#and shares a root with treasure

[highladyluck]

The Dungeon Meshi renaissance is making me want to share the resources that taught me how to cook.

Don’t forget, you can check out cookbooks from the library!

Smitten Kitchen: The rare recipe blog where the blog part is genuinely good & engaging, but more important: this is a home cook who writes for home cooks. If Deb recommends you do something with an extra step, it’s because it’s worth it. Her recipes are reliable & have descriptive instructions that walk you through processes. Her three cookbooks are mostly recipes not already on the site, & there are treasures in each of them.

Six Seasons: A New Way With Vegetables by Joshua McFadden: This is a great guide to seasonal produce & vegetable-forward cooking, and in addition to introducing me to new-to-me vegetables (and how to select them) it quietly taught me a number of things like ‘how to make a tasty and interesting puréed soup of any root veggie’ and ‘how to make grain salads’ and ‘how to make condiments’.

Grains for Every Season: Rethinking Our Way With Grains by Joshua McFadden: in addition to infodumping in grains, this codifies some of the formulas I picked up unconsciously just by cooking a lot from the previous book. I get a lot of mileage out of the grain bowl mix-and-match formulas (he’s not lying, you can do a citrus vinaigrette and a ranch dressing dupe made with yogurt, onion powder, and garlic powder IN THE SAME DISH and it’s great.)

SALT, FAT, ACID, HEAT by Samin Nosrat: An education in cooking theory & specific techniques. I came to it late but I think it would be a good intro book for people who like to front-load on theory. It taught me how to roast a whole chicken and now I can just, like, do that.

I Dream Of Dinner (so you don’t have to) by Ali Slagle: Ok, look, an important part of learning to cook & cooking regularly is getting kinda burned out and just wanting someone else to tell you what to make. These dinners work well as written and are also great tweakable bases you can use as a starting place.

If you have books or other resources that taught you to cook or that you find indispensable, add ‘em on a reblog.

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Lavender

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), mentions of vomiting and blood.

a/n: Hello hello! This is perhaps definitely ass, but I really wanted to write for these two because I'm hopelessly in love with them both. Please enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease 花吐き病 (Japanese) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

The natural world had always brought you peace. The softness of the grass under your feet, the gentle breeze blowing against your skin, the tender feeling of a flower blooming by your hand. You were a green witch, after all.

That was what had driven your family away. You had been 12 when you first sprouted a lily from your hand. You were more curious than scared; you had always sensed there was something that separated you from the rest of your family. Something about the earth’s treasures had always called to you. 

But even at your young age, you knew who you were living with. Sharing your abilities was a recipe for disaster; a sure fire way to have you outcast from your family.

So you did your best to keep your powers a secret, honing them in private, away from the watchful eye of your parents.

When you were 20, the inevitable happened. You were meant to be collecting berries for dinner when you had spotted a Willow Tree. It was worse for wear; you could feel it pleading for help as you approached it with a soft smile.

“It’s alright,” you soothed the tree as you gently placed your palms against the soil where its roots rested, “You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on strengthening the roots as green magic pulsed out from your hands, through the soil, and into the tree itself, which began to heal instantly.

The snapping of a twig broke you out from your trance, turning your head to see your mother fleeing the scene. Your heart dropped as you quickly stood, moving to follow her.

She was too fast. By the time you had returned to your cabin, everyone and everything was gone. Your entire family had left you.

You fell to your knees in the middle of what was once your home, tears rolling down your face as you stared at the ground. Numb, broken, grieving.

You don’t know how long you stayed in that spot. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you just sat, staring, longing.

It wasn’t until a cold hand lifted your chin that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said softly, and you locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her brown eyes were intoxicating, drawing you in. You tilted your head at her in confusion and intrigue. Who was she? What was she doing here?

“You’ve been sat here for a week, darling. No food, no water, no sleep. You’ll kill yourself if you keep up like this,” she said as she looked at you curiously.

Your eyes widened in realization. Death. 

She shook her head at you gently, sensing your fear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not taking you. It’s not your time,” she said, stroking your hair gently. 

“Thank you, Lady Death,” you stuttered out, in awe of her soft nature, directly contrasting the connotation of her very existence.

She smiled at you in response. “You can call me Rio, sweet girl.” 

There was a moment where you two merely looked at one another before she looked away, taking on a rather stern expression. “But I feel the need to tell you, sitting here and mourning your abandonment will only hurt you. It’s not your time. So don’t let it be. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

You stumble away from her in confusion. “I thought you weren’t taking me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the afterlife. I am, however, taking you in. You’ll be staying with Agatha and I.”

You knew that name. You had read about it during your private studies.

“Agatha? Like…’The Witch Killer’ Agatha? That Agatha?” you asked cautiously.

Rio cackled, extending her hand to you.

You took it.

And so began the years you spent with Death and her lover, Agatha Harkness. The two women were vastly different to their reputations that had preceded them. Sure, they both had a fierceness to them. They had to, in order to survive their daily lives filled with corpses and taking souls.

But, with each other, they held such a softness. Rio often came back from a long day exhausted and drained. Death didn’t tend to be a fan favorite, and people made it evident, shouting at her and berating her as she escorted the souls of their loved ones to the afterlife. But Agatha greeted her at the door each evening with a hug, simply holding her for minutes on end, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Rio visibly relaxed into her hold.

And Rio returned the favor, treating Agatha with a love full of tenderness and warmth. Comforting her after each nightmare, preventing her from overworking herself, giving her soft apology kisses after any arguments.

Before long, you knew almost everything about the pair. You learned about Agatha and her son, and his loss which nearly tore Agatha and Rio apart. How Agatha was only a ‘Witch Killer’ to keep Nicky alive as long as she could. How Rio held such anguish and guilt at having to take Nicky’s soul. How Agatha once held it against her but now loved her as fiercely as ever.

The two were made for each other, and though they welcomed you with a similar softness to that which they showed each other, you chalked it up to them taking pity on a girl who was abandoned by her family. You knew they could never love you like they loved each other.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for them. It happened subconsciously; you never meant for it to happen. But when your heart panged in longing at seeing Agatha and Rio curled up in each other’s arms in the living room, you knew it had happened. It panged even further as you looked down, noticing a red carnation that had bloomed in your palm against your will.

You were determined to ignore it. Surely you could enjoy their presence without focusing on the way your stomach flipped when Rio smiled at you, or how your heart seemed to triple in size whenever Agatha would stroke your hair in affectionate greeting. But what you had to do became evident one morning.

“We’re headed out for a bit, doll,” Agatha said as you sat at the table eating the breakfast she had made for you.

You nodded. “Okay! Don’t stay out too late, I’m making your favorite for dinner, Ags.”

She beamed at you, making butterflies flare up in your stomach so violently they made you uneasy. “You’re a gem. Isn’t she just?” She turned to Rio, squeezing her hand gently.

“Oh, yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Rio replied, winking at you as you feel your heart beat faster.

The two bid you a final farewell before leaving for the day. As soon as they left, you began to feel an uncomfortable itch in your throat. You furrowed your brows, attempting to clear your throat to ease the discomfort, but to no avail. Eventually you began coughing. It was a cough that made you feel sick, made you feel like something was really wrong.

And when you coughed into your palm and saw the petals of daffodils, your suspicions were confirmed.

You had heard of Hanahaki disease but had always believed it to be a myth. Your heart dropped at the realization that your love for these women was going to kill you.

You had to leave.

So you did. You packed up that day and left, traveling solo for centuries as you studied the disease you suffered from. 

Luckily, it impacted witches differently than humans. As your lifespan tended to be a lot longer, the disease was longer lasting; escalating at a slower pace before killing you altogether.

For the first hundred years, it had mostly been a consistent burning in your throat and coughing up various flower petals. Miserable, but bearable nonetheless.

After those hundred years, it began to escalate at a quicker pace as the flowers bloomed quicker and sharper. After 200 years of this disease, you were weaker than ever before. Coughing constantly, a never ending sensation of your insides burning, vomiting flower petals and blood.

Yes, there was the option of surgery, but you couldn’t bring yourself to allow that option to become a reality. You didn’t want to forget the love you held for Rio and Agatha. They had shown you kindness and softness like none other. You would die before you let yourself remove the memory of them from your very soul.

And you were getting close. You knew your time was running out.

And so, after another long day of slowly dying, you stared up at the sky, longing for your loves, even though you knew it could never be.

It was then that you felt yourself being sucked into the ground beneath you, and you let out a yelp at the shock.

Before you knew it, you were clawing your way out of the ground, now in a completely unfamiliar place. You were on a path in a strange, dystopian-looking forest. You could feel the magic buzzing around you as you pulled yourself up from the ground.

“Who is that?”

“I thought we already got a green witch?”

You heard a gasp and looked up to meet a pair of blue eyes you had longed for night after night for the past 200 years.

“Agatha,” you said quietly, tears welling in your eyes before you could stop them.

A familiar voice said your name and you shuddered at the sound.

“Rio.”

The two women stared at you and you stared back, unsure of what to say.

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the new girl, or…” a witch in a pink dress asked and you broke your intense stare-down to introduce yourself by name to the coven of witches. 

“I’m a green witch,” you explained.

“We’ve already got one,” a teenage boy said, pointing at Rio awkwardly.

You knew well and good that Rio wasn’t here as a green witch, she was here on work business, but you didn’t want to blow what seemed to be a cover, and you also didn’t have a damn clue where you were, so you played along.

“Well, you know summoning spells, you never know how many you’re gonna get…” you tried cautiously, still feeling the gaze of your former housemates burning into the side of your head.

“Y/N, a word?” Agatha finally asked, and you gulp before nodding and following her and Rio to a secluded part of the forest.

“Hey guys…what’s up?” you asked with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

Rio narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms. “What’s up is that you up and left 200 years ago without so much as a word to either of us. Care to explain?”

You tried to look to Agatha for support, but she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your stomach turned at the thought that you had upset these women you loved so deeply.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I had some business to attend to. I didn’t want either of you to get wrapped up in it.”

“Was your business ‘killing yourself?’ You look rough,” Rio said, a teasing smirk hiding her worry.

“Thanks,” you rolled your eyes, some tension releasing from your shoulders at the knowledge that Rio wasn’t angry enough to ignore you.

“You left without so much as saying goodbye,” Agatha said quietly. She sounded so hurt, and you couldn’t believe you had brought this on the pair, but you knew they deserved to love each other in peace, not be burdened at being the cause of your death.

“Ags, I’m really sorry, I should’ve said goodbye, I just-“ you were cut off as a violent coughing fit shook you, causing both women to raise their eyebrows at you.

You turned away from them as you coughed a plumeria flower out of your throat. You quickly slipped the flower into your pocket and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of your mouth before turning to face the two witches again.

The eyes on you were soft and concerned, but you shook your head at them, shutting down their questions before they even asked. “I’m fine, just a cough.”

Rio opened her mouth to protest when a witch sporting orange streaks in her hair interrupted.

“I’m sorry to get in the middle of whatever this reunion is, but I think it’s time for our next trial.”

You furrowed your brows. “Trial?” You began to realize that you had no idea where you actually were.

“Duh, we are on the Witches Road, after all!” The teenage boy exclaimed, leaving you even more confused.

The road isn’t real. You knew all about the song that Agatha had used to lure her victims in. 

“Wait, but-“ you stopped yourself from questioning any further when you saw Rio subtly shake her head at you, a silent plea to not reveal the truth of the road to the group.

You nodded in understanding, deciding to save your questions for later. “Alright, where’s the next trial?”

You looked up to see the group staring at something behind you. Agatha and Rio were particularly fascinated by it.

You turned around and your stomach dropped. You saw a cottage. It’s covered in vines and moss, making it appear worn down. But you thought it was beautiful. Perhaps that’s because it was yours. And Agatha’s. and Rio’s.

You looked at the path leading to the cottage. It was covered in flowers. You took a deep breath.

You just got here and already you were being given a trial.

As you and the rest of the coven approached the cottage, you couldn’t help but turn to the women you desire the most for comfort. 

Rio had an arm wrapped around Agatha’s waist, her thumb gently stroking the witch’s hip bone. Agatha looked up at her, smiling in gratitude, and Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s forehead.

Your stomach churned at the sight, and you felt bile rising in your throat. You painfully swallowed it back down, cringing at the effect it had on your throat, already raw from the thorns slowly tearing it to shreds.

“You good?” The witch in the pink dress asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the cottage looked just like you thought it would.

Home.

The same furniture, same pillows and blankets, same decor on the walls.

Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered all the time you had spent here with the women you loved more than anything.

“Doll,” a gentle voice said, and you turned to see Agatha looking at you softly. She approached you slowly, holding a hand out for you, but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your face and continuing to move through the house.

“This is new,” you heard Rio’s voice from the room resembling your bedroom. 

You entered and were greeted with a tapestry on your wall. It showed 5 flowers. Below the woven flowers was a message:

The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke. For if they never cared, a life cannot be spared.

“It’s my life,” you breathed out, staring in horror at the plants on the tapestry.

Rio nodded, running her fingers along the tapestry as she identified the plants.

“Lily. Rebirth,” she began.

“The birth of your powers, the birth of you as a witch,” Agatha identified.

“Willow Tree. Loss.”

“The loss of your kin. Being abandoned by those you called family,” Agatha continued.

“Red Carnations. Deep, affectionate love.”

Agatha went silent at this, her brows furrowing.

“Daffodil. Unrequited love.”

Rio and Agatha were visibly shaken by this point. What hadn’t you told them? You were in love? With who?

Rio snapped her head to look at you upon seeing the last flower.

“Plumeria,” she said grimly.

Agatha’s eyes were wide. “What does that mean?” 

Rio only continued to look at you.

“Rio, what does that mean???”

Her question was answered as you began to cough violently again, the sheer force of it bringing you to your knees.

Agatha rushed over to you in a panic. She looked at the rest of the coven in terror. “What’s happening to her?” she cried as you began to choke.

“The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke,” the teenager said.

“Hanahaki disease,” the witch in pink breathed out.

“What the hell is that?” Agatha was crying now, watching as petals and thorns made their way out of your mouth covered in blood.

“A disease that affects someone facing unrequited love,” Rio said in realization.

As she put the pieces together she knelt in front of you in an instant, anger coursing through her.

“You left because of this,” she said, her voice low, “You thought we didn’t love you, so you left?” she asked incredulously.

“Didn’t want—you to—-see me die,” you gasped out, fighting for air as you began to cough up more and more blood.

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I won’t take you,” Rio choked out, her sorrow getting the best of her. 

“Better this way,” you managed, and Agatha choked out a sob.

“It’s not, doll, we love you, we love you,” she cried helplessly.

The whole coven stood in shock. The two women they feared the most were in the most pain they had seen since they began to walk the road.

Both women hold you tight, desperately trying to convince you of their love.

Rio grabbed your face to look at her. “There’s a reason I took you in that day, mi vida,” she whispered as tears fell down her face, “I felt pulled to you. I knew you would be special to me. Aggie and I love you so much, please believe me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, ignoring the blood and petals and thorns and focusing on you. Just you.

When she pulled away you gasped, finally able to gather air into your lungs.

Relief was visible throughout the entire coven. They had only just met you, but seeing how your existence being threatened had brought absolute devastation to two of the most intimidating women on earth had shaken them.

As you began to breathe again, you sagged against Agatha.

“You’re okay, doll, you’re okay now,” she assured you as she gently ran a hand through your hair.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and the rest of the coven took it as their cue to leave, giving you three a moment to recover.

As you laid against Agatha, you looked at Rio with tired eyes. “Sorry for getting blood on you,” you rasped, causing the woman to roll her eyes at you.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” She scolded before taking both of your hands in hers. “I. Love. You.”

Tears filled your eyes at her earnest confession. “I’m so sorry I ran,” you began, your body shaking, “I saw the love you had for each other, and how much you had healed each other, and I couldn’t hurt that. I didn’t want you to see me die. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you said brokenly.

Agatha shushed you, kissing the top of your head. “You shouldn’t have run. It would’ve saved us all 200 years of agony,” she said, and you hang your head in guilt.

But then you felt a cold hand lifting your chin. And suddenly you were 20 years old again, looking into the eyes of Lady Death herself. 

But this time, instead of looking at you with curiosity, she looked at you with something much stronger. She looked at you with love.

“But we’ve got you back now,” she said, smiling tearfully at you, “so we’re taking you in. Is that okay?”

Your body wracked with sobs as you nodded, and both women were holding you in an instant. Your back was against Agatha’s front as her arms wrapped around your waist. Rio straddled you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you close.

And out of the cracked wooden floor of that cottage, something bloomed.

Lavender. Healing. Love.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Ken "Okarun" Takakura relationship headcanons

warnings: established relationship, fem!reader, tooth-rooting fluff, spoilers up to episode 8 in the anime.

divider by @cafekitsune

Ken “Okarun” Takakura is a socially awkward guy with an all-consuming interest in anything related to the supernatural, especially cryptids and aliens. Some people may think he is too much to handle because he’s a nerd or his appearance is a little off-putting, but he’s used to that after being bullied throughout elementary and middle school. He can handle the taunting, the jeers. It’s nothing new to him.

But when he hears a nasty rumor being spread around school about you, his precious girlfriend? Momo is going to have a hard time keeping him calm and will definitely drag you away from class as a last resort to revert the transformation into his yokai form. Good luck with handling an extremely overprotective boyfriend, especially if you unintentionally get caught in the crossfire of whichever ghost or alien are targeting him for his reproductive organs.

He doesn’t know why everyone is after his junk, so please do not ask him that question.

You are important to Okarun, so his happiness is your happiness. He’s not really a person who would do over-the-top gestures just to make you smile, though he shows his affection for you in the small things like leaving little snacks on your assigned desk or waiting to walk home with you once classes are over for the day.

Physical intimacy with him is going to be like a slow-burn in those romance novels, so please respect his boundaries and decision to relish in the feeling of your interlocked fingers or sharing kisses on the cheek before going into the heavier stuff. He’s shy and wants to do things the right way, even when every relationship is different for everyone. If you start something instead of him for a change? His face will resemble a ripe cherry, and smoke will come out of his ears before squeaking in embarrassment.

Cuddles? Definitely possible, but much further down the road once he gets more comfortable in the relationship.

He’s the guy who doesn’t mind doing an X-Files or horror movie marathon on the couch with you and it counts as a date. Any time with you is precious.

You have a part-time job? No worries, he’ll be more than happy to wait until you get off if you’re working late to walk you home!

