#but usually its the tiny nonsensical ones

[icewindandboringhorror]

golf

[10diamondz]

A Night to remember

Summary: Capitano and his wife (Fem!Reader) decide to go on a long-overdue date, leaving their young daughter Alina in the care of Arlecchino, despite Alina's initial hesitation about the "scary lady." To ease the evening, Arlecchino introduces Alina to Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, who quickly win her over with magic tricks and playful charm.

The night had settled over Snezhnaya, its icy grip lingering in the air, though inside your home, warmth and laughter filled the space.

You sat on the couch, watching your daughter, Alina, spinning in circles with a blanket tied around her neck like a makeshift cape.

Her raven-black hair, so much like her father’s, bounced with each twirl.“Look, Mama! I’m just like Papa!” she giggled, pretending to swing an imaginary sword. 

You chuckled, your heart swelling with love as you adjusted the "cape" that had started to slip from her shoulders. “Alina, tonight, your papa and I are going out, so we need someone to watch over you.” Alina stopped twirling, her tiny brow furrowing in confusion.

“Why can’t I come?” Before you could answer, the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approached. In the doorway, your husband—Capitano, stood with his intimidating figure. His armored silhouette filled the room, and though his face was hidden behind his dark mask, you could feel the affection in his gaze as he looked at the both of you.

“Not this time, little one,” Capitano said, his voice gentle despite its deep timbre. He walked over and picked Alina up with ease, her small hands resting on his chest plate. “Your mother and I need some time alone. But don’t worry—we’ll have a day just for us soon.”Alina pouted, crossing her arms. “But who’s going to watch me? No one else is as strong as you, Papa.”

You exchanged a quick look with Capitano, both of you knowing that the next part might come as a surprise. “I’ve asked Arlecchino to look after you tonight,” he said, carefully watching Alina’s reaction.Her eyes widened. “The scary lady?” she whispered, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting Arlecchino to pop out of the shadows.

Arlecchino, known for her strict, no-nonsense demeanor, was an intimidating presence to most, especially to a little girl like Alina. Yet, despite her rough exterior, she had shown a strange fondness for your daughter in the few interactions they’d had.

Still, leaving your precious child in her care for the night felt like a big step.“She’s not that scary,” you said, trying to ease Alina’s worries. “And she’s bringing some friends with her—Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. Remember? They’re really nice, and I think you’ll have a lot of fun with them.”At the mention of new playmates, Alina’s expression brightened. “The magician and the diver? Really?”

Capitano smiled behind his mask, pleased to see her excitement returning. “Yes, really. But you have to be on your best behavior.”“I will!” Alina nodded eagerly, already distracted by the thought of Lyney’s magic tricks and Freminet’s mechanical gadgets.

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. You stood to open it, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Arlecchino standing there, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She stepped inside, her dark cloak billowing slightly as she glanced between you, Capitano, and Alina.

“You’re late,” Arlecchino said with her usual bluntness, though there was no malice in her tone. “Are you ready?”Capitano stepped forward, his hand resting on Alina’s back as he handed her off to Arlecchino’s care. “We trust you’ll keep her safe.”Arlecchino’s lips twitched into a small, barely noticeable smirk. “Of course. She’ll be fine with me.”

Alina hesitated for a moment, her wide eyes looking up at the intimidating woman before her. But when the door opened again, and three familiar faces walked in, her fear melted away.

Lyney, “Ah, the famous Alina! I’ve heard you’re quite the little knight.”

Lynette, gave her a small wave, while Freminet, shy as ever, offered a soft smile from behind his mechanical device.Alina beamed at them, her excitement bubbling over.

“Are you going to show me magic?” she asked Lyney, practically bouncing on her toes.

Lyney grinned, pulling a small card from behind her ear with a flick of his wrist. “Only if you promise not to figure out all my secrets.” As Alina laughed, utterly captivated by Lyney’s charm, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. She would be in good hands tonight.

You glanced at Capitano, who nodded slightly in agreement. With that, you turned to Arlecchino, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you.” Arlecchino shrugged, as if the whole ordeal was nothing to her. “I’ll keep her entertained.” With one last look at Alina, who was now fully engrossed in Lyney’s tricks, you and Capitano stepped out into the cold Snezhnayan night.

The streets of Snezhnaya were quieter than usual, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you and Capitano walked side by side. It felt surreal, almost like stepping back in time to your early days together, when the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on your shoulders.

Tonight, you weren’t the feared Captain and his wife. You were just two people, enjoying a long-overdue night out. As you approached the quiet restaurant where your first date had taken place, Capitano finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “Do you remember this place?”

You smiled softly, looking up at the modest building, the warm glow from inside spilling out onto the snow-covered street. “Of course. How could I forget?”

That first date had been simple but perfect. It was before all the complications of Fatui life, before Alina had come into your world and changed everything. Back then, you and Capitano were still figuring out who you were to each other. “Back then, I didn’t think we’d get this far,” Capitano admitted, his tone quieter than usual. You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I was so focused on my duties, on being who the Tsaritsa needed me to be. I didn’t think I had room for more.” He paused, reaching up to remove his mask. For a moment, you could see the man behind the title—the man you fell in love with. “But then, you showed me I could have both.” Your heart swelled with warmth as you stepped closer, placing your hand on his cheek.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world melted away. It was just the two of you, standing in the cold but warmed by each other’s presence. Capitano’s hand rested gently on your waist, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft wind.

“For what?” “For staying by my side. For giving me a family.” You smiled, your heart full. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Back at home, Alina was thoroughly enjoying her evening with Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet.

The three siblings had quickly become her new favorite people, especially Lyney, who had already shown her several tricks she couldn’t begin to understand. “Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked, eyes wide with wonder as Lyney made a coin disappear.

Lyney grinned, leaning down to whisper, “Maybe one day, when you’re older. Magic takes patience.” Arlecchino, watching from the corner with her usual stern expression, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at how easily the performers had won Alina over. She had anticipated the evening to be more of a chore, but Alina seemed to have a way of softening, even the most hard-bitten individuals.

As the night wore on and Alina began to grow sleepy, curled up beside Freminet who was showing her one of his gadgets, Arlecchino stood and walked over, her bunny slippers (Bruh, i don’t want arlecchino to wear THAT heels for 24 hrs) slapping softly on the floor.

“Time for bed” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. Alina yawned, rubbing her eyes but nodding obediently. “Will you tell Papa I was good?” Arlecchino’s smirk returned. “I’ll tell him you were better than good.” With that, Alina drifted off, the warmth of the night still lingering as she fell asleep, dreaming of magic and knights.

[apollowhoo]

could you pleasee do a gravity falls one shot?

so basically Bill Cipher meets the youngest Pines member but they're like 3-4 years old. And basically Bill doesn't know how to react, he's all confused but also in awe. Make it fluff and i know it's going to be hard to write this as canon Bill Cipher so you can ignore if you want <33

Bill Cipher x Child!Reader (PLATONIC)

The forest surroundcing the Mystery Shack was quiet. Somewhere between dimensions, floating lazily, was Bill Cipher, his single eye half-lidded with boredom. His typical schemes to cause chaos were on hold, and for once, he was simply… existing.

That’s when he heard it—a soft giggle, light as a feather. Bill’s eye snapped open, immediately. There, standing among the wildflowers, was a small figure with messy hair, chubby cheeks, and a bright, curious gaze.

The youngest member of the Pines family.

His eye narrows slightly. A little kid, no older than three or four, was staring right up at him. Her tiny hands gripping a stuffed animal that seemed to be some kind of hybrid between a cat and a duck—perfectly nonsensical, just the way Bill liked things.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bill floated closer, his voice carrying its usual sarcasm. “A little ankle-biter out all alone? Shouldn’t you be with your oh-so-boring family?”

The girl tilted her head, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of innocence Bill found really weird. She didn't seemed scared. She suddenly reaches out, poking Bill with a tiny finger in pure curiosity.

Bill’s eye widened a little in surprise. Most people who encountered him would either scream, run, or try to strike some ridiculous bargain. But this little human? She just poked him like he was some new toy.

“Hey, hey! Hands off the merchandise!” Bill exclaimed. He wondered, why wasn’t she afraid? Why wasn’t she running? And why, in all his chaotic glory, did he find this child so… interesting?

The child giggled again, a bubbly sound that seemed to echo in Bill’s mind. She pointed at him with her free hand, her other continuing to clutching her stuffed toy close.

“Triangle!” she declared proudly, their voice high-pitched and filled with wonder.

Bill let out a bark of laughter, genuinely amused. “Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s right, kiddo. I’m a triangle, the best triangle you’ll ever meet. Got any other shapes in that little brain of yours?”

The kid smiled. They started babbling, half-formed words about god know what, pointing excitedly as if expecting Bill to just understand them. The demon was used to others feeling fear, but this… this innocent curiosity was something else.

“Alright, kid, slow down,” Bill said. “You think I can just whip up stars and moons like a party trick? You’re talking to Bill Cipher, not some street magician.”

For the first time in… well, forever, Bill felt utterly out of his element. He could outsmart the smartest, scare the toughest, and twist anyone around his finger, but this kid? She just saw him entertainig.

Bill hovered beside them, his eye following them every move. He had cought a small, harmless ball of light, flickering in and out of existence.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, kid,” Bill mumbled, though there was no more venom in his voice.

The girl just grinned, leaning her head against his triangular form as if he were just another friend, not a demon with a penchant for chaos. Bill let her, floating there quietly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

For once, he wasn’t planning anything. No schemes, no deals, no manipulation. Just a strange, peaceful moment with a little human who saw him not as a threat .

And for reasons Bill couldn’t quite fathom, he didn’t mind it one bit.

[zzeraphilm]

Fight For Me

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (GN) Word Count: 1,882 Part two Summary: Not every relationship is one to admire, passions and everyday lives will always come in the way of romance. But Kuroo Tetsurou only realises this a bit later than Y/N had hoped. After watching the HQ movie in theatres and being the only person in the cinema to laugh I needed an outlet 

The dumpster battle of the century. The booming echoes of Nekoma’s cheers sent shivers down your spine. Each hit of a palm to a volleyball resonated waves that shattered across the arena. Y/N sat slightly hidden from view of the rest of the Nekoma team. 

Prior to the tournament, Y/N saw it befitting to end their relationship with the notable volleyball team captain, Tetsurou Kuroo. Despite his sly and frivolous behaviour, the black haired mop head agreed with a robotic hum. Their time together was not as revered as one might seem. On the outside, the pair were known across the Tokyo school for their names would always slip from someone’s lips. Personalities so unalike and yet they were so in sync. 

Y/N did not want to burden Kuroo’s drive to win. Kuroo did not want to neglect Y/N. Days of no contact turned to weeks. Kuroo was always at practice till nightfall, Y/N was cooped up in their room studying meticulously for their university entrance exams. By the fifth week of no contact beyond school, Y/N had sent a message to Kuroo for the first time in over a month.

Meet me by the park, after practice. 6PM.

The park’s swing set was rusted from the skin of the bolts into the grooves of its spiralling metal. Y/N still kicked their feet lightly whilst perched on the wood awaiting for the captain’s arrival.

6:30PM. 6:45PM. 6:50PM. 6:55PM. 6:57PM. 6:59PM. 

Clumping running shoes came knocking towards the H/C haired figure on the swing. 

“Sorry, practice ran over again.” Kuroo Tetsurou was always the first to arrive at Nekoma’s practice and the last to leave. He decided if practice would overextend. He knew Y/N was waiting, but still only cared for the game. 

Y/N couldn’t help but think that Kuroo saw them as an afterthought. Despite their moments of hilarity and nonsense over the last three years, more often than not Kuroo would see his focus else where, usually towards the court. 

“You’d always say that.” Y/N’s tongue spilt a tiny drop of venom at the end of their comment. 

“It’s the truth.” 

With a huff, Y/N stood to challenge the boy. No, man. Even within a few weeks, he had been scarily evolving to a matured, aged version of himself. Yet Y/N never noticed the way Kuroo’s shirts no longer fitted him the same way, or the slight stubble growing on his chin and upper lip or how his cologne had shifted from a softer, powdery scent, to a peppery Oudh masked with a floral kiss. Y/N didn’t get to experience his metamorphosis from a boy to a man, he saw it with his brothers, his teammates, with volleyball. Y/N wasn’t the first person that Kuroo would go to over news about his life advancements. Y/N was merely a shadow. The awkward smiles that they had to endure whenever their friends mentioned their boyfriend of three years, acting as if they had spoken properly in the last few hours, yet in reality had only seen each other’s faces passing each other in the halls. Not even a hand brush or a light peck. Just stares that lasted mere milliseconds, that held no emotion behind them. 

