatic flourish.

You snorted, hugging your knees to your chest. “The squid doesn’t deserve that. It’s innocent.”

He turned to look at you, his grin widening. “You’re right. That was cruel of me. Maybe I’ll just charm his robes to flash neon pink for a week instead.”

“Now that would be brilliant,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

Moments like these had become your sanctuary—just you and George, away from the noise of the castle, away from the world that always seemed to demand more from both of you. You weren’t sure when it had started, but somewhere along the way, this had become your unspoken ritual.

“Hey.” His voice broke the silence, softer now. “You ever think about what you want to do after all this?”

You glanced at him, frowning slightly. “After Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. “Fred and I—we’ve got plans, you know? Big ones. But sometimes I wonder if I’ll… I don’t know. If I’ll actually go through with it.”

You blinked. “You? Not go through with something? That doesn’t sound like the George Weasley I know.”

He laughed, a little self-conscious this time. “Yeah, well, it’s different when it’s something that really matters, isn’t it? You start thinking about everything that could go wrong.”

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you looked out at the lake, watching the moonlight dance on its surface.

“I think you’ll do it,” you said finally.

George turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You’re George Weasley. You’ll figure it out.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “What about you? What’s your big dream?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t a question you were used to answering, and the words felt foreign in your mouth. “I don’t know. I guess I’d like to… see the world. Do something that feels like it matters, you know? Something worth remembering.”

George tilted his head, his gaze steady. “You will.”

You gave a small, rueful smile. “You don’t know that.”

“Course I do,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your scarf.

“Tell you what,” George said suddenly, sitting up straight. “If you ever feel like you’re stuck—like you can’t do whatever it is you’re meant to do—you tell me. And I’ll fix it.”

You raised a skeptical brow. “You’ll fix it?”

“Yep.” He grinned, utterly confident. “Whatever it takes.”

“George, you can’t just—”

“Promise me,” he interrupted, holding out his pinky.

You stared at him, incredulous. “A pinky promise? Are we five years old?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of a pinky promise,” he said, wiggling his finger at you.

You sighed, but there was no resisting that grin. Hooking your pinky with his, you said, “Fine. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, his voice unexpectedly serious. “Because I mean it.”

And for some reason, you believed him.

&

The common room was quieter than usual. The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter from the dormitories seemed distant, leaving the space feeling oddly intimate. You and George were seated side by side on the old, worn sofa, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” George said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than usual, missing its typical teasing edge.

“Do what?” you asked, looking up from the parchment in your lap.

“Keep all of this together.” He gestured vaguely, his hand brushing the air. “Homework. Prefect duties. The whole ‘saving the school from falling apart’ thing. It’s… impressive.”

You laughed lightly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said, his tone earnest. “I’ve always known you could handle anything.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. His gaze lingered on you, softer and steadier than you’d ever seen, and you felt it—the weight of something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

“You’ve always known?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

George’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Yeah. Always.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that made your heart race, the kind that felt like a question waiting to be answered.

His hand was resting on the edge of the sofa, just inches from yours. Neither of you moved, but the space between you felt impossibly small.

“George,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah?”

You didn’t know what you were going to say. Or maybe you did, but the words were stuck in your throat, tangled with nerves and the fear of ruining something that had always been… undefined.

Before you could find the courage to speak—or before he could, either—the sound of footsteps on the staircase broke the moment.

Fred appeared, his expression unusually grim as he glanced between the two of you. “George,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got to finish up. Now.”

George pulled back, the warmth of the moment dissipating in an instant. “Right. Be there in a minute.”

Fred hesitated, his eyes flicking to you as if debating whether to say more, but then he nodded and disappeared back up the stairs.

You frowned, looking at George. “Finish what?”

George hesitated, and you could see the conflict in his expression. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the sofa. “I was going to tell you earlier… Fred and I are leaving.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. “Leaving?”

“Hogwarts,” he clarified, his voice quiet. “We’re not coming back after this weekend.”

You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said, his tone steady but tinged with regret. “We’ve been planning it for a while. The shop’s ready, and… we just can’t stay here anymore.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to leave without saying something. Not to you.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse.

“And what?” you asked, your voice trembling. “You were just going to leave and hope I’d understand?”

“I thought you would understand,” he said, his voice growing quieter. “You’ve always been the one who gets it. Who gets me.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond. The hurt was too raw, too fresh.

George shifted closer, his hand brushing yours for just a moment before pulling back. “This doesn’t mean goodbye forever, you know.”

You looked at him, searching his face for something—reassurance, hope, anything to ease the ache in your chest. His eyes softened, and you thought of that day by the Black Lake, the promise you both made that had lingered between you ever since.

“You’re still holding onto it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, understanding what he meant without needing clarification. “Of course I am.”

“So am I,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’ll still be there when we see each other again.”

It wasn’t the confession you wanted. But it was the only one either of you could offer, here and now.

&

The first few months without George felt like a puzzle missing its most vital piece. Life at Hogwarts carried on, but without his presence—his laugh echoing down the corridors, his clever remarks that made you bite back smiles in even the most serious situations—everything felt muted.

You tried to throw yourself into schoolwork, into your duties as a prefect, into your friendships. But no amount of distraction could stop you from replaying that last night in the common room, the quiet promise he left hanging in the air between you.

It’ll still be there when we see each other again.

The words haunted you, both a comfort and a curse. How long would “when” take? And what would “it” look like when you found it again?

You didn’t owl him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—it was that you didn’t know what to say. What could you possibly write to someone who’d carved himself into your life so completely, only to leave? So you stayed silent. And, maddeningly, so did he.

Then the war began to loom over everything. Whispers of Voldemort’s return became shouts, and the weight of fear settled like a fog across the castle. The once vibrant halls of Hogwarts grew darker—both literally and figuratively. Students were no longer concerned with petty rivalries or Quidditch matches; they were concerned with survival.

You told yourself you didn’t think about George much anymore, but that was a lie. In the moments of quiet, when the threat of war felt heaviest, your mind wandered back to him. You wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he ever thought of you.

And then the war came in full force.

The news of Dumbledore’s death shook the castle, and the arrival of the Carrows solidified the nightmare. You tried to be brave, to stand strong, but bravery was harder when you didn’t have someone like George by your side to remind you that the world could still be good, still be funny, even when it felt like it was falling apart.

You fought, of course. You stood beside your friends, doing everything you could to resist the tyranny that had overtaken Hogwarts. But you felt the loss of him like an ache in your chest, a hollowness that you couldn’t quite fill.

When the war finally ended, and the dust of the Battle of Hogwarts settled, you didn’t feel victorious. You felt exhausted, broken, and adrift.

The first time you saw George again, it wasn’t planned.

You’d stepped into Diagon Alley on a whim, needing to pick up a few supplies. The destruction from the war was still evident in the cracked cobblestones and the boarded-up windows of shops that had yet to reopen. It was quieter than you remembered, the air heavy with the echoes of what had been lost.

You weren’t even sure why you stopped in front of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else. Either way, you found yourself staring up at the garish purple sign, at the brightly colored window display that seemed so at odds with the somber mood of the alley.

And then you saw him.

He was standing behind the counter, speaking to a customer with a faint smile on his face. His hair was longer than you remembered, a little shaggier, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. But he was alive. He was George.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you considered turning around and walking away. What would you even say to him after all this time? But before you could decide, he looked up—and his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his smile softened, something unreadable flickering across his face, and he waved you over.

“Look what the Nifflers dragged in,” he said when you reached the counter. His voice was lighter than you expected, but you could hear the tension beneath it.

You laughed softly, though it sounded more like a sigh. “I didn’t mean to stop by. I just… saw the shop.”

“And thought, ‘Why not see how George Weasley’s holding up?’” he teased, though the question felt heavier than it should have.

“Something like that.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, just looking at each other. The war had left its mark on both of you, in ways that words couldn’t fully capture.

“Fred told me you fought,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “That you helped protect the castle.”

You nodded. “I did what I could.”

“Sounds like you did a hell of a lot more than that.” His gaze softened, and for the first time in years, you saw the George you remembered—the one who believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.

“What about you?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. “How are you holding up?”

His smile faltered, and he looked down at the counter. “Some days are better than others.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

That day, you didn’t talk about what had happened between you—not yet. But when he offered you a cup of tea in the backroom, and you accepted, it felt like the first step toward something.

Not a new beginning, exactly. But maybe the start of healing.

&

It was never a conscious decision, the way you and George fell into each other’s lives again. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t something either of you sought out. But it happened—slowly, quietly, like the tide creeping back to the shore after the storm.

It began with the little things.

A lingering glance across the shop. The sound of his laugh breaking through the dull ache in your chest. The way he always seemed to know when you needed silence or when you needed a distraction.

You weren’t sure if he realized it, or if you were just too aware of it yourself.

One evening, after the shop had closed and Fred had disappeared upstairs with a quick “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you found yourself in the small backroom again.

George was finishing inventory, scribbling on a clipboard as you sipped tea at the worn wooden table. The shop was quiet now, except for the scratch of his quill and the occasional creak of the chair as he shifted.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said eventually, not looking up.

You glanced at him, at the way his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t mind,” you replied. It was the truth.

His quill paused, just for a moment. “Alright,” he murmured, returning to his list.

It was like that most nights. He didn’t ask why you stayed, and you didn’t offer an explanation. You just…did.

But somewhere along the way, the silence between you shifted.

One night, as you leaned against the counter while he reorganized a shelf, he turned to you, his expression softer than usual.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

“About what?”

“Us. Before.”

Your heart stuttered at the question. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, even though the weight of it was almost too much. “Sometimes.”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Me too.”

You wanted to say more, to ask him what he thought about, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you looked away, pretending to study the box of biscuits on the counter.

“Do you think it would’ve worked?” he pressed gently, his tone almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

You exhaled, the breath shaky in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Neither of you said anything after that. But the moment lingered, hanging in the air long after the silence returned.

Over the next few weeks, the rhythm between you shifted.

It was subtle at first—the way his hand lingered near yours when he handed you a cup of tea, the way his smile softened when you laughed.

One evening, as you sat on the worn sofa in the backroom, you found yourself leaning closer to him, your knees brushing against his. He didn’t move away.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, staring down at your cup.

“What is?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels…”

“Like it’s where it’s supposed to be,” he finished for you.

You looked up at him, startled by the certainty in his voice. His gaze met yours, steady and unguarded.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve missed this,” he said quietly.

Your heart clenched at the admission. “Me too.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a confession. But it was enough.

And slowly, without either of you realizing, you began to slip back into each other’s orbits.

The first time you noticed the shift was on a particularly quiet evening.

You were helping George restock the shelves, your hands brushing more often than they should. Every time it happened, he glanced at you, his expression unreadable but warm.

When you reached for the same jar of powdered moonstone, your fingers collided, and neither of you moved for a moment.

“You take it,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Alright,” he replied, but his hand lingered on yours a beat too long.

Later, as you sat on the sofa with him, a shared blanket draped over your legs, you caught yourself leaning into his shoulder. It felt natural, effortless.

But that night, as you walked home, the weight of it hit you. You were falling for him again—if you’d ever stopped.

The turning point came quietly, slipping into your life like a thief in the night.

It was Fred who noticed first.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” he said one evening, watching the way George’s gaze lingered on you as you laughed.

“What are you on about?” George replied, but his ears turned pink, and he avoided Fred’s knowing grin.

Fred just shook his head, muttering something under his breath about hopeless idiots.

&

The letter came in a crisp white envelope, bearing the emblem of the prestigious Parisian institution. When you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was everything you’d worked for, everything you’d ever wanted. And yet, the words on the page felt heavier than you could have imagined.

You held the letter in trembling hands as you sat on the sofa in the backroom of the shop. George was across from you, scribbling notes for a new product, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in your mind.

“George,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes the moment he saw your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, holding the letter out to him. He took it, his brows knitting together as he read.

When he finished, he looked back at you, his face carefully neutral. “This is incredible,” he said, though his voice lacked the enthusiasm you expected.

“It is,” you said, forcing a smile. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“But?” he prompted, tilting his head.

“But…I only just got back to you,” you admitted, your voice cracking at the edges. “How can I leave again? How can I walk away now, after everything?”

He didn’t reply right away. He leaned back in his chair, the letter still in his hand, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the room.

Finally, he sighed. “You have to go,” he said quietly.

The words hit you like a Bludger to the chest. “What?”

“You have to go,” he repeated, looking at you now. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and I—” He paused, his jaw tightening. “I can’t be the reason you don’t take it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “But what about us?”

“What about us?” he echoed, his voice softer now. “We’ve always been ‘almost.’ Always just…missing each other. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to look back and regret not going because of me.”

You shook your head, the tears spilling over now. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He stood, crossing the room to kneel in front of you. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears.

“Do you remember the promise we made at the Black Lake?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, your heart aching at the memory.

“We promised we’d fix it,” he said. “And this…this is me fixing it. You need to do this.”

“But what about you?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be here. The shop will be here. And if it’s meant to be…” He trailed off, his gaze searching yours.

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find our way back,” you finished for him, your voice trembling.

He nodded. “We always do, don’t we?”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. Neither of you said anything for a long time, the silence filling with everything you couldn’t say aloud.

Finally, he pulled back, his hands dropping to his sides. “Go,” he said firmly, though his voice was laced with emotion. “Go make your mark in Paris. And when you’re ready…come back.”

You nodded, though it felt like your heart was shattering with every breath.

It wasn’t what you wanted, not really. But deep down, you knew he was right.

You had to go.

&

You didn’t expect the shop to feel so foreign.

When you left a year ago, you promised yourself you’d come back. You didn’t imagine how much could change in the meantime, or how distant you would feel from the place you once called home.

The bell above the door chimed, and you stepped inside. The familiar scent of sugar, sawdust, and something faintly explosive greeted you, pulling a small smile from your lips.

“Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” a voice called cheerfully from behind the counter.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought it was George. But as you looked up, your stomach dropped. It wasn’t him.

The girl standing there was about your age, with blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a bright, effortless smile.

“Can I help you find anything?” she asked.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m—uh—I’m looking for George.”

She tilted her head, her smile faltering slightly. “Oh, he’s upstairs, working on a new design. Should I get him?”

Before you could answer, you heard his voice from the staircase.

“No need, Ella, I’ve got it,” George said, appearing at the top of the stairs.

He froze when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.

“Hey,” he replied, his expression unreadable as he descended the stairs.

