#apple rain song

[voca-song-a-day]

Today's featured song is: "Apple Rain" by Kangaeru Daizu feat. Hatsune Miku!

[millipedegf]

sludge factory ... incredibly underrated from aic's discography imo ...

[pebblezone]

Rise and shine babes I’m making this everyone’s problem 💞

[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.

[lvfstvl]

as long as you keep your windows down, the song that's playing, i don't mind the rain. then we drove down to where the road wouldn't reach and we waited out the storm under a tree by the beach. found a place to stay, just a bunk for cheap then she dissolved like a cloud and it was just me. 🌴💿 hawaii mustang — connor kelly & the time warp

///// if he’s got good taste in music, i’m in 

__________________

PLAYLiST: free district

💿☆ listen now on  SPOTiFY | APPLE MUSiC | SOUNDCLOUD

[marsprincess889]

Basic themes of nakshatras

May edit this later, this is as far as I understand and have observed them, and I think it's pretty nice to see them simply.

Ashwini:

Newness, freshness, the unmanifest, speed, energy, vitality, instinct, healing, fast healing, unlimited energy, self-expression, selfishness, blocking outside noise, trusting yourself, self-empowerment, unfiltered actions.

Things that remind me of Ashwini: bees, the sun, horses, two white horses, golden deserts, horses gallopping, honey, long hair flying in the wind, apples.

Bharani:

Love, death, sex, the female, the feminine, limitations, the material, fate, destiny, coming into the body, struggling against limitations, struggling against fate, mind trapped in its own hell because of the inevitable, dealing with the harshness of life, harshness of mothers and mother nature, the hierarchy, privileges and deprivations, desire, going after your true desire, the immortality of the soul, adapting to changes, passion, tragic love, bravery, facing the truth, choicelessness, nessecity, revenge, violence, gatekeeping, reduction, denial of access, conquering your fate, everlasting beauty, immortality, eternal love.

Things that remind me of Bharani: hot pink and black, darkness, roses, the yoni, gateways, keyholes, caverns, boats, rivers, the damsel in distress, fantasy, high fantasy.

Krittika:

Adam, the main character, naming things, language, rationality, precision, sharpness, criticism, the poet, the "it" person, simplicity, cleanliness, expressing oneself, selectivity, the heat, the knowledge, the light, masculine ideals, stoicism.

Things that remind me of Krittika: knives, razors, lighers, sparks, fire, hearth, cooking.

Rohini:

Eve, sugar babies, growth, receptivity, enjoyment, pleasure, unrefined, doted on, subconcious, absorbtion, sharing, union, creation, the youngest daughter, naivete, feeling no shame.

Things that remind me of Rohini: sugar, stickiness, sweetness, heaviness, red, pink, flowers, the A.I(lol).

Mrigashira:

Distraction, realization, fickleness, adventure, running away, chasing, the hunt, excitement, softness, pleasure, altering conciousness, magic substances(iykwim), curiosity, fulfillment, insatiability, teasing.

Things that remind me of Mrigashira: silver threads, deer, green forests, green and blue, running in the woods, alcohol, the moon, Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

Ardra:

Disillusion, crying, lamenting, awareness of others, awarness of other's expectations, hyper-awarness of everything, intellect, the rational mind, pressures from society, rebelling against society, anxiety, hunting.

Things that remind me of Ardra: tears, water, storms, technology, teenage angst, emo culture, the rain, sad songs, dogs.

Punarvasu:

Mercy, forgiveness, permission, freedom, flying, expansion, gentleness, regrowing, realigning, returning, home, unconditional love and nurture, celebration, peace, peacefulness, centering oneself, sunlight, warmth, fostering, taking care, being taken care of, luck, unlimited fertile space, shelter, genuine kindness, believing in humanity again, cycles, patterns, seeing the cycles and the patterns, prophecies, the oracle, openness, second (and third, fouth...) chances, a comeback.

Things that remind me of Punarvasu: staying at home, pets, plants, cats, gentle rain, a bow and arrows, a target.

Pushya:

Asceticism, routines, self-restraint, servitude, control, self-control, working, working on yourself, patience, simplicity, striving for perfection, nurturing, nourishment, quiet ambition, symmetry.

Things that remind me of Pushya: milk, milkmaids, country life, milking, symmetry, goats, sheep, agriculture.

Ashlesha:

Manipulation, abuse, poison, emotional abuse, blackmail, resorting to everything for safety, protection, pent up energy, the nervous system, purity, water, sensitivity, cleanliness, energetic build-up, tension, restraint, preservation, self-preservation, virginity, feminine tactics, being "mean" for protection, lying for safety, sensuality, mother issues, agitation.

Things that remind me of Ashlesha: the color white, transparent things, cats, poisoning, snow white, Sofia Coppola films, teenage girlhood, ties, strings, knots, snakes.

Magha:

Royalty, power, ancestry, family trees, history, the past, regality, honoring the past, honoring the elders, honoring the authority, religion, tradition, customs, confidence, ego.

Things that remind me of Magha: crowns, thrones, churches, goth culture, smoke, big hair(like the lion's mane).

Purva Phalguni:

Pleasure, enjoyment, being spoiled as the feminine, loving to spoil as the masculine, procreation, sex, leisure, art, holidays, parties, exclusivity, pride, charisma, sexual dispersion, love as a method of self-expression, admiration, directness, active pursuit of your passions, indulgence.

Things that remind me of Purva Phalguni: fruits, eating fruits topless, rose gold color, the "rizz"(lol), the phallus, dramaticism.

Uttara Phalguni:

Favors from friends, family and partners, contracts, beneficial agreements, the perfect wife, likeability, popularity, friendliness, appearing cool, stoicism, beneficial arrangements, gain through partnerships, self-expression through relationships, wife/girlrfiend material, harvest, family associations, marriage associations.

Things that remind me of Uttara Phalguni: the "chads", simplicity, genuine friends, loyal companions, family business, the perfect male stereotype, the "rich heiress running away" trope, wheat, gold, power couples.

Hasta:

The earth, the veiled feminine, manipulation, denial of access, materialism, cheating, everyday matters, empowerment of women, deception, skill, seeking knowledge, wanting to be in control, activism, street-smarts, manipulation of masses.

Things that remind me of Hasta: the hand, Goddess Persephone, skilled hands, thieves, easy money, fairies, witches, scammers.

Chitra:

Crafting, building, perspective, truth, law, gems, sacrifice for your craft, vanity, stereotypes, aesthetics, the truth in stereotypes, building based on the law and the truth, the surface of things, the appearance of things, the substance reflected in the vessel, gossip, cliques, tricks.

Things that remind me of Chitra: the god Hephestos, martian gods in general, jewelry, fashion, make-up, drama, pettiness, the coquette aesthetic, pranksters, Olivia Rodrigo(ig).

Swati:

Space, the cosmos, shifting realities, love, rebellion, alternate realities, possibilities, seeing beauty in everything, inspiration, art, the cosmic egg, creation of the world, creation of worlds, microcosm and macrocosm, freedom through love.

Things that remind me of Swati: video games, the wind, plants beggining to sprout, the sword, technology, the Sims.