Okarun trusts you, and he hopes you will trust him. Communication is also key, so if there is something bothering you, please tell him. He won’t know unless you say something, and you avoiding or giving him the silent treatment will have him second-guessing and thinking he really isn’t good enough for you. He’s a green flag. Seriously, talk to the guy if you got troubles on your mind. He will listen and not judge you.

Remember what happened when Aira tried to kiss him in the school courtyard during lunch and he pushed her away? He did it once, and will gladly do it again to her, to any girl who tries to make a move on him because he doesn’t want them. He wants only you.

Treasure this cinnamon roll and treat him like the amazing person he is, because there is no other guy around who would fight yokai and aliens to protect you like Ken Takakura.

Taglist: @hoodiepandaninja16 @napbatata @silverklaus @karai-frost @anonymity-222 @melodiblues @myduality @cumbersome-robes @taesy-miranda-lee @osarumi @satorousgf @theofficialfem @sadprimrose @miaurieee @bumblebeebutter @shidousprincess @minnie-1-3 @cherie-soup @kazudare @sleep-all-day-everyday @decay-1 @justamegafan @bdudette @skwunkler

[crescenthistory]

You Too, Silly

Pairing: Bartylus x Reader (Starkiller x Reader)

Summary: When your two best friends fall in love and make it official, you try to be happy for them despite your heartbreak. When they keep flirting with you, though, things grow complicated.

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, poly relationship obvi, miscommunication trope, pining & yearning, hurt/comfort, (some) angst with a (very) happy ending, your pov and you think your love is unrequited, it is not!, all three of you are stupid but you're in love so it's fine, kissing while crying, some slight suggestiveness but overall safe for minors, light drinking at a slytherin party

Note: this is my hard launch of romanian!barty mwah – if you don't like it sorry not sorry, this is my barty now!

Being in love with your two best friends hurts.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other hurts perhaps even more.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other, yet for some reason seem hellbent on jokingly flirting with you at any given moment could be considered a form of torture.

And for the past few weeks, Barty Crouch Junior and Regulus Black have been putting you through nothing short of torture.

As any relationship either boy has sustained throughout their lives, your friendship with them was complicated. When you and your dorm mate Dorcas first began integrating yourselves in the friend group that consisted of Barty, Regulus and the elusive Rosier twins, you had both said you might come to regret it. You remember clearly sitting up one night and talking about it – you both thought it would end in flames, yet somehow you couldn’t help but poke the bear. You would prefer to fly under the radar, avoid any more pain than you had already had to grapple with, but you also craved a sense of belonging and figured it was worth the risk.

And oh, were you rewarded. 

No friend had treasured you the way Barty does. The second he decided he “liked your vibe” as he put it when he cut you off mid-sentence during your first proper hang-out, you had a loyal guard dog who would kill for you and then demand cuddles as payment. Almost overnight, wherever you went, Barty wouldn’t be far behind, no questions asked. He was fierce in his love, uninhibited and wild. It made you feel important in a way that sizzled over your skin.

In Regulus, you found a quiet understanding no one else had been able to give you before. He was both a mirror held up to your face and a cushioned bench to share during your turmoils. It seemed like he could read your every thought, every experience, like the books you would bond over. Silences shared with Regulus often gave you more than long conversations with others ever could. While he didn’t declare your friendship in the same way Barty did, he still had this simple way of making you feel seen and known.

They quickly cemented themselves at the root of your heart. They were your best friends, and you theirs. Your boys; with their respective green and white strands in their curly hair, who were misunderstood in each their way yet were never a mystery to you.

Perhaps naively, you had always thought there was a certain tension there, that something ran deeper below the surface. Barty was physically affectionate with all his friends, but the way he reached out for you felt differently charged. The only other person he held as long as he did you, was Regulus. It felt right. Likewise, you had yet to be in a room with Regulus without feeling his eyes on you, and you often absentmindedly compared the feeling to when Barty hugs you – they were equivalents, those gazes were the former boy’s version of affection. When you played spin the bottle during an after-party in the boys’ dorm one night, Barty’s grin had widened brilliantly when it landed on you and Regulus. You had sworn you had seen a hunger in his eyes when he watched you share the brief kiss, and you could still hear the soft sigh Regulus breathed against your lips. Again, it all felt so right. 

It went unspoken, but you thought that was because it did not need to – not because it was not there.

You knew, of course, that you had been stupidly delusional when Barty hauled Regulus with him into the Great Hall a month ago, hands intertwined, and announced with his signature Cheshire cat smile that he “finally got the boy”. You saw them making out – rather publicly – at the quidditch victory party the night before, but at the time it had only made you smile. It was odd, how you hadn’t realised that kiss was proof that all this tension really was just the two of them. Not before the words left Barty’s mouth did it hit you that this was a part of them you were not involved in. That felt decidedly wrong, but you shoved it down and joined in on the wolf whistling and congratulations, pushing your plate away in the chaos, unable to take another bite.

Since then, you have just tried to be happy for them. Or at least seem it.

Tried to smile through it all as Barty made sure their honeymoon phase was as public as humanly possible, much to Regulus’ ongoing chagrin. Tried to laugh at the quips your friends made, the “get a room you two”s and the “lovebirds”s, though you were never able to dish them out yourself, instead just humming along in agreement whenever Dorcas or Evan did. Tried to stiffen your mask to the point where it could not crack underneath the pressure of emotion, perfectly polished as you originally intended for it to be. All those years ago, before they had ensured you would not need it – you gave yourself a silent thank you for your previous doomsday caution. 

You even tried not to avoid Barty and Regulus, to be normal. Why should they be punished by losing one of their best friends because they had the audacity not to fall in love with her too? While you thought yourself generally successful in not showing disdain for their new relationship, this was the one aspect you struggled the most with. Your instinct was to run away and it physically pained you not to. In the few weeks they had been together, you had not been able to stomach being alone with just the two of them and confront their relationship in such close proximity – but you knew you could not avoid them altogether. Instead, you tried to always attach yourself at Dorcas’ hip and always invite the rest of your friends if Barty and Regulus wanted to do something with you. They ask you to study out by the Black Lake? Fantastic, you, Dorcas and Pandora have an Astronomy project you need to work on anyway. They want to visit that one store in Hogsmeade with you? How convenient that Evan was discussing how he needed something from there earlier, and if he goes, then Pandora goes and if she goes Dorcas can’t be the only one left behind, can she?

To offset any accusation that you were not spending time with them alone, you still spent time with them one on one when you knew the other would be busy – just seeing Regulus or Barty was not too bad, it was seeing them as a couple, knowing it did not include you, that you could not withstand. If you were alone with one, you could just pretend nothing changed. 

You made sure you focused on these ‘rules’ in your mind, the carefully constructed plan on how to make it through the year. Somehow you did not have it in you to wish they would break up and put you out of your misery – you wanted them, not just one – so instead you set your sights on graduation day. What you would do afterwards, you did not yet know. Disappear off the face of the earth? Become an Unspeakable as an excuse not to ever see them again? Endless possibilities. You zeroed your focus on your coursework and these measures you must take to protect your heart and sanity – if you filled your mind like this, maybe you could distract yourself from the pain that leaked through your body.

Barty remaining his flirtatious self whenever he was around you and Regulus’ simmering dedication to you seemingly only building, was decidedly not helping your case.

Which is how you ended up in this admittedly awkward cat and goose chase.

“There you are!” Not only did you hear Barty’s screech the moment he laid his eyes on you – everyone else in the library did as well, going by the shushes and ugly glares you both received that Barty paid zero mind to. “Dragă, I have been going crazy without you, where have you been?”

He plopped down on the bench beside you instead of any of the readily available chairs around the table, thigh flush against yours. “Good morning, B,” you whispered, hoping to lower his volume with yours.

The ever-growing grin on his face told you he likely understood your attempt. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and hanging slightly in front of his eyes, but you could see the sparkle there you thought was reserved for you. “Good morning,” he stage-whispered dramatically, to show his abiding of library law. Then, he pressed a smacking kiss to your cheek before pulling up his books. “Tell me, why are we studying on a weekend morning?”

This was the kind of activity that caused your delusion. It was early on a Sunday, arguably too early, and you had snuck out of your dorm to the library before anyone else woke so you would not be roped into any heartbreaking hangout. Yet, upon your absence, Barty went looking for you before doing his hair or anything – and when he found you studying, as he likely assumed you would be, he just joined you. There was no reason for him to.

You had been staring at him a tad bit too incredulously for a tad bit too long, so he gave you a cheeky sideway glance while he readied his books. “Too early for you too, baby?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping you. “Maybe I’m just shocked at seeing you voluntarily in the library. I usually have to drag you here.”

“Yeah, because usually I have you with me somewhere more fun when you try to go to the library,” he explained to you matter-of-factly. “Now that you are here from the get-go, I accept my fate that this is where we’ll be. For now.”

“Lucky me.” You poked him lightly in the side to emphasise your sarcasm before you tried to return to your books, though your attention was thoroughly divided.

“I reckon I am the lucky one who gets to spend time with the fittest babe in the castle.”

You snorted at the same time as your heart shattered further – an odd reaction none other than Barty could draw from you. Those comments are not only how you got in this whole emotional mess to begin with, but felt like genuine ice shards spearing through your flesh. You were guilt-ridden as you revelled in them, and begged the gods he would stop.

“And I reckon,” you teasingly copied, hoping to sound level-headed and not agonised, “that Regulus would not appreciate having that title taken away from him.”

“Regulus is a fit babe,” Barty said dreamily, unaffected by your correction. “But he would agree that the title belongs to you, Dragă.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Barty was incredibly particular in how he showed affection, and flirting with you explicitly was not at all out of character for him. You just, perhaps bitterly, hoped that maybe he would stop, if he was to be in a monogamous relationship with one of his two best friends.

“What’ll you be working on?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. 

Likely entirely unaware of your attempt, Barty allowed you, delving into a longer rant about what extra assignment Professor Flitwick had assigned him because he “saw potential in you, young man”, which he of course found to be utter “trollpiss”. It was familiar, working side by side while also not studying at all, gossiping like the two best friends you are. It should be lovely, and you kicked yourself for being hung up on it just being friendly, when friendliness in itself is a gift you should be grateful for.

While you tried to allow yourself to enjoy Barty’s company and not be guilty for how hard you noticed where his body touched yours, you kept your eye on the clock. Regulus had prefect rounds on Sunday mornings, but as soon as he finished them, he would seek the two of you out. 

You had to get away from Barty before then.

“While this was lovely,” you said with a forced airy tone, “I have to get going now, B.”

“Cool, where’re we goin’?”

Your pageant winner smile wavered slightly as he immediately began to pack up his belongings, considering it a given that he would join you in your endeavours. “I don’t think so. I’m heading to meet with the Hufflepuff third years I tutor, and I believe it would be considered a crime to introduce them to you when they’ve just stopped being scared of me.”

Not technically a lie. You picked up a massive amount of extracurriculars after Regulus and Barty became official, and tutoring Hufflepuffs was part of it. Though you had no scheduled study session with them today, you knew at least two of them were still too much of a pushover to say no to you if you headed over there. Innocent casualties in your escapades. 

Barty immediately pouted. “No fun,” he whined, sitting back down before you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him so he could rest his forehead on your stomach in defeat. “Why do you have to be such a swot? I miss you.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart flutter at the sentiment. You brought a shaky, selfish hand up to card lightly through his hair, separating the green from the black. “Sorry, B. Duty calls and you know how much I love to be a hero.”

“No hero would leave such a perfect victim like me destitute and alone.” He moved his chin to rest against your flesh so he could look up at you in faux misery.

“Good thing you have Regulus, then.” You feared your voice was more pointed than you wanted it to be. It did not go with the pleasant mask you tried to wear, but the mask never fit quite right around Barty.

Something odd flashed across his eyes at your words and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Whether he wanted to say something that would explain it, you would not find out, because you gave his hair one last ruffle before patting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner, alright B? Don’t worry about me.” You turned around and walked away without waiting for a response.

It still came behind you, sounding too much like the ache in your own chest. “Counting down the minutes!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You survived the rest of the Sunday with little to no incident; as in, you avoided being alone with Regulus and Barty, ensuring the friend group ate together and sat together in the common room afterwards. When Pandora retreated to head to bed, you immediately used the excuse to slither away too, lest you end up trapped with just the two of them by the fire.

Dorcas opened the door to your dorm just a few minutes after you had settled down on your bed to reread your comfort novel. You looked up with a warm, small smile to greet her, but it slipped away as you saw her eyeing you carefully. Neither of you said anything before she was sat on her own bed opposite you, studying you. There was this crackling ferocity to Dorcas’ silences that would make even the strongest man cave – and you were not feeling particularly strong lately.

“Spit it out.” It was all she said.

You sighed and put your book aside, straightening up in your previously comfortable position. “What is it, Cas?”

She gave you a stern but not unkind look. “You’re different. Why?”

“Different how?” You stalled.

She indulged you. “You’re not yourself, babe. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you act like you’re programmed and not like you’re living. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The staggering, almost fragmented way she spoke was in part to spoon-feed you her concern so that you might actually answer her truthfully and in part how Dorcas was with emotions. She had not been raised to speak of them, but she was loyal and smart, so she knew when it was needed, even if you wished she wouldn’t.

You looked at her with heavy eyes for a moment before sighing once more and bringing your hands up to roughly rub at your face. “There is no way for you to help right now, I’m sorry. Except maybe be my shield.” The last part was added as a joke, but it fell flat.

“Shield you from what?” Protectiveness flared in her tone and you knew you had to soothe it with the truth.

“Not what,” you said softly. “Who.” You pleaded with your eyes for her to understand.

It took but a few seconds before her face scrunched up in pity – and something that would almost looked like amusement, had you thought her cruel enough to laugh at you. “Barty and Regulus.” 

It was a statement, not a question, yet you nodded in affirmation, shutting your eyes in humiliation. “It’s bad, Dorcas. It’s so bad.” A tired heave for breath. “But I will get through it. I just need a little bit of distance without any drama around it and to get my shit together.”

Dorcas looked like she was weighing up her next words carefully. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would have told you to talk with them. Alas, I know you won’t. But I hope you somehow end up having to.”

Cryptic and confusing; just how you knew her to be. 

When she realised you would not answer her first sentiments, it was her turn to sigh and give you a rueful smile. “I assume this is why I suddenly have been roped into so much lately? Marlene misses me.”

You laugh at her teasing tone, happy for her to not dig too much into your feelings. “Sorry about that, babe. Just for a little while longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she repeated with a tilted head. “If it’s any help, I get it.”

“Considering you got the girl, I don’t think you do.” There was no malice in your words, just a bit of longing. It was bittersweet to indirectly admit your loss.

“That’s not what I meant.” She waited to continue before you met her eyes once more. “I can’t say I understand your heartbreak exactly, but I share your confusion. I also thought you would be part of it.”

The look you gave her must have been nothing short of gobsmacked, yet she had the kindness to not laugh at you. It was unclear whether you were most surprised by her knowing you were in love with both of them, or her having shared the same assumptions as you once. Both floored you.

“I–” you tried, but your voice failed you. All you were able to do was whisper a small, “Thank you.”

This time, there was nothing but pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry babe. I’ll shield you to the best of my ability.”

You shared small, knowing smiles and you decided to end the conversation there, lest it get teary. Reaching over, you carefully switched off your light and placed your book on your nightstand, abandoning any attempt at being comforted for the night. When you laid your head on your pillow, there were phantom indents on either side.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The one place you had no opportunity to shield yourself from or avoid either of them was during classes.

With your timetables for the year, you and Regulus ended up sharing more than half of your classes, while Barty was in at least a third of them. When you first saw the allocations, it felt like painfully little, and the thought of scraping by so many classes without them felt like a punishment you did not deserve. Now, you almost wished it was less.

Almost was the key word though – because Regulus’ presence by your side at your shared Herbology station was somehow melting the tension that had settled in your bones and making your chest heave all at the same time.

His elbow bumped lightly into yours. “You alright?”

You looked up from the notes you were pretending to study for the depotting you two were currently attempting, giving him a brief smile. “‘Course. Ready for the next step?”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, flickering over your face carefully before nodding almost imperceivable. You shifted your focus towards the Venomous Tentacula on the bench before you, reaching out to carefully manoeuvre the prickly leaves away so Regulus could attend to the roots when his hand stopped yours.

“These aren’t tight enough.” His voice was but a whisper as he took off his gloves to tighten yours where the velcro was hazardously slapped on top of each other. With long, cold fingers he elegantly realigned the straps and made sure there was no gap between your skin and glove. “Don’t want my best girl getting hurt, right?” 

Regulus looked up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. With his striking grey eyes locked on yours, you feared your emotions were too clearly pasted across your face. His loose grip remained on your bare skin, thumbs brushing carefully above your gloves.

“Right,” was all you offered him curtly, pulling your hands back to yourself. 

Together you navigated the plant meticulously from one pot to the other you had pre-prepared. Propagating, maintaining and harvesting from the plant was one of your major projects in Herbology for the term and you and Regulus had been dedicated to your so-called coparenting to begin with. Now, to have his body half pressed to yours as you covered the plant’s teeth and angled its venomous leaves away while he extracted and cleaned its roots, it was almost too much. You breathed in and instead of being overwhelmed by the smell of dirt, your nose was filled with Regulus’ shampoo and cologne. You were suddenly thankful your part of the job was rather stationary, as you feared your hands trembling.

Regulus took a laboured breath as he settled the plant properly within its new home, packing the potting mix carefully around the roots. “Right there, perfect,” he murmured, presumably to himself, yet you fought the shiver down your spine. You noticed him glancing at you in the corner of his eye with what can only be classified as a smirk growing on his lips. “Amazing work, amour.” That was unmistakably to you.

You lightly shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Are we done?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus replied, dusting the remaining dirt off his gloves as he took a small step back from the plant – and closer to you. “Gregory has been successfully assimilated to his new environment.”

You scoffed a laugh, to which his smile grew genuine. “You’ve got a flare for the dramatics, Black.”

“Only comes with being close to one Bartiemus Junior, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were crinkling from his smile and adoration, but you took the comment for what it was – a reminder. A warning. Albeit a confusing one, giving his amorous words just a few moments ago, but one you most certainly needed. “That it does.” Your tone was drier than you intended, but you did good; the smile didn’t slip.

Regulus’ did, and he tilted his head while regarding you. “I almost slipped up a few times there, though. Was a tad distracted.” There was an undeniable cheekiness dripping from his words.

“Yeah?” was all you managed to say.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, leaning against the desk. You had time to small talk, giving as you were finished long before anyone else. “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be allowed in here; it’s a safety hazard.”

“You would know all about safety hazards,” you mumbled, fighting yourself from going red from the sentiment or seeing red from the audacity. 