It had been a year since you’d seen him. A year of letters exchanged sporadically, each one growing shorter and more distant. A year of wondering if the promise you made still held any weight.

George reached the bottom step, his hands shoved into his pockets. He didn’t look at you right away, his eyes darting between you and Ella, who was now watching the two of you with open curiosity.

“I’ll—uh—just stock the shelves in the back,” she said quickly, giving you both a polite smile before disappearing into the storeroom.

You and George stood in silence, the air between you heavy and uncertain.

“You’re back,” he said finally.

You nodded. “I’m back.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward the storeroom door where Ella had vanished. “When did you get in?”

“This morning,” you said, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “I wanted to see the shop.”

“And how was Paris?” he asked, his tone casual, though there was something beneath it you couldn’t quite place.

“It was…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. “Lonely.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the guarded expression on his face cracking ever so slightly.

“But you did it,” he said. “You lived your dream.”

You nodded, though it felt hollow now. “And you? How’s everything here?”

“Good,” he said, his voice tight. ���The shop’s doing well. Fred’s…Fred.”

“And Ella?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the name tasting bitter on your tongue.

He blinked, caught off guard. “She helps out around here,” he said simply, though the way he shifted on his feet made you wonder.

“She seems nice,” you said, forcing a smile.

George didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you, his gaze searching your face like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said quietly.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more. But the door to the storeroom swung open, and Ella reappeared, carrying a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

“Where should I put this?” she asked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

George cleared his throat, stepping back. “Uh, by the display in the front.”

Ella nodded and walked past, her presence a stark reminder of how much had changed.

You took a step back, too, your heart sinking. “I should go,” you said quickly, your voice wavering.

“Wait—” George started, but you were already at the door.

“It was good to see you,” you said, forcing a smile you didn’t feel. “Really.”

Before he could say anything else, you slipped out the door, the bell chiming behind you.

As you walked away, you realized that the shop wasn’t the only thing that felt foreign now.

So did he.

&

The first time you ran into George again, it was at the Leaky Cauldron. He was alone, sitting at the bar with a Butterbeer in hand, lost in thought. He looked up as you passed, his gaze catching yours, and for a moment, it felt like the past year hadn’t happened.

You both hesitated, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice soft.

“Hey,” you replied, your heart stumbling over itself.

It wasn’t much of a conversation. Polite smiles, an exchange of awkward pleasantries, and then you were gone again, the weight of his presence pressing against your chest long after you left.

The next time, it was in Diagon Alley. He was with Ella.

You hadn’t meant to stop, but the sight of him—of them—froze you in place. She was laughing at something he said, her hand brushing against his arm, and it felt like a knife twisting in your gut.

He called out for you, noticing you before you could slip away.

Ella turned, her smile bright and welcoming, blissfully unaware of the history standing between you and George. “Hi! It’s so good to see you again.”

You forced a smile, nodding at her before meeting George’s eyes. They were unreadable, as always.

“Hi,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Have you been well?” George asked, his tone careful, like he was afraid the wrong word might shatter whatever fragile thread was holding this moment together.

“Fine,” you lied, your throat tight. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

You didn’t stay long.

It became a pattern after that. You’d see him at the shop, or out with mutual friends, or walking through the Alley. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he wasn’t. The encounters were brief, stilted, like neither of you knew how to exist in the same space anymore.

And then, one night, everything came to a head.

The rain came down in relentless sheets, drenching the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. You hadn’t expected anyone to show up on your doorstep, least of all George, but when the knock echoed through your flat, some part of you already knew.

You opened the door, and there he stood—soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes holding something that made your chest tighten. Neither of you spoke at first, the rain filling the silence between you, as if it could drown the years of longing and missed chances.

“George,” you finally said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright, before crossing the threshold.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he muttered, brushing past you.

You closed the door behind him, your mind spinning. “What’s wrong?”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, but his hands—his hands trembled. “This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “This has been wrong for years, hasn’t it?”

Your heart sank. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “I’ve been trying to move on—Merlin, I thought I had. And then you came back.”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted. “Didn’t mean to show up and turn everything upside down again?”

The anger in his voice mirrored the storm outside, but it wasn’t just anger—it was pain, and it made your throat tighten. “You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your own voice rising. “I never stopped thinking about you, George. Not for a single day. But you—you had someone else. You made your choice.”

His laughter was bitter. “You think it was that simple? That I just—what? Stopped caring about you because Ella showed up? No. I tried to forget you because you left!”

“I didn’t leave you,” you said, your voice cracking. “I left for me. Because I needed to, and you told me to go.”

“And look where it got us,” he said, his voice breaking as he raked a hand through his damp hair. “You’re back, and everything’s worse than it’s ever been. I thought I could pretend. I thought if I saw you enough, it would get easier. But it doesn’t.”

You took a shaky step closer, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Why are you here, George?”

“Because I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stand seeing you, and I can’t stand not seeing you. It’s maddening.”

The air between you crackled with everything unsaid, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance. “Then stop pretending,” you said, your voice trembling.

He froze as your words hung in the air. You were so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from him, see the way his jaw clenched, how his breathing quickened.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or sweet or anything you’d imagined all those years ago. It was desperate, filled with anger and longing and all the things you’d both kept bottled up.

But it wasn’t right.

You broke away first, stumbling back, your breath ragged. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

George’s chest heaved as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”

“Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “Not like this. Not when you’re still with her.”

He ran a hand down his face, his frustration evident. “I know.”

Your heart twisted, the revelation sending a jolt through you. “This is wrong. We’re wrong.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice breaking.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “Fix this, George,” you said, your voice trembling. “Fix us.”

You were begging him, begging him to keep his promise from all these years ago.

His gaze softened, but the pain in his eyes didn’t fade. “I don’t know how to fix us,” he admitted, the words cutting through you like a blade.

The silence that followed was deafening, and when he finally turned to leave, you let him go, tears streaming down your face.

When the door clicked shut, you sank to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. You were falling apart, and for the first time in years, you weren’t sure if George would be there to pick up the pieces.

&

The days turned into weeks, and somehow, miraculously, your path and George’s didn’t cross again. Not in Diagon Alley, not in the pubs, not even through your mutual friends. It was as though the universe had decided you both needed the space to finally breathe.

At first, it felt like suffocating. You’d always thought the hardest part was seeing him, knowing he was there but not yours. But the silence—the void he left—it was worse. There were no chance encounters to brace for, no stolen glances to both dread and crave. Just emptiness.

You threw yourself into work, into anything that could keep your mind occupied. Yet, every time you returned to your flat, the quiet was unbearable. You found yourself staring at the spot where George had stood that night, hearing the echo of his voice.

“I don’t know how to fix us.”

You hated him for that. And yet, you couldn’t blame him.

Healing wasn’t linear. Some days you convinced yourself you were better off—stronger for having walked away from something that would’ve broken you in the end. Other days, you broke all over again, mourning not just George, but the version of yourself that had loved him so completely, so recklessly.

Months passed. Then a year.

You didn’t know when the ache dulled, only that one day, it hurt just a little less. The rain no longer reminded you of that night, and Diagon Alley became just another street. You stopped looking for his face in the crowd, stopped imagining what you’d say if you saw him.

And then, of course, the universe brought him back.

It was late spring, the air warm but still carrying the crispness of a lingering chill. You were on your way out of Flourish and Blotts, balancing a stack of books in your arms, when you heard his voice.

“Let me get that for you.”

Your heart stopped.

You turned slowly, and there he was. George Weasley, standing before you, his hair a little longer, his smile softer, and his eyes—those same eyes—holding a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name.

“George,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He reached out, taking the top few books from your stack without waiting for an answer. His hand brushed yours briefly, and it sent a shock through you, one you hadn’t felt in so long.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, his tone light, almost careful.

You laughed, though it came out more bitter than you’d intended. “That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?”

His smile faltered for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

You both stood there, awkwardly, as the world moved on around you. For the first time in years, you didn’t know what to say to him.

“Ella’s gone,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Oh.”

“It’s been a while now,” he continued, his voice quieter. “I thought… you might want to know.”

“Why?” you asked, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the books in his arms. “Because I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t changed. That I didn’t learn anything from… from us.”

Us.

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the books in your hands. “And did you?”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the street seemed to fade. “I think so.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it carried the weight of everything you’d both endured—apart and together.

“I thought I’d run into you sooner,” he said, a ghost of a smile returning to his lips.

“Maybe it wasn’t time,” you said softly.

“Maybe.”

The pause stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It felt… necessary.

“You look good,” he said suddenly, his smile growing a little. “Happier.”

“I’m trying,” you admitted. “It’s not perfect, but… I’m getting there.”

“Good,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your chest ache.

For a moment, it felt like old times. Like you could slip back into the rhythm you’d once had, but you knew better now. You both did.

“Well,” you said, adjusting the books in your arms. “I should get going.”

“Yeah,” he said, handing his share of the books back to you. But before you could turn, he stopped you. “Wait.”

You looked back at him, your heart racing.

“I still don’t know how to fix us,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the street. “But if you want to try… I’d like to figure it out together.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to hope.

You gave him a small smile, one that felt genuine and warm, despite the lingering ache in your chest. “Maybe this time, we’ll get it right.”

He nodded, and the smile he gave you in return was filled with something you hadn’t seen in years. Not certainty, not closure, but something close enough to start again.

And as you walked away, you didn’t look back—not because you didn’t want to, but because you finally felt like you didn’t need to.

[noemilivv]

I love your writing! Can we get Hazbin cast hcs of a tickle fight with their S/o? If not, just Vox and Sir Pentious is great as well 😊

hello!! there’s a lot of characters in the hazbin cast that i’m unsure of their responses to a tickle fight, so i only did a few, hope that’s okay!!

ALSO YESSS MY FIRST PENTIOUS REQUEST AFTER OVER 200 POSTS 😭😭

Including: Charlie, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Vox

Warnings: Mentions of Sex (No Smut)

Charlie

Charlie has a silly side, no doubt, with or without her partners presence. But that silly side definitely comes out more often when your around.

While rough housing in bed, Charlie brushes over a spot on your bare leg, causing you to let out a giggle. She lets an out an excited gasp. “Are you ticklish?”

Before you can respond, your girlfriend immediately goes to test this theory, waving her fingers across your sides as you both let out endless fits of laughter.

“Char!-” You let out, almost unable to breath, “Stop stop stop!!” You manage through giggles,

“What’s the magic word?” Your girlfriend asks, giggling as well, “Please?” You guess your breath getting shorter, “IT WAS RAINBOWS!!”

It’s safe to say after this encounter, tickle fights became a lot more frequent, to your dismay :’)

Angel Dust

Your boyfriend, mostly thanks to his spider-like features, is extremely ticklish on his sides, and the discovery of that was, well, quite a ride literally

You laid down on top of your boyfriend, his hands playing with your hair, as your arms hugged around his sides.

Eventually, your hands found his sides and just started brushing through them, as your boyfriend tried to hold back his giggles.

Immediately, your head shoots up, “Ange? Are you ticklish…?”

“Pfff, no.” He says, brushing off the topic, although you choose to ignore it. “Okay.”

You kept rubbing your hands up and down his sides and eventually his giggles got more and more noticeable, you took this opportunity and a small tickle fight turned into an all-night sesh of even bigger ‘tickle fights’…

Sir Pentious

Tickle Fights weren’t even something that crossed his mind, but boy, he enjoys them!!

Even if it was a total accidental one XD

You stood in front of the mirror in your shared hotel room with Pentious, admiring your new PJ set, as unbeknownst to you, your slithery boyfriend came up to you, putting his hand inside you shirt, resting them on your waist. “Pen, that tickles!” You giggled.

Your boyfriend looked at you, confused, “What? This?” He asked, running his claws on your sides. “Pfff!- Yes!”

After that, tickle fights became real tickle fights, but the first few times he would be too scared of offending or hurting you xD

Vox

Due to the wiring and outlets at the back off Vox’s head, he’s very ticklish, and boy, do you love it XD

Your boyfriend’s screen laid comfortably against your chest, your hands trickling against the back of his screen, muffled noises came from your boyfriend, was he crying?

“Vox, are you okay?” You ask, at first, concerned. “That’s where my wires are, it’s sensitive back there.” He answered, face still deep into the realm of your warm chest.

“Like, sensitive how?” You ask, curiosity spiking within you, “Like ticklish, sensitive.” You smirk at that.

“Oh? Like this?” You ask innocently, running your fingers down the back of your boyfriends screen, as he erupted into a fight of giggles, “Fuck you!” He said, jokingly, even though it’ll probably happen later…

[mattslolita]

meet me at our spot - c. sturniolo

warnings : drugs, alcohol, stoner!chris ( i'm a slut for this idea sorry )

"caught a vibe, baby are you coming for the ride?"

"y/n, you need to come to this party!" your best friend genesis said, her face pleading as she looked at you in the full-length mirror of her room, "you'll have fun, i swear!"

"genie, you know i don't do parties," you told her with a sigh, shrugging your shoulders, "besides, how am i gonna have any fun when you're literally gonna get shit faced?"

genesis narrowed her eyes playfully at you, turning to face you completely. "look, hunter's gonna be there anyway, so no you won't!"

you raised an eyebrow upon hearing the name of genesis's off and on boyfriend, crossing your arms across your chest. "okay, what if he fucks some shit up again? then i'll have to take care of you."

"look y/n," genesis said, putting her hands on your shoulders, "you need to have some fun, so you're coming with me. end of discussion."

it's not that you didn't want to have fun — you were a pessimist you couldn't lie, and parties always ended very badly. why risk it? you would've rather stayed home instead. but knowing that you had nothing to do and your parents were out of town on business, you just decided to go. fuck it.

"fine, whatever," you agreed, rolling your eyes as genesis clapped happily and went back to her makeup in the mirror.

you went to genesis's closet to try and find some clothes — she dressed better than, at least that's what you thought, and since this was a party you wanted to try and look like you belonged there. you weren't usually one for the short dresses and skirts, but you were feeling bold tonight — you settled on a cute, emerald green mini dress with a pair of black and white low tops. sure it didn't match, but you weren't gonna spend the whole night in heels — especially if some shit popped off and you had to run away or something.

about twenty minutes later, you and genesis were sat in an uber, both of you mindlessly scrolling through your phones. before leaving leaving her house, genesis swiped two blue razzberry beatboxes so that you both could pregame — she insisted the party would be much more relaxing if you did.

after taking another sip, you set your phone in your lap as you looked out the window, the breeze of the night carrying your hair — you hoped that you were making the right decision attending the party, otherwise you'd probably be pissed at genesis for a while if something popped off, especially if it had to do with her 'boyfriend'.

