#birthday fic gift

[hitlikehammers]

the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame that face even as Harrington tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Harrington sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Harrington’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but his cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Harrington blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from his face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and��

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[giraffenamjoon]

Fire and Fire (Seungcheol x F!Reader)

Summary: You and Seungcheol both run hot. It doesn’t help that you share everything important: a job, friends, office supplies, and a deep burning hatred for each other. While competing for the same work promotion, you slowly start to confront the realization that maybe Seungcheol isn’t as terrible as you thought. Maybe he’s the spark that will keep you from burning out.

Genre: Office!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairings: Seungcheol x Reader, Mingyu x OFC, Joshua x Jeonghan

Word Count: 52,314 😱

Warnings: Alcohol use, angst, tattoos, pining, jeonghan is a highly questionable HR manager, microsoft powerpoint hate space, named reader, smut, oral sex, safe sex, masturbation, romance, seungcheol and the reader fall so hard for each other and end up disgustingly in love

Read on AO3: Fire and Fire

All four chapters are available as of today!

Playlist: AURORA (feat. Crush) - Penomeco | Picky Baby (feat. BIBI) - Owell Mood | End of the World (feat. GSoul) - Epik High | Tattoo - ELO, Jay Park | Problem (feat. pH-1) - Jiselle

Comments/reblogs are always super appreciated! There may be spinoffs to this so if you have any interest in more, please let me know!

[elevenharbor]

Thank you for this lovely birthday present and for being so kind and generous and awesome @classysassy9791 🫶🫶💖💖🥺🥺😭😭 my angst-loving heart is bursting with happiness

A little gift for the incredible @elevenharbor! Thank you so much for blessing this fandom, and I hope you have a lovely birthday! Summary: A union of those who survived 500 years. Fandom: Inuyasha Pairing: SessKag Genre: Angst/Romance Words: 250

[basiatlu]

I saw it was @lqtraintracks ‘s birthday and I had to just shower my joy that you exist on this chaotic space rock. Happy Birthday!!!✨

Here’s a drawn scene from one of the 1st fics I read of yours ( click here if you wanna read it, too! Warning for 2300 words of steamy goodness if that’s not your thing I suppose).

[quaintcy]

Happy Birthday, Noire!🎉

@north-noire Hope u had a good one!🎂🎁🎈✨

[trappolia]

── MY SWEET VILLAIN, MY DARLING GOD

nanook. your aeon lover begrudgingly celebrates the day of your creation.

Nanook's birth was a fiery thing; a light piercing through the clouds like golden death, scorching the world once known as Adlivun. Their birth preceded the collapse of an entire universe, one that had somehow persevered through the Emperor's war and was strengthening their defenses against the coming of the Swarm's march. The old towers of this already dying world had crumbled as the sun rose for the very last time in Adlivun, marking the coming of Destruction incarnate.

But for all the chaos and death their birth brought upon, the day they came into being is of no real importance to Nanook. They do not remember the constellations shining upon their home when they first ignited, nor do they recall whether or not the heat remained or if the cold dark was the first thing they felt, for Adlivun was long gone by the time their golden irises illuminated what was left of the world.

It is a curious thing; for all they have discarded and forgotten of their birth, they remember yours.

What is a god? Certainly not immortal, that is for sure. Pantheons have collapsed with the passage of time, forgotten in the seas of lost religions. Aeons are just as susceptible to death and collapse as the universes they traverse and conquer. On the same spectrum, the birth of a being as powerful as an Aeon is an anomaly felt by the entire universe, a single ripple that results in the violent waves of a turning tide. Such concepts are merely specks of dust for them. What use do they have for such worries, when their lives are mysteries in the known worlds, tipping the balance of the scales simply by existing?

Nanook’s fascination with you could be dismissed as another consequence of the butterfly effect. They should have nothing else on their mind beside righting the worlds’ wrongs, ridding the universe of the cancer that emerges from the boundless stars to taint civilisations. War. Death. Destruction. Finality. Nanook is a jagged puzzle made up of the gods and mortals they had killed, universes scorched from existence like a supernova; and yet, you fit into their life like you were meant to be there all along.

“My sweet villain,” you whisper into their ear, saccharine sweet and painfully loving in all the ways they do not deserve. “My darling god.”

No, they want to say. They are a villain, yes — your sweet villain, if you continue to insist — but a darling god? No, that mantle has always rightfully belonged to you. For a being whose existence has been dictated by their status as Avatar of Entropy since birth, Nanook finds that everything seems to come together when you press your lips against theirs, your taste sweeter than ambrosia.

You are their most infuriating distraction, they think as you sit together amongst the stars of a universe that has yet to die, clinging onto their last rays of sun and hope before Nanook ends it all. it is their sweetest punishment, to have to sit here with you in their arms, so easily drawing their thoughts away from their duties and ideals— and for what? Looking at the stars together? How pathetic.

Pathetic, in the way they recognise these stars, these constellations. It is rare to come across any two galaxies that have the same formation of stars, as likely as to find a needle in a haystack, as mortals say. But here they are, their eyes dragging over the stars glimmering in the abyss. They know these patterns. They know their stories.

They remember the day.

“It is your birthday,” they murmur. Even in this soft tone that Nanook only ever reserves for you, their voice is a booming bass that reverberates throughout the galaxy. Somewhere, another star dies out.

“Hm?” you say cluelessly, looking up at them with eyes that shine brighter than the golden ichor that drips down their arms.

“A mortal custom,” Nanook replies gruffly, feigning nonchalance even as a shiver runs down their spine at the touch of your fingers upon their skin. “The stars are the same as they were the day you came into being.”

“Ah. So they are,” you say when you finally look at the constellations.

It is a strange thing— a humiliating thing; the way Nanook can barely breathe when you are near, and how the air grows stale when you aren’t. It’s as if the Aeon of Destruction is utterly dependent on your attention, your love. How pathetic. How miserable.

how true.

The aeon may have only ascended recently, the youngest of all known paths, but they have made their mark on the universe already; whether it is with the presence of the Antimatter Legion, or the existential crisis brought upon by Nanook’s very life. With their birth, one could no longer deny that destruction is the inescapable destiny of all the known universes; expansion, fusion, and then annihilation. It is the same for Aeons; the survival of the fittest, to destroy or be destroyed, to absorb or be absorbed. For as long as people still walk on the path of destruction, Nanook will continue to aim for the complete devastation of this tainted universe. They alone are the sole being who truly understands what a mistake the birth of this universe was. Each ship and planet may follow a different path, but what civilisation does not speak the common tongue of war? What universe does not know death, pain, destruction?

“What universe does not know love?” you would ask them in response to that. Your hands come up to cup their cheeks in your palm, and Nanook is undone. “Even you know love, my violent delight. Why else would you have remembered the position of the stars the day I was born?”

Would you like your death day to be on the same day as your birth?” Nanook questions you without any real malice, their voice breathless as you drag your thumb over their bottom lip.

You laugh, and Nanook hears the stars sing with you.

Why is it that mortals bother in the struggle of survival? they think. Nothing lasts forever, not even the great Aeons themselves. Civilisations rise and fall, galaxies materialise and collapse. For a new beginning, the book must end. It is simply the way of things. Nanook knows this. Nanook has always known this.

And yet, in these moments with you, they cannot help but cling onto your immortality. They cradle you close, because if the Aeon of Destruction — of all things lost to violence and death — cannot kill you, then what can? If Lan of the Hunt shuns Yaoshi of the Abundance for loving the living too much to the point of cursing them with immortality when it is too heavy of a burden to hear, then it is only a matter of time until they realise that Nanook is a threat to the balance as well. What is life without you? Merely the act of existing, rather than living— chasing a goal, without ever stopping to see the stars and consider the stories behind them.

in death, Nanook will be remembered as many things, and the Antimatter Legion will carry out their legacy just as all the previous Aeons’ factions do in the present day. Even if they must continue Nanook’s ideals in the shadows, the Aeon of Destruction will shadow the known universe for all of eternity— for what civilisation exists without the pain of violence and death? Destruction is a concept as sure as life and death; immortal, even if its Aeon has long since passed. That is Nanook’s goal, their sole purpose of living.

But on this day, Nanook allows themself a singular moment to hope that when they die, the universe will know them not only for the destruction they had reigned upon the universe, but for the fact that they did it in your name— for they had loved you above all else.

© trappolia 2024

[twicetheheartx2]

“… But baby, can’t you see? There’s nothing left for me to do, I’m hopelessly devoted to you…”

For @barb-l based off a scene from their fic The First Guest.

I distinctly remember you saying something about how you love when (wish for) people make art off of your fics. So I figured why not, since we’re friends and I’m enjoying all your Chaggie stuff (despite not developing a hyper fixation after watching it a while ago).

Decided to take a page from your own book and do it traditionally. Honestly, I think it was so much easier doing it this way than if I did it digitally tbh.

Bonus: Head shots I drew of them before I started the full piece, to figure out how to draw them in my style.

[fandomfloozy]

Classical Conditioning

Pairing: Kento Nanami x clingy!reader

C/W: reader's love language is physical touch, petnames (kento refers to reader as love, sweetheart, darling), sorcerer instructor!reader (students refer to reader as sensei), gn!reader, slightly nsfw, mdni

wc: 6.5k

~°•*~

You're on the way home from a particularly grueling training session with the second years. Your muscles burn, your limbs feel heavy, and you want nothing more than to treat yourself to a sweet dessert and head home.

Home to bed, home to sleep, home to Kento...