Kuroo knew he wasn’t giving Y/N enough attention or time. He knew that the trajectory of his life at the moment was solely on volleyball and his studies. Dates, after school hangouts, good morning and good night texts no longer found a place in his daily schedules. His passion for the sport only grew further from the summer camp, where Y/N was abroad on holiday with their family. Which, selfishly, allowed Kuroo to solely think and breathe volleyball. He didn’t call Y/N every Friday night like he promised. He tried but all of his energy was directed in a laser beam towards the court. His heart would beat at exponential rates, each breath would feel like a stab in his throat and he could feel each pulsating beat from his heart pumping his blood throughout his body. It was torturous, yet so incredibly fun he wanted it to never end. Time would stop when it was just him on the court and a ball. But Y/N would never cross his mind. He wouldn’t realise until the next morning when Y/N would attempt some form of contact with a text, usually saying:

Good morning, enjoy your day. Don’t overwork yourself <3

The texts dwindled over time going from paragraphs of care and patience to blunt words of indifference to nothing at all. They both could sense the fading of their bond. They were just scared to see who would be the first to rip off the bandage. 

“Let’s break up. This isn’t working. We don’t have time for each other, it’s not worth the pain of being ghosts of each other and pretending to be okay in front of others.”

Y/N imagined this scenario multiple times before they’d fall asleep. Sometimes Kuroo Tetsurou would scream and wail, grabbing them by their shoulders begging for mercy, begging to stay together, begging for their love. Other times Kuroo Tetsurou would be the first to initiate the conversation, saying how he holds no feelings for them anymore, that there was someone else or some dramatic reason that would paint him to be villain in Y/N’s fantasies. Y/N clung to these thoughts, of a Kuroo Tetsurou that would fight for them, of a Kuroo Tetsurou that would plead for them or a Kuroo Tetsurou who lived up to his perceived image. 

Yet, Kuroo just agreed. Gave a small nod, a wave goodbye and walked off.

As Kenma desperately screamed to reach the ball, it was futile. The yellow and blue ball bounced on the polished court for nearly a second before the huddle of crows screamed in unison. Between the rival teams, Karasuno proved their victory. Y/N would only attend Kuroo’s games if it meant the two would get a bite to eat afterwards, usually at a nearby family diner. Y/N tried to learn the rules of volleyball yet couldn’t handle its quick gameplay. So volleyball felt empty without Kuroo. 

But this game was riveting, Y/N felt their soul boom at each spike and block. Despite having never stepped foot on a court beyond the Nekoma school gym, Y/N craved the illustriousness of the court. The despite to jump beyond the heights of giants and reach the sky, to slam their palm against the flying ball and hear the shattering screams of contact between the ball and the court. Y/N could finally see why Kuroo loved the sport. But, they could only see the back of his frame. They were sure that there were a few tears shed from his eyes. But Kuroo Tetsurou still upheld his Cheshire smile that brought those around him to laugh. As the boys hugged each other, shook hands and exchanged jokes. Y/N knew, they knew why this was more important to Kuroo than they were. They understood what it meant, but just because one can understand doesn’t mean that they aren’t allowed to feel resentment. 

Y/N did not harbour any ill will towards Kuroo himself, rather, they hated the choices that he took. He never fought for them, he never tried, he never challenged them. But most of all, he never truly included them in this world that he loved. Y/N could only see it from a far, from a screen or on the sidelines. Where once they left the world of volleyball, the pair would be in their own bubble, floating far away from those Kuroo considered family. Whether it was their childish adolescent calling for self-centred attention or their lack of understanding of one another. Y/N left the arena silently, returning to their isolated world of study, far from Kuroo Tetsurou. 

After three years, Y/N had achieved their dream of studying abroad in Australia for their bachelors. Their parents had agreed to help fund their masters back in Tokyo and Y/N had made their way back to their home country. Their time in the scorching sun and endless nights of parties, midnight assignment writings and the multitude of faces from across the world shaped Y/N into an alluring individual. They had shed the skin that they were trapped in from high school into a blooming butterfly in adulthood. They had everything aligned to the T, as per their promise to themselves when they were 16. 

Kuroo Tetsurou had not given up volleyball entirely. He used his wit and charm to weasel his way into the top of the industry, working aside the Japan’s Volleyball Association, meeting the best players in the world, scouting them and dinning with them. Of course, he had social media. No one in his field was a stranger to the Internet, every moment, every win and loss was recorded online and he had to know it all. Whilst scrolling one summer’s day, in between the break of the game he was sitting in, he stumbled upon them. 

Y/N L/N. His high school sweetheart. The one that got away. His biggest regret. His biggest loss. 

Kuroo only realised his heartbreak a year after their split, seemingly throwing himself into his studies and passions as a way to mask his mourning. He had gotten so good at busying himself with work and studies that he had forgotten the feeling of heartbreak. Until he craved it. When news of an internship he had wanted for months finally arrived congratulating him on his addition to the team - he wanted to tell Y/N all about it. He absent mindedly found his phone in his hands trying to find Y/N’s contact, only to find it erased. He didn’t need to think, it was like a jolt in his body had awoken, tears flooded his line of view. And for the first time in a year, after months of distractions, he cried for his lost love. 

Kuroo spent the whole night stalking Y/N’s socials, careful not to like them or accidentally follow them. He would stare endlessly at their selfies, photography of the cities they had travelled to and their wide friendship group. Nobody that he recognised. Their followers consisted of strangers to him. He hadn’t felt this empty since the night of losing them. In a drunken slurry of thoughts, Kuroo only saw his fingers dance over the follow button, he didn’t feel the pads of his fingers hit the screen.

It was only until the next morning, he saw that Y/N’s profile no longer existed. 

Their profile was empty, their bio did not load and with every drag, the page refused to load. A previous screen flooded with smiling faces and exciting milestones now replaced with a text merely stating the obvious.

User not found

Kuroo Tetsurou took it as his final sign to leave it. It was too late to reach out, to plead for another chance, it was too late to fight for something that was snuffed out years ago. 

[delulustateofmind]

First Love

Gojo Satoru fell in love with his childhood friend...what could go wrong?

TW: ANGST, hurt no comfort, death (no happy ending for anyone), terminal illness, blood, childhood gojo is an arrogant ass, slight bullying behaviors? slight yan!gojo? Inspired by Clannad (a warning in itself imo)

WC: 6.6k (yeesh)

a/n: I rewatched Clannad, you're welcome for this <3

There’s something about childhood friends.

They slip into your thoughts when you least expect it—like shadows from a distant time, memories of faces that fade with age. As you grow older, you wonder where they’ve gone, how they’ve changed. Do they ever think of you the way you think of them? 

There’s something about your first love.

It’s raw, a love so powerful in its simplicity. It feels infinite, a love that burns bright with every stolen glance and unspoken word, yet is fragile—always on the verge of slipping through your fingers. It’s a love that stains your soul, lingers like a ghost, never truly leaving you. 

Satoru remembers the first time he met you. One of the servant's children—standing alone in the garden, dressed in a hand-me-down yukata that swallowed you whole. The fabric hung awkwardly off your shoulders, too big, the colors too vivid, an almost painful clash against your skin. The patterns were loud, mismatched with the still serenity of the garden’s neatly trimmed greenery. Even your obi was a mess, barely tied, loose strands flapping with the breeze. 

Ridiculous. The thought came unbidden, irritation pricking at him. Did the Gojo clan not pay their servants enough to clothe their children properly? You lived on their estate, surrounded by wealth and power, yet you walked around looking like… like this. Where’s your dignity?

And yet, even as he scoffed internally, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His sharp blue gaze, usually cold and detached, followed you as you stepped closer, offering a small, hesitant wave. Something about you was different. Maybe it was how you carried yourself—like you didn’t belong here like you were almost… apologizing for existing. He expected the usual look—fear, deference, how people looked at him because of who he was. But your eyes didn’t hold any of that. There was no awe, no fear. Just a soft, innocent curiosity.

“Do you like Cinnamoroll?” you asked, your voice gentle like you were afraid of breaking the quiet around you. A pink flush bloomed on your cheeks, deepening the awkward contrast of your outfit. You looked like a fevered mess, your clothes amplifying the nervousness that hung around you. 

Satoru stared at you, unimpressed, his usual sense of superiority bubbling up. Cinnamoroll? What was this supposed to be? Some clumsy attempt at conversation? At befriending him? He was the Honored One, the strongest. He didn’t have time for trivial things like this.

“The stupid bunny?” he replied, head tilting with mild disdain. He could feel his patience thinning, ready to turn his back on you. Why am I even entertaining this? He had training soon—martial arts, a regimen built to hone his innate, unmatched strength. Important things. Things that mattered.

“Um… he’s actually a dog…” you stammered, your voice faltering under the weight of his indifference. “You, um… you look like him…” You fumbled with something in your sleeve, the color on your cheeks deepening as you pulled out a small sticker. “I have a sticker… if you want it?”

His eyes flicked down to the sticker in your hand—a tiny piece of glossy paper with a cartoon dog, cheeks puffed out in a ridiculous expression. What kind of nonsense is this? He thought, ready to reject the offer entirely. But something stopped him. The way your fingers trembled ever so slightly as you held it out, the way your gaze fell to the ground, bracing yourself for his rejection. You already expected him to say no.

For reasons he didn’t understand, Satoru paused. Maybe it was the innocence in your gesture, the sincerity of it—something unfamiliar to him, something oddly… pure. His whole life, people had tried to use him, fear him, kill him or worship him. But this? This was different. You weren’t asking for anything. You just… wanted to give him something. Something small. Something that, to you, seemed precious.

Without a word, Satoru took the sticker from your hand. It felt absurd, standing there, holding such a childish thing, so trivial in comparison to everything else that demanded his attention. But still, he didn’t tear it up. He didn’t throw it away. Instead, he slipped it into his sleeve with a flick of his wrist, almost as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to discard it.

“You shouldn’t be in these gardens,” he said, his voice cold, the edge of authority biting at his words. “They’re reserved for the Gojo family and select servants.” He paused, glancing at you with disdain, the tiniest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “At least dress the part if you’re going to sneak into private areas. Don’t be such a burden.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, no doubt feeling small under the weight of his dismissal. 

But when he thinks back on that day, those words claw at him. A bitter regret lingers in his chest—he should have said something else. Something softer. He should have said “thank you.”

From that moment on, though, you intrigued him in a way that was unfamiliar, irritating even. You lingered in his thoughts, an odd presence he couldn’t shake. He found himself scanning the grounds, searching for a glimpse of you, that awkward figure in a hand-me-down yukata, wandering around where you didn’t belong. He caught sight of you occasionally, in fleeting moments—too slow, too weak, your footsteps quiet and unremarkable. He was always moving, always busy with his training, always surrounded by people who understood his status, his destiny. You were just... there. 

By the time he reached middle school, he began seeing you more frequently. But nothing about you had changed—you still wore the same ill-fitting clothes, still moved like you were trying to blend into the background. Pathetic, really. Yet, he found himself gravitating toward you, the curiosity from that first encounter now a subtle pull he couldn’t fully explain.

One day, he spotted you sitting alone on a bench, your shoulders slumped, fingers idly picking at the hem of yet another hand-me-down yukata. It looked faded, worn from too many washes, the fabric almost threadbare in places. Was this a joke? He didn’t bother hiding the look of disgust on his face as he made his way over to you.

“Do we not pay you enough?” Satoru drawled, plopping himself beside you on the bench with an air of casual superiority. He stretched his long legs out, arms draping lazily across the back of the bench, completely uninvited. His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and critical. “Your mother works in the kitchens, right? They make decent wages. So why do you still wear… this?” His hand waved dismissively toward your clothing, his expression twisted in distaste.

You didn’t answer right away, and maybe that silence—the lack of fear or immediate compliance—irked him. A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned in, fingers reaching out to twirl a strand of your hair between them, his touch casual but invasive. “You’d be a lot prettier, you know?” he murmured, almost to himself. The statement was more of an observation than a compliment, as if you were an unfinished canvas he was appraising, something that had the potential to be molded, but only with the right hand.

For a brief moment, he lingered there, watching your reaction, the way you stiffened under his touch. His fingers lazily twisted your hair, the strand slipping between them like it was something he owned. He didn’t say it aloud, but he liked that—this quiet power he had over you, the unspoken game of push and pull. He was the sun, and you were something orbiting too close to his gravity, too weak to escape.

