#and accepts the new him as the 'real' one

[neiptune]

like real people do

cw: 2.8k wc, female reader, friends to lovers, literally black cat x labrador dynamic, you showed up one day and are still part of his life, it’s an axiom he would never expect to change. until one day you meet his brother for the first time and rin shits himself

“We should hang out tomorrow. Are you free?”.

“No”.

You frown.

“Would you have said yes, if you were?”.

Rin takes a moment to reply.

“Probably not”.

The grin you offer right away doesn’t surprise him, if anything it makes him roll his eyes with fake exasperation.

“I love how you never change”.

He nudges your shoulder with his arm, hands buried in the pockets of an expensive coat.

“You’re annoying”.

“I know, it’s my whole thing. You kinda agreed to it when you accepted me as a friend”.

“I never did such thing. You showed up one day and never left”.

Your giggle echoes across the empty street and Rin finds himself basking in your usual affection, something he’s well aware he hardly deserves.

It’s true, though. One day, back in high school, you were assigned to the same group project with two other classmates and that’s when the information of being in the same class in the first place was presented to him. You talked too much and smiled too often but when it came to doing actual work, you turned into a weirdly serious, responsible student. Instantly, too. Which would’ve been an interesting aspect of your personality, if he so much as cared.

You both ended up being the only two putting in real work to finish the project but the only thing Rin could think of was that he was relieved his perfect grades could stay perfect despite the dead weight. Except, you didn’t leave him alone ever since, apparently happy (always way too happy) to have found a new friend. He doesn’t remember how many times, throughout his high school years, he had to repeat that you two were not friends. Over and over again, the deterrent had failed miserably.

Rin has kinda made peace with your presence in his life by now, despite adulthood and your careers playing a significant role in keeping you apart, whenever he visits his hometown you’re there and whenever you happen to be where he is, you insist on seeing him. Stubborn as he’s always been, in his own mind Rin stands his ground that there’s nothing tragically wrong in allowing you to consider him your friend, still. There’s also nothing particularly dramatic in letting himself indulge in someone else’s obstinate fondness.

You’re a good person, he knows that much. Patient, generous, always the first to offer help and the last to ask for anything. You’re stupid. And gullible. Way too easy to take advantage of. It’s why he, to this day, still keeps an eye on you, walks you home in the middle of the night, doesn’t shut the door like he’d do with anyone else when you show up uninvited to his house. Sometimes he brings you something too, little mementos from his travels that hold no real meaning, despite the way your eyes shine with wonder when he begrudgingly hands them to you.

Rin knows you like him. Or at least you used to, so many years ago. He remembers hearing you confessing the secret to one of your closest friends. You never really told him, a good person but still too proud to give him the satisfaction of rejecting you, stood by his side when no one else would put up with his pissy attitude, always disregarding your feelings. Even when he had girlfriends you were there, feigning nonchalance. Stupid. He remembers how he immaturely tried to get you to admit it, shared petty details of his dates, told you he thought he was falling in love with other girls. Your smile barely faltered.

Why did you do that to yourself all that time, he still wonders. But then again he’d have to ask himself why his impatience, or rather lack of understanding, led him to kiss you when you were both visiting your families for the holidays, back from college.

Rin remembers the snow, the umbrella you were holding trying to clumsily cover him too. He remembers you were babbling some nonsense about how proud you were of him, of his career, the way you always knew he was destined to great things, his blue lock jersey still stored safely in the back of your closet. Rin remembers the way he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, dry and chapped from the cold. Was that truly the only way to get you to shut up? He doesn’t know. He just knows he didn’t expect you to take a step back, thank him for walking you home. The kiss was never mentioned again, the following day you acted like it never happened and he was glad he could carry on without the burden of weird expectations. Well, almost completely glad.

He didn’t kiss you because he liked you or desired something as unnecessary as a relationship, he’s sure of that. He just wanted to, in that moment. A stupid whim. And if the urge of shutting you up in the softest way has possessed him multiple times after that day and throughout the years, out of mere curiosity or simple convenience, he’s never really admitted it to himself. 

You showed up one day, never left, are still part of his life. It’s an axiom he’d never expect to change. Perhaps he finds some comfort in it.

“You really can’t hang out tomorrow? ”, you’re doing that thing you always do when you’re disappointed, furrowed brows over big eyes that are rapidly losing their usual glow as you blink a few times. He sighs.

“I really can’t”.

“How long are you in town for?”.

“A few days”, he pauses for a second, then decides to concede, “we’ll have plenty of time”.

The way your lips immediately curl into a sweet smile almost makes him crack one too. Rin also loves how you never change.

“Oooh, you wanna hang out with me so bad!”.

“Shut up”.

“We’ll have plenty of time! Because I’m your best friend in the whole, entire world!”.

“Now you’re really pushing it”.

You laugh again, something tender settling over your features. He once more recognizes the affection in your gaze and has to look away.

Rin has hated October 10 for as long as he can remember.

It wasn’t always like that, as a kid it was a special day he got to celebrate his favorite person on. His brother went from being his personal hero and best friend, to a stranger he couldn’t recognize, to an adult he tries to have a decent relationship with, now. Still, October 10 is a hassle. If Sae is in town, something he tries to do for their sake, their parents always insist on having a small birthday celebration at home.

His mother spends hours decorating the living room, orders a cake so big it would require at least ten additional guests, they have so many gifts ready and wrapped by the table. For the past few years, Rin has been getting his brother a gift too. Not exactly a peace offering but the promise of getting there, perhaps.

It infuriates him that Sae still acts perfectly normal around him, never hostile, indifferent at best. They barely talk to each other but Rin doesn’t want to spend his entire life seething, he doesn’t want for one single feeling to define him anymore. So he also accepts the birthday gifts his brother sends him on September 9.

It’s just a day, he mentally repeats, it will be over soon. But he doesn’t expect the doorbell to ring, everything has already been delivered and they didn't invite anyone.

Rin certainly doesn’t expect you, standing on his doorstep with a million dollar smile and clearly hiding something behind your back.

“What are you doing here?”, he’s frozen, in disbelief. You’re not supposed to be there.

“Surprise!”, you grin, “look what I finally found!”.

You’re suddenly holding something so close to his face he has to take a moment to focus to understand what he’s looking at. It’s a horror game, one he’s looked everywhere for because they don’t sell those anymore. Rin only mentioned it once but of course you mentally took note and conducted your own, personal research. It must’ve costed you a fortune. You’re such an idiot.

“It’s not a good time”, he takes a step back, hoping you’ll get the hint and do the same. Your smile falls.

“I know. I just wanted to drop this off. Here”, you hand him the neatly packed gift. Rin takes it, then meets your gaze for a second. He wants to say something, apologize, but you’ve already turned your back to him and are quickly granting his wish of being left alone. He asks himself how much patience you have left, how close you are to abandoning him and his asshole ways for good.

“Who are you?”.

Rin freezes a second time, the voice behind him so close and oddly interested. You stop in your tracks, whip around to look at someone who isn’t him. Something hard flashes across your features but it’s quickly whisked away when you offer one of your usual, polite smiles.

“No one, I was just passing by”.

Something inside Rin cracks. No one? You can hardly ever shut up about being his friend. 

Sae hums.

“You should come in. There’s extra cake”.

When their mom catches sight of you, she also invites you in and there’s really no turning back from that. You’re too well mannered, too acquainted with his family to refuse. So you indulge them.

From the kitchen, he observes something he never thought would (or should) happen. Sae, the most infuriatingly detached, impassive person on the planet, is sitting next to you on the couch, where you’re making polite conversation. He’s listening. Rin knows he’s listening because he keeps his eyes on you, stance relaxed. Who knows what nonsense you’re rambling about this time, unfinished cake in the paper plate balanced on your knees. He says something, you chuckle. Rin focuses on his own unfinished cake, suddenly nauseous.

All these years, this is the one thing he didn’t want to happen, you meeting his brother. It’s petty and childish and Rin isn’t even quite sure why the desire to keep you from him has burned ardently this entire time but the fact that his efforts have vanished in the space of one afternoon brings a strange weariness.

By the time you excuse yourself, his parents are begging you to stay over for dinner. You refuse, thank them, thank Sae the most and wish him the happiest birthday. He dismisses your formality with the vague wave of a hand, says he hopes to meet you again. You smile sweetly.

“There’s no need”.

Rin ignores your objection similarly to how you ignored him the entire afternoon, finishes buttoning up his coat instead. He always walks you home and today will be no exception.

The silence between you two is so uncharacteristic it irritates him, to the point of affliction. Are you that upset with him? Ah, the magic must’ve finally flickered out.

“So, how was it?”, he spitefully pushes, “meeting the legendary brother”.

You keep your gaze on the street.

“It was okay”.

Rin scoffs.

“Just okay? You two really hit it off”.

“He was kind to me”.

“I’m sure he was”.

You finally stop in your tracks to look at him.

“Just because we’re friends it doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole all the time, you know”.

Rin stops too, lips parted, breath condensating into a tiny cloud by his mouth. The serious look you’re fixing him with makes his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry”, he murmurs. Your gaze softens and he hates it, how easy it is for you to cut him some slack.

“Can you tell me what’s really wrong, Rin?”.

He feels like throwing up.

“Nothing is wrong”.

You hum, pensive, take the time to kick a tiny rock with the tip of your boot.

“I really think you should give yourself some grace. You deserve some peace”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“It means you’re so focused on protecting yourself from imaginary threats, you can’t see”.

“See what?”.

You offer a sad smile.

“How bright you shine”.

Rin is so taken aback he doesn’t know what to say, surprise paralyzing his entire body. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, perhaps years. It’s not fair that you have access to such a vulnerable side of him, it’s not fair that he can suddenly sense a weird lump in his throat.

“I don’t shine-”, he spits the word out, disgusted.

You’re usually very careful about his boundaries, whether they’re a hoax or not. But this time? You do something you’ve never done before, roughly take his face in your cold hands to make sure he keeps his gaze on you instead of avoiding it like a coward.

“You shine, Rin. I’m so tired of you being the only one refusing to see it. You’re the most resilient, talented, hardworking person I know. You did good. But the challenge is over, there is no war anymore, you don’t have to persist in this stubborn seclusion”, your eyes are suddenly wet, tears precariously collecting in your lash line, “you get to rest, now. Please, be proud of yourself and rest. There’s nothing to be on your guard against”.

He doesn’t remember his heart ever squeezing as painfully in his chest before, the urge to take your face in his hands making the pads of his fingers itch. He doesn’t remember the last time he came so close to let a few tears fall.

He’s gonna take you too. Just like he takes everything from me.

The thought takes his breath away for a moment. He feels your thumb gently stroke his cheek.

“You’re the legendary brother to me, anyway”, you smile, then sniffle.

Has he split himself wide open for you or are you simply that good at reading him? Rin can feel his hands shake when they fist the fabric of your plush jacket.

“Why are you telling me this?”, he can barely recognize the desperation vibrating in his own voice, “why do you even put up with me?”.

You blink a few times, astonished. Then smile again, warm and bright like the sun. Oh, he doesn’t shine, you do.

“Because I love you, obviously”.

And Rin doesn’t have to ask, doesn’t have to wonder what you mean. He knows. He’s known all this time.

“Why did you never tell me?”.

“Because you wouldn’t have let me do it in peace”, you chuckle, “you don’t like me like that so you wouldn’t have let me love you. As if I needed something in return. As if loving you as a friend couldn’t possibly be enough, anyway”.

His fingers are hurting from how tightly he’s still fisting the fabric of your jacket. It feels like his insides are exploding with a million different emotions and he doesn’t have nearly enough time to interpret them. But does he really need that, after all? Time. He’s known you for so long. 

“Stop putting up a fight, silly”, you let go of his face but flick his forehead, to which he grimaces, surprised, “let me love you. I’m your best friend in the whole, entire world after all! Who cares about your stupid brother? No wait, that came out mean, I just meant I care more about you than-”

Rin’s sudden embrace is suffocating, you’re pressed against him so tightly you genuinely struggle taking a single breath. You don’t remember him ever hugging you, the most noteworthy intentional contact you can recall is his arm around your shoulders when you insisted on taking a cute selfie, once. Every other hug, you had always initiated. His arms were always loose around you, cautious, despite his forehead often resting on your shoulder.

His clothes smell nice. He smells nice. You close your eyes, bask in a warmth so strange yet familiar. You don’t think you’ll ever love someone the way you love him.

“You’re so stupid”, Rin murmurs against your neck. With a smile, you nuzzle your face further into his chest.

“So I’ve been told”.

He thinks his heart might be seconds away from slamming itself free from his ribcage.

“Can you tell me again?”.