You weakly push open the door of the nearest cafe you could find and head in. No sooner does the entry bell chime that the exhaustion of the day dissipates from your aching body. From one moment to the next, you've gone from zombie walk to barely containing your excitement as you spot an unmistakably familiar head of blond hair.

You don't even hear the cashier greet you as you're halfway across the room, your feet moving on their own volition. The closer you get, the wider the stupid grin on your face grows until you've practically jumped your fiancée from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his.

"Kento!" You're nuzzling into him with your eyes closed, feeling yourself recharge to practically full capacity.

He doesn't seem the least bit startled or surprised to see you as he reaches a hand up to place on your arms. He moves his face away to get a good look at you. "Hi, sweetheart." He rubs his thumb on your forearm. "We were just talking about you."

In your haste, you failed to notice Takuma Ino sitting across from your lover.

You breathe out an awkward chortle, slinking your arms away from Kento and rounding his chair to pull out the one next to him. "All good things, I hope?" You slide a hand down his arm as you take a seat.

"Nothing but, sensei!"

"You're not one of my students, Takuma-kun." You give a semi-exasperated smile as you reach down the table to grab Kento's hand. "I already told you; you don't need to call me that."

Kento glances your way. "We were actually talking about potentially having him shadow you on one of your next missions." He gives a squeeze at your locked hands at the suggestion. "Have you give him a few pointers, show him how you do things."

"Oh!" You look over at Takuma. "I'm not sure what I could teach you that you don't know, you're plenty capable already!"

"But you're a first grade, sensei! I could pick up a lot from watching you work."

"You're pushing first grade yourself!" You argue.

"And you're pushing semi-special grade, darling," Kento chides, coolly sipping at his drink. "Don't sell yourself too short."

You frown. If you sold yourself too short, Kento upsold you too much.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let out a hum as you think. "Well..."

You look up and Takuma is giving you the closest thing a young man his age can get to puppy eyes. And it's working.

You fiddle with Kento's fingers. "I trust you're capable enough not to slow me down..." Takuma visibly starts to brighten. "So I suppose it couldn't hurt to have you come on a mission and shadow me--"

"Yes!" Takuma pumps a fist and grabs your free hand to shake in earnest. "I won't slow you down at all, sensei! Promise!"

You giggle as he continues to shake. "There's no doubt in my mind."

Kento chuckles a bit and moves to stand up. "Now that that's squared away, why don't I get you something to eat?"

"Oh! Yes, please." You remember that the sweet treat you came for remains unordered. You lean away to let Kento stand. "You remember my order?"

"You need to ask?" He smiles and starts making his way towards the register. You hold his hand and then his fingers to the last moment as they slip away from you. You then watch him with your chin leaned into your hand and a dopey smile on your face as you watch him tell the cashier your order and pull out his wallet.

"Your two's relationship is so wild to me." Takuma's voice breaks you out of your lovelorn trance. You clear your throat.

"I guess it is atypical," you hum.

Romantic relationships in the jujutsu world, especially between jujutsu sorcerers, are few and far between. Not many sorcerers become old enough or secure enough to explore those kinds of relationships, let alone get to the point of planning to marry. You and Kento are lucky...

"Especially because you two are such an unlikely pair."

You hum in response again, before what he said kicks in. "Wait, what?"

Takuma responds casually while taking bites of his pastry. "Well, you know. Sensei and Nanami-san are so different. Don't get me wrong, he's a great man, but he's kind of a square."

You snort, recalling your jujutsu tech days with Kento. "He's always been a little standoffish. Been that way since we were students."

"It's just crazy. You're so bubbly and nice, and he's so..." He gestures vaguely. "I guess what they say is true: opposites attract."

"Well..." You fidget. "He is a little more reserved than I am, I suppose."

He takes in another fork full of his food. "I don't think I've ever even seen him hold your hand first."

That leaves you speechless.

Was that true? Has he never held your hand without you reaching out to grab his first? You've never thought about it before.

No, surely, it's just in public. Takuma has never seen Kento initiate because you're in public. Kento doesn't mind PDA, but you're just more prone to initiate in a public setting. Surely that's what he means.

Surely.

The weight of the day is suddenly returning to your body all at once.

Kento returns with your order, hand on the back of the chair. "Don't worry about the bill, it's covered." Takuma cheers to himself. Kento turns to face you. "Ready to head home? You look exhausted."

You nod and let out a little, "Mhm." You reach out a hand and Kento helps you up. Huh...

Initiated.

"We're heading out now. I'll see you tomorrow, Ino-kun."

"See you, Nanami-san. Sensei."

You offer a wave and lean into Kento's arm as you walk out of the cafe.

Initiated...

The ride home is quiet. You're on the verge of nodding off in the backseat as the driver takes you and Kento home. He holds onto your treat from the cafe, your craving now forgotten. Your hands are folded in your lap as you try to stay awake.

It's private enough in the car. Surely, he'll at least try to hold your hand...

You want him to hold your hand. Your thigh, your shoulders, your waist... Anything, really. But he could at least hold your hand.

Please, hold my hand...

The car coming to a stop wakes you. Your head lay in Kento's lap as he gently pets your head.

"We've arrived," the driver announces.

"Let's get you to the shower and then you can sleep all you want, alright?" Kento whispers as he tenderly lifts you from his lap and into a sitting position.

Falling asleep on him like that in front of the driver. You really forced his hand there. He had to hold you in his lap. He had no choice.

Initiated.

Arriving home is a bit relieving, though. It didn't get more private than that. More comfortable.

You were showering. He was undressing and going about his nightly routine. It didn't get more intimate than that.

So by the time you stepped out of the shower, water dripping off your form, you expected something--anything--as you creeped up behind him. Dressed in pajama pants and slippers, brushing his teeth in the mirror, he saw your naked form in his peripheral.

He smirked and spat out the toothpaste. "All done, beautiful?"

You nodded meekly, holding your arm behind your back. He turned to face you and you looked at him, alternating between looking at each eye.

Surely, he'd initiate. Nothing was stopping him. You'd initiated all day; it was his turn. Surely...

He reached out to you, and you waited with bated breath...

...as he reached behind you, grabbing the towel to place over your head and dry you off. He smiled softly. "Go put on some pajamas. I'll join you in bed soon."

He then wrapped the towel around your shoulders and turned to finish washing his face. You stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before scuttling to grab clothes to sleep in.

Maybe he just isn't in the mood tonight.

T-shirt.

I mean, you don't have sex every night.

Underwear.

But even when you do... does he initiate? You suddenly can't recall.

Something you do every night, though, is hold each other. That's a given. Cuddling is essential. It's how you get to sleep: relying on Kento's warmth to lull you into a sense of security and comfort.

You rush to the bed and under the covers. You wait.

Kento emerges from the bathroom, turning off lights on the way to you. Your anticipation is almost palpable at this point.

He situates himself in bed, sat up and looking down at you. "Long day, love?"

The top half of your face is peeking out from under the covers as you nod. "Very," you remark with a bit of a whine. "Glad to finally be home with you, Ken." You reach out to him instinctively then think better of it and stop short, your hand flopping on the bed with a thud.

You both look down at it for a beat.

He laughs. "Me too." He picks up your hand from the space between you and presses his lips to it, holding back a chuckle. "Sleep well. We've got an early start tomorrow."

He then drops your hand to turn off the bedside lamp. The darkness somehow makes the room feel significantly colder.

Kento shimmies down into the covers, lays down face-up, and closes his eyes. "Good night, love."

"Night, Ken," you whisper.

You close your eyes as you replay the exchange in your head.

Initiated.

~°•*~

You wake the next morning curled up by Kento's side. Through the course of the night, it seems like you ended up drifting closer to him. Your head is on his chest, your legs tangled up with his.

His form is the same as he fell asleep in. Supine. Completely relaxed.

You sigh. You tried to give him a wide berth last night and still ended up encroaching on his space.

You carefully untangle yourself from him. His alarm hasn't gone off yet and you don't want to wake him. Once out of bed, you pad down the hall and to the kitchen. With the extra time, you decide you might as well get some breakfast ready.

In the silence while you're cooking, however, you can't help the doubts that start creeping up in your mind... You probably make him uncomfortable with your constant need to be touching him in some way, shape, or form. You know physical touch isn't his love language, and yet you pester him constantly anyway, even in public. He didn't so much as touch you last night without you practically begging for him to. He probably only reciprocates out of obligation.

Maybe you should tone it down today.

You hear the rushing stream of water from down the hall as you finish plating the food. Seems like you have time to pack your lunches for the day as well.

As soon as that's done, you pick at your breakfast a bit. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is having adverse effects on your appetite. You sigh heavily to yourself and figure you should at the very least have a coffee.

You prep one for yourself and one for Kento, and as if on cue, he emerges from the bedroom. His hair is glistening from the water and product still drying in it. He's got his dress shirt on with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks absolutely heaven-sent.

"Ooh, thanks for breakfast, love." He smiles as he takes his seat at the table and you hand him his mug. Your fingers brush as he grabs it, and you yank your hand away a little too forcefully. Kento raises a quizzical brow at you. "Careful, I'm sure it's hot." He blows on it a bit before taking a sip.

You hide your hands behind your back to avoid potential slip-ups. You resigned yourself to no touching him unprompted today. You were going to stick to it.

"How did you sleep? I missed you when I woke up this morning."

"Slept fine." You grab your own mug to give your hands something to do. "Just woke up a bit early. Lunch is packed and everything."

"Oh, wow. That's quite proactive of you," he teases. Oh, you wanna kiss him. He digs into his plate and gives a nod to yours. "Aren't you having breakfast?"

You shake your head. He scrunches his brows and his eyes soften. God, you want to rub at the lines between his brows. "I should actually start getting dressed, if anything. I'll go do that now."