Yet, something about you continued to unsettle him. You weren’t like the others—those who fawned over him or cowered in fear. You didn’t look at him like he was some untouchable god, and that left him off-balance, intrigued in a way he couldn’t fully understand. He wasn’t used to this pull, this strange need to be near someone who wasn’t vying for his attention. 

Why you?

You weren’t impressive. You weren’t strong or remarkable in any way. And still… there was something about the way you existed in his world, quietly enduring his presence, that made him want to keep you close. He’d never admit it—not even to himself—but being near you felt different. Almost like a puzzle that wasn’t finished, a puzzle that he alone could solve.

He twirled the last strand of your hair before letting it fall from his fingers, his gaze shifting to the autumn trees swaying in the breeze. The silence hung between you, but he broke it with a sharp, almost bored question. “Don’t you talk? Or did I break you already?” His tone was teasing, though laced with that familiar arrogance. Then, as if noticing something off, his eyes flicked back to your clothes. “And shouldn’t you be wearing a school uniform? Most of the servants’ kids go to that middle school down the road.”

Finally, he let go of your hair, but his attention remained fixed on you, like a cat watching its prey—waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d try to run, or if you’d stay in his orbit.

You shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and your voice came out soft, slightly wavering. “I do my school work at home… I don’t mean to wear hand-me-downs, yes, Master Gojo, you pay us well enough.”

Satoru almost rolled his eyes. What a crybaby. Even your words were apologetic, your body language shrinking under his gaze like you were trying not to make yourself a target. He leaned back, the superiority dripping from his tone, his interest barely masked by the casual cruelty of his words.

“What? Did you not pass the exams to get in? Are you stupid or something?” he lulled, his voice almost sing-song as he mocked you. His eyes didn’t even bother to meet yours, as if he’d already decided your worth. You were beneath him, after all. Just another servant’s child, too weak to even look him in the eye.

You didn’t respond. Just kept fiddling with the hem of your worn-out yukata, your fingers tracing the fraying threads. Silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward, but you made no attempt to defend yourself. No sharp retort, no glare. Nothing.

And yet, the next day, a brand-new yukata appeared on the doorstep of your house. Crisp white and blue, adorned with delicate peach blossoms. It was too nice to be a coincidence, too perfect to have been anything but deliberate. Satoru didn’t say anything about it, didn’t even acknowledge it the next time he saw you. But you knew.

After that, he kept coming around. Casual, unannounced visits that felt more like a demand than a choice. Who were you to refuse the next head of the Gojo clan? Each time, he’d linger just a little longer, his presence as undeniable as the shifting gravity between you. He didn’t need to explain himself—he was Gojo Satoru. He got whatever he wanted.

And for some reason, that included being near you.

Autumn was slowly slipping away, its crisp air replaced with the growing chill of winter. The wind outside howled as leaves scattered along the grounds, but inside, the warmth of the living room enveloped you both. Satoru sat sprawled on the floor, his long legs stretched out, watching Digimon on TV with a casualness that felt at odds with his usual demeanor. You were beside him, your hands deftly cutting apples into small rabbit shapes, a delicate task that seemed to hold your entire focus.

“I’m going to Jujutsu Tech next year,” Satoru said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He glanced at you, his gaze sharp as he watched you work, the knife moving smoothly through the fruit. For some reason, the careful way you cut those apples reminded him of the sticker you’d given him years ago—the one that now sat framed on his bedroom shelf. He would never admit that, though.

“You should go too,” he added, the statement less of an invitation and more of an expectation. His eyes flicked back to the TV, but his focus remained on you, on the way your brow furrowed slightly as you sliced the apples, like you were crafting something far more important than a snack.

“I mean, your curse technique is probably weak—” the words came out easily, a habitual dig at your perceived inferiority. But what he really wanted to say—what nearly slipped from his mouth—was but I don’t want to be away from you. The thought startled him, a silent confession buried beneath his arrogance. He couldn’t understand why, but the idea of being apart from you bothered him more than it should. More than anything else had before.

He waited for your response, hoping for some sign that you’d agree, that you’d at least consider it. But instead, you simply looked up at him, tilting your head as if the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

“No,” you said softly, your tone calm, unbothered. “I do my schoolwork at home.”

Satoru’s brow furrowed, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. Why the hell is that? Why the hell do you never leave? You were too smart to be hiding away like this. Over the past few weeks, he had learned that much. You were ahead of him in mathematics, in reading, quietly excelling in ways that most people wouldn’t notice. But he did. He always noticed.

So stop being so weak! The words screamed in his mind, a sharp contrast to the frustration that had taken root. You could be so much more. Why were you wasting it here? Why weren’t you reaching for more, for strength, for something? 

He didn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he watched you return to your quiet task, the rabbits forming neatly from the slices of apple. And he stayed, longer than he had planned to, unsure of what it was that kept pulling him back to you.

Sometimes, Satoru wished he was more observant of things beyond curse energy. He could read the flow of power in a person instantly, see their strength—or lack thereof—but when it came to ordinary things, like emotions or people’s struggles, he was blind in that way.

The next day, he stopped by again, but it wasn’t you who answered the door—it was your mother. The resemblance between the two of you was uncanny, though she looked more worn, her face marked with exhaustion and the weight of years in servitude. Her clothes, like yours, were frayed at the hems. He’d make sure to send a new set tomorrow, he thought. Along with a new yukata for you. Something soft and light, a color that would stand out when the snow fell. He liked the idea of being able to find you easily.

“I’m sorry, Master Gojo,” your mother spoke, her voice soft and apologetic, echoing the quiet way you often spoke. “Y/N is sick today, running a high fever.”

For a moment, something flickered in Satoru’s chest. Sick? His mind raced, his arrogance pushed aside by a rare sliver of concern. He hadn’t even noticed you seemed unwell the day before. Why hadn’t he noticed?

“Alright,” he replied, his voice more even than usual as he glanced away, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his leg. “I’ll come back tomorrow. The Arashiyama festival is happening, and I was going to ask if she wanted to come.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, a decision he’d already made. The idea of not seeing you—even for a day—sat strangely with him. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like how your absence left an odd, empty space where something—or someone—was supposed to be.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and left, already planning how he’d make sure you would feel better by the next day. After all, you couldn’t miss the festival. Not when he had already decided you’d go. Not when he needed you there, right where he could see you.

Yet, day after day, your mother turned him away. Satoru, unaccustomed to being refused, kept sending gifts. He sent the finest teas, new yukatas, thick quilts, and even a brand-new kotatsu to ensure your comfort. He thought, with each delivery, he was taking care of the problem, that he could make things better just by giving you what you needed. But each time he came by, the answer remained the same. 

He had seen you once, through a barely opened door—your cheeks flushed with fever, your breaths shallow and labored. The sight of you so pale and fragile gnawed at something inside him, something he wasn’t used to feeling. Weak.You looked so weak. And for someone like Satoru, who thrived on strength, it unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

Then, one day, your mother finally gave him the truth he had been avoiding.

“Y/N is sick,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “An incurable illness—she’s had it since she was a child. The cold tends to spike her symptoms, Master Gojo. She probably won’t be able to go to the festival with you.”

Satoru stood there, her words hanging in the air, as if they didn’t quite make sense. Incurable? That word shouldn’t exist in his world. He was the strongest, the untouchable—there was no such thing as "incurable" when it came to him or anyone in his life. He could handle anything, fix anything.

“No,” he said sharply, a denial slipping from his lips before he could think. “She’s going.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, the kind of declaration he was used to making without resistance. He had decided you were going to the festival, and that was that. The idea of you being too sick, of something being out of his control, didn’t sit well with him.

Your mother’s expression softened with a sadness that made him even more irritated. He wasn’t used to being pitied, wasn’t used to people looking at him like he didn’t understand something. But he refused to accept it. How could you be sick—truly sick—when he was standing right here, the strongest sorcerer in the world?

“She’s going to the festival,” he repeated, quieter this time, as if by saying it again, he could will it into reality. There was no room in his mind for any other outcome. You will get better. You had to.

Because the thought of you slipping away, of you no longer being there, orbiting around him like you always had, was something he couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept.

The two of you walked together on the warmest night of winter, a rare reprieve from the biting cold. You were wearing a kimono he had personally commissioned, something crafted specifically for you, designed to match his own. Yours was a soft white with a delicate crane embroidered on the back, while his was a deep blue with white bunnies dancing along the bottom. Despite the warmth of the night, your cheeks were still flushed, and that lingering reminder of your illness gnawed at him. He didn’t like that.

Satoru kept his steps deliberately slow as you both walked through the Arashiyama Lantern Festival, the bamboo forest surrounding you bathed in the soft, warm glow of countless lanterns. It was quieter here, almost peaceful, but his mind wasn’t fully at ease. His hand twitched by his side, fingers brushing against the fabric of his kimono before he reached for yours. His touch was casual, but his grip firm, as if the gesture was purely practical.

“So I don’t lose you,” he muttered, glancing ahead. It wasn’t like he cared, not in the way people might assume. It wasn’t like that. He just… wanted you near him, where he could see you, where he could make sure you were okay. His eyes briefly flicked to your scarf, and with a quick movement, he double-checked that it was still wrapped snugly around your neck, shielding you from the cold. His thumb idly rubbed over your white mittens, a gesture that felt more natural than he wanted to admit.

You looked up at him, offering a soft smile. “Thank you for taking me,” you said quietly, your voice carrying the same gentle gratitude it always did. There was something about the way the lantern lights flickered in your eyes, casting a soft glow over your features. For a brief moment, you looked almost... angelic.

Satoru’s chest tightened at the sight. Angel? No, you weren’t that. You were fragile, too weak, and he had to keep pulling you back to him so you wouldn’t slip away. But still, standing beside you in the lantern-lit forest, with your hand in his, you seemed like something beyond reach. 

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, eyes flicking away from your gaze, the barest hint of warmth in his voice betraying him.

There was a moment of silence between you, just the soft rustle of your steps on the lantern-lit path. But something tugged at him, an uncomfortable weight that wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t stop himself, the questions spilling out before he could even consider the consequences.

“Is that why you wear hand-me-downs?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible amidst the hushed murmur of the festival. He kept his gaze ahead, but his eyes flicked toward you, trying to read your expression without meeting your eyes directly. “You’re sick? Is the medication… a lot?”

He didn’t know if he truly wanted the answer. The thought of you struggling with something he couldn’t fix—it frustrated him. He was supposed to be able to solve anything, to protect you from anything, but this was something he couldn’t simply fight away. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if afraid of what your response might mean.

“That’s why you don’t go to school either?” he added, his voice harsher than he intended, more out of frustration with the situation than with you. He took a breath, pushing down that feeling, his tone softening again, almost like a plea. “You’re coming to Jujutsu Tech. You don’t have to fight or anything—you could train to be an assistant, come with me on missions.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, searching for some reaction, a sign that you’d agree. He wasn’t ready to let you slip away. The idea of you just being left behind, in this quiet, ordinary life—it felt wrong. You belonged near him, in his orbit, where he could keep an eye on you. Where he could protect you, even if he couldn’t admit how much that truly mattered to him.

“Take care of me on missions or something,” he added, the words almost muttered, an awkward attempt to make his insistence seem less desperate. But the truth was there, raw and unspoken. He didn’t want to be away from you, not now, not ever. And he wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

You simply shook your head, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “I can’t, Satoru. I wouldn’t pass the physical exam. I get sick way too easily to be an assistant. I’d just be… a burden.”

A burden. The word hit him like a punch to the gut, sharp and unforgiving. He had said those exact words to you once, long ago—“Don’t be such a burden”—and now they came back, biting him in a way he hadn’t expected. He could still hear his younger, more arrogant self, dismissive and cold. But now, standing here with you, those words felt like a cruel joke. You weren’t a burden, not to him. Not anymore.

He hesitated, caught in the pull of the moment. The smell of grilled food wafted through the air from the stalls up ahead, mingling with the sounds of the festival—the distant chatter, the hum of excitement, the crackling anticipation of fireworks. His mind spun, caught between the reality of your words and something deeper he couldn’t quite name.

And then, without thinking, without planning, the words burst from him.

“Then marry me.”

The first firework lit off as soon as he spoke, a loud boom exploding across the sky in brilliant colors, drowning out the weight of his confession. He didn’t care. The moment the words left his lips, there was no taking them back. 

“Marry me when we both turn eighteen,” he continued, his voice steadier now, as if the initial shock of his own statement had faded into something more certain. He turned to face you, blue eyes serious and unwavering. For once, there was no teasing, no arrogance. Just him, standing there, asking for something he couldn’t explain but knew he wanted.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he had said it—maybe it was the fear of losing you, of not being able to keep you close. Maybe it was the realization that, in his own way, he was falling for you, more deeply than he wanted to admit. All he knew was that the idea of a future without you in it felt unbearably wrong.