“What, that I don’t care about your brother? Sure, fuck Itoshi Sae. Oh no, that was also way too mean, don’t tell him I said-”

Rin pulls away abruptly, hands kept on your shoulders to keep you there or maybe to steady himself. You shut your mouth, don’t comment damp cheeks dusted with pink. It may be the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him.

“Not that, you idiot”, his pitch is gentle, with a hint of amusement. One of his hands cradles your cheek, thumb gently skimming over your lips.

“I love you”, it comes out less bold now, timid. Something melts in his chest all the same.

“Will you pretend it never happened, if I kiss you now?”.

Your exhale is shaky.

“No”.

All these years and this is the first time you’re seeing Itoshi Rin truly, openly smile. The sight does something funny to your stomach.

“Good”.

[suksatoru]

rin itoshi has a very special skill, one where he can predict when you're about to spew absolute nonsense. he says he has a sixth sense reserved just for your antics, and he also swears you're going to be the reason he has a full head of gray hair before he turns twenty.

"rinnie," you try again—pouting when rin exhales sharply from his nose, refusing to meet your gaze. rin sits on the ground at the end of his bed, and you sit perched on top of his blankets—hanging your head upside down to stare at him like the cheshire cat.

"no." he replies, short and curt as you drape yourself over his shoulder with a sigh. he shifts the slightest bit so you can comfortably curl your head against his form. you nose at his throat before speaking up again, quieter this time.

"pretty please? it's really all i want, rinnie. it would make my day—no, my life! please?"

rin thought you were the idiot in this relationship, but he knows he's the real lovesick fool. it wasn't impossible to say no, he says it to other people all the time. but your eyes are hopeful and round. and truthfully, the sight of your frown was truly his undoing.

rin lets out a dramatic sigh, loud and annoyed—and you know he accepts his defeat when he hands you his hair brush with a grumble. you roll off of the bed, sitting criss cross on the ground across him in an instant as you grab the nearby rubber bands sitting on the floor with a dopey grin

"you just relax while i work rinnie! i promise, you won't even know i'm here!"

rin's deadpan expression only makes you laugh quietly, and you lean forward to place a gentle peck onto his lips. you hover over his mouth after pulling away, taking a moment to admire his face before grinning

"grumpy," you muse as you gently brush your nose against his. rin mumbles something about you knowing nothing about personal space as he tugs you onto his lap

"if i'm bald by the end of this—"

"oooh rinnie your hair's so soft! i'm stealing your shampoo later," you interrupt with a giggle, pressing soft kisses onto the crown of his head as his shoulders slump. his broody expression is far too adorable to not kiss, and after peppering enough kisses onto his cheeks to leave them tinted pink—you get to work.

rin doesn't know why you want to style his hair. he regards your sparkly pink hair clips with an eye roll. but your fingers are gentle and soothing as they work to brush and style his hair, and he can feel the exhaustion slowly dispersing from his muscles as he leans into your touch.

"it feels...nice. thank you," he murmurs softly, gently rubbing your thigh as you hum in response. he moves to take a glance at you, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your tongue poked out in concentration as you work on tying his hair. cute.

it takes another fifteen minutes for you to finish your assault on his head. rin's practically putty beneath your fingers now, and there's a barely visible furrow between his brows when you pull your touch away from him.

"you look like a prince... you should totally let me style your hair more often, rinnie!" you gush, smiling softly as you stare at your work.

"i'll be the judge of that," he mutters with a small smile, reaching onto his bed to grab your phone. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling when he sees your wallpaper being his back and jersey number, but the smile is wiped off his face in an instant as he lets out a startled yelp—staring at his reflection in the camera app.

"yeah. not happening, you cheeky brat." he scoffs, pointing at his head with a scowl

"y/n, tell me where you got five hundred charms of hello kitty clips. what damned store did you rob? and why are there pink extensions in my hair? are they—is that fucking glitter in them?"

rin eventually fell victim to a photoshoot, though he shouldn't be surprised. did he really think he'd escape you that easily? he's not very amused by your new wallpaper of him afterwards, but he can't even try and stop the amusement glimmering in his emerald eyes.

"not a soul will see those pictures. or i swear, i'll stick you in a gold fish tank y/n." rin mutters later that night as you two lay in bed, pressing feather soft kisses onto your shoulder blades as he silently admires the way your lips jut out in an adorable pout. his threat isn't very scary when he holds you like you're the most precious thing in his life.

"okay," you sigh in defeat. rin's eyes narrow suspiciously as he wraps his arms around your waist, settling in for the night as he turns off his bedside lamp.

"night, y/n." he whispers gently, his lashes brushing against your cheek as he kisses you softly. your hand gently brushes his bangs away from his eyes, and he smiles softly at your soft giggles

"night, rinnie. tomorrow you can style my hair! and then, we can be twins..." you affirm quietly. it's dark in the room, the night outside blanketing you two. there's a sliver of moonlight pouring through the window, and it's the only reason you're able to see the gentle smile on rin's face before you fall asleep.

blue lock masterlist :P

[crimsonmochi]

Disarray ― S. Gojo

Synopsis. Satoru had always been a bit unhinged, but he would never hurt anyone without a reason, right? That went against his philosophy, what he stands for... right?

Pairing. yandere! Satoru Gojo x gn! reader

Content. MDNI, obsessive! gojo, sorcerer! gojo, violence, murder, mentions of blood, gorey descriptions, dead dove: do not eat, traumatized! reader, no gendered pronouns for reader, mentions of therapy, mentions of medication, mentions of non-religious consumption of alcohol, no beta we die like―

Word Count. 1.9k

A/N. idk lol im just yappin luv u all

A vetted machinery, operating on the principles instilled within its very core from the start, killing methodically rather than senselessly. Or rather, he thought he did, but all principles are nearly a facade which are easy to cross. A weapon trying so hard to fit amongst a world incapable of restraining him or withstanding his lethality could only sacrifice so much humanity, could only chip away at his mind for so long.

As he stood over your boyfriend's limp body, the heart which was once beating inside the man's chest obliterated and hollowed out by his disastrous technique, Satoru Gojo felt like a man instead of an artillery. A confiscating rush of force, a surging envy to do what he wanted, was all it took. There was no single individual on this earth capable of holding him accountable for what he had just done, what he had accomplished.

He was an impossible force of nature with the power to force anyone he judged to stand in his way to be met with a fatal outcome if he saw fit.

Of course, Satoru had a justification for this seemingly senseless outburst. He deemed you would never be truly free under the guidance and influence of this pathetic, moronic individual you had the nerve to call your boyfriend. What kind of man screams at their other half for wearing clothes that they chose to purchase with their own money and agency?

A real man would bring the whole world to its knees if it meant that their partner could walk the streets protected from wandering eyes, catcalls and harassment. A skirt would not be a threat to months of work on a relationship but rather an emblem of security. Satoru pitied your now-deceased boyfriend for not bothering to look past his futile insecurities but detested him for making you responsible for his fragile ego.

Crimson blood pooled on the floor, a river of what could have been seeping into the ground and threatening to stain Satoru's pristine white shoes. He took a step backwards, abruptly hit by the cool air whirling past his ears, his focus torn from the lifeless corpse before him.

Satoru could have easily disposed of the body, could have demolished it and let him fade away from the conscience of all sentient life on earth. Though that would have made sense to any other killer person, it would have tainted his process with unnecessary buffering. It served to have the body be found, as it could cast a warning to other specimens eager to get with you, advising them not to get close, and it would save you time worrying about the idiot he took his time to get rid of for you.

And he walked instead of teleporting that night, his anxiety flared up. Would you accept the truth? The reality that the one you said you loved is gone for good? If you pieced it all together, if your mind settled on him as the culprit, would you understand? Would your reasoning match his? Would you smile despite your grief?

Were you just as depraved as him?

You had to be. You were crafted specially for him, a dove waiting to be cradled by his hands, no matter how spoiled and rough they were. Even if his hold stained your pure white feathering.

Annoyed was an understatement when you cried for your murdered partner, your state of shock leaving your chest desperately heaving for a molecule of oxygen as you questioned the reality of the news given to you by his no-good parents. But alas, he forced waves of tenderness through his limbs as he stayed for you, to comfort you. You would understand someday. You would learn to forget him.

Your rehabilitation was slower than the timeframe Satoru anticipated. He could not fathom your sappy attitude towards it all. This was meant to be a gift, a liberation―and yet, your heart was taking it as a living nightmare. As the weeks stretched, his sneers grew bigger, and his scoffs louder. His impatience was never directed at you but rather at the memory of your dead boyfriend simply not fading quick enough.

Satoru's takeaway? He should have killed him sooner.

One could only imagine the state he was in as you told him about a new date you had planned with a nice man from the bakery down the street, wearing a smile on your pretty face that still wore the scars of your depression and exhaustion. Disbelief was one thing; another was pure rage, rage that you did not pick him once again.

But no matter, he understood what he had to do. If you could not get it through your beautiful little head that he was the primary constant in your life, he just had to go ahead and make sure to be the only remaining choice you had left. He needed you to realize the extent of the all-consuming adoration he reserved for you and only you.

Which is precisely why he stalked and killed your date as he commuted to his home, the man's oozing blood reflecting the yellow-toned light of the streetlamps, washed down by the rain into the sewers. Grinning, Satoru took in the disfigured head of the ugly bastard he had rid life from, brains and grey matter pouring out from where he hollowed out, right in the middle of the victim's face.

Except that this repeat offence did not help you see clearer whatsoever. You cried in the shower instead after getting the news, murmuring that perhaps you were simply cursed, one of those horrifying creatures Satoru spoke to you of.

Speak of the devil, he was quick to gather your form in his arms, quick to comfort, despite being the culprit of those atrocities that just seemed to follow you around. He cooed into your ear until you fell asleep, salty, tear-stained cheeks sticking to his cotton shirt. How could you not understand, after all of this, that this is perfectly where you were meant to be?

He made his presence more permanent as he unconventionally moved into your apartment with you by making your meals, taking care of your groceries, watering your plants, doing chores―all under the guise of being simply an overly concerned friend. You poor thing, all these tragedies must be getting to your head, hm? Why else would you see his eyes a bit crueller than before?

It was as if you had lost touch with the ground and the space all at once. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, nights. Weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds. You felt guilty for even breathing, empty for daring to experience a flicker of anything other than the deep pit those back-to-back losses left in the depths of your heart.

And then, there was Satoru, always at your beck and call, affectionate to no end, revered by patience itself. A saint.

The illusion finally started to end the night you brought back flowers from work. An array of gentians and African lilies peppered with baby's breath in various spaces. You made the mistake of, in an attempt of celebratory happiness, mentioning to Satoru that they were from a coworker, one you had known for quite a few years. A faded smile, a scowl he denied wearing, an accusation, and a few awkward words were enough to leave you both in silence, ruminating.

Satoru did the only thing he knew how to do by this point; he killed. And he killed. And he killed two more whilst he could. He remained kind to you, grateful that you still hadn't pieced that the common denominator was himself, the man who stayed alive through it all.

Explaining this all to your therapist made you feel insane, your own brain trying desperately to catch up with the constant whiplash the death and decay around you inflicted. The medication professionals prescribed was only enough to make the survivor's guilt quiet but not enough to get rid of the urges to end the cycle of massacre.

All the tears, the swirl in your brain of intrusive and impulsive thoughts putting you down, and the never-ending search for clarity led you to familiar vices. One or two nights of too much expensive wine you were gifted long ago, and you were pissed and emotional, letting all your guards down, making decisions you would have never believed yourself capable of making.

One of those decisions was kissing Satoru, tired eyes shut closed as you impulsively gave in to months of loneliness and trauma-bonding.

Reasonably, you panicked. You had now shown interest in a man―surely, in the morning, you'd peek your head from the hallway, look to your couch and see his blood staining the heavyweight cotton. You were a death sentence, after all, a walking grim reaper with too big of a heart and never enough time to say sorry, goodbye. Maybe you wouldn't get to say sorry to Satoru either, right?

And yet, he was content and smiling in the morning, alive and warm to the touch, palpable. For a moment, your heart started beating at a normal rate, as opposed to the uneven tambourine rhythm at which it had been beating before last night. You could touch him; he was there. You could hug him, wrap your arms around him, and he wouldn't vanish.

Satoru was over the moon that you had finally come to your senses. That you had chosen him after the senseless cruelty he had to abide by in order to make this shift happen. It had taken months of tireless efforts to get to his goal, but he had you within his grip.

It took months of reassurance that he was still alive―texts every five minutes, constant physical touch, staring at him and lying by him on the floor―for your anxieties to subside. The emptiness still remained an ache that Satoru himself had caused yet now tried to soothe. He worshipped the ground that you walked on and took care of your every need, and it felt too good to ever question.