"c'mon!" genesis said, as the uber pulled up to a big house, loud music blaring from it.

"thank you, have a good one," you say to the driver, as genesis practically drags you out of your seat and out the car.

"damn genie, calm down," you groan, as the uber pulled off.

dusting yourself off and smoothing out the dress, you look up at the fairly large house and scrunch your nose — it already reeked of alcohol and weed, which was making you feel tired. genesis linked her arm with yours, moving past people to make your way inside.

being the social butterfly she was, genesis said quick 'hi's and shared small hugs with a bunch of people she knew, while you stood there kind of awkward, only nodding at the people. it's not that you couldn't make any friends, you just didn't trust too easily — which is why genesis was your best and only friend.

"yo, genesis!"

you rolled your eyes at the voice, recognizing it as belonging to hunter. he made his way through the crowd, scooping genesis up in his arms for a hug, leaving you standing there with your arms crossed.

"hey baby," genesis grinned, pulling away from the hug to kiss him on the lips.

"still here, by the way!" you said, waving at them sarcastically.

"yo, what's up, y/n?" hunter grinned reaching his hand out to dap you up, but you just stared at it, then back to genesis.

"hey, listen y/n i'm gonna chill with hunter, okay?" genesis said, pulling away from him to whisper to you, "you text me if you need me, alright? try and have some fun!"

a frown overtook your features but from the way genesis gave you the puppy eyes, you rolled your own and released both of you guy's hands, giving her a small nod. with one last grin your way, genesis and hunter were off, so you wasted no time going in your own direction.

you navigated through dancing teens, some even trying to get you to dance, which you politely declined them — honestly, you were growing weary of the loud noise, so you were really aiming to find a quiet spot to chill at.

you were making your way upstairs in the house, looking for the first empty room — the first one you found unfortunately had been occupied, due to you being able to hear the sounds coming from inside, causing you to shudder and try and erase it from your memory.

luckily, there was a bathroom not too far down, and you quickly wasted no time in going inside, closing the door behind you — you gripped the edge of the sink tightly, letting out a loud sigh that you had been holding in since you've arrived.

seeing as nobody was going to try and come inside, you leaned against the edge of the sink, taking a long sip from the beatbox. you also took your phone out, mindlessly, scrolling through tiktok as well.

about twenty minutes passed by, and unfortunately you were almost out of your beatbox — a longing sigh left your lips upon the realization of this, so you put the cap back on to conserve the rest of it.

a jingling of the doorknob caught your attention and caused you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion — before you had the chance to react in any way, a messy-haired brunette boy came bustling inside, a blunt at the edge of his lips.

"yo, what the fuck?" you said immediately, causing the boy to look up at you with furrowed eyebrows of his own, "occupied?"

"ah shit ma, my bad," his raspy voice said, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

"no it's...you're good," you replied slowly, as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

he shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair, taking the blunt out his mouth with one hand, blowing the smoke out — you watched him curiously, as he leaned against the bathroom door, his azure eyes now fixated on you. his pupils were dilated, and you could tell from his low eyes that he was high as shit.

you had your arms crossed in front of you now, watching him as he watched you, too. "you uh, you not having fun?"

"it's not that, i'm just not a party girl," you shrugged, finding it suddenly difficult to keep eye contact with him.

he nodded his head, his gaze never leaving you as he put the blunt to his lips once more, exhaling the smoke. "you sure did dress like it."

your cheeks heated from the comment, and only then did you look at him to see a small smirk resting on his lips. you rolled your eyes playfully at his little comment, finding yourself somewhat more relaxed than you were previously.

"what's your name?" you asked him curiously, taking the cap off the beatbox and taking a small sip of it.

"do you smoke?" he asked, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

"um, i asked my question first," you pointed out, as he took another hit from his blunt, blowing the smoke downwards, his eyes still on you. "and no i don't smoke, actually."

"no wonder you don't know my name," you said. he wasn't smug about it, just saying it, "i'm chris."

"lovely to meet you, chris, i'm y/n," you said sarcastically, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "so what are you even doing here, anyway? you don't seem like the party guy yourself."

"i'm not," he shrugged, holding the blunt with one hand and pulling out a small bag with the other, "i'm just here to make some money."

"oh," you nodded, your mouth forming an 'o' shape, "you're a dealer. cool."

"pretty sure i sold to your friend before," chris nods to you, putting the bag back in his pocket, "or her boyfriend probably."

"genie never mentions anything about her dealers to me," you shrug, feeling slightly offended about it. why did genesis never mention one of her dealers were really cute, knowing you were single?

"i doubt there's any more to make though, i'm gonna dip soon," chris told you, holding the blunt up to his lips again, taking a hit from it.

you hummed, looking around before your eyes were fixated back on him — you looked at chris as he bopped his head slightly to whatever song was playing in the background, as he blew the smoke from his mouth again. his blue eyes then traveled back towards you, before a buzz from his pocket caught his attention.

pulling out his phone, you ended up pulling yours out too so things wouldn't be too awkward as he checked his own — you stole a glance at him to see him rub the side of his face with his hand, a sigh falling past his lips.

"everything alright?" you asked him, and he looked up at you then, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

"yeah, just someone needs me to bring them some shit," chris clarified, and you nodded, knowing that meant a purchase of sorts.

"is it far from here?" you asked him, and he shook his head, another puff of smoke leaving his lips.

"nah, it's barely two blocks away," he rasps, and you nod, unintentionally staring a bit longer at the way the smoke fell from his lips, finding it attractive.

you crossed your arms across your chest and looked around silently, but you could feel chris's gaze flicker towards you occasionally — this prompted you to look over at him with a wary smile. "so you probably wanna get going, right?"

"it's not a rush, he can wait," chris chuckled, and you let out a small giggle at this.

you watched as he finished the blunt of, the final puff of smoke dissipating as he found the trash can on the other side of you — he slowly walked towards you and you felt your heart rate increase as he grabbed your waist to get past you, flicking the remains of the blunt into the trash then giving you a sly grin as he ran his hand across his nose.

"it was nice meeting you, y/n," chris said, moving towards the door as he was still grinning at you, "pretty name by the way, ma."

your heart rate fluttered at this, as chris as turning the knob to the door and opening it, the loud sounds of the party flowing in at once — you were so over it and not even having any fun here. what were you doing?

fuck it.

"wait, i'm coming with you."

lmk how y'all liked this😏😏 y'all want a pt. 2 ?

tags ; @chanelles-world @mattsturniolosleftnut @mattsivy @worldlxvlys @thesturniolos @hbpr1nce @luvsturniolo

[draculasfavoritewife]

Misconceptions

Summary: Traveling with the Mandalorian was always going to create false impressions -- if only they knew what he was like behind closed doors.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader being a bit of a tease, implied smut, heavy sensuality and SOFTNESS! Din is a bit of a soft dom (according to me).

So I came up with this idea on a road trip last year, when I read a theory about the concept of Mandalorian celibacy, and the dialogue generator in my brain went off the rails 😁. My personal headcanon is that while Mando is not a full-on dom like I've seen some write him, he does like to be somewhat in control so yeah.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You knew something was wrong the second he entered -- or rather,  stormed into -- the small room in the inn your little crew was occupying for the night. Normally even when fully armored he can move with surprising stealth, stalking his prey like a wild nexu on the prowl.

You've always wondered how he manages to not clank like a droid wherever he walks.

Now, though, none of that control softens the thud of his heavy footsteps as he passes you without even so much as a greeting and aimlessly unpacks his gear, taking no care to muffle the clatter of his personal arsenal before he chooses his pulse rifle to dismantle and start cleaning.

You approach him cautiously, noting the deadly sharp motions of his gloved hands and the stiff angles of his shoulders. He's quiet, much too quiet, only the crackle of his tight breaths sounding through his vocoder.

"Want some help?" you ask, keeping your own tone warm and flashing a brief smile at his gleaming helmet.

Silence.

Undeterred, you delicately pull his EE-3 carbine from the mess and seat yourself cross-legged near his feet, expertly taking it apart and starting to lovingly free it from the layers of buildup caused by frequent use.

A side glance reveals that his shoulders have loosened slightly, rolling forward as a longer breath drags from his lungs. He's not angry at you, as your unsolicited presence actually seems to have calmed him a tiny bit.

The pair of you work in the quiet for some time, only disturbed by the child whenever he toddles up to one or the other of you to eagerly show you some new insect he's found in the dust of your temporary lodging quarters.

"So," you finally say casually, not taking your eyes from the detailing of his rifle as you finish your task. "Want to talk about what's got you in such a snit?"

He snorts. "No."

"Din," you finally look up at him then, and see his head tilt towards you as it always does when his true name leaves your lips, "you know you don't have to shoulder everything yourself anymore. We're partners. I'm more than capable of carrying my share. What's happened?"

"It's nothing like that," he grumbles, his visor flicking away. "Someone just made me angry, is all."

You wait, opening your arms and lap to Grogu as he squeals and reaches for you. Din's already said more than he probably meant to, which means there's more coming.

You just have to wait for it.

He doesn't keep you waiting long, to both his surprise and yours. You've been wearing him down with your patience lately, it seems.

"Some piece of bantha fodder in the cantina made a comment about you after you took Grogu back up here," he mutters. "He had the GALL to ask me what I pay you."

You hear leather protesting as his dangerous hands clench into fists.

By what he leaves unsaid, you know the implications of the remark meant something much different than simply a relationship of business employment.

You blink up at him, oddly more touched by his rage towards the scum who would suggest such a thing than bothered by the story itself.

"If we weren't already trying to keep a low profile here, Cyar'ika, I would have stuffed those words back down his vile throat until he choked on them."

You rise to your feet, Grogu still cradled to your chest, trying to deny that you find his threat on your behalf so arousing. "Well, I can't decide whether to be insulted or flattered. I never thought I could pass for a courtesan."

"You're not helping" he tells you dryly. "And you know that's a load of bantha."

With a grin, you take the child to his little bed in the next room, and place your palms against the Mandalorian's cool beskar breastplate when you return. "I'm sorry for joking about it, ner'cyare. And I'm sorry you have to hear people speculating about our relationship. I wish they could keep those thoughts to themselves."

Letting your fingers drift upward to tug on his cowl, you add, "But it's not even as bad as what someone said to me while I was getting food for Grogu."

He goes rigid. "Tell me."

"Some old guy gave me a pitying look when he saw I was with you. Came over and basically said something along the lines of, 'Best to give up sooner rather than later, Sweetheart. You know those Mandalorians...they're CELIBATE.'"

Din's left speechless for a moment, and you can almost imagine his eyes blinking in shock.

"I...what...why...?"

You shrug carelessly and step away from his body, crouching down to reorganize his weapons where they lie forgotten on the floor. "It's just a rumor, Din. Since our people pick up foundlings all over the place and have so many rules of conduct. The galaxy's just jumped to the conclusion that our people don't actually engage in...intimacy, of any kind. I used to hear the same thing said about me, before I stopped wearing the armor."

He's quiet again, thoughtful as he draws the curtains across the window, shrouding the room in shadow. You allow a wicked grin to curve your lips for a moment, confident you've rerouted his focus from his earlier outrage.

A muted clank tells you he's removing his beskar now that it's dark.

"I hope I didn't offend you by relaying that story," you sing-song into the shadows behind you.

Nothing.

As soon as your guard is down, a pair of long arms has you in a durasteel grasp and you're lifted from the floor and tossed onto the bed before you can even make a sound.

"What's brought this on?" you half-laugh into his bare chest as he all but smothers you.

Hot lips tease your throat and rough hands crawl up your spine beneath your shirt, making you arch into him for more and wrap your legs around his hips.

"I'll show you who's celibate," he growls close to your mouth, punctuating his words with a kiss that hints at teeth. "Someone's asking to be reminded."

"Teach me a lesson, then, ner'alor," you hum into his hair, reverently inhaling the smell of leather, sweat, and smoke that always saturates his skin. Most times he protests your use of such an authoritative term for him, but when he's riled up, you know that some deep dark part of him likes it.

He needs no further urging, and soon both of your respective annoyances are long forgotten in the throes of bliss.

Much later, when the flames have cooled, you lie tangled together in the sheets, his head resting on your chest and your fingers lovingly working the knots out of his thick hair. As much as you yearn to someday look upon the face of the man you love so deeply, you can't deny that the darkness gives a gift of true closeness you might never have known in the seeing world. The flicker of his eyelashes against your skin and the way his now-tranquil breaths warm your body are enough in this moment, and no amount of credits could ever persuade you to give this up.

"Your helmet has really made a reptavian's nest of your hair this time, my love," you observe as your fingers catch in his curling locks for the umpteenth time.

"Mmm, most of that mess is your doing this time, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is husky, as it always gets when he's on the verge of sleep, but he sounds more at ease than he has in days, and you allow yourself to hope that he'll sleep through the night tonight, that his body will actually let him fully rest for once.

"At least I can undo that with time. I'm afraid once daylight comes, my new skin pattern won't be so easily hidden." You have a few suspicions already of where the bruising evidence of his zealous kiss blossoms across your flesh, and as you prefer to dress much lighter than your armored companion, such adornments do not go unseen.

"You love wearing my mark." There's the barest hint of smugness underlying his tone. "Don't try to pretend otherwise."

"...Alright, I won't." You reach down to toy with his mythosaur necklace, letting the tips of your fingers flit down his torso and feeling him pull you closer in response, his own hands settling into their place at the top of your hips. "Whatever other people might say, Din Djarin, I love you. Never doubt that."

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la."

You're about to drift off, there in his embrace, when a lonely chirp from the other room jolts you fully awake and you sigh.

"I'll go get him, Din."

"Hurry back," he murmurs, reluctantly releasing you from his warm hold.

You scrabble around in the blankets for a moment, unable to locate your clothes, until Din tosses his shirt at you. "Here, take mine."

You pull it over your head, feeling immediately oddly at home swimming in the folds of the massive piece of clothing. It's unexpectedly soft, well worn from years of use -- and abuse -- and it smells just like him. You smile to yourself as you crawl out of bed, the shirt's hem drifting to the tops of your thighs.

"Cover your eyes, I'm opening the door," you tell him.

"I'm not going to go blind from a sliver of light," he grumbles.