“Just say yes,” he added softly, the fireworks crackling overhead, illuminating the sky—and his heart—whether he liked it or not.

“I’m sick, Satoru,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the distant crackle of fireworks. “A mere servant child, and you’re the soon-to-be head of the Gojo clan.” You smiled gently, the colors of the fireworks casting a soft glow across your face. “I wouldn’t make a good wife. I wouldn’t be able to give you an heir.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. His chest tightened at your words, at the way you reduced yourself to something so insignificant. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, but that’s what this was—powerless against your illness, powerless against your self-doubt. He hated it.

“Bullshit,” he spat, his voice sharp and biting, cutting through the air between you. “I didn’t ask whether you’d make a good wife or give me an heir. That’s not what I’m talking about.” His eyes were fierce, locked on yours, refusing to let you look away. “I said to marry me because I want to take care of you. I have the means to take care of you.”

His grip on your hand tightened, his frustration palpable. “If you won’t come to Jujutsu Tech with me, then this is the least you could do,” he continued, his voice softening, though the intensity remained. There was no teasing now, no games—just him, laying bare what he couldn’t fully express. He didn’t want you to fade away into the background of his life, a memory he couldn’t grasp. He wanted you by his side, where he could make sure you were okay, where you belonged. 

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, the fireworks bursting above, reflecting in his eyes like something fierce and unyielding. He didn’t care about the rules, about the clan, about whatever expectations loomed over him. All that mattered in this moment was you—fragile, flawed, and somehow, the one thing that grounded him in ways nothing else ever had.

“Just… let me.”

You simply nodded, a few tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Satoru felt something stir in his chest at the sight, something that made him tighten his grip on your hand just a little more, as if to hold you in place, to keep you grounded in his world. And from that moment on, every day since then, Satoru found himself wishing he had been kinder to you—softer, more patient. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have left him so soon.

When he left for Jujutsu Tech, it was like a piece of him stayed behind with you. He made sure to call, to fill you in on the people in his life, on the friendships that began to shape him. He told you about Suguru, his calm, steady presence, and Shoko, her dry wit and easygoing nature. But over time, something in him shifted. The more he talked to you, the more he found himself softening, becoming kinder in ways he hadn’t been before. He grew more clingy, though he would never admit it aloud.

During breaks, he would take you out—whether it was to a café or somewhere quiet, his arm always wrapped protectively around your shoulders. His thumb would trace absent patterns over the engagement ring already sitting on your finger. It was a quiet reminder, to you and to himself, that you were his. Always his.

When you felt well enough, he took you to all the places he visited with friends, places that made him feel alive. He wanted that for you, too. He wanted you to experience life—not just exist in the shadow of your illness. But as time passed, something began to change. You stopped sharing certain things with him, small details about your health, things he noticed but never had the courage to ask about. Maybe he lacked the emotional intelligence to handle it, or maybe he was too afraid of the answers.

But deep down, a gnawing fear began to settle in. You were slipping away from him, slowly, quietly, and it terrified him in ways he wasn’t ready to confront. And no matter how tightly he held onto you, it felt like you were already drifting beyond his reach. Like he was behind a few steps. 

By his third year, you both made it a point to attend the same winter festival together. It had become a tradition, something to hold onto amid all the changes that life threw at you both. But this time, something felt different. Your steps were slower, your smile not quite reaching your eyes the way it used to.

Satoru tried to fill the space between the silence, his usual chatter turning toward his concerns. “Suguru’s been acting strange lately,” he said, his tone almost casual as if trying to convince himself more than you. “He’s on a mission tonight, but he’s strong, so I know he’ll be alright.” There was a flicker of something in his eyes—worry, perhaps. Ever since his last mission, Suguru seemed different, exhaustion more evident in the lines of his face. Satoru had been talking about him more, and you could see the worry he tried to hide behind his confident words. You were happy for him, though. He had a friend—a friend who would take care of him.

“Ah, the fireworks are starting!” Satoru’s eyes brightened as he grabbed your hand, tugging you forward through the crowd. His grip was firm, almost excited as he pulled you along to get a better view. But just as the first boom echoed across the night sky, you stumbled, a cough wracking your body.

Blood splattered onto your white mittens, staining them a deep red. It smeared against the delicate fabric of your kimono, the crimson spreading across the soft white. Your eyes widened, the shock evident as another cough tore through you at the second boom.

Satoru glanced back at you, his laughter from a moment ago dying on his lips as he took in the sight before him. The dark red staining your kimono, your shoulders trembling as you tried to steady yourself. His heart stopped, his bright blue eyes widening in alarm.

“Y/N?” The word slipped from his lips, almost a whisper, but the fear in his voice was unmistakable. He was used to blood—he’d seen more of it than he cared to remember. He was used to seeing horrific things, but this... This was different. This was you, your body collapsing under the weight of something he couldn’t fight, something he couldn’t protect you from.

His stomach twisted into painful knots as he rushed forward, his arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground. Panic clawed at his chest, raw and unyielding, as he pulled you close, your weight heavy in his arms. He looked down at you, the blood on your lips, the way your eyes struggled to focus on him.

“Y/N, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking, the booming of the fireworks above seeming like cruel echoes to his panic. Satoru Gojo—the strongest—was powerless for the first time in his life. He had always been able to protect the people he cared about, always stood between them and the dangers that threatened them. But now, as he cradled you in his arms, he felt more helpless than he ever thought possible. 

Within moments, Satoru had you wrapped tightly against his chest, his long strides pushing through the crowd. The world around him blurred—the once vibrant colors of the festival, the joyous sounds, the fireworks lighting up the sky—everything faded, drowned by the sound of his pounding heartbeat. The one thing that mattered was slipping away in his arms. He couldn’t lose you. Not you.

“A taxi would be too slow…” he muttered under his breath, his voice a frantic tremor, uneven and shaky as he sprinted through the dark streets of Kyoto. His arms gripped you tighter, as if holding you this close could stop the life from draining out of you.

You tilted your head back slightly, your vision blurry and fading, but even now, you could see the snowflakes gently falling from the sky. They caught in your hair, delicate and soft, and for a moment you felt at peace. Snow always made the world seem quieter, calmer. But your body was growing weaker. You could feel it. The edges of your vision darkened, and even as you lay against Satoru’s chest, your heart ached—not just from the pain, but because you knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this. You could feel the fear radiating from him, fear you’d never seen in him before. 

And yet, all you could do was smile, nuzzling your cheek against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body seep into you as the cold of winter wrapped around you both.

Satoru kept talking, his voice frantic, as if somehow his words could pull you back. “We’ll get you to the family physician,” he rambled, his breath coming in short bursts. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a desperate panic. “If he can’t do anything, I’ll call Shoko. She’s studying to be a doctor—she’ll fix this, she’ll know what to do.” His voice trembled, each word more uncertain than the last. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to not having control, not having a solution.

When he glanced down at you, his breath caught. You were smiling up at him, your lips stained with blood but still curved in that soft, familiar way. His heart clenched painfully, a wave of helplessness crashing over him. He could see the blood soaking through your white kimono, staining it crimson, and still you smiled. His lips wobbled into a broken smile in return, as if trying to mirror your calm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn’t tell if they were his or if it was just the snow falling into his eyes.

Then you spoke, your voice gentle, steady, though each word was a dagger to his chest. “I hope in another life, I’ll get to meet you in a world without curses. Without this stupid illness,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but somehow clear in the silence that enveloped you both. “Maybe we’ll be bumblebees… or those whale sharks you told me about.” You paused, and then your eyes softened even more. “But I think I’d marry you in every lifetime, if you’d let me. You’re kind, Satoru.”

Kind. The word echoed painfully in his mind. You thought he was kind, but right now, he couldn’t feel anything but helplessness, guilt, and fear. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t let this be the last thing you said to him. He couldn’t let go. Not like this.

“No, don’t say that,” he choked out, his throat tight with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “We’re going to see those sunflowers, remember? The field by the ocean—it’s going to be warm, and I’ll buy you that sundress. We’ll match. You’ll love it.” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to keep going, desperation filling every word. “Then we’ll go to that aquarium in Okinawa, the one with the whale sharks. You’ll like the nurse sharks—they just cuddle at the bottom of the tank. That’s us, remember? Just stay with me, okay?”

He was trying to keep you grounded, trying to keep you here, with him, but even he could hear the hopelessness in his voice. His grip on you tightened, as if he could physically hold you to this world, but he knew. Deep down, he knew.

“We’ll get married in a year. We’ll have kids. We’ll grow old together, alright? You’re not leaving me. We have a future. So please…”

But the words he truly wanted to say—the ones lodged in his throat, choking him—stayed trapped. I love you. He wanted to scream it, but the grief swallowed it whole. Saying it out loud would make it real, would make the possibility of losing you more tangible. And he wasn’t ready for that.

As he ran toward the clan’s estate, your body growing heavier in his arms, the weight of your fading life pressed down on him. His vision blurred with tears. I love you. The words echoed over and over in his mind, like a desperate prayer.

Then, your voice, so soft, pulled him from the spiral of his thoughts. “I love you, Satoru,” you whispered, your hand gently cupping his tear-streaked face. Your touch was so light, so fleeting, and yet it shattered him completely. “I hope we see each other in the next life.”

Satoru felt his entire world crumble as he looked down at you. His heart shattered into pieces too small to ever be whole again, and all he could do was hold you tighter as your life slipped away. He had saved so many people, but he couldn’t save you. His strength, his power, meant nothing now.

That night, he lost you within the hour. If only he had been faster, if only he had acted sooner, would you still be here? The question haunted him, eating away at him with every passing moment. 

The next day, when he learned that Suguru had slaughtered a village and turned rogue, he felt his soul fracture even further. The strongest sorcerer. How could he be the strongest when he couldn’t even protect the people he loved?

Regret was a constant shadow, haunting him as the years passed. The weight of his failures pressed down on him, the ache of loss never dulling, never fading.

Nearly a decade later, Satoru stood in the midst of another battle, blood staining the snow around him. He found himself alone once again, lying in the cold, staring up at the sky. The same snowflakes drifted down, just like they had that night when he lost you.

Had he won? It didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the memory of you—and Suguru. Maybe this time he would see you both again.

A sad smile traced his lips as the taste of blood filled his mouth, his body heavy with exhaustion and the crushing weight of everything he had lost.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered to the falling snow, to the sky, to the world where you might be waiting for him.

[silenttrxxs]

-professor! choi san x reader

Exam season the hardest time for anyone, the days melding into one as you desperately try to pass your degree, even at the lowest grade it would be something. But you had a problem. A huge handsome problem staring you in the face every single day.

Your professor. Everyone was oogling… who could blame them really it wasn’t everyday a uni would employ such a fresh face, every other professor looking like they walked out a retirement home.

This one though, god he was something else, you’d just lost the previous professor something to do with being caught with drugs or something in the uni which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The day he walked into the lecture hall it seemed the world just stopped. The entire lecture feeling like it was going on forever and it was a welcome change to the usual mundane clock watching during the previous lectures.

A snap of his fingers in your face snapped you out of your days. Forgetting where you was for a moment lost in thought… well that’s what you told everyone but really you was trying your hardest not to drool. Watching his every single move. His voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine even if he was speaking about how plants soak up the sun and some other biological nonsense that you already knew.

“Y/N attention up here please, you’re day dreaming again… dont make me have to write you up. You’re already dropping below half the students here…” he spoke your face reddening as you looked up, trying to avoid his gaze, the white shirt and glasses not helping you one tiny bit. You crossed your legs and sat up more promising to pay more attention to the lecture.

He scoffed and watched the reaction slyly and smirked to himself walking back to his desk and leaning against it, concluding the lecture for the day and dismissing everyone.

“Y/N a word please” he spoke before you could reach the door.

turning around and looking up at him.

“Yeah what’s up?” You said gripping onto you backpack and trying to will away the heat spreading across your cheeks.

“What’s going on, why is someone as smart as you failing this course, you know im not just a professor i am also human and i believe its only fair to offer help when needed” san says, smiling softly and looking at you.

You shrug unable to explain yourself.

“Im disappointed in you y/n i thought you’d be better than this… dont play coy, i know I’ve got everyone oogling but i only have eyes for one person right now” he walks over his gaze falling down travelling over your face.

Your breath hitches at the closeness, you can feel the heat radiating from your body and his. Before you could utter a word you feel your body being moved, you knees against the cold oak desk.