His anger, his resentment for those pesky flies orbiting around you and trying to steal you away, finally subsided. He never quite got out of the habit of jumping to murder once an individual dared to show interest in you, but the reminder that you loved him now brought him back to earth. The comfort of knowing that would always be an option, though, was enough to hold him back. For now.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

As your head whipped up from the wedding planner in your soft hands to look at Satoru, a piece of your hair fell over your face, his careful hand reaching to place it back behind your ear, a gentle grin painted on his face.

"What a question to ask after proposing," you chuckled, the corners of your lips curling up to match his expression. "I mean, a little. At least, after everything."

Your eyes gazed back at the images of flower arrangements. A particular one caught your eye; gentians, African lilies, and baby's breath. You checked the little tick box with the marker attached to the binder on the shiny laminated sheet.

"I guess that's fair."

Hell only stopped once you accepted him to be the one for you.

Soulmates, those words echoed as you pranced down the aisle, looking like heaven itself. Like the dove, Satoru always saw you as. As though he, a curse, a wicked being for utilizing his power for purely selfish gain and the expense of the one he claimed to love, was deserving of this moment.

And as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, hearing those words for the first time, hearing the answer to all of your turmoil, you smiled, worn out.

Relief, at last, to know the truth behind all of your heartache.

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #4

{masterlist}

You can’t help yourself, you simply have to see what Aaron’s like when he puts his son to bed. Does he read him a bedtime story? Do they talk about something? Does he kiss his forehead before tucking him in? The idea of him being the sweetest father, maybe as kind and caring as your own was, melts your heart. He’s already in the perfect category in your eyes, but if you’ll like what you see, you’ll have to create a brand new category just for him.

While you’ve never really thought about kids, being too busy attending parties almost every weekend, and sometimes during the weekdays if it was hard to decline an invitation, now you suddenly find yourself wondering what it would be like to take care of one. At this very moment, it’s not just any child in your mind. It’s Jack. He’s young, he could probably get used to the idea of having you around, and he seems to be a really good kid.

Letting out a dreamy sigh, you lean against the doorframe with your shoulder, your hands comfortably tucked into the pocket of the hoodie, and watch the bedtime ritual with curious eyes. Jack is aware of you being there, he keeps whispering something to his father while he’s glancing at you over and over again, and his father whispers back with a quiet chuckle. But then the boy yawns and falls back on his back, which prompts Aaron to pull the blanket up to his neck and lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Sleep tight, buddy,” he tells him softly before standing up to leave the room.

Without thinking, you take a few steps back so he can close the door, but when he stands toe to toe with you in the hallway, you lose contact with the filter between your brain and mouth. How could you think properly when he’s looking down at you with those brown eyes you want to drown in, watching you with that boyish smirk that makes your heart race?

So, you speak up and spit out something you should have kept to yourself. “How can something sweet like this be also hot as hell?” you ask him quietly, your breath hitching when he lets out a soft laugh. “That’s not funny.”

He shakes his head, the smile still present on his lips. “Actually, it is pretty funny. Come on, I have some really good wine waiting for us.”

Nodding, you follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there, he immediately cages you between himself and the counter. Your eyes are as big as saucers from the surprise, but you can only gulp since no words come to your mind. Deep down you know you should ask him what he’s doing, what the plan is, but you can’t get the words out. You’ve gone home with guys you barely knew before, one-night stands are nothing new to you sadly, but Aaron? You want to take it slow, you want to get to know him, but it’s clear he has a different idea.

Maybe for the first time in your life you want something real, a proper relationship that might be able to domesticate you, and you can feel that he’s the perfect candidate for that. Being with him would give you an instant family, though, you would find yourself in the role of a stepmom if things turned serious enough, and you’re terrified of that. What if Jack wouldn’t accept you? What if you fuck something up and end up hurting one of them?

“Hey,” he says quietly as he grabs your chin to make you look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Let’s see, you’re already daydreaming about a relationship that might never even happen. Yeah, right, he would escort you out of the apartment in a second. “Nothing, I’m just glad to see how happy your son is,” you reply, telling him a teeny tiny part of the truth.

A proud smile appears on his lips as he watches you, his gaze shifting down to your lips for a millisecond. Every fiber in your body is screaming at you to make the first move, to close the gap and kiss him, but your mind holds you back, telling you that it’s not the right time to be bold. Let him work for your attention, let him show you what exactly he wants. There’s no need to act like you do with guys your age.

Aaron leans close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face when he exhales, but he doesn’t say anything, not even when he moves his hand from your chin to the side of your neck. How did he have the audacity to call you a tease when he’s doing things like that?

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asks quietly, his thumb gently stroking your soft skin. When you give him a confused look, he shakes his head slightly. “The pull every time we’re close to each other. I can’t explain it, it’s just–”

“There,” you finish, finally understanding what he meant.

This pull, this attraction, this gravitational field is so strong that it’s impossible not to notice or choose to ignore it. Aaron knows that, you know that, and now maybe it’s time to explore what it means. He nods upon hearing the word you said out loud, but he remains silent, he just keeps watching you, analyzing you. During dinner, whenever Jack gave him a moment to talk, he told you about his job as a profiler, so now you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope.

Suddenly, he decides to knock you out of the depths of your thoughts by lifting you to the counter and placing a kiss on your nose. “Do you wanna find out what would happen if we got a little closer?” he asks, his hands moving to your knees, fingers spreading as he moves them up your thighs.

A jolt of electricity runs through you, and you can’t stop yourself, you cup his face and pull him into a kiss. He doesn’t hesitate to return it, quickly taking the lead as he kisses you hard and messy, way too eager to have you all to himself. All you want is spending the night in his bed, exploring every inch of his body and taking the time to learn more about him. He’s not that type, you know that, not someone who would sleep with a woman he barely knows, but God, you need him so bad.

The spell is broken when you hear some strange noises from Jack’s room, and his fatherly instincts kick in right away, making him rush to his son’s room. You don’t miss the sound of crying, the heartbreaking sobs of the child you grew to like so much in the past few hours. Your curiosity is strong, telling you to go and see what’s happening, but you also know it’s not something you should observe.

Some time later you’re sitting on the couch, mindlessly checking your notifications to see if there’s anything interesting, but your mind keeps returning to the kiss, that goddamn kiss you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps from the bedrooms, and Aaron eventually sits next to you with a troubled look on his face.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask hesitantly.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “Not now.”

You nod as you lock your phone and turn to him. “I didn’t want to sneak out without a word. Thank you for the dinner and everything, but I should probably go now.” Before he could speak, you stand up and slip the phone into the pocket of the hoodie. The hoodie that still smells like him.

It hurts. It really does. You can see the sadness in his eyes, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, and you don’t want to force him to tell you what’s wrong. Maybe he needs some time alone now to think about whatever happened in his son’s bedroom.

You’re not good at this; the emotional conversations are the bane of your existence. You work, you go to parties, but most of your relationships are extremely shallow. You have absolutely no experience in emotionally supporting someone in need of it, and you sure as hell won’t practice on the man you like so much.

When you grab the doorknob, though, you suddenly see him put his hand on the door next to your head to keep it closed. You turn to him with a confused look on your face. He lets out a humorless laugh as he watches you.

“It’s not an easy topic, okay? I’ll tell you, I promise, just… not yet. I wanted you to know this,” he adds, then leans in to give you a soft kiss. You return it, but it feels different now, so you put a hand on his chest to gently push him away. Now it’s his turn to look confused. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he sounds unsure of himself.

“No, it’s just getting late. Good night, Aaron.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then he sees the determination in your eyes and gives up the fight before he could even begin. “Sure. Good night.”

[torglives]

i think there is something really tragic in pangi now vs entering the server looking everywhere to make friends, operating with complete kindness (and a bit of mischief!) but still being so, so intelligent. i think the slow loss of that logical side of him is what really gets me the most. that’s not to say the other traits are irrelevant, because they’re all a little connected. and he’s kind of lost them all one by one by one.

for god’s sake man, he switched to green out of kindness. out of care. he wanted to help bad, to make sure he wasn’t alone in the new and terrifying chapter that the realm was entering. as the server progressed, he lost that kindness to scrutiny. to facing judgement at every turn— to shouldering the burden that comes with teaming with bad, agent of chaos. he accepted all of it, he found family in the people around him, and in those he knew were worth keeping around. he didn’t choose this, but he embraced it. his kindness was ultimately what killed the kind part of him.

however, he remained mostly clear-headed. at times he had his moments (he could get a little silly with it let’s be real) but i don’t think enough people gave pangi credit for just how smart he was. he was always three steps ahead, because he had to be, because he had people to look after and so many things to live for.

now? now he’s irrational. he’s smart, and he has all these plans, but he doesn’t see reason. he’s so in his own head, so consumed by the idea of revenge and of tearing it all down, that he’s lost the very thing that kept him alive. and he doesn’t care— he’s not unable to see that he’s acting irrationally, he just doesn’t care anymore. he’s killing himself, slowly, in more ways than one. he’s reckless in ways he’s never been before. he’s doing things for the simple sake of doing them. piece by piece he’s lost his humanity and his rationality.

he’s consumed by grief, by anger, and has no one to help shoulder that burden. and people would. he has people who would give him a shoulder, build towers, hold him in their light, strike people down— but he doesn’t want that. he doesn’t want help. they’ll try, and they’ll fail, because he won’t let them. it’s easier for him to believe that everyone is against him. it’s easier for him to shape a new version of himself from what he’s been given than it is to dig his heart out of its grave.

he’s going to end up dead at this rate, but it’ll be on his own terms. and he’ll drag everyone else down with him, or die trying to.

you know. or something.

[roipecheur]

While the reverse robins trope does not usually Compel™ me (sorry), I was thinking today about keeping the rest the same but reversing Tim and Steph. To be clear, I think this would be 10x worse for Steph and probably at least slightly worse for Tim.

(Warning: this does get a little Bruce critical. I do like Bruce as a character, but part of me liking him is putting him under a magnifying glass and examining his Bastard tendencies.)

So. If Bruce met Steph/Spoiler first. She'd be about 12/13, same age as Tim. Bruce is mourning Jason, out of his mind with grief, and then he meets this bright, fierce kid who reminds him a little of Jason but quips and laughs in the face of death like he hasn't seen since Dick. Since Steph is doing this to fight Cluemaster (her dad) and doesn't want him to figure out who she is, she's pretending to be a boy. This unintentionally goes a long way in getting Bruce to accept her.

Because Bruce was really fucking sexist in the '90s and '00s. I don't know if this was a deliberate character choice or the sexism of the writers/DC at the time or a mixture of both since Bruce of course would've had a bunch of different writers during that time. You only have to look at the difference in how he extended endless compassion and second chances to Jean-Paul Valley and Bane, two men who attacked him and broke his big no-killing taboo, and how he treated Helena and Steph--like loose canon liabilities despite how they were generally doing the vigilante thing and not getting dead. And, to a lesser extent, how Bruce treated Babs especially during War Games, and how he treated Cass.

In Cass, Bruce really wanted a kindred spirit. He wanted someone who lived and breathed the mission like he did, for Batgirl to be who she was in the way Batman is who Bruce is. Bruce Wayne is the mask, and one it seems at times (Fugitive arc) that he'd happily discard. I've only read a few issues of Cass' Batgirl run, mostly while following Tim's appearances, but I've gathered that Bruce gets into a snit whenever she goes off script and does her own thing. It threatens him.

Back to little 12-13 year old Spoiler, who Bruce at this point thinks is a boy. They team up and defeat Cluemaster, and during the fight, Arthur unmasks Steph and realizes he was about to kill his own daughter, which is what allows Bruce to get the drop on him and send him away. Bruce's assumptions have been rocked a bit, but Steph's dad is now in prison (again) and for plot and convenience reasons, let's say Steph's mom is having drug problems and is about to lose custody to the system. Bruce has always solved his emotional problems by taking in wayward children, so he scoops Steph up.

Alfred, Dick, Babs, Clark, and little Tim Drake watching through his camera lens: "What the fuck."

This prompts Tim to track Dick down, which he was about to do anyway, except instead of "hey I think Batman is going to get himself killed" it's "hey I think Batman is gonna get another kid killed because he's got a new Robin already" and Dick, who is hearing about this for the first time, goes home to yell at Bruce. Meanwhile, Steph and Tim have intense rivalry/tension at first sight. Tim's Robin material and a Real Boy, and Steph accuses him of wanting to be Robin in her place. Tim claims he doesn't want to be Robin (but deep down, he kinda does, and he also thinks he could do a better job).

Also. Bruce is extremely hard on Steph because he subconsciously or semi-consciously needs her to make up for the fact that she's 1) not Dick and 2) the Robin after Jason. Part of it is justified because he doesn't want another kid to die on him, and part of it is Bruce forcing her to choose between normal middle school activities and friends and being Robin. He isolates her in a way he didn't with Dick or Jason in the name of protecting her--definitely doesn't let her go off with the Titans or meet the Justice League or anything like that. Steph, desperate for approval and someone willing to spend the time on her, tries to live up to his expectations while chafing under them.