Regulus’ laugh seemed more guarded than usual.

“Speaking of,” you said, trying to get the conversation to safer grounds, “who do you think will definitely kill their plants at last today?”

If there was one thing you and Regulus did well, it was gossip, and you managed to derail him into chattering quietly with you instead of doing some weird dance of pushing the limits and then drawing them clearly. As you spoke, you took small, careful steps away from Regulus to put some physical distance between you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If you had looked him in the eye even once more before your separation to go to your next periods, you would have seen that he did.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You would have thought the Quidditch game on Friday to have been a blessing.

The tension had been growing more and more between you and your best friends, and it seemed that the more you volleyed around their pretend flirting, the more fired up they got, in each their own way. It didn’t seem sustainable anymore. 

Even Dorcas had grown weary of you, though she tried to remain supportive while urging you strongly to speak with them about it.

“And say what exactly? What could I possibly say that would not make the situation ten times worse?”

Dorcas levelled you with a look that spoke volumes, but she seemed unwilling to verbalise any of it in response. Instead she just offered you a vague, “It might go better than you could imagine.”

You must admit you had grown weary of her cryptic remarks as well.

A quidditch game gave you the perfect opportunity to have a small break from them guilt-free, seeing as they were all playing for Slytherin. In turn, you believed you gave Dorcas a break from working overtime to shield you and keep any awkward situation at bay. 

With you in the stands, cheering for your little makeshift family who were all involved in the game somehow – Regulus as Captain and seeker, Barty and Evan as beaters, Dorcas as a chaser and Pandora as commentator – you thought you could finally breathe for a moment. 

Any such hopes were shattered when Barty came chasing up beside you before you could ascend the wooden stairs to find your seat.

“Dragă! Hold up!”

The pet name sent warmth up your spine, but the sigh that escaped you was not a happy one. You turned regretfully on your heel to take in Barty’s form as he jogged up to you. His quidditch gear was tight, much more than it had any business being, seeing as he could easily make them larger with a quick spell if he wanted to. 

You didn’t ask what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind, grin permanently plastered on his face in your presence.

“Do I not get a kiss for good luck?” He threw you a cheeky wink with his comment as he came to stand in front of you, breath slightly laboured.

“Sure you can. Regulus is right over there.” You hoped your voice sounded a bit lighthearted even in your sternness of correcting his flirting. Even more, you hoped the heat in your cheeks had not turned into any noticeable redness. 

A look at Barty’s wicked smile told you it might have. “I’ve already gotten plenty from Reggie. Now I just need my girl and I’m golden.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not like that. You knew he meant a kiss on the cheek, and you knew he asked to make fun – not of you, but of the concept of good luck kisses and of your closeness as friends being read as anything else. He likely didn’t even know that you had been among those reading it as something else, this was a joke the two of you were in on, as all best friends should be.

Still, you couldn’t help but wince at the sting in your heart.

“I think you’ll do just fine without it, B.” You pressed your lips together in the same way you would if you were fighting a smile and not a frown.

He tilted his head at you, a mix of black and green strands falling into his eyes. “Have I done something that would make you want me to fall to my death? Because that is what will happen without you as my good luck charm.”

You shook your head, taking miniscule steps towards the stairs; away from him. “I’ll be a shining bright good luck charm in the stands. You’ll see me after, at the party.”

“I sure will,” he replied salaciously, but you caught the flicker in his eyes. “Wear a pretty little thing for me?”

“You know I’ll wear jeans.”

“And aren’t they a pretty little thing?” His smile grew more affectionate. “And you look good in anything, Dragă.”

“Sure.” You cleared your throat, stepping more confidently away from him. “See you later, B. Play well.”

“Just for you, baby!”

It was as if he was laying it on even thicker the more you turned his compliments away. While you never got quite used to his outspoken praise, it had been years since you embraced it and stopped fighting him on it – he didn’t seem quite pleased that you suddenly had started. Then again, Barty never liked not getting his way, so it shouldn’t surprise you.

You turned and walked back up the stairs, not turning to see whether he jogged off too or remained watching you like usual; you didn’t feel like having the pieces of your heart jumped on, and both alternatives would have resulted in nothing less.

In the stands, you settled into your usual place by the railing, seated beside Lily and Marlene, who were there to cheer on Dorcas. The two girls were the only Gryffindors you tolerated, not due to any of your own sentiments, but simply as a form of hatred by-proxy from Regulus and Barty – they were also a great opportunity to slowly edge Regulus closer towards reconciling with his brother. Though you knew in your heart that was a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type of situation.

The game flew by and while you were relatively certain you cheered in the right places and sat with baited breath at the tense moments, you felt you were never truly present. Pandora’s voice in your ears was lulling, allowing your soul to drift out of your body and float up into the skies. You wondered if maybe you should take her up on her offer of teaching you how to meditate. Maybe that is how you end your torture rather than trying to change Barty and Regulus’ ways of being, even if it sent terribly mixed signals.

You were somehow exhausted by the time the whistle blew to announce Slytherin’s victory, despite not having done anything. 

Victory was a guarantee for a rowdy party, which, if you didn’t watch yourself, was a guarantee for mistakes. You could not risk slipping up and confessing your feelings to either boy – though some part of you whispered that perhaps some liquid courage is what you needed to tell them to stop flirting with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If the game had gone by in a blur for you, the party was nothing less. You lost Dorcas to Marlene’s wicked laugh just a few minutes in, and had since drifted between your many groups of friends. Shots with Evan, braiding with Pandora, armwrestling with Emmeline, gossiping with Amelia and Regulus. Throughout the whole night you had managed to keep things light, floating through the crowd and keeping someone by your side at all times. It made it bearable to be near the both of them when you had others to keep up appearances for. It also was a great distraction from the joint envy that bloomed in your heart whenever Barty paraded Regulus around like he ought to.

He tried to parade you too, but you slipped out of his grasp before he ever could.

The closer the night got to being over, the more intimate the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew. People migrated from standing around to sitting huddled together, there were quiet conversations and card games instead of yelling and butterbeer pong. There were less of the other house colours, and more of just the familiar greens and faces.

Meaning, it was your cue to slip out and away for a minute.

You, Regulus and Barty always ran off into some corner towards the end to do a debrief of the night, perhaps a bit tipsily. If there was one thing you couldn’t take right now, it would be that.

It was easy to distract the both of them by starting a conversation with Evan and Pandora – whether torture methods has improved or worsened since the dark ages – that would have them in a chokehold. You used the opportunity to slip out through the common room door and walk down the hallway.

It was rare you were grateful for the gloomy dungeons and their cold stonewalls, but this was one such moment. You walked slowly, alone at last, taking deep breaths. Somehow the air felt fresh despite being several metres below ground; anything was better than the stuffy post-party air that clung to the common room.

You let your right hand graze the wall as you walked, texture rough and freezing beneath your fingertips, and tipped your head back with closed eyes. You knew the way like the back of your hand.

At the end of the hall was a rarely-used classroom that functioned more as a storage room these days – your favourite place of refuge. The desk in there was the perfect size to lay down on to close your eyes and relax, feet just barely hanging off the edge. Along the top of the wall was a narrow window that gave an obscured view of the Black Lake, distorted light spilling through to make the most beautiful shapes along the ceiling.

You could stay here and relax and by the time you went back, everyone would have gone off to bed already and you wouldn’t have to face anyone until the morning.

“... Amour?”

You flinched so violently you almost fell off the desk, sitting up by propping yourself onto one elbow and clutching your chest with your other arm. “Gods, Regulus, you cannot fucking sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, love.” He offered you a half-hearted smile from where his head popped in through the crack in the door.

Barty’s head appeared just below his, as if he had crouched down to get the comedic angle. “I’m not, what the fuck are you doing here?”

You could hear the light squaffle behind the door as Barty presumably tried to push Regulus aside so he could walk in, while Regulus tried to hold his own to walk with grace. It resulted in them more or less tumbling in, the latter boy straightening up to close the door carefully behind him.

“Whatcha mean?” you asked dumbly, deciding to remain in your half lounged position on the desk at the top of the room.

The boys exchanged a quick look that you didn’t have the time to decipher.

Barty was the one who spoke. “I mean, how come you’re hiding out here? We have very important matters to discuss, you know.”

Your lips tightened slightly. You looked between them quietly while they came up to settle in front of your desk, Regulus deciding to lean his weight against a smaller one behind him while Barty jumped onto it without hesitation, settling into some odd position.

“Needed some fresh air. Party got too hot for me.”

“So you decided to lay down in this dusty room?” Regulus asked humorously, lifting a brow at you.

At the same time Barty commented, “I cannot imagine anything being too hot for you, Treasure.”

You ignored them both, fighting not to meet their eyes. This was going worse than you imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run off on you.” You aimed for a light-hearted tone, if a bit tired. “Want to do the debrief in here?”

Regulus hummed questioningly, as if he wanted to probe more, but Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes. You’re simply not getting out of this love, lest my bleeding heart become public knowledge as I wail at your absence.”

“Stop it, Barty,” you whispered. He didn’t hear you, in one way or another.

“Okay, so we all agree Dorcas and Marlene are shagging?”

You sit more up at this, realising you truly would be doing the whole debrief here, and that you would thus likely be here for a while. Also well aware that you know more than both of the boys on that matter, as Dorcas' dorm mate. “Well, duh,” you offer. “But did you see anything tonight?”

You look at Barty as he speaks, but can feel Regulus’ gaze burning through the side of your head, and you wish he would stop trying to scrutinise you. You look over to meet his gaze, hoping to give him an I’m fine smile that would divert his attention. However, when his eyes meet yours you see they are sparkling with that mischief that only Regulus can pull off, the kind that is equal parts elegant and dirty. He winks at you, and you really, really wish he wouldn’t. 

You shift your gaze back to Barty, further assuring his claim. “Don’t push it with Cas, though,” you warn. “She will tell you when she feels like."

“But it is so much fun to push it though,” Barty pouted, making his eyes comically big.

“It’s even more fun to not be skinned alive by Dorcas in our sleep.”

“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back theatrically before settling you with a gaze. “But only because you asked, beautiful.”

You hum noncommitedly, fighting any prickling tears. Don’t be such a fucking twat. Let your friends speak to you. 

“Oh,” Regulus said, as if he just remembered a piece of drama to share. “Amelia flirted with me earlier.”

“She what!?” Barty’s voice was not much unlike a banshee’s. “Have I not made it clear that your arse is off the market?”

Your heart plummeted and you had to fight not to let your shoulders grow into your ears.

“Right?” Regulus said through a laugh. “I think she was just too pissed, though. Would have flirted with anything that walked.”

“What did she say?” you asked somewhat meekly.

“Oh, something about gorgeous curls and tight shirts and whatnot.” Regulus made a waving motion with his hand, as if physically brushing it off. “You know, the usual. Called me baby.”

“Only we get to call you baby,” Barty said through a pout.

We?

“I know, amour, I told her as much.”

Barty nodded emphatically. “Good. I don’t like picking fights with birds, but I would if she can’t keep her hands off the goods.”

Regulus gave his leg a light kick with his own. “Down, boy.”

Your stomach was turning over and you desperately wanted to leave. A comment about being tired and wanting to discuss the rest over breakfast tomorrow died on your tongue when Barty turned his attention to you, pout giving way for a scrutinising look.

“What about you, Dragă? Anyone else flirt with you?”

Any turning in your stomach was replaced by an irritation seeping into your bloodstream, one that had been fighting with heartbreak and anxiety for your attention for almost a month now.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, B.” You’re not sure quite what possessed you to say it, but there was no denying your dry tone.

Barty looked equally puzzled, head actually reeling backwards ever so slightly. Still, he pushed his luck. “Am I not allowed to be concerned for my girl?”

You looked at him incredulously. “I am not your girl.” 

That was the whole point. That was the whole heartbreak. That was all you could think about. They were each other’s and you weren’t theirs and you most certainly was not their girl. 

Regulus’ stance shifted quickly, tensing in weariness. “Amour, what he meant–”

“I know what he meant.” You sighed, making no effort to hide your pain anymore. You could not take this. “I know what you both mean.”

“Baby–” Barty began, sliding off of his desk and moving towards you, but you cut him off.

“No! Stop it, Barty, please.” He looked as if you had punched him. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I am so, so happy for you and I’m glad you’ve found each other like that. But now that you have, I just can’t take you flirting with me or, or doing the play pretend. It’s not fun anymore.”

The room was laid in silence. 

You had been defiantly staring at the wall behind them both, but after practically being able to hear the crashing out in their minds, you slid off your own desk and made your way towards the door without sparing them a glance. “I need a moment.”

“No, no, hey, hey, hey,” Barty chanted as he ran up behind you, hand circling loosely around your wrist. Enough to ground you, but not enough to trap you should you want to wrestle free. He slowly came up around your stopped form. “Shit, Y/N, I–” This time he cut himself off, running his free hand through his hair and looking over at Regulus, whose footsteps you could hear stop right behind you. 

You stared at the door over Barty’s shoulder. This was your worst nightmare.

“Amour, we’re sorry,” Regulus whispered behind you. His hand came up to ever so slightly trace the side of your arm.

You felt ganged up on where you stood between them and you cursed your body for loving it, even as they were rejecting you more explicitly than ever. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you don’t– you know.”

“No, no, no,” Barty chanted yet again, hands coming up to grasp both of your cheeks and bruising away a few tears you only now realised had fallen. You would never stop revelling at how Barty’s touch could be so painfully gentle even when his voice was frantic and passionate. “That’s exactly it, Dragă, we do. We do. I do.”

You met his eyes and furrowed your brows at him. “Barty, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

He had the audacity to laugh quietly at you. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying. In what world could I, Barty Crouch Junior, not be obsessed with you?”

“Lovely girl,” Regulus whispered as he inched forward into your field of vision, hand growing more confident in its touch on your arm. “I’m sorry, we’ve gone about this all wrong. We realised it quickly, but didn’t know how to fix it. The whole... getting together part happened naturally between Barty and I, and we figured it would with you too immediately after, but it proved, uh, more complicated.”

At last, your brain caught up with you, and your instinctive reaction was to jerk backwards out of both of their grasps, not even feeling the impact of your back hitting the desk behind you. Both boys hissed at the thump that sounded.

You finally looked at both of their eyes and found layers of insecurity and guilt there, along with… 

“Are you saying…” you started, but trailed off, unsure how to formulate the words.

“I’m obsessed with you, consumed by you, enthralled by you, whatever word you please, it’s yours. I’m yours.” Barty’s face was almost impassive despite the volumes behind his confession. More tears welled in your eyes, by confusion still more than any relief – you didn’t dare feel that yet.

“What he’s saying is that – well, that we love you.” Regulus smiled and you saw the quiver of his lips at the unfamiliar words.

You let out a half-choked sound. “I don’t understand? But then why– how come–” 

Regulus took a careful few steps towards you once more, hand held out between you in a show of safety. “Even as it happened, I remember thinking you would laugh at us for it. Really what happened a month ago was just that we didn’t really think at all.”

“Which you rightfully accuse us of a lot,” Barty added.

“Right. Barty and I were together and drunk and that tension we’ve all had, I guess it finally spilled over for us. By the time we had admitted our feelings physically, we didn’t really need words for it, which is what we both struggle with the most. And you weren’t close by to be dragged into it. When we told everyone we hoped to just… smoothly join you in. Wouldn’t be difficult right, it’s always been the three of us anyway?”

“Turns out it’s not so bloody simple,” Barty grumbled.

By this point, tears were streaming clearly down your face. Regulus reached out a hesitant thumb to wipe them away. “We were stupid, amour. And by the time we got our wits about us, we didn’t know how to reign you in, other than by… continuing being us. Us three.”

“How could I feel like it was us three when it was so clearly you two?” you all but sobbed.

Barty had grown too impatient by Regulus’ easing you in and closed the gap in two long strides, grabbing at your hand fiercely. “You couldn’t, we were just stupid wankers and absolute boys. You’re perfect, it’s not your fault you fell in love with us sods.”

You laughed a bit wetly, bringing grins out on both of their faces. “Bold claim you have there,” you said, some teasing making its way into your voice.

“But an accurate one?” Regulus’ tone was void of humour, just quiet and nervous and hopeful.

“Of course,” you breathed and Barty’s hands tightened around yours. “I always thought it was us three… when it seemed like it was just you two, I– I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

“So you ran and you hid,” Barty concluded with a nod. Upon your almost offended expression he hastily added, “as is understandable, and as asserted, we are wankers and you are perfect.”

“Stop saying that,” you whispered.

“But it’s true,” Regulus added in the same cadence. Then, a sparkle settled in his eyes as he regarded you. “Can I prove it to you?”

Your breath hitched at the implication but you nodded, ever so hopeful smile growing on your face. You dared tighten your own hold on Barty’s hands – they were delightfully warm.

Regulus’ smile matched yours and he took a final step towards you to bring the two of you together. His lips covered yours in the sweetest of kisses, slow and smooth and exactly how you had guiltily pictured. He breathed in as he kissed you and you felt the air move across your skin, tickling and tingling. When he pulled back he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek too.

“This whole thing should have never played out this way,” he started. “But this is exactly where I always wanted to end up.”

Barty bumped lightly into both of you, giving you a conspiring smile. “It’s true – he tried to brag to me that he had been picturing us three together since fifth year, which is embarrassingly late for him. I’ve pictured this since the fifth week of knowing you both.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling your entire face still burning from the confessions, neck aching from the whiplash and lips tingling from the kiss. “Then you’ve both got eons on me. I only really realised, like, last term.”

“See, that’s because you are sane,” Barty provided, circling his arms around your hips to pull both you and Regulus closer to him. “A sane beautiful girl who balances us out perfectly and who completes my heart.”

“One we will spend eons making up lost time with,” Regulus added somewhat cheekily. 

You brought your hands up to properly wipe at your face, hoping to remove redness and giddiness with the wet. “It’s barely been a month.”

“A month you spent confused and hurt, Dragă. That cannot slide. I would have hexed anyone else who did that to you.”

“No one else could have broken my heart,” you said then, intending it to be romantic.

The horrified looks on their faces said otherwise. “You were heartbroken?” Barty exclaimed in intense frustration, pulling his wand up and handing it to Regulus. “Reggie, baby, I need you to Avada me right now. Use my wand so they can’t trace you and send you to Azkaban, because you need to be her personal servant to repent for us.”

“Barty!” you laughed, quickly plucking the wand out of his hands before any shenanigans could occur. “It’s fine, really–”

“Nope, absolutely not,” he cut you off. “I must fix this. Kiss it better?”