"Just thought I'd warn you." You push the door to your shared room open, about to go rescue Grogu from his solitude.

"Wait. Stay there."

You hear him dressing in the other half of his clothes, and the bed creaks as he rises. You instinctively let your eyes flutter shut as his quiet footsteps approach from behind.

"Just for a minute...I want to really look at you with my own eyes."

Your heartbeat quickens at that, and you realize then that he's never really seen you, either.

Through the visor of his helmet, sure, but he's never actually set eyes on you this vulnerable, this...undressed.

You're almost as much of a mystery to him as he is to you, intimately as you know each other.

It amazes you, the trust you've established between the two of you as he stands before you and his breath rustles your unkempt hair. He doesn't reach to cover your eyes himself, worried that you'll look at him without consent. He trusts that your love and respect for him is enough to keep your eyes softly closed.

He studies you, hands tracing down your arms and along the shape of your body covered in his dark shirt. His touch is light, almost shy as he takes the sight of you in. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that one day he would be standing here with someone like you, someone wearing his clothes, who loves him enough to share everything with him and not demand that he break his sacred creed before he's ready.

Someone who he wants, more than anything, to be his forever, to one day, if his life ever allows it, become his riduur.

The person that he almost -- almost -- for a second entertains the thought of telling to open her eyes, to really LOOK at him as he is, unmasked in the soft light of the hallway.

But he doesn't, not this time.

Someday.

You feel his hands frame your face, melt into the familiar calluses of his fingertips as his thumbs lightly caress along your cheekbones. You smile wistfully as he tenderly kisses your closed eyelids, then rests his forehead against yours in a keldabe kiss.

"Mesh'la," he hums quietly, and you can hear the hushed awe in his voice, the way he gets when he's overwhelmed by feelings he can't put into words. "Dank farrik, you're so lovely."

You shiver slightly at his words, feeling heat race to your skin. You don't know exactly why, but you've always loved the sound of his voice when he lets that particular expletive slip.

"Careful, Djarin," you murmur as your lips seek out his. "You don't want me asking for another round before you're ready."

"Why do you assume I'm not ready?" he teases, teeth catching playfully at your bottom lip as you pull back.

"Developing more of an appetite, I see." You rise on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his, grinning as always at the way his scruffy facial hair tickles your face.

"I had to, to keep up with you." His hands tighten on your waist, drawing you against his well-muscled body suggestively.

You reluctantly push away from him, though not before planting a kiss in the hollow where his throat meets his collarbone, a place you know drives him wild. "I do have to go. Your ad'ika wants his buir."

"That was a dirty trick, Mesh'la." He sounds put out, and a little pent up now.

You twist your finger in his necklace, before turning away so you can open your eyes and finally go rescue your foundling. "I'll make it up to you later, Cyare. I promise."

"Don't make me pay you," he deadpans, reminding you of the comment that first started off this very pleasurable evening.

You smirk, knowing he can hear it in your voice as you saunter away. "Oh, I'm very certain I'll get exactly what I want from you."

When you finally return, the child clutching the folds of your borrowed shirt, he's in bed again, so once the door is shut the darkness swallows you in its comforting shroud once more.

You listen to Grogu's happy squeaks as he clambers across from your chest to Din's, and the answering murmurs of his father. Content in the company of the two beings you love most in the galaxy, you stretch out to lie against your lover's warm body, relishing the temporary luxury of a soft mattress to sink into and room to spare. You're not going to wake up with kinks in your spine for the first time in forever.

"You should get a bigger bed on the ship," you suggest through a yawn. "This is awfully nice."

"What's wrong with mine?" He sounds offended, the fingers of his free hand searching until they find their way beneath the draping excess of his shirt that's still cocooning your form. It surprised you at first, probably surprised him too, just how much the man craves these rare spells of skin-to-skin contact, made all the more meaningful by his personal restrictions. You settle into his languid stroking before mustering a reply.

"It's just nice not to worry about falling off the bed when all three of us are together."

"I suppose," he concedes, pausing a moment to no doubt smile at the tiny snores of the now-sleeping child. "But there is something to be said for how close necessity draws us. Don't you roll away from me in the middle of the night."

"Or what, you big gundark, you won't pay me?"

He squeezes the soft part of your waist at your teasing. "Maybe I won't."

"That's a breach of contract." You tangle your legs with his and wrap your arms around his midsection, assuring him without words that you're not going anywhere. "Admit it, you'd like it too. Imagine a world where you don't wake up every morning with stiff muscles." You lazily start to knead into his back, soothing out the weariness and tension that like to take up permanent residence there.

He sighs appreciatively, breath hitching slightly whenever your ministrations encounter an especially stubborn knot. "I do not wake up EVERY morning with stiff muscles."

"Could've fooled me, with the amount of old-man groaning I hear whenever you get out of bed."

"I don't do that."

"Why do you think I always wake up when you leave, hmm?"

"Because you're incapable of keeping yourself warm and you need me to keep from freezing to death." His reply is certain, leaving no room for further rebuttal.

"Kriff. You do know me too well. You still sound like an old man in the mornings, though."

"Don't argue with me, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is warm, but his hand starts straying from platonic towards more intimate. "You're at a bit of a disadvantage."

"How so?" You shouldn't ask, but an impish desire to hear him actually voice his dangerous thoughts overpowers your common sense.

The smirk in his voice is audible. "You have a much more difficult time keeping quiet than I do. You wouldn't want to wake the kid now, would you?"

"Dank farrik."

He relents when you wordlessly concede, returning to a comforting caress rather than an instigating one.

You've almost dozed off again in your shared darkness when the mattress bucks as he hauls himself out of bed to take Grogu back to his own room. You gaze through half-closed eyes at his silhouette when he pauses, back-lit in the warm glow of the opened doorway. You take him in without detail for a brief moment, the curves of his well-defined shoulders and arms, the textured mess of his hair, the slope of his prominent nose. Your heart blossoms with the affection and passion this wounded, pure warrior ignites within you, and you are hit once more with the desire to truly see him, bare and in the light, all his barriers laid down for you.

He's the only man you would ever consider taking as riduur.

Someday.

Before you know it, your brave hunter has returned to your embrace, leaning over you and trapping you between his arms as he rests his scruffy cheek against your smooth one, the two of you allowing a long moment to simply breathe each other in, thankful once more to whichever gods you may believe in that for one more day, you are alive, and you belong to each other.

Then he rises to his knees and pulls you up with him, his breath warm on your skin.

"Don't ever leave me, Mesh'la," he whispers roughly into your throat.

Your head snaps back in delight at the sensations his mouth stirs within you, and your nails scrape across his scarred back in answer, drawing wordless sounds from deep in his chest.

"Never, ner'cyare. I would hunt you across the stars if ever we were parted."

He sighs, the movement of his body rocking yours. "Thank you."

"Can I keep this shirt?" you ask saucily.

"Yes." His hands curl around its hem and start lifting. "But take it off for now."

You hum questioningly as you allow him to guide the thick fabric over your head.

"After all," and his voice hardens, taking on the dogged quality that makes him the best there is at what he does.

"I haven't forgotten about that next round you promised, my love."

Ner'cyare = My beloved

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la = I love you, Beautiful

Riduur = Spouse

Ad'ika = Little One/Small child

Buir = Parent

[romanitas]

peers out into the abyss, in the year 2024. dusts off spy au tag after nine (??????) years. anyone still here?? hello. i finally bring more of it. here it is on ao3 if tumblr is rude about it.

-

It all comes out rather mechanically and professionally, but Annabeth thinks that might make it all worse.  She knows there are aspects of her life she isn’t allowed to share, and she avoids details like who exactly she works for. It’s almost like she’s giving a summarizing report to a superior, not a boyfriend. But at the look on his face as she unweaves her life, she realizes she should probably stop thinking of Percy Jackson as her boyfriend. She is an infiltrator who steamrolled her way over his life, and he watches her with a deep undercurrent of hurt and hostility.  “I was just supposed to find out more about what was happening with Jason’s dad,” she says, her voice hollow and apologetic. “With the company. I didn’t expect…” Luke and gunshots. Dragging Percy through a dangerous situation when he was only meant to be a window into information. Piper and Jason to be solid, lovely friends. Percy Jackson to arguably be the best relationship she’s ever had. 

“I’m sorry.”

Percy’s quiet. He’d stayed quiet the whole time she spoke, graciously allowed her the uninterrupted time to explain herself, even when she knew she hadn’t deserved it. Annabeth feels like she’s standing on glass, but she’s not about to make the next move. He looks at her, then looks around the room, then back at her. Percy is an unexpectedly thoughtful guy, but this level of silence churns her gut.  She swears she hears the clock ticking. “So, do you like, not even care about penguins?”

She stares at him, befuddled. “What?”  Percy crosses his arms, angrily tapping his fingers against his bicep. “That’s what you talked to me about, when we met. You asked me about penguins.”  The fact that he remembered really shouldn’t surprise her. Her face falls; her reply is haphazard. “Everybody cares about penguins.” “Good, because if you lied about penguins on top of everything else, we might really have a problem.” His tone is bitingly sarcastic, a bullet of its own kind, and she flinches, however deserved.  “I’m sorry,” she mutters, again. “Annabeth, you lied. About everything. About - about - ” He trails off and throws his hands up in the air, before grabbing his water and chugging about half to cool himself down. She doesn’t really know how much it’ll actually cool him down, but it’s his go-to.  “I was going to tell you. That’s why I wanted to meet you - before Luke showed up -” Percy glowers. “Then what? You just - you thought everything would be fine?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what! I just knew I had to stop lying!” “Yeah? Took you how many months?” He pauses. “Months. You’ve been pretending to date me for months.” It’s like the reality of that finally, wholly sinks in for him, and his anger flashes with heartbreak heavy enough to punch her own. She can’t even reach out to him. The urge is there, but she restrains it, knowing full well she’s lost the privilege of touching him.  “It was my job, Percy,” she says after a moment, a weak attempt at some sort of defense she knows won’t hold up.  “You’re not even an architect.” He says it like that surprises him most of all, but she supposes she had been rather passionate about it. She knows as much about design as she does intelligence. “No,” she admits, then admits something else not many people do know.  “But I almost was.” He looks at her again, with regret, anger, and even a sort of empathy she doesn’t think she deserves. “I watched you shoot someone.”  Her demeanor betrays her, as she feels her eyes well up. “I had to.” “I know,” he says quietly, frowning. He closes his eyes and turns away from her, pressing his hands against the kitchen counter and leaning against it, like somehow it’s another realization that hammers in the reality of his girlfriend. 

Annabeth uses the brief respite to furiously wipe at her eyes. She doesn’t know how to salvage this. She wants to, badly. She’s simultaneously done one of the best and worst jobs she’s ever been assigned. Discovering Luke changed the game. Falling in love with Percy altered her life entirely. 

It takes a few minutes, but Percy finally turns back around to look at her. He watches her like she’s a stranger despite the knowing flicker to his eyes. He knows a lot about her, the side of her that isn’t a spy, the side of her she sometimes wishes could be present more often. But she is a spy too, and part of the job description includes sabotage. She’s always been very good at that. She’s just never sabotaged herself before. 

“I told you I loved you,” he says, and that hurts most of all, because it sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Like he can’t believe he’d gone and fallen for her, that he played right into her hands. 

Her expression shatters. “I know,” she says, the words catching. She has to tell him now, because she doesn’t know if she’ll get another chance. It’s a ruinous confession but there’s no escaping it. “And I - I fell in love with you too, Percy. I wanted to tell you so badly.”

He looks gobsmacked. “How? When it was all just - just bullshit to you?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t. It might have started that way, but -”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Annabeth? How can I possibly know anything you say to me is going to be the truth at this point? I just watched you - watched you take on some guy, shoot him in the leg, and work with a whole team of super spies, and now you’re here trying to tell me you love me?” He almost sounds desperate to believe it himself. Like he doesn’t want to not love her. He runs a hand through his hair, and Annabeth doesn’t know what to say to any of that. “Fuck. Jason and Piper, they trusted you too.” 

“I -”

His face darkens. “I introduced you to my mom.” He whirls on her, eyes hard. “Is my mother safe?” 

Annabeth nods immediately, and the look he gives her might be the worst one yet. “I had a team check on her apartment. And someone’s watching outside, just to be sure.” 

Relief washes over him, but anger still bubbles under the surface. Maybe she never should have gone to meet Sally. Maybe this wouldn’t be happening now, because somehow it feels like Sally Jackson is one of the pieces that made everything feel more real. But that’s wishful thinking, because there was no future with Percy Jackson in the cards under the circumstances in which she first came into his life to begin with. She foolishly allowed herself to feel like maybe there could be - like the laughing and the cuddling and the smiling and the happiness that swarmed inside her could be genuine, if she let go of so many other pieces. If she stopped being a liar. 

Luke always did bring out the worst in her, but she doesn’t even know if she can wholly blame him. Percy’s reaction to the truth was doomed to exist, no matter how she admitted herself to him. Perhaps they were doomed from the start too. She knows that. She just wishes she didn’t know that. 

“It explains some things,” Percy says slowly, like he doesn’t want to say it at all. “I guess I tried to ignore them. I really wanted this to work. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Percy.” 

His face is crestfallen. “And I feel like I don’t even know who you are, Annabeth.”

He looks at her for a very, very long time. Annabeth doesn’t keep track. She’s run out of things to say, run out of excuses, run out of apologies, and Percy looks burnt out on his anger. He’s cradling it, afraid to let go, but tired of holding it. 

He deflates. “I can’t…” 

Annabeth swallows. Waiting. It feels like something of an end. 

“Get out. Just go, please.”

She does.

[ladyofstarfall206]

Trial By Jury

Summary: Just a typical Monday morning in the Frat Pack household.

Warnings: None

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Ruhn snarled, banging the wooden top of the kitchen table with a tattooed fist as he leaned closer to Declan who was seated at it with crossed arms. Between them rested the atrocious offense, an empty doughnut box with nothing more than crumbs lining the bottom. “Before I went to bed last night, I distinctly remember there being one chocolate doughnut left. Which I had claimed for breakfast this morning, as per my winning the rock paper scissors match between us after the party.”

Declan’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Well I distinctly remember you being so high on Mirthroot that you walked into the bathroom and fell asleep in the tub instead of your bed. Perhaps it is you who is recalling the events of last night incorrectly, your highness.” The red headed fae spoke Ruhn’s political title with a prominent note of sarcasm and a teasing bow of his head.

