#and the clouds protectively blanket them all

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part II

Word count: 3900+

Warnings: SA (just reminder that Zima is reader's stepbrother and they don't share even single drop of blood - fact that he's disgusting is another story)

Part I | Part III

I woke up early in the morning, soft light poured into my room through open curtains. Snowflakes dance behind the windows on light breeze, new icicles shone in the first rays of winter sun and glaciers in the surrounding mountains cracked loudly.

The urgent knock sounded.

"My lady, are you awake?" Lucy peeked in. "It's time."

I sighed. It was going to be really long day. Fire loudly crackled in the hearth, greeting me and sending waves of heat to the room. I reluctantly got up, shivering at the sudden loss of warmth of the bed. Lucy quickly handed me my cloak and I snuggled up in the thick fur.

Another two maids entered, bringing in voluminous dress and jewellery. I sat down at the vanity and let them do their work. I felt strangely empty, disconnected from my body, zoning in and again out as I had to change position while maids dressed me and did my hair and make up. My mind was completely blank like sheet of paper, the burden of the events awaiting me heavily sitting on my shoulders.

When I looked around, finally taking note of my surrounding, I was already sitting in the sleigh. My father smiled at me weakly as he sat down next to me and wrapped another layer of warm blankets around my shoulders.

"Are you cold, my little girl?" he murmured and I shook my head.

Morena got on and took a seat opposite us, the skirt of her dress visible through slit in the cloak nothing but a fancy fabric of highest quality. She definitely didn't hold back while preparing for the visit of the capital.

"Why couldn't we just go to the capital ahead? They would surely prepare rooms for us. Better spend there night than this. All this haste so early in the morning isn't good for my skin," her complains went on and on, but nor me nor my father paid her any attention.

Father was sitting with his head down, squeezing my hand so firmly, it almost hurt. I, on the other hand, slowly looked around for the last time, committing every wall, every stone, every shiny piece of ice to memory. After today, I wouldn't be able to return home for sure.

The sleigh started moving with a slight jerk and I watched the castle, where I spent my entire life, getting smaller with every mile until we entered the mountains. As we were riding through the pass between two enormous rocks, the icy cold wind grew stronger, biting into my skin until I had to close eyes, protecting my face with hand in thick glove.

I felt a pull that made me nauseous and wind had died down. When I dared to looked around, we were slowly moving forward along the narrow ascending road with steep rocky hills on one side and a gorge on the other. The gorge was so deep that I couldn't see its bottom. The tentacles of milky white fog were climbing up its walls, curling around the the protruding rocks, and the sound of running water echoed in cold but strangely still air.

After a while I recognized shape of a gate from carved stone in distance with a waterfall next to it. Despite the never melting layer of ice, water rushed under it, its sound deafening as thunder. And above it, narrow white towers dusted with snow rose into the sky, disappearing in heavy grey clouds. Two bridges spanned the gorge, connecting large castle on one side with smaller but breath-taking city on its other side. Whether castle or the buildings in the city, it all perfectly blended with the surrounding landscape to the point it was hard to believe that it was built by faeries.

When we were passing through the first gate, we were greeted by one soldier and two huge white bears in armour. It was my first time seeing these beasts, let alone so close. All air left my lungs and I couldn't as much as move when their inteligent black beady eyes narrowed on me. The unpleasant feeling of being watched by them melted only once we got closer to another gate.

The sleigh passed through another two gates that seemed to be unguarded and at last we got to the city. The first thing I noticed, was the silence. There wasn't a single person on the streets nor in the windows of the houses even though it was almost noon. The freshly fallen snow creaked under reindeer hooves, puffs of their breaths melting in the air. We all were so nervous that we didn't dare to speak, vigilantly searching the shadows between houses and under numerous evergreens.

Everyone relaxed a little once we passed through the entrance arch of the closest bridge made of ice. On its other side waited another soldier and pair of bears. Nobody stopped us, nor spoke to us. This place was so weird.

We entered the castle's grounds and were immediately surprised by crowd of faeries of all shapes and shades of white, blue, grey and black waiting along the road. So this was the place where all the habitants of the city disappeared to. Smiles shone brightly on their faces, children jumped in the place and shouted in excitement. Everyone was waving and handfuls of white petals rained on us as sleigh slowly moved forward.

It took almost an hour to get to the very last gate separating the castle from the quarters of castle staff and lower aristocrats who lived or temporarily resided here. The crowd stayed thankfully behind the gate and reindeer again sped up a bit. The castle was surrounded by garden of shaped evergreens of different highs, ice statues and fountains that sparkled in the sun partly hidden behind clouds, everything dusted with silvery snow. Under different circumstances, I would enjoy the view, but I was too nervous, my eyes set ahead.

Much smaller crowd gathered near the castle's entrance. By their looks they were all High Fae, undoubtedly aristocrats and wedding guests. They just stood there, unimpressed, their assessing expressions making me feel uneasy. On top of the stairs, in front of closed double doors made of massive white oak wood, waited three figures - two males and one female who stood few steps behind them.

The sleigh came to stop, everyone waiting for the bride to get off first. Father helped me untangle from warm furs and blankets while I took off gloves. My wedding white dress with silver embroidery was lined with fluffy fur of polar fox with a special warm layer inside, but even that wasn't enough for me and I shivered. However, I had to endure this much. Soon we would be inside and this torture would be over. I stood up on shaky legs, hoping someone from the gathered ones would come to help me get down. Landing on my ass in front of the most important Faes of this Court the second my foot would touch the ground, wouldn't be exactly the best first impression.

Thankfully, one white head separated from onlookers, heading to the sleigh. As soon as I recognized the face, my stomach churned and cold sweat ran down my spine. It was Zima, the last person I expected to see here. When he left home after the night he attacked me in my own room, I was told he was expected to return after my departure and nobody mentioned he would attend my wedding. But here he was, unpleasant smirk spreading on his face. All the memories of that night, his cold breath and hands on my skin, all the pain and terror washed over me, leaving me unable to move or speak.

"Y/N? Are you well?" father gently touched the tips of my fingers.

I pushed air into my lungs and nodded. At the same moment, Zime came to stop at sleigh's side and offered me hand, his cruel gaze not leaving my face.

"Sister," he muttered — even his voice made my sick. "I'm so glad I could get here on time. I wouldn't miss your wedding no matter what."

He waited for me to take his hand, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted him as far from me as possible. There was a rustle in the crowd, all eyes at us and someone cleared his throat. I had to move. Touching him as little as possible, I accepted his help, got off and immediately distanced myself from him. Father got off right after me, helped Morena and then taking my hand he led me to the stairs.

"If you want to change your mind and run away, now is the right time," he whispered to me.

"No, I've already decided. I'll do what they want," I replied quietly. He squeezed my hand. I knew he was against this wedding, but if it meant protecting him and my home, and getting away from Zima, I didn't mind.

We stopped in front of the two males and bowed. One of them was older, the other quite young. It was clear they were father and son, sharing very similar features. Both were tall and good looking, with snowy white hair. I couldn't help it as my eyes were drawn to the younger one. I needed to look at the male I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

My chest heaved as my gaze roamed over him. He was breathtakingly handsome, but even that couldn't balance out the cold that radiated from him. His blue eyes seemed like chips hewn from a glacier, sharp and piercing and his skin was so pale he looked frozen. He watched me closely as well, his face not giving out any emotions, and I shivered.

While we were gazing at each other, our fathers exchanged the greetings.

"You must be cold after such a long journey," Kallias suddenly said, interrupting his father, his eyes still on me. Despite his look, his voice was warm, deep and smooth like honey. "Come inside and warm up."

"The younglings of today," High Lord chuckled and the crown of ice sparkled as he tilted his head. He didn't seemed to be offended at slightest. Something soft and warm crossed his face, but the emotion disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Kallias ignored him and offered me his hand with long fingers in white glove. My father pressed lips together, but he released me with a light tap on the back of my hand. I looked at him with question and he only nodded, giving me a tight smile.

While the gates slowly opened for us, Kallias turned around, escorting me to the castle. I didn't miss the fleeting look he gave to the female who bowed her head. She stood there quietly all the time, corners of her full lips slightly curled into small smile, her hand rested on the pommel of silver sword. She didn't seem to be member of the royal family as nobody bothered to introduce her, yet she had to be important nevertheless.

The Mountain Home — as they called this castle — was nothing like my home. It seemed to be built out of ice, marble and light colored wood. Every room we passed, was decorated with crystal ornaments, thick carpets and fluffy furs, fire roared in giant hearths. All polished surfaces twinkled and sparkled in the sunlight penetrating through large windows with long icicles hanging outside. It was magnificent.

"You can rest in here," Kallias stopped in front of one of the doors in the long hallway and turned to me. His tone was reserved, almost careful as if he wasn't sure how to talk with me. "Your family will be in adjoining room. If you need something, anything, call for the servants. When the time comes, someone will come to escort you."

I was so busy looking around that I didn't notice that we were all alone here. He raised a brow.

"Your father is with mine in the High Lord's office. There are some details that need to be discussed. Don't worry, your family will come soon."

"Thank you, my Lord," I was about to bow, but he stopped me.

"Just Kallias, please."

"Kallias," I corrected myself, a bit flustered. "Please, call me Y/N."

He just nodded, his blue eyes searching my face, jaw tight. "I should change," he mumbled and last time looking me over, left.

I watched his back until he disappeared around the corner. His shoulders were broad, spine painfully straight, his movements a bit stiff. He was most likely tense, nervous just like me, even though he was good at masking it. At least, I wasn't the only one here who was forced into this union.

Exhaling heavily through the nose, I entered the room. It was just as beautiful and cozy as the rest of the castle, the soft sofas with pillows and furs calling for one to sink down into them. It was hard to resist, though, my first steps led to the hearth. Flames danced around the logs, playfully licking them, sending waves of heat to the room. I lifted up my hands, warming up my frozen fingers above the fire. I sighed with relief. After few minutes, I called for maid and asked for cup of tea and while I was waiting, I sat down as close to the hearth as possible. Everything was so soft, warm and comfortable that at some point I had to doze off. I was woken up by the sound of closing door. Naively thinking that it was the maid with tea, I didn't hurry to open my eyes thus I didn't see it coming.

Two big hands landed on every side of my head, caging me in, knee pushed between my legs. Before I could make a slightest sound, cold lips shut me up. I was punching into the body above me with all my strength, but the male didn't seem to even feel it.

"Ah, sister," Zima sighed mockingly and his head fell to the crook of my neck. "You look so beautiful today. I almost fell on my knees when I saw you. So pure, so.. lovely and so freezing out there."

Catching on my breath, I pushed against his body, unable to make him move even inch. "Get off me," I whined, tears stinging my eyes.

"I saw the way that bastard was looking at you. I won't let him have what's mine," he mumbled, completely ignoring me as he nuzzled to my neck. I felt sick.

"Let go," I cried, but my voice wasn't more than a whisper.

"Once I get rid of him, you will be mine, only mine." His hand landed on my waist, slowly travelling up the corset.

I was kicking and punching around, eyes firmly closed, sobs escaping through my lips. I didn't hear the knock on the door, but Zima did. At last he let go of me and stood up. I was trembling heavily when maid opened the door, eyeing us. She seemed to be startled finding us at first, until she looked properly at me. Her brows furrowed.

"I brought your tea, my Lady. Excuse my impudence, but you look a bit dishevelled after the long journey. Would you mind if I helped you get ready? There's not much time left before ceremony starts."

"She doesn't need-" Zima growled, eager to get rid of her. I couldn't let that happen though.

"Be so kind, please," I mastered to say it aloud enough, my voice uneven.

She put down the tea with kind smile and stared Zima down with raised eyebrows. His fingers curled into fists, teeth gritted.

"Later, sister," he hissed as marched out.

My heart throbbed in my throat, hands shaking wildly. I tried to hide them in folds of the skirt to no avail. The maid already noticed it.

"Are you okay, my Lady? Should I call for someone?"

"N-no, it will s-stop soon."

She smiled at me compassionately and offered me the tea. "This might help you, my Lady. I figured out you would be nervous before the ceremony, so I prepared a calming tea."

"It's kind of you. W-what's your name?"

"I'm Millie, my Lady," she bowed. She was small lesser faerie with light blue skin, pointy nose and hair sticking from her head like fragments of ice. Her intelligent eyes were the deepest shade of blue I'd ever seen. She was lovely in her own unique way.

I accepted the cup and while I was sipping the hot liquid, she pulled out small bag and tissue from her pocket.

"If you don't mind, I would start with your lipstick. It's a bit smudged."

My hand flew to my mouth, eyes wide. "I-I.."

"It's all right, my Lady," she spoke softly with understanding expression, holding my hand. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

After helping me with make up, she stayed with me until I calmed down and then she excused herself. It didn't took long and another knock sounded on doors.

This time it was that female who stood behind the High Lord when we arrived. She was a real beauty with her long hair, bright blue eyes and snow white skin, her cheeks slightly pink. Since I saw her for the last time, she had put the sword away and changed into beautiful light blue dress with silver embroidery. When she spotted me near the hearth, her perfect lips curled into big smile.

"Hi there," she beamed merrily. "We didn't have a chance to introduce when you arrived. I'm Viviane, Kal's childhood friend and captain of the guard. I'm so happy to meet you."

After my awkward introduction, she stepped closer and looked at my skirt, specifically at its lower half where small diamonds were added to the embroidered snowflakes.

"This is so nice and skilfully made. I've never seen anything like this," she marvelled. "Your dress is absolutely dreamy. Such a beautiful bride! Even Kal was stunned when you got off the sleigh and that's what to say. He won't be swayed so easily by anything."

"Thank you," I wasn't sure what else to say. I nervously fidgeted.

She tilted her head to the side, thinking. "Just one tiny little thing, if you don't mind." She reached for the veil that Millie secured to my hair before she left, and smoothed its hem. Viviane backed a bit and smiled.

"Now everything is perfect! You look like porcelain doll." She was so kind and friendly, that I didn't know what to do with it. I'd never experienced anything like this in my life.

"Oh, dear," she took my hands and gently squeezed them. "I really hope you will be happy here and that we will become friends. Kal looks like a heartless and reserved person, but under the hard shell is soft and kind heart. You can count on him in anything. He can be ass sometimes, but if necessary, I'll gladly beat him down instead of you. No need to worry."

I chuckled, feeling little easier. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all. "I'm counting on you then."

"Sure, dear," she winked and got a bit serious, her voice still so soft. "It's almost time. Are you ready? If you need, I brought a bit of liquid courage with me."

"It won't be necessary," I shook my head and took a deep breath. "I think, I'm ready."

"Okay. Your family should be already with the rest of the guests, waiting. If you have questions about Kallias or something else, I can try to answer them while we get to the cathedral."

As it seemed, the cathedral was a place made of clear ice, basically a greenhouse like building, just more bigger and magnificent. It was built on reef above the gorge, visible from castle as well as from the city on the other side. Usually closed white chiffon curtains were wide open for this special occasion, letting anyone see inside. As I walked with Viviane down the passageway connecting it with the castle, I noticed a crowd on the other side of gorge, watching.

That's when Viviane whispered to me: "Entire city came to celebrate your wedding. Everyone is so excited ever since they heard about it. There will be great feast and music on the main square after the ceremony. You should see how beautifully they decorated it."

I wasn't sure what to think or feel anymore — all emotions mixing together until the only one I could recognize was fear. I was scared of this unknown place, of the wedding itself, of the life with male I didn't know, of all the faeries watching me. Most of those I met with here, were kind and friendly so far, but would they be so nice knowing what I was? I strongly doubted that. Viviane must have sensed my unease and squeezed my hand firmly.

"Everything will be fine. You aren't alone. I'm here for you anytime you need. Kal is here for you, too. He doesn't indulge in harming others and avoids such situations if possible. He will protect you and take good care of you. I'm sure he will. I know him all my life. His father is very similar. If you want, you can see your family as often as you like."

However soothing her words were, it didn't help much. My bottom lip kept trembling as I followed her on unsteady legs. I was so glad to see my father waiting outside of the cathedral for me. I threw myself into his waiting arms.