Before you could even really respond he brought his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your face gently albeit quickly towards his. Millimetres before his lips could crash with yours, though, he paused. Giving you the opportunity to back down. His thumb was ghosting carefully across the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

With a delighted sigh, you leaned your chest against his and brought him the final way in for the kiss.

His lips were softer than they looked, fitting exactly within the narrative that usually followed your relationship with Barty. He quickly opened them for you, bringing your bottom lip in between yours and kissing you passionately, tongue sliding over delicate skin. One of your hands curled into his shirt by his collar, wand long since discarded on a desk, while the other found Regulus’ neck, massaging it not much unlike Barty did with yours.

Barty’s skillful lips trailed happy kisses along your jaw, turning into a smile at the breathy laugh that escaped you at his ministrations. 

Your eyes met Regulus while Barty practically attempted to bury himself beneath your skin, smiling and sighing against you – kissing it better. The former boy’s smile was at its widest and most sentimental, encircling the both of you within his arms.

“Y/N,” he said, almost seriously. “We will do right by you, as we always should have. I’ll start by asking, will you please legitimise our feelings by becoming our girlfriend?”

Before you could reply, Barty added against your neck, “And will you please take back your demand we stop flirting with you, because I don’t think I can.”

You were afraid your smile was almost dreamy – everything you believed out of reach just a few minutes ago was not quite literally cradled in your arms. “You are both so unbelievable. Yes, I’ll happily be your girlfriend and yes you may flirt with me.”

Barty popped his head back up from your neck, lips somewhat swollen despite being stretched wide. “Fucking finally.”

“You say that as if I was the one holding back,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“And while I will lay down and take a sword to the chest for ever believing I was not mad about you,” Barty began. “I think there is also something to be said about little miss run away and completely shut away any and all feelings and compliments.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Regulus snorted in that way he only ever did around you two. Then, he reached out and gave you two, three kisses in a row, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too cute.”

Barty, tactile as ever, was cradling your cheek in his hand, tracing the side of your nose with his index finger. “I want the court to know that I am absolutely mad about Regulus,” he started, smiling all the while. “But it was always you too, silly.”

Emboldened, you leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss. “Glad to know it.”

“Now let’s make sure everyone else does too, yeah?”

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia( pt.1 Here!)(pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. So much that I exceeded the character limit and need to post Diasomnia in 2 parts. I have favorites I guess :/

Malleus experienced more firsts over the course of three years than the duration of his life. His first board game session, his first group trip with peers, his first taste of carnival food, his first sleepover, his first true friend - so, so many firsts. All a byproduct of one person walking into his life and taking a genuine interest in him.

You were the first houseguest he personally invited over to Diasomnia. Not for a tour, not for business, not on behalf of another - no. You were Malleus' houseguest, there to visit Malleus and spend time with Malleus. The snacks prepared were for you both to share. The lounge seating reserved for your company. His first time hosting for fun.

You were the first person he ever got a present for outside of his family. How quick your birthday had come, and how startled he became to find he cared. You were older. Growing so quick and changing at an alarming pace. He could see it in your features and mannerisms. Malleus knew that humans aged at a much faster rate than fae. Silver sprouted like a beanstalk. Yet you were blossoming like a flower in spring. How long until you'd wither?

Malleus cared. Not out of curiosity, but something deeper. Malleus did not want a servant to pick your gift, not even his closest companions. He desired to adhere to human custom and do the task himself. He did not trust another to pick something meaningful and to your preference.

You were the first to make him laugh. Your humor being like none he had heard before. Others tend to correct themselves in Malleus' presence, or try to cater to 'his' taste. Even those closest to him, often sharing a joke that flies over his head without any explanation. You did no such thing. Your humor was curious, and perhaps a bit crude. The jokes did fail to land with him, but he still found them funny regardless.

You were the first to make him yearn. Malleus had felt loneliness before. He's been bound in it's searing clutches and taunted. Yet his rooted longing never compelled him to change. He never felt jealous. Until your smile became another's and he felt a hot pit in his stomach. One different than his fiery magic.

You were his first desire.

Malleus fumbled and panicked. He had finally found a friend, yet he wanted more. The realization striking him deep. The first want he had no guarantee of obtaining. Yet his need for you was strong. He could not lose you. Malleus begun to value your presence. Your joy. The new life you breathed into him. He held it as dear as his family. You became his fondest treasure.

Malleus needed to ensure that you would never be taken from him. That you would never change.

You were also his first failure. On the dawn of your second year and his graduation, Malleus proposed. He had forgone all customs and jumped straight to marriage. Love to the fae was a lifetime bond. No power could chain you to him stronger than matrimony. Which is why he demanded your presence in the gardens after the ending ceremony. He decorated according to your tastes, with colorful lanterns and firefly lights strewn across the plants.

He saw the hope in your eyes. The way they sparkled with affection and pride bloomed knowing that he was the cause.

“Malleus….It’s so beautiful. Did you prepare this just for me?” You ask, clutching your hands to your chest. He smiles, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a black velvet box in the shape of a rose.

“I’m happy to see you like it; however, I hope this offering pleases you more”

Malleus opens the box to reveal a ring. Your eyes widen owlishly and he interprets it as a good sign. Until you step back.

“Oh Malleus….I can’t accept this. We aren’t even dating!” You deny his unspoken proposal with a shaken tone Malleus’ is unfamiliar with. Not from you.

“Why not? I love you. Is that not enough? Do you not love me?”

He fails to understand why you declined. He spent countless hours studying human customs and expression. No. Studying you. He was confident you returned his affections. So why? Why not leave this place and join him?

You explain to him that you’re incapable of marrying someone you haven’t spent time with romantically. That you do care about him. That you liked him and did feel for him. That you could love him, but not so suddenly. You have friends at NRC and didn’t want to leave. Not to mention how him marrying a human, especially with no warning, would cause so many political problems.

Of course he had already taken all this into consideration. He didn’t care about all that, yet bit his tongue from speaking his mind. Another first for Malleus.

“What if I abide by your terms? Would you allow me to court you properly?” He cuts into your sea of reasons not to be together. They weren’t his concern. Only you.

This gets you. He clearly wasn’t listening. Love blinded the average person, and Malleus’ heart bled. You consider his offer, and agree to his courtship. It would be difficult to maintain considering your distance and his status. Yet they were fickle matters to Malleus.

You were his first failure, yet he didn’t mind. There was no true victory without a bit of labor.

The change that he so feared, it became something Malleus adored. Every time he would whisk you away from NRC, or return for a visit - you were different. You had a new story to share, or had changed your appearance. At first he began to panic once again at how quickly you seemed to evolve without him.

And one day he realized that you would keep changing. He’d see a new you forever. All these new versions. A constant spark and longing that made him realize how precious each one was. They would come whether he bid them to or not - so he had to cherish them. Every version of you was one he loved and lost. Yet the fact that another would emerge kept his heart complacent.

You were his first kiss on a dewy fall morning. You were his first heartfelt dance, dressed in shimmery black satin and pearls that he gifted. You were his first goodnight kiss, and first morning embrace. You were his first comfort after tragedy struck and his first sympathetic heartache. You were everything.

It was no longer about chaining you. He loved his firsts. He would forever remember them.

His first goodbye.

On the cusp of your 3rd year coming to a close, Malleus prepared the ring from two years prior. He would gift it to you after your graduation. It would be yours whether you accepted the meaning behind it or not - the ring could go to no one else.

An announcement arrives to him the week prior via pen and paper. Hand written by you and oh how he so loved your letters. Malleus opened it with calm delight, yet as his eyes traveled across the words he forgot how to control his strength. The paper alit in flames.

‘The Headmaster found a way to send me home. Would you come for a visit?’

The letter was not so blunt, but that’s all he could comprehend. Malleus was not ready to say goodbye. He once thought his greatest fear was to watch his flower wilt, yet now it must be cut to make a bouquet.

As much as it tore him apart, Malleus had to let you go. He couldn’t root you to soil forever. His hands unconsciously drift to the velvet rose box tucked safely in his breast pocket.

It’s only natural you’d be the source of some of Malleus’ lasts. He would never love another.

He joins you days before your ceremony. You explain to him the procedure to return, and he bites his tongue once again. He encourages you, and is happy that you’re happy. The ring burns a hole where his heart lies yet he continues on with grace, ignoring the cautious behavior of your peers whenever he’s around. The only opinion he cared for was yours, and he’d stay as long as you needed.

Malleus missed the way your heart sought his. The way you gave him chance after chance to ask you to stay. How you clung to him despite the roles normally being reversed.

“I guess this is goodbye. I’ll miss you,” you whisper, holding Malleus’ hand and glancing at the glowing portal behind him. Malleus smiles, his eyes softening as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I will never forget your heart,” he murmurs against your skin, and reaches into his breast pocket with fluid movements. Malleus places the velvet rose box in your hands, cradling them gently with both of his.

“This is yours. I had it made for your finger alone, and only you will be the one to wear it. My heart belongs to you. Let this be my final selfish wish, but I hope you will think of me when you look upon it”

Malleus doesn’t understand why you break down. The way you clutch the box to your chest and look at him with such pain. He thought you wanted to go home. Is it not what you waited so long for?

He cannot be strong when you’re crying. How can you be so cruel. He won’t be able to -

“I want to be with you. I love you,” you whisper yet he hears it perfectly clear.

Malleus’ heart stutters and he clutches your shoulders. With one hand he tilts your chin up to look at him. Your eyes splotched with red irritation and glassy with sorrow. He wipes at their edges with his thumbs, cupping your cheeks ans looking at you for any sign of doubt. Any insincerity or fear. Your expression from years prior still lives rent free in his mind…he would not risk your happiness for his selfishness.

He finds nothing and pulls you in his arms. For the first time, Malleus sheds tears born from love. From relief. He wraps his arms protectively around you, and tucks his chin over your head.

“If you love something, let it be free. If it was meant to be yours then it will come back willingly. This is a saying of humans, is it not? I could not have you at the cost of your happiness. You do not deserve such a tainted love…but if this is truly what you desire, then I will not cease my efforts. You are mine, and I will eternally be yours,”

{Malleus’ ring is hand crafted by the royal blacksmith. Some would assume that there is a ring passed down through generations of the Draconia bloodline. There is not. The fae do not follow such traditions, yet Malleus would not instill all his values onto you. If it is a ring you need, then it is a ring he will get. He decides to reforge a gem plucked from his mother’s staff. The ring is made especially for you, with a teardrop-cut of magic-infused emerald as the focus point. It’s enchanted to reject any hand other than your own, and morphs to the size of your finger. It is subtle, made of pure gold, and a symbol of union between fae and mankind.}

"One should never make a vow of eternal love lightly. Take it from someone with ample life experience"

Lilia often imposes advice without any prompting. The musings of an old man normally went in and out of people's ears anyways. Sometimes it takes experience to learn, and no matter how we try to warn our children - fate is fate. They will go through the motions just as the people before them. Especially when it comes to trials of the heart such as love and loss.

Lilia knows both intimately. They've forged the man he is.

Philia: Love of friendship and equals. His peers, his comrades in arms, his fellow fae. The friends he has lost through death and distance. Those he fought to protect.

Storge: Parental love. To raise the son of his closest friends, and the blood of his sworn enemy. Lilia has fought through loss to feel the gratification of fatherhood. Lilia loves his children.

Agape: Love of man. This one took work. It took losing all he had, and then losing more. Hundreds of years of healing and trying to be better. Even in his final stretch Lilia is still learning this love.

Eros: Passionate, unconditional love. Lilia has felt this once, and only once. The wound still fresh with a dribble of salt steadily halting the healing process. To feel eros is a beautiful thing, but to have it ripped away is enough to kill.

Lilia experienced his fair share, and now enjoys watching those in the prime of life seek out love. He doesn't engage in romantic gossip, but enjoys watching others live their lives. One of his biggest curiosities being you, oddly enough.

This is because you've shown no interest in feeling love of any kind. Being the nosy man he is, Lilia finds your dismissal of others a bit concerning. He's not the most open person himself, yet you're a young human. This is when you should be wild! Surely you must feel something, considering all the 'escapades' you've been on with other students. The best way to bond is over shared trauma - he's not endorsing it. Just stating a fact.

"It's nothing personal. I'd rather not get too attached considering my living circumstances, if you catch my drift" you say in response to his prying.

He indeed 'catches the drift' and sees a bit of himself reflected in you. You were not unkind, yet also not overzealous. You did not push others away, yet also made an effort to protect yourself. For all the kind deeds you've done, Lilia knew better than to think it a case of bleeding heart syndrome. You remind him of how he was when deciding to raise Silver - afraid and very good at hiding it for the sake of others.

He decides to step in against his better judgement. If anything to repay the kindness you've done Malleus and his two youngsters. He couldn't watch you waste the precious life you’ve been given huddled away in isolation. Lilia would become your confident, as he is the most equipped to endure inevitably bidding farewell. If anything he will encourage you to forge stronger bonds of your own accord without fear.

He does an outstanding job at being the extrovert adopting an introvert. His favorite hobby being to startle you - popping out from random places like trees, bushes, the ceiling, your closet, etc. So much that you grow accustomed to his antics and expect them. Going so far as to always carry hard candies in your coat pocket as a peace offering.

He invites you to play online video games, go shopping, and sometimes pops by your dorm with Malleus. However his visits soon become solo, sensing that his adopted son didn't enjoy his 'nightly stroll' with his best friend being invaded. Lilia didn't mind - it meant that he'd get your company all to himself! There was nothing like watching a few horror flicks and tormenting Grimm after them. You even had a guest room in case he felt too ‘lazy’ to fly home.

On your birthday, he bakes a cake and leaves it on your kitchen windowsill. You found it, and even thanked him 'happily' later that day. He never said he was the chef though....you must have quite a keen sense of taste! That or he must be so talented that you know his cooking by heart!

Lilia felt a sense of relief, seeing your mannerisms shift from neutral to happy as time passed. It was hard work ebbing away at those walls of yours. It's not good for humans to be stressed. It lessens their already short lifespan.

He really should step aside. Let you befriend more humans and people that will support your journey. Except he doesn't want to. Philia's taken root in his heart - you're now a friend. An actual one.

So...he doesn't let go.

You join the college's boardgame club, and Lilia feels honored that he's the first you ask to play with. Each time you sought his company made him feel young again. Thrills did tend to follow your wake after all.

You often spent many evenings teaching Malleus, Silver, and even Sebek about your world. Not something Lilia planned for, but seeing you open up about it put his mind at ease. The different cultures, history, trends - Lilia listens in happily as well. Going so far as to learn some of your favorite recipes. He wants to cook them right away, but agrees to wait for your company. You grew nervous when he brought the topic up, possibly because you didn't want to be left out? Surely, that must be why.

Soon comes another January 1st - Signifying a new year and also Lilia’s birthday. The night prior he was out on the prowl, flying free throughout campus, watching people party and celebrate. Normally he’d spend this evening having fun of his own, but being caged at a school left him little chances to be free. Jumping across rooftops and sneaking around doing parkour was a trip down memory lane. The fireworks and lively people made for an excellent atmosphere.

By chance he happened on your rooftop, and decided to pop in for a quick respite. Slipping in through an open window was child’s play, as was avoiding your paranormal houseguests and popping in and out of rooms.

His keen hearing picks up your voice coming from the main bedroom - and normally he wouldn’t invade a personal space but the door was open. So obviously it was an invitation. He sticks to the ceiling and crawls to a shrouded corner with a mischievous grin.

How unsuspecting you were - dressed up in fancy clothes and muttering to yourself while in front of a floor length mirror. Lilia thinks you’re going to a party and is prepping to tag along -

“Alright. I can do this,” you mutter and turn around to pace the floor. A neatly wrapped present is clutched tight in your hands - wrapped in ivory paper with a sparkly pink ribbon. Lilia freezes just when he’s about to jump down, and clings back to the wall. “Just give it to him. Give it and tell him how you feel,” you turn towards the mirror, holding the box out, “Hello there Lilia. Yes, this is a birthday present. Yes, you’re a year older, how exciting! By the way I really like you so would you want to go on a date?” You fall silent, cringing in disgust at your reflection before sitting on the bed, “Ah. That was such dogshit”

Lilia exits as swift as he entered. The night air whips against his skin as he transforms into a bat and is already on the way back home. The implications of what he just witnessed weighing heavily on his mind.

This would not be the first time someone has caught feelings for him. You don't go 700 years without any suitors - he'd always turn them down with careful consideration.

Except he doesn't want to this time. That's the major issue.

The flight home was long, with purposeful detours until he felt tired enough to retire. A familiar bitter ache stung his heart. He'd only felt this disappointment once prior, and swore off letting it bud again.

Eros.

Lilia was in love too. He recognized the passion growing long before this moment, and against his better judgement let it fester.

"Seems I'm not as equipped to handle this as I once believed" he says to no-one and moves to play some online games instead of sleeping.

Lilia once felt a love he couldn’t express through anything other than fealty and devotion. It was a darker time where there was no promise of future. He swore not to endure that pain again - yet this is similar yet also different. The love is blooming effortlessly. His devotion is growing. The desire is there and so is the fear. All the same feelings yet without the dire weight of external forces adding pressure. This time it’s his choice to follow through. There’s no bigger force at play stopping him. Not even your mortality, considering how his lifespan is almost at its close.

Yet for all his years of wisdom, the thought of putting his heart out was still as frightening as the first.

In truth, Lilia had ulterior reasons for pursuing your companionship other than worry or repaying a debt. Your behaviors did remind him of his past self. That was no lie. He simply felt affection blooming upon your first meeting and thought having your friendship would morph it into something more tame. He had a habit of drawing in lost souls - what was one more?

Now the affection is stronger, and you return it.

Heavens, was he being given another chance? After all these years.

You return it. It's requited. He needn't hide it for the sake of someone else's happiness. Lilia could be selfish, if only he let himself.

The next day, Lilia finds an ivory box with a sparkly pink ribbon outside his door. A neatly written letter is attached, with the words 'Happy Birthday' written on the front. His name is written on the tag in black ink, with your name signed as the sender.

Lilia picks it up and undoes the wrapping with nimble movements. Inside is an assortment of treats that he wanted to try from your home, and a neatly folded letter atop them. It details exactly what was expected, a perfect explanation of your feelings that's entirely different than the nervous display he intruded upon.

He looks around the hallway, checking to see if you’re nearby before disappearing without a trace. Nothing but an open door showing that he left.

Everything after is a blur. While doing the dishes back at your dorm and trying not to think of the present - Lilia appears out of nowhere, startling you for what was probably the first time in months. His typical cheeky grin and snicker were nowhere in sight.