Fun bonus: Bruce makes Steph hide her blonde hair under a short, black wig on patrol in a call-back to making Jason in the pre-Crisis timeline dye his red hair black. He says it's to help protect her identity (and pretending to be a boy was Steph's idea first), but it almost seems like it lets Bruce forget she isn't a boy when they're out as Batman and Robin.

Bruce also keeps letting Tim hang around. He says it's because Tim knows their secrets and has some useful computer skills, so it's better to keep him where he can see him. Privately, he also thinks Tim pushes Steph to become better and work harder. Steph resents Tim heavily because she sees him as a threat--someone to replace her as Robin if she steps out of line--and their relationship improves once Tim starts working more closely with Babs instead. While Babs wasn't willing to take on Steph's training in her Spoiler days in the pre-Flashpoint timeline, Tim's already good with computers. He can provide support on that front and fill in for her in a way that Steph couldn't, so he finds a niche with Oracle.

When Cass shows up, Bruce pits her and Steph against each other and sets Cass up as an 'example' for Steph. It pisses Steph off because she was here first, and maybe she can't fight like Cass and never will, but she can do stuff like talk to people they need information from and pretend to be a Normal Teenager to blend in when the situation calls for it. Despite that, she tries to be friends with Cass...and it works a little too well for Bruce's liking. Steph does something like take Cass on a girls' night to a skating rink and a movie where they wear dresses and do their hair and nails and makeup, and Bruce is furious because they disappeared and weren't answering comms. He benches only Steph for that, which is shitty to Steph and infantilizing to Cass.

Steph could still get pregnant at 15-16--without meaning to, Bruce set her up very well for that. Living with Bruce and being Robin for a few years in those conditions would make Steph want someone to see her as a girl, as the person she was and wanted to be, and not as how well she could fit the mission. Essentially, an easy target for an older guy who told her all the right things. Bruce is angry with her when he finds out....and tells her that she has to choose between Robin and the baby. Steph chooses to carry the pregnancy to term. This happens to correspond with her mom getting better and wanting custody back, so Steph goes back to her mom's house, and Bruce more or less lets her. (Alfred side-eyes him, but we all know that's all the enabler-in-chief will do.)

It's very easy after that for Tim to step into Robin. Bruce was preparing him for this possibility all along. At this point, Tim just started dating Steph--as in the comics, right before Steph found out she was pregnant--and he wants to at least talk to her about it first. But the call comes in an emergency situation, and Tim goes out in the suit, and Steph finds out via rumors or the news. She's upset with Tim, but he shows up later to apologize, and Steph's starting to realize she should be more angry with Bruce.

Steph carries the pregnancy to term, gives her baby up for adoption, and dusts off her old Spoiler suit because she doesn't think she'll get Robin back and isn't sure she wants it. She fills in for Tim when he's at Brentwood and when his dad finds out he's Robin and makes him quit, but it's never the same, and the mantle is never really hers again. As in the comics...Bruce uses Steph when Tim's not around, and he uses her to try and get Tim back.

I don't like the whole War Games arc and I fuckin hate how it treated Steph, so. Since I'm sitting here spinning yarns, rather than Steph stealing Bruce's plans and starting a citywide gang war in a misguided attempt to impress him, she steals information on everyone who trained Bruce in her quest to Find a Mentor Who Gives a Damn. It's the last straw after Bruce fires her--again--for saving his life. Steph skips town, has adventures and misadventures on her training world tour, and eventually comes back to Gotham and becomes Batgirl after Cass gives it up.

As I said. It's Worse.

[reyesstrand]

If you are still taking some....I wish you would write a fic where Carlos and Lou 2 are bonding and get caught by TK.

TK has a grin on his face the whole ride home.

“Babe.”

“You totally miss him,” TK says instead, turning his head to stare at Carlos—his husband—in all his sun-kissed glory, his post-honeymoon glow. His curls are still lightly tousled from the days of a constant sea breeze and he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on TK’s knee. “Admit it, you love him.”

Carlos throws him a look, before focusing back on the road. They’re a block away from home and as much as TK loved their suite and the beach views and the kisses that tasted of tropical fruit and the saltiness of each other, he can’t wait to get back to the loft. He’s eager to see their friends tomorrow and he’s eager to start his new life back in Austin with a ring on his finger and a husband at his side. Most importantly, he can’t wait to see Lou, and he knows his husband shares in that longing.

“I just thought he might like a treat, that’s all,” Carlos mumbles, not wanting to admit that his suggestion of stopping at a local pet store to grab a couple of things coupled with his text to Nancy last night asking about how their pet was doing was all TK needed to know that Carlos hadn’t just come around on the bearded dragon; he loves him, as much as TK does.

“Because you love him,” TK says, and Carlos sighs but smiles through it, picking up TK’s hand and pressing a kiss to his ring.

When they get back home, lugging their suitcases into the elevator and wincing as they always do when it creaks between the second and third floor, TK drops everything to run to the tank by their dining table.

“Hey buddy!” TK exclaims, gently reaching in to pick up Lou; to trace his finger lovingly down his scaly back. “Did you miss us?”

Tiny eyes look up at him, and TK would swear that he gets a smile.

“Babe, I think the carry-on’s still in the trunk,” Carlos says, already meticulously sorting through their luggage. “Can you grab it so I can start on laundry?”

“So romantic,” TK sighs, only to hold his hands up in mock defense when Carlos cocks a brow at him. They’ve already talked up their plans for tonight, anyway. They don’t plan on being quiet about their celebratory return home as husbands, especially right before they’re forced back into the real world tomorrow.

Carlos grabs his forearm and pulls him gently before he can walk outside; presses a kiss to his mouth that knocks him off-kilter. “Be quick.”

TK grins and nods and pecks his husband’s cheek before dashing downstairs and out into the garage. He fumbles with the fob before getting the trunk unlocked, grabbing their shared carry-on and the canvas bag of souvenirs they plan on gifting to friends and family they also forgot. Once back in their home, TK drops the carry-on onto the couch and digs into the bag of knick-knacks and hats, about to ask how they plan on divying everything up, when he stops dead in his tracks.

Carlos is holding Lou. Not just with his arms outstretched and a grimace on his face; actually holding him like TK does, against his chest like he’s a baby. Carlos smiles down at their pet and TK makes a sound like he’s dying.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carlos turns and leans into the touch as TK slings his arm over Carlos’ shoulders. “I love him. And I missed him. I missed you with him.”

TK grins and accepts Lou when he’s passed over gently. Meeting his husband’s eyes, where his gaze is soft and warm, he says, “I love you.” He can’t quite believe this is his life. Carlos gives him a look like he can’t believe it either, and a kiss to convey his happiness for it, too.

[nellynee]

There's something very viscerally emotional, something between enamoured and inspired and being seen, that pings in me about the relationship between Love and Divinity in Great God Grove.

The game has such a pointed commentary on censorship through redefining and mislabeling things in Hobbyhoo that I can't help but feel like the "unappealing to the masses" tension that was edited out of "Oh Partner Mine" wasn't unappealing for its queerness but from its openness, the romance itself, the love.

And I think about the large gap in time between innovation and creation, and that of love. How the world of GGG had needed love so much that they exalted the spread and embodiment of it into Divinity after centuries without a new god. The world before and after Thespius and how he must have reached the hearts of literally thousands to get the vote on love alone. How it touches and empassions the worshipers despite its lack of general appeal.

I think of the Rebellion in BuzzHuzz being about reunification, not mutiny. About Mildread and community and memory and the plenty of the earth being the same. About Bauhauzzo's tears and his adoration for the good and bad. I think about the ancient god of Nighttime's tears, heart exposed, and a gathering of worshipers standing in the rain, more worried about her emotions than a flood. About Click Clack wanting to love Thespius so much that the greatest gift he can imagine is the entire world's love.

I think of Inspekta's fall and the lack of love there. About a pantheon with such a wide gap in time, about how surely, surely Inspekta was not the first god to change his mind. The way the gods adore their worshipers, but are distant, referring to them as almost a part of the self. Self love, but not connection. How they pair off and find connection with one another. How Mitternacht lost all capability after disconnecting from her favorite mortal. How Cobigail's domain is withering and she's loosing herself. I think about how she and Inspekta are both mortal within living memory of the population, how Inspekta is at a crossroads that Cobigail seems to have successfully navigated, the acceptance of that disconnect from mortality into the Divine love for all. How he probably took one look at his aging congregation, and realized that he embodies a concept built on loneliness without said congregation, on the concept of being on top, and realized there was no one left for him soon, and the loneliness that must have inspired, the fear, the lack of love, and how he falls from grace. I think about how he grew up in a world where love was a form of worship, and how wanting it as a god must have hurt his pride, to need the blessings of another god the way the others didn't seem to need him anymore.

I think about the open queerness of it all and yet the Grove isn't treated as a queer paradise where you can express yourself. It's treated like this is simply the world, an entire planet in which expression is seen, but stories of love and words of affection can be bitten back in fear. The devout who live in the grove open and affectionate in ways visitors aren't.

The god of memory cries. The goddess of night weeps. Creation, innovation, stories, song, mirth, elequence, teamwork, communication, community, LOVE!

LOVE LOVE LOVE

(Love is Zelotism, and not everyone is a zelot. We must appeal to everyone. Spread the Good Word Click Clack)

In a world without a god of war, a god of victory or medicine or the sun, for the first time in ages, the people demanded Love!

Love is Worship! Love is Divine!

I think of the world outside the grove, and the depictions of love, how love must seem to some degree now like prayer. The very real vision that Love equates to worship; a malcontent masses choosing repression and privatization of their love as an act of atheism.

Love is an act of God!

Idk what my point here is. Something about that one might look at a heart locket as one might a cross on a chain. The relationships people in general and individually might have with love as it's associated with religion. The story of these gods and how successful they are in terms of love given and received. There's something fascinating there to chew on.

[goldenseresinretriever]

False Confidence: Chapter 15

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: It’s Family Day at Hard Deck Arena!

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Javy, be careful, you don’t want to drop them!” You squawk as you follow Javy into the arena, narrowly dodging the giant duffel that swings behind him, holding his gear. You’d argued that he wouldn’t need it today, given that family day is mostly a free skate, but he said there was nothing wrong with being prepared. He’s got the heavy bag thrown casually over one shoulder, and he’s balancing the brownies, his water bottle, and his keys in his hands. You’re jogging to keep up, carrying your skates in one hand and Roxie in the other behind him. You’re not exactly ecstatic to show off your poor attempt at skating in front of all your new friends, but Javy’s been looking forward to this all week so you’re putting on a brave face for his sake.

Javy leads you to the break room where you’d first been introduced to the team to find it already occupied by a few guys and their families. You see wives, a few babies, and even a few toddlers and small kids running around. Javy sets the trays on some tables set up at the front of the room. You wince slightly as you take in a meticulously crafted charcuterie board and various trays of fancy-looking hors d'oeuvres that look straight out of Pinterest. Suddenly your brownies seem silly, out of place at what’s definitely much more of an adult event than you’d anticipated. They would be a lot more at home at a school bake sale.

“Hey,” you tear your gaze from the table to see Javy giving you a concerned look. “They’re perfect,” he says firmly, like he can read your mind. He reaches over to lace his fingers with yours. “Don’t worry about them,” he reassures you. “You’re not the one that misread the invite.” You're about to tell him that you don’t believe him but don’t get the chance as an arm is thrown around your shoulder, jostling you as a blonde head cranes over your shoulder.

“Oooo, what’d you two bring?” Jake asks as he scans the table. “Oh, fuck yes, brownies!” He whoops, reaching past you to grab a square. “Finally, some real food,” he grumbles around the brownie that made a beeline to his mouth. “Roadie these are the best, I’m so glad you could come!” The arm around your shoulders squeezes you in an awkward hug.

“Jake!” The three of you look up towards the voice to see Bugs frowning at him. She places her own trays down on the table as she shakes her head. “You have no self-control you know,” she chides as the frown dissolves. Jake gives her a chocolatey grin in response and she rolls her eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I made sure they were healthy. I know you and Penny work really hard on their dietary plans, so I tried to keep them as nutritious as possible.” You pipe up in an attempt to further dissolve the situation.

“Oh!” Bugs looks surprised and you wonder if you’ve made yet another blunder until the expression melts into a huge grin. “I was upset that he ran straight in here without me when I asked him to wait.” She gives Jake a pointed look and he has the good sense to look chagrined. “It wasn’t because of the brownies, I promise! He’s fine to eat brownies, they all are, but I really appreciate your attention to that concern. Anything helps, and I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, Bunny, but I was just so excited to see my best friend,” Jake pouts at Bugs before giving you another squeeze.