“How dare y-“

“You have no right to interrogate my client without his attorney present!” Just then, Flynn struts into the room, boldly throwing an empty briefcase on the table beside Dec and taking his seat across from his two roommates. “Don’t say anything Dec. This male’s a viper and will use anything he can against you in court. I’ll take it from here.”

Ruhn gaped. “You literally attended law school for one month before dropping out. You’re hardly the expert here.”

Flynn gave the Crown Prince a sly dimpled smile, the creases beneath his twinkling brown eyes deepening. “It was enough time to ascertain that you cannot convict my client without probable cause. Do you have any evidence to suggest that he ate your doughnut?”

“Alright, alright. I think this is a matter that we need to settle in a court of law in front of a jury. All rise for the honorable judge!” Ithan raised his hand dramatically before taking his seat beside Bryce and Hunt on the worn couch in the living room. They chuckled as you descended the staircase from the room you shared with your mate Ruhn, striding confidently to the center of the room clad in a black robe with a hammer in your hand in an attempt to appear official in your role.

“No need to fill me in, I heard everything I needed to from the stairs.” You pointed your makeshift gavel at Ruhn. “Prosecution, present your case against the defendant.”

With a smirk, Ruhn cleared his throat and approached the bench. “That my bath roab your honor? It suits you well.”

“Objection! Irrelevant commentary from the prosecutor, your honor!” Flynn stood from the table and made his indignance known.

A light dusting of pink bloomed on your cheeks and you tried to keep from laughing. “Proceed with your case, prosecution, or I’ll hold you in contempt.”

“Tough crowd.” Ruhn muttered before continuing. “I have reason to believe that the defendant stole my doughnut, your honor. He was the last of us to go to bed last night, and it was long gone by the time I woke up this morning.”

“Are there any witnesses who can attest to the crime?” You looked around the room and received no volunteers.

“The prosecutor has no proof your honor. Plus he searched the defendant’s backpack without a warrant and began interrogating him without including me.” Flynn informs you smoothly.

You nod, calling a brief recess for the jury to make their verdict. Ithan, Bryce, and Hunt whispered amongst themselves while Flynn and Dec shared a high five.

You tallied the votes and announced, “The defendant Declan Emmet is found not guilty of the crime of stolen property!” You tapped the head of the hammer against the table to solidify your decree.

As the room began filing out, Ruhn pouted. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

You chuckle and kiss his nose as you walk by. “Maybe you’ll remember this next time you decide to shirk dish duty, my mate.”

[rachi-roo]

Hiyaaaa, Rachi! How are you doing? If fic requests are open, may I please request a (romantic if possible) Lee! Fyodor Ler! Dazai fic?

You know how Fyodor is all calculated and menacing? Yeah, that flies out the moment he's tickled. Let me tell you, it's canon (prove me otherwise😂) that this rat man would be the cutest lee. I'm talking cute-ass nervous/anticipation giggles, his eyes furiously trained on the hands of the ler (our whore-I mean Dazai), twitching when he hasn't even been touched yet. And even Dazai is flabbergasted when he hears the rat's tickly laugh. It's uncharacteristically sweet😂. He doesn't even tease him about it because it's so adorable.

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Bungo Stray Dogs: "Did you know rats laugh when tickled?"

Hi friendo! Im doing fabulous, thank you! Hope you're well! Oooh! Another challenging one~ Thank you very much for the ask! FyoZai is an interesting ship, one I hadn't considered before now 🤔 Kinda gay but we love that XD Tough, menacing men's being turned into jelly at just sight of wriggling fingers will ALWAYS be a favourite! I've written them as kind of frenemies with benefits XD I hope it satisfies! ❤️🩷❤️

Summary: Dazai manages to break into Fyodors temporary secret residence and has an important fact he has to share!

Lee!Fyodor, Ler!Dazai, Ship

Tw: Mild 'suggestive' flirting/ physical contact

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Night fell over the busy city streets, Fyodor was sitting alone in an inconspicuous little motel rental apartment. It's just somewhere peaceful to stop off between his usual stabbing and hacking and whatnot.

The Russian sighed, running a hand through his ebony locks as he lay on the bed provided, wearing something a little less formal for his rest. Just some black joggers and an oversized shirt. Nice and comfy.

As he stared at the ceiling, he felt his eyelids grow heavy, starting to slip closed as his mind began to fog up with sleep.

Ssshuk-

The unmistakable sound of a sliding window being lifted startled the resting terrorist, making him sit up instantly, just in time to see a gangly leg and arm fall through the window.

"Hupsy daisy!" The lanky limbs belonged to none other than Dazai Osamu. He poked his head in with a smirk, looking directly at Fyodor with a chuckle.

"There you are~!" He chimed, pulling himself through the tiny window and dusting himself off. "Geez, I thought the information said room four. I just saw the little old lady next door completely butt nude. Not a pleasant sight." He cringed.

Fyodor was already at his mental capacity limit just by having this goon break in through the window. But he knew this was far from over.

"What do you want, Dazai?" He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn't bother asking how Dazai found his location. He knew the goober would probably just say 'magic' or something stupid like that.

Dazai grinned, sitting by Fyodors' side on the edge of his bed. "Awww, c'mon buddy. Do I really need a reason to visit my arch nemesis slash bestie?" He chuckled, kicking his shoes off and turning to sit cross-legged on the bed.

"Dazai," Fyodor sighed, covering his mouth as he yawned. "I'm tired, okay? Can we do this another time? Go talk to Granny next door if you're bored." He turned on his side, nuzzling his face into his pillow, hoping Dazai would just leave if he ignored him.

Obviously, that wasn't going to work at all. Being ignored only edged him on. "But I have a fun fact for you! Come ooooon!" He shook the russians arm playfully.

"Uuuugh... Will you go if I listen to your stupid fact?"

"Yes! Immediately!" Dazai nodded.

"Fine! What is it?" Fyodor kept his face half buried in his pillow before feeling Dazai suddenly grab him and flip him onto his back, straddling his waist and pinning his arms beside his head in one swift movement.

"Aaaalright!" The brunette beamed. "Did you know rats laugh when tickled?"

The floor fell from beneath Fyodor. He felt his stomach drop and then fill with butterflies. His heart rate suddenly shot up as his cheeks flushed with a pink glow.

"I did not know... That rats could do that. No." He felt so very silly at just how immediate his reaction was to a simple word. One damn word!

"You didn't know that? Whaaaat? That's craaaazy!" Dazai dragged out sarcastically, knowing he had Fyodor right where he wanted him.

"No, so, is that all? Or is th-ehee! No! No, stop that." Fyodors' demonic reputation was stripped from him. All Dazai had to do was raise his hands and flex those fiendish fingers, and Fyodor melted like cotton candy in a stream.

Dazai smirked, cruelly edging his teasing fingers closer to Fyodors torso, not giving any indication as to where he would actually strike.

"What's the matter, Fyodor? It's not like you're a rat or anything. Unless, maybe you are? Maybe you're a silly, giggly, ticklish little rat~!" God, his teasing was relentless!

Fyodor tried biting back his anxious giggling as he fought with Dazais hands. Swatting and grabbing at any advances the detective made.

"Stohohp! Dazai! This isn't fuhunnyyy!" He managed to grip both of Dazais wrists, grinning giddily up at his attacker as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oh, but it is funny! It's so, so funny to see you wriggling like a widdle wat!" Dazai smirked, letting Fyodor hold his wrists for a moment as he leaned down, softly placing a few butterfly kisses on his 'friend's' neck, making his shoulders bunch.

"Hehe! N-Noho! Dazai! G-Get ohoff!" He blushed profusely, his feet kicking against the mattress. In the split second that he was distracted, Dazai snuck his hands down, digging into Flydors' sides, kneading into them with his nimble fingers.

"Gotcha, ratty!"

"NYAHAHA! Shit! Shiiit! Naaahaha!"

Dazai put his full weight on Fyodor, keeping him trapped as he gripped his hips, drilling his thumbs into the protruding bone.

"Oh, what a skinny rat you are~"

"Wait! Dazai not thEHEHAHAHAAAAA!"

Fyodor wheezed as he tried to curl up, his hips bucking slightly against Dazais. The suicidal numpty chuckled, making silly false moaning sounds.

"Ah~ Fyodor~ Harder~!"

"GET OFFA MEHEHE! Y-You peheherv!" Fyodor pushed on Dazais cheeks, trying to wriggle himself free.

"You crehehEHEHEEP! AH! Ya ub'yu tebyahaha, ublyudok! UMEREHEHET!"

"Uuuh, no tengo espanol?"

"Screhehew you!"

"Ah~! How forward of you my dear~!"

"DAZAI!" Fyodor grabbed Dazais' hands, pulling them away from his hips only to have his own hands suddenly pinned over his head with one of Dazais.

"Got you nooow~" Dazai grinned evily, wriggling his finger close to Fyodors exposed armpits, enjoying the power he weilded as he watched his helpless buddy writhe and flinch beneath him.

"Stohop teasing! You neheheee! No!"

Dazai gasped, seeing Fyodors shirt had ridden up. "Ohoho! What do we have here~?" He cooed, slowly starting to drag his fingers back and forth over his exposed tummy, biting his lip as he watched Fyodors skin tremble.

"A-Aha! Gh-! Stoahahap! Hah-!"

"Coochie, coochie, cooo little rat~" He dipped his finger into his belly button, earning a satisfying squeal. "Hehe, what a squeaky little rat you are! Eek, eek!"

"I swehear I-Ihihi'm gonna kill you!"

"You what?"

"I'll kIHIHIIIIIYAHAHA!" The Russians body arched as Dazai suddenly switched his tactics, clawing at Fyodors underarm.

"Didn't quite catch that, buddy." Dazai taunted, smiling down at Fyodors' exasperated expression. His eyes scrunched shut, his tear stained cheeks a warm pink hue and his bright unyielding smile filling the room with his loud, relentless laughter. It brought out the sadist in Dazai, seeing his loved one like this.

"I could go all night with you like this~ It's quite a nice view. Tickle, tickle, tickle~"

"Plehehease! No! Noho! Mehercy! AHAHAHAAAAA!"

---------

Finally, Dazai was satisfied. He hopped off his partner, stretching his arms as if nothing had happened, slipping his shoes on casually as he listened to Fyodors heavy breathing.

"Did I go too hard?" He asked, turning to look as Fyodor curled in on himself, hiding his face in his pillow as he hugged it to his chest.

"Haha, awww, lil' rat is all tired. Darn, look at the mess you've made." He chuckled, gesturing to the bed sheets that had been pulled loose due to all Fyodors thrashing.

He smiled, gently tucking the bed sheets back under the mattress, so they were nice and neat. "Are you really ignoring me now?... Fyodooor?" Dazai chimed, swiping a finger across Fyodors bare foot, immediately getting smacked across the face with a pillow.

"DAMN IT DAZAI!"

"What!? I thought we were having a moment!"

"OUT! Get out!" Fyodor growled, his face beat red, steam pouring from his ears like he was ready to burst.

"But Fyodooor!"

"NO! Y-You're the worst!"

"Okay, okay." Dazai leaned in suddenly, placing a soft kiss on his partner's forehead, making Fyodor need a reboot. "I'll catch you later, ratty~" Dazai smirked, already halfway out the window again when Fyodor tossed his pillow at him.

"OUT!"

"Love you too!"

Fyodor sighed, flopping back down onto his bed with a huff.

"Yeah..."

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[naishite]

Praying During a Sin

NSFW Diluc!Christian x Reader!Succubus

Warning !!! religious themes, degradtion, and humiliation, and handjob !!!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Mondstadts bachelor, Diluc Ravindger, age 22. He could have any women he desired having owning the infamous Dawn Winery and every women in Mondstadt fawning over him and his status.

Crepus, his late father was a Christian. He was a heavy believer in God – such beliefs passed onto Diluc. However for his brother, Kaeya, not so much. Kaeya didn’t have much care for religion, he didn’t even worship or care about Barbatos.

Even with Diluc’s angelic beliefs, it withered away with his fathers passing – blurring his morality and his connection with God.

He knew he could any women he wanted, so why did he crave such a sin? Summoning a succubus would be a far greater sin than just picking up some random girl on the streets outside Angels Share. But for some reason, the thought of sinning by summoning and having sex with a succubus turned him on. It made him incredibly aroused at just the thought.

So there he was, the stoic face that towered the wine industry, now towering over a pentagram for a taste for the forbidden fruit.

Saying and repeating lines in order to summon such a demon, rose scented candles on each point of the pentagram, it was making the tent in his pants even bigger and making him even more impatient.

Suddenly, a cloud of dust arose from the middle of the circle. A being with horns, wings, and a perky tail with the end shaped as a heart appeared. Within the dust the succubus’s glowing womb tattoo glowed within Diluc’s dark room, the atmosphere thick and heavy with arousal.

“So you wish to have me, hm?” she says looking at Diluc intensely, the eye contact shooting straight to his needy pulsing cock.

“Yes… please”, he says feeling guilty and ashamed for the sin he’s about to commit. Diluc’s cross necklace jingles as he drops to his knees, his erection being too far for him to handle. “Was I this hard before? This pleasure is far too much… Did it get worse when this… succubus… appeared?” he thought to himself finding himself staring at the humanoid demon.

She starts walking towards him, a grin stained onto her face as she walks closer and closer toward the suddenly submissive usually stoic man. She towers in front of him, looking down upon the man watching as he writhes in his own arousement.

She places the heel of her boot on his crotch, elicting a sharp mewl from him. “Augh! Mmm… Oh my god…” he whines, tilting his head back in pleasure. “Don’t use God’s name in vain” she says mockingly, entertained and interested in the morality of why a Christian summoned for a person such as herself.

“So needy already? Poor boy… I’ll take care of you don’t you worry”. Diluc bucks his hips into the heel of her boot, his cock swelling and his blissed out expression is an angelic sight to see.

She giggles and releases the pressure of her boot on his cock making Diluc’s breath hitch and let out a whine from the loss of pleasure.

A flash of anger arises from him, “Why would you do that!”. He clutches his fists in frustration, however the fucked out expression from such little pleasure tells a different story. “I wanna make you cum in an even better way. Did you really wanna cum pathetically in your pants? Actually, knowing you so far, you’d probably want that even more”. Her humiliating words send shockwaves of pleasure straight to his cock, making it throb impossibly even further.