You set down your mug on the counter and make a beeline to your bedroom. This is harder than you thought. He's irresistible. How are you meant to make it through the day?

Ugh, but this is for his sake. You don't want to make him uncomfortable. Show restraint, you're an adult.

You get dressed, do your hair, brush your teeth, and take a look at the clock to make sure you're good on time before your driver arrives. Once you're sure you're presentable, you grab your things and start making your way to the front door to put on your shoes.

"Hey, sweetheart--"

You stop in your tracks and look over at Kento, who is standing by the coat rack, jacket in hand and a weird look on his face. His tie is still loose. That's unlike him.

He gives you a crooked smile. "You seem frazzled this morning. I'm sure you're in a rush, but do you mind helping me get my jacket on?"

You hesitate, then you walk over to him. You don't have to touch him while putting on his coat. This is fine. He's asking you to do this anyway. "I've got you, Ken." You take the jacket from his hands, and he turns around to give you full access.

Oh, his back looks so good under his dress shirt. One arm in. It'd be so easy to just run a hand over it and cop a feel... Other arm in. Has he always had such a biteable neck?

You don't get a chance to think about it before it's covered by the collar of his jacket. You clasp your hands together in front of you as he turns around.

"Thank you, darling."

He looks you in the eye and you can't help your gaze from drifting down to his lips. You should kiss him. You want to kiss him. But he isn't leaning in. He's not initiating. You shouldn't. But you can't help gravitating towards him when he looks at you like that with so much love in his eyes and--

You lean in and tighten his tie up to the collar of his shirt.

He looks down in surprise. "Oh! Heh, thank you again." He lets out a chuckle.

You smile. "Anytime." Success. You restrained yourself. That was a close one.

Your phone chimes and you look down. "My driver's here. I'm heading out now." You turn around and put on your shoes at the doorstep. You open the door and spare a glance back at Kento, who is still standing right where you left him. "I'll see you tonight. Have a good day. Love you!"

"Love you, too..." He trails and adjusts his tie with one hand while the other waves a goodbye.

You give him a quick wave back and close the door behind you.

Phew, this shouldn't be that hard.

~°•*~

It's really not.

That hard, that is.

You spent the car ride to the school congratulating yourself on a job well done, coasting off the high of a win. By the time you arrived in the classroom, the whole ordeal took a backseat in your mind. As it stands, Maki, Toge, and Panda are enough of a handful in their own right.

You enter and all of your students seem to be here, sans Yuta. You close the sliding door and smile before walking to the front. "Alright, be seated," you announce as you set your things down. "Pop quiz today, so notes away and pencils out, please."

Your students' audible groans fill the mostly empty room.

"That's too cruel, sensei," Panda whines.

"Mustard leaf."

"Yeah, you didn't even prepare us for this," Maki complains.

The chorus of complaints keep ringing out. You sigh at the lack of order. You're not exactly in the mood with only your morning coffee sitting in your stomach, but you can't exactly blame them when it's so early in the morning and it's the last day of the week. However, that doesn't stop you from taking a deep breath and bringing your hands together in a forceful clap.

The sound reverberates through the floorboards and up the walls. Your students freeze.

The juxtaposition of your gentle smile and the tilt of your head lend to the immediate quiet. "I thought I asked you all very nicely to put your notes away and take a pencil out. I must have imagined the idle chatter, hm?"

They all sit up straight, desks cleared, pencil in hand. "Yes, sensei!"

A handful indeed.

It's what you need today, though. While Kento's off working, you're busy with the second years. There's no temptation this way. Not seeing him for the better part of the day helps. The rapid pace of training and lessons keeps you distracted... for the most part.

That is until, without warning, he's walking onto the training field where you're leading your class through combat drills. He has one Yuuji Itadori in tow, skipping along beside him.

You're kind of geeking, but you try not to let it show. This is Round 2. Second test of the day. You're in public this time. Your students are around. You can hold back.

You greet him with a smile. "You're back early. How did it go?"

Kento rolls the shoulder on his dominant side out. "It went well, all things considered." He looks a bit disheveled.

"It was so cool!" Yuuji cuts in. "Nanamin's cursed technique is always amazing to watch!"

You feel a swell of pride at that. Kento is very talented, you're glad Yuuji gets to learn from him. "How did you do today, Yuu-kun?"

"I think I did really well--"

"His form is still sloppy. He needs to get a better grasp on real-time battle strategy." Now that he's closer to you, you notice Kento's hair seems out of sorts. You want to run your fingers through it and fix it a bit...

"I thought I did a lot better today," Yuuji pouts. He leans his head onto the front of your shoulder and whines lowly so only you can hear. "Nanamin's been kinda mean today, sensei."

You laugh and wrap one arm around Yuuji, using the other to rub at his hair comfortingly. "He really wants you to improve. I'm sure it's nothing personal, Yuu-kun," you coo.

"I'll watch your students for you." You don't get a good look at Kento's face as he is already briskly making his way to where your kids are training.

Now that you mention it, that was a bit snappy. You wonder if something happened to Kento while he was out today.

You hum. You release Yuuji from your hold. "Why don't you tell me more about how today went?"

"Well." Yuuji starts prattling on about how he met with Gojo this morning who then let him know Kento would be instructing him again today, so they headed off to meet him, and Kento had seemed out of it this morning to begin with. Anyway, they went to exorcise some curses, but Kento seemed to be a little more aggressive with them today than usual. He mentioned how Kento had scolded him sternly more than a few times while they were working, but once they finished Kento still seemed unsatisfied and kept grumbling about this and that, stuff Yuuji couldn't make out. "And once we were done, I asked Nanamin if we could eat something and he said okay, but he just wanted to stop by here first to 'Check on the state of the instruction you students are being provided.' Whatever that means."

Huh. You should've guessed Gojo was at the source of this. He was probably pestering Kento into this morning. On top of that, Kento seems to be dissatisfied with how Gojo is teaching the first years and came to analyze the situation.

No wonder he seems a bit touchy.

Oh, Yuuji is still speaking to you.

"Sounds like a lot." You nod along to whatever he started talking about next. "I'm sure you and Kento had a long morning, Yuu-kun. How's about you take him to find Gojo-san and the other first years, okay?" You start guiding Yuuji back across the field to Kento.

It gives you pause to find that your second years are out of breath and hands-on-knees by the time you get back. You couldn't have been talking with Yuuji for more than a few minutes, what happened in that time?

"Really putting them through their paces there, huh, Ken?" You breathe out a laugh nervously. Kento is kind of scary when Gojo gets him riled up.

"They can handle this much," is all Kento offers, standing cross-armed, facing you students.

You pause. Your brows scrunch together in worry. "Okay, guys. Water break! Be back here in five minutes."

Your students let out a sigh of relief as they stagger towards the sidelines for some reprieve. Yuuji trails a safe distance behind you as you round Kento to face him fully. You soften your eyes as you meet his own, shielded from you by his round goggle sunglasses.

"Are you alright?"

The scrunch in his brow relaxes a bit at your scrutiny. "Yes, darling, I'm fine--"

"Are you sure?" You press. You take him in a bit more. His stance is relaxing some more. "Your hair's all fussed," you tease with a snort.

He looks at you. You look at him. You're mirroring his arm-crossed stance. You don't move to fuss over him, especially if it'll just make him more uncomfortable in this state, but you expect him to at least run a hand through his hair himself.

"Are you sure you're alri--"

"Yes, everything's fine. Yuuji, let's head over the first year classroom." He's already leaving before you can protest.

"Aww, but I thought we were going to eat first." Yuuji jogs to catch up with Kento and the two talk back and forth until their chatter becomes too quiet for you to hear.

You're left kind of unnerved by how he left things. Kento isn't one to beat around the bush. He'll usually tell you what's making him upset without mincing his words, especially when it comes to venting about Gojo. This recent transgression must have bothered him something fierce.

"Lover's quarrel?" You hear Maki comment behind you. You turn and realize all of your students have gathered to watch you watch your fiancée and Yuuji walk away.

"Pfft, no. Nothing that dramatic." You wave off their concern, or lack thereof. They're fishing for gossip, and you know it.

"Seemed like something fishy was going on between you twooooo," Panda singsongs.

"Salmon."

"Hey, do you want to waste the last..." You check your watch. "Two minutes of your water break yapping? 'Cause you're going to need it for the next set."

"No, sensei!" They scatter off to finish drinking at their jugs.

"Mhm, that's what I thought," you declare to yourself.

You want to bask in this recent victory. You staved off another round of the grabby hands again, after all. But something about this win just doesn't sit right with you. You don't feel good as long as you know something is eating at Kento this much...

Hopefully he works out whatever he and Gojo have going on.

~°•*~

The rest of the day is a blur. Your students are eager to get a start on their weekend or on missions, so as soon as it's time to dismiss them, they are out the door.

No new assignments were offered to you as the day went on, and thankfully, it seems like there aren't any pressing matters for you to attend to with the higher ups. By all accounts, you're free, so you grab your things and make way out the door and to the campus gates.

You haven't had a proper meal all day, so you start contemplating what you could pick up on your way home. You had enough ingredients to make a big dinner tonight. Maybe a quick snack would be enough to stave off the hunger until then.

As you continue to ponder your options, who do you run into but Satoru Gojo himself.

He spots you before you can think of turning tail to avoid him.

"If it isn't my lovely coworker and counterpart!" He offers a childlike grin and waves as his lithe form approaches you. "How is the beloved second-year sensei today?"

"Just fine," you respond, walking past him without a second glance.