“I thought I was your best friend,” Javy says with a playful scowl.

“Nah, you can’t cook for shit, I’m trading you in for Roadie.” He ruffles your hair gently as your cheeks heat in response.

“Javy helped make the brownies, actually. He did a whole tray himself.” You pipe up in support of your boyfriend and Javy sticks his tongue out at Jake.

“And they didn’t burn? Damn, Roadie, you really are a miracle worker.” He finally releases you from the hug, turning back to his girlfriend.

“Where are the dogs?” He asks and she puts her hands on her hips.

“Where do you think, mister? You ran straight in here without helping, they’re still in the truck. Hopefully, they’re destroying your seats as retribution.”

Jake disappears out the door with a muttered “fuck” under his breath and you swear you can see a tiny cartoon whoosh of smoke in his wake.

“Who’s the Roadrunner, now?” Bugs jokes and Javy chuckles as he heads out the door after his best friend. Roxie squirms in your arms and you set her down as Bugs uncovers a tray of what looks like bacon-wrapped shrimp. She follows your gaze and laughs nervously, “I know I’m supposed to be a better influence, but Jake insisted on them.” You wave her concern off.

“They look great,” you reassure her, glancing around for plates and napkins. “Do we have…” Bugs heaves a sigh, shaking her head as she scans the room.

“Bob and Dragon were supposed to bring that stuff, I expected them to be here by now.”

“I can run to the store,” you offer.

“No need,” a voice interrupts and the two of you turn to where Bradley enters the break room. Zam’s behind him, armed with grocery bags full of serving supplies.

“Rule number one, Bugs? If you want something done on time? Do it yourself. And never, NEVER, put the boys in charge of utensils.” Zam says as she sets the bags on the ground and starts unpacking them at one end of the table.

“Noted.” Bugs nods with a chuckle and barks echo down the hallway, signaling Jake’s return. Roxie perks up and heads out the door. You’re torn over chasing after her, but Javy should be with Jake.

Bradley’s looking towards the door with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “The dogs come to family day?” He mutters under his breath and Zam rolls her eyes, clapping him on the arm.

“What’s wrong, Bear? You afraid of a few dogs?” You can see the humor glinting in her eyes at Bradley’s discomfort.

“No,” he grumbles as the doorway explodes in a mass of fur. You don’t realize you’ve been hit until you’re staring at the ceiling, your face is being covered with slobber, a heavy weight settled on your chest. You let out a soundless gasp of surprise as your lungs heave at the squish on them. You hear some yelling before the weight alleviates and you’re catching your breath, still staring at the ceiling until a familiar wet nose nudges at your cheek, concerned.

“I’m okay, Roxie, it’s okay.” You assure the dachshund as you sit up, your head spinning slightly as you readjust.

“Meep, are you okay?” Javy sounds genuinely worried as he drops down next to you, a hand at your back supporting you. Jake looks guilty as he maintains a hold on the collar of a frankly enormous dog. She’s a gigantic mass of copper fur and her eyes are dancing between the excitement that bowled you over and confusion at being held back.

“She didn’t mean to hurt you, she just gets excited,” Jake apologizes and you wave him off.

“It’s okay, I’m fine. Just a little surprised is all.” You assure him as Javy runs a tentative finger over the back of your head, checking for a bump where you hit it on the ground. You wince as he presses on a particularly sensitive area and he waves Bugs over. She squats down on your other side. Taking over the prodding from Javy. “I’m fine, really. It’s just a little spot, I’m fine I swear.” You feel your cheeks heating in embarrassment from all the attention being brought to you.

“Why don’t you move this to your office, Bugs?” Bradley suggests, brown eyes meeting yours with a look of understanding. He comes over and offers you a hand up, carefully easing you to your feet. You squeeze his hand in thanks as Javy and Bugs lead you out of the room.

“Do you want me to carry you, Meep?” You wave him off.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Bugs you have to check her for a concussion.” Javy insists and Bugs nods, leading you to an examination room.

“I’ll take it from here, Javy, you head back.” He hesitates but Bugs isn’t going to budge so he eventually relents. When you enter the room, you feel a little silly taking a seat on the examination table.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you say as soon as Bugs closes the door. She turns to you with a smirk.

“Oh, I know. Those boys are just a bunch of big babies, so it’s best to indulge them.” She sits down on the stool across the room. “Well just hang out here for a bit and then go back.” She opens a drawer and pulls out a ziplock bag. “You want a gummy bear?” You take one and the two of you sit in silence for a moment. “Do you want some ice for your head? I know it’s nothing, but it could help with potential swelling.”

You shake your head. “It already feels fine. I was more surprised than hurt, honestly.”

Bugs heaves a sigh. “I’m always telling Jake he needs to keep Pudding on a leash, especially when he brings her here. She just gets so excited when she’s around people, especially new ones.” You nod in understanding.

“Thanks again for making the brownies, I really appreciate you putting in the thought to make them more healthy, and for actually making something fun. So many of the other WAGs just make cocktail food and forget that these guys play a game for a living. They have the collective maturity of a five-year-old.” The two of you giggle at that. “Honestly, that’s probably why you’re so good with Javy.” She points out. “You do this for a living.”

“I’d say he’s more like a puppy than anything else.” You admit. “He’s got good intentions, he’s just bad at showing it.”

“Thanks for being patient with him. I know it’s not easy, but you’re right, he’s a good guy at his core, you just have to be willing to spend the time to see it.” You smile at Bug’s words.

“I’m not exactly a cakewalk either,” you admit, thinking about how much of your antics Javy has had to put up with over the past few weeks.

Bugs shrugs and you see a faraway look in her eye. “None of us are, it’s what makes us people. All we have to do is find the right kind of people who're willing to handle all our bumps and bruises.” She’s right, you realize. You’d been so nervous to be yourself around Javy at first, trying your best to hide your fears and anxieties. And while they didn’t make you the easiest person to deal with, Javy had been nothing but patient with you. He literally rode through a panic attack with you on your first date. And by some miracle, he still wanted to be with you. There were plenty of people that would be easier for him to be with, and yet he’d chosen you. “Just because it’s difficult, it doesn't mean you’re not worth loving,” Bugs says, eyes soft. “Jake taught me that. And I’d bet that Zam taught Bradley that too. And if Javy’s not trying to show you that in his own roundabout way, then maybe he’s gone headfirst into the boards one too many times. I, for one, love having you as a part of our little family.” You feel your cheeks heat over Bugs’s sweet and heartfelt words.

“I’ve never really had a group of friends before,” it comes out less of a blurt and more of a quiet admission. “So it’s overwhelming, having so many people express interest in me all of a sudden. But just because I’m having trouble processing it, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. You’ve all been so nice and welcoming and I really am thankful for you all.”

“This world is a lot for anyone,” Bugs says with a tired smile, “it’s hard enough without having to navigate it alone. That’s what draws everyone together, I think. The world of professional athletes can be so far removed, and the minute you get involved with one, whether that’s as a family member, a friend, or a partner, you’re dragged right along into that world whether you like it or not. Zam and I already work in this, but at least we had a choice when we decided to fully step into the spotlight. You didn’t get that choice. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

You remember the horror in your stomach when you found out about the photos of you and Javy first went viral. You’d been sorely tempted to just call in sick for the rest of the day and lock yourself in your apartment for the rest of your days. Even after you’d started dating Javy, you’d found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder expecting photographers to have found you, desperate to pry open your personal life and expose it for the world to see. You were hyper-aware of the way people looked at you, from strangers at the grocery store to your coworkers to your students’ parents. You already went through your daily life fearing the attention and eyes of others, but your overnight exposure to the world had just amplified that. “It was, but all of you made it worth it,” you admit. “It felt like my world was ending for a second there, but having a support system really helped me get back on my feet. And sure, it’s not an ideal situation, but I’m never going to fault Javy for that. He’s doing what he loves and I know how that feels. There’s no better feeling. And this is just a small price to pay to have him, and all of you.”

Bugs’s smile is tender, “you really like him don’t you?”

You feel your cheeks heat in response as well as over the obvious word substitution that does little to diminish its weight in your mind, before nodding shyly. “Believe me, I’m just as surprised as anyone, but yeah, yeah I do.”

Before you Bugs can respond, a knock comes at the door to the office and Nat sticks her head into the room. “Sorry to break up the party, ladies. How’s your ‘concussion’ doing Roadie?” She rolls her eyes as she says this and you giggle waving off her concern.

“Nothing the curative properties of gummy bears and some girl talk can’t cure,” Bugs says as Nat lets herself in. She perches on Bugs’s desk, taking a gummy bear from the bag that Bugs holds out. “What’s up?”

Nat waggles her eyebrows suggestively, “There’s a dark and mysterious man asking for you in the break room.” Bugs’s eyes light up.

“Charlie! He actually came!” Nat’s eyes bug out of her head as she almost drops the gummy bear she has between her teeth.

“That broody hunk is your brother?” She asks, shocked. Bugs rolls her eyes.

“Keep that up, and I’ll tell him you said that,” she says pointedly and Nat’s cheeks pinken slightly, “I better go find him before Jake says something stupid to him,” she hurries back out into the hallway.

“So, Bugs’s brother?” You arch a curious eyebrow at Nat who rolls her eyes and chews her gummy bear loudly. When you don’t give up the look, she shrugs dramatically,

“In my defense, the family resemblance is not there. At least Bugs and Tucker look related!”

“And you think he’s cute?” You push and she barks out a laugh, shaking her head at you.

“Look at you, Little Miss Nosey, where’d she come from?” You shrug, a smile creeping up the corner of your mouth.

“I guess I just hang out with you too much,” you muse and she lets out a faux gasp.

“Roadie, how dare you!” The two of you explode into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m fine, so let’s get back out there, I need to see your broody hunk,” you hold out your hand to Nat who lets out a groan.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Not really.”

“Here I was thinking you’d be able to fix Javy, and he just turned you into him.” She bemoans as you drag her towards the door to the office, rolling your eyes.

***

Nat manages to escape your hold and disappears into the labyrinth that’s the hallways of the arena so you find yourself walking around, enjoying the silence, and trying to familiarize yourself with the layout. Most people are floating between the break room where the food is set up and the rink itself as the first few people have started skating. You know you’ll have to head that way eventually, so you’re about to make your way in that direction when you remember that you wanted to try one of Javy’s brownies before they’re all gone. As you approach the room, you’re surprised to find it’s quiet. You must have lost track of time. You duck in, making a beeline to the snack table, planning to just duck in and grab the brownie before hurrying over to the rink to catch up with the others so you don’t see the figure in the corner until his voice catches you off guard.

“Roadie, thank goodness, help me, please.” You whip around, eyes wide in surprise, and you blink slowly as you take in Bradley’s desperate features where he’s seated in a corner by himself. You arch an eyebrow in question before his frantic eyes glance downward, guiding your gaze to where Jake and Bugs’s pitbull puppy, Taz, is draped over his shoe, looking up at him with blue eyes full of anticipation.

“Bradley you scared me, I didn’t think there was anyone still in here,” you make your way over to where he’s sitting, your brownie forgotten for the moment. “What’s wrong?” His face is pinched in distress but you can’t see what could be causing him discomfort. “Is it a muscle cramp or something? Should I get Bugs?” Your brows furrow in concern as Bradley’s eyes widen in horror at the suggestion.

“No, no you don’t need to get Bugs, I just…” his voice trails off and his gaze shifts again to the puppy lounging on his shoe. The tips of Bradley’s ears and the tops of his cheeks are starting to pinken. “Can you just,” he clears his throat as the pink starts to blossom into an embarrassed red. “Can you get it to move?”

“It?” You frown in confusion before you realize what he’s talking about. “Wait, Taz?” Bradley nods furiously even as his blush deepens. “What’s wrong, are you allergic or something?” You examine the red splotches on Bradley’s as he shakes his head.

“I just, I don’t… It won’t stop following me.” You have to hold in the surprised laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “Ever since it got here, it’s been following me. And then I sat down and now I can’t get up.” You purse your lips together to hide the smile threatening to split across your face. Bradley’s a big guy, one of, if not the biggest guy on the team. You’ve watched him shove other men his size around like they’re nothing, and here he is, glued to his seat by a puppy not much bigger than his hand that’s lying on his foot.

“So you just want me to get him to move?” You ask and Braldey nods furiously. You squat down then, reaching out to scratch the tiny puppy’s head. He rolls over onto his back, still draped over Bradley’s shoe and you scoop him up into your arms effortlessly. As dogs go, the Seresin dogs are some of the sweetest that you’ve met. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. “There you go, big guy,” you coo at Taz. “You want to hang out with me for a little bit? I think Bradley needs a break.” The puppy squirms in your arms, tail wagging as he licks at your cheeks enthusiastically. You turn back to Bradley as Taz gets comfortable, “consider yourself a free man,” you say and he gives you a thankful look. “So you’re not a dog person, huh?”