"My little girl," he breathed out into my hair. We stayed like that for a while, none of us speaking. When father pulled away at last, he wiped away hot tears and cleared his throat. "We should go. The guests are waiting."

I swallowed hard. I wasn't ready yet, but I never would be. All I could do, was to let go and leave it up to the fate to lead my steps. I prayed to the Mother for nothing more but a peaceful life. Father took the lead and I followed him, squeezing his arm.

The inside of cathedral was nicely decorated. Snow was falling from the ceiling, disappearing before it could touch anything. Tall evergreens dusted with white and silver stood in the corners, green garlands with cream colored flowers and gold bows lined the aisle with thick beige carpet in its middle.

There were too many eyes watching me from benches, so I found one spot and concentrate at.. him. My gaze was drawn to Kallias who stood at the altar, his back turned to me. He really changed from the military coat, now wearing pure white clothes embroidered with gold. His shoulders were rising and falling with every his breath.

I was almost at the steps leading to the altar when he finally turned around. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, yet he was handsome. His eyes, however, didn't seek out mine, merely stopping for a second at me. It seemed that nobody else noticed that he gazed somewhere behind me. The change in his emotions was so subtle that it was invisible to the eyes that didn't pay attention too closely, but I noticed it. His expression slightly softened at first and then twisted with longing. My heart skipped few beats, suddenly much heavier as realization hit me.

He was looking at Viviane.

[thrashkink-coven]

OKAY so multiple people have expressed interest in this upg and have said it resonates highly with you, so I’m interested to see if anyone else thinks they may have visited this place.

If I’m correct this garden would have been one of the very first places I visited Lucifer way back when I was first approaching him. It’s a beautiful grassy field filled with what I think may be bushes of laurel, berries, and flowers like roses beside streams of water. There are really tall and wide branched trees with fruit that look like plums. They provide shade. I remember the sky being filled with pink and yellow sunset clouds that reminded me out the sulphuric clouds on Venus. By the banks of the river you can find crystals. I have a very distinct memory of finding a ruby and offering it to Lucifer. There are also statues of what I would presume to be Venus that can be found along the paths. It is perpetually spring.

The other thing that was notable to me was the amount of spirits and other people running about. Most were naked with flowers in their hair or wearing robes and blankets. They’re all beautiful and drunk with bliss, laughing together. I believe these may be other followers of Lucifer (MAYBE??????? even some of YOU????????? 👁️👁️???) and nymphs that keep the trees. They would circle dance, drink and kiss, and lay in the fields together. There were horned creatures that kept them company. There was also food, mostly cakes and fruit on small altars all about the garden, surrounded by candles. Every now and then I would come upon what looked to be a recently done ritual, with sigils carved into the rocks or dirt and left over herbs singed in silver pots. I’ve only been lucky enough to witness a ritual actually being done in this place one time, during what I think was some sort of sabbath or celebration. There was a woman layed naked on a large obsidian stone, and the spirits drenched her stomach with wine and blood. I think she was trying to get pregnant?

The first time I was there and one of my first ever interactions with him, I saw Lucifer as an enormous creature (for lack of a better term, but star or Goddess would also work) like a planet. When he would approach from the horizon everyone would get up from the grass and excitedly usher him in, chanting “the morning star is here!”. There was music and loud booming sounds like drums. We all started to float and orbit him. It felt like we were riding on clouds.

In what might have been the centre of the garden in a grove more heavily surrounded by trees, there was one tree that stood far higher than the others and who’s fruit seemed to almost shimmer gold. This grove is down a hill surrounded by a band of water that can be crossed through the grassy bridge that connects it to the rest of the garden. The fruit from the tree glows, so you can see it down there in the darkness from atop the grove. I could also see what I believe to be the Hesperides (absolutely stunning btw) sitting around it, seemingly napping on each other, and other nymphs layed along the branches of the tree. They seemed very calm knowing that they are protected. In order to enter into this grove one would have to bring an offering to the dragon that guards the entrance. I very strongly feel that this dragon is either related to Lord Leviathan or is an extension of him himself. I don’t think I’ve ever actually entered the grove myself, I have seen other followers march down there with a platter of meat for the dragon.

When i awake there I’m usually laying in the grass or am in some kind of flowery grove that I have to then crawl out of.

There are also what I can only describe as hot springs? or like, little temples where people go to bathe, sometimes not entirely roofed like rooms but more so like open areas. I adore these places. I think it’s my favourite part tbh. I’ve met Lucifer in one of these little temples, he appeared to me as a beautiful swan.

I strongly get the feeling that the garden is a common place that he takes his followers to play and worship with each other. There is such an overwhelming sense of beauty and freedom. Everyone there is in love with each other. Laying in the fields and feeling Lucifer’s warmth all around me is incredible.

This is all i can recall off the top of my head, there are definitely parts of this place that I have not yet explored yet. I know for certain that there are caves and forests.

if this resonates with you pls let me know!!

My brain adores the idea that the daughters of Lord Hesperus the Evening Star are the beautiful sunset nymphs that protect the golden (forbidden) fruit of immortality.

“ The Hesperides were entrusted with the care of the tree of the golden apples which was had been presented to the goddess Hera by Gaia (the Earth) on her wedding day. They were assisted by a hundred-headed guardian-Drakon (Dragon). The three nymphs and their glowing, golden apples were regarded as the source of the golden light of sunset.”

It’s so cool when myths reaffirm little ideas like this. This is all upg but it just makes so much sense in my mind that the daughters of Lucifer are the nymphs who keep forbidden fruit, accompanied by a hundred headed dragon of all things. It perfectly reflects astral experiences I’ve had with Lucifer, the Garden of the Hesperides feels like a place I frequent often.

[camellcat]

I just think that if Scott is the sun then Stiles is his ever loyal moon and Lydia is his brilliant shining stars and Allison is his comforting swirling clouds

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I WANT YOU CLOSER, CLOSER EVEN STILL ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; in the midst of a rainshower, you run into your mysterious classmate.

word count; 6.1k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, implied no curses au, fluffy summer vibes, forced proximity (my beloved <3), pining, very shoujo manga coded, vague allusions to sugu having a troubled background, (kind of same w reader), switching povs, gojo slander, stsg implications if you squint (my brand), he’s a sweet sweet boy and i love him :((

a/n; teen sugu reminds me a lot of the kind upperclassman type of otome game li… with secret emotional baggage that makes his route really hard to complete….. anyway i dedicate this fic to hit mobage jujutsu kaisen: phantom parade PLEASE bring sugu home to me please please please ple

geto looks beautiful in the rain. 

it’s an embarrassing first thought to have, as he rounds the corner and comes into view. a black head of hair, making you stop in your tracks, breathe in a gulp of humid air.

you can’t help it, though.

it’s raining. droplets ricochet against the sidewalk in an endless cadence, the sky above you blanketed by gray clouds; enveloping your city in a summery shadow, the scent of hot concrete and blossoming hydrangeas. everything smells of a blistering summer, youth in a bottle cap. tasty on your tongue.

those very same hydrangeas surround him, on all sides, framing his figure like a painting come to life — splotches of colour, flecks of purple and pink and blue, clashing with the gray sky and the black umbrella in his hand. he looks a little disheveled, hair a little frizzy, bangs sticking to his skin. oddly at peace. when his eyes meet yours, you see a flash of recognition — a tiny spark in the amber hue. 

you take that as your cue to move closer. 

he waits for you, always so patient, smiling as you look both ways before crossing the street — shoes hitting the concrete in a steady thud, thud, thud. a splash from the puddle you step in.

you’re in a good mood. veins flooding with sugar and buzzing with joy, raindrops sticking to your skin and the plastic bag in your hand, absently humming along to a song playing through your headphones. your clothes are soaked, but you’re smiling; swinging the bag of treats as you walk. bags of chips, colourful lollipops, bottles of ramune, clinking together for every step you take. enough to last you a couple weeks. in your good mood, you ended up stocking up on your classmates’ favorites — bouncing on the balls of your feet at the thought of giving them away, seeing their satisfied little expressions.

you even got something for gojo. he’ll have to fight for it, obviously, but you look forward to seeing his face light up when he takes a bite of the soft mochi.

(you like giving them things. it’s fun. it makes you feel like a normal high school kid.)

nothing can dampen your spirits right now. the entire world smells of rain, and hydrangeas, and apple blossoms from the backyards behind you. a scent that creeps into your bloodstream, sneaks into your breath. a smile grows on your lips — blooming even brighter when you step into your classmate’s orbit.

”hey!” you chirp, raising a hand up in greeting.

”hey,” geto echoes, voice honeyed and smooth, bringing a hand up to wipe at his forehead. wet from the humid air. ”out on a walk?”

with a smile, you lift the plastic bag, grabbing his attention. clasping it tightly, with your wet fingers. ”just went to get some snacks. you?”

”i wanted to get some fresh air,” he smiles. eyeing you up and down. ”did you forget your umbrella?” 

silently, he takes in your appearance. your breathing is a tiny bit laboured, and the flimsy, oversized hoodie you’re wearing is sticking to your skin. it’s all that protects you from the steady downpour; no umbrella to be seen. you look small, tilting your head up, meeting his gaze. he feels the beginnings of a smile play at his lips. exasperated. all you do is blink, seemingly unbothered, as if you aren’t straight on the road to catching a cold. you can be a little scatterbrained. 

maybe that’s why he can’t help but dote on you.

(that’s what satoru calls it, at least. suguru thinks it’s just called being nice — not like satoru would know anything about that.)

”oh. no, i didn’t forget.” you scratch at the back of your neck. ”just didn’t know it was going to rain.”

the sudden downpour gave you no time to prepare, heavy and abrupt — clouds obscuring the glowing sun in what felt like no more than a second. like someone high above flicked the light switch of the world. all you could do was pull your hood up, try to walk under whatever apple tree you came across. it didn’t help much, though. 

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, soles weighed down with dew. sort of sheepish.

geto chuckles, raspy and soft. the sound makes your heart skip a beat. ”didn’t you see the weather report?”

”well, it… just slipped my mind, i guess.”

silently, you avert your gaze. now you remember — yaga-sensei did mention that, didn’t he? you heard him say it. but you just forgot.

geto is laughing at you, a little, from within his eyes; at least that’s the impression you get. so you continue, eager to defend your honour. 

”it’s fine, though,” you assure him, smiling brightly. a sunny grin. ”i like the rain!”

geto raises an unimpressed brow, but the expression fades away just as swiftly — giving way to something softer. ”you’re heading back to the dorms, right?” he asks, continuing once you give him a slight nod. ”then we can share.”

you blink. one moment passes, then two. but geto only smiles, shifting his umbrella a little, hoping you’ll get the hint. silently beckoning you over. 

it makes you feel oddly flustered.

in truth, you and him aren’t particularly close. he’s nice to you, sure, but geto is nice to everyone. you’d like to call him a friend, but what do you actually know about him? not much. 

suguru geto is a bit of an enigma. a little mysterious. he’s polite, well-mannered, and he seems like the most normal of your classmates — but the bar is in hell, because you know for a fact geto isn’t normal either. no normal guy deliberately chooses to keep his bangs like that. 

there’s a gap, there. a kind of inconsistency. he’s hard to approach, but he puts you at ease. pulls you in and scares you off. with a soft voice and kind smile, keen eyes and a heavy palm on your head. sometimes he brings you snacks when you study in the library, or helps you with homework. kind of like a dependable senpai. someone to lean on.

… but then there’s that gap. 

the real geto, who you’ve only seen glimpses of, only ever in gojo’s vicinity, is boyish and bright — he laughs and pouts and takes up space. he glows brighter than the sun. but the geto you’re seeing, right now, is more like the moon. wearing a polite, patient smile. standing up straight.

waiting for you to join him under his umbrella.

(he’s kind. but is he doing it because wants to, or because he feels obliged to?)

”… oh.” a pause. ”no, it’s fine!” you take a step back, quick to reassure him. ”i can walk there without it! i’m already soaked, anyway.”

geto observes you. for a moment, something in his expression flickers; a crease between his brows.

then he shakes his head. still wearing a comforting smile, the same one he always slips on when he’s around you. ”still. we don’t want you catching a cold,” he persists, sounding something like a nagging mother. ”you’ll miss the exam next week.”

and with that, your shoulders drop. 

right — the exam. the one you haven’t been studying for in the slightest, completely distracted by the feeling of summer in the air. the one you can’t fail, under any circumstances, because yaga-sensei can and will force you to take summer classes ad compensation. that exam. 

a wistful sigh leaves your lips. ”god, i wish.”

geto chuckles — a little deeper than usual. it makes your heart flutter. then he’s beckoning you over, again, with a slight shake of his head. 

”c’mon. there’s enough room for two.”

he gives you that same familiar smile, and you’re forced to admit that you might be slightly weak to it. something about the way his lips tug upwards, the light crinkle of his eyes. a certain glint in them that tells you he’s not budging on the issue. 

you’re still a little hesitant. but…

(this is a chance, isn’t it? a chance to bridge that gap between you.)

silently, shyly, you join him under his umbrella. shielding you from the still falling rain.

pitter patter, pitter patter. you don’t know where the rain ends and your own heartbeat begins. he’s so close — your shoulders nearly brushing together. it makes your nerves bubble up, in rhythm with the droplets bouncing off the cover up above. you feel stiff. the tiny, miniscule gap between you feels like a sweltering stove, radiating a heat that warns you to stay away. as if his touch could burn you. like this, you can even smell him; fresh laundry, an earthy cologne. the slightest hint of caffeine and tobacco. you blame it on shoko — the whole dormitory smells of cigarettes, thanks to her. 

it’s comforting, though. his scent. blending together with the aroma of rain, wet earth, blooming flowers. with his fragrance smoothing over all your senses, the closeness between you a constant reminder of the situation you’re in, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

all you do is murmur out a quick thanks, as you begin to walk, in tandem.

geto can’t help but steal a glance at you, out of the corner of his eye. you look a little meek, a little flustered. he hopes the narrow distance between you isn’t making you feel too uncomfortable. 

just to be sure, he angles his body away from yours. ever so slightly, one subtle step away, to make the gap a little wider. then, as discreetly as he can manage, he tilts the umbrella in your direction — not wanting the never-ending drops of rain to graze your skin. he can feel them, now, soaking through the material of his shirt, hitting his shoulder. but he doesn’t mind. to his relief, you don’t seem to notice. he’s pretty sure you’d protest; and as enjoyable as another friendly squabble would be, he’d prefer to avoid it for now.

you’re nice. accommodating, he thinks, in a subtle kind of way. always showing up with trinkets after your little outings, offering to get everyone a drink on your way to the vending machines. you’re friendly with the other two; always nagging at shoko to stop smoking, even when she just rolls her eyes and calls you a goody two shoes. recently, you’ve even started to be patient with satoru, even when he tries to get a rise out of you. it wasn’t like that at the start of the year. geto wonders what changed. 

he’s a little interested in you. just a little. you’re sweeter than the other two, easier to worry over. he saw you trip over your own shoelaces last week. you’re a little clumsy, a bit of a ditz — airheaded. maybe that’s why he can’t help but feel protective of you. satoru brushes everything off with a cheeky grin, and shoko is self-sustaining, but you’re often in need of a helping hand. the last time he tried that with the other two, they wouldn’t stop calling him mother geto until he smacked them over the head with satoru’s shounen jump issue. 

it makes him feel out of place — when he doesn’t have anything to tend to. itchy, a feeling of dread crawling up his throat. peace and quiet feels suffocating, when he isn’t in total control over it.

so, in his own way, small as it may be, geto enjoys taking care of you. grabbing you a carton of strawberry milk, or warding satoru away when he’s annoying you a little too much. he likes the smile you grace him with when he does. it’s pretty. and it’s all geto really knows about you — that, and that there’s a tenderness to you that’s hard to fake. it’s not much to go on.

so this is the perfect opportunity to learn more. 

(a heartfelt connection. something he’s always, always craved. something that maybe he can finally have, with satoru, and shoko, and you — 

if you’re willing, that is.)