Vishakha:

The lightning, snapping, splitting, joining opposites, compromise, marriage, repressed anger, repressed aggression, alter egos, passion, enthusiasm, standing up for yourself and others, repression and then expression, energy, love and hate.

Things that remind me of Vishakha: lighning bolts, Zeus, Thor and other lighning gods, superhero "Shazam", celebrations.

Anuradha:

Friendship, devotion, depth, loyalty, unconditional loyalty, bonds, the occult, sex with love, numbers, gatherings, friend groups, groups, gentleness, humbleness, discipline, seriousness, organizing society, social groups.

Things that remind me of Anuradha: the color burgundy, dim lights, bunnies, "Sex Education" (tv show), sci-fi (for some reason), "The Vampire Diaries" (and very similar teen shows), frat boys, cheerleaders.

Jyeshta:

The battlefield, war, hunger, thirst, insatiability, conquering, the underdog, street-smarts, competition, strategy, extreme independence, mind games, the art of war, survival, ruling, rising above, self-reliance, wisdom, becoming the authority, the eldest, dryness, trust issues, enemies, destroying enemies, outsmarting all enemies.

Things that remind me of Jyeshta: grandmothers, owls, eagles, dry places, flags, marching, chess.

Mula:

Horror, the abnormal, the truth, the core, the center, the absorbing darkness, the black hole, the roots, violence against falsehoods, seeking the truth, seeking the cause, seeking roots, uprooting, chaos, from chaos to order, the unchanging truth, taming beasts, holding to your truth.

Things that remind me of Mula: "Phanton of the Opera", "Twilight", final girls, horror movies, dark murky green, the wilderness.

Purva Ashadha:

Art, beauty, alliances, artistry, ideals, fighting for the ideal, discrimination, exclusivity, philosophies about beauty and art, passion for love and art, attachments, secrecy, luxury, vitality, vigor, going for victory.

Things that remind me of Purva Ashadha: the sea, seafoam, goddess Aphrodite, seashells, mermaids, sirens, fans (the ones you hold in your hand lol), Arwen from LotR.

Uttara Ashadha:

Victory, loneliness, individuality, government, empowerment, independence, being looked up to, composed self-expression, ease, simplicity but regality, confidence, self-assuredness, melancholy and hardships of aloneness but contentment, stoicism, invincibility, unapologetic behavior.

Things that remind me of Uttara Ashadha: earnest people, goddess Nike, mint color for some reason.

Shravana:

Connecting everything, secret knowledge, interest in everything, reading between the lines, subconcious access, extreme sensitivity, holding the humanity together, secret agencies, percieving what others can't percieve, saving humanity, navigating, receptivity, mysticism.

Things that remind me of Shravana: Superman, Geralt of Rivia, Aragorn, King arthur, pathways, footprints, ear, color blue, spies, astrology, outcasts, fringe societies.

Dhanishta:

Celebration, celebrities, fame, visibility, aggression, agitation, action, bringing people together, idols, propaganda, wealth from fame, that which attracts attention, public image, benefits and downsides of fame, openness and flashiness, branding, movement.

Things that remind me of Dhanishta: supermodels, Princess Diana, dancing, rhythmic drums.

Shatabhisha:

Complexities, seeing everything, lurking in shadows, holding the knowledge, secrets, secrecy, hiding, technology, innovation, being ahead of your time, advising but manipulating, society, the collective, trends, the conciousness of masses, propaganda.

Things that remind me of Shatabhisha: midnight sky, stars, the seas, water reservoirs, the circle, the all-seeing eye of Sauron(lol), Lord of the Rings, rings, the movie "Stardust" (the book too), the evil advisor/black cardinal trope.

Purva Bhadrapada:

Notoriety, expansion, uncontrolled expansion, persmissiveness, growth to ruin unless restrained, fighting for your soul, the scapegoat, going against society, getting tested, the point of no return.

Things that remind me of Purva Bhadrapada: gangs, famous criminals, laziness, femme fatales, the grotesque, deserts, werewolves, the black sheep.

Uttara Bhadrapada:

Finding grace, hardships, working, inner strength, steeliness, resilience, patience, restraint, contol, self-restraint and self-control, bravery, honesty, stubbornness, fighting for your truth, perfect control, freedom through limitations, seeking a permanent foundation built on truth, working for the foundation, long-term goals, innocence, purity of soul, stillness, refinement, honor and glory.

Things that remind me of Uttara Bhadrapada: butterflies, clouds, baby blue color, Cinderella, warriors, knights, knight orders, ice, coldness, queens, ice-queen, dragons, water dragons, deep waters, deep sea and its creatures, wings.

Revati:

Ultimate freedom, creativity, wisdom, gentleness, compassion, guiding, herding, fun, laughter, mischief, lightnness, ease, finding peace, reaching the end, enjoying what you have, contentment, nurturing, open-mindedness, conclusions, gratefulness, freedom and free will, having choices, diversity, finding the truth, true wealth, parenthood, the guide, guidance, individuation.

Things that remind me of Revati: shepherds, herding, everything easy and light, the tricksters, the fool, jokes, Loki, The Joker, fish, comedy, the movie "A Fish Called Wanda", caring for everyone and everything, light and soft shades of green and blue.

[90s-music-tourney]

[luveline]

Hiii if ur not sick of the fainting requests yet would love on for our bf remus <3

and thank uuu for all ur writing and time <3

thank u sm lovely ♡ fem!reader, 1.1k

cw blood + fainting

"No! That's not what happened, and you know it isn't," Remus says with a laugh big enough to shake his shoulders.

The stomach of his t-shirt is dark with water, splattered by the colander as he rinses the celery he's sliced. 

"It is what happened," you say, peeling the lid back from your plastic container of hummus. "You have a selective memory, Remus." 

He tips the clean celery into a bowl atop carrots shining with wet, his disagreement obvious and entertaining. James did help Remus ask you out the first time, but Remus might not remember it because it was largely done behind his head, James mouthing clearly, My friend thinks you're stunning. 

"Did you cut up any green apples?" you ask. 

They're James' favourite. Tonight, you and Remus are celebrating five months as a couple, but you hadn't realised movie night (pre-negotiated) was the same day until a half hour ago, hence your rushed preparations. You wouldn't be here to celebrate if it weren't for James. He deserves them. 

Having to rush hasn't put a damper on how happy you both are. "No," Remus says, clasping your hand loosely on the way to the fridge. "Did you want to get changed?" 

"We have," —you check your watch, eyes flaring— "about eight minutes until six. Plenty of time." 

Remus laughs at your joking and takes three apples from the fruit and vegetable drawer. You slide in the fridge behind him to eye your drinks selection and start to fret. "You know, I'm gonna put my shoes on and nip to the Spar. We don't have any coke zero for Sirius–" 

"He can get his own coke zero." 

"Then what's the point of hosting? It's only across the road." 

The sound of Remus peeling an apple follows you down the hallway, a quick shush shush shush. You put your fingers at the back of your converse as a makeshift shoe horn and force your foot into it to save time. Your fingertips hurt afterward, but you're ready in less than a minute. Your purse in your back pocket, you shout, "Did you want anything?" 

"Not that I can think– Ow." A sharp hiss. "Fuck." 