You think you see him try to suppress a shudder. “Not really, no. I was raised by a single mom so between her job and having to race me around to hockey stuff, we didn’t really have time for pets.”

You nod. “My parents didn’t like pets, either. I had fish a few times growing up, but nothing bigger than that. Puppies are just big softies, though. They just want love,” you pause to kiss Taz on his tiny forehead. “So no dogs, how about other animals?”

Bradley shrugs, “I don’t mind cats. My godmother has one, but I think he’s still warming up to me. He doesn’t really like anyone except her. Bob has a cat too, but she’s terrifying. She’s one of those breeds that’s huge, so she doesn’t really feel like a cat. So, I don’t mind cats, but I’m not sure they like me.”

“Have you tried not frowning at them?” He gives you a look of surprise like hadn’t expected you to crack a joke but you just shrug and give him a small smile.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Animals are extremely aware of our emotions, so if you frown at them, they probably don’t think of you as a friend.” Bradley considers your words for a moment before nodding curtly.

“I’ll try it.” Your smile widens softly.

“Can I ask you another question?” You ask carefully. You haven’t had a whole lot of chances to get to know Javy’s defense partner and something’s been bothering you for a while now. Bradley gives you a wary nod.

“Why don’t you and Javy get along?” Bradley lets out a heavy sigh and you feel nerves twist in your stomach. Maybe you should have just asked Javy, but you wanted to get both sides of the story. “Sorry if I’m putting my nose where it doesn’t belong, but you’re partners, right? I’d think that would be easier if you were friends.” It sounds so childish when you say it out loud but you spend every day helping kids with conflict resolution, so you can’t help but want to help Javy and Bradley with this. You know Javy’s a good guy and you get the feeling that his brooding partner isn’t much different.

“No, you’re right.” Bradley sighs deeply. “We should be closer. I try not to let it affect the way I play, but I don’t think I’m as good at it as I think I am.” You nod, silently encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been in this league a long time, twelve years. And even before that, I’ve been playing hockey as long as I can remember, and I’ve seen a hundred guys like Javy. They let the power the world gives them get to their head. They live life like they’re untouchable like there won’t ever be consequences to their actions, even when they play a game where there always is.” He has a good point. When you’d first been introduced to them, you’d been perplexed by the concept of penalties, power-plays, and penalty kills, but as rough-and-tumble as hockey is, there are consequences to a player’s actions that directly affect the outcome of the game. “And while I’ve seen some guys get off scot-free, I’ve also seen guys who get burned and burned bad. They ruin their lives or worse, ruin someone else’s and walk away unscathed.”

“When I was playing in Philadelphia, we had this rookie join the team. And these rookies, they’re these 18-year-old, fresh-faced kids who get handed a salary that’s more money than they know what to do with and get thrust into a world where they’re essentially celebrities. They have money, they have power, and they run around like a kid in a candy store, testing the limits of those things. Anyway, this kid, he’d been a hotshot in college and it wasn’t a matter of whether he got drafted to the NHL, just a matter of what team. He had an ego the size of a truck and didn’t have a lick of sense in his head.” Bradley chuckles, his voice sounding almost fond.

“My coach knew that, however, and he had this kid move in with me. And I hated him. He was so young and fresh and I didn’t want to have to come home after a long day and play parent. And yet, I did. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to wrangle him and get some sense in his head. It wasn’t easy by any means. There were even nights that I locked him out of the house for staying out too late, and it started affecting the locker room. And of course, he tried tattling to the coaches. I thought it was over for me, honestly. Coach called me into his office one day and I thought I was getting traded or something, but instead, he thanked me. He said ‘he doesn’t appreciate it now, but he has no idea how good he has it.’ He was right of course. We worked things out, eventually.” Bradley pauses, a soft smile on his lips. “And now he’s one of my best friends.” You smile too and you can see the fondness in Bradley’s eyes. “You know, just the other day he called me and he said he asked our coach if he could take in one of the rookies next year.”

“So that’s why you’re tough on Javy?” You ask, softly. He nods, turning to look at you.

“I know he’s a good guy, even if I don’t show it. And he’s a good player, better than me, but he’s not going to change if I tell him that.” You nod in understanding. “Well, that, and he won’t stop flirting with my girlfriend.” Bradley scowls and you laugh at that. “I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still pisses me off.”

“That’s fair. The player you were talking about, what’s his name?”

“Wyatt Eaton, he still plays for Philadelphia. You’ll probably get a chance to meet him the next time the Flyers come to town.”

“I’d love that,” you say and Bradley returns your smile.

“You've been good for him,” Bradley says and you feel your cheeks heat at the compliment. “I still stand by the fact that you deserve someone better than him, but as long as you’re happy, I’m rooting for the two of you.” You smile shyly, bumping your shoulder against his.

“I am. Thanks, Bradley. And thanks for taking care of Javy, I really appreciate it.” He just nods in response. “We should probably get to the rink. Can you grab me a brownie? I want to make sure I get one of Javy’s before they’re gone, and my hands are kind of full.” Bradley goes over to the snack table and you follow still carrying Taz.

“So Javy actually made these?” He sounds suspicious.

“Under my supervision, don’t worry, but yeah he did.” You can’t help the pride in your voice as Bradley cuts off two pieces, wrapping one in a napkin before biting into the other. Your stomach drops as you wait for his reaction. He hums thoughtfully, nodding quietly.

“Not bad, Machado, not bad.” He says and you grin. “Alright, let’s go.”

***

When the two of you make it to the rink, you see that most people are already skating. You see the guys cheering as Zam skates gracefully across the ice, jumping and spinning with the practiced perfection of a figure skater. Bradley’s eyes are on her the moment you enter the rink, a smile on his lips whether he realizes it or not. You deposit Taz where Pudding and Roxie are lying together in the visitors’ bench area before coming back to where Bradley’s pulling on his skates with a practiced ease you’re slightly jealous of. You sit down on the bench next to him, reaching for your skates that Javy already brought over. They still feel clunky as you awkwardly shove your feet into them. You’re sure they’ll be better once you break them in.

Bradley’s voice startles you, “Machado, stop gawking and come help your girl.” Your cheeks heat as Javy’s head whips around and then he’s whizzing towards the bench.

“Meep! You made it!” You’re still shocked by how easily he swings himself over the boards instead of using the tiny door at one end. “Here, let me help!” He drops to his knees in front of you and your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“I can do it, Javy,” you try to protest but he just gives you a sweet grin.

“I know, but I want to.” Well, who are you to stop him, then? You awkwardly wait as he guides your feet into the skates and laces them up like he did last time. “Alright, Meep,” he claps a hand on your ankle, “you ready for this?” His tone is jovial but his eyes are cautious, searching yours for doubts. You swallow hard, trying to banish the butterflies from your stomach.

“You won’t let me fall, right?” You whisper and Javy’s smile softens.

“Never,” you nod, then, holding out your hands to him.

“Okay, I’m ready.” He stands, then, carefully helping you to your feet before guiding you to hold onto the boards while he swings over and then he holds your hands as you clomp over to the tiny door and nudge it open with your hip. Your legs wobble as you step onto the ice. Whoops and cheers explode from the other side of the rink and you look up to see your friends watching you. Nat skates over, face beaming.

“Roadie, you made it! Look at you!” Her excitement is infectious and you find yourself smiling. She holds out her hand you give her one of yours so now you’re anchored between her and Javy. They lead you as you skate over to the others.

“Looking good, Roadie!” Jake calls out as you reach the group where they're waiting for you.

“You’re looking much better than I was the first time I tried,” Josie points out, pride shining in her eyes. “I fell on my face in front of all of Reuben’s friends because I got cocky.” She winces at the memory.

“Yeah, Roadie, you’re a natural!” Zam pipes up. “You’re sure you haven’t skated before?” You shake your head.

“Not before last time, no.”

As you chat with the others and catch up as you skate along with them, holding Javy’s hand in yours, you feel your self-consciousness slowly start to melt away with all the kind words and camaraderie. Bugs was right, this community is important. You were right too, as hard as the past month has been for you, it was worth it to have a group of friends like this. They were more than just friends, this felt like a family and you were glad to have it.

A/N: Well now I miss the Philly boys 😭

[cheeseceli]

The number one

Pairing: Nishimura Riki × gn!reader

Genre: angst, drabble (<1k words)

Request: “I'd do anything to make you want me. I'd give it all up if you told me I'd be the number one in your eyes”

Warnings: no happy ending

A/n: came back from the dead just to write this one fr | daily click

Maybe it was because of his lack of experience in love. Maybe, with his hectic life that started when he was so young, he didn't really know what to do. He didn't even know what the feeling was. He just hoped it was love.

Oh, how he wanted it to be love. He heard that love made wonders, almost miracles. And if every time he saw you he felt this funny thing in his chest and the urge to look away whilst his brain desired to admire your face, he hoped it could mean he was in love with you.

How unfortunate it was that his first romantic experience would be an unrequited one. You were kind to him, and he knew you held him close to your heart. He was special to you. But not how he wanted to be. And he definitely wasn't the number one to you.

But he was pretty sure he loved you. And although he knew that this feeling could move mountains and change the course of rivers, he also knew it was hard to maintain. It was a delicate emotion: for you to love and be loved, you first need to take care of it like it's made of the most fragile glass ever. And such care could be painful.

But Niki was willing to go through this pain.

It was his first time in love. He couldn't let it go to waste.

So he really tried his best. He did everything he could. He knew you weren't emotionally available to him, but he thought that, with time and patience, you would end up giving in. Although he was inexperienced, he knew he could treat you right. He knew he could be the one, only if you allowed him. With this thought, he was ready to do anything for you to want him.

Someone should've warned him that this is not how things go. Although his heart was stubborn and he was yearning for you, nothing could do. Before he could even realise, he was losing himself in order to be the one you needed. The one you wanted. But even after all his efforts, he still didn't manage to be the number one in your eyes.

In the end, he was lost. All he had was his love for you and this new person he saw every time he looked in the mirror. He didn't know what to do with this.

If you as much told him you'd be willing to at least try, he would accept it. He would give it all up for that. He didn't need your love. If you couldn't give him your all, he would be happy with at least a part of it. But you never said anything to him. He knew you loved him as a friend, but you couldn't say you reciprocated even a fraction of his feelings. You could never tell him what he was dying to hear.

Before feeling it himself, Niki knew that love could heal and change lives. He also knew that the journey was hard, but worth it in the end. So he wished to feel it one day. Until he did. And then, he learnt that love can also hurt.

And it hurts like hell.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: when you marry someone else

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @greentulip @firstclassjaylee

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | images 1, 2 and 3

[echoessilencepatienceandgrace]

-lucanis and rook-

lucanis has lost so much, so much was taken from him, everything was always determined for him, sometimes without his choice or say. getting out of the ossuary gave him a chance to reclaim his life.

it gave him a chance to heal, to move forward, and it’s all terrifying. lucanis is a master assassin, heir apparent to house dellamorte. he can be nothing less than that in his own mind and he cannot let the team, or rook, know how badly he is struggling.

it’s why he takes on such a caretaker roll, allowing himself to care for the team, to show that he’s fine. the other part is because he truly cares for their wellbeing. part of his job is to know his targets, to understand them and that translates to his personal relationships too. he’s able to read the people around him easily, to understand and know them. but allowing himself to be known is the real struggle.

but then, there’s rook, who has seen him from the very start. rook who can see the bags under his eyes, who wipes away the blood from his nose after another spite incident, who breaks through the demons control not once but twice.

he can’t let her get too close, what if she sees him for who he really is?

and again here’s rook, who shows him kindness despite his short comings, who calms spite, who shows him she cares, who worries for him. who encourages him and makes him laugh, who strips down his defenses without him realizing.

she shouldn’t be so accepting, he doesn’t deserve it.

rook, who he shares coffee with at midnight, who shares his joy of cooking, who always knows what to say, who has the weight of the world on her shoulders but somehow always knows how to brighten his day. rook who fights by his side, who sticks up for him against his enemies, who checks on him in the quiet moments of the night.

she deserves better than me, what do i have to offer?

rook becomes a soft place to land for the weary restless crow. in time, she is someone lucanis realizes he doesn’t want to be without. she’s saved him in more ways than one, and he finally allows himself to feel what’s been in his heart since he saw her in the ossuary: love.

she’s a breath of fresh air, she’s so close and hasn’t turn away yet.

rook’s kindness and acceptance shines at every corner, breaking down lucanis’ walls and saving him from his own jail of despair and grief. he clings to that light in the uncertainty around them, like a plant to the sun.