He says one thing, “Are you certain?”. The words held a heavy meaning for the both of you.

Asking if he’s willing to go for one last chance. To take one final risk or simply be satisfied with all he’s accomplished thus far. It asks if you’re willing to do the same - to risk everything you’ve built in one fell swoop.

You nod, and Lilia smiles. Not an impish smirk or a snarky grin. A true, soft smile that is full of released tension. He happily hugs you from behind as you finish working in silence, gradually slipping back to his playful ways yet not entirely. He would remain the out of touch peepaw that you so loved to tease him as, but a bit of his youthful spirit was being revived. His inner self being healed, perhaps.

He loves you, and the world hasn’t split in two. It was his time.

Finally.

From then on he had no reservations in loving you. This was a new form of eros. A new passion filled with joy and living for the moment - versus the weight of time holding him back like it did when he was younger. Nothing changed in your dynamic other than he now had the strength to let himself love freely.

Which is exactly why he wastes no more time. Just as he told you off hand long ago, one should not make a vow of eternal love lightly. He’d take his own advice and seek his own happiness for the first time in hundreds of years.

On a random night with no inkling of warning, Lilia drags you out of bed to the Ramshackle rooftop in nothing but your nightclothes. It wasn’t the first time he’d ask for a midnight escapade - just for the thrill and surprise, most of the time. He loved to keep things exciting.

Except he was being far too gentle. Far too nostalgic. He sits you down on the edge of the roof and puts his cardigan over your shoulders. Not a word passes between you as he tucks it snug around your shoulders - his hand tracing the line of your cheekbones, down your arms and to your hands. He cradles them gently, never taking his eyes from yours.

Then something foreign glimmers against your finger. In an effortless motion, he slipped the ring on without pause. You can’t help but stare at the gem in thought, looking between it and Lilia’s thoughtful expression over and over.

Lilia nods, taking your hand in his and running his thumb over the ring - admiring it against your skin.

“I’ve lived many years. Lead many lives. I thought I had accepted my nearing end, yet I find myself wanting more. I want to grey with grace at your side. To enjoy mundane evenings - greet you come morning and kiss you to seal a day’s end. I want my last life to be at your side, if only you will have me”

{A blood red garnet placed inside a blossom frame. Lilia’s ring is made of silver, and gives the illusion of a red rose in a bed of vines. Red is the color of passion, devotion, and unconditional love. Red roses hold this very meaning in the language of flowers. Lilia has felt this before - but you are his fated. You have chosen him simply for the person he is - not who he needs to be. He can finally be free and at peace. Your love is something he can selfishly hoard and it gives him the desire to enjoy life. He feels full. Happy. He hopes that this ring shows that he wants to live for the moment by your side, eternally}

[kaszuma]

Second Guesses | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 4 of "Certainly Yours"

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro × fem!reader

summary: you and Soshiro have never once addressed your relationship. But that all changes when he sees a man hand you a drink.

warnings: mentions of alcohol. Adult drinking. Afterparty drinking. Hint of Jealousy, Nothing too serious.

wc: 2,836

---

note: Not proofread. Not really good at writing jealousy for Soshiro. I assumed he'd be more subtle in his advances. I've already planned out the next part. Might be getting an NSFW scene soon. So stay tuned.

---

It's been a few days since you've established this strange relationship with the Vice Captain of the Third Division.

All those admiring glances and careful touches have now been pried open to reveal lasting kisses in the hallways of the early mornings when no one was watching. Even in the heat of the afternoons, he made it very clear to you that he was handsy. Desperate to be close to you. And his palms, which had often been restrained to make innocent touches on your shoulder. Would evolve into a hasty fit of grabbing. Slotting themselves around your waist, subtly spelling his name on the small of your back. All a ploy to pull you much closer when you kiss.

And you reciprocated all the same by running your hands through the smooth roots of his hair. Scratching the gradual taper down to the base of his neck. Where you'd feel him shudder from your touch. Desperate enough so that he stops you from your movements to reply back with an even larger gesture.

Like you had deserved the world and back.

But despite the risky kisses you two would share in the middle of work. Soshiro had made sure that no one was watching. Keeping his loving glances to the privacy of your eyes. Letting not a single person witness his affection for you.

Not letting anyone get any dirt on him. And surprisingly, he was pretty good at keeping this situation between you two a secret.

From pulling away the moment you'd hear voices. Or looking around to see if cameras and voice recordings were within reach.

And luckily since he had access to most of it, he'd easily be able to remove the evidence before Captain Ashiro can check herself.

And should they be discovered? Soshiro was a master of evasive manipulation. Likely with his words alone, he'd be able to wriggle his way out of the situation and make up an excuse for the both of you so that you won't be caught in the awkwardness of it all. Both a boon and a bane to be dealt with.

Though, you highly doubt it would ever come to that situation.

Because for as long as you remember. Despite the guise of his easy-going persona. He was still the respected Vice Captain everyone knew him as. And like his responsibilities. He remained disciplined, loyal to Kaiju slaying. His meticulousness shows in the way he practices his swordsmanship to the privacy he has with you. He keeps his cards close and you even closer.

He holds you as if you were a treasure he found and was unable to share, lest you be taken away from his safekeeping.

And God forbid, if something happened to you.

There would be hell to pay.

And like all his bad habits. He had been able to keep up this persona. Even with you, it seems he still isn't used to that newfound feeling that he's come across. He wasn't used to the ever growing importance you had on his life.

Unable to comprehend the feelings that bloomed within him when you managed to crawl your way into his hardened heart. And now that you're there, he doesn't know whether to hold you tighter or not.

And for whatever reason. You understood that sentiment exactly. Even when those words never left his mouth.

Although it wasn't ideal, you had decided not to confront his aversion to public intimacy. If he had not decided what you are to him. Then so be it. You would be nothing and everything to him, if that helped ease his mind.

Soshiro was a busy man. He was often the last person to shut off all the lights in the training room. And the first person to grab a cup of coffee in the mess hall. And to ruin that routine now, and ask for his confirmation of exclusivity? You’d rather not overwork the poor man who already has enough on his plate. The task was still far too early a concept for the both of you to grasp.

So, you let the man be.

As much as it did sting to see him ignore your presence entirely instead of greeting you in the crowded mess hall. You had not moved from your spot. Letting Soshiro take the lead. Only hearing the trace of his faint laughter ring out as he answered vaguely from the few questions he'd get from some of the officers.

And you smile knowing fully well that he had not alluded to you at all when someone asked if he was seeing anyone.

That is until that persona of his cracked unexpectedly..

It was the evening after a successful mission. The third division had just gotten back from exterminating an army of Yoju in the area. And just like its repertoire, no casualties were sustained during the attack. Not even a broken combat suit that needed fixing. Which made your job a little easier no doubt.

And now, the entirety of the Third Division had been invited out to drink. Renting a large bar down the street, nearest the base.

It hadn't been a few minutes since you sat down. Recognizing a few operators like Okonogi who invited you to sit down next to her. She had excused herself momentarily, likely a trip to the restrooms. When suddenly a martini slid towards you. It had the color of liquid poison, and it reminds you that you haven't had a single drink that night. Unlike the few rambunctious folks who had cheered when a glass of beer was poured to their glasses.

The moment you turn your head you see the telltale signs of an Officer staring right back at you. His grin was one you hadn't recognized, languidly pushing the pretty glass towards you where it was within reach. His cheeks aflame from the steady intake of alcohol.

He was likely a new officer. A recruit from this year's batch. Otherwise, you'd have recognized him from the plenty of times officers would come by to the lab to have their weapons upgraded or repaired.

“Drink up! It's a successful night after all.” He moved uncomfortably closer. And you could smell the stench of his breath that made you want to cringe away. But you didn't really want to seem rude, so you gently nudged him back. To leave enough room between the two of you. Luckily he had seemed to have gotten the hint and poured another glass for himself.

“Want another one?”

The encouragement makes you smile. He had likely not realized that he had been talking to the wrong person. Too drunk to notice that you weren't an officer like the rest of the people in the bar.

“No thank you. I'm good.” you said. “Though, you might consider drinking some water? Maybe it'll help you sober up.” You gestured to the bartender. Though the martini is handed to your palms before you could raise your hand. And you caught yourself before the liquid could make a mess and spill all over the place.

“The night's still young and it's rare that the Captains are treating us to a drink.” He convinced you. And you find yourself second guessing, staring at your drink in thought.

It did look like a very expensive martini. And from the looks of the officer that had offered it to you, he'd been chugging down his own set that he had ordered himself. Already moving on to give you some of his glasses that he had planned to drink.

It wouldn't hurt to taste it, right?

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try.” You had interjected, already moving the petite glass to your lips.

What you hadn't realized however, was the intense stare you'd get from the back of your head. Red eyes line your figure from across the room. And the bottle of Sake he had ordered was long forgotten at his table with Captain Ashiro.

Before you knew it, the glass rim had been blocked by a hand. And you could see the appearance of an arm obscure the right side of your vision. Blocking both the drink and the drunken gaze from the officer in question.

“Don't ya know you shouldn't accept drinks from strangers, sweetheart?”

Soshiro's husky voice quivered from behind. And you could hear the way his chest rumbled as it pressed against your back. Hand already putting the martini back on the table, away from your lips.

“Vice Captain..?” You hear the officer exclaim in slow syllables. And suddenly the man shot up in a salute. Though dazed from the drinks he clearly had, the rest of the officers behind him had laughed. Clearly amused that the Vice Captain had made an appearance, with an audience no less.

And that was enough to turn your head around to meet his eyes.

And his smile. The smile that had always been difficult to read, had not faded at all the moment you faced him. At least not entirely, as it looked a little irritated. More forced than usual. It seems you're starting to get better at reading his grins. At least, to some extent.

“At ease, we're just about to leave.” He spoke nonchalantly. His gaze not once leaving yours. Which makes your breath hitch slightly.

Your eyes had darted around, first seeing the perplexed faces of the officers. And then seeing the calm expression of both Okonogi and Captain Ashiro just eating some karaage from the sidelines. With the bespectacled girl in particular, clearly enjoying the attention both you and Soshiro had received. She had probably returned long ago and saw the commotion happening.

Likely alluding to the fact that they had already been made aware of their strange relationship. Which makes you a little calmer, knowing that this hadn't been an official work setting. Celebrations at the bar is one thing, but plenty of the Third had still been present, making this seem all the more exposed than ever.

Shit.

Why was he here?

Wasn't he afraid of letting people know about them? or whatever situation their relationship was at the moment. He had made it very clear that he wasn't keen on his admission. Not a single word from his lips that they were more than friends. Let alone lovers. What's changed?

“We were?” You had whispered to him.

“We are. So let's go, yeah?” He simply gestures for you to stand up, hand on the small of your back whilst pointing his chin to the direction of the door. Though before he could gently lead you away the same officer had squinted his eyes. As if a strange idea had popped into his head, but had doubted the premise for it to be factual.

“Where are ya’ going, Vice Captain? You can't just pick girls up like that..” You had seen the small twitch on the corner of Soshiro's lips. It quivers in that irritation you knew well. And it was just their luck that this drunken officer had spoken his thoughts out loud.

Shit. You decide to intervene. “No need to worry, I was just about to grab an uber back to base anyway-”

“What?” Soshiro had looked at you. “No yer’ not, do you know how late it is?”

You had flinched upon hearing Soshiro's firm voice. A first in which he spoke to you with a slightly raised tone. And you could feel the curious stares in your direction.

“Yes, I am.” You said. “And the Vice Captain here is only going to escort me out until my ride is here.” You say between gritted teeth. The sorry excuse of a reasoning was sloppy at best, but you had at least hoped some people had just gotten the picture and left the topic alone.

But Soshiro couldn't help but sigh, remorseful of the way he had raised your voice at you like that. He was only concerned for your safety. And added to the irritation of prying eyes, he didn't mean to reveal so much just from one sentence of his.

“No, Just-” He starts, “Listen, I'll take ya home myself. I don't want ya out this late. Now come on.”

He had grabbed your wrist. Already pulling you along to the exit. Of course, this had garnered stares from their audience. And although some had been wise enough not to ask further questions.In fear of insubordination, it seems not everyone had been sober enough to read the room.

“Woah..Am I missing something here? It's like you two are dating.” The officer had taken a sip of his martini. Curiously glancing around and back at the two of you.

And Soshiro looks back at the crowd who now had incredulous looks on their faces.

“Got a problem with that, soldier?” He spoke with his eyes open. Deep crimson staring at the soldier who could barely stand from the Alcohol he consumed. And you could feel the way Soshiro had nudged you past the door before you could meet any of their prying eyes.

“N-no sir.” He had gulped, turning around to pour himself a shot. Likely already knowing that he might've done himself in by the look at Soshiro's face. His expression, though laid-back as usual, had spoken everything it needed to tell him.

And he was definitely going to run laps, or clean bathrooms the morning after.

“You there. Remind him tomorrow morning to meet me in my office.” He pointed towards the Officer that was nearest the drunken man. Who had proceeded to drink another glass. And before he could hear the response. He walks out the bar's entrance, with you in tow.

Immediately you turned towards him. Brows furrowed in response to his strange behavior. Jealousy was one thing, but now you had an even bigger question. A more sincere one, that you didn't think would be a possibility until now.

“Did you really mean that?” You spoke hesitantly. Watching him walk past you, fishing out the keys for his car.

“Mean what, sugar plum?” and you had half a mind to roll your eyes. Suddenly baffled that his demeanor changed so quickly.

“Don't change the subject. Do you or do you not mean it?” She had stopped walking. And halfway on his step Soshiro had turned towards her. A hint of shock on his expression, but it was so miniscule that you were second guessing if it was truly there.

And his grin had been all the same.

…

Silence would engulf the two for a moment. The type that had been sickening if it went on for too long. But Soshiro hadn't let it get that far. And he spoke.

“I mean it.”

He had turned to avoid your gaze. His hand fidgets to fish out the keys in his pockets, despite having already found it long ago. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a while..I just..didn't know how.”

“So you shamelessly announce it to the entire Third Division?” You couldn't help but smile. Reaching out for his hand until she held him firmly. And his touch had all but devoured her warmth.

“Do ya’ have to remind me?”

“Yeah. You dug your own grave on that one.” A chuckle escaped your lips. And he turns to you. With unusually pink cheeks that had reddened up to his ears. A rare sight to behold it seems.

“So?” He started. “Do you want to? Be with me, I mean.”

“Hmm…let me think..” You had walked much closer to him. Until you were practically chest to chest with his solid form. And before you knew it, you were leaning up to capture his lips for a momentary kiss. Taking his breath away like all the times he had done the same to you.

Though, you hadn't expected his immediate reply when he slid his free hand to your jaw. Replying back with purposeful kisses. This time, slow and drawn out. Not at all the rush you were used to from all the kisses prior. The haste was likely a result from not wanting to get caught.

And the moment you pull away, you could see the familiar cheeky grin he has on that face of his. Thumb running across the underside of your jaw. “I assume that's a yes?”

“What do you think, genius?”

You feel yourself be pulled into a tight embrace. And you could smell the fresh laundry of his uniform invade your senses. His scent had been all but intoxicating. Relaxing you to the bone. Helping you feel safe within his arms that not even a single Kaiju would dare threaten.

“Yer’ really keepin me second guessing huh? I suppose I deserve that.” He spoke, burying his face against the crown of your hair. Relishing in the feeling of your steady form.

And he supposes he'll have to ask a thousand times more if he was allowed to.

So that no more second guesses are made.

[sur-i-ki]

Slipping through my fingers, all the time

13/20

The first time he saw you falter, it was the tremor in your hand that gave you away. You were always so steady, so sure. But that morning, as you reached for your coffee mug, there it was—a small, almost imperceptible shake. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you set the mug down a little too carefully. When he asked if you were feeling all right, you smiled, brushing it off with a laugh that sounded a touch too practiced.

“It’s nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Probably just the weather.”

He believed you, or maybe he let himself believe you because it was easier than facing the alternative.

The park was where he saw it again. It was autumn, the air crisp, the leaves crackling underfoot as the two of you walked side by side. You stumbled—not clumsily, but in a way that didn’t feel like you. When you reached for his arm, your grip was firm, desperate even, as if the earth had shifted beneath your feet.

“Careful,” he said lightly, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.

You laughed, but the sound was thin. “Guess I’m getting old.”

You held onto his arm for the rest of the walk. He didn’t mind. He told himself you just liked being close, but there was a shadow in his chest that refused to lift.

It wasn’t long before the shadow grew roots.

One night, he found you sitting on the bathroom floor, your head buried in your hands. The tremors were worse now, rattling through you like the aftershocks of a distant quake. When he knelt beside you, the look in your eyes hit him harder than any words could have.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though inside he felt like he was unraveling.

You didn’t answer at first, just stared at the tiled floor as if it held all the answers you couldn’t give.

Finally, you whispered, “It’s a condition. Degenerative. There’s no cure.”

The weight of those words crushed the air from the room. He felt his chest tighten, his lungs refusing to expand. “How long?”

“Years,” you said, your voice cracking. “But it’s getting worse now.”

It was the first time he truly understood what inevitable meant—not as a word, but as a sentence, as a suffocating truth that could crush bone and marrow alike.

What could he say?

He wrapped his arms around you as you broke down. He'd hold you together.

He learned quickly how to carry the pieces of you that were breaking.

There were schedules to memorize, pills to count, appointments to keep. Some days were harder than others, when the disease clawed at you with its invisible hands, leaving you too exhausted to move. Those days, he would sit by your side, feeding you soup and pretending not to notice how you flinched at the effort it took to swallow.

But there were good days too.

Days when you smiled at him like nothing had changed. You’d sit on the couch together, your head on his shoulder, laughing at something on the television. He memorized those moments, stored them like treasures in the back of his mind. On the bad days, he would dig them out and hold them close, desperate for warmth. These moments were his lifeline.

The first time you forgot his name, it nearly broke him.

He had been reading to you, his voice filling the quiet room, when you suddenly interrupted. “Who are you?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like a child asking a question they weren’t sure they were allowed to ask.

He froze, the words catching in his throat. For a moment, all he could do was stare at you, his heart a stone sinking in his chest.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice trembling. He told you his name, reminded you of the life you shared. Slowly, recognition returned to your eyes, but the crack it left in him never healed.

Later that night, when you were asleep, he cried in the living room.

The decline was relentless, each new symptom a thief stealing pieces of you. Your strength, your independence, your voice—one by one, they slipped through his fingers, leaving only memories behind.

One night, as he sat by your bedside, you reached out, your hand frail and trembling. He took it, feeling the coldness of your skin seep into his own.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his voice rough.