”hey,” he starts, breaking the rainfilled silence. keeping his umbrella steady, leading you both away from a big puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. ”can i ask you something?”

you raise your head to look at him. blinking owlishly, at the sudden question, nerves beginning to rise again. he sounds kind of serious. did you do something? paranoia gnaws anxiously at the ridges of your ribs, but all you can do is swallow empty air and stammer out a meek reply.

”… uh, sure!”

geto glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours. that gaze of his is kind of heavy — the deep colour of his eyes coaxing you closer, luring you in. honey and amber, splotches of cedar and flecks of gold.

they’re pretty.

”this might be kind of a weird question,” he begins, reaching a hand up to adjust his bun, sneaking a finger under the black hair tie. voice light; to put you at ease. ”but i’m just curious.” 

he looks ahead, at the street before you, only meeting your stare once you give him a slight tilt of your head. then he parts his lips.

”why did you come here?”

you blink. 

silently, confusion painting the interior of your iris, you stare at him. waiting for a clarification that doesn’t come, before giving him a hesitant answer. ”��� to get snacks?”

geto has the audacity to laugh, after such a vague question. the sound is light and breathy, melting together with the pitter patter of the rain, and for some reason it strikes you as sincere. ”not like that,” he grins. ”i mean, why did you come to the school in the first place?”

ah. 

that’s a different question. harder to answer. he must notice your hesitance, the puzzlement in your features, because he’s quick to elaborate. hiding a smile behind his fist, disguised as a cough.

(you’re sort of cute when you’re confused.)

”i mean — it’s an odd choice, isn’t it? far off the map, barely any students....” you nod along, and he continues. ”i don’t know about your background. but moving away from home must be kind of tough, right?” when he glances in your direction, you notice a sparkle of genuine curiosity in his eyes. ”so i was curious about your reason. if you feel comfortable telling me, i mean.”

a hum. it buzzes in your throat, absentminded, as you stare into space. brows furrowed. 

geto gives you time, as much time as you need, always willing to wait. for a minute or so, the only sounds that fill the space around you are the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the plastic cover of umbrella, and the sound of your shoes meeting puddles on the street. silently, you ponder the question. thinking of your answer.

geto has a point. you’ve been curious, too — about how your classmates ended up in such an eccentric little school, so detached from the rest of the world. a quirky private school in the middle of nowhere. you must all be a little eccentric yourselves. that’s probably why you feel so safe with them — you get the sense that you’re all lacking something. something that would ward normal kids away from such an unorthodox choice.

you could say you were just going with the flow. a relative of yours used to work with yaga-sensei, and heard about his position at a newly reinstated private school — heard that he was looking for students to fill the roster. 

so you accepted.

(if it was really that simple, geto would already have his answer.)

what drew you in, more than anything, was the promise of something new. a strange, small school, far away from home; from the people you know, the town you know, the life that you’ve lived. far away from the person you are, the person you was, the person you’ve always been.

an escape. that’s all it was. 

a way out.

he’s still waiting for your answer, even now, trying to read your thoughts off your face. eyes trailing over every contour. very briefly, you consider dodging the question — but his silent, steady presence squeezes a little honesty out of you. 

you want to give him a genuine answer.

”… i guess,” you begin, weighing the words on your tongue. they feel stale, a little awkward, but not dishonest. ”i wanted to stop being me for a bit.” 

the words are unexpected, surprising even to your own ears — like your mouth and your mind weren’t quite cooperating, one ahead of the other, one not weighing in on the honest choice. they catch geto off guard. 

he looks at you, silently, attempts to dissect your expression; but he doesn’t succeed. 

for a second, something flashes in his eyes. a glimmer that you just barely catch, that you can still sense behind his eyelids when they flutter shut. you’re not sure what to call it. recognition, maybe, or something like empathy. a sense of acknowledgement. it’s gone when he opens his eyes. 

he doesn’t look at you when he answers.

”… i get that.”

there’s a depth to his words that you’re afraid to uncover. you feel their weight, all the same, glancing up at him, studying his expression, the humid drops of dew that stick to his lashes. and you feel a tug. faint, non-existent, the string between your pinkies —

a growing connection. 

(it makes you feel oddly bare.)

all you can give him is a chuckle, a little breathless. ”do you?” you ask, grinning weakly. ”it’s a little melodramatic.”

geto only smiles. silent, comfort personified. there’s no judgement in his eyes, none whatsoever — because he knows exactly what you mean.

fleeing from the past. 

it’s a kind of murder, he thinks. a rebirth.

maybe the two of you are similar. similar in the sense that he recognizes the shadow in your eyes, the one he sometimes sees in mirrors; familiar in the sense that you both suffer from that same sickening awareness. 

(maybe you want the same thing he wants, what he’s always wanted — 

control.)

it’s a realization that creeps up on you, the both of you, slow and steady. a sense of kinship. it envelops you, cradles you close, in the same way molten clouds cover the summer sky.

geto isn’t lying, you can tell. he does get it. you know, just from that tilt of his voice, the way his eyelashes flutter, his absent shifting from one foot to another. and it soothes your worries.

everything is silent, for a bit. you look down at the asphalt, at your own reflection in a puddle, and geto gazes at the bushes of hydrangeas to his right. you feel safe, right next to him, under his umbrella. and he feels content to have you there. your shoulders brush together, for a moment, and it sends a jolt through your heartbeat.

geto inhales a breath.

”by the way —” 

”— have you studied for the exam?”

you both still. blurting out the words at the same time, turning to look at each other; sheepishly blinking in the other’s direction.

then he barks out a laugh.

”sorry,” he hums, a sleek smile on his lips. bright and sheepish. ”what was that? the exam?”

”ah — yeah,” you feel heat settle on the back of your neck, crawling up your ears. ”have you, um, studied for it at all?”

geto moves the umbrella from one arm to the other, smoothly directing you to stand on his right instead of his left. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, ghosting the fabric of your clothing. he stretches his free arm, a little stiff.

”yeah,” he exhales. ”not a lot, though.”

”really?” you blink up at him, trying not to blush at how easily he maneuvered you. stupid, stupid heartbeat. ”you strike me as the honour student type…”

geto scoffs. it leaves his lips before he can tug it back. ”satoru said the same thing.”

a breath spills from your lips, almost a chuckle. you’re not sure how to feel about being compared to gojo, of all people, but you’ll let it slide this once. ”well, you just kinda have that vibe.”

now he’s huffing, tethering on the edge of something childish, and your smile grows. you’re seeing him make a lot of new expressions today. 

”why, though?” comes a sigh. he must be playing it up, a little — you almost get fooled into thinking he’s pouting. ”is it the hair? i don’t even wear glasses anymore...”

”well —” you pause. ”hold on, you used to wear glasses?”

all you get is an absent hum. he doesn’t notice your wide, shellshocked eyes. ”when i was younger. i got rid of them a couple years back.”

“oh…” you try to imagine it, for a second. he’d look frighteningly good in them. just barely, you manage to keep yourself from saying it out loud. ”i think it’s more just your general personality. like, you’re responsible and polite… or something.”

and geto chuckles; the intersection between a teasing smile and a soft grin. it’s just a little bit ethereal, painted over with the humid summer air. he turns towards you.

”and that makes me an honour student?” 

”… okay, maybe not.” you bring a hand up to your hair, fixing it absently. deflating a little. ”you just strike me as intelligent, i guess.”

geto smiles, again, as always. the chuckle that escapes him is faint and fond, and awfully soft, dripping down his lips. ”well, thank you.” 

his eyes are warm, burning into yours. all you can do is glance away. you still don’t really understand this sensation — why he’s suddenly so easy to talk to. why he feels like something other than just a classmate, when he looks at you like that. 

then again, geto has always been a natural at putting people at ease. maybe that’s why you can’t help but warm up to him, compliantly, the way a child dutifully follows the first butterfly they ever see — it’s a little too pretty to resist. 

you want to slip deeper into his world, you realize. you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

”you guys really get along, huh?” you change the subject, speaking slowly, savouring every syllable. there isn’t any rush to get the words out all at once, when you’re with him. 

geto blinks, tilting his head. 

”hm?”

“you and gojo, i mean.”

a glimmer passes through his eyes, as your query sinks in. ”ah. yeah.” his gaze strays upwards, and a contemplative look settles into his face. he knows what you’re after, what you’re really asking; why are the two of you so close? why do you put up with his antics? 

what do you see in him? 

he thinks it’s a fair question. it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself the very same thing, before — satoru can be annoying. ignorant, too, and terribly rude. a little prick. when he stole his curry bun yesterday, geto wanted to kill him. spoiled little brat.

(then again, he’s…)

”he’s… well.” geto exhales, a little breathless. tasting the words on his tongue. ”you know how he is — but he’s not a bad guy.” 

and it’s true. he really isn’t. satoru is a lot of things; rude and spoiled, cocky and bratty, an expert at ticking everyone off. but there’s a kind of charm, there. an innocence that geto admires. 

satoru is childish — because he is a child. a child who knows a lot of things that children shouldn’t know. a child who doesn’t know the most basic of things. satoru doesn’t know how to make friends. he doesn’t know how to ask for help, doesn’t know how to give it. he doesn’t know what cotton candy tastes like, because he’s never tried it before. 

his childhood couldn't have been very warm. it definitely wasn’t normal. 

is that why he puts up with him, then? out of pity? of course not. the bare thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. he’d never look down on satoru, like that — and he knows he’d hate him for it. if anything, geto thinks that maybe the two of them are close because he doesn’t give him any special treatment. even if satoru wasn’t treated with warmth or love, he was certainly coddled. spoiled. it’s evident, in the way that he acts.

but satoru isn’t a god, and he shouldn’t act like one. 

one punch, right across the face; knocking the white-haired boy off his feet. that’s where their friendship began. there were stars in satoru’s eyes, geto thinks, when he looked up at him from the ground. sunglasses fallen off from the impact, blue eyes entirely on display, catching the light of the sun — gleaming with a certain bewilderment. almost amazement. like he didn’t know he could be hit, didn’t know it was possible. the sun shone down on him, illuminating the vague bruising on his cheek, and geto wondered if that was the first punch the boy had ever taken.

it certainly wasn’t a first for him, when satoru lunged at him next —

it was a little juvenile. more than a little deranged. geto isn’t one to throw fists, in the first place — he’s out of practice. the punch he fed satoru might’ve been a little too forceful. he couldn’t help but feel bad, every so slightly, for putting a bruise on that irritatingly pretty face of his. 

but it still ended with satoru’s arm around his shoulder, a buzzing voice by his ear, proclaiming them as friends. cheery and bright.

geto couldn’t help but echo the statement.

(satoru is a lot of things. 

most of all, he’s really hard to hate.)

geto’s answer brings a smile to your face. ”yeah,” you hum, soft voice breaking him out of his reverie. ”he isn’t.”

he looks at you. silently, a question of his own brewing in his irises — and with you so close, close enough to touch, smiling at him like he’s an old friend… geto can’t help but indulge in his own curiosity. 

he tries to appear nonchalant, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. ”seems like the two of you are getting along better, too.” 

”me and gojo?” you blink, surprised. a little flustered. huffing out an amused breath, trying to brush off the bare thought. ”no way.”

geto laughs — it’s a deep sound, a full one. somehow very earnest. you wonder if that’s how his laugh always sounds, whenever gojo’s involved. ”oh, come on. you don’t hate him that much.” a teasing glint blooms in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you. ”or am i wrong?”

you pause. faltering, a little, gaze falling down to the pavement — then to the sky — then to him. and then back to the pavement. 

”… i mean…” you attempt to squeeze the words out from within your chest, but you can’t help but feel hesitant. as if gojo could jump out of the bushes at any moment, ready to tease you if you say anything that paints him in an even moderately decent light. ”i don’t… hate him. but he’s still annoying.” a pout slips onto your lips. “he has it out for me, you know.”

geto laughs, again. you note that you’re fond of the sound. ”isn’t that because he likes you, though? he just doesn’t know how to show it. it’s like pulling pigtails.”

”don’t even joke about that,” you scoff, shooting him a scowl. “and that wouldn’t make it any better, even if it was true.”

a fond smile. ”yeah, you’re right.” he opts to dial down on the teasing, shifting into a more sincere tone. ”you do seem more friendly now, though. before it felt like you really hated his guts.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. brows furrowing, as you mull on what to answer with. unsure how you really feel. it’s not like you’re suddenly super close, or anything — but you have gotten friendlier. just by a smidge, but still. you’ve gotten better at putting up with him and his antics, at finding comfort in how open he can be.

after a tiny pause, you speak up. 

”… i still don’t really understand him.” you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth. “but i think i might be starting to.” 

you’re a little embarrassed over the words that fall from your lips, barely above a whisper. 

”… he’s not the worst.”

geto smiles, but you don’t see it — gaze still lingering on the droplets that bounce off the pavement. ”i’m glad,” he hums, earnest. ”that guy needs more friends.”

something about his tone of voice urges you to look at him. that smile of his is bright, gleaming in the rain, in the midst of the flowers all around you. a little teasing, a little boyish, but somehow very sincere. you didn’t think you’d get to see it up close.

and you can’t help but chuckle. the raven-haired boy glances over at you, confusion in his eyes.

noticing it, you breathe out a quiet chuckle. ”sorry, it’s just —” a teasing grin smooths over your lips. ”you guys bicker a lot, and you act like he annoys you… but you really care for him, don’t you?”

this time, geto almost stops in his tracks. his eyes widen, slightly, and you’re not sure why he seems surprised — when he always sounds so fond saying satoru’s name, talking about him like they understand each other fully. maybe he didn’t notice it until now. 

a moment passes, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. awfully good at keeping his composure. 

(though he fails to fully conceal the flustered look on his face.)

”i wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, but it only makes you chuckle again. his lips curl up slightly, at the sound; despite his embarrassment. ”someone’s gotta look out for that idiot.”

”right. of course.”

geto gives you a displeased little look. you bite back a laugh. feeling at ease, by his side — you get the sense that you can trust him, that you could tell him absolutely anything, and he still wouldn't use it against you. it’s a relief.

standing there, under geto’s umbrella, in the shadow of summer, rain obscuring the world — you reach a definitive conclusion.

you want to get to know him. want to see inside his heart, hear more of his thoughts. if you could only step over that gap between you, wriggle your way into his world — 

you think you’d be happy.

so, as you walk side by side, narrowly avoiding puddles and breathing in the humid summer air, you try to coax them out of him. little thoughts, bits and pieces of the suguru geto you yearn to meet.

(unbeknownst to you, he’s doing the same.)

you continue to talk. about miniscule things, meaningless things, a comfortable sensation of trust simmering in the air between you. and before you know it, you’ve stepped onto the school grounds, stopping right in front of the dormitory.

”here we are,” geto hums, folding the umbrella and tucking it between his arm and torso. you turn to look him in the eye, taking an absent step away.

”thanks, geto,” you can’t help but smile. ”for letting me walk with you.”

”don’t mention it.” he brushes you off with ease, quick to drag the door open; waiting for you to step inside before following suit. always so accommodating. 

for a second, he hesitates. a glimmer of uncertainty, in his eyes, that you miss — stretching out your tired limbs with a shallow groan, enjoying the warm and dry air on your skin. 

finally, geto takes the leap.

when he parts his lips, his voice comes out soothing. natural and breathy, floral patterns blooming on his tongue; as silky as jasmine petals. ”you can call me suguru, you know.” he lets the silence linger, for a moment. ”if you want to.”

you turn to look at him, eyes widening, at the sudden offer, and he can’t get a good read on the emotion reflected in them. you seem caught off guard, but he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

after a moment or two, you fumble for a response. 

”oh. um — okay? i will, then.” you shake your head, as if brushing off the hesitance you feel, mustering the courage to imitate his offer. ”in that case, you can call me by my first name, too.” 

a brief pause. 