“You’re a secret slut it seems, huh? You’d get off to whatever I say to you. You’re nothing but a common whore”.

She gets down to his level, unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his restraining pants holding his cock down. A slight push to his chest to motion him to lay down and he topples over like an obedient dog. “Virgin much?” she says, toying with the tip of his erection laying down on his abdomen. He lets out a wonton moan, already pathetically pleasure drunk on the pitiful strokes to his cock.

“Good boy…”, she praises while stroking his cock lazily. “Ma’am… Ohh… Please do more. I need more please…” he begs as his thighs shake.

Suddenly, Diluc clasps his hands together as if he’s in a prayer.

“Lord… Please forgive me… hah… for I have s-sinned…!” he chants out while moaning. The succubus laughs, “praying during a sin is pathetic… you’re a slut so don’t bother asking for forgiveness and just accept it”.

“No! I’m not! I’m not slut…!” Diluc cries out.

“If you’re not a slut then why are you moaning and crying like one then, hm?”

His pulse quickened with every lazy stroke making his lips parted with drool starting to come down from the side of his lips.

He let out a strangled moan which arose a small chuckle from the succubus eliciting such pleasure to him.

“That’s it Diluc… Be good for me” she purrs.

A sharp whine pierces through the intoxicating atmosphere of the room as her pace gets faster. “Ngh… Faster faster! Please mistress…!!!” he cries out.

“Don’t order me around slut”, she slaps him hard across the face with her free hand. His cock twitches at the sudden contact which makes him let out a hoarse moan as he cums, his disheveled figure crumbling even further as he cums on her torso and on his thighs.

“That’s it… Good boy Diluc”.

[hxllo-nana]

Alright, I have finished all 4 currently released parts (I originally thought only 2 parts were released, and then I went on the Inkubators-arc-mov tumblr, and saw there were two more parts out! And long ones too!!) of Ink-Ubator Tape 25, and with that, I have decided to make Ask(s) again after a bit since my last ones.

Probably not just on Ink-Ubator though.

First, in this, Ask, and I already brought this up, but I am just asking again, because I am curious about the answers (if u don't know or remember or etc. these answers. I totally get that),. But I noticed in this Ask from me, https://www.tumblr.com/hxllo-nana/753009033796042752/thanks-for-answering-my-last-ask-now-to-finish?source=share , had some cut off answers, so I am wondering if you know or remember what you were going to say with the answers that were cut off/weren't finished (at least for me).

2nd, I will get that Dead Ringer merch someday (hopefully), because I love those stickers and stuff and Dead Ringer and physical stuff. But gonna wait for now (for money reasons, lol).

3rd, when I saw u start posting Ink-Ubator Tape 25, I thought I had missed a lot of Inkubator's Arc stuff, but then I went to the Inkubator's Arc Mov tumblr, and saw I had already saw in some form the stuff u posted before u started posting Tape 25. So I wasn't actually missing as much as I thought (though tbf, even if I was, I wouldn't have minded that much, would mean I have more stuff to go through).

Anyways, loving the more stuff u are posting for Inkbator's arc. Tape 25 has been really good and interesting so far. And the comic pages look gorgeous. And I as always, u draw and color the characters so good (currently just Ink, Killer, and Nightmare some, so far, in Tape 25, that is).

I love how u depict Killer Sans. Smart, clever, pushes his luck to the point he seems he might have a death wish, manipulative, nihilistic and/or fatalistic, playful and/or mischievous, likes to push buttons for his own amusement, but also on other orders too - like he was messing with Ink, to see how much he can piss him off, because he is is both Sans (who loves to push people's buttons/mess with people) and Killer Sans (and who is still very much that, hahaha), but also, because Nightmare ordered him to rile Ink up (and Ink complied pretty well with that. I.e. Killer didn't even need to try TOO hard to rile Ink up). And etc. Basically, LOVE ur Killer Sans. I can't tell rather Dead Ringer Dust Sans and the Brother (Classic/Failed DustTale timeline Sans) would hate him or have fun with him or both.

Curious/excited to see how Dust and Killer from ur Inkubator's series interact.

Ink falling/becoming a fallen star. Trying to still be a good guy, despite the things he has done, and etc. as Killer said.

Him being drunk on his paints (which Killer is very much enjoying seeing him being drunk), and having pretty severe mood swings. And basically trying to Kill Killer Sans and threatening him (though Killer was really pushing his luck), and Killer trying to stop Ink from going into Cross' room (Oh boy, if UV/XT is anything to go by, Ink and Cross have a very complicated relationship. Excited to see Cross, hopefully in this, and interactions between him and Ink).

It is interesting that Killer Sans tried to get Ink not to leave and explore the rest of the castle, and was trying to get Nightmare to find them, because that would be "bad". Considering Nightmare's orders Killer, I think this was mainly a lie/façade on Killer's part. Mainly.

Killer and Ink's interactions were so fun. Killer was probably one of the worst of the Bad Guys to interact with Ink, in the state he is (though, maybe perfect for Nightmare's purposes), but God, were their interactions fun to see.

Btw, if u couldn't tell from what I already said, I also love how u portray Ink for the reasons I said, but also, for being very scary sometimes, and conflicted, and his fallen black and red winged form thing was awesome and terrifying, and like mood switches/swaps are VERY interesting, and, I just love u portray Ink.

Also, as I said already, basically, how u draw/color everyone is so good. I esp. love Killer's eyes, mouth, and soul, and Ink's eyes.

Nightmare's eye and tentacles are cool too.

And etc.

1/?.

Hello again! :D

“I am wondering if you know or remember what you were going to say with the answers that were cut off/weren't finished”

answers were cut to cuz i couldn’t keep my mouth shut from spoileries :3

“I thought I had missed a lot of Inkubator's Arc stuff, but then I went to the Inkubator's Arc Mov tumblr, and saw I had already saw in some form the stuff u posted before u started posting Tape 25.”

ah, yes, the tapes are not in order and are scattered all over the place unfortunately. So far half of tape 25 has been uncovered. Yes. Half.

“Basically, LOVE ur Killer Sans. I can't tell rather Dead Ringer Dust Sans and the Brother (Classic/Failed DustTale timeline Sans) would hate him or have fun with him or both”

As a killer sans hater it was my duty to make everyone hate him as much as i do. I have failed. My followers are full of killer lovers even more. Who cursed me? Whatever, love the little shit he is, WHATEVER!!! DeadRinger Dust and Killer would get along as they both match in insanity. DeadRinger Sans would absolutely hate him but he won’t let anyone know that :)

“Killer trying to stop Ink from going into Cross' room (Oh boy, if UV/XT is anything to go by, Ink and Cross have a very complicated relationship”

very complicated relationship…despite that. It’s best they get along if they know what’s best for them.

“It is interesting that Killer Sans tried to get Ink not to leave and explore the rest of the castle, and was trying to get Nightmare to find them, because that would be "bad"”

Ohho! Killer had no problem on keeping Ink in the castle! Ink wouldn’t be able to leave even if he wanted to. But it’s funny to Killer to let him think he could!

“I also love how u portray Ink for the reasons I said”

I really hope i’m portraying him correctly and as close to canon as possible so it would be clear to spot what’s wrong with him.

[the-bar-sinister]

The Mechanics of Emotion (17440 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

Simon had spent the past year living like it was going to be his last year on earth– because it was. But now he is still alive, and there are questions unasked that demand answers. Just what is his relationship with the detective going to be going forward? And what complications of his own does Bobby Fulbright have up his sleeve?

Not to mention that there are two more members of the Phantom Organization who've been captured that Simon now needs to prosecute, and Athena must defend. Love and chaos in LA. In justice we trust– but who understands the mechanics of emotion?

-

December 27, 10:35 am

Simon and Athena had been poking around the so-called "Blackquill Manor" for the last half an hour.

The house was a bit of a mess– mostly from the various unused rooms having accumulated dust and cobwebs, save for the staple rooms of the ‘kitchen, living room, and bedroom’...as well as a room it seemed Aura set up as a home lab, complete with various robotics half completed on a worktable that looked like it’d seen it’s fair share of experiments pass it’s surface.

Athena had had a sneezing fit when she tried entering one of the bedrooms. Simon’s parents bedroom…and gotten a noseful of dust and negligence. She’d been surprised when Simon’s old room had been neat as a pin, and even MORE surprised when Aura’s room wasn’t a mad scientist’s rats nest, and more… elegantly comfortable.

It was clear that while it would make a pretty good living space for Simon– it’d be a bit of an ordeal to get it as clean as it should be.

“I guess she tended to get so wrapped up in her work that she kept forgetting to come home, or ah…to dust the rooms she didn’t think about.” 

"Yes, it seems you were right to be dubious about my father's bed," Simon drawled as they made their way back to the living room.

“Yeahhhhh.” Athena grimaced as she sagged. “Don’t even wanna think about how many spiders may be in that thing.” 

"Disgusting. The worst of it is that Aura will likely get cross with me if I decide to clean it up."

“You really think so?” Athena’s eyes widened. “Huh…I mean…yeah actually knowing Aura you’re probably not wrong about that. She’d either laugh at it triggering my allergies if I helped, or get pissed with you messing with it…”

She tugged at her hair. “but your room’s really clean, at least.” 

"So I noticed." Simon crossed his arms, and glanced away. "My sister has clearly been taking care of it in my absence."

“She was hoping that she could save you before your execution.” Athena mused, thinking back over Aura’s furious defiance of fate. The desperation that led her to force a retrial no matter who may get hurt.

She couldn’t say she wouldn’t have gone that far herself if she’d somehow failed to become a lawyer in time. 

"Well, I suppose she got her wish– devil's bargain that it was. I hope she's enjoying the fruits of her labor." Simon's smile twitched, and Athena could feel his apprehension. It was clear that the thoughts of his sister were difficult for him.

Athena reached out to put her hand on his arm. 

“I don’t know…I.. I can’t bring myself to visit just yet. But Simon, if you’re not ready to talk about her, or if there’s something you’re worried about..” 

He leaned a little into her touch, and sighed. "There's plenty that I'm worried about, I'm afraid, Athena. We both know it wouldn't do any good for me to try to hide that from you. I visited her this morning and I… said very little about the last week."

Athena felt a ping of nerves as she murmured “...Halblicht?” 

She could imagine Aura’s reaction upon finding out, not only that the man who killed Athena’s mother was still alive, but was in some sort of ambiguous relationship with her brother…and that Simon had been lying about him for days.

It wasn’t only that– Athena had no idea if Aura even forgave her.

No, every detail of the past week was a time bomb waiting to go off in Aura Blackquill’s already tumultuous and volatile heart. 

"Halblicht," Simon agreed with a leaden tone. "I can't imagine explaining it to her. Saying it to her face."

Simon's anxiety and sadness warred together in an emotion she didn't often feel from Simon– shame.

Athena’s own emotions were complicated– unsure and nervous about her own future, but she knew one thing.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed , Simon. ” She squeezed his arm. “I don’t know if she’ll understand. Probably not right away. But you don’t have to feel ashamed of your feelings about him. Aura…I care about her too…but her wounds of the heart aren’t healed and it means she’s prone to lashing out. That’s not a reflection on your feelings.” 

Simon put his hand on her arm, and she could feel the tension running through him. "Whatever you say, and however right or wrong you may be– I still feel that shame. I don't know what might be able to abate it. But I will bear it for now, because well– "

Athena felt the pulse of joy from Simon's heart that could only be one thing. Love.

“Because you love him, Simon…” Athena gave him an outward smile. “I can tell.” 

Her internal emotions had dulled to the low and quiet hum she was well used to, the bare flickers of personal anxiety and joy for Simon, and something unfamiliar and flickering

It’s no surprise he loves them. They’re charming, fascinating, kind even after everything, and provided comfort and affection during the worst time in Simon’s life. Even with the heartbreak and confusion, love bloomed easy enough. She quashed her anxieties, her selfish worries of ‘will I still fit’ in favor of nursing the quiet hum of joy to the surface and her smile.

“We’ll figure out what to do about Aura. I– I’ll do what I can.” 

"Thank you, Athnea, I ah…" he trailed off and squeezed her hand. "I feel somewhat unworthy of your endless kindness."

Athena’s smile didn’t leave as she squeezed his hand tightly. 

“Simon, come on. You know you’re not unworthy. You’ve got seven years of missed kindness to catch back up on, right?” She looked up at him “and I care about you, you know? I really do want you to be happy. No matter what.” 

"I appreciate that, Athena. I–" he glanced away, though his hand didn't leave hers. "Why don't we find out if my sister has any bloody coffee in the kitchen, shall we? Instead of standing around in the living room like a pair of awkward lumps."

Athena squeezed his hand and started to drag him towards the kitchen. “Alright, alright…but if she doesn’t, I’ll buy us coffee on Mr. Wright’s dime as SOON as we leave, yeah?” 

"Please do," he scowled, following her toward his old family kitchen. "But, it's not about the coffee in this case. It's about…"

His anxiety flashed bright in her mind.

Athena twitched, a physical reaction to a strong emotion that reverberated through her as she pushed the kitchen door open and stepped inside.

“...” she let him continue.

"About us, Athena. If you'd hear me out. Finish the conversation we were having in the car."

He didn't look at her, instead glancing around at the kitchen that must once have been familiar to him.

Athena took a deep, shaky breath , before she flashed her biggest smile. 

“I’m ready to get back to that, yeah. I’ll hear you out. Do you need me to help you look around, or…or should I have a seat?” 

"Why don't you help me if you don't mind? It's not as if I know my way around the kitchen any more,"

The kitchen was pin-neat, but absolutely filled with gadgets of all sorts…many of which looked like they’d never been used. Some kind of modified mixer sat quietly beside a spice cabinet fitted with a gauge displaying a temperature reading and some interface on one end of the countertop…and an absolutely ornate kitchen scale still bearing traces of flour from the last time it’d been used.

Athena wandered, trying to open the spice cabinet first before it beeped at her and she startled back .“Hah!?” 

Immediately, Simon was there behind her to steady her before she could fall over. "Careful there. Or you're going to make a nasty mess on my sister's kitchen floor."

Athena’s heart beat quickly as she leaned back against him “but it yelled at me, Simon!”

She couldn’t help the indignant whine in her voice.

"And? I yell at you all the time!" He huffed, but she felt his amusement and could tell that behind her he was grinning that sly grin of his. He righted her on her feet and then released her. "Another funny surprise from my sister it seems."

Athena huffed. “I’m going to shake her when she’s out of prison. Shake her VERY MUCH for this.”