“Sir what are you doing” you manage to whine out a little your excitement and arousal already dripping from you. The short dress you chose to wear leaving nothing to the imagination.

Your back arches as a hand is caressing your scalp, fingers dancing along before tugging harshly. “Just take this as a private lesson, maybe after this you might focus a little better..” san says his voice low and husky, his breath hot against your ear.

“S-sir, f-fuck” you moan out as you feel a hand dropping between you both, your dress lifted up, and panties now slide to the side, his fingers dancing over your now soaked core.

“F-fuck you’re dripping darling, is this what you day dream about huh? My fingers deep inside you, bringing you closer and closer by the second” he says, his fingers pressing into you, your body clenching around him with every word.

A whine leaves your throat before you could catch it, your body falling against the table, knuckles white as you grip onto the desk, trying so hard to ground yourself as the white hot heat envelopes you.

“S-sir p-please” you moan out, not sure what you’re exactly begging for but the way his fingers are curling inside you, and the grip on your hip driving you insane.

“Good girl, you’re learning… now I want you to ride me, I want to see how much of a good listener you are” he says his cock throbbing in the right restraints of his trousers. He fumbles with the zipper freeing his aching cock and sitting in his chair. Legs spread slightly, accommodating the way his cock was stiff, aching and red, leaking with precum.

You let your mouth hang open, drool forming as you take in the sight before you. Obeying his command you find yourself discarding your bag, your legs straddling him and your tight heat enveloping his cock. The sight is unbelievably hot. You throw your head back as you feel him throbbing inside you with every clench until you bottom out.

“F-fuck o-oh my god s-sir” you moan as you feel his hands on your hips again, his nails digging deliciously into your flesh. You movements being guided, a steady rhythm being created between you both. Before it’s cut short, a hand comes to your jaw, pulling you gaze to his face, his glasses slightly down his face… his eyes filled with pure primal lust as you feel him fuck into you, hips snapping as your skin slaps together, you’re dripping now you’re sure he’s coated in your arousal. “F-fuck d-don’t stop p-please oh… oh fuck” you moan out your climax approaching before it’s cut dead. Movements halted.

“Show me. Show me if you’ve learnt anything gorgeous.. I can’t do everything for you… you got to work for it” San says his body falling back resting against the chair, his gaze falling over your body, drinking you in with pure lust.

A scream leaves your body as you move almost instantly, your hips moving and bouncing on his cock. You feel him deep inside you, his cock throbbing inside you. Your hands on his shoulders, your gaze locked with his with every single movement. The room is filled with almost pornographic noises.

“G-good girl, finally… you’ve learnt well.. now… l-let me teach you something new” San says before lifting you off him, positioning himself behind you, your body bent over the desk before pounding into you again, his hips thrusting into you with so much force the pot of pens that were sitting there now discarded on the floor. You feel him lifting your leg up to rest on the table, the new position allowing him to fuck into you harder and deeper.

You let out a scream as a wave hits you, your climax approaching so fast you see white. The growl behind you signalling another wave to course through you. “F-fuck s-sir” you moan out as he continues his pace. Flipping you over and fucking into you harder his hand coming to wrap around your throat as he watches the way you come undone. Completely and utterly wrecked by his body.

“What have we learnt baby” he says thrusting into you with each word.

You’re done your mind completely blank of all thoughts, his got you under his control. Submitted fully to him.

“O-oh my god” is all you can manage to say. Your eyes rolling back as he squeezes your throat cutting your air supply a little, his hips snapping into you with even more force.

“Oh sweetness… your fucked dumb now aren’t you… not a single thought in that pretty little head” San says his tone condescending but my god is it sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your gripping onto him, tugging at his shirt.

“P-please I’ll be a good girl… please I’m gonna come again” you moan out your eyes looking into his, you’re voice laced with longing.

“S-sir please” you moan again as you feel him throbbing inside you, signalling he is also close.

His movements halt to a stop. A strangled whine leaves your body at the feeling. You look up. His eyes are half lidded with primal fury as he grips your hair pulling you and guiding you onto your knees.

“Only good girls get to come baby…” San says before standing over you. Stroking himself in front of you and releasing over your face.

“Now answer me darling… are you going to do better” he says. Looking down at you and smirking before fumbling with his trousers and sitting down on his chair.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances [2]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A massive thank you to the amazing @midgardian-witch for being the best and proofreading this nonsense and another huge thank you to the wonderful @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, choking, biting, hand job, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is getting his ass handed to him), swearing, Blue crying, p in v sex (Blue fucks another dancer at the beginning), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer.

Word Count: 2679

Rouged Lips in the Gaslight

Trixie was bent over the arm of the velvet sofa in Blue’s office, sharing its colour with the name of its owner. 

He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress himself or her. Just hiking up her short skirt (the same one she had been wearing for her routine half an hour ago) and pushing her underwear to the side while he unzipped his fly. 

She felt good, she always did. Warm, tight, and the sounds she was making alone, enough to make a porn star blush, should have been doing it for Blue. 

But they weren’t. And it was the fucking seventh time in barely two days. 

Every time he tried to get off it just didn’t work. He’d tried all the classics, combinations of his personal favourites, different dancers, different positions, different times of day, anything he could think of. 

He got hard, sure. Hell, that was the problem to begin with, he was horny. Fucking desperate to come. It just never happened. 

“Blue, fuck, please!” Trixie’s moans increased, getting louder as she neared her high. 

He picked up his pace, thrusting harder, tightening his grip on her hips and slamming her back to meet his; trying to satisfy that itch that just would not be scratched. 

He snarled, closed his eyes, and -  you with one hand on his throat and the other wrapped around his dick squeezing as you bit his lip until it bled. His blood on your mouth as you kissed him possessively, laying claim to him as he came; ruining him for anyone else. 

Trixie screams as she comes, snapping Blue annoyingly back to reality. 

It feels good, the way her cunt squeezes and flutters. Usually, that would be more than enough to bring him to his peak, to make him pump her pretty pussy full of him. He just can’t get there. 

He sighs in frustration, sweat on his forehead as he pulls out and quickly stuffs his painfully hard cock back into his trousers. 

Trixie breathes hard, a little dazed and shaky as she stands. There’s a little frown of confusion on her face, any hope that she hadn’t noticed Blue’s lack of orgasm quickly dissolving. 

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. But it does. 

“Get the fuck out.” 

His voice is hard and cold and Trixie doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He sits on his desk when the door closes and runs his hands over his face. This was getting fucking ridiculous. He was Blue fucking Jones for god’s sake. He couldn’t let anyone, especially you, one of his dancers, his property, do this to him. 

He breathed out roughly and stood again, his mind made up. It was just a little blip, nothing more than that. He just needed to show you who was boss, bend you over and fuck you until you begged him to stop. That would fix all of this. 

.

You sigh loudly as you finally find the correct gloves. They’re a deep scarlet, the only remaining matching pair that goes with the outfits of the seven other backup dancers. When Gorski told you they were in the tiny storage closet on the upper levels you had to bite your tongue to stop the groan that had threatened to escape. 

The storage closet was a mess to put it politely, random junk just dumped in there when there was nowhere else to put it. It was only because Blue had wanted Song Bird to have eight backup dancers for the routine, when for the past three weeks it had been seven. 

The gloves are a little battered, but nothing that would be noticeable to the patrons of the club, not when you were up on the stage anyway. 

You catch your reflection in the full length mirror that is jammed a little haphazardly in the corner. For a second the gloves in your hand look like blood. 

You put away the things you pulled out as best you can, not such an easy task in the mayhem mess, and turn to the door. 

Your hand barely grazes the cool metal of the handle before it’s wrenched out of your grasp as it’s flung open. 

Panic grips your heart and you visibly jump back just about managing to keep the little yelp of surprise that wants to escape quiet. 

And when your eyes land on the figure in the doorway, you’re more than glad you did. 

Blue glares at you, his eyes dark and shining in the dim light. He has a small, tight smile on his face. One of those practised expressions he wears at the club when he’s charming customers. 

He closes the door behind him, not taking his eyes off you and stalks forward, expecting you to back away. 

You hold your ground, annoyance fizzling in your blood at the gall he has to try to intimidate you and for a second you forget yourself. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He pauses mid-step, blinking before he tries to pull that mask of superiority back on. “That’s not a very nice way to greet me now, is it?” He spits. 

“What are you doing here?” You repeat, your tone firm and fierce, unimpressed by how he bristles and tries to square up to you. 

“I own this place, and everything and one in it.” He leans close, his hot breath hitting your face. “I can go wherever I like.” 

You hold his gaze for one long moment before you swallow and step ceremoniously to the side, planning to walk past him. 

Blue matches your step, blocking your path. “What are you doing in here?” 

You hold up the gloves. “For Song Bird’s routine.” 

He stares at your hands for a moment, picturing you in the backup dancers' outfits. His throat bobs as he swallows before he grits his jaw. He had to focus. Had to get you out of his system. 

“What do you want, Blue?” Your voice is firm and sure, covering up the spike of uncertainty that has settled in your chest. 

He pauses, finally glancing up from the gloves to your face. Though now that he is looking directly at you it feels worse, blistering to be under the intensity of his gaze. He licks his lips. “You.”  

You stay quiet. 

“Just you.” He repeats, taking a step forward and placing a hand firmly on your shoulder. He pushes you back into the row of hanging clothing forcefully and leans close as the gloves slip from your hand. “You know, I thought you were just a scared little Bunny I could have some fun with, but you’re not.” He growls.

You swallow, fear swimming in your stomach, mixing with a dizzying haze of emotion. 

“You’re… dangerous. A Lion in rabbit’s clothing.” He mutters, tracing his fingers lightly along your jawline. 

Instinctively you smack his hand away. 

He grins at your gall. “You know… I’ve hurt people a lot more important than you for less.” He whispers. 

“Then why don’t you?” 

Blue pauses, his expression frozen on his face like a tableau, a tiny spark of uncertainty flickers into life behind his eyes. “I don’t… want to right now.”

“Liar.” 

He scowls. “Listen-”

“No, you listen.” You grab a hold of him, placing your hand firmly over his mouth and pinching his cheeks. 

His eyes widen, darken as arousal burns along his veins. 

You have no idea what’s gotten into you, why you’re doing this again. He could kill you on a whim, a snap of his fingers and a flick of his head would be all it took for his goons to empty their clips into your chest. 

Still, it seems like you’re in too deep now to change directions. 

You push him back a little, giving yourself some breathing space. “You don’t want to hurt me because you want me to hurt you.” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing. His hands still at his sides, making no effort to even wriggle out of your hold. 

You lean a little closer, echoing his teasing tone from before. “You like it.” 

There is the tiniest hitch of his breath and it’s all the reassurance you need. 

When he doesn’t respond quickly enough for your liking you squeeze a little tighter, feeling the imprint of his molars through his cheeks as you nod his head up and down. 

“There we go, did no one teach you it was rude not to answer a question?” You loosen your hold on him, revelling in the red impressions left on his skin. It shouldn’t thrill you, shouldn’t excite you. 

You trail your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb over his plump bottom lip and he shudders, closing his eyes for a second as he fights the urge to grab your arm and pull you closer. 

Instead he darts out his tongue, swiping it lightly over the tip of your thumb and groaning. 

“Did I say you could do that?” 

The snarl in your voice makes his eyes snap open, makes him open his mouth for a frantic apology. 

The second his lips part you push your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm tongue to silence him. 

He startles, eyes going wide for a second as he grabs hold of your wrist instinctively. But the second his mind catches up with your actions he doesn’t pull back, only presses closer. 

He groans around your thumb, running his tongue along the length as he pushes his body flush against yours, grinding his aching cock against your leg. 

He’s so hard, throbbing as he rubs against you. A small whimper echos from his throat. 

You bite your lip, a wave of arousal washing over you at the sight. “You’re so pathetic, you know that?” 

He moans louder, frantically nodding his head as he thrusts his hips, sucking on your thumb for all he was worth. He squeezes your wrist, wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place. 

You pull your thumb from his mouth suddenly, smearing his salvia on his chin and grabbing hold of his throat as you push him back away from you. 

Blue whines, his forehead pinched in distress and hips bucking aimlessly, trying to seek out that delicious friction again. 

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You growl, loosening his tie and roughly pulling it free as you undo the top three of his shirt buttons. “Fucking pitiful.” 

“S-sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip as he gazes at you. 

You smack his cheek lightly and he groans, the sensation striking down to his cock like lightning. He’s dazed for a second as you manhandle him, too wrapped up in the feel of your fingers digging into his skin to even have one coherent thought. 