He doesn't miss a beat as he trails behind you and continues chatting. "Aww, c'mon. Give me more than that. I feel like I barely get to see you."

You sigh. "That's on purpose, Gojo-san."

He feigns offense, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. "You wound me. We've known each other for years. You can call me senpai when we're not around the students, or at the very least drop the honorifics."

"Would you rather I referred to you as 'hey, you,' or maybe as 'trash-kun'?" You tease. You didn't hate Gojo, per se. You just found him a mite unbearable sometimes.

"'Gojo-san' is fine, then..." He pouts. "You and Nanami are just the same." He brightens as he seems to remember something. "Speaking of! I got to speak to our resident ex-salaryman today! He was telling me all about how you--"

"How he thinks you're slacking on training the first years?" You interrupt.

"What? No! I'll have you know I am doing an amazing job, especially with Megumi and Yuuji. As a matter of fact, they're..."

You tune him out for the rest of the walk to the exit. The thought of Gojo defending himself in the face of a scolding Kento was amusing enough to get you through the rest of the walk out. At the gates, you find your driver waiting for you, the car idling and primed to take you far away from the school and this conversation.

"As much as I love our talks." You turn to look at Gojo with thinly veiled annoyance. "I should be getting home for the day, Gojo-san." Before you can reach for the door yourself, Gojo does it for you. He opens it widely and with a flourish, offering his hand to help you in.

"But of course, sorry to keep you. Get home safe. Get rested. I'm sure next week will be another doozy."

You accept his hand and roll your eyes half-heartedly as he goes on and on. You can't help the small smile on your face as you make your way into the car, though.

As soon as you're securely inside, Gojo peers in and looks you in the eye. "But if I could offer you a bit of advice, my dear kohai." His tone comes across a bit more serious. You attention falls securely on him at that. "I'd go about talking to our friend Nanami over... stimulus control."

Huh?

You give Gojo a look that you hope conveys your confusion, but any note of seriousness in his demeanor leaves him as fast as it came. He grins widely at you and closes the door before you have the chance to question him further. As soon as the door closes, the driver pulls off and Gojo becomes but a shrinking figure in the rear window.

Well, that was cryptic.

What the fuck did he mean "stimulus control"?

You don't think much of it after a while. Gojo is infamously too unserious for his own good. It would be a waste of brain power to read too much into what could very well just be him messing with you, so you don't. What you do continue pondering is what you could do for dinner.

By the time you get home, you've decided on snacking on yesterday's treat while cooking up a suitable feast to make up for missing breakfast. And to congratulate you on a job well done today.

You are in high spirits as you eat and cook at the same time. You could get used to this! Restraining yourself was far easier than you had anticipated. What had seemed like an impossible task this morning didn't seem so bad in hindsight. Maybe every day could be like this...

With no touching Kento at all...

And him not initiating any physical contact with you... at all.

This experience had really put Takuma's observation to the test, hadn't it? Kento really doesn't initiate physical affection with you at all, does he?

Your mood sours a bit.

But you attempt to pull yourself out of it just as quickly. He has other methods of showing he loves you. He shows you he loves you every day. Constant messages checking on how you're doing. Doing the chores whenever you're far too drained. Sitting down to watch your favorite show with you. Bringing back trinkets from missions outside the city that made him think of you. Not to mention that he says he loves you outright every day without fail.

Kento is an intensely loving man, and if you only had to sacrifice a bit of hugging and squeezing for his sake, that was completely fine with you. He just wasn't the type to receive love that way and that's okay.

That's fine.

There's a jingle of keys in the lock of the front door just as you're finishing up the last dish of tonight's spread. You turn off the stove and start transferring to a serving dish as Kento appears in view, dropping his briefcase and shedding his jacket at the front.

"Ken! You're home!" You turn to place the pot and spoon in your hands in the sink. "Dinner's just about ready, just gotta set the table and everything." You reach to grab a towel and wipe your hands as you turn around to face him. "Unless this is a have-dinner-standing-up-at-the-kitchen-island sort of da--"

Kento leaning on the kitchen island with a hand on his hip gives you pause. His head is hanging low as he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

You crane your neck to look him in the eye. "Long day?"

He sighs. "Like you wouldn't believe." He looks up at you, facing you head-on. An uncomfortable silence fills the space between you. He doesn't elaborate.

You scratch your head. "Well, at least dinner's ready!" You gesture to the courses for the meal. "One less thing to worry about."

"Mhm." He nods. You're not sure with the tinted lenses, but it almost seems like Kento is looking at you... expectantly? You don't know what to say. The silence stretches on. You twist at the towel in your hands.

You tilt your head and press your lips in a thin line. "You seem stressed."

He surprises you by letting out a dry chuckle and turning away. He takes off his goggles and places them on the counter. He runs a hand down his face as he leans on the other.

"Kento..." You approach him cautiously. You're not sure what to do. Usually you'd rub at his back, but you're not sure that's the right thing to do here. "If this is about the Gojo thing--"

"Gojo?" You're taken aback as he stands at full height and throws his hands up. He starts pacing and grumbles to himself, "Of all the things... Had to sit there and talk to Gojo about this, of all the people..."

"Are you alright?"

"Are you alright??" He turns quickly and faces you.

The outburst has you dropping the towel and bumping into the sink. You didn't realize you'd stepped back so far. Kento's right there with you, though. There's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for him but to press a hand on either side of you, caging you in.

"Have I done something to upset you?" His bare eyes look into yours solemnly, almost pained.

You alternate between looking at both of his eyes for a moment. In your surprise at the seriousness of this exchange, laughter is suddenly bubbling up in your chest and bursts out before you can stop it. "What? Haha!"

Your fit of giggles seems to take Kento aback. He blinks. "Darling, I'm serious."

You try to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand. "Ken, honey, what do you mean?" You shake your head. "You haven't done anything to upset me. What made you think that?"

The warmth of a gentle hand on your cheek shocks you out of the hilarity of the moment.

Initiated.

Kento doesn't give you any choice but to look him in the eye. "I had to pull you in so you'd sleep in my arms last night." He emphasizes his words with a stroke of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. "I woke up without you this morning. You left today without a send-off kiss. God, I stopped by while you worked and didn't even fix my own appearance for the chance that you'd run your hands through my hair." Kento grows progressively more distressed as he speaks. You're speechless. "You haven't so much as brushed a hand against me all day. Have I done something that made you... uncomfortable with me?"

"Oh..." In the blink of an eye, all of the restraint you'd brute force trained into your disposition today is thrown out the window. "Oh, Kento." You reach up to place both hands on either side of his face. "You could never make me feel uncomfortable with you." You reach around his neck and squeeze him into you, rubbing your head into his cheek comfortingly. "The whole reason I pulled back today was because I thought I was making you uncomfortable."

"What?" He pulls away to look at you, placing his hands squarely on your shoulders, not moving them away. "What could possibly make you think that you make me uncomfortable?"

"Well..." You look down at your hands as they fiddle with his tie and dress shirt. "You have to admit the way I'm constantly touching and hugging and kissing you is a bit excessive, no?"

"No, actually. I don't have to admit that because it's not true. Look at me."

You peer at him through your eyelashes.

"Sweetheart, what made you feel this way?"

You glance away.

"Love, look at me."

You do. He's making full eye contact with you. Patiently waiting.

"Someone might have..." You trail off a bit. "Offhandedly pointed out...." Man, this is hard to admit now. "That you never hold my hand first?"

Kento blinks. Then blinks a few more times. "Surely, that's not true. Who told you that?"

"That's beside the point," you blurt. "The important thing is that that's what this whole thing was. Me making an effort to not touch you as much, only if you initiated first. And then it sort of turned out to also be a ploy to see if you'd even initiate at all... Which you didn't..."

Kento looks appalled.

"I just got really in my head about it!" You ramble on. "And then a little insecure. And then I was really just doing this all for your sake because I sort of got it in my head that you didn't like PDA--or physical affection in general--at all, because you never initiate any of it! And then I thought that maybe I was being too much and--"

In your panic, you failed to notice Kento slinking his hands down to your hips, towards the hem of your shirt. The feeling of the pads of his fingers on the bare skin of your stomach makes you jump a bit. "How could you ever think you're too much..." His palms are warm as they join his fingertips. He's moved his head to lean beside yours and speaks lowly into the shell of your ear. His hands start wandering farther up to your bare waist. Unfettered. "When I can't get enough of you?"

You squirm in his grasp. "Kento..." you breathe. You're not used to him taking initiative like this.

"I'm sorry I got so used to receiving your affection without any effort on my part." He glides his nose from your ear down your neck. "I got so used to having your hands on me without trying-" He presses a kiss at your pulse point. You gasp. "That I made a real ass of myself as soon as you took that away." One of his hands moves from your waist to your bare spine. It makes you shiver and arch forward. "I took you for granted and for that I apologize."

Your breathing is picking up. "It's okay, Ken," you say unevenly.

Kento shakes his head. "No, it's not." He pulls back just enough so that he's practically nose to nose with you. "I love you very much. Let me be sorry." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed.

You nod against him. "Okay."

"Surely," he continues. "I have to show you just how sorry I am." The sideways smile he gives you carries mischief. Your eyes widen before he leans down. You let out a yelp as he lifts you off the ground and onto the counter.

He sits between your legs, and you hold him by the neck as you try to keep your breath even. "The food'll get cold."

"You'll hear no complaints from me."

You giggle as he leans on one of his hands to smash his lips into yours and uses the other to start loosening his tie.

This is so unlike him, and you can't help thinking that you should deprive him of your touch more often just to illicit this response.

Somehow that reminds you of a certain someone's advice and you end up smiling deeper into the kiss.