She had turned pink, and was brushing herself off when she looked up at it again. “Looks like you have to select what kind of spices you want…and it must unlock them? Is this thing temperature and air controlled?” 

Simon observed the strange and elaborate cabinet configuration. "It would seem so. A nefarious barrier between ourselves and our goal."

“She really is kind of a cad, isn’t she?” Athena huffed. “At least it’s only a button press away.”

She reached up and cycled before she found something reading ‘coffees and tea’ and hit the green enter button.

Off to her left, one of the cabinet lights flicked green and clicked open with a hiss of air pressure. 

Simon bustled over toward the lighted cabinets. "Ah, here we are, I suppose? And one of these gadgets ought to make coffee. Shame she doesn't have something simpler."

“I think she thinks it’s organized in her own mind! And it’s probably alright for keeping food fresh for longer, too…” She shook her head. “You’re a samurai with a sister who’s a technology obsessed sci-fi antagonist.” 

"How miserably anime," he drawled. He got down the coffee, and went hunting for something resembling a coffee maker.

“You say that as if you hate anime, Simon.” Athena smiled at him as she trotted on his heels. “...and I know for a fact you’re kind of a huge nerd for it. I still gotta get you and Halblicht to sit down with me for …for..ah..”

She trailed off “Macross, Love across the universe…”

Next to the mixer there was a glass pitcher and some kind of gadget sat on top of it, perhaps her own take on an automatic coffee machine– with a twist. It didn’t look like it was going to explode if they used it.

Simon snorted as he looked over the gadgets poking at them with thinly veiled disdain. 

"Get me some water, Athena," he harumphed. "I think this is the right machine. As for anime, I prefer live action dramas. But I'll admit I was intrigued by the one you were trying to show us."

He measured out coffee grounds, putting them in the filter and giving it a dubious look as he put it into place.

Athena was all but stopped as she went to go grab the water, when she noticed a switch on the machine. “Simon, it looks like it’s connected to the sink system.”

She leaned over and pushed the switch down.

A small arm popped up a moment later, and began to swirl around the pot at a slow and steady interval as hot water poured from somewhere below the machine and into the grounds.

It was some sort of automatic pour over machine.

“You were intrigued though, huh? It’s one of my favorites, you know.” 

Simon stared at the machine in disbelief and betrayal. He shook his head and focused on Athena instead.

"One of your favorites, hmm? Well, I'll have to tolerate sitting through it for certain then."

Athena laughed, leaning on the counter as the machine went about its work .

“Geeze Simon, you must be a riot at parties. But if you’ll deign to sit through it…I think you’ll have fun."

Simon smirked and tapped his temple. "I wouldn't know, I haven't been to a party in a long time."

He watched as the machine squirted steaming coffee into a pair of mugs.

“We’ll have to hold one for you special then.” Athena walked over and dropped herself into one of the chairs. 

Simon picked up the full mugs, and plopped gracelessly down into the chair right next to her. He handed her a cup of coffee.

"Are you trying to torment me, then?"

Athena grabbed the coffee with an impish wink. “Maybe a little bit. I’m allowed to have my fun after you kept me busy for 7 years trying to save your butt.” 

"I suppose I can concede that– but I won't let you harass me uncontested. Consider yourself warned." He smirked over his coffee and took a long sip. "Hmm. Adequate."

“I’ve been warned , Mr. Blackquill.’ Athena took a sip of it as well. It, honestly was pretty good, but– she supposed Simon must have had some rigid standards when it came to coffee. “It’s pretty good?” 

"It's acceptable. A bitter brew to accompany a bitter conversation, I suppose." He took another sip and looked over at her. "Would you like to start, or shall I?"

“Bitter conversation…” Athena’s smile faltered. “You should start, Simon. I’m likely to get tripped up trying to manage emotions and …and get nowhere fast.” 

"Alright then, so be it." He took a deep breath, and turned toward her more fully, coffee in his hands. "Athena– for seven long years I lived among scoundrels and the condemned, as a man likewise condemned. As a scoundrel. Such was my company. The dregs of society. The ruffians and outcasts. Such things leave their mark– and I was not so noble a man to begin with."

His dark eyes stayed trained on her, watching her. His torrid emotions had become almost placid– not quiet, but harmonious. Inscrutable.

Athena nodded slowly. “...it’s only natural it’d leave a mark, Simon.”

She folded her hands around the coffee mug to stare him down. “Even if you didn’t commit the crime, socially speaking you were as much a criminal as the rest…”

"So I was. And so I am. I have known many kinds of scoundrels these last seven years. Walked among them. Learned their ways. Been changed by them. I strive to be a good man, Athena, but I am a ruffian."

Athena’s brow furrowed slightly as she listened. It was true, of course, he’d been learning from ‘scoundrels and ruffians’ as he put it for 7 years. Made friends with them, including some who’d stepped back into the people around her’s lives as their sentences abated…

It was only natural that it’d change him from the man she’d known growing up, into the man she faced in court….but… “...can I ask you something, Simon?” 

"You may," he said evenly. "Though I have more to say."

He gestured for her to speak.

“No…” Athena held her hand up. “Go on. This can wait till I hear the rest.”

Are you trying to convince me that you’re somehow not ‘noble’ enough for me?

He took a breath. "Very well. Athena– you deserve a good man. You deserve a prince who will ride into the sunset with you on a white horse. You deserve a man who will devote his whole heart to you, and to no one else. But I am not that man. I am a ruffian. And I know the ways of ruffians."

I knew it. Her shoulders sagged, just the slightest as he continued and her eyes flicked down towards the table.  He’s trying to convince me he’s not good enough. That I’m looking for…deserve…a prince to come riding to my rescue like we joked about that night. But I’m not like most people. My heart can’t…won’t…feel the same things they do in the same ways…and I don’t care if the rules of society say a pure and devoted prince is what I should somehow want. He’d changed since the UR-1 Incident…but did I ever make him think it was a bad thing outside his imprisonment? Between that…Europe’s scene…and the Wunder Bar and the Wright Anything Agency…why would I ever judge him for any of that?

His dark gaze swept over her as he spoke. 

"I don't know if you want a ruffian, when you could have a prince. And I don't know what the hell my dear detective twins want. But if you want a ruffian, Athena, and if they're… amenable to such a thing… we could perhaps come to a rough arrangement. The three– four of us. It's no noble romance that you deserve. But that's all I have to offer you."

Athena startled as he continued, her mouth open to object before he’d continued. Her gaze softened, and she turned a surprised pink. 

“....I don’t think I deserve a noble romance, Simon.” she said in a quiet and even voice, omitting any of her usual projection. She rubbed her arm, and gave him a small but genuine smile.

“And not because of self esteem. I was the one who came on the white horse, but I’m not a prince. I’m unusual– I’m difficult to understand, and I see things in ways most people don’t. I’m not …I’m not looking for a prince , or a noble romance. I’m looking for someone who cares about me, and I care for them back.” She turned a slight pink despite her subdued emotional state. “....and I did find that cramped bed in Cauli strangely comfortable.” 

He lifted his chin, looking her over, and he reached out his free hand and touched her arm. "You said as much in the car. I wasn't sure if I was reading too much into your intentions when you said it, but– it's why I felt like I could say what I just did."

Athena’s eyes hesitantly met with his, and she placed her hand against his fingers with a quiet smile. 

“I’m glad you could say it…and I mean it when I say I’m willing to try it, Simon. Coming to some kind of ‘rough arrangement’ if they’re amenable, I mean. I can’t promise I’ll be smooth or that I won’t falter here and there, I’m still learning a lot about how to process these sorts of feelings , but…” 

Simon's fingers curled around her arm gently as she put her hand on his. "I don't think that I'm far ahead of you, admittedly."

She nodded, and leaned over the table. “We’re both learning, Mr. Halblicht is sure to be too– it’s likely to be messy, but I’m willing to try. You know my feelings for you, and I can assure you that..that I want this, if we’re all amenable to it.” 

"The heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose," he said, looking off into the distance. He slipped his arm around her. "This is going to be messy, Athena, if it goes forward. We're likely going to hurt each other in unexpected ways. But I suppose I'm a selfish man in my way."

Athena leaned into his arm and nodded slowly.

“The heart wants what the heart wants. And I’m– I’m a little selfish myself. I don’t want to give up those moments of joy I started to find in Cauli, with you or with them.” She smiled wanly. “I’ll wade through any mess, or hurt, if it means a future where we can be a part of each other's lives. If we’re all amenable...” 

"I'm supposed to meet up with Halblicht in a couple of hours or so," Simon murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose it will be a good idea to get the conversation out of the way."

Athena took a deep breath, and looped both her arms around him in a sudden gesture, leaning under his arm with a small smile 

“It’s probably for the best. Like ripping a bandaid off. Can’t know how to move forward if we’re still in limbo, right?” 

"No. And I've been in limbo for too long, Athena. Seven years too long. Do forgive me if it means that I rush forward."

Athena leaned up and kissed his cheek “I think we’ve all spent too long in limbo, Simon. I’m…I’m not exactly keen on waiting around cautiously either. So I’d say you’re more than forgiven already!” 

"Thank you, Athena. And I'm sorry too, for all the ways in the future that I will surely hurt you, and let you down. I'm a humble man– I know it will happen."

Athena chuckled softly. 

“It might. But life isn’t a fairy tale or a noble stage play. All that’s just part of life.” She poked his chest. “I’m sure to let you down , or even hurt you, sometimes too.”

Simon laughed incredulously. "I'm almost looking forward to it. A relationship, perhaps, is like a struggle in the courtroom. But– let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to take our case to Bobby and Robert."

Athena winked at him. 

“We know a lot about struggling in the courtroom, Mr. Blackquill.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully “...if we gotta take our case to them…should we prepare evidence?” 

Simon gave her a dubious look and raised an eyebrow. "I'm curious just what you'll suggest we prepare."

“Well…if the things I’ve gleaned from the sorts of shows and comics Mr. Wright owns are true– a powerpoint or slideshow is traditional.” 

Simon stared at her with increasing dumbfounded condescension. "Go on."

Athena shrunk down in her chair, and finally drank a sip of her cooling coffee. 

“you…put…together a slideshow…of…uhm..” she murmured “pictures and pros and cons…” She took a longer sip of the coffee with a flush “OH! M ixtapes! Mixtapes are even more traditional! Mr. Wright even endorsed that one!” 

"A mix tape. A slide-show. And what, pray tell Cykes-dono, do you suggest we include here? Go on. Give me an example of what the content of this would be."

Athena gave him an awkward smile, shrugging her shoulders with a grin “A song that makes you think of the three of us? To uh…really sell it as a polypossibility?” 

Simon put his hand to his face, and dragged it down his cheek, staring at her in utter horror. "... yes I think Bobby would love that."

[aphelea]

Live Rayni Reaction

Shh I know day 2 of @tiertice-week-2023 was yesterday. Ignore that for a moment and have a short Solreef family fic. Prompt: Rings.

Summary: Rayni notices a ring on Tiergan's finger, and Tiergan and Prentice discover that their kids are missing some key pieces of information about their dads.

In a house full of rebel-trained, observant children, it’s rather hard for Tiergan to keep a secret. 

(It’s also rather hard for him to stop viewing Rayni and Wylie as children—they may be twenty-four and twenty-six, respectively, but that’s still young compared to Tiergan’s long years.)

So Tiergan honestly isn’t surprised when Rayni appears in front of him, in that ghostly, near-silent way that she always somehow manages.

“Good morning, Rayni,” he greets, and she only frowns at him. “Is something wrong?” 

“You have a ring,” she says, gaze trained on his left hand.

He raises an eyebrow. “I do, yes.” 

“That thing“—she gestures vaguely in the air—”how long have you had that?”

“Thirty years, give or take.” So maybe he’s being intentionally vague. Whatever, it’s fun. 

“No,” she says, “you didn’t have that before. I would have noticed.”

She’s right, technically. He and Prentice had taken off their rings before his arrest, and it was only yesterday—their thirty-year anniversary, coincidentally—that they had found the rings again, collecting dust in one of Prentice’s old bags. 

“Tiergan?” Prentice calls, stepping into the kitchen with that stupidly sweet smile on his face. He’s wearing one of Tiergan’s old sweatshirts—where did he even get that?—and he has that knowing look in his eye that tells Tiergan that he’d definitely heard Rayni’s words. 

Are you going to tell her? 

Tiergan looks at Rayni, who is now offering the both of them a curious look. I don’t think we have to. She’s clever enough to have figured it out herself. 

Probably. “Morning, Rayni, nice to see you up nice and early.” 

“Flashers rise with the sun.” She shrugs. “Most of us, anyway.” 

Definitely not all of them, since Wylie is still asleep, and probably will be for another four hours. Tiergan knows from experience that that kid could sleep through the apocalypse if he wanted to. 

“What’s for breakfast?” Prentice asks, crossing the room to stand beside Tiergan. His hand brushes Tiergan’s, and he finds himself blushing like a teenager. 

“Whatever you two want,” Tiergan replies. “Within reason, obviously. I’m not helping you make pie from scratch again, Rayni.” 

Rayni snorts. “That was entirely Tam’s idea. He has…grand aspirations.”

“You two dyed the couch green.”

“It needed an upgrade.”

Prentice grins. “I hate to say it, love, but she’s right.”

“You’re both wrong,” Tiergan says, with a mock-scowl. (To be fair, his couch is nearly a century old. It’s not exactly fit for modern tastes.)

The kettle beeps, and Rayni moves past them to pour out her tea. As she does so, Prentice squeezes Tiergan’s hand, and the two share an affectionate smile. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Tiergan asks, but what he really means is, How were the nightmares?

“...Not really,” Prentice replies, after a moment. “But I’m better now.” Better now that you’re here. 

Tiergan smiles softly and presses a chaste kiss to his lover’s lips—just a small token of affection, to tell him, hey, I’m with you. 

The sound of glass shattering breaks their reverie. 

Prentice and Tiergan jump back from each other, their hands and guards up to protect each other from the threat. 

“Holy shit,” Rayni says, her teacup firmly on the ground. “You—are you two—” “Married?” Prentice interrupts, amused. “Pretty much.” In everything but law. 

She gapes at them. “Since when?”

“A while,” Prentice admits, and Rayni’s eyes widen.

“And I’m the first to know?”

After Livvy, Leto, Cyrah, and basically anyone who had to interact with them when they were teenagers. “I mean, Wylie should know.” Tiergan definitely recalls telling him. 