You twist his tie around his wrists, binding them harshly before you gather the last of the material and wrap it around your right palm. 

He gasps as you step behind him, your chest pressed against his back, and grab hold of his neck, pulling his wrists up in the process. The material digs in, makes his skin sing and fingers throb. It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Blue bites his lip again, trying to keep some of the obscene sounds to a minimum. He feels dizzy, lightheaded as you squeeze his neck and use your free hand to slide down his chest to his trousers. 

The amount of times he’d tied up others, whipped and beaten until they’d crying and begging and pleading. It had felt so good, so right. But this… god it was nothing compared to this. 

You sink your teeth into the side of his neck and he keens, his back bending. He gasps, shivers and tries to breathe deeply through the wonderful pain, but your grip on his neck tightens, pulls him back further under your control. And he nearly comes on the spot. 

You bite harder. Niping and sucking at his skin, only soothing with your tongue for the briefest moment. 

He squirms under your hold, pressing up against your mouth and whimpering nonsense. 

He cries out when you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers and unzip his fly. His heart thuds under your hand as you let his trousers fall to the floor and push his boxers down his thighs. 

“Please, oh god,” he whines when you squeeze especially hard on his neck and then gasps when you wrap your hand around his leaking cock. “Lion,” he stretches the word, rolls it around in his mouth desperately as you jerk your hand, your pace hard and brutal. He follows with his hips as much as you let him, tightening around his neck and pulling him back against you if he moves too much. 

“Lion, please!” He sobs. 

You break your mouth away from his bruised skin to hiss in his ear. “Look at yourself, look at how pathetic you are.” You tug his neck, forcing him to look at himself in the floor-length mirror. He lets out a sob as his own reflection stares back. How flushed his skin is, how desperate his eyes look. The way he barely struggles. How hard he is, leaking and throbbing under your hand. 

“Lion,” tears build at the corner of his eyes, “please.” 

“You’re wretched, despicable, barely worth the energy it takes me to make you come.” You sneer. 

And Blue screams. 

The knot in his stomach twists, liquid fire running along his spine as your words push him violently over the edge. He comes hard, spurting all over the floor. The force of it even hitting the edge of the mirror as he jerks and bucks and cries under your hold. 

For a moment it’s like he’s floating, light and far away from himself. Warm and safe under your touch. 

You loosen your grip around him instantly, worried for a second that he’s passed out and then silently hating yourself for enjoying that idea so much. 

He stumbles a little without your firm hold, but you guide him back to sit on the edge of a large box. 

He breathes deeply, spaced out as you slowly unwrap his tie from around his hands. His wrists are red, fingers off colour. He shivers slightly, his trousers still around his ankles. You pause, questioning if you’d be able to get him standing to do them back up without Blue falling over. 

Instead you turn to pull out a long, fluffy coat that had been used in a dance months ago to drape around him. 

He softly grabs your forearm as you turn, the touch a stark difference from earlier. 

“Please,” he looked up at you, his eyes hard and voice weak. “Don’t go.” 

The silence seems to hang for a long second. 

You swallow and take the coat off the hanger before wrapping him up. You squeeze his hand and move closer to him, intending to just stay a moment, but he grabs hold of your arms, pulls you closer still and buries his face into your stomach. 

He stays still for a moment, his fists tight as he hangs onto your shirt. 

You don’t know what to do, your hands hover in mid-air and… then his shoulders start to shake as he cries. 

“Hey, hey,” you lightly touch his head, running your hand through his short hair. “Hey,” you soothe and he looks up at you weakly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles between sobs. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squat down to his level and stroke his cheeks. There’s a whirlwind of emotions fighting in your chest. 

He shakes his head. “Did I… Did I make you angry?” 

“No, no.”

“Did I disappoint you?” His voice breaks at the last word, fresh tears streaming over his skin. 

You lean forward, kissing his lips gently, then his cheeks. 

He swallows, hiccuping from the sobs he’s trying to fight back. He kisses you back softly, reverently, his hands warm and gentle on your arms and back as he holds you close. 

What the fuck had you got yourself into? 

Thank you for reading!

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[lalune9x]

S-Classes ‘Side Story’ chapter 124 spoilers under the cut…

god I love this novel so much, it’s so funny and ridiculously endearing lmaooo 😭 (sorry I’m on mobile and don’t know how to format indented text)

—-

“Normally, I shouldn’t interfere. But since my partner has requested it…”

With those words, Sung Hyunje appeared.

“I have no choice but to comply.”

He was tiny, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and had fairy wings. It was a form I had seen once before, but still…

“…Why are you in this state again?”

Aren’t you about to turn forty? Actually, at this point, aren’t you already in your mid-forties? A man nearing fifty was fluttering around with shiny wings, claiming ‘I’m the Sesung Guild Leader~’ If he were a complete stranger, I would’ve said that people in this world had all sorts of preferences and left it at that. But unfortunately, this person happened to be my partner.

Amidst everyone’s gaze, Sung Hyunje-ssi landed on my palm. For a moment, I had the urge to clench my fist and shake it. Would sparks fly if I grabbed him?

[…]

“So that’s why you came with wings,” I said.

“The wings are because I felt Han Yoojin-gun’s interest in me has been waning a bit. I just spruced myself up a little.”

… What nonsense. When people said they wanted to spruce up, they usually changed their hairstyle, put on nice clothes, or added accessories. Why on earth would you suddenly add wings?

“… Anyway, we can explain publicly that the Sesung Guildmaster shrank due to a curse. As long as we get cooperation from the current Sesung Guildmaster, Hunter Kang Soyoung, it shouldn’t be too hard to bring Sesung Guild in line with its current state.”

“Um, excuse me.”

At that moment, Soyoung-ssi raised one arm with a serious expression. She glanced between the tiny Sung Hyunje in my palm and me before speaking.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but… in the end, the person who was a mermaid, then a captain, and now a fairy—is my boss?”

“Uh… yes? I suppose so.”

“And that thing… I mean, this person, needs to become the Sesung Guildmaster? No, wait, the original Guildmaster was… Why did I even join Sesung Guild under this person in the first place? Director Han Yoojin raised my dragon, didn’t he? And more importantly… Is that person really the Sesung Guildmaster?”

Soyoung-ssi clutched her head, looking confused. It seemed like her gradually returning memories were clashing with her current reality. Or maybe she just couldn’t accept that Sung Hyunje was her boss.

“Kang Soyoung-gun,” Sung Hyunje spoke softly to the bewildered Soyoung.

Since he was the guildmaster, maybe he would give some comforting advice to his young guild member…

“I’m a fairy dragon,” he said.

But no—he lied without even batting an eye. Had he lost his mind?

Kang Soyoung’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “You’re a dragon? For real?”

“Yes. Gyeol was born due to my influence as a fairy dragon. Don’t we even look alike?”

The self-proclaimed fairy dragon spun slowly once in my palm to display himself. Appearance-wise… he clearly did look like Gyeol. I felt sorry for Gyeol, but what Sung Hyunje-ssi said wasn’t entirely wrong. And now that he had fairy wings, his nonsense actually sounded somewhat plausible.

“So that’s…!”

Kang Soyoung cried out in awe and astonishment. Her expression went through a number of complex changes for a moment, but then she quickly calmed down and nodded firmly.

“I understand everything now.”

…Really? That was all it took?

“It all makes sense. It’s perfect. Yes! I love Sesung Guild and our Guildmaster!” Soyoung-ssi shouted with eyes full of guild pride…

Was this really okay? Sung Hyunje-ssi, didn’t you feel guilty at all? We did need to finish this mission and get out quickly, but this seemed too shameless.

[delirious-donna]

Ghosts of the Past [Extra Drabble]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

an: I decided that it would be cute to write a section from the POV of the couple that Kento and reader meet in the museum. I’ve grown very fond of this couple and I hope you’ll enjoy this extra little piece of the story.

warning: none, SFW, fluff and humour

Series Masterlist

The museum was full of its usual hustle and bustle, even more so given the holidays, and it was a pleasure to be a part of the hubbub.

Felicity scanned the crowds with a keen eye, smiling at the energetic children—some more rambunctious than others—accompanied by parents trying to corral them into some semblance of order. She well remembered when her own brood were this age, and the hours spent in this much-loved building keeping them amused during school holidays.

A hand slipped into hers, more familiar than any other and Felicity squeezed the fingers of her beloved husband, glancing at him with a love that had never diminished even after all these years together. She counted her blessings for having met her soulmate so young, and for the family they had raised, as well as the fun and laughter they continued to share.

The pair perused the museum that they knew like the back of their hand, winding through the galleries and stopping to spot new artefacts and displays. This was still one of their favourite pastimes, there was always a discovery to make and even on days when it felt like they had seen everything the museum had to offer, there was always people watching to fall back on.

Much to Howard’s feigned disapproval, Felicity adored watching people. Since their children had grown up and flown the nest to build their own families it had become a ritual of sorts to indulge her social curiosities in public places such as these. There was something special about witnessing the complexities of real human relationships that scratched the itch far more than any TV drama or soap opera ever could. Friendships blooming over shared interests, young minds being educated through fun interactive education, families finding their feet with the addition of children in tow, tired parents happy to see their kids entertained to give them a moment of peace, and best of all, romance blossoming in the most unlikely places and ways.

Today was no different, with new delights to be found in every room, but it wasn’t until they neared the new photography exhibition did Felicity feel the buzz of excitement that often signalled a special find.

“You’re like a bloodhound, Flic,” Howard chuckled with a playful roll of his eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and secured his wife’s arm through his own.

“Pfft, nonsense. I’m simply drawn to where the universe wants me to be.” She didn’t believe the sentiment, but she’d be damned to admit he was right after all these decades together.

The pair admired a large mural of a cheetah made up of hundreds of thousands of tiny black-and-white images until her attention was drawn to the room by their left. There were only two occupants, a young man slowly edging around the room and an equally young woman resting on the leather seat in the middle.

Felicity watched whilst the young woman never took her eyes off the man perusing the photos on the wall. Her gaze was intent but there was a softness that infused her features with what appeared to be fondness. Perhaps even attraction? The young man, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to being the focus of the woman. His posture was stiff, hands clasped behind his back with a slight rock on the balls of his feet when something interested him.

If this wasn’t a budding romance, she’d eat her hat. Felicity tugged gently at the cuff of Howard’s shirt sleeve, nodding her head in the direction of the young couple and was met with a sigh of resignation.

“Leave them be,” he hissed, though there was no heat to his tone. Despite the words, he too began to watch as the young woman moved towards the man and started to speak. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but it was obvious after a moment that it wasn’t going well.

The couple watched on whilst the woman’s expression turned to shock then irritation. Whatever the man was saying, it wasn’t going over well, and when she strode off to the other side of the room, Howard could only feel sympathy for the young man. He looked genuinely perplexed, a hand scratching at the back of his neck as if the skin prickled from the exchange.

Felicity leaned into her husband to speak close to his ear. “Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” She chuckled, turning twinkling eyes up at him and he felt a swell of love wash through him. It did remind him of someone, himself, and the young woman would be Felicity, his Flic.

“He looks as baffled as I felt back then. You always seemed to be mad at me for something I didn’t even realise was wrong,” Howard admitted with a shake of his head.

“I was, though it hardly matters now. The only thing that truly matters is how he deals with it… will he turn on his heel or will he try to resolve the issue?”

It was obvious that the wheels inside the young man’s head were turning at an astonishing rate, but he wasn’t moving, and Felicity’s shoulders slumped sadly.

“Give him a moment,” Howard chastised, pointing towards the man’s hand. “Don’t you see how he wishes to reach for her?”

He was right. The man’s hand was stretching, reaching as if what he wanted was just out of reach. It dropped as quickly as it happened, but only because he took the tentative steps to move alongside his object of affection.

“I always reached out for you, just as he did for her. Maybe they’ll make it,” he whispered co-conspiratorially.

“He’s confused, darling. I don’t think he quite knows what he wants, only that he doesn’t have it yet. Come on,” she said, moving them towards the young couple.

The woman was near yelling, yet the man simply looked on in confusion. So badly she wished to grab them both by the ear and turn them to face one another. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife and it was like stepping into a memory of her past, familiar and amusing. Back then, it had been far from funny but with the advantage of hindsight and a lot more life experience, she could view it for what it was.

“Oh, Howard, look there. Doesn’t that bring back memories?” Felicity called loudly, pleased when the pair jumped in surprise at being interrupted. They jerked apart like naughty children, and it only strengthened her belief that they both wanted something more than their current situation.