"What?" Kento's laugh mixes with yours in the space between you.

You snort at the thought. "I can't believe I Pavlov'd you into expecting hugs and kisses from me."

"Oh, sweetheart." He leans down and gives your neck a playful nip. "You're one bell I'll just about always salivate for."

That makes you snicker and shriek even more as Kento continues trailing kisses down your neck and squeezing and touching wherever his hands can find purchase.

Dork.

For a love language Kento didn't start off with when you met him, physical touch sure seems to be something he can't go without. And that's all your influence.

You guess what they say is true, to be loved is to be changed.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via darkbluepassion01

[god-of-this-new-blog]

“You need Kira’s mercy.”

“I need His mercy. I beg for it.”

From Heard in Heaven by @lightyaoigami

[astrobei]

burn off from the rush

“You’ve really never?” Will asks, finally pulling a box of matches out of his pocket, not the lighter Mike had been expecting. He tips the box of Marlboros out towards Mike again, and this time, he takes one, trying to pretend like the subtle weight of it is not as foreign in his hand as it feels. “Not even once?” “No,” Mike says, trying to figure out whether he should be getting defensive or not. “Why? Is it that hard to believe?” “I just figured, you know, it’s easier to bum a smoke off of somebody than it is to get your hands on some booze,” Will says thoughtfully. He tucks the cigarettes back into his pocket and plants both hands on the stack of hay behind him, taking a careful step onto the bale already resting by their feet — and then, when it holds his weight, he hoists himself up, legs swinging. “And you’ve done that, so.”

Will sneaks out for a smoke break. Mike decides to join him.

(inspired by this)

[bloody-cupcakes]

Yandere/dark Tenth Doctor x reader; he helps you celebrate your birthday

Tw: yandere/dark content, soft yandere, threatened force feeding (it doesn't happen though), implied kidnapping/Stockholm syndrome, gender neutral reader, the Doctor uses affectionate pet names such as star, angel, and love, brief swearing, referenced past hypnotism/mind control

A/N: it's my birthday and I happen to share it with none other David Tennant himself so naturally I had to write something a little dark with the Tenth Doctor in order to celebrate 🥳🎈🎂

The bed dipped down beside you as you tried to play it off like you were still asleep. "Happy birthday, star," the Doctor softly cooed in your ear, gently shaking you as you laid there. Obviously he figured out you were faking. "It's time to get up so I can give you your gift."

You pressed your face closer into the pillow and let out a defiant huff. "I don't wanna," you whined quietly, almost too quiet for him to hear. As much as you might've enjoyed your birthday before, you'd recently been dreading its approach due to the circumstances you found yourself in.

Part of you had hoped that maybe he wouldn't remember, and then you could say you didn't remember either if it ever came up in further conversation, but unfortunately you had no such luck. You didn't even question how he knew it: at this point you didn't want to know where he got any additional information that you didn't willingly give up.

"I said, it's time to get up." His tone was a bit more forceful than before; it made you gulp nervously and sent shivers down your spine. "I don't want to have to repeat myself again, understood?"

"Yes, sir," you responded obediently, your voice sounding timid and meek as you slowly sat up in the bed. "I'm sorry." You stuck your bottom lip out and widened your eyes, trying to make yourself look as innocent and unsuspecting as possible, something you knew he always fell for.

"I guess I'm just a little upset that I won't be getting to spend today with my family." It could very well have been a bold faced lie, but he didn't need to know that. It wouldn't matter, anyway. You knew he wasn't going to take you back home, but at the very least you were hoping for some sympathy, which you got.

"Oh, angel..." His voice went back to its usual soft spoken tone as he pulled you onto his lap, his brow furrowed as his eyes filled with concern. "I know you miss them, love, but I can't take you back. You know that. Besides, this is your home now." He gestured to your room inside the TARDIS, one that he filled with items he'd taken from your old place.

Against your better judgement, you cuddled up close to him on his lap, nuzzling your face into the side of his neck. You inhaled the scent of his aftershave, something that you thought you'd always hate when he first took you. Now, though, it provided you some much needed comfort whenever you were feeling down.

"I'm going to go get your gift, okay? I'll be right back." You made a soft noise of protest as he slipped you off his lap and back onto the bed, watching as he got up and left the room. Pouting, you crossed your arms and just sat there, waiting for him to return.

The Doctor soon returned, carrying a plate with a large slice of birthday cake on it. He chuckled upon seeing the grouchy look on your face. "I told you I'd be right back." He walked over and took a seat back on the bed, setting the plate down in front of you. "Boy, you must've missed me an awful lot, hm?"

You stuck your tongue out to show you didn't appreciate his teasing. "Careful, otherwise your face is going to freeze like that." He picked up the fork and stuck it in the slice of cake, breaking off a piece before holding it up. "Look, I got your favorite."

Knowing exactly what he wanted, you kept your mouth shut, refusing to eat the piece of cake on front of you. If you were in a better mood, then maybe you'd be fine with it. After all, you'd grown used to him feeding you, even if it was a tad bit degrading.

But today was just not the day for all of that. You couldn't be sure exactly what time it was, as there wasn't a clock in your room, but you were fairly certain he'd woken you up just past midnight . Honestly, the nerve to not even let you sleep on on your own birthday.

"I don't want any. I'm not hungry," you mumbled as you looked down, not feeling brave enough to meet his gaze, even if you were openly defying him by refusing the "gift" he'd gotten you.

"Very funny, star. I woke you up early, so now you're going to be a brat and refuse to eat your cake," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at you. "Look, would you just eat it? It's only one slice, love, c'mon now."

"No. I said I don't want to," you blurted out in frustration, glaring at him. The moment his eyes darkened, you felt your blood run cold, realizing you'd made a mistake. "I- I'm sorry, I'm just a little tired-"

Your poorly made excuses were cut off quickly by the Doctor's harsh tone. "I don't care how tired you are, do you hear me? We are going to sit here until you eat every damn bite, if I have to force it down your throat."

A loud whimper of fear escaped you at his scolding tone, causing him to let out a sigh as he recognized he'd gone a bit too far. "Love, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to be so rough sounding with you," he gently reassured you as he shifted closer to you on the bed.

Deciding it wasn't worth it to fight him (despite how much you really didn't want to be held), you allowed him to pull you onto his lap for a second time. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to upset you in that way," he spoke in a low and soothing voice while wrapping his arms around you.

"You were mean," you choked out as your eyes began to fill with tears. Although it was ridiculous to believe, especially with no proof, you always thought he'd done something that made you much more emotional and sensitive than you used to be, just so he could have the chance to comfort you.

(Technically your suspicions weren't all that far off, as he'd asked a favor from his best enemy back when he first took you. He figured that maybe if you were more docile and submissive it'd be easier to make you stay with him, so he convinced the Master to hypnotize you in an effort to change the chemistry of your brain and make it so you'd be dependent fully on him. Of course, you didn't know any of this, though it wouldn't have surprised you even if you did.)

"I know I was, love, and I'm sorry." He reached over and moved the plate, resting it on your thigh as he picked up the fork again. "Just eat this, then you can go back to bed, okay? I promise." The offer was certainly tempting, and the cake didn't actually look (or smell) that bad.

"Okay," you sniffled in a small voice, opening your mouth just enough for him to stick the fork in. The taste of the buttercream frosting hit your tongue first, the silky smooth texture followed by the fluffiness of the cake. The Doctor smiled in delight as he watched you eat it.

"Good, good. There you go, see? I knew you'd like it." He broke off another piece from the slice and held it up to your mouth again, feeding you in almost the same manner a mother would to her child. "You're doing so well for me, star, I'm so proud of you."

You felt your face heat up in a blush at his praise, humming happily as you continued to eat. His words of encouragement pushed you to keep eating, even if you weren't really that hungry to begin with. A full belly and an empty plate later, you were finally done, licking your lips clean of icing.

"See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" He placed the fork on the plate and set them both down on the bedside table. "Did you enjoy your gift, star, hm? I thought you might like it, seeing as that's your favorite."

As you were still savoring the final bites of the slice of cake, you nodded your head eagerly. He grinned in response, glad to know you'd liked it. "Good, I'm glad." Noticing there was some icing smeared on your upper lip, he leaned in and dragged his tongue across it suddenly, an action that left you both shocked and flustered.

Laughing at your reaction, he gave your lips a quick kiss before saying in a low and suggestive voice, "I'm sorry, angel, I just couldn't resist. You looked too sweet not to taste for myself."

Too embarrassed to say anything, you turned and buried your face into his chest, which only caused him to laugh harder. "Oh, star, you're always so easy to tease." He ran his hand up and down your back in a comforting fashion, smirking playfully.

A soft yawn could be heard coming from you as drowsiness started to overcome you. "I'm really tired, can I go back to sleep now?" You asked in a sleepy mumble, looking up at him with eyes that were droopy as an effect of being woken up in the middle of the night.

"Of course you can, love. I won't keep you awake any longer." He pulled the covers over top of you before flicking off the lamp beside the bed. Pressing a loving kiss to your head, you could hear him faintly murmur just before you drifted off to sleep: "happy birthday".

[sofmoth]

Smooth Stuff

for her birthday, @strang3lov3 challenged me to write dennis reynolds, and to use his DENNIS system on the reader. naturally i’m nervy because who can do dennis but glenn howerton honestly??? and genuinely not to suck myself off but i feel like i met the brief LMAO

this is for all us dennisfuckers, dennisfucker nation stand up!!!

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

dennis reynolds x reader. WC: 2.3k

DO NOT BOTHER INTERACTING IF YOUR BIO IS AGELESS OR BLANK.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT.