“For staying,” you said, your lips curling into the faintest smile.

He wanted to tell you that leaving had never been an option, that he would have stayed even if the world had been burning around him. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he pressed your hand to his lips, letting the silence speak for him.

One night, the both of you sat outside on the balcony, the night wrapping her arms around you, placing you in a cocoon.

"Do you ever think about what comes next?" You ask him softly, resting you head on his shoulder.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't want to.

Finally, he settled on "I try not to."

You smiled up at him, faintly, "Me too,"

The silence rang out in the night.

The day you died, the air felt too still.

He had known it was coming. He had sat with you through every agonizing step, watching as the disease stripped you down to nothing. But when he walked into the room and saw you lying there, so still, so quiet, it was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him.

He didn’t cry at first. He couldn’t. He sat beside you, holding your hand, staring at the empty shell that had once been you. It felt like the air had been stolen from the room, leaving him suffocating in a silence that pressed against his ears like a scream.

Now, he stands in front of your grave, the weight of the world pressing down on him. The headstone is simple, your name etched into the cold, unyielding stone. He traces the letters with his fingers, the roughness of the engraving biting into his skin.

The grief is a living thing, clawing at his chest, filling his throat with sand. The world around him is too bright, too loud, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves feeling like an insult to your absence.

He kneels, the grass damp beneath his knees, and bows his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t save you. I… I should have done more. Said more.”

The words are a flood now, spilling from him in a torrent he can’t stop. “I miss you,” he chokes out, his breath hitching. “God, I miss you so much.”

The grief is suffocating, a black hole swallowing him whole. He clutches at the earth, the dampness seeping into his skin, grounding him in the only way he knows how.

For the first time since you left, he lets himself feel the full weight of it—the loss, the anger, the love. He breaks, the sobs wracking his body, shaking him to his core.

And as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the cemetery, he stays there, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like the weight of the sky.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[estapa-edwards]

CHILDHOOD LOVERS - L. HUGHES

paring: Luke Hughes x fem! reader

word count: 1.6k

requested? yes -luke dating his childhood sweetheart and they are so in lvoe and perfect with each other, they keep it private to friends and family. luke goes out for the first time with the devils and a girl try’s to hood up with him but he declines because he is taken and the devils are suprised thinking it’s not like a serious relationship and then the next game jack and her suprised luke with her their and they realize how wrong they all were

warnings: use of y/n. established relationship

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Love stories often begin in the most unexpected places, but for Luke and Y/N, it all started on the frosty rinks of their childhood. Their love blossomed amidst the echoes of skates carving through ice and the exhilarating rush of the game they both adored. From innocent crushes to a deeply-rooted connection, their relationship had weathered the test of time, quietly flourishing away from the prying eyes of the world.

Luke and Y/N were inseparable since they were children. Growing up in the same neighborhood, their bond formed naturally, like two puzzle pieces destined to fit together. They shared secrets, dreams, and countless moments of laughter that solidified their bond as they navigated through the tumultuous journey of adolescence.

As they matured, their friendship evolved into something deeper. Luke found himself captivated by Y/N's infectious laughter, her unwavering support, and her gentle yet fiercely loyal nature. Y/N, in turn, cherished Luke's kindness, his passion for life, and the way his eyes sparkled with excitement every time he stepped onto the ice.

Their transition from friends to lovers was seamless, marked by stolen kisses beneath the stars and whispered promises of forever. Their love was a sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the world, and they guarded it fiercely, choosing to keep their relationship private, a sacred treasure shared only between them.

But life had a way of throwing unexpected challenges their way. Luke's passion for hockey led him to pursue a career in the NHL, a dream he had nurtured since he first laced up his skates. His talent caught the attention of the New Jersey Devils, and soon he found himself thrust into the whirlwind world of professional hockey.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

One chilly evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Luke returned home to find Y/N waiting for him in their cozy apartment. The sight of her instantly melted away the fatigue of the day, and he enveloped her in a warm embrace.

"Hey, you," Luke greeted, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead.

"Hey yourself," Y/N replied, her smile lighting up the room. "How was practice?"

Luke sighed, sinking into the couch beside her. "Tough, as usual. But seeing you makes it all worth it."

Y/N reached for Luke's hand, intertwining their fingers as she leaned against him. "I missed you today. It feels like we haven't had a moment to ourselves in ages."

"I know," Luke admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "But I promise, we'll make up for lost time. How about we order in some food and have a quiet night in?"

Y/N's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That sounds perfect."

As they settled in for the evening, sharing stories and laughter over a meal, the outside world faded into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of them, cocooned in their love and the comfort of each other's presence.

Weekends offered a brief respite from the hectic pace of Luke's schedule, and they made the most of every moment together. On one occasion, they decided to escape the city and retreat to a secluded cabin nestled in the mountains.

The crisp mountain air filled their lungs as they embarked on a leisurely hike, hand in hand. Surrounded by towering trees and breathtaking vistas, they reveled in the serenity of nature and the joy of being together.

"I could stay here forever," Y/N mused, her gaze sweeping across the panoramic landscape.

Luke smiled, pulling her close. "As long as I'm with you, anywhere feels like home."

However, their decision to keep their relationship private would soon be put to the test. During one of his first outings with his teammates, Luke found himself the object of unwanted attention from a persistent admirer. Despite the allure of temptation, Luke remained resolute, his heart belonging only to Y/N.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

It was a typical evening out with his teammates, filled with laughter, camaraderie, and the occasional fan encounter. As they settled into a booth at their favorite bar, Luke couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

"So, Luke, any plans for tonight?" one of his teammates, Jack, asked with a mischievous grin.

Luke shrugged, trying to mask his discomfort. "Not really. Probably just gonna head home after a few drinks."

His response earned him a chorus of teasing remarks from the others, but Luke ignored them, his thoughts drifting to Y/N.

Meanwhile, across the room, a group of women had taken notice of the handsome hockey player and were whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Before Luke could react, a bold figure approached their table, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips.

"Hey there, handsome," she purred, leaning in close to Luke. "Mind if I join you?"

Luke's pulse quickened as he exchanged uneasy glances with his teammates. Despite the temptation that tugged at his heartstrings, he knew where his loyalty lay—with Y/N.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm taken," Luke replied firmly, his voice leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The woman's smile faltered for a moment before she recovered, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure your girlfriend won't mind."

Luke's resolve hardened as he thought of Y/N, her image clear in his mind's eye. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. Please, respect my boundaries."

With a huff of frustration, the woman retreated, leaving Luke feeling both relieved and unsettled. His teammates exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by his refusal.

"Wow, Luke, I didn't know you were in a serious relationship," Dawson remarked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Luke nodded, his expression solemn. "Yeah, it's just not something I like to broadcast to the world."

His teammates fell into a contemplative silence, the gravity of Luke's words sinking in. They had always assumed that Luke was just another young athlete enjoying the perks of fame and fortune, but his commitment to Y/N painted a different picture entirely.

As they continued their evening, Luke couldn't shake the feeling of relief that washed over him. Despite the brief moment of temptation, he had remained true to Y/N, reaffirming his loyalty and devotion to their relationship.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The stadium buzzed with excitement as the New Jersey Devils prepared to take the ice for their next game. Among the sea of jerseys and cheering fans, Luke felt a familiar sense of anticipation building within him. Little did he know, this game would be unlike any other.

As the players filed onto the ice, Luke's focus was entirely on the game ahead. He scanned the crowd briefly, searching for a familiar face, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the task at hand.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Y/N sat nervously, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. She had carefully hidden her surprise from Luke, knowing that seeing her wearing his jersey would catch him off guard. But she couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he spotted her in the crowd.

As the game progressed, the tension in the arena reached a fever pitch. The Devils fought valiantly against their opponents, their determination evident in every pass, every shot, and every save.

Then, midway through the second period, it happened. Luke's eyes swept over the crowd, and there, amidst the throng of cheering fans, he spotted her—Y/N, wearing his jersey with pride.

His heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight, disbelief and joy warring within him. He couldn't believe that she was here, supporting him in such a public and visible way.

"Is that... Y/N?" one of Luke's teammates exclaimed, his voice filled with astonishment.

The others turned to look, their eyes widening in surprise as they spotted Y/N in the stands, proudly displaying Luke's jersey. It was a sight they never expected to see, and for a moment, they were rendered speechless.

But Luke's reaction spoke volumes. A smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with love and gratitude as he locked gazes with Y/N. In that moment, everything else faded away—the crowd, the game, even the pressure of professional hockey.

All that mattered was the woman he loved, standing in the stands, supporting him with every fiber of her being.

Jack leaned back in his seat, a contented smile gracing his features as he watched his brother, Luke, reunite with Y/N after the game. The sight of them together filled him with a profound sense of happiness and warmth.

He had always known how much Y/N meant to Luke, but seeing them together, their love palpable in every glance and touch, was a powerful reminder of the strength of their bond.

As Luke wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her close in a tight embrace, Jack couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his brother. Despite the challenges they had faced, Luke had remained steadfast in his love for Y/N, never wavering in his commitment to their relationship.

And now, as they stood together amidst the cheers of the crowd, Jack knew that this moment would be etched in their memories forever—a testament to the enduring power of love and the unbreakable bond between two souls.

With a smile of his own, Jack raised his glass in a silent toast to his brother and Y/N, wishing them a lifetime of happiness and love. As he watched them disappear into the crowd, hand in hand, Jack felt a sense of peace settle over him.

For in that moment, he knew that no matter what life threw their way, Luke and Y/N would always have each other, their love a beacon of hope and strength in a world filled with uncertainty. And for Jack, there was no greater joy than seeing his brother truly happy, surrounded by the love of the woman who meant everything to him.

sorry this is so short

[truevedicastrology]

Jupiter's Blessings

A Journey Through the Houses

The mighty Jupiter, king of the planets, showers its benevolent influence upon each area of life depending on its position in your birth chart. Let's embark on a cosmic expedition, exploring the unique gifts Jupiter bestows in each of the twelve houses:

1st House: The Charismatic One: Your presence radiates confidence, attracting opportunities like moths to a flame. Your ever-evolving style reflects your inner spark, and your optimistic outlook paints life in vibrant hues. Physical well-being and financial fortune seem to follow you effortlessly.

2nd House: The Affluent One: Financial security and a love for life's finer things dance hand-in-hand. Your sharp wit and insightful conversations win hearts and minds, while early financial success empowers you to build a secure future.

3rd House: The Connected One: Warmth and understanding define your relationships with family and friends. Communication flows effortlessly, and your sharp intellect paves the way for academic achievement and success in travel endeavors.

4th House: The Rooted One: Familial harmony and a sense of belonging are yours to cherish. A peaceful home environment, possibly in a dream location, nourishes your soul. Your connection with your mother is a source of strength and solace.

5th House: The Expressive One: Your talents shine brightly, propelling you onto the stage of life. You excel in sports and possess a diverse skillset. Romantic encounters are filled with joy and shared passions, while your adventurous spirit thrives on taking risks.

6th House: The Harmonious One: Health and well-being are your birthright. Your work routine is a source of enjoyment and discovery, leading to financial abundance and promising opportunities through supportive colleagues.

7th House: The Sociable One: Serendipity guides your relationships, leading you to soulmates and fulfilling partnerships. Your magnetic personality attracts admirers and opportunities for social recognition, while legal endeavors find favor under Jupiter's gaze.

8th House: The Resilient One: Inheritance and investments are blessed with fortunate outcomes, shielding you from financial hardship. Deep connections flourish, bringing happiness, and your emotional resilience ensures swift recovery from setbacks.

9th House: The Wanderer One: The world is your oyster! Frequent travel, exposure to diverse cultures, and encounters with inspiring individuals broaden your horizons. Your insatiable curiosity and enthusiasm for life's adventures make every journey a treasure.

10th House: The Achiever One: Career success comes easily, often fueled by the support of family or ancestors. Leadership roles and recognition become synonymous with your professional journey, and your wanderlust fuels your exploration of diverse cultures.

11th House: The Networked One: Dreams manifest effortlessly, surrounded by loyal and intelligent friends. Your social circle is a tapestry of diverse backgrounds and languages, and influential connections propel you forward.

12th House: The Intuitive One: Even adversity holds unexpected blessings, deepening your spiritual connection and highlighting your moral compass. A contemplative nature and a keen awareness of life's subtleties guide your intuitive decisions. You travel to destinations chosen by your soul, seeking profound connections.

Remember, this is just a glimpse into Jupiter's influence. Delving deeper into your individual birth chart will reveal the unique ways this benevolent giant shapes your life's journey.

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[phantasmique]

Summary: it's moments like these where you can hardly recognize Sukuna as the terror that he is. But you aren't complaining.

Warnings: some mentions of violence but overall, just a bunch of fluff. Short and sweet.

Clingy.

It isn't a term that you ever could have imagined using for Lord Sukuna, but as of late, you've been struggling to apply a different word. Possessive certainly comes to mind. And it's definitely fitting for a man like him.

He doesn't share. He doesn't allow other people to so much as entertain the notion that he'd be willing to let another soul touch you - or any of his other concubines for that matter.

But it wasn't a secret, that for whatever reason, you are his favorite. It was a well-known fact in the estate. A truth that was aware to each and every servant housed among his staff. The details of your relationship with the King of Curses are exchanged quietly amongst the laborers and servants. Spoken in confidential hushes within the cover of darkened hallways and private corridors as they all speculate what you might have done to captivate the attentions of the man - an entity, more like. Hardly human anymore.

So it was odd that a beast as sadistic and self-serving as he would allow himself to be fascinated by someone as lowly as you. Even with your own cursed technique, you were hardly anything to gawk over, especially not by the likes of Ryomen Sukuna, a being that could rip you apart in the blink of an eye.

And yet, he does just the opposite, often demanding that you keep close to him. Always ordered to trail after him, expected to be just as consistent and loyal as a shadow.

You aren't ignorant to the glares that it earns you. Mostly from the other courtesans. Not that you could entirely blame them.

In this world, Sukuna's attention equals protection, and if you were in their positions, to him so entirely focused on another person, would feel like a death sentence.

But their desperation leaves them to try too hard. Coquettishly batting their eyelashes and swinging their hips in the hopes of enticing him. It was all too heavy handed. Their desperation was all obvious, and some of the most skilled amongst the harem are crumbling beneath their attempts to keep him intrigued.

He pays them little mind. Nights are still spent with them yes, a hedonist like him always indulging in the pleasures of flesh and life in any facet he can, but he doesn't request for any of them to trail after him in the way you're commanded to.

They are all free to wonder about the estate unrestrained, but you are to have your movements under constant scrutiny. If on the off chance you aren't at your position at your lord's side, you're accompanied by an escort in some capacity. It doesn't matter if you're safe within the estate grounds, you're to be monitored.

He keeps you guarded. Kept hidden like some sort of relic. Some sort of revered treasure that's been contained and bound down tight for his eyes only.

But you'd be lying if you didn't find some pleasure in it.

There's something empowering about having a man - a monster - as infamous as the King of Curses entranced by you. Even if he vehemently denies such a notion.

A displeased scowl always mars his features whenever the idea of it is implicated. A scoff puffing from his chest as though he's equally amused and offended, but you know that you have him.

His affections aren't sweet or docile. He doesn't care in a way that's light, delicate or embracing. He's all teeth and hunger. An endless chasm of want and greed that latches on like a parasite, sinking his claws into you until they're bone deep, rooted into your marrow to consume you from the inside out. Until there's nothing left.

It would be so easy to trick yourself into believing that he's some sort of old god. A deity of discord and avarice that's been written out of history, smeared from ancient scrolls and bygone texts by the very mortals that were meant to fear and worship him.

But he was human once long before he had become twisted and gnarled by his own corruption. Many see his existence as a blight on the earth. Sorcerers deeming his being as a blight on jujutsu. A disfigurement. A creature. More monster than man.

But to you, his horror only made him even more bewitching. There's a beauty in his violence. It's a temptation that you can't ignore. It draws you too him like a lure. A fly foolishly gliding into a vat of honey, willfully weighing down its own wings in the adhesive glimmer of gold and amber, drowning itself in the rich saccharine pools. A moth fluttering closer and closer to an open fire - not a single ember, not a delicate flame, but a full inferno; a pyre scorching its path across a forest, carving its destructive mark across the earth in licks of blazing, molten heat. And you long to burn.

You'd die a thousand times to gaze upon him.

Fortunately, you don't have to.

He wants you alive. Safe and secure regardless of how indifferent he expresses himself to be. You can see past the slivers in his facade - well, it's not quite a facade. He truly is callous. Apathetic and cold. He's an entity that deals in extremes. That lives to satisfy his own hubris and hunger, but you think that's why you've managed to slip past his rough exterior and nestle a place for yourself near that motionless, dead heart of his.

It was your determination. Your own unyielding pride that would endear you to him, as much frustration and sadistic glee that it had caused him in the beginning. He had delighted in trying to wear you down. Prodding and clawing at you in the hopes of seeing the head that you always held high hang down in defeat.

To snuff out the confidence in you that had been fostered and inherited from the generations of sorcerers that have come before you.

He's yet to succeed, and you think that is what has drawn him to you. Your refusal to roll over and bear your belly merely because he ordered it. It took years for you to yield to him without rebuttal or open annoyance; for him to know that you weren't simply a dog taught to heel, but you think that he takes pride in knowing that you've fallen to his violent allure.

You doubt he realizes how subdued his become with you. Blind to the extent of his own affections - as edged and barbaric as they often are. But every once in a while, he grows lax underneath your hands. Turning malleable and warm like melted wax. The sharp edges that make him shifting and softening just enough for your palms to glide over him.

He's so different from the beast you had met all those years ago, forced to kneel in order to save your throat while scrutinized you from the height of his throne, all arrogance and cruelty.

And now here he is, face cradled in your palms while you both lounge about, shielded from the gentle golden light of the evening sun by the roof of the yuka. Using your lap as a makeshift cushion while he reclines fully on the floor, his long legs stretched out, a pair of his limbs limp on either side of him while the other set are clasped together by their fingers, resting on his sternum.

It's not exactly the image that you would associate with a king. Much less the King of Curses. Yet here he is, all four of his eyes shut while he draws deep, steady breaths into his lungs.

It'd be easy to think that he's asleep, but you know better. Still, it doesn't keep you from allowing your gaze to dart across his face, taking note of his placid, almost peaceful expression, free from its usual scowling or sneering. The shape of his lips no longer pulled back into a taunting smirk, but neutral and almost soft.

It's a state that not many are honored with seeing, and you can't help but to indulge in it now that you have him here.