it’s why he doesn’t know what to say to her. it’s why he feels as if he needs to apologize because he feels like just another burden on her shoulders. but there she is again with her reassuring smile, with love pouring from her like water. there is never judgement in her eyes and no trace of it in her voice.

it’s new and it’s nerve wracking and jittery as they sit side by side sharing desert, and it’s everything lucanis hoped for and could want.

in time it becomes easier, because it’s rook. he knows with her, he’s understood and cared for and seen and known. it’s the trust they’ve built with each other, it’s the glances shared. he showers rook with love in his own ways: cooking for her, buying her things that made him think of her, always being within an arms reach of her, idle kisses, tender touches. bc he loves her and he doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

especially when it’s just the two of them alone, he’s like a lovesick fool around her, so smiley and just so in love. like like i can see him retrying the wall lean one night but this time it’s extra corny, even more pouty lip action and rook is blushing and laughing and lucanis is so happy and leans down and it’s just the softest kiss and after they’re both smiling.

it’s finally allowing himself to sleep by her side, with spite letting him rest. it’s the fears of being so close and intimate washed away by her touch, the calm he feels from the sound of her heart beating, her soft snores as she holds him close. it’s in the safety he feels near her, never wanting to be parted from her. he knows what awaits them in their fight against the gods, but he is utterly devoted to rook and it is his goal to keep her safe. he has lost so much, he will not let the world take her away from him.

and for the first time in his life, there is optimism in his future. though he has taken on the title and burden of first talon, the weight is eased knowing rook is by his side no matter what comes next, it’s her love that fuels him, and that keeps him sane.

in short, lucanis craves connection and love but never allowed himself the joy of it due to his perception of himself. with rook’s help, he slowly allows himself to have these things, allowing himself to love and be loved. to cling to the good and not have it ripped away from him.

in short short, i love lucanis so much and I love rook so much and i love rookanis and i will never stop shouting it from the rooftops they both deserve so much love and they deserve each other

[redpill-tfs]

Don't know if you can do this but they just shut down my job in DEI with construction. I just want to be seen as one of thes guys. I guess I am ready to take the red pill.

You get a call from the foreman at the construction site, asking you to come to his office. You quickly make your way over, Dres shirt and pants on with no time to change.

He gestures for you to sit down, telling you that he's sorry about you being let go and offers you a position on the crew. Not wanting to go through unemployment and searching for a new job, you accept. You try to tell your boss you have no experience, but he just shrugs you off and says you'll learn quickly. He hands you the hard hat, safety glasses, and hi vis jacket the rest of the crew wears and tells you to get to work.

Putting on the uniform, you quickly walk over to the other guys to learn the ropes. They're joking around and talking about how great Trump is doing in office. You mentally shake your head as you greet them. Deciding your skinny frame and weak arms would be a hinderance to most jobs, you're assigned the wrench and told to tighten the bolts around the site. You can hear them talking about you as you leave, how you'll be a real man soon.

Your head starts to feel a bit dizzy as you walk over to the first bolt. It's almost like there's some type of motion in the glasses that you can't quite see. Shaking it off, you try tightening the first bolt. It takes a lot longer than it should, and that's when you realize you're turning it the wrong way. It's almost funny how dumb a college educated man could be sometimes.

The sun's rays are raining down on you, so you move to roll up your sleeves. To your surprise, you find the sleeves cut off, revealing massive arm muscles. As you start wondering what happened, you see more movement in the glasses. You shake the feeling off, remembering you tear the sleeves off all your shirts to create more room for the big guns. That's what happens when you work construction and work out regularly after all. You smirk and give a quick flex before heading to the next bolts.

Your next stop takes you next to Curt, one of the loudmouths on the crew. He'd been reported to you several times since he joined for offhand comments made to other people, claiming he was just joking. He was a proud Trump supporter and questioned the other guys about who they voted for. You groan internally and get to work, trying to get this over with as fast as possible. He comments on your haircut, calling you Old Man. Your mind goes dizzy as the glasses blur again, almost making a swirl pattern. You scoff at him. You're not that old, you're only 41. Some may call that old, but you're just in your prime. The stubble on your face and short haircut make you look good and you know it. You ignore Curt, getting back to work.

He comes up behind you and pats you on the back, asking if you want to get a beer or two after work with the rest of the guys. You're about to say no when the glasses swirl again. Of course you want to go for drinks with the bros! It's been a tradition as long as you've worked here. You smile as you think about sitting next to Curt, shooting the shit and making stupid jokes with each other. Some of the other guys at the bar would give you odd looks, but you know they're just snowflakes who get offended over everything. You'd never be like those losers. You've proudly voted Republican since you turned 18 and could vote.

You turn back to Curt and joke around with him for a bit before the foreman comes by and tells you two to get back to work. He gives you a smile as you leave, but you can't figure out why. You try not to think about it too much thinking just hurts your brain.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Unintended Acceptance Speech (Part 2)

@tomdayaloveforever this is the best I could do, I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭

The night was buzzing as Marshall and you made your way down the red carpet at the next big awards show. You were dressed to the nines—elegant and understated—while Marshall, ever the reluctant fashion icon, had settled on a sleek black suit with a touch of his classic rebellious flair.

But as soon as you two hit the carpet, flashes exploded in your faces. Reporters clamored, eager for a glimpse of the elusive Eminem, the elusive legend.

“Em! Em! Over here!” One reporter waved eagerly, a mic in hand. Marshall gave a small nod in acknowledgment but kept walking. It was nothing new—he’d been in this game long enough to know how to navigate the circus.

Then, it happened.

Another reporter—who’d clearly been waiting for this moment—suddenly grinned, practically bouncing on their heels. “Eminem! Quick question: after your… flower park incident at the Brits, what are you expecting tonight? A more traditional acceptance speech, or should we expect some floral-inspired moments again?”

The second those words left their mouth, the crowd went silent. It was like a collective gasp filled the air.

Marshall froze mid-step. You could almost feel the weight of his frustration building, but before he could process it, another reporter jumped in. “Are you planning on taking Y/N to a rose garden tonight? I mean, could we see a new ‘Eminem and Flowers’ series?”

Marshall turned to you, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he gave you a look. You tried to keep your composure, but you couldn't help the giggle that escaped.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head and holding up a finger for emphasis. “Look, I wasn’t out there tryna’ start a trend. I went to a flower park with my wife, and somebody had to FaceTime me right then. That’s on them. Don’t blame me for the heart-shaped bushes.”

You let out a snicker, covering your mouth, but it only made Marshall roll his eyes even more dramatically.

“Hey, we all need a little flower power in our lives, right?” you teased, nudging him. “You were just living your best life.”

Marshall gave you a side-eye. “I swear, if this turns into my new ‘brand,’ we’re gonna have a serious talk about these flower-themed fan clubs popping up.” He shot a playful glare at the cameras. “I mean, come on. When I signed up to be a rapper, I didn’t think I’d be known for being the guy who loves flowers.”

The crowd burst into laughter, but before Marshall could take the next step, a reporter asked, “But seriously—does it feel like that moment changed how people see you, like, maybe it humanized you?”

Marshall blinked, clearly thrown off for a second. You could see his gears grinding, but then, he shot the reporter a knowing look.

“Humanized me? Man, I’ve been human. I’ve just been gruff about it for a minute. I still got bars, though. And flowers.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, making sure everyone knew he was fully aware of the absurdity of it all.

You chuckled, leaning into him. “To be fair, I think the flowers really did suit you. You were looking pretty peaceful out there.”

“Peaceful? I’m hardcore!” Marshall shot back, but his smile betrayed him. “At least now I know… no more FaceTime calls when I’m out flower-hunting.”

You winked. “I’ll take you to more parks, though. Just promise me no more heart-shaped bushes for the next big award show?”

He narrowed his eyes, sarcastically. “I promise. No more bushes. Or if I do, it’ll be some real hardcore, dark, Gothic bush.”

The reporters were cracking up, the tension gone. Marshall was, once again, being the real Marshall—fierce but with a sense of humor that no one could resist.

As the questions continued, one reporter couldn't help themselves. “So, when’s the next Eminem Rose Garden album coming out? Or are we getting some lavender-scented merch?”

Marshall groaned, rubbing his temples as you laughed beside him.

“I can already see the headlines tomorrow,” he muttered. “The ‘Eminem Flower Collection’ drops just in time for spring. Real tough guy vibes.” He shot a look at the cameras. “Y’all really want me to become a florist now?”

“No, but you’ve definitely made it interesting,” another reporter quipped, with a smirk.

As you and Marshall continued down the carpet, the laughter and the jokes followed. Somehow, the flower park moment had turned into a hilarious piece of pop culture history, one that Marshall would never live down. But at least, for once, he could take the absurdity in stride.

You leaned into him with a smile. “I guess ‘hardcore rapper with a soft side’ is gonna be your new tagline.”

Marshall glanced at you, his eyes softening, before he said, “I’ll take it, as long as it doesn’t come with a damn bouquet.”

You burst into laughter. “It’s a deal, babe.”

[sailing-ever-west]

article

Article Text bc NYT sucks:

Trump Proposes U.S. Takeover of Gaza and Says All Palestinians Should Leave

By Michael D. ShearPeter Baker and Isabel Kershner

Peter Baker and Michael D. Shear reported from Washington, and Isabel Kershner from Jerusalem.

Published Feb. 4, 2025

Updated Feb. 5, 2025, 5:47 a.m. ET

The president met with the Israeli prime minister at the White House, meeting in person with another world leader for the first time since returning to power.

President Trump declared on Tuesday that the United States should seize control of Gaza and permanently displace the entire Palestinian population of the devastated seaside enclave, one of the most brazen ideas that any American leader has advanced in years.

Hosting Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel at the White House, Mr. Trump said that all two million Palestinians from Gaza should be moved to countries like Egypt and Jordan because of the devastation wrought by Israel’s campaign against Hamas after the terrorist attack of Oct. 7, 2023.

“The U.S. will take over the Gaza Strip, and we will do a job with it too,” Mr. Trump said at a news conference Tuesday evening. “We’ll own it and be responsible” for disposing of unexploded munitions and rebuilding Gaza into a mecca for jobs and tourism. Sounding like the real estate developer he once was, Mr. Trump vowed to turn it into “the Riviera of the Middle East.”

While the president framed the matter as a humanitarian imperative and an economic development opportunity, he effectively reopened a geopolitical Pandora’s box with far-reaching implications for the Middle East. Control over Gaza has been one of the major flash points of the Arab-Israeli conflict for decades, and the idea of relocating its Palestinian residents recalls an era when great Western powers redrew the maps of the region and moved around populations without regard to local autonomy.

The notion of the United States taking over territory in the Middle East would be a dramatic reversal for Mr. Trump, who first ran for office in 2016 vowing to extract America from the region after the Iraq war and decried the nation-building of his predecessors. In unveiling the plan, Mr. Trump did not cite any legal authority giving him the right to take over the territory, nor did he address the fact that forcible removal of a population violates international law and decades of American foreign policy consensus in both parties.

He made the proposal even as the United States was seeking to secure the Israel-Hamas cease-fire’s second phase, which is designed to free the remaining hostages in Gaza and bring a permanent end to the fighting. Negotiators had described their task as exceptionally difficult even before Mr. Trump announced his idea of ousting Palestinians from their homes.

Hamas, which has ruled in Gaza for most of the past two decades and is re-establishing control there now, immediately rejected mass relocation on Tuesday, and Egypt and Jordan have rejected the idea of taking in a large influx of Palestinians, given the fraught history, burden and destabilizing potential.

Sami Abu Zuhri, a senior Hamas official, said that Mr. Trump’s proposed relocation was “a recipe for creating chaos and tension in the region.”

“Our people in Gaza will not allow for these plans to come to pass,” he said in a statement distributed by Hamas. “What is needed is the end of the occupation and the aggression against our people, not expelling them from their land.”

Mr. Trump waved aside the opposition from Arab countries like Egypt and Jordan, suggesting that his powers of persuasion would convince them.

“They say they’re not going to accept,” Mr. Trump said during an earlier meeting with Mr. Netanyahu in the Oval Office. “I say they will.”

Mr. Netanyahu, sitting at Mr. Trump’s side, smiled with satisfaction as the president first outlined his ideas. Later, during the joint news conference, the Israeli prime minister heaped praise on Mr. Trump.

“You cut to the chase,” Mr. Netanyahu told Mr. Trump. “You see things others refuse to see. You say things others refuse to say, and after the jaws dropped, people scratch their heads and they say, ‘you know, he’s right.’”

“This is the kind of thinking that will reshape the Middle East and bring peace,” he added.

In his remarks, Mr. Trump insisted that Palestinians would quickly warm to his idea.

“I don’t think people should be going back to Gaza,” Mr. Trump said. “I heard that Gaza has been very unlucky for them. They live like hell. They live like they’re living in hell. Gaza is not a place for people to be living, and the only reason they want to go back, and I believe this strongly, is because they have no alternative.”