You walk briskly back to the kitchen. "What?" 

Remus turns to you with blood dribbling down his arm and you can't remember a thing after that. 

— 

"You've murdered her?" Sirius asks, staring down at Remus with wide-eyed surprise. "I thought you were getting on well." 

"Can you help, please?" he asks. He's using his t-shirt to stem the frankly worrying amount of blood that drips from his cut finger, the pain a stinging but luckily bearable constant. Remus is more concerned by your limp weight in his lap. He's dripped blood onto your sleeve. It's a mess. 

Sirius shoves his bag on the kitchen table and sits down on the floor, easing your head from Remus lap and into his own. "Mate, what the fuck happened?" 

"She fainted when she saw the blood." 

"I thought that only happened on telly?" 

"It's quite real," Remus says, standing up to take care of things. "Can you give her a little shake? I tried tapping her cheek but she didn't feel it." 

Sirius pokes at your eyelids. Remus hates that he's had to relinquish what's clearly a boyfriend duty, but he imagines that if the blood shocked you that badly the first time, it'll get you a second. He's lucky he managed to grab you under the arms before you smashed your head open. 

He washes his arms clean in the sink and wraps a tea towel around his thumb. Swift, he reaches for the first aid kit on top of the cupboard and opens it one handed over the stove top. He puts a plaster on his cut, then a second, like a hat. 

Fully covered, Remus turns around and sighs. There's blood like a spattering of concentrated rain in a line to your prone body. 

Sirius continues to poke at you like a science experiment, but he isn't mean. "Helloooo," he sing-songs, blowing air in your ear. You jump and your eyelashes flutter, and for once, Remus can endorse his friend's antagonising. 

"Hey, there you are," Remus says, kneeling by your head. He helps you up from Sirius thigh, angling your gaze to the hallway rather than the bloody kitchen. "That's never happened before. Do you usually do that?" 

"Do what?" you ask, blinking like you've weights sewn into your eyelids. 

"You fainted," Sirius interjects. "Keep your eyes on Moony, doll. I'll clean up this mess. Consider it my charity for the year." 

"What?" you ask, trying to look around Remus. 

He takes your face into his hands, drawing your gaze. "Do you feel okay? Haven't bruised anything?" 

"No?" 

He nods, relieved. "Come on, lovely. Let's sit you on the sofa." 

Remus helps you stand and directs you into your living room. It's beautifully clean awaiting company, giving you ample room to lay down again. You don't complain aloud but Remus can tell you're feeling weird still from the way you frown, your bottom lip pouted ever so slightly. He perches on the end of the seat. 

"What the fuck, where are the dish cloths?" Sirius asks himself. 

You laugh into your shoulder, the sound like a beacon. Remus knows you'll be alright, but he'd quite like to hammer it home. He puts his hand on your forehead to stroke along your hairline with his uninjured thumb. 

"Are you okay?" you ask. 

"I'm fine, you're the one who almost broke her neck," he says, the tip of his pinky racing down your cheek to your chin. He tilts your head up. "Since when do you faint at the sight of blood? Bit dramatic." 

"I don't know. Never happened before. Since when do you cut yourself with a seventy pence peeler? That's ridiculous." 

He presses his smile into your lips. "You weren't supervising me." 

"It's my fault, then. Typical." 

Remus kisses you, the corner of your mouth, your cheek. A loving line. You relax under his touch, laughing softly at his tickling stubble. He pulls away as the front door clatters in, but whoever it is ignores the living room completely, bursting into your kitchen. 

"Sirius, what have you done, mate?" James asks, plastic bags rustling. 

"I don't want to talk about it. Why's it always me on my knees? Not like that." 

[yandere-romanticaa]

・❥・𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

what happens when lyney's feelings become too strong to handle? however is he going to deal with his crippling heartache and desire?

yandere! lyney x gn! reader.

This fic was partially inspired by the song "Wanna be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys. Admittedly, he's not the first character I'd associate with this band but I really wanted a snazzy sounding title. I also personally characterize this boy as a lovesick little fool so the song can stay.

If given a better option, most people will naturally chase after that which is more beneficial for them. Be it studies, entertainment or social circles, almost anything in someone's life could easily be replaced in a heartbeat.

That same sentiment could be applied to lovers as well.

What's to say that you won't wake up to your senses one day and leave Lyney for good? He tries to give you everything a person could ever hope for - he spoils you with gifts and his most undivided attention, his words are so sweet that they could rival the sweetest of candies. Unlike the empty candy though, Lyney's words are all true, he means absolutely everything he ever says to you. He can't exactly pinpoint the time when he fell head over heels but that didn't matter. Every time he looked at you it felt as though someone lit fireworks in his stomach, his smooth facade would melt away like ice and he was left completely defenseless. He was weak and at your mercy, he was yours to take and yours to love. Every single piece of Lyney belonged to you, his body, mind and soul, you owned all of him and didn't even know it.

How many nights did the two of you spend under the stars with Lyney by your side, his hot breath fanning your ear as he proclaimed his undying love to you, gloved hands twitching in anticipation to hold and caress your body. He loved to touch you in any way he could, physical affection was something the magician simply needed. If you didn't give him at least his good morning and good afternoon kiss, Lyney would always be in a sour mood, which would force his crew to send someone to fetch you in order to remedy this problem. Yes, Lyney loved you very much, the sweet red apple of his eye.

He just wished you loved him as much as he loved you.

Worry would often plague his heart whenever he'd catch you conversing with anyone that was not him or his siblings. Despite his solid reputation he was still but a humble magician at the end of the day.

Did you wish for something more? Were you not satisfied with him?

There were so many people out there who could give you everything Lyney could not. His ties with the Fatui also do not help his case, even if his motives remained pure. Naturally, he never had the heart to tell you that he belonged to that organization, for he feared that you would leave him right then and there. Lyney would often find himself waking at the dead of night, his mind and body restless due to the dreams he would have. Each and every one was always centered around you and it was almost always the same - he would come clean about everything, his past, his work, ties to the Fatui, everything. Tears would cake his face and he would lower his gaze towards the ground, shame pooling in his eyes. He would turn his back and say he doesn't expect any sort of sympathy from you. With a hunched posture he would take a few steps, the black boots on his feet feeling heavier than iron, the chains around his heart tightening further as the circumstances in his life would force him to leave everything he built with you. Just as the rain would hit the ground and Lyney would feel your arms around his waist, your soft lips pressed against the crook of his neck. You would hold him like that for who knows how long, promising that you would never, ever leave. You loved him, there was nothing that would change that.

Those dreams left him longing for more, his paranoia skyrocketing through the roof and deep into the night. He can't lose you, if Lyney lost you, he...

It doesn't bare thinking about.

As shaky as things were now, they were alright. He was going to make them better, stronger. He was a magician, making impossible things possible were literally in his job description. He would make sure that your love was reserved for him and no one else in this world.

🕊️ TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @saturnalya, @alatusprinz, @lakxcpsta, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss

[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 20 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Angst, feels, abuse, Dead Dove: housework (ugh, housework!)

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor drove through the dirty streets, rain puddles splashing under his tires as the towering iron gates grew closer by the second. It had been a while since he had been out here. Too long, really, but she would understand. Life got busy. Life moved on. Still, it was on days like this that he couldn’t help but think of her. 