“They say that couples shouldn’t bicker, especially in public,” she said with a slight laugh. “But don’t listen to such rubbish. Howard and I used to snipe at each other regularly, and we’ve been married thirty-five years.”

The look of utter shock on their faces, especially the woman, was worth it. Along with the stammered explanations that it wasn’t what it seemed, that they weren’t a couple. So that was where the problem lay. Felicity wondered if it was down to one party in particular, and her gaze strayed to the young man.

A quick assessment painted a detailed picture. Young, handsome, successful, affluent given the timepiece on his wrist but maybe too invested in his work? She couldn’t blame him; society expected all youngsters these days to chase after unrealistic dreams. A career wasn’t the only thing that mattered in life, and from the expression he wore, he wasn’t as happy as he made out. A nudge in the right direction might do the trick. It would be a shame to see a bright young woman slip through his fingers simply because he was scared to try to make it work.

“My dear, when you’ve been around as long as we have, you start to trust what your gut tells you. I won’t say anything else except to offer this one piece of advice. Don’t go to bed angry, and don’t wait to go after what you truly want.”

Felicity offered a kindly smile at the young man, his jaw slack at the offered wisdom. She patted the woman’s arm once more as Howard led her away, but only after he offered his own incline of the head at the man. There was compassion in his eyes, and she knew that it felt like he was staring at his younger self at that moment. She knew that because it was the same for her, a ghost of the past come to remind them both where they started and how far they had come.

“Do you think they’ll make it?” Felicity asked once they were well out of earshot.

Howard sighed, turning his head back for a moment before replying. “If he’s anything like me then he’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

“You old softie…”

Taglist: @actuallysaiyan @pseudowho @desiray562 @bloombb @markleeisdabestdrug @kentoslvt @threezzyo @themossiestchick @thejujvtsupost @ratmilk14 @levin4nami @sweetpo1son @dabislilbaby @fandomsfanficsfantasize @hotvinimon @ryomance @justmanu @w-emma-fil @orikuu @sutaagaaru @venjrnjrbhrr19

[shares-a-vest]

Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson vs. A Box of Condoms

wc: 2.3k | Rated: M | cw: None

Tags: Idiot4Idiot, Condoms, Awkward Sexual Situations, Laughter During Sex, Family Video, Robin Buckley, Claudia Henderson, More (Spicier) tags on ao3

The conclusion of this and this. Aka, Steve and Eddie are going to travel to the bone zone for the first time, only to find everything –namely condoms – getting in the way at every turn. Based on the STWG prompts, ‘Protection/Protective’ and ‘Crack Fic’, both selected by the wonderful @penny00dreadful. Sam, I hope you enjoy this silly saga in its totality (and I am also sorry for implicating you in this nonsense).

a/n: I’m linking straight to ao3 after this little preview of part 3 because it gets much spicier than what I usually write. There you will find the whole saga in full!

-🍌🍌🍌-

It isn't until hours later that Steve finally finds himself back in his bedroom, sitting at his desk naked and cutting open a condom wrapper.

The fifth, to be exact.

The last one in the box.

He has torn each one so far, cut into them one by one and burning through the almost-full box so quickly that he is beginning to panic.

He squints at his handiwork, bringing his mother's teeny-tiny sewing scissors (a third kind he has tried) up closer along with the wrapper.

They should have done this when there was still some light out. Steve can't see shit under the dim light of his desk lamp.

But after they bolted out of Family Video and got back to the house, it was nearing dinnertime.

So Eddie ordered a pizza. Then they ate that in almost silence at the kitchen counter, before retreating to the living room where they made out on the couch for long enough that the house became shrouded in darkness. Then, Eddie wanted a shower and Steve felt the need to get rid himself of his pepperoni breath.

But once Eddie exited the ensuite bathroom with nothing but a towel protecting his modesty, all that tension built back up as all other evening distractions melted away.

Continue on Ao3

[forager-m]

Songbird [Drabble]

Ship: Dr Ratio/Aventurine (レイチュリ)

Premise: Dr Ratio and Aventurine have been cohabiting after the events of Penacony. The arrangment brings many delightful discoveries; including that Aventurine likes singing to himself while doing chores.

[Aventurine sings to himself. Ratio can't help but to join him.]

🛁🎲

His morning goes like this:

He wakes to the opal sky, as the sun draws its golden chariot across the clouds. From outside, the birds song reaches him faintly, and the whir of civilization slowly stirs; machinery, vehicles, people, all coming to life as he is. His mind awakens first, even as his eyes stay heavy and closed, bursting with plans and reminders of the day ahead: he has to brush his teeth, fix his hair, do his morning workout, get started on breakfast, feed the cat cakes, grade papers, and then...

And then he opens his eyes, turns, and then he wastes the morning staring at the way Aventurine's hair flows and spills over the sheets like a golden waterfall; all soft curls and precious locks. He's nestled in Veritas' arms and stretched luxuriously in the warmth of their home like a spoiled pet. His resting face peers over the blankets, while the rest of him is covered - leaving only suggestions of subtle curves and warm flesh.

The cats awaken and begin scratching at the door. The sun has finished its descent, and it slowly pours in through the windows. Then, finally, Aventurine makes a soft little noise, opening his eyes. Blinking once, twice. He leans into Ratio's touch, then yawns. Veritas watches, appreciatively, as Aventurine rises from the sheets. The blankets pool around his waist and thighs. He looks like Aphrodite emerging from the sea; the birth of beauty itself.

"See something you like?"

The noise strangled out of his throat was a mix of a cough and a scoff.

"Nonsense."

"Mmm... so mean, won't you indulge me a little?"

He sits on his thighs and stretches his arms above his head. Ratio notes the new softness padding his belly. A sign of good health and recovery, one part of him says. The other half says something along the lines of that will feel nice in my hands before he violently cuts it off.

"Any more indulgence and not a single productive thing will be done today, Gambler."

Aventurine laughs. His voice is as clear as water running over a spring.

"Ooh, so scary! Don't threaten me with a good time, I know all sorts of indulgences that could keep us preoccupied, doctor~"

"You-!"

Aventurine pecks his cheek loudly, before wiggling out of the sheets and making a run for the kitchen, his giggles echoing behind him.

Ratio holds his head in his hands for a while, trying to will away any strange urges; violent or otherwise.

After a while, a waft of eggs and coffee fills the air. Ratio quickly goes through his morning routine, and by the time he's done, Aventurine is still preparing the food. As usual, he's prepared Ratio's portion first - a much bigger plate packed with scrambled eggs, toast, and a salad consisting of lettuce, tomatoes, and the leftover dressing that they've kept in the fridge. A cup of coffee's already there - sweetened with just a bit of stevia, just the way Ratio prefers it.

Aventurine is a surprisingly competent cook. Sure, he needs to pull up a recipe from his phone, but needing a bit of guidance doesn't detract from one's excellence. Having the freedom to cook what he wants also seems to improve his appetite, something Ratio is pleased to see.

He takes just a brief moment of appreciation; to appreciate the breakfast spread, of course, and certainly not the way that apron is tied perfectly around that slim waist, before he takes out the fruit and seeds from the fridge. Cat cakes, while sharing the name of domestic cats, do not have the same diet as them. Ratio calls out for them, and soon enough, three little cat cakes meow and sprint towards him with all the power in their tiny little paws.

"Make a wish into the well..."

"That's all you have to do..."

"And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true..."

Ratio feels his breath come short.

This, too, is something he's used to Aventurine doing. But he's not really used to it yet.

Aventurine loves music. Sometimes Ratio watches him as he sways to some soft tune known only to himself, dancing barefoot in their living room. He likes singing to his plants, because even after everything, Aventurine still had so much love to give, and taking care of his 'babies' made him so very happy. He likes to strum his guitar and come up with songs about anything or nothing at all. Once, Ratio caught him singing sweet silly nonsense to their cats, which he recorded and uses as leverage against the gambler whenever he could.

This was a boy made for laughter, song, and dance. Ratio wants to rage at the world for all that's been done to him.

"I'm wishing,"

"For the one I love."

"To find me -"

"Today!"

His voice is so lovely. There has never been a sweeter thing.

"I'm hoping,"

"And I'm dreaming of -"

"The nice things..."

"He'll say!"

Aventurine hums under his breath. Pretty little 'la la la la la's fluttering like bird wings. Quietly, Veritas walks to him, until his hands find his waist and Aventurine's body is plush against his own. He rests his chin on Aventurine's head, and can't help but to echo his song bird's melody.

"Im wishing, "

"... Im wishing..."

"For the one I love -"

"To find me -"

"To find me,"

"Today..."

"Today."

Sorry this is so self indulgent.

The song is I'm Wishing" from Snow White

I think both Ratio and Aventurine are amazing singers. Just imagine the soft duets they could do.

Also yes they deserve to be soft so. They are soft. And married. (They just dont realise it yet.)

[dairy-farmer]

Slade who, in a fit of jealousy, figures that, if he can't have pretty little Grayson to warm his bed, then he's going to steal the newest, clever little Robin, right from under the Bat's nose.

Tim comes to tied to a bed, with Slade Wilson on top of him, cutting the Robin suit off of him, managing to disarm every trap and failsafe Batman had installed in it.

By the time Dick receives an "invitation" to come rescue his little Robin, Tim has already started babbling nonsense and begging for more, harder, begging to be left pregnant and round with Slade's baby.

Unfortunately, Tim is small, and inexperienced, where Slade has decades of training and the experience Tim lacks.

Slade fucks Tim into unconsciousness, and Dick arrives to the sight of a thoroughly ruined Timothy Drake, tiny cunt overflowing with cum. So much, in fact, that his usually flat stomach has become just the faintest bit round with the sheer volume of cum.

And Slade makes Dick one last offer: he too, can experience this incredibly tight little doll around his cock (and Slade's cock in his ass), IF Dick becomes his Renegade as he'd offered before.

Refuse, and he's giving up on the lost cause that is Dick, and taking away the newest little bird, to give his kids plenty of little siblings~

sladetim

slade is getting up their in years, he's not as young as he used to be so he's just wising up on his investments!! should he keep going after and being rejected by little grayson (who is also getting up there in years and who isn't a quarter as pretty as he'd been at 15) or go after the much younger pride and joy of batman who never really shed the preteen look which very much got slade going. who fucked and took his cock like a little nympho all while begging slade to fuck him harder, faster, to cum inside him and fill his womb up.

christ. slade hasn't fucked harder than that in years and now here he was a little out of breath with a spent cock and staring down a furious nightwing glaring at him and sending concerned looks to his tied up baby brother who was passed out when minutes ago he'd been begging slade to fill him up, to knock him up.

christ maybe slade should've made the transition sooner. slade's thinking of just keeping the little one no matter what grayson says. maybe he'll take him away, spend a few days fucking him to make sure the slut's womb actually takes and starts making him a baby.

if its a girl he can name it.

but if its a boy..

slade's already got a suitable name picked out. grant.

[montimer]

Joker x hero!reader

Him being ur number one fan (and ur his ;])

Reader in denial and bit dummy

(Could be any ver)

-Back in the hideout-

He jumped to the television when he heard your name. He left whatever he was focusing on, now sitting excitedly infront of the tv. Eager to see you, hear your voice.

An interviewer managed to get you to talk infront of cameras. 'If this is what you all want so bad..' you thought. 'Can't be that bad right?'

While she was introducing herself, his eyes never left your form. Ignoring her, he would get bored if you wouldn't be staring at the camera. "Silly you, you look adorable as always" he says.

"..and today here we are with (heroname)! Say how does it feel like to be one of Gotham's best hero?"

One of? Why they are number one! The best of all.

"Ahah, i wouldn't say that.."

Sweet, as you are always huh?

He kept on watching the show. He focused on every word you said, deeply acknowledging them. Getting worked up whenever the interviewer said something that he didn't like, speaking out loud, correcting her. Talking to no one but the box infront of him.

But one specific question made him go quiet.

"There's this one villain that seems to be very attached to you. You know who im talking about don't you?" The question made you wordless. 'Why yes he sure has been acting weird with you, but its not like that..right?' You tried to calm your nerves. After an awkward second you answered.

"Uh, yeah? Who might that be?" 'Just act dumb, just act dumb'

"The clown prince of crime of course, haven't you noticed?"

You chuckled awkwardly. You kinda felt this coming

"Soo, what do you think of such criminal? C'mon the world wants to know!" She asked you half begging.

Your mind begin to race through options.

'If i say nice things about him, they'll think im on his side, but if i don't, he might get mad' but why do you care? Do you happen to-?