HEED ALL WARNINGS:

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. dennis is a literal sociopath, dennis is manipulative, dennis manipulates reader for sex, dubcon, reader is psychologically tortured, sober sex with a drunk person, reader gets drunk, canon-typical dennisisms, no confirmed relationship, use of the DENNIS system, smut. once more for the cheap seats, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

“My name’s Dennis, I’m collecting donations for the Boys & Girls Club.”

That’s how it started. He’d come in to ask if there were any old toys your store was about to throw out, and if you would consider donating them instead. Unfortunately not, you’d told him, but you were pretty sure you had a phone number he could call and he might have some luck with that. You’d written it down on a Post-It for him with the name of the person he should ask for, and then you handed him a Post-It with your name and number. You’d never been so bold before; something about him inspired that in you.

He called you every other night, and you talked for a few hours each time. It felt like nothing, talking to Dennis was as easy as breathing. He was charming, and funny, and he actually listened to you bitch about the day you had at work instead of interrupting every 38 seconds to talk about himself. Friday night, near the end of your call, he asked if you’d ever been to a restaurant called Guigino’s. He’ll be taking you on Sunday.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous walking to the restaurant with him; you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with him over the phone. He can probably sense your anxiety, hooking his arm into yours as you walk. You hear it before you see it, Dennis groans and you look up. A sign on the door reads CLOSED, and Dennis holds his face in his hand. He sighs, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Unbelievable, I’m sorry. How about we take a rain check on this? We can grab a pizza or something and head back to my place, watch a movie? My roommate’ll be there but he keeps to himself. If that’s okay with you, of course.” You hum, bite your lip.

“Okay. It’s still Italian.” You stifle a nervous giggle and Dennis chuckles, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as you continue down the street.

As the apartment door opens you can see a man sitting on the couch, reading a book with the TV barely on. He must be Dennis’s roommate. Dennis clears his throat.

“Hey man. Do you mind taking that to your room? The restaurant was closed, we’d like to… y’know, get to know each other a bit. In private.”

“I’m not going in there.” Dennis’s jaw twitches.

“Why not?”

“I saw a black widow. I’m not going back in there.”

Dennis sighs, looks over at you.

“I mean, I guess we could take this to my room? Eat on the bed, watch a DVD in there?” You nod and he relaxes, smiling at you.

You sit on top of his covers with the pizza box between you, eating absently as you attempt to follow the movie. You’re not entirely sure what it is, but you think you recognize a few of the actors. You feel Dennis’s knee touch yours, looking over at him.

“Pretty good pizza.” He closes the box.

“Not the only good thing I’m looking at.”

God damn, does he fuck. You almost feel bad for his roommate, though the thought is immediately pushed from your mind as the head of his cock borderline bruises your cervix. His hand on your throat stifles your moans, your eyes roll back from the sensation. You’re practically folded in half, knees pressed closer to your shoulders than you ever thought possible, your arms around his neck as he kisses you messily.

Your legs start to tremble, toes curling as you feel the tension building in your belly. You knot your fingers in his hair, tugging hard as your back arches into his chest and you begin to see stars. He doesn’t slow down, if anything he fucks you harder, tears pricking at your lashes as the stimulation toes the line of too much. You silently thank God he had condoms, glad he won’t have to pull out and finish on you. His pace falters, hips stuttering as he grates out a near-rapturous “Oh, fuck.” 

He pants against your neck, wincing as he pulls out. You prop yourself up on your elbows, legs still shaking You look him up and down, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the wild look in his eyes nearly doing you in again. He tosses the spent condom down into the wastebasket by his nightstand, pulling his boxers up and laying on his back next to you. You look over at him, raising an eyebrow. He raises one back at you.

“Oh, really?”

The next evening after work, you find one of your tires almost completely deflated. You groan, inspecting the rubber and locating a sizable screw lodged between the treads. Fucking fantastic. You sigh, chewing on your lip. You’ve only been talking with him for a little over a week, and you don’t want to seem too needy, but you call Dennis anyway. Maybe he’ll be able to give you a ride to the auto shop at least.

He’s there in no time, happy to help. He even offered to change the tire for you. As he stands he wipes his hands on his jeans, kissing you quickly before replacing the jack in your trunk. You feel your cheeks heating up, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got some stuff to do this week, so how about we go to Guigino’s next week?”

“Sounds good to me. You free that Friday?” He smiles at you.

“Yes, I am. How does 7 sound?”

“That’ll be great. Give me a call when you’ve got time, I’ll see you.” You enter your car, starting the engine as he backs away and raises a hand to you.

You notice he watches you leave the parking lot before leaving himself. That’s the first time any man has bothered to make sure nothing else happened to you. Dennis calls that night, you talk for a bit before you both decide to go to bed. The next two days follow the same routine, but the third day he doesn’t call. You feel a bit dejected, and by 8:30 you’re two glasses of wine deep, nearly ready to go to bed. Your phone rings and you’re wide awake again, picking up without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You’re met only with the sound of heavy breathing. “Hello? Who is this?”

“I know where you are, you dirty slut. I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

You hang up, throwing the phone almost across the living room. Your hands shake and you stand slowly, walking carefully over lest it ring and be the same man on the other end again. You call Dennis, and as he picks up you can’t control your tears attempting to explain what just happened. He arrives at your apartment shortly, holding you on the couch as you try to calm down. He offers to stay the night and you insist he doesn’t have to, he insists he wants to if it’ll make you feel safer. You gratefully accept.

Your week is filled with mishaps and threatening calls, notes left on your car in your apartment and work lots. You tell him the only person you can think of who would do this to you is your batshit crazy ex, so Dennis comes to visit for a bit most evenings. Dennis has to cancel your plans for Guigino’s, and as he leaves he kisses you at the door with a promise that he’ll call you.

He doesn’t call. You try to only call him once a day, leaving simple and short voicemails. The threatening calls start again and you try to get ahold of Dennis, still to no avail. You spend the next week almost too afraid to set foot outside, but you have obligations that must be met, phone stalker or not. By the end of the week you’ve given up. You didn’t expect this from him, don’t know what prompted it. You can’t tell whether you were too clingy, or perhaps you weren’t paying him the attention he deserved. You sit on your couch, already down three glasses of wine and working on your fourth when a knock on your door startles you.

You lean against the peephole, trying to make out who it is. Dennis. You groan quietly, holding your face in your hands. You sigh deeply, pulling the door open to face him directly. His shoulders are slack, he looks sad.

“Can I come in?” You gesture him inside, he sits on the couch and eyes the wine bottle. “I know I’ve been distant. I’m sorry.”

You sit next to him, picking up your wine glass and finishing it in one long swig.

“I just wanted to explain myself. Listen, I was being a coward. I was afraid. I’ve had my heart broken so many times, and you’re too good for me. I was scared it was gonna happen again and I was gonna lose the best thing that’s happened to me in ages, so I did a really shitty thing and cut you out before you could do it to me. That was awful of me.”

You rub your temple, sighing through your nose as he talks.

“I… I’m not afraid of that anymore. I thought about it really hard, and being away from you this week has been killing me. I wanna be with you. I love spending time with you and talking to you, when I have a bad day getting to talk to you makes it feel like it never even happened. Please, give me another chance.”

Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the stress you’ve been under, but the sincerity in his eyes knocks down every emotional barricade you put up. How exactly you got into bed with him is a blur, but you remember Dennis pulling you up at some point as you made out on the couch. This isn’t like the first time you fucked him, he’s taking his time with you now.

Your eyelids flutter as he lays kisses to your neck and chest, peeling your shorts away as you toss your tank top across the room. You can’t keep your hands off of him, fingers digging into the flesh of his back as he removes his shirt. He kisses you deeply, you hear the harsh sound of his zipper and he pulls away for a moment to remove his jeans. He’s back over you in an instant, hips grinding into yours evenly.

You make out slowly, fingers tangled in each other’s hair as he continues dry humping you. His pace begins quickening, his breathing becoming shallow. You’re both getting desperate, and you push his hand down to the waistband of your panties. He removes them without hesitation, pulling away from you once again only to push down his boxers. He reaches over to your nightstand, fishing around in the drawer for a condom.

You could cry when you finally feel him push inside you, the slow roll of his hips into yours making your eyes nearly cross and your back arch. One arm holds him up just above your torso, his other hand grips your hip. You can feel his teeth and tongue on your neck and clavicle, whining at the soft bites he lays down. The hand on your hip comes up to your chest and you gasp as he squeezes, his thumb grazing your nipple as he wraps his lips around the other. The wet heat drives you fucking crazy; you bite down on your own hand to ground yourself.

Your hips start to sting, you don’t even know how long you’ve had your legs spread at this point. Dennis doesn’t seem anywhere near tired or finished, his speed increased and his grip on your skin even firmer. You wrap your legs around his waist, he moans openly and fucks you harder. It still isn’t as hard as your first hookup, but you imagine this is what finding religion feels like. You feel his hand snake down between your bodies, gasping at the sensation of his thumb circling your clit.

Your eyes start to water, breathing becoming jerky as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His pelvis slams against yours, the speed and friction only pushing you closer to your orgasm. You whimper; the rubber band is about to snap, your stomach tenses and your thighs twitch. Dennis kisses you, hard, pounding into you and stopping abruptly. Your whine becomes a broken moan as he focuses his attention on your clit, tears falling as your entire body stiffens and relaxes from the relief your orgasm brings.