She had always loved days like this, heavy dark skies that gave way to pockets of sunshine, the scent of rain thick in the air. She loved the sound of rain and water dripping off the roof after as the world shimmered in the patches of sunlight. She loved the mist it left behind. 

Alastor parked, stepping out of the car into the abandoned lot. Weather like this kept what few visitors there may have been away, but that was alright. He preferred to visit in solitude. It was only when the area was empty he could really connect with her. Alastor straightened his coat before slowly walking through the once neatly manicured paths. Weeds and grass had overgrown in places, encroaching on crumbling stone pathways, but it wasn’t unexpected. 

Time marched on, after all, and left these residents where they lay. 

He hummed her favorite song as he walked down the winding path, listening to the click of his shoes against the stone walkways. There was no reason to look around or ask for directions. He knew exactly where he was going. Alastor paid the other residents no mind as he made his way to his destination.

He slowed to a stop in front of her and knelt, brushing the dirt and leaves from where she lay with gentle hands. 

“Hello, Ma.” Alastor whispered, voice naked as he slipped his coat off, spreading it along the ground. “It’s been a while. How have you been?” 

Alastor waited for the answer that would never come as he sat with his back leaning against the raised surface of her tomb. Birds chirped in the trees, singing their song to celebrate the end of the rain, greeting the bright patches of sunlight. 

This plot had cost him a small fortune when he purchased it and the tomb she rested in now, but it had been worth every penny. It had nearly bankrupt him, but it was worth it. It was worth it because she deserved it. 

She would have yelled at him at the time, if she could have. She would have pulled his ear and waved her finger in his face as if he wasn’t a head taller than her. Him growing into a man never stopped her from mothering him. It all worked out, in the end though.

“I’ve been good,” Alastor said as he leaned against the cold stone, water seeping into his shirt. “I got that evening time slot. Can you believe it? Everyone but you said I never would, but it happened. People want to hear me, Ma. They want to listen to me, enough of them that I’m making it.” 

He waited again, eyes on the clouds floating high above as he imagined her praise and the look of pride on her face. Just one barrier between him and her he could never cross. 

Could she see him now? 

How much did she know, now that she was up there? 

He hoped she couldn’t see him when he wasn’t visiting her, that she couldn’t hear him. It was better if she knew and saw what he had told her. Let her have hope for as long as he lived. Let her hope he would join her up there. 

“Ma?” He whispered, voice thick with emotion and accent, sounding so much like the boy he had once been. “Remember when you said I’d find someone?” 

Alastor’s head thumped against the cold hard stone as light rain softly sprinkled down, clouds choking off the rays of sunlight once again. It was a mistake to leave the umbrella in the car, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and walk all the way back to get it. Hopefully, the rain would stay light. If it didn’t, oh well. 

“I laughed at you for saying it.” Alastor’s accent was as thick as his voice as he spoke, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the lump he swore was in his throat. Anyone walking by wouldn’t recognize it as the same chipper smoothe voice that graced the airwaves five nights a week. “Turns out you were right. There really is someone for everyone. I found her, Ma. I found her.” 

The rain picked up, drops gathering on his glasses. Alastor pulled them from his face and tucked them into the jacket pocket, reminding himself to be mindful of them lest be break them. Cold rain peppered his face as he leaned his head back again, letting his eyes take in the unfocused mounds of the clouds. 

“I think you’d like her. She’s kind, Ma. She sees me and dosen’t care. She’s so warm and open. Her laugh is like music, better than that jazz you could never understand why I loved so much.”

Alastor closed his eyes as the rain grew steadier. Drops rolled down his cheek and temple as he let them was away the day. His chest felt tight. It was a tightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Ma, she’s married already. Big fancy house, but she’s not happy. He’s running around on her. You can forgive me for…” He hesitated. There was no one around to hear him say it. Saying it wouldn’t change anything. Not saying it wouldn’t make it any less real, either. “You can forgive me for falling in love with a married woman?”

Water ran down his face as he closed his eyes. His chest was so tight and his head swam. Rain soaked into his shirt and pants, a cooling contrast to the fire in his stomach that he didn’t know what to do with. 

“She’s not happy,” he whispered. “He hurts her like Pa used to hurt you and I- I’m not sure how to fix it. What do I do, Ma?” 

Alastor waited again for an answer that would never come, listening to the gust of wind that picked up, whistling through the tombs and headstones. Rain splashed off the top of the tomb behind him. 

“Tell me what to do, Ma,” he pleaded into the silent cemetery. He waited for an answer he knew would never come. Never again would his ma stand over him and tell him what to do. All there ever would be to answer him was the echo of her voice in his head, the ghostly memory of her words. 

“You’re right,” he said after a while, “I should introduce you.” Alastor stood, folding his coat over his arm as he stepped back onto the path. Looking back over his shoulder at the tomb, he smiled. “I love you, Ma.” 

Your ears rang loudly in your ears as your head smacked against the faucet, pain cutting through the fog. It radiated through your back as you lay crumpled in the bathtub, blindly looking up at the man you married as blood trickled down the back of your neck. 

Laurence’s face was red as he screamed at you. The words themselves floated away from you, lost, stolen away by the ringing in your head. Everything was both far too loud and not nearly loud enough for you to hear it clearly. 

He’d been so easy to live with the last few weeks. What set him off today? Swimming through the fog, you tried to remember. Eyes rolled in their sockets, struggling to focus as your head lulled to the side. 

Your eyes landed on the splatter on the mirror. Only a few drops, but a few days old. 

Oh, that’s right. You had fallen behind on your housekeeping. 

“I���m sorry.” You didn’t hear the words as you spoke them, but you tasted the blood on your lips as they formed them. “I’ll do better.” 

“Fucking right you will.” Those words reached your ears as he wiped the blood off his hand onto a white towel. You hoped it wouldn’t stain. If it did, he would beat you for that, too. 

“I’ll do better. Please, Laurence, don’t hurt me anymore.” 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the tub, not caring for how your legs banged against the hard surface. You struggled to get your feet under you as he shook you, blood from your freshly split lip running down your chin. 

“You’re lucky I’ve got a meeting.” Laurence threw you against the wall. Blood smeared against the soft blue wall, your hair spreading it like a paintbrush. He loomed over you, large body pinning you in place as he groped your breast. Did he know he was smearing the drops of blood into your chest? The nightgown strap hung limply off your shoulder, letting half your nightie hang low on your chest, threatening to expose your breast to his eyes.

“Please,” you whimpered, “I’ll do it all. I swear.” 

Laurence squeezed you with a bruising group, fingers digging into flesh and fat, nails scraping against the bones just under the skin. He yanked you up off the wall and dragged you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Hands that promised nothing but pain pulled at your nightgown, pulling, ripping, exposing as he threw you on the bed. 

“I was promised a fucking wife, but this is all you’re good for, huh? Just a whore in bed? Can’t even keep the fucking house clean?”

You struggled as he pulled you to your feet, only to slap you with the flat of his palm, sending you to crumple again. Laurence did something then that he had never done before. He spat on you. Saliva splattered against your still healing ribs as you waited to see if he would strike you again, breaking their delicate healing or if he would force himself into your body. 