Rayni snorts. “I can promise you that he doesn’t.”

See, Tiergan, Prentice transmits, I told you the kids didn’t know. 

In my defense, I didn’t realize they were so oblivious. 

Prentice grins. They’re our kids, of course they’re oblivious. 

Tiergan, unfortunately, has to agree on that one. “Rayni, who did you think the ring was for?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Some woman that I’d never met, I guess.” She pauses, then squints at Prentice’s hand, where a matching silver band resides. “Okay, yeah, I should’ve noticed that.” 

Prentice grins and turns to Tiergan. “We should probably go tell Wylie and Linh before Livvy accidentally mentions it and breaks their minds.” He snorts. “Stars know we don’t need any more mind breaks in this family.”

Tiergan elbows him lightly. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

Rayni chuckles in the corner, and Tiergan realizes that he’s vastly outnumbered. “Fine, fine, let’s go. At least Tam already knows, he shoved a wedding gift into my hands the other day.”

Rayni narrows her eyes. “Tam knew?”

“Well that’s sweet of him,” Prentice says, “even though he’s about thirty years too late.”

“You try telling him that,” Tiergan replies with an affectionate smile. “And, yes, he knows. Honestly, I think he knows everything that goes on in this house; it’s impossible to hide from him.”

Rayni pulls out her Imparter and scowls at it. “We’ll see about that,” she says.

Tiergan’s learned over the years that it’s better to stay out of the siblings’ mock-fights (as they tend to cause damage to household appliances, among other hazards) so he takes Prentice’s arm and leads him to the next room. 

“I love our family,” Prentice says, once they’re out of earshot. 

Tiergan smiles and lifts a hand up to Prentice’s cheek. “Yeah. I love us too.”

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Thanks Astra-San I loved it!! For me it was perfect so no need for a second NSFW part, but if you can, I don't want to be a bother 🥺, can you continue where we see better the compromise reached with Sabo? I'd also like to know if reader has lived up to Hack's expectations. Kiss and Huggles 💚💜💛❤💙

I had a dickens of a time not making this too long. I wanted to just keep writing, lol. I hope you like it.

Warnings: lightly suggestive, biting

Word Count: 1600

     Taking a deep breath, you looked at the yellow fishman. Honestly, you were terrified. How were you supposed to live up to Sabo’s boasting? You were fairly good, but he’d said a lot about you that just wasn’t true and you weren’t sure you could live up to what Hack might expect of you. Granted, Sabo had promised Hack, and your teachers, that he wouldn’t be stealing you away anymore, but he’d still promised the man that you would show him what you had. But of course he couldn’t just pit you up against one of the other recruits, oh no, he was fighting you himself. Of course, Sabo’s reassurances that Hack would go easy on you and was only doing it to test how good you were didn’t help at all. The fact of the matter was, you were facing a man many times more skilled than you, could probably decide your fate, and if you didn’t? Well… you didn’t want to think about the consequences. 

     Laying on the ground, you looked up at your blond haired boyfriend, the young man giving you a reassuring smile while you tried to hold the tears back. Hack had, unsurprisingly, beat you soundly into the dirt and, to be honest, you felt like you’d failed. Sabo helped you up, discreetly wiping the unshed tears away while dusting you off.

     “Come on Hack, did you have to be so mean? I promised to stop stealing her away and everything.” Sabo called over your shoulder to the fishman.

     “I can tell from here that she’s fine, Sabo. I didn’t hurt her too badly. A few bruises at most.” Hack defended, arms crossed.

     “You’re gonna kill her confidence though! I said she was better than the other recruits, not good enough to win against you.” Sabo said, pulling you close and holding you protectively.

     “You told Koala, and I quote, ‘I bet she’ll be able to beat Hack soon’.” Hack said, clearly unimpressed. Your blond haired boyfriend paused, not entirely sure what to say in his defense. He had said that and now he was getting on Hack’s case because of it.

     “Well… if you tell me that she failed then I’ll-” “She passed.” Hack said, cutting Sabo off, rolling his eyes at the blond, “You’re at least partially right, she’s ahead of the rest of the recruits. She still has a lot to learn, but she’s well on her way.” Sabo grinned at what his long time friend and previous teacher had to say.

     “You passed! I knew you could do it! See, you’re just as amazing as I said!” Sabo cheered, lifting you up and spinning you around, the sudden shift from buried in his chest to swinging around in the air making you a little dizzy. Granted, your pride was still shot, but at least Hack wasn’t scolding the shit out of Sabo while berating you for not being good enough. Sticking his tongue out at Hack, Sabo quickly picked you up bridal style before running off with you, not allowing the man to get another word in. If Hack had the chance, he might start scolding Sabo anyway and taking up his precious alone time with you and he was absolutely not going to have any of that! Besides, he could already tell that you’d lost a good portion of confidence, he didn’t need Hack making that worse by pointing out everything you’d done wrong. Pulling you into your, now shared, room, Sabo gave you another big smile. 

     “I knew you could do it! I knew you were amazing and better than everyone else!” Sabo cheered, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. 

     “Sabo, he toyed with me and then kicked my ass in under 2 minutes. How is that a success?” you asked, clearly down on yourself.

     “My deal with Hack wasn’t whether or not you could beat him. It was whether or not you were keeping up with the other recruits. What you think was him toying with you was him testing your abilities. He wanted to see what you knew and how well you were doing.” Sabo said softly, kissing your forehead as he tried to cheer you up. You gave him a small, soft smile, though it was still filled with uncertainty and hesitation. 

     “I guess… but it looks like I still have a long way to go before I can keep up that promise of earning my position beside you.” you said, still clearly disheartened.

     “Hey, it’s alright. You’re gonna do great, you don’t need to ‘earn’ anything. You know I’ll always love you regardless of your rank. You could have gotten worse and I’d still want you by my side.” he said comfortingly, holding you close once again, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, get the dirt and dust out of your hair, and wrapped up in a nice fluffy towel. I bet a nice warm bath is just what you need.” he added, pulling you into the private bathroom. 

     The bath did, admittedly, make you feel better, the warm water soothing your muscles and relaxing you as he continued to pile praise upon praise on you as if he was trying to drown you in it. Now, wrapped in a fluffy towel, as promised, you sighed happily, his arms wrapped around your waist as he began to leave hickies along your neck and shoulder again. It seemed to be his favorite leisurely pastime as he held you. Not that you weren’t leaving your own hickies and bite marks across his own body, but his outfit usually didn’t show it off like yours did and you didn’t leave quite as many as he did. 

     “I don’t want today to end.” Sabo muttered against your skin as he glanced at the time. It wasn’t particularly late but with each passing minute, his day with you drew closer and closer towards its inevitable end.

     “And I didn’t want to face Hack, but we both made promises. Besides, once class and training are both over tomorrow, I’ll come see you right away. I promise. I’ll even bring you a snack and help you with whatever you’re working on.” you said, turning around in his arms to caress his cheek before pulling him close, starting to leave your own bites across his skin. Sabo sighed but nodded, smiling slightly. It wasn’t perfect, but at least you’d still be spending plenty of time with him.

     “Can we still train together? I like seeing you fight and I want to help you get as good as possible as fast as possible so I can go back to bragging about how amazing you are and it’s not even bad if you’re good enough to back it up.” he pleaded, a light groan leaving his lips at a particularly rough bite.

     “You agreed to not brag as much. Whether or not I get better, doesn’t mean you can brag about me any more.” you scolded, a chuckle leaving the man.

     “Maybe not, but at least when I say that you could kick Hack’s butt, you’ll actually be skilled enough to do it. I’ve toned it down a lot but if you improve, people will have to admit that I’m not just bragging and that you can back it up. Therefore, I can brag about you without bragging about you.” he said, making you sigh. 

     “You’re impossible sometimes.” you said with a small laugh as you shook your head.

     “Maybe, but you’ve admitted that you love me that way.” he said happily, making you roll your eyes. 

     “You’re right. I do love you that way.” you said, giving him a short, sweet kiss. Sabo paused for a moment before chuckling to himself.

     “You know, you promised me 2 full days where I could have you all to myself. Technically I haven’t had you all to myself today. That should mean that I should steal you away from Hack tomorrow.” Sabo said playfully, earning another rough bite to his other shoulder, a shiver running down his spine.

     “You know that’s not how it works. Yes, I promised you 2 days a week where I’m all yours, but there’s always going to be days where someone is going to absolutely, positively need us or interrupt us. You can’t just go stealing me away whenever this happens. Besides, you’re also getting me whenever I’m not busy with something else. I think you can handle losing a few minutes here or there.” you said, lightly scolding him again. Besides, he’d made a deal to not steal you away anymore, if he tried to steal you away tomorrow, you both knew he’d try to do it again using some other excuse. 

     “Fine. But tomorrow after classes and training, you’re all mine. No matter what! Okay?” he said. 

     “I promise, I’ll be all yours. I made you a deal that I’d be all yours once no one needed me.” you reassured, giving him another soft kiss. Sabo smiled, pulling you close once more. Did he get you as often as he desired? No, not really. But he knew that he needed to let you do this. Besides, it wasn’t forever, meaning he could have all the time he wanted with you once you were finished with everything. Sighing contently, he pulled you to lay on the bed with him, snuggling up with you, both of you still clad in nothing but your towels. Not that he really cared, he liked cuddling with you like this, it was more intimate, closer, feeling your skin beneath his fingertips. Nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head, he smiled. For all his complaining about not spending enough time with you lately, it was all worth it for moments like this; having you curled up with him in your shared bed, able to hold you as you both relaxed or at night when you fell asleep. As much as he protested and whined, it was always worth it, would always be worth it for moments like these.

[cryopathiic-a]

Kiba's here with a delivery! It's a corpse, of course. But not any corpse. The poor thing had been handled rather roughly, chunks of flesh missing, all innards blown out from the inside. Strands of pink and green hair still sprouting from the cranium. There's still plenty of meat left to eat on it.

"... the Lord said I gotta bring you my next kills. So here you go." Kiba grumbled, dumping the body before the Upper Moon's throne. He did not judge necessary to explain why he was told to bring his gifts there, rather than directly to the only Lord he respects.

Of all the things a demon can choose to eat; a corpse would undoubtedly be the least nutritious. The human body is more nourishing when fresh; a still beating heart provides the flow to keep organs pulsating, quivering in the palate. Every oni that has tasted dead flesh knows, it is a thing one can only be driven to out of perversion or despair.

The Lord Founder suffers from neither.

There would be crunching noises when the young demon enters the room. Dōma's plush throne had been pushed aside in favor of making space for the cocooned bodies of those same people that had been spilling their deepest secrets and sharing their burdens with him in that same room a mere few days ago. A mess of amputated, half eaten limbs would not confess the true number, but three of them were still well alive and writhing in their binds. How would it feel, for a human have all senses but their hearing restrained and be wrapped in a shroud of cloth, left lying on hard floorboards in their own sweat? How did they feel when sharp fangs tore through the fabric, and the blindfold came off once and for all; revealing an ugly truth? Their incessant sobbing probably gave that answer away.

Yet Upper Two was merely sat cross-legged, hoisting a female torso by its waist and burrowing his face into the bowels. Dōma was a messy eater. He never bothered to rip the flesh from bone. He enjoyed the soft, squelchy parts the most; the viscera was spread across his face and stained everything in deep reds; a stark juxtaposition to his naturally pale colors. When Kiba entered, he turned to glare at them over his shoulder, with a femur in his mouth and then—

— CRUNCH!

" Hgkmm!! MMM! "

" Kyaaaa! Wh-What was that!? Oh dear Gods! Oh dear Gods! "

❝ Shhh— quiet, little ones. I'm doing my best to get to everyone here one by one, so, please don't rush me. ❞ A cadence calm and saccharine as ever. Bone ground to dust between gnashing jaws; his teeth cut through it like it was butter.

The humans cried. Upper Two's smile grew wider upon facing the other, bloodstained teeth barren before his penetrating glare fell on the cadaver offer. Now that was an offense if an offense had ever been made. And he was sure the little shit knew full well what he was doing, too. An unruly kid with no sense of respect for his elders. Dōma liked him! After looking it over, prismatic hues deducted it was the corpse of someone strong; with an unusual constitution. But- still a corpse. Even at the start of his life as a demon, Dōma had never sunk his teeth on dead flesh. And he sure as Hell was not about to start doing so now.

❝ ... Lord Muzan told you to bring me your leftovers? ❞ It was laced with faux shock. Upper Two of all demons would know not to mention the actual name; but he knew full well that such an order would not be given lightly, as it was considered a very offensive thing to inflict on an Upper Kizuki. To be gifted trash? No, that was a punishment. And he'd done nothing wrong. In fact, he was pretty sure he had finally managed to squeeze his way in that man's good graces. So that kid must be trying to get under his skin; and the invocation of their Master had been very intentional.

❝ Really? She- she said that? Oh my... ❞ A crimson coated palm came to hover before his chest, bottom lip beginning to quiver. He sounded sorrowful. ❝ To say something like that... she must be very upset with me... and here I was thinking I'd left her pleased... ❞ His head drooped. A sniffle, a sob; and there came the waterworks. In between sniffles, he'd reach up to wipe some crystalline tears with his knuckles, smearing blood over his own cheeks in the process. A shift to his posture would reveal more of the situation for the other to see; the mass of mangled flesh and limbs protruding, the ones still live in front of him writhing in futile effort to escape their binds. The was a whole human head wedged between his ribs; a petrified expression immortalized on her features. Her eyes were still twitching. The monster's palm came to rest on her forehead, in a fashion that was eerily tender as he cupped it with his palm and seemed to push it inward. There were crackling noises from his ribcage.

Dōma let out a big sigh of disappointment, and placed a leg he'd been holding beside him on the floor.

❝ Welp. There goes my appetite. How can I possibly offer solace to these people when I just got my heart broken... ❞ He was pouting, pensively; and the sole two surviving humans mirrored his sobbing, though theirs was laced with visceral despair. The wail of a dying lamb. Unblinking eyes snapped to the one crying the loudest, her incessant whining silenced once and for all when he placed his palm flat against her lying head and crushed it like a watermelon without expression.

❝ You can go ahead and finish that up. I'm not in the mood. ❞ Another sniffle. ❝ And besides... it feels kind of weird to eat someone that I never even knew, you know? I wouldn't want some stranger pestering my followers in there. ❞