You moan again into his mouth and he continues fucking into you, and you can tell he’s close. Courteous, too. His speed is unrelenting, plowing into you so forcefully it almost hurts. He buries his cock inside you one final time, pressing his face into your tits and moaning raggedly. You almost wish you could feel him cum inside you, curious to experience the sensation. Dennis pants against your chest, squeezing your hip as you release his waist from the confinement of your calves.

He doesn’t move, holding his cock inside of you for what feels like hours. By the time he pulls out, you’re wracked by a wave of exhaustion. You can barely keep your eyes open, only vaguely aware of his movements  as he throws away the condom and pulls the blankets over you both. You feel him stroke your hair and press a kiss to your cheek, and you think you hear him say something but you can’t quite understand him.

Your alarm scares you awake, on your one day off no less. You reach behind yourself, feeling only the mattress under your palm. You sit up, confused, listening for the sound of Dennis moving around anywhere in your apartment. The entire place is silent. You pull on enough clothes to cover yourself, walking to your window to look into the parking lot and searching for Dennis’s car. You don’t see it anywhere. You try to call him, immediately you’re met with the telltale chime ready to inform you you’ve dialed a disconnected phone number.

“Douchebag” doesn’t even begin to describe that motherfucker.

[basiatlu]

☆ Happy Birthday to @mono-chromia ☆

A wee gift collab between your pals! Thank you so much for being energetic and supportive and most of all my friend 🥺✨️ (also shut up its your birthday MONTH ok? Still totally on time)

[rahuratna]

A gift fic for @courtneedsleep ! Happy birthday, beautiful Court! 🧡🎁

Summary: Gojo x Reader

A chance mission allows you to encounter the conundrum that is Gojo Satoru.

Genres: Romance, angst, humour, suspense.

Sunrise stretches insidious fingers across the horizon, and you're still keeping watch. Hours ago, four young sorcerers had entered the veil you'd dragged from the evening sky, the finality of each step they'd taken ringing in your memory.

Where were they now? Why hadn't they succeeded in removing all of the cursed spirits from the area yet? Had they encountered some kind of anomaly? Were they in hiding, waiting for reinforcement that would -

You tugged at your scarf, attempting to even out the staccato fogging of your breath.

If they hadn't emerged by now, then -

Your phone buzzed insistently. It was Ijichi. He'd been calling for the better part of the night. You'd refrained from answering, only sending him single line message updates.

Still here.

No change.

Sorcerer team still under veil.

As one of the trainee assistant managers, you weren't supposed to be here. You should have been back at the office, filing your paperwork for the day, and then taking the Jujutsu Tech vehicle back to your small apartment.

None of those things had happened. Your conscience would never allow you to abandon this terrible vigil. You think, as you crack your knuckles fervently (an old, nervous habit) that even if you did stay, nothing much would come of it. You know, and yet, you remain rooted to the cooling pavement, watching for the potential reinforcements, waiting.

The chill of the morning air, the rumble of your protesting stomach, the slow catch and release of your eyelids as you fight sleep, almost cause you to miss his arrival. It's a wonder, really, that a man like him can be so quiet. He is suddenly in the periphery of your blurry appraisal; tall, white hair burnished to a dozen softer shades, pale fire in the dawn.

Gojo Satoru turns towards you, face uncharacteristically sombre. You've seen him many times in passing, his reputation preceding him far beyond the confines of Tokyo, but this is the first time you've had direct contact. His voice is low, deeper than you remembered, devoid of the exuberance that you realise is cultivated for his day-to-day interactions.

"Ah. So you waited here all night?"

You catapult to a more upright posture, arms stiffening at your sides.

"Yes. I ... I didn't see any sign of - "

He turns away, waving a nonchalant hand in your direction.

"You're new, right? Transferred in from another branch?"

"Yes, Mister Gojo."

"You can drop the formalities. Never liked 'em."

"Yes, M- Gojo."

He strides forward, towards the veil and you hurry after him. He raises a hand, taps gently against your construct, and the resonance of his energy pulses throughout the darkened layer. You shiver slightly and he turns to you.

"Undo it."

"But what if -"

Your response is almost a knee-jerk reaction to what he has asked for. Everyone knows the risk of lifting a veil when the danger within has clearly not been nullified. The corner of Gojo's mouth, however, has begun to turn up. You're not sure if the expression is sympathetic or mocking. It's hard to tell with him.

"Come on. Get this thing out of the way. There's no need to worry if I'm here, ya know? Once I'm in, put it up again."

The casual manner in which he states this is both breathtaking and painful. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak as you raise your fingers, the veil falling away.

If there were sorcerers as powerful as this available to rid the world of curses, then why had those four fledglings been sent into -

"I got here as soon as I could. Just finished with a job in Shinjuku."

His voice is quiet, so quiet that you almost don't catch the words. Immediately, you step back, eyes widening slightly as you realise the magnitude of what you've been thinking.

Of course he couldn't have helped earlier! He may be the most powerful, but he's also just a sorcerer, a man. He can't bend the laws of the universe to this extent and -

"My apologies, Gojo!"

You voice is uncomfortably loud in the early morning hush. His laugh is light, airy, in spite of the fact that he does not turn to look at you.

"What do you mean? You haven't said anything. Keep watch. Nothing gets past me, but it always pays to be alert."

So saying, his tall, rangy form strides forward, never pausing, never slowing to take stock of his surroundings, until he vanishes from your sight. You wait for a few minutes before lashing your consciousness to a new concealing curtain.

Two of the four young sorcerers died that night. The two who had survived had holed up in the uppermost floor of an abandoned high rise, waiting out the swarm of flesh eating curses circling below. Gojo's arrival, as you'd learned later, had diverted the shoal of piranha-like creatures, each of them riccocheting with reckless abandon across the length of the interior in an attempt to impale, tear, rip him to shreds.

None of that happened, of course. Gojo wasn't hailed as the strongest for no reason. He'd dispatched the remaining curses within minutes and rescued the surviving sorcerers.

It was a full month before you saw him again.

"Oi oi oi. Miss Daydreamer. Earth to - "

"Mist- Gojo! Please don't creep up on me."

He leans back, seemingly satisfied at the reaction he's pulled from you, and you briefly understand why Ijichi mutters about how annoying this man is under his breath as a constant litany.

Gojo is dressed in a light shirt and jeans today, a pair of designer sunglasses shading his eyes. Without the blindfold, his hair falls around his ears, soft as the first snow of the season. He is beautiful in a way that you refuse to allow your body to acknowledge, fixing your glance on the dark, reflective surface of the glasses.

"Gojo ... are you helping your students with training today?"

"Hmm hmm. Maybe. Set 'em up for a good old sparring session. Nothing better than seeing the ducklings beating each other into the dirt."

He laughs, but he won't distract you with that. He had obviously recognized you from that mission, meaning it was still clear in his memory. And if he remembered you, then ...

"Are you okay?"

The words are out before you have a chance to think, really think, about how clumsy and stilted they sound. What you've said has had some effect, though. He pauses, cocking his head slightly, as if he'd assumed he'd misheard you.

"What was that?"

You suck in a breath. Now you're really in for it, but you can't stop and-

"I asked if you were all right. After ... the mission last month."

His silence is unnerving now, but he remains where he is, eyes unknowable behind those lenses.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well ... you did find those sorcerers ... you know. Dead. And you had to handle everything afterwards -"

The fresh peal of laughter assaults your ears like a sudden thunderclap. You start in disbelief as he doubles over, clutching at his sides. It's only after a moment of standing there in shocked consternation that you recognise the uncontrollable nature of it, the fact that he simply can't help himself, that he genuinely doesn't care how his laughter seems to you, or anyone else watching. The realisation sobers you, causes the heated flush of outrage to fade from your cheeks.

When he recovers, he heaves in a large breath, exaggeratedly patting his chest.

"Well now. That's the first time in ... hmmm. Actually, I don't know!"

"First time for what?"

You frown slightly, wondering if he was just teasing you again.

"That anyone asked if I was okay."

"Gojo, please. That's something people ask each other every day, and-"

"And seldom mean it."

His voice has changed, carrying that quiet note of sincerity, as it had that day outside the veil. It makes you stop short. Gojo continues, musingly.

"People who ask me that question don't really want an honest answer. I'm the strongest after all."

You raise an eyebrow, obstinate.

"So? What does your strength have to do with a simple query like this? Being the strongest doesn't mean that losing comrades hurts any less, does it?"

This time, his smile is genuine, sharp-edged, more vulnerable than anything you'd seen adorn his face before, if sinfully brief. He turns away from you again, before you have time to fully absorb it.

"No. No it doesn't."

When you were little, there had been a documentary on television that you'd found quite fascinating. The subject matter was prehistoric life of various kinds, and one of the episodes focused on a genus of pterosaur, the Quetzalcoatlus.

You could picture it, from back then, the massive wingspan, the conical beak slicing through the atmosphere, the serpentine neck, the fabric of its flesh stretched over a hollow, light framework of bone. Majestic, isolated, doomed.

His strength, as great as it is, will fail. His power will fade. The magnificent scope and breadth of his life, burning so fiercely, will eventually run out of fuel. Sorcerers aren't immortal, their power finite. Gojo Satoru is no exception to the rule.

The Quetzalcoatlus of your childhood had haunted you, in many ways. In the present, you think of it sometimes, when you look at Gojo.

You see it in the way he accepts the death of those weaker than himself, the way he still takes on the education and training of future generations in spite of this. Gojo has accepted, fully, his responsibility as the strongest, the weight of the lives that lie heavy in his hands. You gather that he has found his own way of dealing with the responsibility.

What you can't understand is why everyone else assumes he'd find it easy.

You determine that, from here on out, you will make it a point to speak to him whenever you see him, like any of your regular colleagues. Isn't that essentially what he is?