“Please,” you whimpered, eyes clenched closed as you curled in on yourself. “I’ll do it all. I won’t let it slip again. I promise. Please.” 

Alastor watched as Laurence turned down the alley known for seedy deals. He hadn’t expected to see your husband while he was following another target, learning their routine and what makes them tick, but he wouldn’t complain. Two birds, one stone, if Alastor wanted to double his hunt, that was.

He considered it for a moment, eyes cutting between the blond man who he’d love nothing more than to spill the blood of and the original target. Possibilities ran through his mind, calculations and evaluations of risk. Then he put it all away. 

If Laurence was out and about so early, that meant you were likely already starting your day as well. Alastor abandoned his hunt with a hum, instead electing to hit the markets. You likely had enough on your plate as it was. He certainly wouldn’t add lunch to that list. 

Alastor checked, making sure the basket hadn’t spilled in the trunk. The blanket was tucked over the tarp, keeping the tools of his hobby hidden from view. He didn’t really think you’d look in the trunk while he unloaded it but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

The blanket was thick, hopefully thick enough to keep any residual moisture from the day prior’s rain from seeping through the fabric. One last deep breath and Alastor closed the trunk, taking a moment to straighten his coat and run his hand through his hair. 

He took a quick look around before meandering through the park, watching for anyone watching him. It was, as it always was, deserted, but he couldn’t be too careful. The last thing he needed was to be sloppy. If he was, that would cause trouble for you. 

Alastor made his way through the thin strip of forest, taking his time to pick out a different path. It wouldn’t do to wear a noticeable path through the woods, even if it would make it easier for you to walk. He had to be careful, be mindful. 

Standing in the shadows, he watched as you sat out back, working laundry through a washtub. Your movements were stiff as you worked the bunch of white fabric in your hands over the washboard again and again. 

Something was wrong. You were moving wrong. Your shoulders slumped and your hair fell around your face. The dress you wore looked old, ratty. It was a cleaning dress if he had ever seen one. 

You were so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn’t notice him step from the treeline. He watched you wring out the water from a white shirt, surely one of your husband’s, before setting it in the basket, moving onto another shirt. 

He hated the fact that it wasn’t his shirts you washed or that it wasn’t his home sitting behind you. Modest though his home was, he would invest in a mechanical clothes washer for you if you were his. If you were his, you wouldn’t be sitting alone doing the washing. 

You startled, flinching back as Alastor stepped into your line of sight and crouched down. The witty remark he had on his lips died as he caught sight of the red on your face and tearstains on your cheeks. Tears glittered in your eyes as he reached out for you, hand resting softly on the cheek, still angry from the force of the slaps of the man who got to call you his wife. 

“I can’t today,” you whispered, eyes cast away from him, though you still leaned into the comforting touch. 

“What happened?” Alastor’s voice was soft as his thumb ran carefully over the deep split in your lip. 

“It’s nothing.” You looked everywhere but at him. “I let the housework fall behind. I deserved it. I- I should have been a better wi-”

Alastor’s fingers curled under your chin as he softly made you face him. “Look at me,” he asked as your eyes fluttered everywhere else still. He continued when your eyes stilled on him, “You never deserve how he treats you.”

You sat in silence, eyes trapped by his warm brown gaze, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. It wasn’t fair. It was a cruel joke played by some God you didn’t know if you believed in at that moment that he wasn’t your husband. 

“Does it matter?” you finally asked. “How he treats me?” 

“Yes,” Alastor said softly, “If he treated you well I could walk away. I would walk away and let you be happy.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, fear gripping your heart at the thought of Alastor leaving you. It was wrong how deeply you cared for him, but he had taken up residence in your heart. 

He shook his head, soft brown hair once again fluffy but straight shifting with the movement. “If he’s angry that you’re behind on the cleaning, let me help you.” 

“I couldn’t possibly-” Alastor took the basket of washed shirts and small bin of line pins and walked over to the clothesline as you protested. With the humidity in the air and the overcast skies, the sooner the clothes hung the better chance there was of them drying. 

You sighed and dumped more clothes into the bucket and set to work scrubbing while you watched Alastor pin shirts on the line. It was wrong how you wished you were scrubbing his shirts. It was wrong how you wished it was his wooded log where you sat behind. Was the fact that you wished it was his small, warm home sitting behind you going to sentence you to hell? 

Were sins committed in your heart and head enough to damn you?

“Scoot over?” Alastor asked as he tossed his coat to the ground behind you. You scooted over and watched as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up, tucking the cuffs under the arm garters that wrapped around his biceps. 

“What are you-”

“If we both scrub the clothes, they’ll get done faster.” Alastor knelt, hands slipping into the sudsy water along with yours. He glanced at your wide eyes and laughed, “Come now, I know how to wash laundry. Believe it or not- I even clean my own home.” 

“Why?” The word was little more than a whisper, carried to his ears by the slight breeze. 

“Well, if I paid for a cleaner than I’d have to let them into my space. They’d probably be a woman and that would open up to rumors, even if I didn’t have a distaste for having people in my home. Ma ensured I knew how to keep house and I simply don’t need to spend the money on those services.” Alastor spoke, knowing full well that’s not what you meant. It was an easier question to answer, though.

“Why are you helping me?” You clarified as he wrung water out of a hand towel. Every move you made was slow, measured, and you kept your voice low.

“Well,” Alastor said as he set the towel into the basket and began scrubbing one of your nighties without a thought to the indecency of him even seeing the item, let alone touching it. “If we both do the cleaning, we might get it done by lunch. Unless you’re expecting him back before dinner, we can whip a cold dinner for you to have on the tabel for him and then we can still spend some time together during lunch.” 

“What makes you think we can clean the house that fast?” You asked as you worked the water out of the last dress. 

“I’m an unattached man who doesn’t hire help and works much of the afternoons and evenings. If I wasn’t efficient at it, I’d spend all my time not working doing housework instead. How would I ever have time to spend with you if I wasn’t?” 

He was right, though you struggled to wrap your head around it. He was as efficient in his housework as promised. The man made quick work of wiping dust off of surfaces on the main floor while you tackled the same task upstairs, moving at a careful, slower pace as you went. 

As you finished wiping down the bathroom, you heard Alastor climbing the stairs.  “I’m in here,” You called. 

“I brought the broom up.” Alastor held it out as if there was a chance of confusion. “Wiped down the kitchen too. The floors still need doing, but I figured that would be last.” 

“You’re doing too much,” you protested, drying your hands on the skirt of your dress as you joined him in the hall. Pain throbbed in the back of your head, but you ignored it. It was nothing compared to injuries of the past. 

“I’m doing what I want to do,” Alastor said, leaning into your space and placing his lips against your temple in something you struggled to tell yourself was anything less than a chaste kiss. “Nothing more and nothing less.” 

Your brain stopped working as you watched him lean the broom against the hall, just before your bedroom doorway. He opened your linin closet as if it was his own and pulled out a set of sheets. Everything except the pain in your head felt so perfectly right.

“I’m grabbing a fresh quilt, too.” Alastor called, carrying the stack of linin into your bedroom without a care for propriety. 