He suggested that nations in the region could finance the resettlement of Gazans to new places — perhaps “a good, fresh, beautiful piece of land” — that would provide better living conditions, either as a single territory or as many as a dozen. “It would be my hope that we could do something really nice, really good, where they wouldn’t want to return,” he said without offering details of what that would entail.

Asked how many Palestinians he had in mind, he said, “all of them,” adding, “I would think that they would be thrilled.” Pressed repeatedly on whether he would force them to go even if they did not want to, Mr. Trump said, “I don’t think they’re going to tell me no.”

Mr. Netanyahu and Mr. Trump in the Oval Office near a fireplace with several boom microphones over their heads.

Mr. Trump’s hosting of Mr. Netanyahu was his first in-person meeting with another world leader since his return to power two weeks ago.Credit...Eric Lee/The New York Times

Gaza has a long and tortured history of conflict and crisis. Many Gazans are descendants of Palestinians who were forced out of their homes during the 1948 war after Israel’s independence, an event known around the Arab world as the Nakba, or catastrophe. Now Mr. Trump is suggesting that they be displaced again, even though the Geneva Conventions — international agreements that the United States and Israel both ratified — bar forcible relocation of populations.

Egypt captured Gaza during the 1948 war and controlled it until Israel seized it, along with other Palestinian territory, in a 1967 war against a coalition of Arab nations seeking to destroy the Jewish state. Palestinians in Gaza waged violent resistance for years afterward, and Israel eventually withdrew from Gaza in 2005.

But within two years, Hamas, an avowed enemy of Israel that the United States and other nations have designated a terrorist group, took control of the enclave and used it as a base for war against Israel.

For years, Israel blockaded Gaza while Hamas fired rockets and staged terrorist attacks, culminating in the October 2023 operation that killed 1,200 people and led to the capture of 250 more. Israel retaliated with an unrelenting military operation that killed more than 47,000 people, according to Gazan health officials, whose count does not distinguish between civilians and combatants.

In the weeks since a cease-fire that President Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s administration negotiated and that Mr. Trump pushed came into effect, hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who were repeatedly displaced throughout the war have returned to their homes in Gaza to find them and their communities demolished. Steve Witkoff, Mr. Trump’s Middle East envoy, visited Gaza last week and said it would take 10 to 15 years to reconstruct.

“If you had damage that was one-hundredth of what I saw in Gaza, nobody would be allowed to go back to their homes,” Mr. Witkoff told reporters on Tuesday. “That’s how dangerous it is. There’s 30,000 unexploded munitions. It is buildings that could tip over at any moment. There’s no utilities.”

Picking up on the theme later in the day, Mr. Trump said it was not realistic to have Palestinians return to Gaza. “They have no alternative right now” but to leave, Mr. Trump told reporters before Mr. Netanyahu’s arrival.

“I mean, they’re there because they have no alternative,” he said. “What do they have? It is a big pile of rubble right now.” He added: “I don’t know how they could want to stay. It’s a demolition site. It’s a pure demolition site.”

Mr. Trump suggested the resettlement of Palestinians would be akin to the New York real estate projects he built his career on. “If we could find the right piece of land, or numerous pieces of land, and build them some really nice places with plenty of money in the area, that’s for sure,” he said. “I think that would be a lot better than going back to Gaza.”

“I do see a long-term ownership position” for the United States, Mr. Trump said, adding that “everybody I’ve spoken to loves the idea of the United States owning that piece of land, developing and creating thousands of jobs with something that will be magnificent.”

Mr. Trump’s summit with Mr. Netanyahu was his first in-person meeting with another world leader since his return to power two weeks ago. It was part of a multiday visit to Washington by Mr. Netanyahu that was meant to demonstrate the close ties between the two leaders.

Mr. Trump and Mr. Netanyahu forged a close partnership during the president’s first term but fell out toward its end over a number of issues, including the Israeli leader’s willingness to congratulate Mr. Biden on his victory in the 2020 election, which Mr. Trump insists he won. Mr. Trump and Mr. Netanyahu have since sought to smooth over their rift.

But Mr. Netanyahu went into his meeting at odds with Mr. Trump on several important issues, according to analysts, likely including how to confront Iran’s nuclear ambitions and how quickly to end the war in Gaza.

The Trump administration has made clear that it wants to see all of the hostages held by Hamas returned and then move on to a grand bargain involving Saudi Arabia that formalizes relations with Israel.

Saudi Arabia reiterated support for an independent Palestinian state on Tuesday and said forging ties with Israel would depend on the creation of such a state.

Advisers to Mr. Trump told reporters on Tuesday morning that the president and Mr. Netanyahu were united behind the idea that Hamas should not be allowed to remain in power.

With Mr. Netanyahu’s right-wing government in jeopardy if the war ends with Hamas still in control in Gaza, and with no other plan for the area in place, analysts expect the Israeli prime minister to try to delay moving toward a permanent cease-fire.

“Netanyahu made this salami deal,” said Shira Efron, the senior director of policy research at the Israel Policy Forum, a New York-based research group, referring to the three-phased agreement with Hamas. “He’s always playing for time and kicking the can down the road.”

Adding to the anxiety in the region were reports on Monday that U.S. intelligence officials believe Iran is seeking to build a cruder atomic weapon that could be developed quickly if the leadership in Tehran decided to do so.

It remains unclear whether that decision has been made, and Iran’s new president has indicated that he would like to begin a negotiation with Mr. Trump’s administration even as the country’s nuclear scientists push ahead with their efforts.

Mr. Trump on Tuesday signed an order directing a return to the policy of “maximum pressure” on Iran through sanctions, but avoided hostile language and refused to say whether he would support an Israeli strike on Iranian nuclear facilities, an indication of his interest in reaching an agreement. “This is one I’m torn about,” he said as he signed the order. “Hopefully, we’re not going to have to use it very much.”

[howlsofbloodhounds]

*holds up a mic to you* Alright what is the one theme about Something New that has eaten at you the most? Like brain rotting, and a part of you is still jumping off the walls about it.

At this current moment, probably not even exactly a theme, but the various psychological horror elements of the story gnaw at me.

Not just the Player, or Nightmare, but the fact that Killer’s trust in his own perception of reality has been so thoroughly eroded that he can’t even understand or comprehend what’s going on a lot of the times.

Like, how much of what he does and says registers as real? How much of what is said and done to him registers as real? How many people could’ve possibly offered him a hand to help him, and he thinks back on these moments—wondering if that even ever happened?

How many times has he asked for help or even asked someone to kill him while he was in Stage 1, but by the time he next encounters these people again in Stage 2–offering help, calling out to him—he’s detached and confused, because he was certain that never actually happened.

And now it’s so easy for him to say, “I’m fine. Just had a bad day,” or something like that and people easily accept this—because maybe Killer just changed his mind, maybe he was just playing and lying to them all along—and slowly, bit by bit, he stops asking for help or trying to seek it out in Stage 1 because what’s the point of doing it again? No one ever does anything, it’s pointless.

Maybe because they think he deserves this, too. Maybe he is exaggerating, and he is lying, and it’s really not as bad as he remembers it being. Not even touching on the possibility of what if those same people ended up in Nightmare’s castle, and it’s Killer’s job to torture them to death.

They recognize him, they’re pleading and trying to reason with him, but to him—he’s pretty sure none of that was real. Maybe they were in on the test, to see if he’d be stupid enough to trust that he could ever escape.

[cruise-in-your-glow-bus]

Request for you boo.

Secondo in a budding relationship. He’s not normally the relationship type. He’s spent most of his life carnally indulging in the sins of the flesh as he pleases with whomever is around and whoever is down. But things are different now. Someone has captured his attentions fully. But one night they call him that word. That simple four letter word… “baby.” No one has ever called him baby before.

How does he respond? Does he run away and push away something new and scary? Does he fold and become emotional? Does he lash out because he doesn’t know what else to do?

WHAT HAPPENS?

He’s always been able to compartmentalize, and has been, more or less, quite content with it. 

Things go into appropriate boxes, set on appropriate shelves within the orderly library that is his mind. Leading rituals, performing, managing the logistics of a tour cycle, that’s all one shelf. In-person ministry and devotion; the worship between a lover’s legs, his cock nestled deep within their bodies, his mouth and teeth and the firmness of his fingertips, the bite of his nails into their skin. That’s an entirely different shelf. 

And upon that shelf are the tomes of each and every encounter, each supplicant who has come to him for pleasure or peace or healing or indulgence. Written on their pages in fading ink are the memories of those encounters. 

Secondo affords each of them the weight they are due. Which is to say, enough to respect what they were in that moment, but never enough to grant them anything beyond exactly what they were intended to be. 

In short: He loves to fuck, and is very, very good at it. 

And there’s no real space for attachment in any of that. He’s never wanted it. It’s been fine, better than fine, without it.

None of those books on his shelves go beyond single issues (wonderful, decadent, Satan-honoring issues, to be sure) to volumes. Throughout the years, he’s had a handful of lovers who have been more devoted to him, and he to them, but it’s never been like this. 

It’s never been like you.

You hadn’t asked anything of him, and he’d found himself pursuing you, craving you, before he’d even realized what he’d been doing. Eyes searching for you during services. Lingering a little too long on your face, and your body. Noticing your laugh, the tone of your voice. Little things, perfectly explainable. 

Until they’d become bigger things. 

(But others have caught his eye before. He’s a man with an eye for beautiful, captivating things. This is no different. He simply appreciates what he sees, is all. It’s fine.)

Until he’d become distracted by your presence, then by the very thought of you. 

(But he fantasizes often. When he’s not busy with a partner, he indulges himself. He takes matters into his own hands, as it were. So what if you feature in more and more of his private fantasies?)

Until you’re in his arms, in his bed, on his tongue, in his heart so deep he can’t get you out, nor would he ever want to. It shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t be like this, like something new and thrilling every time. It should be classifiable, a this or a that. 

There is no shelf onto which he can place you. 

And he doesn’t want to close the book, write the final sentence, file you away and move on, even though that’s what he’s always done. 

If this is madness, he’s never been more delighted by it. Nor more confused. 

Just another night, just another taste, just another moment stolen with you - not that he has to steal anything; he gets what he wants, he accepts what is offered, he indulges. But it feels like stealing, it feels hushed and hurried, it feels hungry. 

It feels - he feels - out of control. 

(But he can store it, he can work towards categorizing it; he can hold just enough of himself back so that at the end of the night, when you’re breathing deep and even, resting in his arms, he can catch his breath and remind himself of who he is and what he wants and what his purpose is meant to be, and all of the things that go along with that. He can. He has to. Because if he can’t - )

The shelf breaks one night. 

You’re riding him on his bed - what he’s come to think of as your bed, his and yours, because he hates to be alone in it these days, avoids it if at all possible - and he’s looking up with something deeper than carnal lust in his eyes as you take him so well. 

The usual encouragements are silent on his lips. 

It’s not that he doesn’t mean them, or want to say them; you are his good girl, his sweet one, his precious treasure. You are. It’s just that there’s a hand around his throat and it feels like the hand of fate, and it chokes him as he watches you fall apart, bringing tears to his eyes as he feels the horrible, twisting, gnawing, desperate rush of love fill his veins. 

He fills you not long after. Pounding up, holding your hips as he punches noises of bliss out of you, letting go at last with a whine that he’s never allowed himself to make. 

He’s losing control. 

He likes it. 

He’s terrified. 

And then you fall down beside him, sweaty skin sticky and warm and pressed close. 

Your hand brushes across his face, gathers the tears he doesn’t even realize he’s letting free. Happy tears, but he feels a sensation that twists in his gut and makes it impossible to meet your eyes. 

“Baby?” you say softly. “What is it? Are you okay?”

Baby. 

He gasps, hoping he can play it off like the regular exertions from fucking. But you’re here, and you’re so soft, and your hand is on his face, and no one’s ever cared to check in on him, no one’s ever wanted to. No one’s seen him, really seen him, and you’re you, and he’s - 

I’m perfectly fine, is what he wants to say. Don’t worry about me. Let me get you some water. Shall we take this to the shower, clean up together? Or: if you can still speak, I haven’t done my job. 

But he’s the one who is speechless. 

He’s the one who’s shaken and overwhelmed. 

And tears are still spilling out of his eyes, tracing down his temples. He can’t breathe. 

Is this what love feels like? It’s horrible. He never wants it to stop. 

Secondo can’t answer. The words will come, later, but for now, he rolls to his side and curls himself into you, catching his breath, holding tight to the first and only thing he knows fits on no shelf, and cannot be constrained to one book in his mind. 

“Baby,” you repeat, voice soft as a promise, and press kisses to the top of his head. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.” 

And you do.