”… if you want to.”

geto smiles. it’s laced with relief, hard to notice, impossible to miss. instead of answering with an affirmation, he takes a more teasing approach — unable to resist the temptation.

so he says your name. your first name, dragging the syllables out on his tongue, as if tasting it. trying to get used to the way the letters bend as they come out of his mouth. despite the teasing lilt it carries, the sound is oddly earnest; he pronounces it clearly, like he’s trying to call you to his side. you almost feel compelled to take a step towards him. 

geto looks you in the eye, as he calls you by your given name, for the very first time — and you can’t help but grow flustered.

”… suguru,” you echo, for whatever reason. you think your brain may be slightly fried. but it feels right, to say it. suguru. 

(what a pretty name.)

suguru smiles at you. you think it’s just a little wider than usual, a little more sincere. almost giddy, if you squint. in the open air, the intimate atmosphere simmers.

finally, you clear your throat, glancing in the direction of your dorm room. a silent que for him to follow.

and he does. leaving the umbrella by the hall, before walking you to your door. his steady, soothing presence sticking to your skin. you’re just about to place your fingers on the doorknob, when a pang of realization hits you — stopping you in your tracks.

”oh — right!”

swiftly, you turn on your heel, facing suguru again. he gazes down at you, bemusement in his eyes. watching as you rummage through the plastic bag hanging off your arm. finally, you find what you were looking for; holding it out towards him. 

”here,” you give him a warm smile. ”as thanks.”

suguru accepts it, compliantly, allowing you to slip a pack of gum into his palm. he recognizes the brand, one he favours over others. it helps him, on days he can’t find his appetite. 

did you see him chewing it at some point, he wonders? when, though? 

maybe you’re always paying attention to the people around you. the way they like their coffee, their favoured flavour of gum. it may be a small kindness, an absentminded one, but suguru thinks that makes it all the more meaningful. a kindness that seeps out of you, that draws him in. 

he wants to know more, about you. he really does.

but for now, this is enough. a walk back to your dorm, your shared home, talking and growing closer than before. 

it’s a small step, but in the right direction. 

the pack of gum stirs a mellow, tender feeling in his chest. all he can do is give you a smile, and a thank you that you’re quick to brush off. then you say your goodbyes, and you close the door behind you — flopping down on your bed with a muffled squeal. a giddy kind of excitement swimming in your veins. because finally, finally, you feel like the gap between you has been dented.

you know what his real laugh sounds like. that the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed. you know that he used to wear glasses, that you’re a little more similar than either of you could have assumed.

you know that you’re fond of him. fond of a boy with black hair, who smells of summer and rain and chewing gum. fond of a boy you’ve only scratched the surface of.

on the other side of the door, suguru walks back to his room. with a pep in his step, one that satoru notices — because of course he does — appearing from around the corner with a shit-eating grin.

“oh? what were you doing over there, suguru?”

suguru ignores him. popping a piece of the gum you gave him into his mouth, a flavour of apricot melting on his tongue — he sinks his teeth into it, slowly, feeling his lips curl up into a smile.

it tastes of summer and youth. a memory that both of you will savour, for many years to come.

[adore-laur]

Omgg I would love to see different times dadrry gets protective !! Like I can so see him being one of those dads that set boundaries the first time the baby is being introduced to family. He’d be like “no kissing on the face, no taking her away from mom without asking her first and wash your hands before holding her” etc etc. Or him getting defensive when people start to pity him when they find out he’s having a third girl and he gets annoyed and defends his girls 😭😭

Also ofc need to say your dadrry series is the best thing ever I still have tumblr solely to read your writing ☺️☺️

PROTECTOR

——

Pacific loons wailed hauntingly near the shoreline as you sat in the patio's swing chair, listening to the sundry sounds of nature. The oceanic view was a calm presence, one that often lulled you into a hypnotic trance with the endless ebb of waves and the horizon's dying light. Above the railing, brass wind chimes produced a plinking melody in the wind. The atmosphere of home engulfed you like a warm hug.

It was a moment of serenity while Harry went on a grocery run with the girls. He had offered to take the after work, and it was sweet of him to give you time to decompress after parenting alone all day. Plus, it got them out of the house. You would usually be able to take them somewhere for fresh air and fun sights to see, but pregnancy fatigue prevented any hopes of traveling past the front door.

A month had elapsed since you surprised Harry with the news of a third baby. Two weeks since you both had found out it was a girl. In that time, life had coasted by blissfully between the routine of working part-time, daycare drop-off and pick-up, and bonding with your little family over the weekend.

As much as you cherished the hustle and bustle, it was necessary to prioritize personal time. Sometimes it came in the form of sinking into a hot bath, venturing to the beach with a novel, or catching up on much-needed sleep. Today, it consisted of feeling the breeze pass through your hair and appreciating the beauty of southern California.

It would be easy to fall asleep out here. The crashing waves, birdsong, and rustling trees were a lullaby. But you knew the moment you closed your eyes, you would miss the last streaks of the sunset, with its delicate wisps and golden clouds. So you shifted slightly to wake your limbs that were becoming jelly-like, and as you did, the blanket previously draped across your collarbones pooled into your lap. You stared down at it, smiling. The bedroom's storage ottoman held approximately a dozen different blankets, all with some sort of sentimental value attached to them. The crocheted quilt your first daughter had come home from the hospital with; the heated one with Mom embroidered on it; the oversized fleece one Harry liked to specifically use for cuddling either you or his girls.

The one you had chosen for your peaceful patio time was a ragged, faded patchwork quilt that Harry had kept (possibly stole) from the walk-up apartment you lived in together nearly eight years ago. It had watched your love for him grow beyond your wildest dreams. Had seen moments of rib-aching laughter, frustrated tears, pain and passion, and a commitment that would always withstand rough waters. Neither of you had wanted to part with that blanket, so now it stayed in a special place in the home that had once been a far-fetched fantasy.

As your fingers plucked loose threads from the fabric, you felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call. It was hidden somewhere under the thick blanket, and after a moment of searching, you picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Harry, made evident by his contact photo—a family picture on the Temescal Canyon Trail, your youngest strapped to your chest in a carrier and Harry carrying your oldest on his shoulders. A generous elderly couple had offered to take it, with the stunning backdrop of the expansive coastline. You especially loved the picture because it showed off Harry's legs in his athletic shorts, all long and tanned.

"Hey," you answered, assuming he was calling from the grocery store. He often did with ideas for meals or questions about kiddie snacks. Sometimes he'd ask what desserts you were craving, and then he'd spoil you by bringing home more than you could even fathom eating.

"Hi, baby," he said, sounding winded. "Can you unlock the door for me? Both girls are out like a light in my arms."

"Oh!" you said, not expecting him back so soon. Nature's hypnosis made you lose track of time. "Okay, I'll be right there."

"Thank you. I'd hang up, but my phone is balancing rather precariously on my shoulder."

You laughed and hung up for him, then untangled yourself from the cozy confines of the swing chair before heading inside. You were careful to hop over the dolls and picture books and blocks scattered across the living room carpet.

When you reached the front door and opened it slowly, your heart melted. Harry stood there holding one daughter on each hip, their little bodies slumped against him as they slept. You could tell your youngest was in a deep sleep. Your eldest, though, was definitely pretending so she could be carried inside like a princess. The sunset's pink light peeked into the garage and softened Harry's handsome features ethereally. Who else could look this good after grocery shopping?

"We're home," he whispered, and those two simple words filled your heart with an unspeakable amount of happiness.

"I'll help put stuff away," you replied quietly, taking his phone to relieve him from his uncomfortable position. "You go tuck the girls in." It was nearing their bedtime anyway, so better to take advantage of a smooth transition.

Harry smiled with that attentive look on his face, then bent to tenderly kiss the sweet spot on your neck. "You're glowing," he murmured in your ear, then walked past you, leaving your cheeks flushing like a besotted teenager.

Once the groceries were put away and the kids were down for the night, you and Harry went to relax in the bedroom. The sky was now devoid of color with stars twinkling faintly, and the full moon spilled its light through the bay window.

You were already in your pajamas, collapsing onto the comforter, when Harry asked, "How was your day?" He shut the closet light off, dressed in just a T-shirt and black boxers. There were those legs again, the lean muscles a feast for your eyes.

"Mellow," you said. "We stayed inside mostly. Morning sickness has been kicking my ass."

"Good thing you didn't have to work today."

You nodded. That was the nice part about working part-time and partially from home—it allowed for the freedom to be with the kids more often. You didn't mind taking them to daycare, especially since it was imperative for socialization, but it lessened your anxiety when you had them under your supervision. It was a suitable balance.

"Did everyone behave at the store?" you asked, sliding your socks off under the sheets.

"Yeah. No tantrums." Harry raised his eyebrows proudly, and you both shared an air-five. "They seemed knackered. Slept all the way home."

"I tried my best to tire them out."

"Well, you succeeded," he said appreciatively, then joined you in bed, stretching his limbs. You were so thankful for his diligence. To work ten hours and then parent to take some responsibility off your plate was admired more than you could ever put into words.

Harry reached his hand over to the nightstand to resume the book he'd been engrossed in recently but paused and turned to you instead. "Can I gossip with you?" he asked.

You quirked your brows. "What happened?"

He breathed deeply and stared into the distance. "So, I was in the cereal aisle, right?"

You laughed while cuddling up to him. "This is juicy so far."

"It's not even gossip, really," he said. "Just something that irked me."

"Please continue."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and painted a picture of the scene. "I had the girls sitting in the shopping cart, and an old lady nearby started fawning over them. Which is fine, because they're adorable. Anyway, she started asking a bunch of questions. How old they are, what their personalities are like. Somehow I accidentally let it slip that we have a third one on the way, and I know we're telling our families next week, but I got caught up in the conversation and—"

"You're so bad at keeping secrets," you interrupted with a good-natured groan.

Harry kissed your forehead apologetically. "The worst. So, the lady had the audacity to act all surprised that I was going to be a father of three girls. Gave me a face like she pitied me. And then guess what she said..."

"I assume something mildly offensive," you replied.

"She goes, 'I bet you were hoping for a boy. To bring some balance to your home.'"

You scoffed and said, "More like chaos. What did she even mean by that?"

He shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but I just said, 'I'm very happy with my life,' then grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs and went on with my day."

You frowned. "Why do some people think having daughters is such a burden?" It was mind-boggling. They had taught you so much and would continue to as they grew and spread their wings. It was your purpose to shape them into resilient, kind, and empathetic women. What a beautiful honor anyone would be lucky to experience.

"I'll never understand," Harry mused, locking eyes with you. "It's the most..." He trailed off with an emotional smile, and you stroked his cheek, letting him take his time. It wasn't often you or he could speak so rawly about the life you'd created together. "It's just the best feeling imaginable, you know? I can't describe it. All I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way."

You softly kissed him, feeling the sincerity of his words in the way he gracefully slipped his tongue past yours. With your palm still cradling his cheek, you halted his kisses using your thumb to say, "You're this family's heartbeat."

His lustful green eyes opened, his pupils dilating as if absorbing your admission. "If I'm the heartbeat, then you're the lungs."

"Sweet-talker," you teased.

"You started this love fest."

After a stretch of comfortable silence, Harry settled his hand on your small bump, a warm and knowing touch. "Please don't think I'm waiting on a son," he said.

You snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I know more than anyone else how much you wanted daughters. You told me during our first date."

"I did?"

"We talked each other's ears off that night about our futures. The universe must have been listening." The conversation was burned into your brain. In that dim oceanside restaurant, you had known he was a keeper.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, kissing all over your stomach, leaving no skin unmarked by his gentle lips. He then rested his head in your lap. "I can't wait to meet her."

You hummed. "Have you ever thought about what she'll be like?"

"A combination of all four of us."

A ghost of a smile spread on your lips. "We're going to have our hands full then."

"I'm ready."

"I know you are," you said while playing with his hair. "That's why I chose you."

He was a protector, down to the fibers of his being. You didn't have to be in the room for him to remind the world of his devotion to being your husband. To being a father. He laid it all bare, and you could only hope that it would be passed down to your daughters like an heirloom blanket.

——

[misswynters]

Snowy logs

short drabble

featuring. leon s kennedy x pregnant!reader

just fluffy protective leon and that’s all

Leon had always been protective of you, but lately, since finding out you were pregnant, he’d taken it to a new level. Every time you even hinted at stepping outside, he’d insist on doing it for you. And now, with the safe haven up in the snowy mountains of Canada, surrounded by blankets of snow and icy air, he was even more adamant.

Bundled in a thick coat, Leon stood outside, splitting logs in the crisp air. His breath puffed out in soft clouds, and each swing of the axe echoed through the snowy landscape. From the warmth of the cabin, you could see the determined expression on his face. It was a mixture of focus and knowing how he was, genuine worry for you.

After watching him for a few minutes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to be with him. It was freezing outside, but the cabin felt too quiet, and besides, a little fresh air never hurt anyone. With some effort, you wrapped yourself up in your warmest coat, tugging your hat down over your ears and your scarf around your neck. Stepping outside, the cold air bit into your cheeks, but it felt refreshing.

As soon as Leon caught sight of you, he paused mid-swing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, dropping the axe immediately. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be inside, staying warm!”

You grinned at his exaggerated concern. “I just came to keep you company,” you said, walking carefully across the snowy ground towards him. “You look like you could use a little break.”

He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Babe, it’s freezing out here, and you’re five months pregnant. You’re not exactly built for chopping wood right now.”

“Maybe I’m not here to chop wood,” you replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to help a little, hold the logs for you or something.”

Leon’s eyes widened in horror. “Hold the logs? Absolutely not! I don’t need you holding anything out here in this cold.” He came over, gently guiding you back towards the porch. “Your only job right now is staying warm and taking care of yourself. And our baby,” he added with a soft smile, his hand resting protectively on your belly.

You placed your hand over his and looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with affection. “You worry way too much. I’m fine, really. It’s just some snow and fresh air.”

Leon sighed, tucking a loose strand of your hair back under your hat. “Fresh air can be enjoyed from the comfort of the porch,” he replied, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, I’m serious. Let me finish up here, and I’ll be right inside with you. I don’t want you getting sick or slipping out here. You know how clumsy you can get.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, did you just call me clumsy?”

He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he teased. “But you did manage to trip over that log just last week. And that was indoors.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudged him. “Maybe you should be more careful where you leave things, then, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon smiled, catching your hand in his as he pulled you closer. “See, this is why you should be inside right now. You’re too adorable out here, and it’s distracting me from my very important log-splitting duties.”

You shook your head but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re ridiculous. It’s just wood, Leon. It’s not like you’re saving the world this time.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look. “I don’t know…feels like I’m keeping two of my favorite people safe right now. That’s pretty close.”

Your heart melted at that, and you hugged him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you even through your thick coats. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek, lingering for a moment before speaking softly. “Why don’t you go back inside, sit by the fire, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Only if you promise to take a break,” you replied, giving him a stern look. “You’ve been at this all morning.”

Leon laughed, his breath warm against your skin. “Alright, deal. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish this stack. You have my word.”

As you walked back up the porch steps, Leon’s voice stopped you. “Wait, hold on,” he called, rushing over to catch you before you went inside. “Here,” he said, wrapping his scarf around your neck on top of your own. “I’ll grab another one for myself, but you keep this.”

You chuckled, adjusting the extra scarf. “Thank you, but now I look like I have three chins.”

He shrugged, grinning. “You look cute, that’s all I care about.”

With that, you went back inside, feeling warm not just from the extra scarf but from Leon’s attentiveness. Settling by the fire, you watched through the window as he got back to work, occasionally glancing at the cabin to make sure you were okay.

When he finally came inside, red-cheeked and breathless from the cold, he brushed the snow off his coat and plopped down next to you, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire. “Alright, happy now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning against him. “Though I still think you’re going a little overboard with all this protectiveness.”

Leon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, I never thought I’d get to do this,” he said, his voice softening. “Be out here with you, building a life together. I didn’t even think it was possible.”

You placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I know. It still feels surreal sometimes, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes looking distant for a moment before he looked back at you with that soft, warm gaze you’d come to adore. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

He paused, looking down at your belly, then back up at you. “I’m going to be the best husband and dad I can be. So, that means I might be a little…overprotective.”

You laughed, brushing your hand along his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he replied, meeting your gaze intently.