“Why?” You asked as you followed behind. 

“There’s blood on this one.” Alastor said simply said. He didn’t need to say more. The way his jaw clenched, and the muscle jumped, said plenty. 

“It must be from when I-” you hesitated as he pulled the quilt from the bed, “tripped.” 

“And split your lip on the soft bed, I’m sure.” Alastor balled it and the sheet up, letting the pillows scatter as he stripped the mattress of linin, revealing bloodstains you never could quite clean. “You know, I know he hurts you. Why lie?” 

Alastor’s fingers lingered over bloodstains. Usually he found the color of dried blood to be lovely, but knowing it was yours turned his stomach. The bed should be a place of rest, of refuge and comfort for you, not a place of terror and pain.

“I- I’m not sure.” You looked down, ashamed. “It’s easier if I don’t think about it. If I don’t admit it, maybe it won’t be real?” 

Alastor hummed in response, “Do you want to make up the bed or start this wash?” 

You were thankful he let the topic die. “I’ll make the bed.” 

“Wonderful,” Alastor said, bundling up the bedding he’d rather set ablaze than scrub. “I’ve got pasta on the stove. While I was in the kitchen, I prepped for a pasta salad.” 

He did not wait for forgiveness nor ask for it as he walked out of the room, letting you scowl at his back. It didn’t matter to him that you thought he was doing too much. What mattered to him was the sandwiches waiting for them in the trunk of his car. The sooner the domestic chores were done, the sooner they could be off. 

On his way out the back, he paused for a moment to stir the pasta. While he loathed the idea of investing in a new stove, he had to admit the control over cooking provided by a gas stove was a wonderful improvement to his woodstove. If you wanted it, he supposed he could justify the investment for his kitchen. 

He made quick work of scrubbing the bedding and hanging them to dry. With the last of the washing done, he upturned the bucket and let the water run across the ground. 

On his way inside, he paused for a moment to drain the pasta and toss the simple meal together. Would it be enough to keep Laurence off your back? He didn’t know, but he hoped it would at least be a start. 

He poured hot water from the kettle he had set on the stove into a bucket and grabbed the mop. By now, you were likely finishing up sweeping upstairs, judging from the sound of your footfalls above him. 

On his way up, he met you in the stairwell. The thought of how beautiful you looked again struck him as he turned at the foot of of the stairs. The domestic beauty of a wife was never something Alastor understood but seeing you, sweat damped hair at the nape of your neck and flushed from the work you’d seen to, he understood it. You made a beautiful wife. 

“I’ll mop real fast and then we’re done up here.” Alastor brushed by you, being more mindful of not spilling the mop water than keeping any sense of proper distance between you. He froze when he felt you against his body, looking down at you as you looked up at him, cheeks flushed. 

It would be so easy, so natural to just lean down and…

He shook his head, pushing the odd urge away. Perhaps he would indulge in it sometime soon. Resisting the strange desire was getting harder, but it wouldn’t happen here. 

Pulling you away from your home so much was causing you problems. You were in pain. The dried scab of blood at the back of your head told the story of a struggle you hadn’t spoken of, even though you had tried to hide it with your hair. He knew he had to swallow the disgust and spend time with you in Laurence’s space if he wanted to not cause you more problems.

Laurence’s home would taint no firsts, though. Alastor was determined not to allow that to be the case. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!

Next Chapter?

[kyoukamybeloved]

Chuuya looked at his face, then broke out into laughter. “You really are the worst. Don't let your plan fail and kill us both or I'll kill you, Dazai.” Dazai laughed as well. “Sounds good. Let's go, Chuuya.”

soukoku webweaves: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8

creds:

normal people - Sally Rooney// I know the end - Phoebe Bridgers// Part II - Paramore// the song of Achilles - Madeline Miller// art by @taxolotl// bloodsport - Yves Olade// please stay - Lucy Dacus// the night we met - lord huron// unicorn - Angela Carter// art by @thornedarrow// I set it in stone - Venetta Octavia// panel from bsd: beast drawn by Sango Harukawa// He Held Radical Light: the Art of Faith, the Faith of Art - Christian Wiman// eat your young - Hozier// never love an anchor - the crane wives// spring, the apple trees at olema - Robert Hass// the notebook// art by @taxolotl// Joan Tierney// snow and dirty rain - Richard Siken// house of hunger - Alexis Henderson// the moon will sing - the crane wives// waiting room - Phoebe Bridgers// I had a dream about you - Richard Siken// art by @marrewis// phlebotomy, as told by the blood - Torrin A. Greathouse// art by @twilicidity// Cassandra - Christa Wolf// rejoice - Julien Baker// take me to church - Hozier// the encounter - Louise Gluck// art by @yomeiu// a garden, swallower - Lyric Hunter// alone with you in the ether - Olivie Blake// allies or enemies - the crane wives// like real people - Hozier// strawberry moon - Franny Choi// official bsd art by Sango Harukawa// until is started choking on our memories - Tina Tran// art from @/mizumoe_ on twitter// Pavana Reddy// art by @carrotkicks // Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter to Mathilde Trampedach// cosmic hero - car seat headrest// born to die - Lana del Rey// Giovanni’s Room - James Baldwin//

consider this your halloween treat ;)

tagging lovers of this series (thank you sm for all your love) :

@philzokman @dinosaur-mayonnaise @amagami-hime @vivid-vices @bunglegaydogs @vinylbiohazard @underthetree845 @ghostsinacoat @lotus-reblogs @zamxii @themultifandomdisaster @whiteapplesandblackblood @i-eat-mold @gorotic @sigskk @pastel-paramour @the-gayest-sky-kid @galaxitic @shroombunnies @homuncvlus @sommmee @oatmilkbasic @ricelover888 @jacuzziwaters @thesunshinebard @evermorehypewoman

[crowleys-hips]

Good Omens Themed Asks🐍 🍎

so last night i was trying to distract myself from The Horrors, so i thought about ducks and started wondering if they like strawberries and if so, can they eat chocolate covered strawberries? (looked it up. no they can't) and i thought how sad, but can they see the stars? (they CAN. they've got great eye sight. i went into a rabbit hole about it) so one thing led to another and i ended up making a Good Omens themed ask game 🦆 go nuts

bookshop - what's your happy/safe place? (physical or intangible)

hot chocolate - what's your comfort drink/food?

rain - have you ever been in love?

Queen - top 5 favorite bands/artists

record - a song that's very significant to you? what does it mean to you?

the Ritz - describe your ideal date

ducks - are you good with animals? could you lead a revolution with them?

sushi - have you ever eaten something illegal? by accident or otherwise

apple - what's your guilty pleasure?

Talisker - what do you do when you're sad?

ox rib - if you were some type of food, what kind of food would you be?

Châteauneuf-du-Pape - tell us about a funny/goofy time with someone

Bentley - what's your most prized possession?

french - do you and your loved ones ever get lost in translation?

plants - how do you deal with your frustrations?

laudanum - what's the craziest thing you've ever done?

prophecy - do you believe in fate?

holy water - have you ever had to do something extreme to protect yourself?

magic - what's something you suck at but absolutely love doing?

nebula - something you've done that you're really proud of?

polaroid - what's a bittersweet memory?

zombies - what are you most afraid of?

hell - what are some of your inner demons?

heaven - what has been the greatest loss of your life?

goats - if goats could speak, do you think they should be able to vote? why or why not? explain.

pot - a favorite childhood memory?

angel cake - are you a sweet tooth?

bathtub - if you could get away with murder only once, would you use that chance to take out someone? who?

falafel - what's a thought you can't ever seem to outrun

whales - what do you consider is your greatest accomplishment so far?