As concerned as you were over his possible reaction to this, you needn't have worried. Gojo's face now lights up with unholy glee whenever he sees you in the corridor, his taunts loud and effusive. He often pinches the 'teabags' under your eyes, as he seems fond of calling them, and asks you obnoxiously about which man you'd been losing sleep over.

On one occasion, you'd snapped out that the man was him.

"Me?"

"Yes. You, oh divine Gojo, of the brilliant hair and eyes that burn like the flames of a heavenly torch."

He hands pause in their fitful pinching, dropping away from your face, and he pouts.

"Why you gotta say it like that?"

"Do people not compliment you?"

"All the time."

"Then why aren't you happy with my compliments?"

"They don't sound very sincere."

"Oh, it's sincerity you're after?"

"Why, yes."

"You're exceptionally irritating."

Eyebrows wiggling over the dark rim of the sunglasses, his glance drifts suggestively south.

"I've been known to cause some irritation in the nethers of many, many people."

"So now you're a yeast infection?"

"Oh, come on."

Abruptly he straightens and looks past you. You follow his gaze and spy three distinct shades of hair pass by, the light pink of Itadori Yuuji, the burnished orange of Nobara Kugisaki and the spiky black of Fushiguro Megumi. Gojo's students. Your glance briefly at him, trying to guage the expression on his face.

The three students meander on their way to the canteen, oblivious, chattering amongst each other, Megumi seeming slightly irritated at the antics of the other two. You watch as they spot Gojo and yourself, prompting a cheery wave from Yuuji, and then they pass out of sight. You watch as Gojo's grin shifts to an echo of melancholy, one of memory. Your words seem to jog him out of his thoughts.

"They're good kids."

He nods absently.

"They'll be great sorcerers someday. They're my students after all."

"I didn't mean 'good' in that sense."

Gojo pauses, then removes his glasses, turning them over deftly in his long, clever fingers. The crystalline purity of his glance pierces you like a spear. 

"Say, who recruited someone as soft as you? I think I'm gonna have to have words with our HR."

His words are light, but betray the scrutiny with which he regards you.

"I wouldn't call it soft."

"What would you call it then?"

"Empathetic, maybe?"

"Empathy can take you to dangerous places in this business."

The warning in his tone is now unmistakeable.

"Do you think empathy is a curse, then?"

"I do. Up there in the ranks of kindness and love."

"And yet, you're capable of both those things."

Again, you cannot help yourself. There is something about Gojo that is so insurmountably intimidating, in all his brilliance, that you feel no fear at showing your own flaws and errant thoughts. What comparison could be drawn between the likes of you and him anyway?

The turn of the glasses between his fingers slows and stops, and, to your surprise, he does not laugh away your sentiments as you expected him to.

"How do you know I'm capable of those things?"

"Because you're human, like the rest of us."

The corridor seems to echo yours words back and forth, endless in their inevitability. Gojo's posture, slouched and nonchalant, doesn't quite match the intensity with with he watches you.

"One could say ..."

He takes a step closer to you.

"One could say that my power is an aspect of me that can't be overlooked."

And now, you can feel his cursed energy, rushing like a whirlpool around you both, heady, treacherous beyond your comprehension, fixing you in place like a moth on a collector's board. He is now close enough that your noses are almost touching, and the scent of his energy is chemical, the clean, sharp tang of burning ozone. Your voice is hushed against the deafening rush of raw power, inaudible to anyone else in your vicinity.

"It's a part of you. Not separate from you. It doesn't define you, only your circumstances."

His eyes widen a little and suddenly, the flow of cursed energy comes to an abrupt halt, and a whoosh of amusement escapes his lips, fanning warm over your cheeks and nose. He hasn't altered his proximity to you.

Something cold slides into your hand. Tearing your eyes away from his, you see his sunglasses have been slotted neatly into the clench of your fingers. Gojo winks, then steps away, creating reluctant distance between you.

"You know, you should wear these whenever I run into you. Makes those eyes of yours easier to bear."

"Excuse me?"

But he is moving away, down the corridor, waving his temporary goodbye.

It is a cool spring afternoon the first time Satoru kisses you. He's always been a tease, and was often fond of riling up others, with either his stunning looks or impossible personality. You'd never set much store by his many, many flirtatious advances as a result, which made him quite sulky.

On this particular day, you'd been assigned to drive him back to Tokyo from his last assignment. The journey was at least an hour, and he insisted on playing the most headache-inducing funk music for most of it. You indulged him and did not give him the satisfaction of your agitation. Accordingly, he grew bored very quickly.

"Hey! Stop here."

"We've already stopped twice for toilet breaks. Unless you have a bladder issue of some kind -"

"No, not for that! It's been ages since I've eaten the dango here. Let's stop and get a snack, please?"

Sighing, you pull off slowly into the small designated parking area beside the road. The tea shop Gojo has indicated is very traditional, with numerous patterned umbrellas over outdoor benches. The smell of roasting dango and syrup hangs in the air, delectable tendrils of scent descending over you both as you approach.

Gojo insists on ordering the entire set, with tea, and soon you're seated beneath the plum blossoms, enjoying the warm, sweet and slightly charred flesh of the chewy dango. Gojo points one of his empty skewers in your direction.

"Do you like sweets?"

"Oh, yeah. Mochi is my favourite."

"Really?"

He perks up, leaning towards you, now wagging the skewer dangerously close to your nose.

"I didn't put you down as a someone who liked treats."

"Why?"

"You're so pragmatic. If mochi started to fall from the sky, you'd probably bag a sample and send it to the health and safety authorities."

"Conversely, you're the kind to eat the mochi straight out of the gutter."

"Then I need you to balance me off, right?"

You shoot him a sharp glance. Today, he's back in his dark, high collared suit jacket, the blindfold secured firmly, ensconced in his public persona. As if sensing your scrutiny, he slowly unbuttons the jacket, holding the dango impishly between his teeth in a manner that you supposed he thought was seductive. You sigh and take another bite.

"In what way do I balance you off?"

"You give cute sidekick vibes, ya know?"

"You're about to drive yourself home."

"Fine, fine."

He lapses into benign silence before slowly removing his blindfold. He places it on the table, piled carelessly, but in a position where you can't help but notice it.

"You know why I wear this?"

"Vaguely. It's so that you can't exhaust yourself. Because of your technique."

"Something like that, yes. You have the glasses I gave you the other day?"

You produce them immediately from a pocket where you've been keeping them safely. One test of their nature had shown you that wearing them didn't just shade your eyes, but cut out light entirely. Anyone with normal vision would be effectively blinded by them. You hand them over to him, but he shakes his head.

"Put them on."

"But -"

"Humour me."

"Fine. But you know I can't see anything."

Complying reluctantly, you place them on the bridge of your nose, hitching them up slightly with a finger.

"Do I look -"

Your words are cut off by the sensation of his lips on yours. It isn't the kind of kiss you expected from him. His lips are soft, so soft, warm, delicate. The dizzying incongruity of this man being the strongest sorcerer alive doesn't escape you. He's caught you off guard, and so you don't initially respond to it. He pauses, lingering against you for a second, before starting to draw away.

You won't let him.

You hear his slightly startled grunt as your fingers hook under the collar of his shirt and you pull him back towards you. You tilt your head, drinking in his scent, his sweetness, the gentle brush of sensitised skin, the humid heat of his breath washing over you.

The way he surrenders to you, leans in to you, the soft thrum that begins somewhere deep in his chest, exhaled against you in a low groan, brings the soft realisation as to why he'd made you wear the glasses.

You pause, resting your forehead against his, drinking in the feather light brush of his hair against your brow. Holding him like this, you can feel the power and vitality that surges just beneath the surface of his skin, the wiry, remarkable strength in his grip on the curve of your hips. Even now, you can't take the glasses off. You respect his wishes too much for that.

As the dango cools by your side, Satoru allows himself to indulge in your lips once more. In this misty-edged snapshot in time, he is not lonely. The span of his great wings, those that carry him up, up, further away from the commonplace, are no longer pushing every other soul away with their powerful beat. He doesn't watch the ground fall away beneath him, like a vast continent his feet will never touch again.

Today, he flies free, straight into this fleeting moment where he can be an ordinary man,  kissing his lover beneath the soft, soft fall of plum blossoms, untouched, never changing.

Dividers by: @adornedwithlight

[corviiids]

halloween is much less of a thing in australia so this october 31 i will be instead celebrating a holiday which means a lot to me personally. everyone say happy birthday L Lawliet

[voulezloux]

Louis’ life had been a series of unfortunate events.

There hadn’t been a moment that Louis could confidently say he was fully happy. His first haircut was tainted by feminine compliments, his coming out was tainted by a horrible ex stepfather, his first boyfriend was tainted by him being awful. Joyous moments that should be celebrated can’t without the looming doom they hold. He had too many issues. He’s too nervous. He has trust issues. He doesn’t let anyone get close enough to know him. He’s trans and, if Josh threw away their relationship and showed his true colors, who’s to say other future partners wouldn’t do the same?

These moments all led to one conclusion: Louis was meant for a life of solitude, never having someone to share it with or kids to help nurture. He would never find happiness in the form of another person, someone who makes him strive to be better and do better. His person, the one he used to daydream about as a kid, never existed, will never exist, and he had to come to terms with being alone.

Those series of unfortunate events turned fortunate the night he met Harry.

it’s the day louis never thought he’d ever see. it’s the day that harry proves to his boyfriend he’s here forever.

i will become yours, you will become mine (i choose you) (7.0k)

a don’t be afraid to love (and love again) proposal