You nearly feel like a glutton as you sweep your vision over him in a shameless observation. Letting your focus trace over the tattoos that decorate his body. Slashes of black against the pale shade of his skin.

You've always wondered the meaning of them. You know that some sorcerers will get tattoos that represent aspects of their technique; it bonds them closer to their cursed energy and makes it more fluid to wield. But you can't help but to be reminded of the tattoos forced upon criminals. The markings on his arms are suspiciously similar to the same ones you've seen stamped upon the flesh of delinquents - the lowly men and women that you had been warned about by your mother and escorts while within the city. People who had been branded for their crimes as punishment.

The dark bands encircled around his wrists and biceps share somewhat of a similarity to the tattoos given to thieves, though the placement of them is a little off to be considered truly alike.

With how demented he is, you wouldn't be surprised if he intentionally made them look similar as some sort of twisted way of honoring his many crimes.

It has one of your hands lifting, your fingers slipping from the delicate grip they had on his hair to slip along his chest, feeling his muscle rippling beneath your palm as you brush your fingertips along the ink imbedded into his skin.

A low rumble reverberates from the depths of his ribcage, rising somewhere from within his lungs. It seems like a warning almost, one that anyone else would have heeded, but you keep your hand fixed in place, caressing your thumb just beneath his collarbone.

His eyes peal open then, squinting just enough to glare up at you from his place cradled between the plush of your thighs. Searing red, but the irritation reflecting from them is lazy. An echo of the languid way he's positioned himself within your space.

"I don't recall permitting your hands to wander." It comes out like he's berating you, but he makes no effort to correct your apparent error, remaining motionless and relaxed as you continue to card your other hand through his hair, lightly scratching your nails along his scalp.

You don't miss how his lashes flutter when you do it.

It makes a smile long to pull at the corners of your lips, but years of self-restraint and etiquette keep it from showing. Though you're sure that your mirth is revealed in your eyes.

"What's with all the staring?" He complains idly. His brow raising to further pronounce his question.

"I'm simply admiring my lord," you answer. A truth, and yet the playfulness in your voice is clear.

"As you should be."

You'd scoff if the hand on his chest wasn't so close to the mouth on his stomach. You wouldn't be surprised if he decided to snap it between those massive jaws to reprimand you.

You've seen it yawn open to gnash at limbs, massive teeth sinking into flesh to tear and rip, drinking down blood and shattering bones as easily as brittle branches.

It makes you mindful of how close you allow your fingers to drift, not allowing them to slip past the swell of his firm chest and down near the indention that slices across the width of his abdomen. A hint at the starved chasm that lurks behind it, the rows of fangs that wait to bite and eat.

He's used that mouth against you many times, none of them in such a malicious manner, but you still can't help but to be a little wary of it. You swear that it has a mind of its own sometimes, and you'd hate to be on the receiving end of a more violent kind of appetite.

It still can't keep you from your previous musings, and now that you have him focused you can't ignore the questions that are gathering in your mind.

"Your tattoos - are they amplifiers? I've seen a few sorcerers apply them to ground their technique."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would. That's why I asked."

He glares at you then. Eyes narrowing in a way that makes you feel like a target. It nearly forces you to brace for a sudden rush of cursed energy, the instinctual part of you warning that he might lash out as punishment, but nothing comes.

There's no prickle that bite across the air, stinging and sharp before it strikes you down, only a delicate brush of a summer breeze as it glides along your skin.

"Are there no bounds to your insolence? I should kill you for that." He grumbles, baring his teeth as though he means to ward you off.

"I apologize, my king. " It sounds like a bluff, even to you, so you're certain that he isn't convinced. The clipped hum you get in response only confirms that he doesn't. "I was only curious."

"Keep your musings to yourself."

It's said sharply. A clear command for you not to prod at him further. Such an ornery, brash creature. You have to fight off the urge to roll your eyes at his curt behavior lest he chastises you more.

He acts as though it's a chore to be in your presence. As though he wasn't the one who had sought you out during your private time - a brief respite from the harsh nature of his courts and the routine of your daily schedule - to crowd himself within the structure of the gazebo, fitting himself along the wooden floor to rest the weight of his head within your lap.

Despite his apparent annoyance, he still doesn't tell you to cease touching him, and you know that one of the easiest ways of coaxing him back into a calm state is to give him attention. Regardless of how that attention is bestowed. Usually it's fear and dread that feeds into his ego the best, the screams and blood of others fueling that sadistic emptiness in him.

But you'll settle for touch for now.

He doesn't command you to halt your movements as you continue to sweep your hands along his body, messaging his chest and gently scratching along his scalp. If possible, it has him relaxing even further, going boneless on the floor with a heavy sigh, but his eyes don't slip shut this time. His lids fall heavy, nearly closing but staying open just enough to continue observing you through his lashes.

It's a cruel juxtaposition that someone who commits so many hideous atrocities is so beautiful.

The sun has crept a little lower in the sky, drifting downward in its course to reach the horizon and it allows glints of light to pour in past the small roof of the yuka. Traces of it catch in his hair, spilling along the soft shade of his hair, sketching over his features in gold. It puts fire in his eyes, glints of light flickering against rich red.

You can't help yourself this time when you allow the hand you have threaded in his hair to shift further down, sketching your fingertips along the structure of armored skin that rests over the right half of his face.

His eyes open a little wider then, latching onto your form with curiosity, and the hints of something more guarded present in them.

It doesn't stop you though. Perhaps a little foolish of you while it feels as though you're wandering into dangerous territory. A hare darting in front of a wolf's maw. Inviting itself to be bitten.

You feel possessed as you continue to cradle his face in your palm, struck by an emotion that is far too tender and enthralling for a being like him, but you have no desire to resist it.

The almost mask-like structure on his face is hard beneath your fingers, softened only slightly by the layer of calloused skin that's molded over it. The only comparison that you can make is if you were to touch a bit of bone poking out beneath the skin, like the jut of someone's hip or the point of an elbow. Rigid and tough, but also smooth in a way that's organic.

You make sure to be light, to keep your fingers from accidentally slipping close to his eyes and possibly irritating them. Surprisingly, he doesn't order you to remove your hands, allowing you to continue your exploration, letting your fingers sweep over the harsh edges and the divots of the natural armor.

You aren't sure how long you remain that way. Sweeping your hands over him, feeling the soft tufts of his hair on your palm and the rigid texture of his face along your fingers. Time slips away from you like this, and the delicate hiss of the wind threading through the trees and the perfumed scent of blossoms that it carries all fades into the background.

It all seems so unimportant. Useless as he stares up at you with something conflicted in his gaze. As though he's torn between lashing out or sinking further into your warmth.

"You're beautiful." It leaves you so naturally. The ease of it catching even you off guard. It's as though your soul is admitting a truth, one that you've been aware of but never had the courage to speak.

Suddenly you feel so bare. As though you've accidentally shed a meticulous piece of armor from yourself and allowed him to peek past. And the captivated look that you can feel weighing on your features certainly isn't helping.

He's equally as surprised. His eyes widening just the slightest in his shock, but it doesn't take long for him to recover, masking the expression with a scowl. You're certain that it's the exact look that many of his victims have been pinned by just before their death comes, delivered to them in a serrated rush of cursed energy or the lethal cut of his talons. And yet you can't bring yourself to be afraid. Not while he's cradled in the shape of your lap. Lazy and content despite his flaring.

"I'll cut out your tongue if you mean to insult me."

"I wouldn't think of such a thing." You promise. You're being entirely honest. The sincerity in your voice is as alive and burning as a fire. You can hardly place exactly when you've grown fond of him, just when exactly he had managed to bury beneath your skin to make a home for himself within your chest.

It's worrying just how much you've come to care for him. A development that your past self would have denied vehemently; you would have seen it as an ultimate betrayal to yourself, to your lineage and purpose. But you truly can't be bothered to worry about any of that now.

Not while something that nearly looks vulnerable passes through the rich shade of his eyes. A brief, defenseless show of emotion that he's quick to snuff out and hide with that typical brand of cold indifference; so quick that you hardly register it at all.

A hum leaves him them. More of a grumble. As though he's unconvinced of your assurance. But he doesn't bother with a verbal comment, only a sigh as he somehow settles further into your lap.

"Some of them are."

"Hm?"

"Amplifiers." He practically growls it out. Like clarifying is something tedious. A personal affront. He's glaring again. Squinting up at you like you're an annoyance - a gnat buzzing around his ear even while he's all but invited himself into your personal space.

It doesn't take you long to reconnect to your previous line of questioning. You can't help but to be a little surprised that he's bothered to circle back and answer them. Of course he has to do it on his own time. When he feels like doing so, dragging it out for the sake of keeping you from being in control - even in regard to something as simple as a couple harmless questions. Such a bullheaded bastard. Not that you'd tell him that.

A part of you longs to ask him just which ones specifically are amplifiers, which technique they belong to. The concept of such tattoos has always been fascinating to you. You've crossed paths with a fair share of sorcerers who have marked their skin with charged ink, rituals and their cursed energy directed to bind with the dark pigment.

Like a chain used to tether a wayward dog. A binding used to manage energy that's often too potent, too volatile otherwise.

With how practiced Sukuna is now with his abilities, wielding it with ease, bearing it like a second skin, he must have gotten the tattoos when he was still young and learning. Still a little disconnected from the cursed energy projecting from his body, simmering through his veins like the blood of a demigod, but too inexperienced to properly control it.

It makes you wonder what he may have been like way back then. It nearly seems impossible to imagine him as a child, with him being more beast than man. You're just barely able to visualize it, a much younger version of his current self, the sharp contour of his jaw much more rounded and youthful, shaping into chubby cheeks. Plump with stubborn baby fat.

He's probably always had that glare of his. Now it's an expression that induces fear and panic. The lethal hue of red that seems to burn in his eyes turning some of the bravest of sorcerers into pale comparisons of themselves. Back then that fearsome scowl must have been little more than a pout. A petulant furrow between his brows as glared up with wide, peevish eyes.

He must have been a handful for whatever soul had the misfortune of taking care of him, not that he's any easier to please now.

"You've got that stupid expression on your face again. Get rid of it." He snaps, fangs glinting from past his lips. "And did I tell you to cease touching me?"

You hadn't realized that your hands had slipped a little from crown of his head, fingers lifted to hover of his hair. The command doesn't annoy you as it probably should, as it would have in the past, it has a smile perking at your lips instead. Amused and soft. A reflection of the warmth blossoming inside the pit of your chest; a drop of sunlight burning and thriving.

You'd love to point out to him that he was complaining earlier about you doing just that, and now here he is, ordering you to touch him like some kind of spoiled house cat.

You'll keep your comments to yourself for now. All snide remarks and annoyance aside, he seems to be in a fairly good mood today, and you'd hate to ruin it now that you've got him rested in your lap.

Your hands seem to have minds of their own, muscles shifting to thread your fingers back through his hair, scratching your nails along his scalp. You don't miss the minute way his neck twitches, the movement nudging his chin back just the slightest to press his head into the gentle glide of your fingers. Subconsciously seeking out the comfort they provide.

He looks calm. At peace, eyelashes fluttering lightly before they slip shut. He sags down fully. Going lax and almost boneless. The weight of his head in your lap is nearly crushing, but you can't be bothered to voice complaints or to try and shift him into a more comfortable position.

You'll gladly bear the weight of him regardless of how much discomfort it might bring. And in moments like this, with him cradled by your body, relaxed and content from the warmth of your skin and the sun, you think you'd do anything for him. You'd kill for him.

You think you'd die for him too.

[fridgefanatic]

Wall-E (the character) is a great demonstration of how being curious about the world echoes our level of care for it. And that caring can quite literally course-correct humanity His playful fascination with what humans left behind, his ability to find "new" on a dormant planet of waste refuse-- he continues to care and be amazed by and change things in a world that has not effectively changed for about 700 years. Wall-E commemorates artifacts of life by treasuring them on their own special shelves in his home. He lovingly makes sure The Plant is secured in a way that won't crush it as he's going home. He accidentally runs over his cockroach and worries about it. He tries to make an inactive Eve comfortable at his expense, not knowing when or if she will ever wake up again.

Wall-E has such an impact on Eve and other passengers on the Axiom because he invites them to care about small interactions they took for granted. They make meaningful connections and changes in their own directive because-- simply by being interested by them and what they're doing-- he offers a new perspective of looking at themselves. (Remember when he gives the elevator robot that little wave and it's so taken with that gesture it starts to copy it? It was seen and acknowledged when its role has always been to punch numbers.)

The spark that Wall-E shared with Eve, I think, is not only symbolic of his love for Eve (though it is clear he loves Eve more than anyone). It was that care. It has to be that same care. Because if his little acts of wonder and determination inspired every other character to break from their programming, who's to say it can't overcome a factory reset?

Oh, and "curiosity" and "care" have the same etymological root, apparently

[thethief1996]

Gaza has been completely cut off from the world and from each other. Gazans with Turkish SIM cards have been able to make contact with the outer world and said rescue teams don't know where to go because they don't know where bombings have happened. There's no way to call ambulances. At night, due to the electricity cut, Gazans are left in complete dark only lit up by the airstrikes. They have no way to know what's happening on the next street over. Meanwhile, Israel is publishing AI rendered videos of tunnels under Al-Shifa hospital to manufacture consent for its bombing. Al-Shifa, the largest hospital in Gaza, is housing hundreds of refugees.

This was meant to cut off Palestinians from the world, because we are sympathizing with their first person accounts and it makes Genocide Joe look like a genocide denier when he casts doubt on the death toll (a note on this, Israel has called the Gaza Municipality to threaten them with bombings. They want to erase every record that Palestinians exist in Gaza).

It's not up to us to feel defeated. Israel denies the very existence of Palestinians, and when we turn around and give up hope, we are washing our hands of any work towards liberation and becoming complicit in the zionist narrative. The people of Gaza are alive, the people in the West Bank are alive and the 5.6 million refugees denied the right of return are alive. Mosques are using their minarets to send out help signals. We're being asked to be their voices, so let's be their voices.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe).

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices, looking to inform yourself from the sources. Palestinians have asked of us only that we share, tweet and post, over and over. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera

Anadolu Agency

Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Al-Shabaka (twitter / instagram)

Mariam Barghouti (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza. He's been offline since yesterday. Keep him in your prayers.

Take action. You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour

HP

Puma

Sabra

Sodastream

Ahava cosmetics

Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate. Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN GERMANY: Here's a toolkit to contact your representatives by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN POLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN DENMARK: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SWEDEN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FRANCE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN THE NETHERLANDS: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN GREECE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN NORWAY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ITALY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN PORTUGAL: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SPAIN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FINLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN BELGIUM: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ROMANIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN UKRAINE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Here's a list on tumblr

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

There will a National March on Nov 4th in Washington, with the participation of 200+ organizations. If you can, get a group of friends and attend.

Feel free to add more resources. Check the links, there are too many protests and tumblr has a word limit for text posts.

[purrpl-png]

my take on beast & ancient swap au burning spice & golden cheese edition

i have this au expanded bc i've been thinking about it for the past month or so, but i want to share some basic ideas i came up with for a bs & gc swap during all this time even if most of it seems kinda obvious

so basically golden cheese, formerly the herald of change, now holds the soul jam of destruction and her corruption has its roots in her greed obv, as time passed it grew bigger and bigger until it became harmful to everyone around her. she treats everything and everyone as her property, but not in a healthy way and believes that she can do whatever she wants with what is hers, thus being destruction. the whole world is already hers and she's so rich and spoiled that the treasures are not precious anymore and now are just some toys to play with until they break and she founds new ones. she can afford it. more and more and more and more

her appearance resembles more of a snake now than a bird. she flies much less than her og version and her wings are usually down, but it doesn't make her dislike using her wings

burning spice holds the light of abundance. he is a strong, brave and kind hero, he isn't greedy, in fact he's really generous. same as the og golden cheese, has lost his kingdom he deared so much in a war. but unlike her, he didn't make a virtual version of it, instead he tried to move on and build a new one from scratch, starting off small, which he succeeds to do much later on. as much as he enjoys witnessing the creation of something new, watching the new life spark, he still misses everything he held so dear before

his looks are inspired from his pre-corruption silhouette from the official beasts introduction video. normally, he has 4 arms, but after the first fight with golden cheese, she rips off the extra 2 of them. as he awakens, he gets his 6 arms

both the spice gang and the cheese gang are alive and well here and now

the spice gang is helping burning spice to regain his kingdoms prosperity, however only nutmeg tiger made it to beast-yeast together with burning spice by an accident

the cheese gang follow golden cheese more out of their own greed, trying to survive and get a piece of the riches

obviously, smoked cheese is swapped with nutmeg tiger. nutmeg tiger is still a strong mighty warrior, a proud general of burning spices kingdom. she shows a lot of care and loyalty to burning spice, always standing by his side. she has her own garden in the kingdom to take care of the plants because of her in-game sprite where she smiles watering the plants and i thought it was hella cute to ignore lol

smoked cheeses appearance and attitude didn't really change much because he was already villainous enough. but now he's extra villainous. he might be actually the only one to truly admire golden cheeses toxic greed, but is always ready to stab her back if anything for his own greater good. he's just as evil and greedy as her and he waits for a perfect moment to strike and take everything to himself, which didn't happen yet

mozzarella, being swapped with cilantro cobra, just like her gets killed by her ruler too. golden cheese accidentally kills mozzarella in her pursuit for burning spice

her loyal marzipan cookies followed her everywhere, listening to her orders

burnt cheese is swapped with safron buffalo and fettuccine with pepper pangolin

cheesebirds are swapped with kulfis. cheesebirds, just as og kulfis, live in fear and only wish to survive. elder kulfi (now high priest kulfi) is swapped with high priest cheesenbird (now elder cheesebird)

elder cheesebird and young cheesebird give burning spice and nutmeg tiger a shelter. young cheesebird later on gets saved by burning spice in his first fight with golden cheese

high priest kulfi is the holy healing herald of the burning spice kingdoms house of prayer and is a dear friend of burning spice

there is much-much more ideas and thoughts i can yap about, but im not a writer, i wanted to keep it as short as possible and also english isn't my first language so the language barrier is demolishing me lol im sorry if it was painful to read

i might actually redesign the designs a little bit later, those are just some random sketches i did to kinda imagine the blurry shape i have in my head on a paper as a whole, not getting into the details. and if a lot of yall like it i might actually put an effort and draw something much more than just two raw simple sketches lol

also please credit me if you want to use these designs or got inspired, i would really appreciate that :3

[thegnomelord]

omg yes for the Ghost fic request you can do prompt 3 instead that would be great, thank you. some angst with a happy ending please

Sure thing dude, sorry this took so long, but a happy xmas to you lol My hyperfixation hyperfixated on this so it's a bit long and expositiony but I'm actually really happy with how this turned out :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

CW: NSFW, subbot Ghost, domtop Mreader, angst, misunderstandings, gentle sex, making up kinda, confessions, fwb turned lovers, idiots in love,

Simon's apartment is a picture of painful domesticity; your muddy boots sit neatly next to his by the door, two mugs set next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes left on the sink only a foot away from different shower products that have long since mixed together into one giant pile, and a dozen more little things that tell anyone with a cursory glance — 'yeah, two people live here'.