Jane Austen - what's your favorite book you've read recently?

fly - tell us a secret. shh it's okay we won't tell anyone (except all of tumblr)

vavoom - have you ever clicked with someone immediately? or are you more of a slow burn type? (platonic or romantic or anything)

turtleneck - show us (or draw) your hottest outfit

Alpha Centauri - where do you run off to when it feels like the end of the world?

South Downs Cottage - what is your ideal happy ending?

ball - what's something that's great in fantasy but disappointing in reality?

coffee - describe what you would do if you were in a coffee shop au with your crush and there was an apocalypse out there and all you had to defend yourself is whatever is at hand in the coffee shop (mugs, coffee machine, plates, cash register, desserts, chairs, tables, napkins, etc). the enemies are floating heads who want to kidnap your crush. go

Final Fifteen - greatest heartbreak of your life?

nightingales - what makes it all worth it for you?

tartan socks - hot or not?

[forlorn-crows]

𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌

Rating: Mature (implied sexual content)

Relationship(s): Aether/Rain

Tags: daddy kink, quintosis (quintessence as hypnosis), post-hypnotic trigger/suggestion, implied transmasculine rain, mildly dubious consent & morality, intox kink, alcohol. let aether be SLEAZY let him be NASTY. we love a wine drunk lightweight rain.

Words: 2189

Guppy. The quint ghoul watches the petname hit Rain’s brain and settle there, making his hips falter in their swaying. He makes an unconscious noise, momentarily stupored. But the haze is gone the next time he blinks, replaced with the almost imperceptible dilation of his pupils. A few sparkles of amethyst blend into his normal cerulean irises, indicative of Aether’s little trick he’s just begun to play. It’s simple, really. A little post-hypnotic suggestion, if you will. “That’s a new one; have you called me that before?” Rain giggles a little and takes another sip of his wine. Oh, has he.

Notes: for my bestie @divine-misfortune; happy birthday, void! he requested "I am placing an order fr Aeth and his guppy,,,,As for what theyre doin? Good question-idk maybe gettin him cute n dumb in public or smthn so he needs his daddy" and thus, this fic was born

Read the rest under the cut, or on AO3!

The abbey grounds are alive with celebration; alight with lanterns, string lights, and a great bonfire down the hill; the smell of stew, mulled wine, and crisp apple mixes with the fresh promise of autumn that cools the breeze. Many libations are passed amongst the scattered groups of ghouls and siblings, as well as shared laughs and cozy conversation. It’s a nice night for festivities, and it’s only bound to get rowdier as the evening progresses. 

Rain, of course, is no stranger to a good time. A glass of cranberry wine downed already with another one halfway drunk in his hand, he sways to Swiss and Mountain’s guitar-percussion duo they’ve set up just beyond the bonfire. The multi ghoul strums an unnamed melody while Mountain accompanies with a rhythm on an old floor tom. Easy-going and no particular songs in mind. A few others bustle around him—Cumulus spins Aurora around to her giggling delight, a group of siblings dance amongst their little circle, and Aeon is very obviously wiggling his butt for Swiss’ benefit. 

Not that Rain isn’t doing something similar. Aether’s quite enjoying watching the water ghoul sway his hips and smile coyly over his shoulder as Mountain blows him a kiss. He’s equally as cute in the outfit said drummer most likely picked out for him: a charcoal gray thermal underneath a cream colored blouse, chocolate brown joggers that hover above his leather chelsea boots and show off black wool socks, all topped off with a modest gold ring on his wine-glass-wielding hand. In his hair, bright magenta aster blooms are woven alongside yellow heliopsis flowers in the waterfall braids looping under his horns. 

A right autumn beauty that has Aether itching to touch, to charm.

“Hi, cutie,” he says appreciatively, slipping his hands around Rain’s waist after sauntering up behind him. He pecks the water ghoul on the cheek.

Rain hums and presses his chilled lips to Aether’s mouth. Cinnamon sugar and berry gracing the tip of his tongue. “Hi yourself,” he grins. 

The quint ghoul falls in time with Rain’s hip sways, pressing himself to his back. “And what number drink are we on, love?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Excuse me, this is only glass number two, thank you very much,” Rain says indignantly. He turns up his nose playfully and flips his hair into Aether’s face, who simply chuckles and blows the strands away.

“Gotta pace yourself; don’t want to see this pretty face passed out in the lawn now, do we?”

Rain rolls his eyes. “I don’t see you enjoying the fruits of Mountain’s berry picking labor.” He throws another coquette look at the earth ghoul, playing it up as a compliment. 

Aether hums. “Open up and let me really taste, then,” he lilts, nipping at Rain’s jaw with a growl. 

“Ugh,” he laughs through a groan. In trying to dodge Aether’s attack, the red wine sloshes over the rim of his glass and soaks into the cuff of his thermal. “Aetherrr,” he complains, picking at the sleeve. 

Aether tuts. “It’s only a little—it’ll dry, guppy.”

Guppy. The quint ghoul watches the petname hit Rain’s brain and settle there, making his hips falter in their swaying. He makes an unconscious noise, momentarily stupored. But the haze is gone the next time he blinks, replaced with the almost imperceptible dilation of his pupils. A few sparkles of amethyst blend into his normal cerulean irises, indicative of Aether’s little trick he’s just begun to play.

It’s simple, really. A little post-hypnotic suggestion, if you will. 

“That’s a new one; have you called me that before?” Rain giggles a little and takes another sip of his wine. 

Oh, has he. He plays innocent. “What, ‘guppy’?” 

Rain giggles again, almost automatic. “Uh huh. Kinda like it.” Aether can tell he doesn’t know why he says so. It’s part of the design, of course, that he doesn’t catch on to what the nickname does to him. How each utterance weaves a little more magick into his mind, dropping him that much further. Rain hums, leaning into Aether more heavily than before. 

“Thought you might,” he rumbles, giving him a peck on the cheek. He catches Mountain’s eye over the water ghoul’s shoulder, his expression now twisted with a mix of amusement, suspicion, and maybe a little bit of jealousy. Aether throws him a wink, and the earth ghoul rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smirk.

He taps the rim of Rain’s wine glass. “Is my pretty ghoul gonna pace himself properly, or will I have to keep an eye on you, mister?”

“Mmm, you can keep an eye on me all you want.” Rain wiggles his ass against his crotch suggestively. 

Aether chuckles and gives his waist a squeeze. “Watch it, now; you get into too much trouble and I’ll have to whisk you away from all the fun, guppy.”

Rain shakes his head exaggeratedly, whining in disagreement. Stumbling a little on his next hip swivel. “Nooo, let me have fuuun,” he protests. “I’ll be gooood. Promise.” He offers up the pinky on his free hand. The hammered gold band on his middle finger flashes with the firelight across the field. 