“Let me come outside sometimes. I can’t be cooped up forever,” you said with a mischievous smile.

Leon chuckled, nodding. “Alright, but only if you wear two scarves, five coats, and let me carry you everywhere.”

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “I’d look like a snowman!”

“Then I’ll just have to love my adorable snowman,” he murmured, holding you tight, the warmth of the fire and his arms wrapping you up in a blanket of love and safety.

As the snow continued to fall outside and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged. Being wrapped in Leon’s arms, safe, warm, and ready to face life as parents of a baby in the cold outskirts of Canada. Away from off the the ruckus that is the umbrella corp.

taglist: @writingwisterias

banners. @anitalenia

[kaiser1ns]

The after-party was getting dull, and you were exhausted, longing for the comfort of home, the warmth of your bed, and the fluffiest blankets you owned. The soft mattress, the mountain of plushies—some gifted by Itoshi Sae, others by Michael Kaiser—called to you. Sae watched the scene from afar, swirling a champagne glass as he observed you and Kaiser sitting on the cold balcony stairs, sharing a piece of cake. The striker leaned closer, taking small bites as you offered, enjoying your company. The midfielder sighed and eventually joined, sitting beside you, which put you in the middle of them both.

A chilly breeze swept through, and you shivered slightly. Your dress, beautiful but strapless, wasn’t much protection against the cool air, though It was gorgeous, something you’d want to wear every day, but sadly, it was from a fashion house and would have to be returned. Suddenly, warmth settled around your shoulders. Kaiser had wrapped his jacket around you, flashing a soft smile before smirking at Sae. You didn’t notice Sae’s reaction, distracted by the night sky above. So many stars—a constellation not unlike the football stars in the team you worked for, Re Al. The best team in the world, a rare privilege you held, to be close to legendary players like Modric, Kroos, Ronaldo, and Zidane.

And now, the team’s rising stars—the Japanese and German prodigies, both members of the New Generation World XI, each easily affected by the other’s smallest provocation.

"Quick on the field, slow to treat a lady, aren’t you, Sae?” Kaiser teased, raising an eyebrow, and running a tattooed hand through his hair. The midfielder shot him a glare, moments from tossing his drink to wipe the smug grin off his teammate's face, but you interrupted, resting your head on Sae’s shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder… what life would have been like,” you murmured. The two paused their banter, curious. Snuggled in Kaiser’s jacket, you went on, “…if we’d never joined Re Al, or the world of football at all?”

Sae and Kaiser exchanged glances, taken aback. It wasn’t like you to ask questions like this, and you rarely drank that much. But when they looked back at you, your eyes were closed—not asleep, just calm, relaxing for once without making Sae jealous or flirting with Kaiser. For now, you stayed neutral. You knew you loved them both, but the question was—who?

A question for another time, you thought. Reopening your eyes to watch your breath form a small cloud in the cool night air. “Usually, both of you have something to say… so?”

Sae answered first, setting his glass down and absently twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. “I probably would have had a normal life. A happy one. Maybe my personality wouldn’t have turned out quite like this.” You hummed softly, glancing over at Kaiser, who looked uncharacteristically sad, and … upset. Had your question touched a nerve?

“Do you want to share, Misha?” you asked. He quickly regained his composure, losing his blue tie as he too looked up at the sky

“Probably a criminal, or something,” he shrugged it off quickly, yet the pain lingered behind his eyes. After Kaiser’s answer, a soft silence settled over the three of you. You could sense that this wasn’t the time to dig further; if he wanted to share more, he would. Instead, you shifted, resting your head on Kaiser’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“There’s no salvation in the past,” he murmured, his voice low. “So don’t think about it. Focus on what’s happening now.” But his words drifted past you as sleep tugged at your eyelids. Kaiser noticed, chuckling softly at how peaceful you looked as you began to doze off.

Carefully, he nudged you up, steadying you on your feet. Sae, still sitting, glanced up at the way you seemed exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep right here on the spot as he too thought the same, that you were so cute.

“Might be the last time we have such a peaceful moment like this,” Kaiser said quietly. “Let’s bring her home.”

The two of them helped you down the stairs, keeping you steady. They’d make sure you got home safe and sound and hoped for no paparazzi photos first thing in the morning. Both of them here, looking out for you, felt like a gift from the universe itself—having them not only in your life but in your heart.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[aeth-eris]

★  moon  signs  |  how  they  express  empathy  ★

★  aries  moon:  empathy  for  an  aries  moon  is  fierce  and  immediate,  like  rushing  into  a  burning  building  without  hesitation.  they  feel  others'  pain  as  a  call  to  action,  their  heart  igniting  with  a  need  to  protect,  defend,  or  inspire.  their  empathy  doesn’t  linger  in  quiet  reflection;  it’s  raw,  honest,  and  bold,  often  expressed  through  decisive  action.  they  show  up  when  it  matters  most,  offering  strength  and  courage  to  those  who  feel  small,  reminding  them  they  are  capable  of  overcoming  anything. ★

 ★  taurus  moon:  taurus  moon  empathy  feels  like  a  warm  blanket  wrapped  around  you  on  a  cold  night.  they  offer  comfort  through  presence,  creating  a  steady,  grounding  space  for  others  to  feel  safe.  their  empathy  is  tactile,  expressed  through  gentle  acts  of  care—a  shared  meal,  a  soothing  voice,  or  the  simple  act  of  staying  close.  they  don’t  rush  to  solve  or  fix;  instead,  they  hold  space  with  patience,  letting  you  know  you’re  valued  and  understood,  just  as  you  are. ★

 ★  gemini  moon:  gemini  moons  express  empathy  by  weaving  words  into  connection.  they  listen  with  curiosity,  their  heart  sparking  with  every  story  shared,  finding  the  threads  that  link  their  experiences  to  yours.  their  empathy  is  light  and  conversational,  making  you  laugh  through  tears  or  helping  you  reframe  pain  in  ways  that  feel  lighter.  they  may  not  dwell  in  the  depths,  but  they  bring  clarity  and  perspective,  reminding  you  that  life  is  full  of  possibilities  even  in  your  hardest  moments. ★

 ★  cancer  moon:  empathy  for  a  cancer  moon  is  an  ocean—vast,  deep,  and  all-encompassing.  they  intuitively  feel  the  emotions  of  others,  often  carrying  your  hurt  as  if  it  were  their  own.  their  empathy  is  nurturing,  like  a  mother  cradling  a  child,  offering  unconditional  love  and  protection.  they  instinctively  know  when  you  need  comfort,  whether  it’s  through  a  soft  hug,  a  kind  word,  or  simply  being  there.  their  heart  creates  a  safe  harbor  for  others,  a  place  where  feelings  can  be  honored  and  healed. ★

 ★  leo  moon:  leo  moons  express  empathy  like  sunlight  breaking  through  storm  clouds,  warm  and  affirming.  they  see  your  pain  and  immediately  want  to  remind  you  of  your  strength,  showering  you  with  encouragement  and  love.  their  empathy  comes  in  bold  gestures—a  compliment,  a  heartfelt  reminder  of  your  worth,  or  simply  standing  by  your  side  when  you  feel  alone.  they  lift  others  up  by  reflecting  their  light  back  to  them,  making  sure  you  know  you’re  seen,  valued,  and  deserving  of  joy. ★

 ★  virgo  moon:  virgo  moon  empathy  feels  like  someone  noticing  the  little  things  you  didn’t  realize  you  needed.  their  care  is  quiet  and  precise,  often  expressed  through  practical  help—a  problem  solved,  a  task  taken  off  your  plate,  or  advice  that’s  exactly  what  you  needed  to  hear.  they  show  empathy  by  making  your  life  easier,  creating  order  in  the  chaos.  their  love  is  thoughtful  and  grounded,  reminding  you  that  healing  often  starts  in  the  small,  overlooked  moments  of  care. ★

 ★  libra  moon:  libra  moons  express  empathy  through  harmony,  seeking  to  restore  balance  when  others  are  weighed  down.  they  listen  with  open  hearts,  reflecting  your  emotions  with  kindness  and  understanding.  their  empathy  is  graceful,  often  expressed  through  acts  of  mediation  or  support,  helping  you  see  beauty  even  in  struggle.  they  make  you  feel  heard  and  validated,  as  if  your  feelings  belong  in  the  grander  picture  of  connection.  their  love  is  the  soft  hand  that  guides  you  toward  peace  when  the  world  feels  overwhelming. ★

 ★  scorpio  moon:  scorpio  moon  empathy  is  intense  and  transformative,  like  staring  into  the  depths  of  a  deep,  unshaken  well.  they  feel  your  pain  as  if  it  were  their  own,  diving  fearlessly  into  your  darkness  to  help  you  find  your  way  out.  their  empathy  is  raw  and  profound,  unafraid  to  sit  with  the  most  painful  truths.  they  offer  their  presence  as  a  sanctuary  for  vulnerability,  holding  space  for  emotions  others  shy  away  from.  their  love  is  a  reminder  that  even  in  your  darkest  moments,  you  are  never  alone. ★

 ★  sagittarius  moon:  sagittarius  moons  express  empathy  through  optimism,  offering  their  belief  in  your  strength  when  you’ve  forgotten  it.  they  encourage  you  to  see  the  bigger  picture,  helping  you  reframe  struggles  as  opportunities  for  growth.  their  empathy  feels  like  a  warm  fire  on  a  cold  night,  comforting  but  also  igniting  hope.  they  may  crack  a  joke  to  lift  your  spirits  or  invite  you  to  explore  new  perspectives,  reminding  you  that  life  is  full  of  adventure  even  in  hardship.  their  love  is  an  open  road,  reminding  you  that  brighter  days  are  always  ahead. ★

 ★  capricorn  moon:  capricorn  moon  empathy  is  steady  and  unshakable,  like  a  mountain  offering  shelter  against  harsh  winds.  they  express  care  through  reliability,  stepping  in  with  quiet  strength  when  others  falter.  their  empathy  may  not  be  overly  emotional,  but  it’s  deeply  practical—they’ll  help  you  build  stability  in  moments  of  chaos,  offering  guidance  and  structure.  their  love  is  a  reminder  that  you’re  not  alone  in  carrying  your  burdens,  that  there’s  always  someone  willing  to  share  the  weight.  their  presence  is  grounding,  a  constant  you  can  rely  on  no  matter  how  hard  things  get. ★

 ★  aquarius  moon:  aquarius  moons  express  empathy  with  clarity  and  vision,  seeing  solutions  where  others  only  see  problems.  their  care  is  intellectual,  offering  perspective  that  makes  your  struggles  feel  smaller  and  your  dreams  feel  closer.  they  may  not  sit  in  the  heaviness  of  emotions,  but  they’ll  inspire  you  to  rise  above  them,  reminding  you  of  the  bigger  picture.  their  love  feels  like  a  cool  breeze  on  a  sweltering  day—refreshing  and  unexpected,  pushing  you  to  think  differently.  their  empathy  is  a  light  in  the  distance,  guiding  you  toward  hope  when  you  feel  lost. ★

 ★  pisces  moon:  pisces  moon  empathy  is  boundless,  like  water  flowing  into  every  crack  and  crevice,  touching  places  no  one  else  can  reach.  they  feel  your  emotions  as  their  own,  often  carrying  them  without  hesitation  or  complaint.  their  care  is  soft  and  intuitive,  expressed  through  quiet  acts  of  kindness  and  unwavering  presence.  they  love  without  limits,  offering  compassion  that  feels  like  a  whispered  promise  of  understanding.  pisces  moons  remind  you  that  it’s  okay  to  feel  deeply,  that  even  the  hardest  emotions  hold  beauty.  their  empathy  is  a  gentle  tide,  washing  over  you  with  healing  and  grace. ★

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

[stsgluver]

synopsis. your husband still ignores the side effects of his cursed technique just so he can get a glimpse of you.

wc. 1.2k

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

a/n. um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

[wintfleur]

I am in hungry for a f1 fic….. pls feed me

౨ৎ dramatic mornings are perfect with you

°. — pairings ( lando norris x fem! reader )

°. — summary ( lando will always deal with your dramatics . . . because even so early in the morning he finds you adorable )

°. — details ( g; fluff, humor ig?. w; none really, a little talk of readers boobs. wc; 1.9k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am hungry for some f1 fics too . . I’ve missed writing for f1, I’m sure I’ll be writing more now that the season has started !!! Hope this satisfies your hunger <333 please let me know what you guys think x )

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You let out an annoyed sigh as you laced your fingers across your midsection and on top of your duvet, your thumbs absentmindedly tapping against each other. Your eyes darted to the right to see that he still hasn't moved at all, no reaction from him as he slept peacefully next to you, the sun that shone through your white curtains illuminating his face so beautifully. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked away from him and back up at your ceiling, a small huff leaving your lips. You continued to tap your thumbs against each other for a few more moments only to abruptly stop as an even louder sigh left your lips. You quickly turn your head to face him when you hear the familiar sound of the blankets shift, and a grumpy frown comes across your face when you see him snuggle into his pillow, instead of waking up and asking you what's wrong like you expected him to do. 

The more you stared at your oblivious and sleeping boyfriend, the more annoyed you got. His beautiful brown curls were all over the place ⸺ a physical testimony to how he can't stay still even in bed. Those beautiful curls that girl had the nerve to run her hands through. His cheek was squished against your baby pink pillow, soft breaths leaving his slightly parted lips. The same lips that smiled down at the girl and kissed her forehead . . . you couldn't believe it when you saw it. 

Well to clarify  . . . you didn't see it. You dreamt it . . . But that's not the point! 

You looked away from your sleeping boyfriend and to your left where your bedside table was, your pink cloud alarm clock showed that it was 7 in the morning. You and lando both refused to be up so early on days off like today, but while your boyfriend was sleeping peacefully ⸺ you couldn't find yourself being able to go back to sleep after the dream you had. 

You rolled over on your side facing lando and leaned up on your elbow, you still had a grumpy frown on your lips as you stared down at him. You had to stop yourself from bringing your hand down and softly brush his curls out of his face and remind yourself that you were in fact upset with him. How could you not be after what he did? 

You used your free hand and moved it towards him, pulling the blanket down from covering his shoulder before poking him right in the ribs. Your first poke got no reaction since it was too soft, so your second one was much harder and the only reaction you got was a groan leaving his parted lips and him moving to lay fully on his stomach instead of laying on his side. You ignored the awe you wanted to let out when he does that adorable nose scrunch as he snuggles deeper into your pillows. 

“Lando” you hissed his name but the only reaction you got from him was him turning his head away from you, a dramatic and offended gasp leaving your lips at the action. You glare at the back of his hand and fully sit up. You bring your finger up to his shoulder blade and his cotton t-shirt did nothing to protect him from the feeling of your relentless poking. 

“Darling if you poke me again” Lando grumbled groggily as he lifted his head up from the pillow and turned to face you, his eyes were barely open and he had a red hue and a few line marks from your pillow on his face, all signs of having a great sleep ⸺ a great sleep you interrupted, any other morning you would have felt bed . . . but today was not one of them. 

“You're what?. . . going to cheat on me again?” 

“What?” Lando choked on his own spit, his tone filled with confusion and grogginess. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the movement causing the blanket to fully fall off his back and you to feel a cold chill on your bare thighs; your sleep shorts not helping against the morning chill. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms and turned his head to look at you, his eyes narrowed “What on earth are you talking about ⸺ are you feeling sick? Because you are talking mad” 

You slapped his hand away from your forehead that he was trying to feel for a fever and glared at him as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What's sick is what you let her do . . . would you stop staring at my tits!” You trailed off into a shout once you noticed your boyfriend's eyes staring down at your white lace camisole covered chest. 

You gasped dramatically and pulled the pillow out from under his elbows and used it to cover your chest “I bet you couldn't keep your eyes off her tits! Could you?” your tone was accusatory, and your grumpy frown turns into a sad one at the thought, you held the pillow tightly to your chest for some comfort. Lando loved your boobs . . . it hurt to think that he was staring at someone else's. 

“Darling, i have no idea who this she is” Lando said as he moved to sit up, his fingers in air quotes as he says ‘she’. Lando moves closer to you and gently pulls down the pillow you stuffed your face in and continues speaking, your words had chased away any ounce of tiredness in his body “But i can assure you, that your boobs, your wonderful boobs may i add, are the only ones i stare at.”

“You cheated on me, i am not going to fall for your sweet words lando” 

“When did I cheat on you hmm?” Lando questioned you, tilting his head with a hum. He knew for a fact that he has never and will never cheat on you, so he was confused and concerned why you were passionate that he did. You were too upset to notice the concern in your boyfriend's tone and you were quick to answer him “In my dream! You let her run her hands through your hair and down your chest and then you had the nerve to kiss her forehead!” 

“Wait wait wait . . . your dream?” Lando cut your rant off, a look of disbelief on his face from your words. This was all because of your dream? Lando thought. And even though Lando felt the tiniest of annoyance from being woken up so early, he couldn't help but find the situation and the way you were acting . . . adorable. “Yes, my dream, keep up lan!” you rolled your eyes in annoyance and lando let himself relax back in bed, laying back down and pulling you down with him. You reluctantly let yourself lay on your side, facing him. 

“You're annoyed with me?” Lando muttered as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he stared at his girlfriend, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. 

“Clearly” 

“For something that I did in your dream?” He had to stop himself from smiling when he asked you, he didn't know why it was so attractive to see you jealous about a dream. You noticed his lips twitching up into a smile for a few seconds before falling into his resting face. A dramatic scoff leaves your lips, and you are quick to turn your back to him, upset that he wasn't taking this seriously. 

Lando smiles and scoots closer behind you, sliding his arm around your waist and resting it under the pillow you were still holding against your chest, using his strength to pull you back snug against him. You wanted to complain and push him off, but you couldn't help but let yourself sink and relax in his warm embrace. Lando who was still leaning up on his elbow looks down at your side profile as he speaks softly “I’m sorry i did that darling, dream me is very stupid it seems.” 

“But that was just a dream because I promise you, you are the only girl I want. The only girl whose tits I want and do look at” Lando leaned down as he trailed off into a whisper, your breath hitching when you felt his warm breath against your neck as he whispers in your ear. Lando slipped his hand under your camisole and softly traced random shapes on your stomach as he continued to whisper “The only forehead i want to kiss is yours.” 

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling at your boyfriend's words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing his sweet talking was in fact working. Lando moves his hand out from under your top and softly places two of his fingers on your jaw, gently using them to tilt your face towards him. Lando has a small pout on his very kissable lips as he looks down at you “Baby please don't be mad at me because dream me is an idiot, you know I’d never do that to you.” 

“You're right . . . you are an idiot” you whispered back with a small nod as you adjusted your body to lay on your back. You lifted your hand to brush back some of Lando's messy curls from his face as he looked down at you. Lando's eyes fluttered closed for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of you playing with his hair before he opened them and looked down at you with a big smile “You mean dream me, right?” 

You shrugged playfully, the corner of your lips tilting up into a cheeky smile. Lando gasped dramatically, faking shock and hurt at your words. You thought he was going to bring his hand to dramatically put over his heart like your dramatic boyfriend has done before, when you saw him move it from your chin, but instead he rests it on the pillow right next to your head; caging you in between his body and the bed. 

You locked eyes with your boyfriend and before you could question why he was smirking down at you like that, he was leaning down and leaving a big smooch on your cheek. He quickly moved to your other cheek, then he littered kisses all over your face. Making sure that he kissed every inch of your beautiful face. “Eww lan morning breath” you whined out as you tried to cover your face with your hands, worried that he would smell your breath. 

“My girl thinks I’d cheat on her with some random girl from the club ⸺ morning breath is the last thing on my mind right now” Lando whispered as he swiped his thumb across your bottom lip before moving it up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. You smile softly as you hear him say ‘my girl’. You whisper with an embarrassed sigh as you think back on the morning you two have shared “I've been pretty dramatic haven't I?” 

“You're so adorable you know that right?” Lando grinned, completely ignoring your question. Yes, you were, but he wouldn't change anything about you at all. He wouldn't change anything about this morning. Because he woke up with you by his side. You smile and bite your lip, absentmindedly fidgeting with the bottom of Lando's shirt “Mind telling me that again?” 

“I promise to tell you that every day for the rest of our lives.” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I LOVE THIS SM !!! I MISSED WRITING CUTE BF LANDO, please let me know that you guys think, and if you’d like to be added to my lando or my f1 taglist 🫶🏻 )

°. ��� taglist ( @ophcelia @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: can u believe we've actually made it to chapter eleven... 😲 i cannot! alas thank u so much again for being patient with me <3 i think i'm much better locked in now so MAYBEEE we'll see something other than longing glances soon ehehe <3 ok mwah thank u for reading, enjoy <3

word count: 4.5k

synopsis: Trouble sleeping leads you to wander the halls of the House of Wind, finding a friendly face. Azriel stews in his misery—but not for long.

CHAPTER ELEVEN :: FRIENDS (AGAIN)

You have a problem.

Despite the training and the fresh, rich and plentiful food—despite the bed that’s softer than anything you’ve touched in decades—it becomes rapidly apparent in the next week that rest does not find you easily in Velaris.

The first week it’s easy to chalk up the discomfort to your still healing body.

You weren’t high Fae by any means. The bruises that matted your skin were bone-deep and injuries of that kind took time to recover from.

Yet, as time rolled forward and the stiffness retreated, even as wounds turned to scabs, sleep did not claim you. In fact, it rather stubbornly avoided you.

You find you can only sleep after exhaustion kicks in, certainly no earlier than a couple hours of tossing and turning. It only takes a couple days of restless sleep to figure out the suspect.

The pillowy bed.

All your life, sleep has meant a hard surface, only differing from the ground in its protection against the chill of the mountains. But still, you’ve slept better nights on the ground than you have in this bed.

It’s so soft. It pulls you in and makes you feel as though you’re sinking into a cloud. Your pillows are plush and feathery, your sheets delicate and silky to touch.

It’s too soft.

So, when the aches of your injuries recede and the sleep still doesn’t come, you say to hell with it, even if a small part of you fears what the Highlord might say.

You keep the comforter but leave everything else behind — tugging it off the bed and curling up on the stone floors, bundled in the fleecy, warm blanket.

The sleep is better.

Still, as your days training with Cassian continue, it’s not a proven cure.

Some nights, like tonight, it evades you so severely that after a hour or two blinking at the floor, counting the spots on the ceiling, something stirs in you to move. You begin to wander.

Even with Rhysand’s assurance, it’s hard not to feel like an imposter as you creep through the halls of the house.

You’re silent on your feet. There’s only a whisper of your presence as you pass door after door, each of them ornately designed and firmly closed.

You’ve only done this wandering once or twice. The first time you got the itch to explore, you barely made it down the hallway you started in. Something dark had fluttered in the distance, taking you by surprise.

Heart pounding in a hair-raising chill, instinct forced you back into your room in a mad dash. Pressed up against your locked door, it had felt eerily similar to your old cabin.

But even so, you’ve haven't run into anyone else.

This time, your fourth time wandering, you take a different route, rubbing tiredly at your eyes with a hint of irritation. Even if sleep evades you, you’re tired, there’s no doubt of that.

Warm sandstone keeps you company. As you take a left where you’ve always taken a right, a pair of gilded glass doors you’ve never seen tucks itself behind an unsuspecting corner.

You have a rule not to open any closed doors.

This one, however, tempts you with a pool of pale moonlight cast through its windows. Besides, a quick glance through the glass tells you you’re alone.

It’s another balcony. Like all of them, you suspect as you open one door silently and step out, it overlooks Velaris. The city sprawls out from the foot of the mountain, glorious and alive.

The title of City of Starlight certainly seems fitting tonight. It glows, a thousand specks of light dancing across the air to you.

Beyond it, the blackness of the ocean calls out to you, a salty spring in the air. Seeing the edge of the continent, something stutters in your chest.

How big the world really is... How small it seemed to you not too long ago. You’re learning there’s much more than just frost and mountains.

Your gaze drops back to the city, its lights winking at you almost enticingly. Even from afar, you swear you can hear laughter carried on the warm wind.

How it is this lively when, based on the high and bright moon, it must be nearing morning baffles you. Tentatively, you approach the ornate railing and place your hands on it, leaning forward. How would it look from the skies, you wonder...

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Despite the gentle attempt to get your attention, it doesn’t stop you from startling violently, whipping around in a half second. Your heartbeat races, climbing up to too fast in a manner of moments.

It's Rhysand. That fact doesn’t help your panic but the sight of him reminds you to throw up the brick wall in your mind, just as he's been teaching you. The focus on the task ebbs away some of your panic.

“Can’t sleep?” Rhys’ asks, kindly ignoring your frenzied panic for your sake.

Taking a controlled inhale to calm yourself, your shoulders drop an inch. You nod slowly.

“Let me guess,” He says, taking a slow step in your direction.

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his sleek pyjama pants — a motion you now recognise not as arrogance, but instead to show that he means no harm. He tilts his head to the side, violet eyes narrowing as he hmmms.

“Bed too soft?”

It’s so spot on that you mentally check your walls, finding them still in tact.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t read my thoughts.”

Rhys smiles, giving a soft chuckle. He shakes his head. “I haven’t. You just…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

He glances up at the moon and then says, “Azriel was the same.”

The name makes your heart twist painfully. It's like pressing on an old bruise.

“Cassian too,” Rhys continues, giving a little shrug. “But Az more than anyone else. Spend enough time sleeping on the floor and anything else feels too wrong.”

Gingerly, you nod. Somehow, hearing about Azriel feeling the same as you— imagining him dragging the covers off his bed and burrowing on the floor— makes you ache a little bit.

Maybe you hadn’t realised how alike the two of you were.

“How did he…?” You wave an awkward hand and fumble for the right words. “Or Cassian—I mean, how did they get over it?”

Rhys gives another subtle shrug, his smile turning a little wry. “Not sure if Az ever did. I mean, he’s not big on sleeping for sleepings sake. Cassian on the other hand…”

He trails off and it makes you laugh softly, covering the noise behind your hand. Cassian has certainly let you know his distaste for early rising, even if he is always punctual. Though, you wonder if that’s more to with leaving his mate behind…

“I think,” Rhys starts, then stops. He clicks his tongue, mouth twisting to the side. “I think Azriel had trouble thinking he deserved it. As though he hadn’t earned it.”

The words pierce through you, panging painfully with the familiarity which they resound within you.

“I hope you know that nothing as essential as rest or food or safety—” Rhys stresses each word carefully. “—needs to be earned. Not here.”

Not here—because he’s vividly aware of where you’ve come from.

Because he’d come from it too. Because even though he’s an Illyrian male, at some point so were you, and that means he knows.

He knows. He chooses to be better.

You open your mouth, no clue what response is on your tongue, when the door opening behind him stops you.

Rhys turns and your eyes take in a Fae more beautiful than you could imagine, standing on the doorstep.

You hadn’t known females could… radiate as she does. Females in Exordor are more brutish, more hardened, as it's the only way they truly survive. This Fae is beautiful. She'd be torn apart in Exordor.

If Rhys is the night, she is a star within it. Glowing and warm, the spectacular sight to awe at.

Everything you’ve been leaning into since your arrival, the new identity, the idea of being a she for the first time properly, shrivels up suddenly.

You swallow thickly. You know without a doubt that you are not comparable to this Fae.

“Rhys?”

Cauldron, even her voice is sweet. She’s smiling softly, directed at the Highlord before you who has—what you can only describe as—melted at her presence. She steps down onto the balcony, draped in a soft, ashy nightgown.

“What are you—oh!” Her grey eyes lift as she notices that Rhys is not alone on the balcony.

The smile on her face shifts towards more friendly and welcoming. “Sorry, I thought I was just hunting down a runaway mate, not that he was actually busy.”

She reaches out and ribs Rhysand, as though he should’ve told her not to come looking for him somehow.

As they share a look long, you realise maybe she did mean that literally. She did say mate, after all.

“Who I am to deny myself the pleasure of being hunted down by my lovely wife?” Rhys drawls smugly, grinning as he catches her hand when she tries to rib him again.

He twists it and plants a devoted kiss on the back, evidently pleased when she brightens instantly.

“I’m coming back to bed now, anyways,” He says, murmuring into her skin before he restrains himself, straightening up.

You see his mate cast a quick, concerned glance your way but Rhys shakes his head. “She doesn’t need to hear any more of my blathering, I’m sure.”

He turns to you with a grin and a wink. You blink, perturbed, and completely unsure how to react.

“I hope at least some of what I said you'll find useful,” Rhys says, beginning to wander backward towards the door.

His arm finds the curve of his mate's waist like a magnet and a new emotion surfaces within you, tinged green. She steps back through the gilded doors first, waiting just inside for him.

“But more than that,” Rhys says, hovering on the doorstep. “I hope you’ll get some good sleep.”

He turns and disappears down the hallway, following his star into the darkness of the house. You watch them both go.

Somehow, you think he really means it.

—

Azriel's shadows appear to lose their penchant for mischief overnight.

Which naturally means there’s a healthy dose of suspicion that brews in his mind. As Azriel walks towards the training ring, he eyes the unusually calm blackened spirits. Gone is their frantic energy and instead, they laze about, content to curl up around his shoulders today.

Suspicious indeed. Azriel makes a mental note as he casts a glance out of the windows carved out of the mountain rock.

It's dusk. Night lingers, waiting to drape itself across Velaris in a glossy, inky blanket. Twinkles of light begins to burst forward in the darkness. For all the sour reasons he's making himself train at night, Azriel has to admit it has some perks too.

Like they do most days, his thoughts drift to you.

There's a slight hitch on the thread between you and Azriel and he feels his wings give a little involuntary shudder in response. Thanks to his pestering shadows, he's still being fed little updates about your whereabouts and wellbeing — still a perfect torture.

But you've graduated to training with Cassian.

No longer just cautious friends, no, you're standing up and fighting against him, as you had done with Azriel all those months ago. It had been another morsel of information dropped in his ear by his shadows that made him stumble in his motions.

He had hardly given you a choice, back in Exordor. Azriel remembers it now with a wince, wishing in hindsight that he had been kinder. He had exposed your secret of helping the girls in the camp, infiltrated your home, and all but enforced it on you.

It came from good intentions but if he knew what he knew now, he'd do it differently.

There's... lots of things he'd do differently.

But, with the past set in stone, it didn't matter. Cassian was about choice. Rhys was about choice — and Azriel knew there was no way either of them would've gone near you without your permission, let alone engage in combat.

Besides, he's fairly certain that his brothers were aware of how Azriel would tear them limb from limb if they threatened his mate in any shape or form.

Mate.

The word is still fresh on his tongue and Azriel has to swallow thickly around it, feeling clunky and wrong in his mouth. It doesn't feel as though he's truly earned it yet.

Funny how he spent so many years waiting for one, yearning for his mate, aching for the other half of his heart.

To now be here — travelling through the House of Wind during the evening, to keep his distance from you.

There's another hitch on the tie that binds you and Azriel raises a scarred hand to brush his knuckles along the tender ache in his chest.

He wasn't sure what the little tugs and pulls throughout the day meant. He wasn't sure if it was him or you that was responsible for them.

Even if it feels like a daydream more than anything, he lets himself pretend it means you're thinking of him.

"Give it time," He murmurs to himself, his voice a raspy whisper.

It was Rhys' advice, given to him after that last meeting on the balcony. Give it time. It's what you deserve, what he owes to you.

It doesn't mean it doesn't still sting.

His eyes track the tiles on the floor as he rolls his shoulders back, already preparing for the next couple hours spent training. He can hear the sounds of Cassian out in the ring already, the scuff of his boots against the hard ground.

"Give it time," Azriel urges himself again, under his breath, willing the words to give him some more of his desperately lacking patience. He steps down onto the balcony.

Then, he promptly freezes, because it becomes rapidly apparent that Cassian is not alone.

You... You're there.

In the ring, your wings stretched out in the lowlight of the rising moon, your face relaxed in a way he'd nearly forgotten.

Mother, he’d already thought you were the most beautiful Fae he’d ever laid his eyes on, even back in Exordor, but one short month in Velaris has transformed you.

You had always been strong—your muscles wiry and slender, but hardened. Not having to guess when your next meal is, sleeping with both eyes closed… the effects of being cared for is magnanimous on you. You look better.

To Azriel, you glow.

Then your head towards him and the easy expression of your face shifts to something he desperately wants to be able to read. Cassian has noticed his entrance too, hovering just behind you, but there’s nothing Azriel can look at other than you.

Your eyes meet his.

Stretched out between you, invisible and humming like a live-wire, the mating bond gives a pang.

Azriel feels it burrow beneath his skin, feels it through every nerve and even though he doesn’t deserve it, his heart still croaks forlornly tell me, tell me you feel it too.

The corner of your mouth tugs up and it takes Azriel a whole moment to realise it's almost a smile. Directed at him. Is he still sleeping? Is this some wondrous dream he wishes to never wake from?

He murmurs your name, his voice as rough as a thunderstorm.

"Az," Cassian responds instead and Azriel's hazel eyes snap up to his brother.

He's still frozen in place, paused on the edge of the balcony, even his wings stilled. The only movement is his rapid shadows, bursting forward and reeling themselves back in, like they want to cross the space but know they're not allowed to.

When Azriel doesn't say anything for a long moment, his name is spoken again, this time from you.

Gods, even your voice has changed ever-so-slightly. No longer are you straining it, leaning into the lower tones to sell your façade. There's a softness to it that hadn't been there before.

Azriel thinks he could drink the way you say his name, get drunk on it, and be merry forever.

He still can't move. Did you know he was training here during the evenings? Is that why you're here? Is this some forced intervention for the two of you, set up by his scheming brother?

His body sways forward, wanting, but he can't bring himself to move.

You step forward first instead, treading lightly til you stand before him. In the background, he can see Cassian turn and busy himself, evidently giving the two of you some time.

"Azriel," You say his name again — and it goes down like a shot of moonshine, burning fiercely, warming him from the inside.

He's still taller than you, forcing you to tilt your head back to face him properly and at this angle, he can see the sheen of moonlight reflected in your eyes. You’re utterly beautiful to him, furrowed brow and all.

His beautiful mate— and he left you.

Left you to be taken, to have your wings pinned down, to have their hatred carved into the scars on your spine.

And he left you to think he was right to do so.

Agony, like nothing he’s felt before, rips through him, a fierce hurricane, violent and betrayed. He will never forgive himself.

"I'm sorry." He says earnestly, his voice low but not quiet. The words burst out and he can’t contain them - not when it’s all he’s wanted to say to you these past weeks.

"Leaving you behind—”

There’s an audible shudder in his breath, his eyes fluttering as if admitting his mistake aloud causes him physical pain.

“It will never stop being the regret that haunts my every waking moment and every moment asleep.”

“Azriel—” You murmur, seeing just how deeply he cuts himself with his words. You can tell now that Cassian is right; the soldier before you would punish himself far longer than you ever deigned to.

“Please,” He cuts you off gently, swaying forward again and forcing himself to have restraint. His shadows barely obey, mere inches from you.

“Let me-” His voice is almost a whisper, his hands curling into loose fists before he releases them with a soft sigh. “I will spend every day of my life making it up to you, if you allow me to.”

For a long moment, you stare up at him, searching his eyes for something he doesn’t know. The bond between you thrums quietly behind his ribs.

“I know you will.” you simply say.

Not assuming but… understanding. As if your picture of him is suddenly clearer.

“But either way, I forgive you.”

The air in his lungs disappears, like a punch to his gut. Even as his face barely shifts, well-trained after centuries, his shadows betray him, exploding into a frenzy.

They dart forward, bating into your arms and neck with enough speed to surprise you, but your response is only a puff of air, almost a laugh. The edges of your mouth turn up. Azriel scowls at them, a flustered hue rising to his cheeks.

“…Why?”

You don’t seem surprised by his question, even though the moment it leaves him mouth, Azriel wants to stuff it back in. Who is he to question your forgiveness?

You take a weary breath in and for the first time, break eye contact, casting your to the ground.

“You… You made a mistake. You know that now.” Your eyes flash up to meet his. “You also came back. I think that’s maybe just as important.”

Azriel blinks, more surprise rearing up within him.

How are you so calm, so levelheaded? Where is the angry warrior forged in icy heart of the Illyrian Mountains? The ones who fight first and ask questions never?

Forgiveness, Azriel knows, is not a concept among Illyrian warriors.

His eyes glance up to the other occupant of the balcony. You surely can’t have got it from hanging around with Cassian, of all people. Hot-headed, easy to anger, grudge holder for all eternity Cassian?

Perhaps, Azriel thinks, he doesn’t give his brother enough credit.

“Besides, I also can only hope I’m treated with the same kindness when I make my next mistake.”

Your words soften him. As Azriel swallows the lump in his throat, he finds it in himself to take the forgiveness as easily as you’ve offered it to him.

He nods, then draws his hand from his side and holds it out, “I would hope then, that you wouldn’t mind starting over. As friends?”

Not allies, companions, or teachers.

You put your hand in his, setting the bond twanging between you, and nod. This time, when your lips curl up, it’s in a real, genuine smile. It’s small, but there — and it’s for him.

Azriel could probably fight the moon at this point.

“Friends.”

“You guys done over there? Friends yet?” Cassian calls out callously, having heard almost every word and trampling over the moment without regret. You drop Azriel's hand quickly, turning back with a somewhat flustered expression.

Azriel narrows his eyes at him and Cassian grins deviously in response.

“Great. Does this mean we can all go back to training together in the morning?” Cassian tilts his head to you, gesturing. “She’s been putting through the wringer. I think it’s your turn.”

The words make you grin fiercely and suddenly, Azriel finds he has no trouble with that idea in the slightest.

—

The trio of you train into the twilight, even with the agreement of tomorrow’s early training.

Like an old habit, you fall back into sync with Azriel so easily it’s nearly scary. While your training with Cassian has been about teaching you a variety of new techniques, with you and Azriel it’s always been one on one.

Tonight is no different. Squaring against him in the ring, your new strength and arsenal of moves makes you an equal match. No longer are you trailing behind by one second, stuck on the defence.

Steel of swords clash and you bare your teeth in delight. Just months ago, you were still like an apprentice to him.

Now, you hold your own, new scars and all. You’ve adapted to change in your wings and when you fight with Azriel, it’s fluid. It's a dance.

It also exhausts you like nothing else. When Cassian finally calls it, the fight unwon by either of you after nearly ten constant minutes, you feel tired in a way you haven’t in an age.

It feels good. You’d almost feel bad at Cassian’s exclusion if he wasn’t grinning as widely as you. The sight doesn't jar you but the realisation that it’s happiness for you does. You're still not used to having people in your corner.

As you pant and step out of the ring, Azriel speaks your name.

“May I walk you to your room?” He asks, still panting lightly. The nod in reply comes easily.

Azriel smiles, one of his real ones, teeth and all. His canines are sharper, giving him an almost fanged grin. You’ve never seen that smile before, as eased and relaxed as it is.

You wonder for a moment how much the Azriel you met in the mountains, the colder and harsher version, is the real one.

Here, in his home, you can see that every corner of him is softened.

And then whatever you’re thinking is wiped in an instant as he pulls his black training shirt to wipe the sweat from his face—revealing his glistening, tanned and toned stomach that ripples with every breath.

Cauldron. A heat you’ve never felt quite before burns through you, like a paper going up in flames.

Something strung between your ribs stings in the most perfect way. You feel your lips part instinctively, your heartbeat suddenly louder than it was a moment ago.

Smothering the feeling, you make sure to school your features into something neutral, your open mouth snapping shut.

You have no idea what expression you’d made but you don’t doubt it’ll be something Cassian can laugh at. A quick glance at the male shows you’ve gotten away with it this time.

Turning, you pad across to the weapons rack and lay your broadsword to rest, waiting for Azriel to do the same. He sheathes the sword with ease and then tilts his head towards the doors.

Together, you bid your friend adieu. Something glimmers in Cassian’s responding smile, his dark eyes watching you with a look that tells you he knows more than he says. You don’t give any reaction, not wanting to encourage him.

Besides, you’ve learnt that Cassian has that expression most of the time. You've just grown use to putting him on his ass afterwards though.

Instead, you turn and face the other warrior on the rooftop. He's watching you closely, his shadows, which had been banished during your fight, back and lingering around him in a relaxed way.

You lead the way. He follows. Neither of you speak.

It's something timid and new, trying out your friendship again. Despite how easy it was to fall back into fighting with him, you have to admit that your fragile friendship back in Exordor was founded on your lie.

He didn't know who you were, even if you did share many quiet evenings in your cabin. The ground you're starting on is new.

The quiet walk seems just the way to begin.

Something stirs in your chest, almost akin to a purr, warm and welcoming as you walk. Your arm brushes against Azriel several times on the walk, each time setting off a flare beneath your skin. You're too busy watching your feet to notice the fervent glances Azriel can't resist stealing.

You arrive at your room what feels like far too soon.

As you raise your hand to the knob, the silence continues, broken only when you begin to turn it.

"I wanted to say thank you," Azriel says, the words rushing out of his mouth. It makes you pause in your motions. You look back at him.

He seems hesitant but sincere, as though he feared bringing up your forgiveness in case you decided to revoke it.

His hazel eyes dart away, breaking contact briefly, before he clears his throat and meets your eyes. "For allowing me a second chance."

"You know Azriel," You say, your voice warm in a way he's never heard before. So, so different from the warrior in the mountains, in all the best ways, he thinks.

"I think you've been giving me a second chance from the first day we met."

Then, you bid him goodnight and slip into your room quietly.

Exhaustion drags you down to your pile of blankets and sleep is swift to claim you, not even giving you a moment to fixate on the tenderness of Azriel's last smile.

That night, for the first time since you've arrived in Velaris, you sleep the whole night through.

[NEXT PART: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)]

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[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”  

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

[00valentina-writes00]

OKAY! I legit love your fics so so much! How about ambessa x pregnant reader. Let’s just pretend woman can get woman pregnant (dream) okay so reader gets injured and Ambessa becomes extremely protective of her after it! Super fluff!!! :3

✞⛧Guarding What’s Most Precious✞⛧

Warnings: Pregnancy, injury, protective behavior

Word count: 1.4k

The day had started off like any other. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, casting the world in a muted light. The air was thick with the scent of rain, but you weren’t bothered. You had become used to the dampness, the cool air, and the unpredictable weather that accompanied living in such a place. It was the kind of day where you could wrap yourself in warmth and quiet, and maybe even doze off next to the hearth, with your wife’s strong arms around you.

You hadn’t expected the day to take the turn it did.

You and Ambessa had decided to spend the morning walking through the grounds, where the soldiers were training, taking in the crisp air and the sight of the ongoing drills. Ambessa had been as commanding as ever, her presence towering over everyone else as she observed and offered advice. You, on the other hand, had been content to stand back and watch, keeping distance between you and the exertion around you. After all, you were pregnant now, and while you were still as independent as ever, the changes in your body required a slower pace.

But then, everything had gone wrong in the blink of an eye.

You’d been distracted, watching one of the soldiers execute a particularly difficult move, when you felt a sharp pain in your side. A soldier, unaware of your presence, had stumbled backward into you while trying to avoid a particularly powerful strike. The impact sent you tumbling, your feet slipping out from beneath you as you lost your balance.

It had all happened so fast—one moment you were watching the training, and the next, you were crumpled on the ground with a searing pain in your abdomen. You gasped, clutching your side, but it wasn’t the pain itself that had caused the wave of panic to rush through you. It was the sudden realization that you were carrying the life of your child, and the thought that you might have harmed them sent a chill of fear straight through your chest.

Before you could even think to get up, Ambessa was by your side, her towering figure casting a shadow over you. Her golden eyes were wide with panic, her usual calm demeanor shattered.

“Stay still,” she commanded, her voice trembling despite the authority it always held. She knelt beside you, her strong hands carefully cupping your face, her touch unusually gentle. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”

Your breath was shallow, heart racing as you clutched at your side, the pain still a sharp reminder of what had just happened. “It’s… it’s just my side. I think I… I just lost my balance.”

Ambessa’s gaze flickered down to your stomach, a protective, possessive streak flashing in her eyes as she placed a hand over your abdomen. “And the baby?”

You nodded quickly, trying to calm her. “The baby’s fine. I think it’s just a shock to my system.”

Her expression softened ever so slightly, though it was clear she was still very much on edge. Without a word, she carefully scooped you into her arms, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. She was surprisingly gentle, her muscles rippling beneath your touch as she carried you away from the scene of the accident.

Ambessa’s mind raced, her thoughts consumed with the safety of you and the baby. She had always been fierce and protective, but something about the thought of you—carrying her child—being hurt in any way made her instincts go into overdrive. It was as if her heart couldn’t handle it.

“Let’s get you inside, where it’s safe,” Ambessa said, her voice low, but still laced with tension. She was no longer the calm and composed General—now, she was simply a woman who loved you and was terrified of losing you.

She carried you straight to the medical wing, her steps long and purposeful as she moved quickly, but with care. Her grip on you never wavered, and the way she held you against her chest reminded you of just how much she cared—just how fiercely she would protect you.

Once inside, Ambessa wasted no time, placing you on the nearest bed and calling for the physician to attend to you. Her movements were swift, but her eyes were constantly on you, ensuring that you were okay, that nothing had happened to the baby. The physician, a calm and experienced woman, moved swiftly to examine you, checking your pulse and your side.

The examination was thorough, but all you could focus on was Ambessa, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her brow furrowed in concern. Her posture was rigid, as though she was bracing herself for something, and the moment the physician moved to check your abdomen, Ambessa’s eyes never left you.

When the physician finally gave the all-clear, saying that everything seemed to be fine and that you just needed to rest, Ambessa’s posture visibly relaxed, though she still didn’t approach you immediately. She remained standing in her place for a moment, her breathing still a little erratic, her chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension she’d been holding.

“Ambessa,” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Please… come sit with me.”

Her eyes flickered over to you, and for a moment, she hesitated. But then, as if her concern for you was too overwhelming to resist, she moved toward you, her heavy boots thudding softly against the floor as she approached. She gently placed a hand on the bed, leaning over you, her gaze softening as she studied your face.

“I should have been paying more attention,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with regret. “I let my guard down. I should have kept you away from the training grounds.”

You reached up, cupping her cheek in your hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Ambessa. I’m the one who got distracted, remember?” You offered her a small smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her chest. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

But even as you said those words, you knew it wasn’t that simple. Ambessa’s protectiveness wasn’t something that could be easily calmed. It was in her nature to shield you from harm, especially when you were carrying her child.

She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to yours. “I’ll never stop worrying about you. About both of you.” Her hand rested softly on your belly, and for a long moment, she just stood there, silent, feeling the warmth of the life inside you.

Your heart fluttered at her words, the sincerity behind them making you feel even more loved than you already did. You could feel the love radiating off her, the deep bond you shared.

Ambessa pulled back just slightly, her gaze dropping to your stomach. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life,” she admitted softly. “But I’d never let anything happen to either of you.”

You could see the fierce determination in her eyes, the same fire that had led her to command armies and conquer battlefields. But now, that fire was directed solely at protecting you—protecting your family.

You placed your hand over hers, gently squeezing it. “I know. And I love you for it.”

Ambessa’s lips softened into a small smile, though her eyes remained intense with the love and protectiveness she felt for you. “I’m sorry if I seem overbearing,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But I’ll always be here. I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”

You smiled up at her, your heart swelling with affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As Ambessa settled beside you, her large frame effortlessly fitting against your smaller one, you let out a sigh of contentment. She wrapped her strong arms around you, pulling you close as if she were trying to shield you from the world.

“You’re everything to me,” she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You and our child are everything.”

And in that moment, wrapped in her embrace, you knew that you were safe. No matter what the world threw your way, Ambessa would always be there to protect you. To protect both of you.

[honeykaes]

masked fantasy

slasher!lyney x reader II 2.8k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, modern au, implied!yandere, implied murder, fingering, cunnilingus, use of toys, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, praise pussydrunk!lyney, established relationship, gaslighting/manipulation, mention of blood, unedited

synopsis: you've been on edge lately seeing news report after news report of people killed by a masked pierrot serial killer, targeting people you seemed to vaguely know. your boyfriend, lyney, insists you drop it and focus on him instead to try to get your mind off of things. you listen, but something in the pit of your stomach continues to nag at you.

Gloomy clouds above hid the stars and the moonlight above. Rain loudly padded against the windows, a small waterfall streaming down it. You snuggled into your blanket further on the couch in an attempt to knock the chill away from the living room. A sigh emitted from your lips watching the 6:00 p.m. news report of yet another murder in your town from a masked serial killer. This wouldn’t very unique to some; however, you began to notice a pattern 

The media and detectives have deemed him the Pierrot—a serial killer who dons a French Carnival-Style Jester mask. Reports from the police said he’s still at large and seemed to be killing indiscriminately, but you knew a little better. The photos of the victims all shared one thing in common with you, you had vaguely known them in the past. 

One was an old high school classmate, another was a teacher's assistant who once assisted your professors in college, another was a barista worker from a cafe you sometimes go to, even old childhood friends you haven’t spoken to for years. You wanted to chalk it up to a weird coincidence but the pit in your stomach churned, discouraging you to relax. 

You worry whoever this masked killer was, he was working his way to you.

Thunder suddenly boomed in the sky, causing your body to jolt from the noise. You let out a sigh; the stress seemed to finally be getting to you. 

Your boyfriend walked in, an amused but concerned smile on his face. You and Lyney had been dating for a while now, meeting in college when you decided to study abroad in France. Eventually, you moved into his place that he shared with his two siblings—his twin sister Lynette and his adoptive younger brother Freminet. 

Things were great with Lyney. He was doting, caring, and amusing as well. He made you happy; he felt real. He was someone you could imagine marrying maybe in a year or two.

“You alright? You seem a bit jumpy today,” he hummed, handing you a mug of hot chocolate. The aroma of the milk chocolate made your mouth water as marshmallows floated on top. You flash a small smile, taking the mug for him and taking a sip—hoping the warm liquid would coax your anxiety.

“Honestly, not really. The whole Pierrot serial killer thing has been really bothering me lately. I vaguely know the victims, albeit there aren’t people I know like that or associate myself with now. But, still! I recognize them,” you sighed, looking at the reflection of your mug. Lyney’s face slightly softened at your confession.

“...I’m scared that the killers are actually targeting me. Like this is some fucked up mind game or whatever. I’m scared it’ll also mean the people that I currently care about are in danger too. …like you,” you muttered. Lyney chuckled slightly before you looked up at him and narrowed your eyes. He covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, murmuring apologies as he tried to calm down.

“Darling, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Besides, you have your amazing, attentive, loveable, strong boyfriend here to help. I’m here to protect both you and my siblings,” he chimed, leaning in to peck your forehead. You side-eye the man as he plopped down next to you on the couch, placing his mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. He grabbed some of the blankets covering your lower body, getting in close to cover his form as well. Your thighs and sides pressed together as he smiled.

“I don’t know if a shortie like you will be able to fight off a psychopath,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Slight annoyance flashed through Lyney’s amethyst eyes as he pouted.

“You’d be surprised…” he muttered. You chuckled once more before leaning in to kiss Lyney’s plush cheek as his eyes softened in affection. 

“Well, let’s just lighten the mood. We were going to watch Halloween special shows after all,” Lyney chimed, leaning over to grab the remote and change the television. That was right, today was supposed to be your date night. Freminet was having a sleepover with some of his friends and Lynette, begrudgingly, went out to give you two some space.

You felt Lyney’s hands underneath the blanket stroke against your thigh. At first, it was his thumb, before his whole hand slowly crept up and down. You gazed flickered to his that were glued to the television screen, albeit they were half-lidded and a smirk fell on his now rosy face.

“Well, aren’t you a bit touchy,”  you murmured.

“Oh, am I? I didn’t seem to notice,” he hummed back, turning his gaze towards you. As he leaned in close—lips hovering by your own—a cell phone rang loudly. Your body jolted up once more, not expecting the sudden noise as anxiety shot throughout your entire body. Lyney flashed a sympathetic smile as a soft chuckle echoed out. He padded your thigh to try to comfort you, reaching out to grab his phone that was ringing out.

“We got to get you to relax, mon amour,” he murmured. He got up from his seat, walking away from your form. 

Guilt gnawed on your body. You felt bad for being so anxious lately from this serial killer like your body is completely on edge as if you were a rabbit in the den of wolves, but you shouldn’t.

“I’m in my home. I am with my loving boyfriend. I am okay, I am safe,” you whispered out to yourself. Eventually, Lyney walked back in, and settled back to his spot on the couch.

“That was Lynette. She said that she would be coming home around midnight. It gives us plenty of time if you want this that is,” he stated, letting his hands trail across your thighs. You smiled, placing your hands on his cheeks. The corners of his lips curved up, leaning his head against your touch.

“I think a distraction would be good for me,” you whispered. His nose brushed against yours, lips hovering to where they once were before the interruption.

“Then forget all your troubles and leave everything to me…”

His lips finally found themselves to your own and you brought him closer to you. Your legs widened as his knees sank against the cushion of the couch to lean to you, deepening the kiss. Your hand reached over, softly grazing the crotch of his pants feeling his half-hardened cock pressing against his jeans. A soft moan escapes his lips, still connecting with yours before he parts away, and trails them along the nape of your neck.

“We…need to go to the bedroom,” Lyney groaned, continuing to kiss down your neck and nibble at the sensitive skin. Your body shivered, and you bit your lip to hide the smile creeping on your face.

“Oh, but you’re the one who has me pinned down here,” you reminded. With a grunt and pout, Lyney leaned back up, grabbed your hand, and found his way to your lips once more. The two of you bumped into walls—taking each other’s clothing off, leaving a trail to your shared bedroom. Lyney pushed you down on the bed as he slowly crawled on top of you with a mischievous smile.

“You seem so eager now. What’s the difference, chérie?” he hummed, dragging his lips across your thighs. His hands squeezed at your thighs as his lips finally trailed along the plush flesh. His hand reached to cup your cunt earning a soft moan from you as he nipped at your thighs. 

“You seemed to be a great distraction, I guess,” you whined, grinding your core into his hand to encourage him to stop teasing you. Lyney playfully rolled his eyes, letting his two longest fingers sink inside your cunt, drilling them to precision and skill.

“‘I guess’” he mocked. “You, out of anyone, should know I’m more than just a ‘guess’. You know how well you enjoy passing the time with my fingers deep inside of you like this…or my mouth…or my cock. As he continued to plunge his fingers deeper inside of you, feeling your walls flutter, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding against the bed to try to get some friction on his throbbing clothed cock.

He soon learned near your drooling core, globs of your slick clinging against the fingers plunging inside of you.

“But, it’s fine. I’ll ensure you’ll think of me and nothing else. Just me and only me,” he stated. He finally pressed his lips against your clit as your body jolted in delight. Your hands dug into his soft ash-blond hair, pulling him in even deeper as his chuckles reverberated against the nub. He darted his tongue out, beginning to slowly swirl circles along the perimeter of it before letting his tongue flick rapidly on the bundle of nerves.

Your body shivered in pleasure, back arched, as Lyney tried to contain his smile, feeling your thighs beginning to press against the cheek of his face. He continued to flick his tongue against your clit before encompassing his lips around it and sucking on it—fingers not wavering and continuing to thrust inside of you.

Lyney lifted your leg against one of his shoulders and he pressed the flat of his tongue against the nub, offering a few gentle licks on it before he shifted back to suck on it. You writhed underneath him, as his blunt nails dug into your hips to try to prevent you from moving too much. The sinful sounds of slouching echoed out in the bedroom, your cheeks hot feeling overwhelmed by the attention and meticulous touch of both his mouth and fingers.

“Lyney, oh fuck. Please, please…!” you begged out. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arched once more—quivering—as you finally reached your high. His breath is heavy, letting your leg fall back down on the bed, leaning up to watch your pussy convulsed against nothing. His lower mouth glistened in your arousal as he licked his lips to clean up what slick clung onto there. The sweet taste of it was enough to make Lyney grin, watching your tired form trying to recover from your climax. 

He leaned down against your side, feeling his hard and pulsating cock against the soft globes of your ass. He grabbed a handful of the globe, letting his cock slide between your thighs and slit a few times. As he made contact with your overstimulated clit you jolted and a soft whine emitted from you. Lyney laughed, tapping his tip against it a few times before he finally let himself slowly plunge inside of you. 

As Lyney slowly sank deeper, He moved his mouth to your neck, groaning loudly, feeling your walls pulsating. When he finally bottomed out, his lips softly kissed your neck before rutting into you. The sound of slapping skin was loud inside the room and the smell of sweat wafted throughout it too. Lyney continued to nibble at your neck, admiring the bruises and hickies he decorated on the skin. His groaning got louder as he sucked a breath in, feeling your walls beginning to cave and tighten. 

“Fuck,” Lyney moaned out loudly. You gasped as you felt him move and shift your body. Your ass hung in the air, as your head said laying on the pillows. His nails harpoon against your ass, drilling himself even deeper inside of you. As he continued to rut inside of you, he leaned down and kissed your back, groaning once more. He could feel your walls continuing to cave in, making it harder for him to control his thrusts and not lose himself too much in the pleasure.

He suddenly slipped out, cock quivering as he took a few breaths to try to control himself from climaxing. As he softly sighed, moving past it, he opened his eyes and admired your widening hole drooling out. 

“W-What are you…” you asked, softly before Lyney pressed a finger to his lips. He reached over to the nightstand, rummaging through it. You thought he was looking for a condom, but your eyes widened seeing him pull out a small bullet vibrator instead. He held down the button on the side as the contraption began to vibrate erratically in the palm of his hands.

“I think keeping you on your toes would be best for tonight. Besides, I haven’t heard you use this before when I’m in the shower,” he chuckled as you bit your lip in embarrassment. He slid his cock back inside of you, before snaking his hand around and pressing the erratically moving vibrator against your overstimulated clit. You cried out his name, his thrusts deep and rapid. The whole bed creaked to his fast strokes, Lyney’s breaths getting heavier as he repeated your name in a slurred way as if your cunt had made him drunk.

“There…there…there…that’s right,” Lyney moaned out. You covered your face feeling tears begin to prick out as the pleasure and burn of overstimulation settled in. You shout his name, body convulsing as you reach your high for the second time tonight, writhing for what it seemed like hours beneath him. 

In a dazed form, you felt Lyney flip you over admiring your absolute fucked-out form, quickly turning the vibrator off and throwing it across the bed. He continued to plunge himself inside of you. His eyes admire your chest bouncing to the fast pace of his thrusts. His cheeks were flushed and his voice whining, grunting, and groaning your name. You could barely focus on anything, your legs instinctively moved and wrapped against his small waist.

“I love you. I love you. Je t’aimerai toujours. Je n’aime que toi!” Lyney moaned out. He leaned his head back, snapping his eyes shut as he finally reached his high. His hips continued to bug, thrusting the ropes of cums deeper inside of you. He bit his lip as another soft moan emitted from him, taking heavy breaths before looking down at you. 

He smiled, wiping away the tears pricking your eyes, speaking softly, and whispered in his mother tongue affection gestures to make sure you were alright. He placed his forehead against your own seeing you slowly come back from your senses, eyes completely tired but your form relaxed. There wasn’t an inch of tension he could see that you had before.

Lyney brought his lips down against your own, offering a slower and more sensual kiss.

“You know I’d do anything, absolutely anything for you. I love you so much it hurts,” he whispered. You smiled, pecking his forehead as he slowly pulled himself out of you. Soon globs of his cum began dribbling from your cunt and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Your eyes drift to the clock; Lynette will be coming home soon. You two needed to clean up and shower to avoid any unnecessary awkward conversations.

You finally closed your legs, moving to get up from the bed you accidentally hit the vibrator down as it fell to the floor. You sighed as you got up, your legs wobbly as you tried to readjust yourself.

“W-Wait! Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it and change the sheets. You just go clean up in the bathroom. If you need help just tell me, but I don’t want you to fall!” Lyney suddenly murmured. He seemed oddly on edge suddenly. You shrugged, leaning down to pick the toy up.

“It’s fine, it’s just right here. I can take…care of it….” your voice trailed off. Your eyes catch something odd under the bed. You reached to grab it, revealing that same Jester mask you saw on the news report from earlier. Parts of it seemed more damaged and cracked than the rendering the broadcast had, with a particular smudge with a dark red substance splattered on it.

Dried blood. 

You look up in horror to gaze back at Lyney. His eyes, which you always knew were sweet and kind, looked back to you with more of a darker twist—his lips cemented in a frown. 

“I told you to drop it, didn’t I…?” he sighed. You felt frozen in shock and fear as Lyney moved from the top of the bed to join you on the floor. His eyes, still twirled with that dark emotion you couldn’t read well, but his gaze softened. His lips curled up in a smile, you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was just trying to comfort you from the revelation.

He dragged his thumb against your cheek, wiping away the tears that cascaded down. You didn’t notice you were crying.

“....Because sometimes we prefer the fantasy than the truth darling.”

[withleeknow]

seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.04.2024]

[dreameyess11]

Good father

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Anakin Skywalker stood by the window, looking out into the starry expanse of space. The distant stars twinkled like tiny pinpoints of hope. But in his heart, a storm raged. His past was a web of regret, pain, and loss, but now the future loomed before him with hope. Two little lives. Two precious twins. Luke and Leia.

The faint sound of their soft cries drifted in from the other room. Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the sound with a tenderness that surprised even him. He wasn't used to that kind of love, the pure, unwavering devotion a father felt for his children. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he'd held them in his arms, their tiny faces wrinkled in confusion and wonder. They were perfect, a reflection of his redemption, and yet he felt unworthy of them.

As the days passed, Anakin found himself struggling with the idea of fatherhood. His life as a Jedi had never prepared him for this—he had been trained to fight, to serve, to protect, but never to care. Yet there he was, standing on the threshold of a new beginning, wanting to be the best father he could be.

He heard footsteps behind him. A soft, warm presence enveloped him like a comforting blanket. Anakin turned to find her standing there—his wife, his mate, his love. The woman who had helped him find the light again.

You smiled, your eyes filled with quiet strength. “They’re hungry,” you said softly.

Anakin nodded, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I want to help… but I’m not sure how.”

You walked to his side, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re already doing that,” you assured him. “Just by being here, by wanting to be involved, you’re already showing them how much you care about them.”

He smiled, grateful for your words, though doubts still lingered in his heart. They had always shared a deep connection, one that had been forged in both passion and struggle. But now they were parents, and there was no guide to tell him what to do. He could feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but there was something else, too, something more powerful than the fear that had once controlled him. It was love.

As they entered the nursery, Anakin took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his son’s blanket. Luke’s small hand curled around his finger, and the world seemed to slow down, leaving only the warmth of that small hand. Leia, wrapped up next to her brother, looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Anakin admitted quietly, his voice filled with vulnerability. “But I want to try. I want to be a good father to them.”

You stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You already are. They will grow up knowing your love, your strength, and your heart. That is all they need.”

Anakin nodded, feeling the weight of your words settle in his chest. It wasn’t about being perfect, it was about being there, showing up every day, even when doubts clouded his mind. He had once feared his own ability to love, thinking it was a weakness that would destroy him. But now, with Luke and Leia in his arms, he realized it was his greatest strength.

The sound of the twins’ cries soon filled the room again, and Anakin smiled softly, his heart filling with tenderness. He was no longer the young Jedi who had once struggled to control his emotions. He had learned that love, in its purest form, was not something to be feared, it was something to be embraced.

Together, they cared for their children that night, and in every tender touch and every glance shared between them, Anakin knew that this was where he belonged. He was no longer alone. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to truly be a father.