"(Heroname)?"

Oh oh right, answers

"Well uh, well- he's sure is hard to deal with,,but ya know at the end of the day justice always wins!..well expect those few times he got away.."

"Hmm interesting but i'd like to hear more of a, personal opinion"

You tried your best to stay formal, now what? They say honesty is one way of heroism

"Hmm, i'd say he's a genius, just think of the things he builds, the toxin he makes. He's also pretty funny, i mean when he's not hurting others of course! What i ment was..his jokes are great. You gotta have lots of creativity to tell a joke. He's quite a looker too, his costume is nice and all..mmm was that personal?"

The interviewer looked both surprised and amused.

"Yes, that was definitely personal!" She said excitedly.

The amount of eyes made you even more nervous than before. You tried not to face palm. Instead you excused yourself, waved at the camera and flight away.

The interview came to an end.

'Gosh i just hope he wasn't watching' oh but he was, every single second

And there in the hideout he stared at the empty screen. Unmoving, processing slowly what you said.

Hey what did you blurt out just now? Genius,funny,handsome?

He begin to smile wide. Jumping up and down laughing excitedly. Acting like some teenage girl having a crush on a celebrity.

He knew it! You loved him just as much as he loved you! And here he was worrying you were gonna say something mean. Nonsense, why of course with his genius mind-as you said- he could figure it out in a snap of a finger!

He went to pick up the little plushy of you, cuddling up to it. He had every piece of merch he could get his hands on.(and photos he took of you while you weren't looking)

He usually steals them from local shops, and sometimes feeling jealousy upon seeing people cuddle up to the tiny form of you, he burns the rest. No one can touch whats his! He's sure they understand (incase they don't they should know whats coming to them)

In his mind its special and only he can have it, after all he is your biggest fan.

[clonedchaos]

GUYS GUYS GUYSSSS IM LOSING MY MINNNNDDDD TRANSFORMERS ONE WAS SO GOOODDDD THIS IS LEGIT ME RN:

Okay, but seriously though, I really enjoyed it and want to make plans to see it again. So if you haven’t already, I highly recommend the film. It’s criminally underrated in terms of the box office, so go show it the love it so rightfully deserves!!! 🥰

Anywho, if you want to hear nonsensical spoilers, feel free to read below the cut.

Childhood me would never think I’d be somewhat shipping Optimus and Megatron but like… yeah I understand what y’all are getting at in your tumblr posts. (Fr though, their friendship was so sweet. D-16’s betrayal really did hurt. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen such a well done relationship like that in the media. They’re just two silly lads who genuinely cared about one another and yet got driven apart by vengeance.)

Every single time Bee said “Badassatron” I’m sobbing— He’s such a goober. Bumblebee was always my favorite as a kid, so I have a soft spot for him (even if Orion and D16 were my favorites in this film). “KNIFE HANDS” he’s a safety hazard. (Also him being slightly insane and making inanimate objects his friends to talk to and being self-aware that they’re fake— I AM STEVE?!)

Sentinel essentially saying “Nu-uh” to D-16 when he was rambling about his plans.

Why did they keep saying miner? 😭

Starscream is such a neeerddd per usual. Dang he’s simping for Megatron (I’m kidding y’all, I miss poking fun at the silly plane man)

Trion basically adopted these tiny 4 robots and yes it is canon 💯 (Bro shouldn’t have died, I wanted silly dad shenanigans 😭)

Orion- “Hey Darkwing, my finger can transform”. Meanwhile D16: *knocks Orion the heck out and then proceeds to get punched by Darkwing* My favorite part of the movie ngl

I am very Bumblebee core tbh. He’s just a silly little guy. A silly guy with knife hands.

Bee saying his dream was to work for the government had the theater and I howling (this was a very fun theater experience actually, loved the vibes)

The boys are just casually scared of Elita. Girlboss 💅 (Also I love that her and Arachnid had a fight. I vaguely remember them having a fight/maybe rivalry? In Transformers Prime. Speaking of which, I need to rewatch that. Its been years and I never finished it)

I’m sorry but the whole “Starscream” namesake and then D-16 damaging his vocal cords is obvious irony but still. Nice touch.

”Why did you gag him?” “He wouldn’t stop talking.” “Even when he was unconscious?” “ESPECIALLY WHEN HE WAS UNCONSCIOUS!” Bee’s certified yapper moment

Orion’s whole arc and relationship with D-16 is sad when you pair it with how they are in other iterations. Like, the reason Orion/Optimus would’ve been a stickler for the rules and order was because he was afraid of losing someone again like he lost D-16. (I can’t remember if their backstory is the same all across the board, its been a while since I brushed up on transformers stuff)

The animation was genuinely very pretty. I love the little magic sand particles and the way Megatron’s eyes have a glow trail as specific examples.

The child in me kept kicking my legs and screaming at the references. The mask! Roll out! When D got his signature arm gun I internally lost it. And Chris Hemsworth’s voice at the end of the film was a really really good Optimus voice.

“Is it… getting closer?” Meanwhile Bee: *running away for his life* (both him and Orion running at the start of the film absolutely took me out)

Okay I might do a follow up to this tomorrow, it’s late and I have work in the morning. I’ll think on some more things I want to add as well as some headcanons! Stay tuned!

[veinsfullofstars]

⭐ Memories of friendship ⭐

(ID: Kirby series fanart of young Dedede, Meta, Para Dee, and Bow Dee hanging out and interacting in various cute and silly scenarios. More detailed descriptions and bonus headcanons under the cut. END ID.)

Just a buncha li’l guys. The littlest of lads. I could literally fill pages with all the wholesome slice-of-life nonsense I have in mind for these kids (and maybe the smallest touch of angst, too, but that’s for later). Also might’ve made DDD’s overalls a little brighter to match his coat in the future. Also made refs for Para and Bow.

Sketches started btw 11/23 and 12/23, render started 12/13/23, finished 01/07/24, updated 03/11/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/08/23. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

—

Image descriptions

Top-left: Meta carrying DDD by his hands and lifting him (with great difficultly) into the air (probably only a few inches off the ground), the latter laughing happily and kicking his feet, the former grimacing with effort and flapping his little wing as hard as he can.

(HC: Even at a young age, Meta is built more for dexterity than strength, and DDD isn’t exactly as light as the rest of his buddies - not that it stops either of them from doing something dumb in the name of a dare.)

Top-middle: Meta and Para holding open a large book between them (the image of Planet Popstar on the cover), reading and discussing its contents (as indicated by a wall of blue and green “Blah”s behind them), while Bow (slumped on Meta’s side) and Dedede (reclining back on Para’s side) are both fast asleep from boredom.

(HC: Needless to say, Meta and Para are huge nerds, often seen checking out half a dozen books at at time from the local library and finishing them before the week is out. Bow and DDD try to be interested, but they just don’t have the attention spans for huge walls of tech jargon and dusty old history.)

Top-right: Para floating with his parasol (patterned the same green-and-brown plaid as his bowtie), sweating and kicking his feet wildly, looking down in terror; Meta hovers nearby on his wings, looking on in surprise at his panicking friend.

(HC: Despite his proficiency, Para rarely uses his parasol for anything besides keeping himself dry in the rain. He is deathly afraid of heights and has gotten himself stuck in trees more than once thanks to his buddies’ daredevil antics.)

Middle-right: Bow - angered by something off-screen - furiously kicking and flailing about, her face red with rage, as DDD casually holds her up off the ground by the top of her head, looking annoyed and bored.

(HC: It doesn’t take a lot to set Bow off. Despite her tiny size, she can be an absolute terror when she’s upset about something, and the boys know this well. DDD is often the one to hold her back when she gets too rowdy, a role he’s not particularly thrilled to have. Stars help anyone in her line of sight if no one’s around to calm her down.)

Middle: Meta and DDD sitting side-by-side, the former in a rare excitable mood as he fidgets and chatters on about all kinds of things (indicated by several word bubbles with images inside, including ice cream, swords, bats, planets, stars, rockets, and Galacta Knight’s mask); DDD listens with surprising patience, a fond (if somewhat exasperated) smile on his face.

(HC: Meta is usually a very quiet kid, his silence filled by DDD being his typical boisterous self. Sometimes, though, when they’re just hanging out by themselves, Meta will find an opening - usually provided by DDD - and go off on tangents as random and hyper-focused as his more talkative buds. Not many people get to see him this animated or comfortable, and DDD - who’s seen them the most - cherishes these moments, even if it’s embarrassing to admit.)

Bottom-left: DDD dashing to our left, a determined grin on his face, as his friends ride Piggyback on his back - first Meta, wings out and free arm waving in excitement, then Para, clinging desperately to Meta with a look of panic on his face, and finally Bow, hanging off of Para and laughing merrily.

• (HC: DDD is always dragging his friends into one crazy scheme or another, usually at a full-tilt sprint and without much forethought beyond “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Meta is often swept up in the excitement, too curious and eager to learn to worry much about danger. Para is the embodiment of “I don’t know about this, guys…” but too lenient to really stop them. Bow will literally follow the boys off of a cliff as long as there’s fun to be had.)

Bottom-right: Bow, DDD, and Meta sitting in the grass surrounded by butterflies (their bodies black and wings white with dark edges, save one in the back with yellow wings rimmed in orange and red). One lands on DDD’s beak, and he pokes at it curiously, staring cross-eyed. Bow trembles behind him, staring at the butterfly in watery-eyed terror over his shoulder. Meta tilts his head to look at her with an expression of bemused concern, a butterfly settled on his foot.

(HC: Bow will tell you she isn’t afraid of anything. In many cases, this is true. She will routinely stare down threats ten times her size and promise to beat them up on the spot before someone more rational pulls her out of harm’s way. But, if there is a bug anywhere in her immediate vicinity, she will absolutely run for the hills. DDD used to tease her about this, hiding bugs in his hands to scare her. He stopped as soon as she started panic-smacking him.)

[fleouriarts]

sketchbook duuuuump :3 nothing to do in this town AND my stylus isn't working its a perfect storm for filling this thang up

descriptions and such below

feel like the fursona ones are self explanatory. the rileys are basically all inspired by this person's compilations... if you havent seen the clip that the bottom corner drawing is from please do yourself a favor

this was all development shit for the zakharovs who i posted last week. sergei is igor's former childhood friend who i have not come up with much about yet... all i know is he is also a fashion designer (who makes winter clothes specifically) and he has an illegitimate son named nikolai who is an arctic fox (and who i have not drawn yet)

omg okay so if anyone remembers my last sketchbook dump i introduced this character andre in there (and her name was andres but i changed it to andre bc i like it more for whatever reason). anyway ive been drawing him OBSESSIVELYYYYY and have decided that him and null get together at some point after argyle and jamie make up (i desperately need to make a jamie and co timeline post)... but it lasts like one semester and thats it. andre is too vain and too know-it-all for null's tastes even though shes like super hot and nice otherwise. anyway this is just a bunch of drawings of him. i really like how the one of him in my INSANE hat turned out

santiago and null's joint slay... both of them LOVE to gossip with each other and its instrumental to how jamie and argyle make up (will go into detail when i finally figure out all the actual events of that). also andre and null on a hike bc andre is a biology major. i actually drew that while i was on a hike in red rock canyon heres proof

5. mostly just scribbling trying to get better at drawing santiago including more of him and null and his prime Jamie Comforting Tactic of just letting him chill between his wool and sweater. also two drawings of jamie just 4 fun i draw him and his stupid big eyes whenever im out of ideas

6. idk this is just silly stuff. i draw johnny manhandling jamie a lot and i promise you jamie LOVES being treated like a stuffed animal he thinks its SO FUN to be spun around and wiggled and shit. ferret adjacent. him and johnny have been friends since they were in like elementary school because of this. btw santiago does not usually look like that (only having wool on his head) he just has to shear his wool in the summer because having full wool in the flurrida heat is AWFUL

7. comic i drew at the laundromat LOL. takes place either shortly before OR shortly after andre and null get together. johnny mostly hates andre for being with null (shes jealous) (she wants null all to herself even though shes super noncommittal) (johnny get your shit together) BUT ALSO andre being kinda pretentious makes her want to chokeslam him. andre is talking about bird farming specifically because johnny's family are chicken farmers... ive had a lore post about everyone's families in my drafts for months but i cant finish it til my stylus is fixed TT

8. more nonsense. top left corner is a continuation of johnny being a hater. bottom drawings are just mindless jamie doodles. top right is argyle and jamie during their relationship, i cant decide if jamie had REALLY short hair during it or hair like this that's basically just his current hair without the yellow dye and tiny ponytail. whatever