Aether links his pinky with his own. “I’ll be watching,” he warns playfully, nipping at his jaw again. Rain doesn’t swat him away this time. The quint ghoul offers a pat on the ass before he walks away, busying himself with hor devours and fish stew.

It’s a few hours later before they cross paths again, Rain noticeably tipsier and loose-limbed as he converses with Dew at the bonfire. If Aether’s observations were correct, the glass of dark, blackberry wine in his hand should be his fourth drink now. He’d be inebriated without the magick, lightweight as water ghouls typically are, but the touch of quintessence makes him needier, more tactile than he otherwise would be. It’s a side effect that makes itself known quite obviously: kissing Mountain full on the mouth after his and Swiss’ set was finished, resting his head on Sunshine’s shoulder as she fed him prosciutto and cheese cubes from her snack plate, holding a sister’s hand as he walked with her through the small rose garden that surrounds the outside walls of the bathhouse. 

Like this, he’s seductive and ripe for the taking. Aether’s drawn back to him like a magnet.

“ . . . wanna go someplace on the coast,” Rain is saying as he approaches the pair. “When it’s warm.” Rain pouts.

Dew makes a face. “Ugh, I don’t know if I can take more outside shows; too fuckin’ hot.”

“Y’re ‘fuckin’ hot,’” the water ghoul smirks, poking at Dew’s leg with his boot. 

Dew just rolls his eyes fondly. “And you’re drunk, starfish.”

“Nuh uh—”

“Think Dew’s right, guppy,” Aether interjects, placing his hands on Rain’s shoulders. “Hm?” Rain raises a finger above his head, waggling it in front of Aether’s chest to emphasize his nuh uh. Aether can feel the magick swirl that much deeper under his fingers, making Rain hiccup and drop his head back against the quint’s body.

Beside them, Dew crosses his arms and laughs knowingly. “Guppy, huh?” He raises an eyebrow and bites the inside of his cheek to stop his mouth from quirking up further. Mentally, Aether shrugs. So a few of them know of his tricks—sue him. They’ve enjoyed the effects of Rain’s (and their own) nickname before, so, really, they have no place to judge.

“‘s cute,” Rain slurs, smiling up at Aether. “Gu-ppy. Guuuuuppy.”

“Why don’t ya say it a few more times?” Dew snorts, turning to busy himself with the fire and leaving Aether to his sleazy antics. Luckily, Ifrit’s there to hold his attention. The quint ghoul slips around and takes the free spot on Rain’s left. He’s immediately greeted with a lapful of clumsy water ghoul, who chooses to climb on top of him instead of stay in his own seat. 

“Hi, love,” Aether says warmly, wrapping his arms around him. Deftly, he plucks the wine glass from Rain’s hand and places it on the stump beside them. “You enjoying yourself?”

“More now tha’ y’re here,” he smiles, all drunk and dopey. He loops his arms around Aether’s neck and hums. Adjusts himself more than comfortably on his lap, legs hanging over his hips and bellies pressed together. 

“I’m glad, my pretty guppy,” Aether rumbles. Rain makes a noise at the back of his throat, quick and breathy. Aether watches his eyelids flutter for the first time since the night began, like a moth's wings as they carry the flying creature closer to the flames. He tuts and brushes his thumb over the water ghoul’s cheek, who leans into the touch with a needy purr. 

“Y’ feel nice,” he sighs dreamily. 

“Not getting tired?” he asks, a self-satisfied smile crossing his face as Rain fights to blink away the haze.

He shakes his head, sticking out his bottom lip and wriggling closer. Rolling his hips not-so-subtly against Aether’s crotch. “Uh-uh.” 

“No? Looks like that wine is getting to you, love,” he teases. 

“Aetherrrrrr,” Rain wines. He wiggles again, and Aether can feel the damp heat starting to radiate off of him. Teetering perfectly between giggly, aroused, and falling asleep standing up. “Let me have fuuun,” he echoes himself from earlier.

“Out here, in front of everyone?” Rain groans and sticks his face into the crook of Aether’s neck. He chuckles to himself and wraps those big arms tight around his lithe body. One more, and he’ll be just where he wants him. He puts his mouth to Rain’s ear and whispers: “No—don’t want you to get sloppy, guppy; why don’t we tuck in for the night? You and me, what do you say?”

It’s like a weight drops on his body, Rain going so lax against him until his arms slip off Aether’s shoulders, head only staying up because his chin keeps it hanging off of Aether’s chest. He’s not dropped all the way, not just yet, but his face pulls into an expression of bliss and his eyes slip all the way closed this time. Purrs increasing in intensity as he helplessly melts into Aether’s control. 

And then he says something Aether wasn’t entirely prepared for; something that makes his breath catch in his throat and his pants get tight.

Rain sighs happily, stupidly, eyes reopening to amethyst-tinged slits as he gazes up at the quint ghoul. He smiles, licking his lips like a dog settling down for a nap. “Okay, daddy.”

Fuck. Aether bites back a groan. “Yeah, baby?” he says softly. “You wanna cozy up with Daddy?”

“Mm-hm,” he nods. 

Aether scoops him up immediately. He can feel Mountain’s jealous stare against his back as he carries Rain back to the abbey, no doubt thwarting the earth ghoul’s plan to strip Rain of the outfit he picked out for him and take him slow and sweet. The quint ghoul flicks his tail behind him: next time, big guy. 

Rain makes a noise of protest as he’s eventually plopped onto Aether’s bed, nearly falling over as he makes grabby hands towards the bigger ghoul.

“Just closing the door, sweet boy,” Aether assures. 

When he turns back, there’s a blush on Rain’s cheeks, rosied from the cool air. He looks back at Aether with big eyes, whining as he starts to paw at his own clothes. Needy and eager. A picture of casual sin, the braids around his horns have gone loose from the night’s festivities, flowers cascading down his curls like fallen leaves that get stuck in branches on their descent to the ground. The merriment which disheveled his pristine look has also sullied his blouse, now stained crimson in a few rogue spots from the wine. And as Rain shifts and spreads his legs a little, Aether catches sight of the tiny damp patch in the crotch of his pants, his sudden arousal obvious and impossible to hide. 

It’s enough to make his mouth water. “Fuck, look at you; handsome, handsome boy,” he rumbles. Aether crouches over him, bracketing Rain’s torso with his arms and leaning in to graze their noses together. The smell of wine and sweet, heady arousal hits him like a punch to the gut. In an instant, his resolve crumbles, and all he can do is groan. “Daddy wants you so bad, baby.”

Rain’s whimper turns into a gasp as Aether runs a hand down his thigh. “Oh . . . but—clothes,” he says dumbly, still grabbing at them. 

“Don’t worry, guppy—” he breathes, tracking that hand back up to the waistband of his pants, then his fly. Rain’s groan is soft, trailing off at the end as he starts to slip somewhere distant, putty in the quint ghoul’s hands. Aether pops the snap and pulls the zipper down with one claw, pushing past Rain’s fly to cup him over his now damp underwear. His mouth brushes against the water ghoul’s messily, hungrily, and lets the momentum of it all take them both down onto the bed. 

“—Daddy’ll take good care of you.”