When people wonder why you practically live together when you're just casual, you both just say it's convenient (and ignore how fake your answers sound).

After all; Why leave after he's ridden you to both of your completions when you can just settle on the couch and share a drink over a movie? Why should you waste money on a cab to get back to your own flat when you two can just tumble into bed? Why should Simon wake up to an empty and cold flat when he can do so in your arms, your steady heartbeat remind him you're both alive? Why leave in the morning and miss one of the few times Simon's fully relaxed when you can have a lazy morning, laying in bed and enjoying each other's company until the sun's high in the sky?

Why leave at all?

. . . Simon treasures every moment with you as much as he hates it, every second in your presence like a pretty hummingbird singing sweetly in his ear while it drills holes into his skull. Absolute Hell. Utter bliss.

He knows he doesn't deserve you. Knows you don't deserve to have a living corpse crawl back into your arms every night, nothing but a stranger with Simon's face. But you two have known each other so long it's impossible to let you go.

You met as toddlers when you'd nicked his toy, refusing to give it back until he agreed to play with you, and you've been stuck at the hip since. You two were each other's first kiss, fumbling behind the school bleachers, eager and sloppy like inexperienced lads are. First set of blooming hickeys along his collarbones, Simon's ma giving him a knowing look when she'd noticed it amongst the other bruises her no good husband had left on him. First fuck, quick and rough in a dark janitor closet during basic training, burning with need and heat. First—

. . . Simon doesn't know when the word 'Love' first registered in his brain. Maybe when you tore up heaven and hell looking for him. Maybe when you stuck by him when he did his best to scare you off, all rough words and teeth, unable to form one nice word when violence and revenge was all that was left in his head.

He doesn't know when he registered the word. Only that he looks at you whenever you do something mundane and thinks 'yeah. Love. That fits.'

But love has no place in. . . whatever this is. Hell, he's the one who'd set the ground rule when you two were young and dumb, reaffirming it after he'd come back as Ghost. And you'd never fought against it, agreeing to just be fucking casual, there's no way you want anything more than this. He doesn't want to cock it up, doesn't want to take more from you than he's already done, so he swallows all he feels and ignores how it burns his throat, going day by day like nothing's changed.

He wakes in your arms, deeply ingrained training waking him before dawn but the heat of your body keeps him rooted in place. Distantly he can still feel the cold tight confines of that coffin, of maggots wriggling on his skin, but memories of that nightmare float away before his traitorous mind can latch on to them. He lays in bed, head firmly on your chest so he can hear you, see you breathe. Morning comes too soon and you rouse awake, laying a sweet kiss on his forehead before getting out of bed to set the kettle on.

It's domestic.

It's painful.

. . .

You love how Simon looks. You especially love how he looks in his civies, freed of his armor and no longer needing to be guarded at all times, shoulders relaxed and mindlessly looking around as you talk while you browse the store. He's still gruff, and sarcastic, but you love that about him. You loved him long before he said not to tangle emotions in your meaningless bliss and long after he'd come back as Ghost, each unknown scar on his body taking a chip out of your heart.

And you respect his choice. You'll take what you can get and won't give it up even after your corpse has grown cold, hoping that will be enough to drown out the neediness of your heart. You lost him once and it had nearly killed you, you can't lose him again. . .

God, you're pathetic for him.

You meet miss Betty on your way back from the shop. She's your neighbor a few doors down, a sweet old lady who waters your plants when you and Simon are called back into action. You see her struggling with her bags so you hand your own to Simon so you can help her, "Hold this, please?"

"Only because you asked nicely." Simon huffs, but takes the bag without further complaint, walking behind you as you help miss Betty with her shopping, content to listen to you two talk about who knows what. It still amazes him how you've managed to charm all the neighbors Simon rarely spoke to.

"Oh, thank you deary." Miss Betty says as you put her shopping next to her door, holding onto your arm for support. "It's so nice to have a helpful person around here."

"It's not a problem ma'am." You say with a small smile, and fuck if Simon's heart doesn't beat a bit faster at the sight.

"You know," Miss Betty begins. "My grandson's been eyeing you up. And I can see why, you're such a strapping young man."

You feel Simon's gaze fall on you like a dagger, cold, hard, expectant. You try to think of what to say but your words fail you, because while you and Simon aren't in a relationship you can't picture yourself be with anyone else. "I-"

"Oh don't worry deary, I told him he was barking up the wrong tree." Miss Betty cuts you off by giggling like a school girl, "I wouldn't want to separate you two love birds."

The words burning on your tongue escape you before you can filter them. "Yeah, I doubt I could love anyone other than Simon." You clear your throat after, feeling his eyes on you.

Miss Betty just coos. "Oh, to be young and in love." Then she turns, waving her walking stick at Simon like he's an annoying pigeon that flew into her house. "You better treat him properly you big oaf, he's good for you."

Oh, Simon knows. Knows you're too good for him. But all he lets out is a small grunt, and you can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.

You don't think of what you say next, so far away from a warzone your defenses are lowered. "No need to worry ma'am, he's the love of my life and I can assure you he treats me very well."

There's that word again, and the way it leaves your lips has Simon's heart skipping a beat. Fuck, Simon wants to hear you say it until he's deaf. Wants to hold your jaw closed so you don't speak again and stop making him feel this. Wants to pull you close and throw you out of the window at the same time. Wants— . . . he doesn't know what he wants.

"Oh, well I won't hold you up any more dears." Miss Betty says, patting you on the arm before shuffling back to her apartment with her shopping.

There's an uncomfortable silence between you two while you get back to Simon's flat, neither one of you sure what to say about the damn elephant in the room. You take the bags you'd given him, your back to him as you put them on the counter.

Acting like nothing's wrong. Nothing's changed.

But it has.

"An' you say my heart's rotten." Simon grunts, gruff and harsh, too many thoughts brewing in his head to properly say what he's thinking.

You turn to him, surprise obvious on your face. "What?"

"Lyin' to old ladies." His jaw is tense behind his face mask, which you note he hadn't taken off when the front door had closed, back to being guarded around you, something between Simon and Ghost. "Granted, it was convincing. What, did you take some creative writing lessons from Laswell?"

You stare at him for a few seconds, then you feel your jaw tense as well. "Christ, Simon, what are you on about?" You growl, stomping over to him.

His shoulders tense as you approach, but the scent of your cologne calms his body without his mind's input. "Can't love anyone but me?" He asks, something cold and slimy settling in your stomach when you realize he's repeating your words. "Love of your life am I?" Simon scoffs, the skin around his eyes moving in a sardonic smirk. "You're full of shite."

He doesn't know who he's trying to convince here.

You know you should brush it off, go along and say it was just a joke. Say anything that won't clue him in to your real feelings. Hell, not even saying a thing would be good.

But you just have to open your mouth.

"I wasn't lying about that Simon." You say suddenly, open, honest, your eyes meeting his.

Silence stretches long enough to have your nerves crackle with static, your body needing something instead of the nothing he gives you. Then Simon lets out a short, dry laugh, like your words are just a joke.

"Quit it." He huffs, doesn't meet your eyes because looking at you and entertaining the idea that he could have something more with you fucking hurts. "'m not up for your focking jokes." He grows, turning to leave,

Something inside you makes you move before your mind can comprehend it, grabbing his hand to stop him, "Simon I love you damn it!"

Your words are like a slap to the face for him. Simon freezes like a cornered deer, thousands of thoughts darkening his eyes, brows furrowed like he doesn't know whether to be angry or not. "But we—'

"—we agreed, I know. I fucking know." You hiss and damn it you can feel tears prickle your eyes like needles, "But I fucking love you, been in love with you for years and I know we agreed not to but—" You're babbling now, each word leaving your chest feeling raw like an open wound, the weight on your shoulders lessening but it only draws the noose tighter. "—just tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me."

Silence greets you as you stare into his eyes, that same static gnawing on your nerves the longer he just looks at you without a word, searching for something in your eyes he expects not to find.

But he does.

He spares you, pulls you by the clothes so his lips can crash onto yours, holding you close like you'll disappear. The kiss is sloppy and desperate just as it had been when you'd been hiding behind the school bleachers, all teeth and tongue and care.

Eventually the need for air breaks you two apart, but Simon refuses to let you go far. His rough hands hug you close as he rests his forehead against yours, pupils blown wide. ". . .love me, huh?" He says under his breath, as if he can't believe it.

"Yeah." You breathe out and wrap your own arms around him till there's not an inch of space between your chests, hearts beating fast like war drums but in such a rhythm you'd be fooled to think you share one. "Do you?"

Simon swallows, his throat dry, but the words slide smoothly off his tongue. "Yeah." He says, letting you pull him back into a kiss. It's sweeter this time, calmer, no longer rushing to feel the other. He melts against you, a low sound building in his throat as the sensations of you wrap his mind in silk, the taste, the feel, the scent, all of it making his mind fuzzy. All his now.

You lose track of time, stealing gulps of air between kisses as your minds drown in the other, your bodies moving on their own. You don't know how you end up in the bed but you do, your skin prickling with goosebumps as Simon's body presses against your own.

You part to catch your breath, Simon's head falling back on the pillow with your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He's underneath you, eyes hooded and short hair ruffled, and while usually he'd push you back and wrestle for control, this time he just melts into the sheets, lets you do as you want.

"Fuck-" Simon growls as you kiss down his neck, his blunt nails scratching your scalp as reward for the little hickeys you leave on his throat. Your hands roam across his body, leaving lingering trails of burning heat. "Love, please hurry up." He breathes out, cock already rock hard from just a few kisses and heavy touches.

"Right," You say, because that's all your brain can conjure up at the moment. Blindly reaching for the lube you trail kisses down his front, your lips tracing every scar along the way, his legs easily parting so you can settle between them. You can't help but look him over again, all relaxed and eager for you, chest rising and falling like he's a racehorse. "God you're fucking pretty."

A deep flush spreads from Simon's ears down to his hickey marked shoulders, a little smile tugging on the corner of his lip. "Just pretty?"

"Beautiful." You breathe out against his abdomen, rubbing your fingers together to warm the lube. "So handsome." You don't miss how his cock twitches, your lips following his happy trail. "Charming." You hum against the tip of his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at his slit. "Bloody bewitching." His hips buck into your mouth as your fingers slowly circle his puckered rim, putting just a bit of pressure at first. "Irresistible." His body yields, the tense muscles of his rim going lax and letting you slide a finger in.

A low and long groan escapes his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the stretch, tight walls clenching in the rhythm of his breaths. "Read a dictionary, did you?" Simon smirks, heart warm and floaty at the way you wait for him to relax after the intrusion before you move, at the way you look at him when your exploring finger brushes his prostate and makes him moan. "Such a focking charmer."

"Just for you." You chuckle, lightly sucking on his cockhead to make him forget about the lingering pain, your ears pricked to hear every little groan and unabashed moan leaving his lips. "Can you handle two?" You ask, your second finger resting against his rim without trying to push in.

He growls like an animal and pushes his hips down on your hand, "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't hurry up." He warns at your question, his harsh glare softened by the heavy flush across his face and his hooded eyes.

"Not the dog house." You say in mock fear, swallowing his leaking cock a third of the way down in one go as you push your second finger in, your thumb rubbing the space between his balls and ass so his prostate is trapped on both ends.

"Shite-" Simon's hips twitch up, beads of precum painting your tongue as his legs spread open more. "-you wanker." His insult is light, head rolling back as he grounds his hips down in an attempt to chase after that spine numbing pleasure your fingers bring.

Pulling back enough to murmur "Love you too." against his tip you take him into your mouth again. You can't measure how good it feels to say those words honestly instead of sarcastically, your own arousal forgotten as you work him open on your fingers, the constant pressure on his prostate making a small stream of precum bead down your throat.

Simon floats in heaven for, he doesn't know how long, the pleasure making his brain melt through his dick, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. He cracks an eye open when the tightness in his stomach becomes apparent, barely able to stave off his orgasm when he sees his cock throbbing between your lips.

Your name comes out slurred as he tugs on your hair, "Need you. Now." A little bit of his usual demanding nature comes out, but even then it's born out of desperation to feel you rather than the need to be in control.

You let him pull you off his cock, placing gentle kisses on his thick thighs as you pull your fingers out of his stretched hole. "You have me."

You go to grab a condom but he stops you, too aroused to be embarrassed by his eagerness. "You don't- my physical, I'm clean. If you want, I mean-"

You furrow your brows, your chest tight with how big your heart feels. You could never hide how sick you'd feel at the thought of Simon being intimate with someone else, even when you'd never agreed to be exclusive. "We did physicals nearly three months ago, you haven't. . .?"

He shakes his head, "No," Suddenly he tenses up, his jaw tight like he's expecting bad news. "Have you?" His tone isn't judgmental, but you can hear the edge of hurt.

"No. No. No!" Quick to dispel his thoughts you lean over to kiss him like he's a bout of fresh air and you've been drowning for years. It's not too far from the truth. "You're the only one I've ever. . .done that with." You murmur against his lips, earning yourself another kiss as he pulls down by a hand on the back of your neck.

"Good." Simon tuts, proud, hiking one leg around your waist to pull you closer, your cocks rubbing together. "Fuck me already." He grumbles, his strong arms wrapped around your neck.

"Right, yeah." Despite how many times you've done this suddenly you feel like a fucking virgin, your hands trembling slightly as you lube up your cock. You press the tip against his slick hole, forcing you to bite your lip as you start to push your hips. "Just relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." Simon breathes out, feeling pressure of your cockhead against his hole. You both groan when your cockhead pops inside him, your lips on his making him forget about the lingering sting. "Shite, so good for me." Simon hums, looking at you with hooded eyes. Usually he relishes the sting and burn sex with you brings, but he's so loose and lubed the pain is barely a prickle at the back of his skull and he finds himself getting addicted to the unfiltered pressure and weight of your cock inside him.

"Simon," You say, clenching your teeth as you try to keep still so he can get used to you, holding his hips for dear life. "Can I- please I need."

"Focking move it," He nods his head, his head rolling back from the sensation of you moving inside him, your cock brushing against his walls as you push inside him inch by inch until you're fully inside him.

Your nerves a live wire from how tight and hot his hole is, forcing you to rest your head on the pillow next to his as you try to gather your self-control; you'll be damned if you cum before him.

"I'm good." Simon tugs on your scalp, your lips meeting in a lopsided kiss. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, his eyes blown wide and hooded, something about this position so intimate it melts your heart. "Hurry up, 'm not going to last long." He confesses, his walls clenching down on your length.

Words escape you so you just nod your head, slowly pulling your hips back before pushing back in, Simon meeting you half way so your cock can lay consistent pressure on his prostate. You two move like one, your senses full of sex and heat, your ears ringing with Simon's low moans and groans. Moving your hand down you stroke him in time with your thrusts, earning yourself even more moans. Usually Simon's so quiet in bed, but now he lets it all out so freely, low growls and huffs and small 'ah, ah, ah's breathed into your ear with every small movement of your hips.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm approaches, your cock bashing against his prostate with all the subtlety of a tank. "Shite-" Simon throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for your teeth to lay even more hickeys. "-I, fuck, yeah, that's the spot- just- I need-" His voice turns higher pitched and needy, his body moving with the force of your thrusts, powerful arms pulling you even closer so his teeth can clamp down on your shoulder.

Simon cums with a shout that's muffled into the meat of your shoulder, whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind as he paints both of your stomach's white with his cum, his hole clenching down and pulling you along with him. You cum inside him and moan, collapsing on top of him, completely exhausted.

The silence of the bedroom is broken up by your haggard breathing, both of your bodies sweaty and hot. You tilt your head just enough to catch the way Simon looks at you, like a content cat that knows he's safe, and shit if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.

"God, that was something else." You say to break the silence, trying to pull out when you feel yourself soften but your attempts are stopped quickly, Simon grumbling something under his breath as he hugs you closer. "What?" You ask.

He throws a light glare your way, but his eyelids droop with exhaustion. "Don't." He says, relaxing when you stop what you're doing. "Want to feel you." He says; it's the most intelligent thing his mind can conjure up right now.

A gentle smile tugs on your lips. "Right." You lean down to share another kiss with him, this one sweet and slow, his tongue gently liking your lips as a way to ask for entrance— why rush when you've got all the time in the world?

The exhaustion weighing on your bones and Simon saccharine kisses lull you to sleep soon enough, your body like a weighted blanket on top of him. "Love you," You mumble just before your eyes close.

Simon fights against his own fatigue for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of being connected in such a primal way, with you in him and around him. He takes in your sleeping face with blurry eyes.

Yeah. Love. That fits.

[hedwig221b]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

I genuinely don't remember if I ever did this thing before but oh well!

Yes To Heaven

Stiles ruined him. The damage was irreparable. He didn’t want the food that wasn’t made by Stiles or shared with him; the water tasted stale; the clothes were asphyxiating and scratchy; the air was wrong, wrong without Stiles’ scent in it.

Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could that pretty little thing change him so much? He had an iron grip on his control before, being in tandem with his instincts, but within weeks, all of it was gone. As soon as he thought of Stiles, though, of his scent, his moans, and the little wrinkle on his forehead as he orgasmed, his mind settled.

What was life before Stiles? Everything was somewhere far, far away, forgotten, bleak, and meaningless. Derek thought he knew what light was as he looked at the microscopic dots of the stars above. Then Stiles came into his life and showed him the sun.

Predators

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles.

And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

Eros Mania Amor

“I am just reminding you that Stiles is married. To me. All you can do is imagine, and I get to do all of those things you’re dreaming of to him. Yes, I know. I know everything you and others think,” Hale opened his eyes and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His smile was despicable in its selfishness. “I know what you dream of when you look at his lips—”

“Stop it.” Jordan shook his head.

“— because I am the same as you,” the wolf ignored him. “I imagined everything you did, it’s just happened that my dream became the life that I get to live. He is here,” he tapped his own temple, “and here,” he tapped his chest. “And you would have to kill me to get us separated.”

Untouchable

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts.

See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding.

And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Treasure

“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | magical Stiles | mafia | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse