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aeralux · 10 months ago

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"Hard To Resist" - Cregan Stark

Summary: Betrothed to the one and only Cregan Stark. Your first meeting with him luckily goes better than expected.

Content warning: smut, oral (f! receiving)

-- aera xx

As a proper Lady of the North, your fate had long been determined before you learned to walk. Your father and brothers had found the perfect match for you, another northerner. “A proper man,” as they described him. Big, burly, and rough. Those were the only descriptive words you knew of him, not nearly enough to draw a picture of your betrothed.

Alas, the day to meet your future Lord husband has arrived. You were doing everything in your power to calm your nerves. Like playing with your wolves, Wane and Cusp, even resorting to having a strong drink. Nothing seemed to work. For a moment, you were contemplating escape and riding off into the distance with your wolves.

Your daydream was interrupted by your eldest brother knocking on your door. The loud sound startled you.

“Yes?" You asked, fearing that your soon-to-be husband had arrived. “Open up, dearest,” your brother answered with his usual affectionate nickname for you. Being almost 20 years your elder, he had become a second father figure to you than a brother.

"Come in, Arthur,” you answered, sadness evident in your voice. "My dearest sister, this should be a joyful day. Not a sad one," he tried cheering you up but to no avail.

How was one supposed to be happy when being married off to a stranger? "Easy for you to say. You got to choose who you married. And you knew your wife beforehand," you complained to your brother, getting pissed off. "I refuse to be treated as a broodmare and be sent off to some hairy northerner," already on the verge of tears, fuming. "My dear sister, it is your responsibility to strengthen the bond between our families, and you are fully aware of this."

You scowl, looking down at your feet. "I am well aware of my responsibilities and duties. It seems like that is all I was born for. To marry some Lord that I have never met, all for the greater good." Your tantrum was cut off by the sound of marching hooves.

The Starks have arrived. You looked at your brother with big eyes, feeling vulnerable and scared. "It will be alright, sister. You are beautiful, bright and cunning. He will take good care of you," he caressed your arms, trying to soothe your nerves. "Now let us go. Father and Albert are probably outside already, greeting our guests. And your soon-to-be husband," Arthur smirked at you, but his words only made you feel more uneasy.

You began walking downstairs, Arthur protectively placing a hand around your shoulders. As you reached the front door, you took a deep breath. "I'm ready," you said as you looked at your older brother. "Excellent!" he said before the guards pushed the massive entrance doors to reveal your eventual Lord husband.

Your breath caught in your throat upon seeing him. He was indeed big, burly, and rough but also wildly handsome. Cregan Stark looked every part of the "King of the North" title. Tall, muscular, and rugged. A true warrior. He studied you as he took in his first sight of you. Cregan had a stern look on his face, and as you met his grey eyes, you felt a shiver run down your spine. You walked over to him and curtsied. "Hello, Lord Stark. I am Lady (y/n). My family and I welcome you to our lands."

Cregan nodded his head respectfully. “Thank you, my lady.” He then stepped forward and took your hand in a firm, but not uncomfortably tight, grip. He raised your knuckles to his lips and planted a light kiss on them. “You look lovely,” he said before looking up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t help but blush, hearing soft words from such a brute man. Cregan smirked faintly, as he observed your cheeks tint with a light shade of pink. He found it amusing, how he could make you blush with a simple statement like that.

Cregan greeted your parents and brothers, giving each a strong handshake. “Arthur good to see you again,” Lord Stark said to your brother, giving him a tight smile that your brother returned.

“If the Lords find it fit, I would like to speak to my Lady in private,” boomed Cregan’s deep voice, gesturing to your father and two older brothers. Your father and brothers looked at each other before nodding in agreement. You didn’t say anything in return and led him to your castle's library. The library was modest, with big windows yet little light due to your House being far up in the North. At least you would feel at home in Winterfell, you thought.

“Here,” you walked into the library, waiting for him to follow suit. Cregan followed you as you walked to the library. He couldn't deny that his eyes were glued to your backside as you walked ahead, his gaze slowly running over the curves of your hips. Once you reached the library, you gestured for him to step inside, and he closed the doors behind him. You were alone now. Just the two of you, in the quiet, empty, library. Cregan glanced around the large room for a moment, before his grey eyes settled on you once again. He then smirked faintly and leaned back against one of the bookshelves, crossing his arms over his muscular chest as he regarded you. “Now I believe we should get to know one another, don’t you think?” He said, his voice coming out in a low tone.

“Oh? Yes, yes, of course,” you were a bit surprised by his boldness, but it made you smile nonetheless. Cregan chuckled, finding your slight smile rather adorable. He pushed away from the bookshelf and began to slowly close the distance between the two of you.

“Now, I want you to be entirely truthful with me, my lady.” He said as he stopped just in front of you. He was much taller, towering over you. “Tell me, what do you think of me, at this very moment?” Cregan’s gaze wandered over your face, studying every feature. The way your hair fell, the contour of your nose, the shape of your lips, the length of your eyelashes. He couldn’t help but think you looked absolutely beautiful. The boldness of his question took you back. “Well… seeing as I do not know much about your personality. At this very moment, I would say that you are handsome. My brother was right when he said that you are the very picture of a Northern man. And I must say that I am rather pleased with whom my brother decided to betroth me to,” you look down blushing, not wanting to see his reaction to the last part.

A smirk tugged on the corners of Cregan’s lips as your cheeks flushed pink once again, and you kept looking down. He found it amusing how he was able to make you blush so easily, and he took a step even closer, barely leaving any space between the two of you.

“Quite pleased, you say?” He repeated, his voice coming out in a low, teasing tone. “Now tell me, do you say that simply to flatter me, or are you being entirely truthful, my lady?”

“I do not care for lying my Lord, I will always speak the truth,” you smiled at him, finally daring to look him in the eyes.

Cregan chuckled lowly, enjoying the sound of your voice saying the words “my Lord”. “I like that about you. I can’t stand liars.”

He then raised a hand and gently lifted your chin with his index finger, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes once more. His thumb gently stroked over your lower lip. “And you certainly wouldn’t lie about thinking that I’m handsome, now would you?”

Your breath got caught in your throat when he gently touched your lip. Goosebumps rise on your skin. “No, of course not,” you muttered quietly. Cregan chuckled. “I know you wouldn’t, my lady.” He leaned in slightly, the distance between the two of you even smaller now. His face was only mere inches from yours now. He kept your chin raised with his thumb, slowly running the digit over the smooth skin. “You’re honest. I like that.” Another low chuckle came from him, as he slowly leaned even closer, his breath now warm and hot against your skin.

You tried to keep your composure but having him so close was making you slowly lose your self-control. “Arthur didn’t mention anything about me?” You asked upon hearing his words. Didn’t your brother mention what kind of a woman you were?

Cregan shook his head. “He didn’t.” He ran his fingers through strands of your hair before continuing. “He simply told me you were a good fit for a Lord. That you would be a proper Lady of Winterfell. That you could hold your own in the North... and make a good mother one day.”

A smirk tugged on his lips once again as he continued to twist your hair around his fingers. “What he failed to mention, however, is how gorgeous you truly are.”

I chuckled. “Well, I guess it would be unforeseen of my brother to call his own younger sister gorgeous.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cregan laughed faintly, enjoying the sound of your laugh.

He stepped even closer, and gently pushed you backwards to press you up against one of the bookshelves. He gently ran his hands down the sides of your arms, running his calloused fingertips over your smooth skin. “He also neglected to mention how I would have to keep you away from all other men in the North…”

“You think I can’t hold my own?” You asked in a teasing tone, tilting your head.

Cregan chuckled, the low sound making your stomach flip. He found your attitude entertaining, the little smirk on your lips, the way you tilted your head. He took a moment to study your face with his gaze; the long, delicate eyelashes that framed your eyes, the way your lips curved into that little smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you can.” He said, his smirk widening. “But I don’t want other men to even think about how utterly ravishing you are.”

“I don’t see how that would matter, as you would be the only one doing the ravishing, no?” You smirked, joking ofcourse. But Cregan didn’t seem to take it as lightly.

His smirk grew wider at your reply. He liked this slightly bratty, sassy side of yours. It was a nice change, as most women he interacted with tended to swoon in his presence. He took another step forward, completely closing the space between the two of you and trapping you between his body and the bookshelf. He leaned in, his face barely a centimeter away from yours as he whispered in a low, silky tone. “Careful with those words, my lady. They might tempt me to do more.”

“And as much as I would love nothing more. That will be saved for later.” You said in a sultry tone, control slipping from your grasp. Resting a hand softly on his strong and sturdy chest.

Cregan’s smirk turned into a small, amused smile at your reply. He knew you were right; it would hardly be proper to do anything too inappropriate in this library. He then looked down at your hand, resting on his chest as you spoke. He gently picked it up and interlaced it with his, bringing it up to his mouth to plant a light kiss on your knuckles. “I suppose you’re right…” he said, his lips gently brushing over your skin, “As much as I would very much love to.”

You blushed and yet again looked down. His words make your stomach flip, pleasure shooting right to your core.

“Although I did have a question for you, my Lord. Will my two wolves be able to make permanent residence in your castle? I have grown far too attached.”

A small, amused smile tugged on Cregan’s lips at your question. He was a tad surprised that you’d even ask him that; he’d assumed you would’ve brought them with you anyway.

“Of course, you can bring them. I expected you would bring them along. After all, how is Lady of Winterfell supposed to get along without her dire-wolves?” He said with a slight chuckle.

All you could do in response was smile shyly. His demeanor so different when with you.

Cregan smirked faintly, finding your shy smile endearing. He also found it a bit peculiar, that a northern woman would be shy. In his experience, northern girls usually were quite forward, even brash, whereas it seemed he was making you nervous. He kept his hand firmly grasping yours, gently squeezing it as he spoke, his eyes locking with yours. “I have a question for you, too, my lady.” He took a step forward, closing the already small space between the two of you even further. He now had you completely pressed up against the bookshelf as he spoke in a low, deep tone. “You said you were ‘quite pleased’ with me, after taking me in… but I want to know. Are you truly content, with the idea of marrying me?”

You found his question odd, considering men usually didn’t care much for a woman’s opinion on the betrothal. But you answered nonetheless.

“Yes. I am. Why would I not? I trust who my brother and father picked for me.”

Cregan smirked faintly as you answered, his lips still over your knuckles. He liked the way your soft skin felt underneath them, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss more of you.

He looked back up at your face, and gently brought his free hand up to your chin, lifting it slightly so you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Just ‘yes’? No other answer?” He teased with a slight smile, his thumb gently caressing your jawline.

His touch sent shivers down your spine, cursing yourself for feeling so weak from a man’s simple touch.

“What would you like me to say then?” You asked breathlessly, mind starting to go blank.

Cregan chuckled lowly as he gently tugged you even closer. You were now pressed against him, his broad, muscular chest completely enclosing you. “Perhaps I’d like you to give me a different response. Maybe tell me…”

He began to slowly and carefully lower his lips to your jawline, planting gentle kisses along it before moving to your ear and whispering.

“How much you want me…”

Hearing his provocative words, you threw all caution out the window. “What if I just… showed you,” you replied as you gently placed your hand from his chest onto his cheek, pulling him closer. Planting a soft kiss on his lips.

Cregan’s eyes darkened as you planted a delicate kiss on his lips. He couldn’t help the feeling of desire that began to ignite within him. He was taken by surprise at your bold move. He would have assumed you were shy, but here you were, taking the initiative. Cregan quickly got over the momentary shock and decided to match your boldness. He deepened the kiss, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle. He then wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against his large form, completely pressing you against the bookshelf.

You let out a quiet mewl, feeling his strong hands around you. His rough touches turning you on. He chuckled at the sound of your mewl and quickly decided he wanted to hear more of them. His hands slowly traveled down over your hips and to your thighs, which he grabbed a hold of firmly and lifted you, easily manhandling you to pin you against the bookshelf. He kept his body pressed flush against yours and continued to hungrily kiss you, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a breathy gasp, your hands immediately going to rest on his shoulders as he lifted you.

Cregan smirked faintly at the sound of your gasp, the sound making his lust for you grow, he let his hands slowly slide up your thighs to your ass, grabbing a firm hold of it.

You continued to make quiet sounds of pleasure, the desire to have him only growing in you.

Cregan found himself growing more and more addicted to the small noises you continued to make. He found them adorable, and it only encouraged him to kiss you even more passionately. He pushed his body even closer to yours, as close as he possibly could, and began to kiss down your neck and collarbone.

Your mouth fell open as he did that and you couldn’t help but moan his name.

“Cregan,” you whimpered.

Hearing you moan his name for the first time almost made him grow feral. He loved the way it sounded, the way it rolled off your tongue. He continued to slowly drag his lips down your neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin.

“Again.” He breathed out against your skin, his grip on your thighs and ass tightening. “Say my name again.”

You started to feel dizzy the way he was sucking purple marks onto your neck. Letting out a gasp.

“Cregan…please” You whined and begged him, not even knowing for what. Your mind was already foggy with arousal.

Cregan smirked faintly at the way you moaned his name, the way you begged him. He knew exactly what you were craving, even if you did not, and placed another kiss on your neck, letting his tongue slowly drag against your skin before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes.

"Please, what, my Lady?" He asked in a low, teasing tone, his hands digging into your flesh.

Your breath stuttered as you felt him drag his tongue across your neck, hips involuntarily bucking against his.

Cregan let out a low growl as he felt your hips buck against him. He was barely able to remain in control of himself, resisting the urge to completely rip your clothes off and take you right there in the library.

He placed a final kiss on your neck before speaking, his words coming out in a low, rumbling growl. “You are going to be the death of me, aren’t you, little wolf?”

You whined pathetically, hoping that no one could hear the inappropriate scene that was going on.

He took ahold of your hips and started moving them against his. You pulled him into a rough and passionate kiss, giving his hair an experimental tug. To your surprise, Cregan seemed to enjoy it, letting out a low growl.

He quickly moved you to a nearby sofa, laying you down. He was almost desperate in his moves, needing to take you as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes again, looking down at you with darkened eyes. He was no longer trying to hold back, no longer trying to rein in his desire for you. He needed you, and he was going to have you, right there in the library if that’s what it took.

“I need you, little wolf.”

"Is it that hard to resist me?" You giggled. Your teasing only egging him on.

Cregan huffed at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could tell you were enjoying taunting him. He could see the smirk on your face.

“It’s very difficult.” He admitted, his tone was low and strained as if it was taking all his willpower not to just fuck you until you could no longer walk.

“I don’t like to be patient.” He added with a slight growl, his hands moving up your dress skirts, bunching them around your waist before sitting down on his knees in front of you. Letting his hands caress your now exposed thighs.

You covered your mouth to stop the whines from spilling out your lips. His light touches kept traveling upwards, getting closer and closer to your cunt. You couldn't help but shiver in arousal and anticipation, needing his mouth on your heat already.

Cregan started placing light kisses near your chemise, looking up at you for permission. When you nodded your head, Cregan pulled them down forcefully.

"Soaked already, my Lady?" He questioned and smirked, cockiness in his voice.

You didn't even get a chance to respond before you felt his mouth on folds. Licking at your wetness like a man starved. All he got in response from you were loud whines. He began to suck on your clit, doing everything in his power to draw more moans from you. Pressing kisses on your slit and opening, flicking his tongue over your pussy over and over again, swirling his tongue over your sensitive bud, your thighs began shaking.

"Ohh, Gods, Cregan!" You moaned like a whore, his tongue bringing you closer to your release.

At that, Cregan began to move his tongue quicker, adding two fingers into your pussy, working you open.

"Ahh!" You couldn't help but moan loudly at that, his big fingers stretching you open deliciously. You began to move your hips against his fingers and face, trying to get your dripping cunt even closer to him.

"Mm, just like that, ride my fingers," Cregan mumbled against your cunt, the vibrations almost sending you over the edge.

He curled his fingers expertly against your soft spot, starting to go faster.

All he wanted right now was your sweet release to coat his lips. After all, there is no nectar sweeter than your wife's cunt. At least that's what Cregan thought.

When you arched your back and let out a loud moan, he knew he hit the right spot.

"Faster! Please let me cum!"

Cregan was surprised by your bold words but couldn't deny that they turned him on even more. Knowing that you were desperate for him.

Cregan began pumping his fingers into you even faster, his erection already painfully pressing into his breeches. He will deal will that later, right now he was focusing on getting his Lady to come all over his face.

With a pointed tongue, he began to quickly flick your clit. Your legs trembling around his face, he couldn't help but smirk. It felt like he was splitting you open with his fingers, the pain of the stretch only adding to your pleasure, whines, and moans spilling from your mouth.

"Ohh, I'm... I'm so close, make me cum, please" You begged your soon-to-be husband, clamping your thighs around him.

He hummed against your cunt, and his movements became sloppy, his own arousal making him feel dizzy.

As he felt your cunt begin to pulse around his fingers, he knew you were close. Cregan gave a final few sucks to your pearl, and that is what threw you off the edge.

You came with a loud moan, your legs shaking and hips bucking against his face.

Cregan kept thrusting his fingers in you, working you through your release. When he pulled away from your cunt you saw how his face glistened with your juices and his spit. The sight so erotic and lewd.

You still felt the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body shivering.

"Your cunt tastes divine, my Lady. I can't wait to enjoy this every single night." Cregan said with a smirk, placing wet kisses on your thigh to calm you down.

You gave him a lazy smile and leaned down to kiss him, tasting your release on his tongue.

"Hey! You might want to save some for the wedding night!" Came your brother's voice from the other side of the door.

Author's note: This was quite literally my first smut so if it feels rushed, weird etc., it is probably because of that. Although I did enjoy writing it. Any feedback would be appreciated. THANK YOUU MWAHH!!!

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house stark #cregan stark smut #cregan stark #hotd imagine #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #cregan smut #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd cregan

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kasagia · 5 months ago

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I love you... I am sorry II

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!witch! reader

Summary: You and Aleksander talk, scratching open old wounds from the past, you come to the conclusion that some things are simply a lost cause.

Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist

~•♤♤♤•~ Part 1 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Do you think I'll tell you what to do by moving soldier figures around on the map without any logic?"

"I know you, Aleksander. Eventually you'll crack and arrange those wooden soldiers the way they need to be on this map to win this battle. Give me two hours, and I'll make you so annoyed that you will do whatever it takes to get rid of me." You respond teasingly, playing with the pawns on the Ravka map in front of his cell door.

A few days had passed since your first meeting after years. During that time, you had managed to discover exactly what changes had taken place in Aleksander.

He was apathetic, not paying attention to those around him. You had been watching from hiding as Alina and Baghra tried to talk to him, but he clearly showed no interest in Ravka's fate. And worst—Grisha. Or at least he pretended not to care. You had to find out why.

Luckily, you and Ulla were able to stir up… a lot more emotion in him than those two hags. Even if it was just irritation, it was still a greater success than Alina or Baghra could achieve. Or at least that's what Baghra told you.

"Since when have you been friends with my mother?" He asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You lazily move the figurine representing Grisha's troop to the pass between Ravka and Fjerda. With your ability to read the Shadow Summoner, you immediately notice the slight twitch at the corners of his eyes. A shitty place then. You move the figurine to a different spot and, seeing no disapproving little reaction from him, you leave it there.

"Since when did you become a pain in the ass?" You reply with a cute little smirk, grinning when you see his annoyed expression.

You pull away from your poor reenactment of battle and lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. You watch him carefully, keeping your poker face on as he analyses you too. Talking to him was like playing chess. You had to know when you could afford to lose your pawns.

"You never really said why you are here." He starts, stepping a little closer to you. Like a vulture slowly circling its prey. You liked him in his analytical hunter mode. He was so absurdly sexy…

"I don't have to explain myself to you. You are not my man or something." You scoff, glancing out of the corner of your eye at his reaction. The clench of his jaw might have gone unnoticed if you didn't know him any better, but the way he clenched his fist and hid it behind his back didn't. You pissed him off. Good.

"I am not." He only agrees coolly, this time being the one to stick the needle in your side. Bloody bastard.

"Alina wants to take me north. You know... to help calm down a situation with Fjerda by using my powers." You tell him, leaning back in your chair. You reach for the pendant around your neck and play with the glass heart, looking at him as intently as he does you.

"Have you become her errand dog?"

"Please... do you truly think so little of me?" You snort in amusement, but your mockery dies when he says nothing in response to your words. Bad move. Of course he thinks so little of you since your stormy breakup. "You don't have to answer. No. I am not going to help your little saint or queen or whatever you wish to call her with the war you wanted to prevent. No matter how dramatic the measures you resorted to, at least Ravka would not now have to deal with the united forces of Shu-Han and Fjerda. And as you could notice in the centuries we spent together, I do not support idiots and ignorants like your dear Alina."

"So you are here to say that you see my point of view, and actually you want to take my side? Perhaps you are even jealous of my 'relationship' with the Sun Summoner?" He mocks you as he approaches the bars.

You stand up furiously from your seat and approach him too, seeing only the red fire of your rage as he dares to throw your jealousy in your face.

"No. I came here to see you writhing in this cage, irritated and eager to take some action, maybe even plotting some king's slaughter. I didn't expect to be left with a boring shell of who you used to be."

"I am terribly sorry if I disappointed your expectations. Do you see now how it feels on the other side of your own treatment?"

You stare at each other for a long moment, both of you seething with anger, resentment, and bitterness built up over years of you ignoring him and running away from him and his distrust and anger towards you.

"We broke up."

"Indeed we did."

"Then why did you come back to it?"

"And why did you come back now?" You shiver at his words and pull away from him. You try desperately to maintain your neutral posture, but it becomes an increasingly difficult task as he hits all the right spots.

"Your girl ruined my peace with the war that shouldn't have happened and wouldn't have if you were in power. I couldn't stay any longer in my hiding place. Even if I wished so. I had to come and clean up your mess."

"Alina is more than you care to think about her. Much more." His words hurt you, but you know they were the best answer to your lie. After all, nothing connected you anymore. It was logical that he would defend his Sun Summoner. His little damn Sankta.

"I don't care what she is. But order your little minions once more to put me to sleep, or do anything against my will, and I promise you, Aleksander, you will remember why it's not worth teasing me."

"I remember the times you loved my teasing." He replies with a small cocky grin. And you don't know what you want to do more, punch him in the face or kiss him for being so frustratingly, irritatingly absurdly handsome.

"Don't recall them if you despise them so much."

"Why? Because you regret what you have done? Because you realise how terrible a mistake you made. Because you want back what you lost ages ago? Because you know that we could have so much more if it weren't for your selfish actions?"

"How dare you, you demon from the woods..." You growl at him furiously and step closer to the bars, tightening your hands on them in an attempt to vent your anger on him.

"I am. You shall never forget this, witch without a coven."

"And who is the reason I don't have one?" Your words ignite a fury so hot and great that he presses his body against the bars as well. You stare furiously into each other's eyes, and you know that if his power were not in bondage, the room would be filled with his shadows right now.

"I never asked you for anything or for sacrificing anything for me. What you did for me then... it didn't matter when you did this only because you felt guilty. Not after what you did TO me."

"But you asked me once to stay with you. No matter what. Remember?" You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, summoning old, distant memories. And even though centuries had passed since those events… It didn't mean it hurt any less with the passage of time.

"How convenient for you to keep only those promises that suit you. Now I'd appreciate it even more if you'd disappear for good. Or rotted in some nameless grave." You slam your hand against the bars, making him shiver in surprise at your sudden outburst.

You feel your power tingling under your skin, begging to be released and unloaded on him, but unfortunately, the last thing your stupid heart wants to do is hurt that big, stubborn idiot. So while your heart is busy calming your wild power, your wounded pride takes over and controls your mouth, providing a perhaps more painful weapon than your magic.

"Fuck off, Aleksander. You can get rid of every little reminder of your past, but you'll never get rid of me. We're too deeply connected with each other, and you damn well know it. You'll see me forever, everywhere, in every fucking breeze, the scent of flowers, and the glow of crystals. And you know how I know that? Because despite all these centuries of you being far away, I still see you in every fucking corner. In every dream, in every place, in every little memory of the past I recall. I feel you with every breath, every blink, every little touch—exactly in the places you used to cherish my skin. You've tainted everything I know and love. We are a scourge to each other and always will be. And until Ravka becomes a relatively safe place to live again, we are both condemned to each other's company."

"There is a very simple solution to all of this." He says and looks at the heart-shaped pendant hanging around your neck. You swallow hard and catch it tightly in your hand, protecting it from his gaze. "Haven't you ever thought about that? To cut yourself off from this for good? From me? You can finally be free. Maybe you'll even find your peace?"

"There is no peace for me. And neither for you." You see that your words have caused some internal stirring in his conscience.

He hesitantly places his hand on yours and takes your chin in his hand—the one on which he has a black scar from the amplifier with which he connected with Alina. You hold your breath as he strokes the line of your jaw with the pad of his thumb, staring at you intently, too mesmerised by his sudden closeness and tenderness from him after centuries apart to listen to your better judgement and pull away. You cling to him blindly. You fall into the trap of his dark eyes as you drown in his touch.

"I'm tired of fighting, Y/N. I will find peace. Even if it means losing the lives of thousands of others."

"Even my life?"

"We both know that your death would be my salvation." You smile bitterly and snort as if he's just told a funny joke. But in reality, you're doing everything in your power to keep the tears from falling from your eyes.

"Same here." You mumble, focusing your gaze on the black scar on his hand instead of his eyes, afraid his dark depths will somehow see through your lies.

You hold your breath as he grabs your chin tightly and forces you to look into his eyes. His fingers dig into your skin unpleasantly, but you don't care. You're drowning in his angry, hurtful, resentful gaze, unable to move an inch.

"Ex-lovers quarreling? Should I just go out and wait until Mom and Dad make up?" Ulla's sudden intrusion makes us both recoil from each other as if burned. You clear your throat and glare at the black-haired one madly.

"Don't call me that. I am not old like that hag who gave birth to you."

"You are talking about my mother."

"Mother, you hate, as I would like to point out. Actually, I start to wonder if there is anyone who didn't deserve your wrath, my dark general." You scoff at his remark, knowing full well that his relationship with Baghra has only worsened since you left. With a little unwanted help from you…

"In case you haven't noticed, all those dear to my heart that I came to dislike have a tendency to betray me."

"In case you haven't noticed, they may not be cheating on you, but doing what's best for you, you stubborn, damn, proud fool who can't see beyond the tip of his own dick!"

In your anger at him, you step too close to the bars, giving him the perfect opportunity to grab you by the neck. And he does. You gasp in surprise and instinctively reach for the pendant around your neck, holding the glass heart in his secure grip. Aleksander wraps his other hand around yours, trying to squeeze it hard enough to break the glass heart you try so hard to protect.

You gasp, struggling to take even one short breath, and look him straight in the eye as you mumble the words of the spell with the last of your strength. Aleksander hisses in pain and releases his grip on your necklace, but he still holds you tightly by the neck to the point where you know he'll leave bruises in the shape of his hand and fingers... which doesn't bother you as much as it should...

"Okay, stop! Both of you!" Ulla walks over to the two of you. Aleksander shifts his gaze from you to her for a moment. You feel his hand on your throat tremble as he considers letting you go. "Sasha, let her go. Before you do something entirely stupid that you will regret."

Aleksander hesitates for a few moments, then lets you go. You don't give him the satisfaction of moving away from him. You take a few deep breaths, staring at him with a hateful, cold gaze that he stubbornly avoids by looking at his sister.

"Torment me again, and I promise Ivan will put you to sleep for a thousand years." He mutters his empty threat without even looking at you, which gives you reason enough to decide you'd rather fucking die than give him the last word in this little argument between the two of you.

"If you wanted me to be your sleeping beauty and you to be my prince, all you had to do was ask, Aleksander." You mock him, and he moves to grab you painfully by the throat again. But before you can respond with one of your curses, Ulla steps between the two of you and gives you both a disappointed, irritated look.

"Y/N! That's enough for today."

"I didn't start…"

"Y/N!"

"Fine! Got it. I am on my way." You raise your hands and walk out of the barred room, but not before sticking your tongue out at Aleksander—something that escapes Ulla's watchful eye because her back is turned to you.

And as you leave, you wonder how the hell you're supposed to get this dense, stubborn asshole to cooperate when he clearly still despises your insides as much as he did all those centuries ago.

"Is that what you call taming him?"

You sigh and stop in your tracks on your way to your rooms. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, cursing the name of every saint you know under your breath before turning to the person you hate most in the world with a fake smile.

"Baghra. I wish I had the mood and time to talk to you. Unfortunately, I don't have the former, and I'd rather spend the latter on something else. Have a nice night." You turn on your heel, intending to make a quick escape, but the woman summons her shadows, blocking your path. You sigh, tired of dealing with another Morozova, and face Baghra again.

"Your methods don't work." You almost growl at the pretentious tone in her voice. She expected you to work a miracle, knowing full well what her son was like… and knowing full well why he was as hostile towards you as he was.

"Did you really think he'd just follow me and hang on every word I say? He's not some fucking puppet you can order around. He needs to trust me again. At least when it comes to saving Ravka and Grisha."

"Well, it seems like he won't come to it so soon. I thought you had a little more influence on him. Maybe you actually broke his naive little heart?"

The silence that follows her words is like a slap in the face to your pride. You can barely push back the unbidden tears, and it takes a huge amount of effort to control yourself when Baghra is giving you her infamous mocking smile. The old woman had the irritating ability to scratch open wounds that you thought had long since healed. Besides, she knew perfectly well what, or rather who, your only sweet spot was.

"Then I did exactly what you wanted, right?" You ask; he winces a little when he hears the slight tremor in your voice. Damn witch.

"I told him to stay away from you. But the stupid boy didn't listen; he loved you so much. Witches like you, wielding such power... you're all the same. You have no feelings. Self-absorbed, wanting to live forever. Tell me, Y/N, what did you need your eternity for? Was it worth it to fight for? Has it paid off for you to deceive my stupid son for so many centuries?"

"Without Aleksander by my side? No. But at least I can keep an eye on him. At least I can make sure that he will survive long enough to get his happy ending. And torment you forever. Until the end of time, my dear mother-in-law. Or your death. I personally prefer this one." You give her a contemptuous look and turn away from her, walking into the darkness of her shadows to reach your rooms and escape, just for a while, from feelings of guilt, helplessness, and wrath that the damned Morozovas have aroused in you.

"What do you mean by mother-in-law?" Baghra asks, confounded, but fortunately she doesn't follow you. She's everything but dumb. She won't expose herself to possible harm as a result of you unleashing your wild power.

"Ask your son!" You shout over your shoulder, not stopping for a moment.

You know perfectly well that a minute longer in Baghr's company would make you cry. And you promised yourself that this old witch would never be the reason for your despair again… her son was another matter.

So when you get to your room, you wave your hand over the windows to close the curtain with your magic, turn off all the lights, and let yourself curl up on your bed. You sob quietly, lying on your side, legs drawn up as you grip the necklace tightly in your hand and let yourself have a much-needed crying session. Your head spins as your power slides through you, causing storms outside. And you can only hope that Ulla is keeping Aleksander busy enough that he doesn't see the rain your crying has caused. The last thing you need is to show him how much you still care.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" You shiver as Aleksander wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your bare shoulder. His light stubble pricks your skin, but you don’t care, too fascinated by the rings on your joined hands.

"About 10 times, but who's counting?" You mumble and turn around in his arms. A smile creeps onto your face as you gently cup his cheek in your hand. "Husband. That's weird."

"Weird? Why?" He asks, frowning at you in confusion. Yet his grip on you doesn't loosen at all; if anything, he tightens it, protectively wrapping himself around you, as if his touch alone would be enough of an anchor for your raging thoughts.

"I can't believe that such a handsome and powerful man is mine. Only mine." You whisper and press your lips to his cheek.

You smile, feeling his breathing quicken slightly, and you start to feel his familiar, comforting scent surrounding you. And warmth. Which was pretty important, considering you were in a cold, damp, abandoned cabin in the woods. All alone, out of nowhere. You wouldn't trade that honeymoon for anything.

"I was yours long before we exchanged those rings. And I will be yours long after today. For as long as my heart beats and beyond. You are a part of my soul, connected to me by a force I cannot fathom. And I am grateful for anything or anyone that bound us together, that brought you on my path."

"You can't promise me things like that. You don't know what the future will bring." You mumble, panting as he begins to press kisses into your neck. You sigh and tug on his hair as he bites into you. You decide that the beard is a rather… nice new accessory. Especially when it teases your skin so nicely.

"But I can promise you today. And then tomorrow. And the day after that. And so on and so forth, until all eternity."

“Assuming we have forever.” You moan, intoxicated by both his words and the caresses of his lips and hands as he slowly removes your dress.

"I will fight with everything I have to always have you by my side." He promises fervently, cupping both of your cheeks and placing a hot kiss on your lips that instantly warms your insides. You smile as he pushes you onto the bed.

"Even with your mother?" You tease him and raise a questioning eyebrow at him. You almost break and snort at his hurt expression.

"I'm offended that my mother even crosses your mind in this situation, let alone that you're brave enough to talk about her." He mutters menacingly and reaches for your sides.

Before you can react, he's tickling you, attacking all your weak points. You laugh and squirm beneath him, screaming at him and cursing him to stop, but he just laughs and redoubles his efforts. And as much as you can't breathe anymore and are almost crying from his teasing, you enjoy his wicked, carefree laughter.

“Mercy! Mercy!” You cry out with laughter, and he finally takes pity on you. You laugh some more, recovering as he simply hovers over you and looks at you, drinking in your dishevelled appearance beneath him. “What?” You gasp, breathing deeply and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Nothing. I love you,” he says and shrugs. Your heart clenches and warms at his words, and another wave of tears nearly fills your eyes as he reaches for your hand with the silver claw ring he placed there just an hour ago.

“I love you too. More than anything.” You mumble, grabbing the glass heart that dangles from his necklace—your wedding gift to him—and pulling him to you, connecting your lips in a needy, heated kiss.

You would give away all the treasures in the world to have back that ring on your finger instead of the heavy pendant on your neck that felt like a muzzle for you. The muzzle of your eternal sin against Aleksander and you both.

"You again?" You allow yourself to roll your eyes when you enter his cell a few days later, which he greets with his mocking smile and cold gaze. He frowns, however, when this time, instead of sitting in the chair like you always did, you walk over to the bars separating him from you.

"Do not worry. I won't bother you much longer. Actually, I came to say goodbye."

You say and hand him a small box through the bars. You wait patiently for him to come over and take it from you, but his wounded pride apparently won't let him do even that. You roll your eyes as he turns his back to you and shifts his gaze to the book in his hands.

"Goodbye? That's not really in your style. Since when do you say goodbye instead of disappearing into obscurity?" He mocks you without even bothering to look at you. You swallow and nod, only now realising just how deep his resentment of you runs. But you don't have the strength to fight him any longer.

"Well, I learnt that from you, but since we're not together anymore, I guess I'm ditching your habits for some new ones."

Over the centuries, you and Aleksander have gotten back together and broken up a million times. You let him come back into your life as if he had never ripped your heart out and taken it with him countless times. Each time he was leaving, he put his plan into action to ensure that Grisha was safe from whatever enemy they currently had. He was choosing the good of his people over yours.

Every grand plan that was supposed to end with the restoration of freedom for Grisha usually ended in failure. And every time, he came back to you. To your arms. To hide there from the world, lick his wounds, and hide his shadows in the safety of your home.

But just as suddenly as he came, he left you. All for Grisha. His whole life was dedicated to ensuring a better fate for his people than he had as a child. And so he ended up in a cell. Alone. Maybe not completely. You knew he had many supporters in the 'underground.' But what good were supporters when he had no one to stand by his side? Supported through thick and thin?

On the other hand… you never joined him in his plans. You always stuck to your own woods and paths… it was pure fate that for a time you both followed the same one.

"Well, I'm actually glad about that. I should have noticed sooner that you're just like everyone else. The greatest liar among liars. A witch without a coven that no one ever trusted or wanted to be near."

You give him a small smile, perfectly keeping your true emotions from surfacing. You drop the box and let your magic transport it to the table he's sitting at. With a quick wave of your hand, you make the box clatter loudly against the wooden table.

Luckily, that catches his attention enough for him to finally look at you.

"You want to talk about liars and cheaters? Go ahead. There's a big war coming. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. Alina and Nikolai won't let the Fjerda get away with invading their lands and killing Grisha like they used to do and still do. So why do you pretend it doesn't bother you? That it doesn't concern you? Why do you sit here obediently and do nothing when we both know you have the means to escape? Who are you trying to convince that you don't care anymore about your people, us, or yourself?"

This time, you are the one to look away from him. You don't wait for his response and just move away from him. You walk over to the part of his bookcase that wasn't behind bars, running your finger over the titles on them.

"And who is us?" A shiver runs through your body, and you thank yourself for keeping your back to him. You don't know what he would read on your face as you say your next words.

"Ulla. Me. People that really care about you."

"You left me." He points out stubbornly again, as if you didn't know what you had done against him.

But the truth was that you had both hurt each other equally. It was just easier for him to blame you than for you. Or maybe your guilt against him was actually greater than whatever he did behind your back...

"You didn't mourn my leaving much."

"Maybe I mourned too many in my life to add you to this list?"

When you finally find the book you were looking for, you take it and turn to face him. He steps towards the bars, his hand around one and his gaze fixed on you. You can barely hold back a small smile as you see his shadows hovering in the corners of his cell.

"Believe what you want… but not everything was a lie between us, Aleksander. And you've had your fair share of lies for me, before I've even considered doing what you hate me for. Does the fact that you managed to tell me your lies before Baghra reported my secrets to you make any difference? You and I... we are similar. I am a witch without a coven, and you are a Grisha without an order. We are both alone in this world. But I admired the fact that you continued to fight, even when everyone else was against you. You may have been a villain in everyone else's story, but you've always been a hero in mine. In Ulla's. We admired you for what you were, for the strong leader who would do anything for his family and people. And who are you now?"

"I am the man your lies and manipulation created. All of yours. My mother's, Alina's, yours. So don't you dare stay here and say that I am meant to be something more when you stabbed me in my back and left when I needed you the most."

"You hated me then."

"And what gives you the impression that I still don't?" That I didn't need you even when I was furious with you?"

"I..." You're at a loss for words. You have no idea how to answer him, especially when the stormy blackness of his eyes overwhelms you as much as his words.

He couldn't mean them, could he? He couldn't be mad that you left him. He had to play with you… There was no way he'd want you around after you'd supposedly betrayed him.

You snort and shake your head at his words. No. You won't let him enter your mind and manipulate you. Although… You can't say your heart has shifted indifferently at the revelation he's told you. Because what if he really needed you by his side? What if… he loved you more than he hated you?

"It doesn't matter. Say what you want or get out." Well, his words only prove that you are right about this. And they reassure you in the decision you want to make.

"I'm going north with Alina. You can either join us or rot here. And to be honest, I don't care anymore. I was never your enemy, Aleksander. But if you so desperately need one, then all right. Make me your villain. But know that everything I did, I did for you. For us. Even if I hurt you in my desperate attempts to protect you, for which I do not intend to apologize. Everything I did, I did for us, for you. But maybe it really is time to change things between us once and for all."

After your words, you take a few seconds to look at him. Your gaze lazily follows his dark hair, his eyes, the set of his jaw. Without a word, you nod to him and leave, as if saying goodbye for the very last time.

"Protect me from what?" You hear him walk over to the table and open the package in a hurry. Then he freezes when he sees the familiar object you've placed there. "Y/N?! Answer me! Y/N!" He shouts after you, banging on the metal bars, but you don't spare him a second glance. You just walk out of there, hoping your little trick will work.

Because if he won't follow you to war after you give him a necklace with his blood—the same blood you tricked him into taking and enchanting to give you immortality—then you don't know what'll get him out of that stupid cell.

Taglist (I hope that everyone who wanted to be there are there. If not, I am soooooooooo soooo sorry): @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @barnes70stark

@zeeader @the-desilittle-bird

@thepassionatereader @budugu

@sinistersnakey @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

@aryhyuuga

@oh-thats-cute

@meadows5

#the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #romance #the darkling #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #ex lovers #enemies and lovers #argument #love and hate #tension #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #i want then to kiss already #but we have to wait a little bit #i hope you like it

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euhla · 6 months ago

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𝑻𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄 ☆ sunday

⋆. ✷ 🪽 spoiler for trailblaze mission, possessive & obsessive behavior and thoughts, mental abuse, gaslighting, slight yandere, stockholm syndrom ??, heavily implied ill! reader, angst w comfort, major character death, an attempt for sunday character study (spoiler; i failed). this fics is heavily inspired/referenced by that one comment from chasing kou at yt

a/n : i write this when it’s raining outside with my calm playlist n it’s the best feeling ever! ^ 0 ^ this is kinda rushed btw

and the moment a firework bursts and lights up, like an exalted flower standing in the middle of a sea of people, his cerulean blue hair is a contrast to the dark starry night.

you try to hold his hand, trying to found your way to slip underneath his gloves, and embracing it. you flinch at first, because his hands are cold like a living corpse.

“your hands are cold,” you said as you look at him in the eyes. and you can’t help but feel small whenever you two lock gaze.

“it’ll get warmer.”

“how do you know?”

he smiled, “because you hold it now.”

inside of the spacious universe under the moonlight, as the people in the background shouted happiness the moment the dark starry night were now filled with fireworks and lights of joy. you found another reason to live, again.

the distorted reflection of light that you see when you jump into water, as you two slowly count how long you can hold your breath un, deux, trois … and when you both gasping for air, feeling the breeze pierces straight.

now his hands— finding their way to hold yours. a solace intertwined for a moment as he speaks, “this is a foolish thing to do.”

no one— not even the wandering lost souls —expected the professional and well-behaved man to do the childish thing like this out of all place. mr sunday? the head of the oak family? jumped into water like a child? no one’s gonna believe you if they don’t see it themselves.

you laugh it off. “but sunday, you enjoy it.”

“of course, my dear. it’s because i do this with you.”

again, his smooth talking that he has trained since kid pissed you off sometimes. but again, maybe this is the only way to search for comfort within the cruel fate.

the sound of trees swaying in the wind is calming, you think. the sound of trees swaying in the wind is calming, you think. and suddenly life is worth living again when you finally lean against a big tree, blocking the raindrops with other than hanging on to thick leaves.

ready to face another shallow dream, you started to shut your eyes, expecting another endless void to enter your mind. but a hand— almost feels like a salvation—reaches you first, preventing you to fall into another abyss.

you gasped in response. “sunday..?”

“in your current condition, you should’ve know that you should stay inside the mansion, right?”

sunday removing his luxury white coat, then placing it on you.

“i—“ but you can’t say anything. trapped inside a fragile body means that any words that spilled out are just another excuse. “—i’m sorry.”

sunday exhaled. “i’m sorry i sound a bit harsh earlier, but i suppose you already know that i’m doing all of this for your safety, right?”

you smiled in response. “.. of course. always for my safety.”

the feeling of your hair blowing in the wind and your vision becoming narrower as the sound of laugh filling the air, ignoring completely the gloomy dark sky and the smell of rain and wet ground, make you feel like you finally regain your freedom once again. or when you're running when it’s only the silence after rain that’s linger around.

you know that you shouldn’t do this, and you know it better than no one else. but you can’t just leave your childhood urges when you already grow into adulthood. it keeps telling you go, as far as you can and don’t look back.

but something chained you down. it trapped you with nothing but sweet whispers; giving you a safe place to live, but treated like a porcelain doll who can’t do anything by themselves.

and it keeps whispering to you; “i’ll make you a beautiful flower in my the garden. blooming beautifully that other flowers are jealous of you.”

but it never told you that inside the garden, the flower bloom under humiliating watch. that it makes the flower feels like they’re a monstrous flower that bloomed too soon.

“so this is how running under the rain feels like!” you shouted, knowing that no one would hear you.

and not far away, under an absolute command, a bird is watching you with a rage.

The sound of the wind blowing in your ears or the sound of your breath is the last thing you enjoy before facing the consequences.

you can tell that his rage is uncontrollable even when he still keeps his charming calm face. and your heart keeps beating faster, you can tell.

“sunday, i’m sorry i– i just want to get some fresh air and i– idontknowthat it’s going to be raining.” your words spilled out in an irregular rhythm.

“and you don’t straight come back to the mansion?” he massaged his temples. and this is the first time you see him stressed out.

“because i just want to know how it feels to running under the rain again..”

“of course you just want to feel what you want to feel, my dear. and you will never want to know what i feel— stressed out when i know that you’re not inside the mansion. do you really want to escape that much? just because i prohibited you to go out of the mansion?”

guilty, you feel guilty now.

“all of my actions and orders are right, okay? because i’m doing this for you and your safety. if i didn’t save you that day, you wouldn’t have feel your own happiness.”

you smile and nodded.

because sunday is always doing the right things to do.

the sound of your heart when you fell in love is something you never knew are going to feel. you always wonder what is love anyway? does it feel like when you’re running under the rain? or watching a firework bursts and light up in the air?

your heart still hesitant to think that this is all called love; the way sunday would delicately touch you as if you can break, the way sunday would make sure that you’re safe on his mansion ( he said that it’s the only way to make sure you’re safe, so you can’t go anywhere without his company ), or the way he whispers sweet words that always make you flustered.

or maybe this is the love that people always talked about? he’s sincere about his feelings anyway. everything he do is always for the right things.

so you lean in his touch. you surrender, and you fall into his warm embrace. his wings twitched a few times, and he hesitantly try to cover his face with it, but you noticed it.

you noticed how he always ended up embarrassed and flustered everytime you return his affection. but you always caress his cheek, as if saying that it’s okay.

“please just trust me, okay?” he whispered.

…oh, and the feeling of being fulfilled when you hugged the person you love for the last time. because that’s finally the time that the bird realized that he’s the one who’s on a cage.

an outstretched hand faintly looked like a salvation for him when he’s falling into the abyss ( and that’s when he finally realized that no one is going to save him ). it must be ena’s hand, he thinks. but when he blinked again, he realized— it’s you.

and when he thought that you’re already gone, becoming one with the rain droplets you loved, you came back to him.

a hand reaches him and pulls him into a tight hug. he’s not surprised, or that’s what he thinks. because it will be the last hug you’ll give him.

he closed his eyes. now that he realized that he should let you go, and it’s time to wake up from this long dream. just like your last words to keep moving forward.

“.. i’m sorry.” a faint voice whispered.

#konstelasiv fanfic #yandere hsr x you #hsr yandere #yandere hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #yandere sunday x you #yandere sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #hsr fanfic

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qinnyanimation · 3 months ago

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I don't know if this is weird, too out of your comfort zone or too gore-y to ask, but do you ever plan on drawing Polynices' attempt after Tydeus' death, literally above his body?

I think the Thebaid describes this beautifully: So he speaks and weeping cleanses with his tears the hero’s face that still runs blood, and composes it with his own hand. “Didst thou then hate my foes thus far, and do I outlive thee?” – in his blind passion he had pulled the sword from its sheath, and was pointing it for death – his friends restrained him, and his father-in-law rebukes him, and calling to his mind the chances of war and the will of fate consoles his swelling heart, and from that dear body, whence comes his grief and eager will for death, little by little he drags him far away, and mid his converse silently puts back the weapon. He is led like a bull that having lost the partner of his toils deserts in numb despair the furrow he has begun among all the acres round, and on his drooping neck drags part of the unsightly yoke, while part the weeping ploughman bears.

Absolutely! I always thought that in that moment of his grief driven action , he stopped just in time by himself. Looking at Tydeus body and thought to himself,

“ I can almost hear your sadistic laugh from that cold body of yours, you won’t be the death of me Tydeus. As much as both of us want to ”

“ I will piss you off till the fucking end, my friend ”

He was a complete mess face to face with his brother. Like a mad man with tears streaming down his face. At least both of them are gone in an unforgettable way.

#polytyde #tydepoly #thebaid #the thebaid #seven against thebes #polynices #tydeus

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rootspiral · 6 months ago

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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

more Oz references! fury of the elements, one very pissed ex, same thing.

god but how much I love rio going feral?! it's so stupid I'm giggling and kicking my feet about it. you'd think a very old, very wise being would react like a grown ass adult after a breakup, especially because it was such a long time coming. but does rio go home to process things quietly? noooooooo she summons a whole storm and sits on a roof waiting for agatha to come out of her basement, so she can be an ass about it. if they were humans rio would be slashing agatha's tires and smashing windows and throwing rotten eggs at her house drunk at three in the morning, and you know what? good for her!!! she's been fucking trying to work things out in a mature responsible way, and it was never going to work, agatha was never going to grow up. so fuck it. agatha wants to be immature? we'll show her immature! I support my girl going full petty and unhinged, let her cry and scream and eat a whole ice cream tub and then throw it all up, let her piss all over agathas' rhododendrons, my girl has earned it.

AND she's brought her favorite soul-reaping orchid with her! she's like, I'm gonna do it! this time I'm gonna getcha! I will drag your ungrateful ass to our son kicking and screaming if I have to!!!!

...girl. we both know you ain't. like agatha is literally about to die and you still won't reap that soul without her consent. absolute loser behavior.

and agatha... well, agatha never backed off from an immaturity showdown. oooh she's gonna out-toddler you for sure.

but it's so interesting that the Road didn't give her her powers back. tbh I don't think she ever lost her powers at all, seeing as she's first and foremost a succubus and that power works just fine, if alice's fate is any indication. it's more like, three years under the spell completely drained her battery and she desperately needs to feed.

and agatha wasn't planning on joining the Road at all, as far as she was concerned it didn't even exist. like with lilia, jen and alice the Road gave her not what she asked, but what she needed all along: her prize was that moment of closure with nicky

so rio cannot kill people, she can only make them wish they were dead, and I just realized, her special talent is also being fucking annoying, just like agatha

by the way, rewatching wandavision I realized that his name is JOHN, not herb! I'm so sorry I've been calling you the wrong name this whole time, my guy. ALSO MOVE OUT OF THAT NEIGHBORHOOD DEAR LORD

same goes for you two. harold you have a daughter!

(omg a literal harold, they're lesbians.)

agatha sees the fire moon and it reminds her of alice. she draws a circle for the expelle hoc malum protection spell she's learned from her. she had a coven only for a day and look how much they've gotten under her skin.

rio gives an incredulous sigh. are you calling me "evil"? it's like, we've been over this!

I know that baby and I love you, but also you're very much sitting on a rooftop cackling like a maniac. how can these two be both so tragic and so so fucking ridiculous at the same time.

it's like, she's absolutely right, she's no villain and she's no demon, agatha should stop treating her like one and punishing her for it. but also... stop begging her to, for fuck's sake. rio, my love, have some dignity. stop chasing. you did a dramatic exit half an hour ago, WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

agatha trying to exorcise her ex wife with a spell: clownass behavior.

rio blowing the circle away with a kiss: also clownass behavior.

but is she wrong????

lilia's turn to come in handy!

I'm sorry but... a whole sink? she threw a whole sink at her head?? this scene is so fucking hilarious, like I know some people found rio ooc but to me it makes perfect sense. I'm just sorry she didn't throw a toilet.

GO HOME, RIO. it's okay, we're gonna put up a picture of agatha in your living room and throw poop at it until you feel better or smth, it's gonna be okay, you let it all out.

^^literally rio

jen's moment: vulnus ab aqua curare.

I don't think it's going to help you much though, babe. remember when agatha kept poking wanda with a stick and got her ass kicked to oblivion in return? she's been poking DEATH for two hundred years. what did she expect???!?!

THAT IS THE HOTTEST SOMEONE HAS EVER LOOKED, DEAR LORD

and considering that rio chooses an outfit for each soul she reaps: this is what she chose for agatha??? girl, be for real!!!

aaaand she gets kicked into a wall a moment later. after her devastating sexy ass walk with the high slit dress and all. complete loser behavior.

(also hilarious: agatha's laundry hanging there the whole time)

billy came back to save agatha (awww) but not before conjuring a cool wiccan costume and doing a very dramatic entrance (awwwwwwww). literally her son.

I agree tbh

agatha's face when she realizes billy is choosing to give her magic: this is the first time someone does it willingly. and sure he is super powerful (she drained poor alice in a second), but I keep imagining a world were agatha is an important, cherished member of a community, maybe playing the vital role of teacher and knowledge keeper, and the community willingly donates magic in return, all together and on a regular basis, like people donate blood, so that no one dies and she doesn't starve.

look at how the beam changes color, and just how happy she is to finally eat. it's just the way she was born, you know? I hate that evanora turned it into something horrible when it didn't need to.

oh god, that stupid outfit again. that is agatha's "I'm such a scary merciless bitch and I don't care about your feelings" outfit. as if.

and then she realizes she's killing billy. look at her face, a moment ago she even said how good all this power feels. she could easily take it all. but of course for billy she has to stop.

so, can agatha actually control her powers? well, it's complicated, isn't it? she definitely couldn't when she was very young. possibly she never sought to learn how to as time went on.

(thank you for your patience, everyone, I'll update more regularly from now on. and you all know what happens next entry.)

go to episode 8 part 8

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario #billy maximoff #character analysis

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ellesthots · 6 days ago

Text

code of ethics

v. “coffee”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: you finally get answers from your professor.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+, smut !

words: 6.1k

a/n: this chapter was a (lovely) beast to write !! the next one will be the last in this miniseries !! it'll have Bruce's POV ✨ i wanted to include some other elements, but i'm saving those for fateful 🤭 enjoy <3 feel freeeee to let me know what you think!

Shaking hands held either side of the sink in the closest bathroom. A sopping clump of paper towel sat at the edge of it from trying to take some of the puffiness out of your eyes; its lukewarm form mocked you as it dripped down the porcelain’s edge.

If you didn’t come back to class, it would be strange. The loser in the back would assume you didn’t know what you were doing, that Professor Wayne had drilled into you, and that would be that. Being reduced to the memory of ‘TA Who Got Told Off By Professor Wayne and Never Showed Again’ sounded like a miserable existence.

You checked in the mirror once more to see your tear troughs bloated from crying, but you didn’t have time to care. Every passing second was another moment lost to the abyss, a sacred spilling of opportunity knowing the talking-to that would inevitably result in your removal from the course after this first day.

Walking down the empty hallway to class had your steps echo, filling you to the brim with dread. If he had to get the administration involved, did you have to worry about more than being kicked from class? Would you be able to walk these halls again? You weren’t particularly attached to the Humanities building, but you didn’t want to be ripped from it, either.

Professor Wayne’s voice boomed from outside the classroom door. “Ensure your papers are submitted in PDF format before midnight EST, and follow current APA guidelines.” Just in time. “If any of these requirements are not met, your grade will reflect it.” Oh, brother. You gritted your teeth and walked in.

“The references must—”

Your eyes flicked to his, and he immediately looked back to the board. “They, uh, the references must be published within the past five years.”

You’d never heard him stutter during a lecture. Was he that pissed at you? Dear god.

The seat creaked when you sat, and you cringed as eyes wandered to you and the whiteboard. Your skirt rode up in the back, and you tried as delicately as possible to tuck it back under you, but it wouldn’t go. You glanced nervously at Professor Wayne, grateful he was paying full attention to the students.

Though you’d only taken two courses from him, syllabus day was never just syllabus day. He sped through the document, then lectured like the class had already read the bajillion required books. You remembered the panic that tormented you in September when he’d done that, slinging about terms you’d only barely heard, or not at all, then hardly elaborating. ‘The answer’s in the reading,’ he’d say when a brave student raised their hand to clarify. No one ever had the heart to tell him his expectations were so high they were practically crushing.

He grabbed a dry erase marker and began writing something you couldn’t parse while you fought off a panic attack. What was he about to tell you? Your thoughts spiraled unproductively, and you began to regret ever leaving the bathroom and its proximity to toilets with the nausea ravaging your system.

Professor Wayne continued his lecture, skirting past the syllabus as if it hardly existed. His white button-up was smartly tucked into tailored black slacks, and you could make out the slightest hue of his skin beneath the fabric. The turn of his hips and the flex of his back as he drew timelines across the whiteboard made you jam your teeth into your tongue. Power play. That’s all this is.

He turned to address the entire class, and his sweeping eye contact landed on you in what felt like an accident. His gaze stuttered alongside his words for the second time this evening, and you cocked your head. Huh.

While he guided the class in an exercise, your focus trained on a new tic; one of your first observations of him last year was how smooth and steady he was, expression unwavering to a disturbing degree—but now saw the bobbing of an Adam’s apple and the rolling of his bottom lip under his teeth. Huh!

Your hands began to tingle as you sat back, zooming out from the classroom for a moment. The lines he drew were shakier. His lines had been too straight before, so these newbies wouldn’t notice. But you did. What terrible, awful, no good thing had you done that warranted this?

“Adriana.”

His icy blues speared right through you, weighing more than the entire classroom’s attention and bringing you to alertness faster than your borrowed name. “Yes?”

“Can you hand out the activity I asked you to bring?”

You squinted. Nowhere in any email had there been an activity listed.

The students were rigidly silent, a norm for his classes; Professor Wayne commanded perfect attention, and people picked up on it from the second he entered the room. It felt electric, alive, intimidating.

Sweat gathered on the back of your neck. You must’ve forgotten it in the anticipation of your scheme. It would be listed in a line somewhere your eyes skipped over in the bustle, and class would be fucked for your mistake. Absolutely fucked, all because you had it out for the man. “I, um,”

Inhaling the first words of your apology, you stalled. Power play. You’d been singularly set on your goal for today, yes, but you weren’t completely distracted. Definitely not incompetent enough to forget one of two printables.

“Professor.” You forced your trembling hands to fold gently in your lap. His stare could’ve pinned you to the wall. “You didn’t send me an activity.”

Professor Wayne’s jaw ticked. “Are you cer—”

“I’m sure, yes,” you interrupted. Your smile was sickly sweet, and his gaze tore from yours. That same thoughtful double-blink surfaced as when you’d called him out about the reference page. You hadn’t thought it meant anything then, but now you wondered.

“Alright everyone, let’s pivot.”

Thankful he wasn’t making an example out of you, you finally relaxed into your chair and let the grin slip. While he faced the board, you took advantage of your position behind his desk and checked your phone, swirling with nerves.

SYLLABUS - PDF was the only email attachment.

Thank fucking god.

Time passed surprisingly easily with this win draped over you. How embarrassing for him to forget and call attention to it. And how fucking great did it feel not accepting the fall for his mistake. His handwriting got a bit wobblier. Victory on day one.

The high of throwing off Professor Wayne made the remaining time pass tolerably. An inch of traction had been won, and even if it was naive, you felt more secure going into the conversation. So when students began filing out and others began the quintessential line of post-lecture questions, you felt smug—not afraid.

Who was to say you couldn’t just throw whatever accusations he was about to make back in his face again?

A few students who weren’t Bruce Wayne superfans found themselves disgruntled with the lengthy line, and moved to you to answer questions. Some regarded APA formatting, to which you gave the obligatory Purdue OWL site link, and a smattering of other questions were easily answered by gently pointing to the section in the syllabus. The student who walked with you to class was the last in your line, and looked nervously at Professor Wayne before walking up.

“Hey, you took this class, right? You said in the fall?” He hiked his book bag up on his shoulder where it just slipped down again. His elbow had a red spot from where its weight tugged.

You nodded, fighting a smirk. He looked precisely as you’d felt sidling up to the professor’s desk at the midterm.

“Can you give any pointers on how to get a good grade? I didn’t expect him to be so…”

“Intense?”

He looked to the ground and mumbled, fiddling with the leather strap. “I thought the ratings might’ve been spammers or something.”

A quick glance at Professor Wayne showed he only had two students left to talk to. You leaned forward and lowered your voice, elaborating on what you’d mentioned earlier. “Make sure your formatting is solid. And that you actually do the readings and look over the slides before coming to class, and that your questions aren’t answered in the text. He asks for a lot of reading, and the people who didn’t prioritize it regretted it.”

He nodded like some sort of soldier, bidding a frantic “Thanks!” and promptly speeding off, his bag slapping his leg with each step. You hoped he wouldn’t get eaten alive the rest of the term.

“Y/n?”

Something about how he said your name made your stomach curdle. The professor’s voice wasn’t its usual penetrating timbre; it was hollowed-out and tentative. A scan of the room revealed the last two students must’ve busted their asses to leave, because the room was barren. No one had even left a paper shred.

“I understand you want to know definitively why I can’t let you be my assistant?”

You swallowed a gasp when you saw how intently he was staring. All you managed was a nod, all the air ripped from the room. You walked around to where you could better see him, situating at the edge of his desk. He rolled back in his chair, creating an additional foot of distance between you.

“This conversation could be uncomfortable. Are you confident you don’t want a mediator?”

Professor Wayne looked strung-out—no, tightly wound, about to break. Your stomach launched into your throat. “I’m confident.” Get it over with. Rip the bandaid off.

He held your tense gaze like a promise. “Feel free to leave at any point.”

What the fuck? You shifted your weight to your back leg, grinding your teeth together, body trying to metabolize the suspense in any way it could. What were you supposed to say to that?

“If you’re already uncomfortable,”

“Tell me.” You snapped louder than you meant to, and your ears got hot. You could barely handle a week without knowing, and another minute when he was so close was unthinkable.

He didn’t break eye contact. Like it was an obligation he didn’t so much as blink. Shallow breaths were interrupted by longer, slower ones, like he was intentionally trying to calm himself. Your hands began to tingle. “In the effort of transparency…”

The pressure in the room changed. No idea what he was about to say, but knowing undeniably that whatever it was, the hammer was about to drop, and hard. Tears stung your lashes. For a split second you considered backing out. Telling him it was okay, that you’d accept not knowing, because your heart began to hammer painfully against your ribs.

“As I was prepping our last meeting for 505, and through no fault of your own,” he emphasized those words like his life depended on it. “I realized I had developed an attraction to you.”

It didn’t compute immediately, but your body caught on before anything else. Your shoulders relaxed, vision blurred, but your mind spun like he’d spoken gibberish.

“With only a single session remaining, I considered early termination too disruptive to your education. After our final meeting, I blocked you from registering for any of my courses and sought to limit all future interactions were they to occur despite the registration block.” Professor Wayne stood then, tucking both hands into his pockets. His stare faltered, briefly, then trailed back.

Attracted? To you? Bruce Wayne? Your professor?

“I completely understand if this taints your experience of my courses, and I want to assure you that until the very end of Winter term, I was entirely unaware of my feelings.”

That was why he didn’t walk you out. Holy shit.

“I am taking extra steps to ensure this is never recreated with another student. Booking the classroom rather than the isolated setting of an office, and working with the English department to approve a second student per mentorship hour.”

You placed your hand on the desk to steady yourself, rapidly becoming dizzy. Everything flooded you: the way he looked at you when he sat back in his office, the crinkle in his eyes, and the way he’d looked exasperated when you’d wanted him to sign the override.

“I am very sorry. I did not want to leave you in the dark, and I apologize for any grief my distancing has caused. If you would like to file a report, you are welcome to.”

This snapped you out of your reverie. “Why would I report you?”

He looked confused. “If you ever felt or feel uncomfortable, or if you’d like to talk to someone about it. I know this is unexpected and unsettling.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I was not cognizant of the disparities in how I treated you versus other students. I rationalized casual conversation in an intimate environment. It is unacceptable, wildly inappropriate, and I am sorry.”

If he thought this was ‘wildly inappropriate’, he’d go to an early grave looking at your daydreams.

You peered at him just as he released a massive breath. A defiant part of you crept in: you’d tried so hard to hide your crush, done everything in your power, held back sighs as his hand gripped his pens, the edge of his desk, not fixing your stare too long at the ripple in his shirt when he moved, ensured you didn’t linger on his lips when this whole time…

You were angry. At him for not just telling you that last day, and at yourself for thinking he was so impossibly out of reach.

“You’re right,” you crooned. “Can you pull up the report form, please?”

“Absolutely.” He stepped to his monitor and typed something onto the screen. “For consent purposes,”

“Consent?” You placed your hand on the edge of his desk, leaning just a tad closer.

“Yes,” he continued, pausing only a split second. “The dean receives all reports of misconduct; if they deem the transgression severe enough, they will contact the local branch of the department of education to discuss further action.” He clicked the mouse around, eyes poring over the screen. “Those are the individuals who will have access to your report, but they are bound to confidentiality outside of the chain of command. I will not be able to read what you write.”

“You seem familiar with this process.”

“It’s important to know all resources to ensure student success.” He tilted the screen to you.

“Could’ve sworn I read that line in the student handbook.” So clinical, and why? Moving and speaking like a robot. Efficient, streamlined, tight. What might get him to unravel?

“Do you want me to email you a copy?”

“It’s quite virtuous of you to confess those feelings, Professor. Could cause trouble.”

“With how it’s affected you, you have a right to know.” Matter-of-fact. Plain. Heavily restrained. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, a thin veil concealing your frustrations. A small tear in the membrane that would forever close if you didn’t pry it open right now.

“Before I go,” like hell you were leaving. “I’m still a little confused about the report. It’s not like we acted on our feelings.”

“Filing a report is available if you’re experiencing discomfort, irrelevant to action.”

When you thought he’d fully skipped over the casual confession, his brow furrowed, then settled. He kept strictly to himself, and you could’ve stomped your feet like a toddler at how professional he was behaving. Clinical! Sterile! Bland! Blah! Push it. Push it!

“It’s not like you fantasize about it, right?” God, even saying the word felt salacious in his presence. And the way you lit up when an edge finally crept into his voice… whew. Who knew frustration could make someone so brave?

“Is there anything else you need?”

You could tell the instant it left his mouth he regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and his lips pressed into a thin line. Visibly showing distress? He was cracking. A perfect slot. An opening.

“It just feels unethical.”

He looked at you.

“For a student to be punished for her professor’s feelings.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Your stomach flipped. “I can’t have you in my class.”

“Because I’m too distracting? Can’t control yourself?”

“Control and distraction aren’t concerns.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Back to square one. Bickering. The only way you could stop from vibrating at the realization that Professor Wayne probably wanted to fuck you. The only way to keep your heart at a halfway decent pace.

“It’s inappropriate and unfair to you.”

“Why do you get to decide what’s fair?”

“You’re my student.”

Could he feel the heat emanating off your cheeks? “I’m your assistant.”

“I’m in a position of power.”

“Wouldn’t you be anyway, Bruce Wayne?”

You made a point to emphasize his full name, drive home the things you weren’t saying. He was smart as a whip, and would undoubtedly pick up on the subtext.

“This is different. You know that.”

Firm. A bit… annoyed? Were you losing him? Pulling him in? You pivoted. “Can I see the form again?”

You set your phone on the desk and walked closer, leaning toward the screen to read. Falsification of Credentials, Plagiarism, Unauthorized Recording, Discrimination, Sexual Misconduct, Other.

His mouse was weighty as it glided across the smooth grain. Click. A drop down menu appeared.

“Inappropriate remarks? Sexual advances? Unwanted touching?” You mused aloud. “None of these fit.”

Buying time or trying to drive home the point, you couldn’t tease out why you were pretending to stare soo intensely at the document. His presence behind you was warm and inviting, and you clenched your ab muscles to keep from spinning on your heel and falling into his chest.

“Inappropriate remarks.”

You pouted, feigning serious thought. “No, doesn’t track.”

“If you don’t want to make a report, you don’t have to. But it’s available if you do.”

“Do you want to be reported, Professor?”

Each time you said it, you swore he looked like he wanted to tell you to stop. Especially now, as you peeked at him over your shoulder.

“I want whatever keeps my students safe and comfortable.”

“You’re really hung up on that.” Fuck the pleasantries. You pushed his setup forward, the mouse accidentally clicking Other in the process, and turned to face him. You gripped the desk behind you, lifting your ass just onto the edge. “The teacher-student thing.”

“As I should be.”

“I am, too.”

“Please get off my desk.”

“So polite.” You pulled yourself further onto his desk until you were fully off the ground. “I imagined you’d be demanding.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, weakly.

“Want me to confess, Professor?” It felt so freeing to act without a care in the goddamn world. Your pulse rocketed, feeling the heavy wood beneath you supporting your newfound bravery. “All the fantasies I’ve had about you?”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t want to know?” You tapped his thigh with your shoe, and nearly screamed at how dense he was. This was the perfect height to take all of him in; the shoulders, the arms, the hair that just wouldn’t stay tucked behind his ears, and the—oh.

“Stop calling me that.” His voice was hoarse and whisper-quiet.

“What else should I call you?”

His breath came out in a tight, audible sigh. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“Neither is crushing on a student, but here we are.”

While he’d said it first, you said it blatantly. He looked at the floor, ashamed. A jolt of care cinched your chest, seeing so plainly how affected he was.

“I’m trying to make it right.”

Atonement for his sins, when he hadn’t made any yet. When you wanted this. Wanted him. Needed him. You called him out. “You’re trying to relieve guilt.”

Double-blink, again. You caught another tell like a precious stone and tucked it into your pocket for safekeeping. He had nothing to feel guilty for. Fucking nothing.

“Guilt about wanting to fuck me.”

It might be cruel, but teasing such a considerate and harrowed man was titillating. Maybe it would drive home your point. “Because how despicable is it…” you reached out to grip a fold in his shirt, pulling him closer. He didn’t resist. “For the ethics professor to stare at the short little skirt of his mentee...”

He swallowed thickly, and you noticed how dilated his pupils were. It sent a shot of lightning up your spine. Your fingers caught on a button halfway down his chest. “Y/n…”

You moved his hand under your skirt. “Thinking of laying her across his desk, hiking it up,”

“I can’t…”

Pulled his warm hand between your thighs. “How I might say your name when—”

“Please,”

“Stop?” You paused, removing your hand to hover above his. He didn’t move away, but his face twisted like he was in pain.

A critical point. You suspended the act and let your lust speak for itself. Transparency. “I’ve wanted this for months. So, so badly.” Your hand fell flat to the desk as you shifted your hips. “So if you want me, here I am.”

It took a second to compute it, but he leaned in. Inching closer, slowly, far too slowly, and it hit you like a freight train when his hand began to trail up your thigh. You bit back a sigh, desperate not to scare him off, but yearning to show how much you needed him. He’d never been this close.

The room held a weighted silence. You couldn’t feel yourself breathe as your fingers curled around the waistband of his slacks. The heat of his breath against your lips invoked a warm summer breeze. Your mouth parted, legs spreading incrementally wider as his finger gently pulled back your underwear.

Closer.

Both hands traveled to his button, unfastening it with a held breath. A quarter past the loop. Half. The tension released between your fingers as his brows knit together with need.

Professor Wayne slammed back, spinning the chair out behind him. “I can’t. You’re my student.”

It was dizzying how fast he’d yanked away from you. Through slow, regulating blinks, you caught glimpses of his hands in his hair, his shoulders rolling back, and rebuttoning his pants.

Was Adriana still logged in on your phone?

You reached to the other end of the desk and grabbed it, mistyping your passcode in your fluster. The page loaded swiftly and before you could overthink it, you hit DROP COURSE — SUBMIT.

You flipped it for him to read the confirmation. “Not anymore.”

The phone’s light highlighted a war breaking out in his thoughts. His teeth pressed indents into his lower lip as he hesitated, glancing from the phone back to you. You pulled it back. Pushed it behind you. And let out a small, needy sigh.

Throbbing desire pooled between your legs as he took a step forward. Yes. His eyes lowered to your jaw, your chest, then your legs. His breathing sped up. Yes. You rested back on your elbows, looking up with doe eyes.

Professor Wayne turned away, and you nearly tried to grab him, but he was already out of reach. You didn’t have to watch to see that he was leaving.

Fuck.

You slid off the desk and your shoulders caved in, fighting rejection’s bitter current from pulling you under. Crying could come when you were home in bed; when you could have the real Adriana make you some food, throw some random movie on her phone, and help you forget about this embarrassing attempt at throwing yourself at him.

The whiteboard was cool on your arm as you leaned against it. Your wrist smudged the line he’d drawn. Waves of disappointment were getting increasingly difficult to manage.

Click.

Through bleary eyes you saw him switch the lock on the door. Panels of LEDs drew dimmer.

He looked behind and made direct eye contact, his stormy and deep. He walked long, quick strides. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,”

Before another thought could form, Professor Wayne had your arms pinned above your head. You’d only realized he’d started kissing you when the taste of coffee hit your tongue. Holy fucking shit.

He was so unbelievably dense and all you wanted to do was feel it. You wanted to grab him, wrap yourself around his waist, but you were pinned to the whiteboard with his hands, hips, and kisses. He groaned into your mouth, and you broke a hand free to grasp at his jaw.

You had to make sure this was real; you pressed firmer against him, almost gnashing teeth. He released his grip on your wrist to follow your lead, cupping your face with both hands. The warmth of his fingers made you gasp.

“Please,” you whined, terrified he’d end this before you got what you desperately wanted.

“Please what?” Gone was his hesitance, his questions and rumination. The slight huskiness made your knees weak.

Words failed you as wet kisses found the nape of your neck. You slammed his hand from your cheek and put it up your skirt. His fingers made quick work of shifting your panties out of the way, straightening your spine like a rod as his fingers dragged up, then down.

His fingers teased your entrance, and your eyes snapped open when he didn’t push in. You grabbed fistfuls of his hair while he kissed his way to your ear, the slight skip of stubble across your hot skin giving you goosebumps.

Up, down… he slipped the tip of his finger inside. You bit your cheek at the tease. “Is this what you want?”

You nodded, gripping his shoulder to pull him in.

“Use your words.”

Your heart raced to a fever pitch. It took you a minute to find them, still thrown this was even happening. “I need you.”

“I know, Y/n.” Your breathing hitched like you’d never heard your own name. His breath was hot against your ear. “Where do you need me?”

“Inside,” you gasped, and your nails dug into his shoulder as he stretched you out. “Fuck!”

He swallowed your moans with another kiss. His cologne wrapped you in a tourniquet, making your breathing ragged and vision shake with every plunge of his fingers. As if you weren’t already melting, his teeth snagged your bottom lip, the sting making you tense, amplifying the sensations.

“This skirt…”

“Mmm,”

His fingers curled inside you and you lurched forward, letting out a noise so pathetic you would’ve been embarrassed if you had a single brain cell that wasn’t being fucked silly.

“Your moans,” he made a pleading sound. “You’re so ready for me.”

“I am,” you managed, tension slowly building in your core. Puffy, and slick, and needy, so fucking needy, his fingers felt divine, oh, my god… fuck, god…

“I need to feel you.”

He hooked your legs around his waist and held you mid-air like it was nothing; like he didn’t spend his days lecturing and grading papers behind a desk, like he did this all the time.

Desk. He set you down carefully, but that was the last of his restraint. Sweeping arms knocked the carefully-set papers and pens across the floor with a crash. He caught the back of your head in his hand before it hit the monitor, and pulled you in for a rough kiss.

“Oh my god, please, please.” Desire pulsed throughout your body, lit up like a live wire, watching him undo his zipper. You surged forward and practically tore off his dress shirt, ripping at the buttons with a singular focus. Each inch of skin exposed ratcheted it up a notch until you swore you weren’t breathing.

He pulled his slacks down to his calves, then his boxers, and you paused before the last button to gawk. Better than you imagined…

A sharp inhale accompanied him pulling the shirt over his head, and you saw stars at his mussed hair. “Professor…”

“Lay back for me, baby.”

You followed the orders of his hand splayed out atop your stomach, guiding you back with a gentle press. The nickname rang in your ears.

Professor Wayne’s hand slid from your stomach past your skirt, dipping between your thighs once more. His wrist nudged your legs apart, and you watched his eyes drop to your pussy.

“Perfect.” His thumb skimmed your clit, making you jump. His brow furrowed, and he stalled, the weight of his fingers pressing against you, hesitant to let himself give in.

“It’s okay. I want this, I want you, please, please, please,” you didn’t care about begging; not when he looked like this. Not when he was hard as a rock, his toned skin glistening, his hair hanging just barely over his eyes. “I’m on the pill. Just fuck me.”

His sigh was deep and resigned, like he’d finally accepted this. His breathing sped up. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

He slapped his dick against your clit, and your hands clenched to reign yourself in. His head teased your pussy, pushing in just enough to make your head fall back, but never further.

“Right here?”

A little deeper.

“On my desk?”

Not enough. All of it. All of him.

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him in hard, making him groan and his hands fall to either side of you. His lashes fluttered as you moved your hips up and down, covering your mouth to muffle the high-pitched moans at feeling him fill you so fully.

“Fuck, so fucking wet,” he gasped, effortlessly matching your tempo. His strokes were rhythmic, and he stared in awe at you sliding up and down his shaft with total ease.

“All for you,” it was getting harder and harder to speak. His biceps, triceps, deltoids, shit, he was thick, tight, strong.

“All for your professor?”

“All for my fucking professor, fuck, faster,”

“Christ,”

“Harder, harder, mhm—”

Your back arched as his hips started snapping into you. You’d worship this desk when you finished—the height, the angle, the dull, quivering pleasure of him hitting that soft, perfect spot… You lost yourself in his thrusts.

He moved his hand to your clit and sped up, cursing under his breath. Indents of the side of the desk dug into your palms as you strangled it. Holy shit, shit, shit…! You writhed, clawing at his chest, brain going offline.

“Good job. There you go…”

Your body throbbed, abdomen clenching, head spinning. He grinned, and you descended from the clouds.

He slowed down, and you must’ve shown the disappointment on your face because he picked up the pace. “You want more?”

“I want you to cum in me.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, and fuck, you could’ve orgasmed again. His cheeks bloomed red from blushing, and he slowed to a stop. “Are you sure?”

You were still coming down from the high, but you never thought he’d even kiss you, let alone this. When you said it, you expected him to turn it down immediately; so now it was on the table, you were certain you’d never wanted anything more. After half a year spent under the covers dreaming of him alone, your reward would be this.

Breathy streams of yes, of I mean it, of tugging at his shoulders, of his hands roaming under your shirt. He unclipped your bra, and your nipples pebbled between his deft fingers. The wet noises of his cock driving in and out of you mingled with the echoes of his moans filling the lecture hall. Cries of how good you felt, how close he was, and you memorized every syllable like you’d die otherwise.

Professor Wayne had snags and scars across his torso, but you couldn’t get a good look as he shook your body with the force of his delicious strokes, fuck. Your body never wanted to release him, but you could tell he was closer than he let on; the want etched between his brows, the slight stutter in his hips, how ragged his breathing had become.

His blue eyes zeroed in on yours, intensely focused. You knew the words before they fell out of his beautiful, slacked mouth. “I’m gonna cum,”

The monitor’s glow illuminated his face as he started to peak; his eyes fluttered shut, his staggered thrusts making you whimper. Before you could tell him to fill you up, coax him through it, a pitchy groan fell from his lips. He slammed his hand on the desk for balance as he folded forward, nearly collapsing his heaving body on top of you.

Warm, quick breaths painted your cheeks as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, strong and steady, the polar opposite of the picture in front of you. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and where you touched his body left temporary prints of lightness.

You locked eyes then. Seconds slowed to minutes as you soaked up the moment, blissfully sated, patiently scanning his face for any sign of regret.

Sharp jingles of keys startled you from the other side of the door, catching Professor Wayne’s attention. No. Oh no. You tried to scramble up, preparing for him to be mad at the close call. Hopefully it’d be a close call, and not—

“It’s alright.” He looked away from the door and pressed a tender, reverent kiss to your lips. “Janitor unlocks all the doors in this hallway at the same time. Opens mine last for cleaning.”

“Oh,” was all you could muster. He slowly pulled out, your pussy aching at the loss. You already wanted him again.

Still catching his breath, he opened a drawer and got some tissues. “Let me clean you up.”

His aftercare was so sweet it felt like foreplay. Gentle swipes on your inner thigh, attentive eyes roaming for misses. Now that he was more or less static, you got a better look at his torso; it kept you from looking at the arc of his hands moving along your legs and his ‘just fucked’ face. The marks looked menacing and violent. A bruise was in the final stages of healing just above his navel.

“Where are those from?”

He disposed of a tissue wrapped inside another, then pulled up his slacks. He answered as he pulled up their zipper. “Motorcycle accident.”

You sat up, straightening your shirt to look put together, and smoothed the skirt down your thighs. He shrugged on his shirt, making quick work of the buttons. You knew what his fingers felt like. What he felt like. What he sounded like. Your face heated. Adriana might give you an earful when you got back, but you’d have this memory no matter what. No matter if this was the last time. No matter if it happened over and over again.

Keys jingled closer. You didn’t trust it.

Without anything left on the desk besides, you pointed at a random part of his computer screen, pretending to have a question like it wasn’t the report form. He stood beside you with his hands on his hips, feigning interest.

“Sorry Bruce. Lock stuck.”

A short man with sandy blonde hair accidentally pushed the door open, the end of his mop poking into the classroom. Could he tell you’d just fucked? Could he hear any of it?

“No worries, Henry.”

Henry went to leave, and you released the breath you were holding.

“Actually, I’ll start here if you don’t mind. Marshall didn’t have class today.”

Professor Wayne glanced at you. It felt like checking in, asking permission, and you nodded. His voice was more than back to its usual refinement. “Sure.”

You gathered your folio, its innocence intoxicating. In no universe had you thought the plan would work. Now the evidence of him was sticky on your skin and panties.

Henry began by emptying the trash at the front door, forcing you coy.

“Thanks for the help, Professor Wayne.”

“My pleasure.”

His eyes sparkled, and you commended yourself for stringing together words in their wake. “Are you available to meet later in the term?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and took a full breath. “Just let me know when you need my help.”

You smiled at the ground and walked out the far door, bidding him goodnight. Henry said something to him about a vacuum, and you pressed out into the hallway, cutting to a back exit.

Fresh evening air cooled your lungs and the rain soothed your scorching skin. Professor Wayne. You traced your sore lips with the tip of your finger, and laughed as you waited at the crosswalk.

The taste of coffee held you all the way home.

taglist: @noisylime @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

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parallaxdemon · 3 days ago

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alastor x human demon hunter- like protect earth from demons?

you know like how Blitzo goes to earth to kill humans, alastor finds a way to get deers from earth, this masked human without powers was actually a challenge to beat and she had a sword of angelic steel,

perhaps they fight for a long period of time, until it got boring, and they just started talking, opposites attract?

Oooooo!!! I love it! Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes Opposites Attract

Warnings— 18+, Blood & Gore, Violence, Sexual Tension, Demi Alastor

You were an excellent demon hunter. Any demon who dared come to Earth was met with a terrible fate at the hands of you. Your angelic sword would slice them up to ribbons. The only part of the job you hated was having to clean off their blood and guts off of you.

Filthy fucking creatures. You thought.

Yes, you were the best of the best. No one ever beaten you. No demon ever escaped from you. That was until him.

Alastor the Radio Demon. You met him 4 years ago, when he came to Earth for unknown reasons. It was obvious that he was a high level demon, so your team sent you, the best demon hunter they had.

He was taking a walk through the woods, enjoying the lovely scenery. You were following him from a distance, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Little did you know that he knew you were there the entire time.

“You can come out of hiding now. I know you’re there.”

You cursed under your breath, pissed that he had noticed you. You stepped out of the bushes.

“Why, hello there! Alastor’s the name. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! Now, why don’t you introduce yourself and take that ridiculous little mask off.”

You, of course, just charged at him with your sword. Suddenly, black tentacles appeared from out of the ground and wrapped around you, throwing your sword far off in a random direction, and suspended you up in the air.

“A bit shy, it seems. That’s alright, I’ll remove the mask for you.”

You shook your head defiantly. But he just removed your mask with one of the tentacles.

“Ah, a pretty girl. Now, what would such a delicate creature be doing with such a dangerous weapon, you might hurt yourself.”

His ever present grin widened. He ran his fingers through your soft hair.

“Does the beauty have a name?”

“Fuck you, you demon bastard! When I get down, I’m going to fucking slice you in half!”

He covered your mouth.

“Now now, such ugly language to come from such a pretty little mouth.”

He wagged his finger at you, chuckling.

“Since you won’t tell me your name, my dear, let’s see if any identification on you.”

He began searching your pockets, while you writhed around trying to free yourself from his tentacles.

“Ah! Here it is! Your name is [Name]. What a beautiful name, it suits you, my dear.”

You made a cranky face.

“How cute.”

He stroked your face gently. Suddenly there were sirens coming from somewhere in the distance. Your team was coming.

“That’s my que! Well, it’s been a delightful time, my dear. I do hope you come see me again soon.”

The tentacles placed you back on the ground, Alastor kissed your hand quicker than you could react, then he disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Bastard.”

You cursed, going to find your sword.

Since then, you have had many encounters with him. You just couldn’t let it go that he was the one who had beaten you. Your team even suggested that you take a break, but you weren’t having it.

Every time, you would still try to kill him and every time he would escape. Each encounter involved him restraining you in some way, flirting with you, and telling you that you were never going to best him.

One time, he snapped his fingers and you were in a dress from the 1920s with your hair all done up. Then he made dance with him.

“My dear [Name], you look so much better without that ridiculous uniform on. Yes, much more ladylike now.”

“I hate you.”

You spat at him. He only laughed.

“Do you now, darling? Then why are you blushing?”

He asked as he spun you around, before dipping you.

You quickly turned away from him, trying to hide your flustered face from him. It was true that you were growing quite attracted to him and you despised it.

“Haha, oh you’re so adorable, my little demon hunter. Hiding your true feelings from both me and yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“So feisty…it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

He grabbed your chin with his large hand, making you look up at him.

“You know, you have gorgeous eyes. I could just get lost in them.”

You felt your walls crumbling down as you gazed up at his handsome face. That smile that used to disgust you now charmed you.

“I…I…”

You couldn’t even speak.

“Shh, you don’t need to say anything.”

He brought his lips mere inches from yours, but as you were about to kiss, the sirens came again.

Shit. You thought.

“Till we meet again, my dear.”

He kissed your cheek before leaving.

Let me know, if you would like a part two. <3

#alastor x female reader #alastor x fem!reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x fem!reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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sera8273 · 7 months ago

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“I see now why you were so adamant into freeing your mortal now.” He joked as he smushed more insects in his hand.

When Athena practically promised that her Mortal would make everyone bleed he didn’t at all think that it would also, literally, include everyone.

Said Goddess was currently choking on those bugs of hers in her Talon whist shaking like she was having a nother seizure. Trying to stop any other laughs that hurted her so.

A gurgle of anger caught his attention as he stared in amusement at his now bandaged-up-like-a-mummy uncle.

“Shut….your….fucking…mouth….” He hoarsely replied when one of his tentacles twitched uncomfortably as he coughed up more blood.

Just like Athena, who became her more Owl like form and acted more like one with talons, feathers, and more beak like mouth. Poseidon was more sea creature like. Tentacles, fins for ears, gills for hands, and he was glowing.

A smack on the Sea God head made him stare directly into glowing yellow and irritated eyes.

“Fates above Uncle, when I say to not talk I mean it! That mortal did more damage than we all have realized. One more strike and he would’ve pierced through your skin-“

“Like a fish kabob!” A certain messenger piped in resulting in more laughter from the War God.

“Or worse, your heart and skull would’ve smashed open! Now drink!” Apollo finished hastily as he placed a mint-green and blue potion in the unwilling lips of his Uncle. Not at all caring if he choked on it or not.

“And to think that my own bloodline did that to you.” A chuckle escaped from Hermes who looked at his two other siblings. His eyes turned to pity as he saw his dear sister eyes twitch while her smile looked crooked, forced, and lopsided. Shaking his head, he stared at the War God who was feeding, or trying too atleast, feed their dear sister smashed insects, the only thing she could stomach at the moment. “As much as I despise you with every bone in my body, that was amazing darhling!”

Ares let out a ‘tched’ at that. “He had a lot- and I mean a lot of pent of rage mixed with guilt built up in him. I just gave him one final tipping point for it to break.” His eyes wandered to his bandaged uncle who coughed weakly. Another chuckle escaped from him. “I was not at all expecting for Athena’s Mortal to do that to him however.”

“I have never seen that much loyalty in one singular human before, and that’s saying something.” A certain peacock piped in while sipping at her wine. She was standing in a corner watching both Poseidon and Athena. Mostly the latter however. “And to do this for said loyalty, now that’s a deal.”

“Hah! I heard that he broke off Circe’s spell because he thought of his wife! No wonder Ody got pissed off when Uncle over here said that he would never see them ever again!” Hermes, now with a bag of popcorn, Hermes looked over to his uncle again. Rolling his eyes as Poseidon groaned in pain once again. “I still don’t get how he managed to even hurt you, more or less make you of all Gods bleed red.”

Said God let out a shaky pained filled laugh. “Don’t….fucking….start….with me…..” more blood flowed from his mouth. “He used…my own fucking- ack! Weapon….of all things!” Apollo stared at him with disregard as he turned to his siblings. “From what I’m able to gather. Our dear Athena was able to bleed red because she showed emotions:remorse, guilt, teasing, anger, and will power. Our Uncle also showed emotions, however, not ones that Athena got;Pain, Fear, a taste of his own medicine.”

Poseidon groaned once again in annoyance as Hera and Hermes laughed. Apollo shared a smile with them.

Ares watched and then commented - “Heh, now we just need to try that on dear old Father.”

#epic the musical #Ares #Apollo #zeus #epic the vengeance saga #athena #Hermes #Hera #mentioned odysseus #Athena eats insects because she’s a bird #Owlthena #Most likely OOC #Temporary Mute Athena #toxic family relationships #Bonding over Poseidons pain #what bonds kids more than planning to kill their own parents and uncles?#Hera silently bonds over Poseidon’s pain #Poseidon isn’t suprised by any of this.#Six Hundred Strike Aftermath…sorta

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darethshirl · 1 month ago

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in vino veritas, lucanis+illario angst

The tavern was more dump than establishment. Rotten wood, holed-up walls, a general miasma of darkness and misery even the sun shone bright and cheery outside. Hypothetically, at least. The Drowned District never got enough sunlight even at the best of times, abandoned to its fate by both Treviso and the Maker. Its inhabitants, wretched souls to the last, knew better than to expect more.

Illario should know. He stooped lower in his seat, his cloak's hood obscuring all other sights except for the blood-black liquid of his cup. Disgusting stuff, truly, thin as piss and bitter as life. Illario had already down half a bottle with the grim determination of a man facing the noose. Or a man with nothing left to lose. Which—and not to put too fine a point on it—was more or less the truth.

"You do realize the point of prison is to keep you behind bars, yes?"

Illario glanced up. There he was, his venerable cousin: dressed in feathers and dark purple, the First Talon's mantle as heavy and ostentatious as the king's robes. He looked out of place in these environs, too polished and well-fed to match. Too powerful. Illario bared his teeth into a smile. "I'm only providing a service for you, my dear cousin. I'm afraid your locks are shit. They need replacement."

Lucanis expelled a sigh that seemed dragged out of his very core. He grabbed a chair and sat down, his frown heavy, his gaze resigned. "Thanks for the tip."

"You're welcome."

A serving boy came up unobtrusive as a mouse, brought a second cup and filled it without making eye-contact. Lucanis observed it all in silence, not reacting even after the mouse had scurried away. He didn't drink. "How many times has it been now? Four?"

"Five. The first time I tried to escape in earnest."

"Right." Lucanis reached for his cup and gazed down at its depths, like a sage searching for omens. "You didn't have to kill Enico, you know," he added in a disapproving tone. "He was a good Crow."

Illarrio frowned slightly. "I didn't. I aimed for his head."

"Well, you must have misjudged your force. He never woke up, and now he's dead."

"Oh." Illario searched his heart for an appropriate emotion, and found himself completely empty. Hard to muster up sympathy for others when you're condemned. "Sorry," he offered with a shrug.

At least that made Lucanis look up, finally, and fix Illario with a glare. "Do you even know what the other Talons are saying about you? How they whine and press and keep asking for your head? I could still do it. Tell them all I changed my mind, and kill you."

"Why don't you, then?" Illario challenged, bitter and sharp. Finally, a clear emotion rising through the fog. "Why didn't you?"

Lucanis stayed silent, expressionless, unblinking. He'd do this more and more often lately, ever since he got that demon shoved into his head. It was a foreign look on him, a stranger's habit. Were they speaking to each other somehow, out of sight and in their minds? Was Lucanis simply mad? It made Illario shiver, the way he couldn't read him.

In the end Lucanis shook his head, as if flicking off a thought, and raised his cup. "Because I didn't want to."

And that was that. They drank slowly in this oppressive silence, the very air thin and brittle from all the things they left unsaid. Lucanis swallowed down the swill with stoic resolve, gulp after gulp until his head fell back and his throat bobbed. The Dellamorte way. Illario approved, and motioned for another bottle. Might as well make the moment last.

"So," he said after age, when his cup stood empty and his mouth tasted metallic. He made a grand and friendly gesture, gave a smile—and knocked down a bottle for his troubles. Must be drunker than he thought. But that, like everything else, ceased to feel like too much of a problem. "How's the life of a First Talon treating you?"

More of that infernal staring. Lucanis sat there impassively, unrecognizable. Unapproachable.

"Everything you ever dreamed of?" Illario insisted, the sharp edges of his smile mean and ruthless. Sometimes it felt good to press down on the wound. "Happy to finally achieve the role you were meant for?"

"Do you really want to know?" Lucanis snapped.

"Please, enlighten me."

"I hate it."

Illario told himself to smile. In truth it looked more like a grimace, the blood-frothed twitch of a victim's lips. He liked the pain. He did. "Good."

"I never wanted it."

Illario scoffed with relish. "You martyr."

"I wish you were here with me."

That stung. Illario closed his eyes, feeling nauseous. Unsettled. The alcohol rose up his gorge, wanting to expunge itself like venom. His fingers trembled. "Stop."

But Lucanis didn't stop. He kept going, ruthless like the killing blade, honest like a man who'd already lost. "You want to know the truth? I still love you. Even after everything you've done. How's that for tragic?"

Illario lurched to his feet, his chair clattering behind him. The world spun. He had the sudden, overpowering urge to jump into the murky canal and drown. And why not? The depths would welcome him like all the other dregs. "Take me back." Since you won't release me, one way or the other. "Coward."

Lucanis rose. He clapped a hand over Illario's shoulder, half a jailer, half a brother. His grasp was warm, easy to break.

Illario closed his eyes, and let himself be led.

#dragon age #veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #illario dellamorte #lucanis & illario #antivan crows #my writing #tumblr snippets

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granddaughterogg · 1 year ago

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You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned.

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard.

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers.

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm.

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling.

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight.

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked."

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute."

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards.

"Did you just say that I look like shit?"

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time.

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath.

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant.

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size.

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush.

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins:

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices."

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle.

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled.

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

#ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost simon riley #reader x ghost #simon ghost riley smut #ghost is a fuckboy #the mask stays on #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader

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sugarcreambiteskingdom · 7 months ago

Note

what would a poly relationship with the 5 female legendary cookies from cookie run kingdom be like with a quiet male!reader and can I see some dialogue with them please

Cream Oreo Cookie: Dialogue Coming right up! :D

Sea Fairy Cookie:

You both are quiet actually but not as much as you

Unlike Sea Fairy Cookie she talks a small bit but you..you barely talk to her but just make squeaking sounds and just nod or shake your head or shrug whenever you we're asked a question

She doesn't mind Ofcourse since she understands

You both take good care eachother and show affection by action

You both stay at her tower watching the stars and looking over at his sister's Moon(yes I Headcannon Sea Fairy Cookie & Moonlight Cookie as siblings don't kill me please 😭)

She would at times do your hair and loves to play with it at times

She will tell you stories about the sea and the creatures that lives in

You both always take long walks by the beach or on the water

Sea Fairy Cookie: My Dear Seashell are you ready to go out for our daily morning walk?

You Nodded happily

Sea Fairy Cookie: Here hold my hand and let me protect you my dear

Moonlight Cookie:

At first she thought she was making yo uncomfortable or was doing something wrong to make you upset and not talk to her

Are you scared? Sad? Angry? What is it?! It's been so long since she had any kind interaction with the outside world because of her slumber

But then when you reassured her with writing something on a paper that you don't mind her company she calmed down

She was glad she wasn't doing anything wrong for her Sunshine

Now she doesn't mind if your quiet since that's just how you are and if you don't want to tell her then that's fine

For some reason even in your dreams you don't talk

The two of you cuddle whenever it's time to sleep and would sing to you

Moonlight Cookie: When the river flows~ Surely to the sea...Darling so it goes...Somethings are just meant to be~

You smiled softly as you we're held by Moonlight Cookie

Y/N Cookie: Mm..

Frost Queen Cookie:

You we're a very interesting Cookie for her

A Cookie who prefers not too speak and yet is gentle but kind and energetic even

You have caught her eye and maybe...just maybe melted her cold ice ridden heart

You we're such a gentle and Handsome Cookie she has ever met

You always come by to have hot Cocoa and play board games with her

Despite being a quiet and shy Cookie you we're very entertaining and smart

If you ever needed her for something just call out her name and she will protect you and take good care of you at all cost

Frost Queen Cookie: You called me my little Snowflake?

You nod and hugged her wearing a ton of clothing just to not freeze from her iced body and get stuck like last time

She was surprised but then smiled and hugged back

Frost Queen Cookie: I love you too my little Snowflake

Stormbringer Cookie:

She was confused at first to why you don't want to talk...

She thought it was out of fear for being stroked by lightning since she is the Goddess of Thunder

But when she found out that you are just like that she laughed but not at you Ofcourse (Kind off)

She laughed at how interesting it was for her to meet such a shy Individual let alone be it a Male Cookie

You Mortals never fails to entertain her and surprise her

You we're her listener and she was your Yapper

Stormbringer Cookie: And then! I went and said " YOU DARE CHALLENGE THE ALL MIGHTY THUNDER GOD MORTAL!?"

You just nod and nod and made some "Hm" sounds to show her that you we're listening

Stormbringer Cookie: AND JUST LIKE THAT I STRIKE HIM WITH ONE POWERFUL STRIKE AND THEY WE'RE GONE INTO CRUMBS!!!! HAHAHAHAH!

Black/White Pearl Cookie:

She was annoyed and pissed to why you can't scream or beg for any mercy for her to not crumble you..

It's not fun when your Cookie just stays quiet and accepted fate without a fight or any means to beg and bargain with her

But you we're very interesting for offering such jellies and even seashells to show how a male Cookie like you who tends to be ruthless from her past experience are

She was glad to meet a gentleman let alone be a small little Male Cookie who's so Handsome, Cute and Sweet

Despite being a shy talker you we're loved and given gifts by the all mighty Black Pearl Cookie

If you needed anything from her she will give it to you no second thoughts

Black Pearl Cookie: Where have you been all of this time my darling little Land Cookie?

You tilted your head to the side a bit confused

Black Pearl Cookie: I have met such Awful and Ruthless Male Land Cookie's and goodness by the name of the witches are they HORRIBLE

Is that why she tried to kill you back then?

Black Pearl Cookie: But now your finally here in my arms my little knight and shining armor despite being so small and weak and can be crumbled in seconds

You gulped at that thought but smiled nonetheless and thank her in a very quiet voice for he compliment

#cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x y/n #sea fairy cookie #moonlight cookie #stormbringer cookie #black pearl cookie #white pearl cookie #frost queen cookie #legendary cookies

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blessedbucky · 2 months ago

Text

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 11.7k

summary: here you are, your final year at tokyo metropolitan curse technical college

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, everyone is still mentally ill but we're making it through!, we're going through the five stages of grief, a marriage proposal? it's more likely than you think!, megumi and tsumiki make their entrance!, more of that good ole ableism (internal and external), and FLUFF!

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: i said, fuck it, i'm using the banner until i make a goddamn masterlist. at some point i'll have my life together. just like the past arc will be over at some point! it's flooding outside so i'm flooding your hearts in return! comments, like, and reblogs make me forget i live in america! c':

Story Masterlist

[YEAR FOUR]

“Can we talk?”

Famous last words.

It’s not like you didn’t know this would eventually happen.

Still, you’d been lulled into a false sense of security. It’s been months since the last time he refused to meet you at the door. He’s made small talk with you, and it doesn’t sound forced anymore. The last time that you saw him, he even invited you in for some tea with him and the twins. Damn it, you knew you should’ve forced yourself to accept his offer at the time, but you’d been so desperate for sleep. Had it been a test? Was it Suguru’s last-ditch effort to see if your friendship could recover?

It doesn’t matter. Someone like you doesn’t deserve friendship. You can’t do it right. The closer it gets to the start of the term, the more your dead friend haunts your dreams. The rest are pissed off at you. They’ve lost patience with you and your uncooperative body, your broken mind.

Wordlessly, you follow after Suguru.

Loneliness is your fate.

It’s hard when the park is so packed with other parties, but he manages to find a somewhat secluded spot. It’s on the edge of the massive pond that takes up the park. The ground isn’t as saturated with cherry blossom petals here. They still gently drift along the water. It’s pretty. Fleetingly, you think about drawing the scene, but that whim dies as quickly as it came. It’s enough of a feat to crawl out of bed, let alone pick up a pencil.

Suguru is nice enough to spread a blanket out for you two to sit on. He pulls it out of the backpack he brought along with him. It surprises you to see him pull out a notebook and pencil. Is…he going to draw with the girls later? Ah. He probably does it with them at home. Just another reminder of how disconnected you both are now. The string that binds you two is frayed. Today must be the day he’s finally cutting that last little bit hanging on for dear life.

“Here,” Suguru whispers as he offers you the notebook and pencil. You stare at it blankly, confused. You work your jaw, trying to prepare yourself to speak. You don’t want to. It’s hard. “Word are hard.” Your eyes widen as you stare at him. He cringes, shrinking in on himself a little, misreading your reaction as something negative when it’s…just shock. Pure shock because it’s like he plucked the thought right out of your head. “I’m sorry. Was I wrong? I…I know there are days where it’s hard for you to talk and…I thought…I’m sorry.”

You snatch the edge of the notebook before he can fully pull it away. He’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. Why does he have to know you so well? Can’t he sever the bond cleanly? Does he have to remind you of what you’re about to lose?

Your hands tremble, pages crinkling as you grip harder.

I don’t want to let you go.

Your vision blurs and your entire body trembles now. You hunch over the notebook, tears plopping against the pages, smearing the ink of the lined pages.

When a sob tears its way out of your chest, you drop the notebook and try to hide away. You’ve already done enough. You don’t need to embarrass him. But Suguru cups the back of your head, tugging you forward to press your forehead against his shoulder, limiting the physical contact because he knows you. He knows you. And you hate him. You miss him. You hate yourself. You miss him so fucking much.

“I’m sorry,” he’s whispering when you finally calm your sobbing down enough to hear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve been so selfish. I was selfish for so long. I know you’re hurting. You have been for so long, haven’t you?” Oh. He’s crying now, too. You feel the drops of his tears on the top of your head. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Forgive me for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

You pull your face away enough to breathe in fresh air. “S—” you have to beat your fist against your thigh. This is important. So important. You need to talk. After swallowing the lump that keeps forming in your throat, you manage a hoarse, “I’m sorry for not being stronger.”

Suguru chokes on his own words, trembling harder underneath you. “No,” he manages through his tears. “Squid, no, you’ve been so strong. You’ve had to be so strong for so long. You were giving so much to the rest of us, trying to keep everyone from falling apart, that you left nothing for yourself. I see it now. I’m sorry it took so long. You don’t have to be so strong now. I want to be with—” his grip at the back of your head tightens a little before relaxing. “I want to be back in your life.”

“I hurt you.”

“And I hurt you more.” He laughs wetly. “I forgive you. Is that what you want me to say? There’s nothing to forgive, but I’ll say it. I forgive you. I do. You sacrificed everything to keep me alive and I spat in your face. Thank you for everything you did to save me.”

“Can—” you swallow hard. “Can you believe it when I say it, too?” You realize that you haven’t said the words. Not out loud. It was in your actions, you thought, but you should know better. If there’s anyone who knows that words can get lost in actions, it’s you. “I forgive you, Suguru.”

A shudder ripples through his body. He digs his face harder against the crown of your head, trying to muffle his sob. “I want to get better with you.”

Something in your brain—your heart…it doesn’t want to get better. It rebels against the idea. It thinks you’d be better off going back to that forest, laying down, and sinking down into the ground where you belong. You’re chained to Suguru now, to life, and that festering thing resents him.

This is what Suguru felt like. Grief and guilt were eating away at him, and he was exhausted. He wanted to be swallowed whole because living hurts. It’s hard and it hurts like hell. Maybe he isn’t consciously aware of it, but he’s paying you back. You forced a reason to live on him and he’s doing it in return.

Living hurts, but misery loves company, and you don’t want that for Suguru.

You don’t want him to hurt anymore, but that won’t happen until you stop hurting, too.

What a manipulative asshole.

“I’m sorry.”

This is your last stop on the apology tour. By this point, you’re feeling a little defeated because Shoko and Kento didn’t accept your apology because they claimed there was no need for it in the first place. Shoko had just looked relieved which completely broke you. You didn’t think you had tears left in you after the park, but you were wrong. Then, because she’s nicer than she ever claims you to be, she tugged you forward by your shirt to bump her forehead against yours as a way to hug without much touching.

Satoru has the door to his room wide open, a pocky stick shoved in his mouth. The tilt of his head and squinting at you is a sure sign of confusion. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch,” you rush to explain. “You…you’ve been trying to take care of me…and I was…I’ve been really mean.”

Oh, no. The softening of his features is a bad sign. You can’t get off the hook this easy. Before you can remind him of more of your transgressions, he’s interrupting you. “What are you saying sorry for? Me breathing down your neck?” Your mouth opens, but he shuts you up by shoving a pocky right in your mouth—choco-banana. “I’d get pissed off, too. I know how much I am. I don’t know how you deal with me.”

“You’re not too much, Satoru,” you insist around your pocky. You yank it out before taking a step closer to him, eyes watering with fresh tears. “Please, let me apologize. I should’ve tried harder to talk. Worked harder to be okay for you. I saw how much you were worrying and…and I still let myself be like that—”

Satoru shoves another pocky in your mouth. The softness of his expression has hardened. “Stop hiding yourself from me,” he demands. “I don’t want an act. I want the real Sketch. I don’t want you to have to force yourself to do things that you don’t want to. If you never spoke again or let me touch you again, I’d be okay because that’d be the truest you.” Like almost everyone else today, he leans in, forehead to forehead. “I want every single part of you, even the ugliest ones.”

There’s a twist in your chest. The words are like a shot right through the heart. You don’t know what to do with yourself at his admission. It’s still so…foreign…to be wanted as you truly are. It’s hard for your brain to process that someone is staring at all the ugly, broken pieces of you and saying, I want that. I want it all.

“I want you, too,” you admit through a fresh batch of tears. You’re trying to rub them away, but they’re falling too fast. You’re a mess. He says he wants the ugliness, so he’s definitely getting it now. “I want all of you, too.”

Satoru bumps foreheads again, smiling. “Such a crybaby,” he teases. Gives another solid bump. “Don’t you know I’ll give you anything you want?”

“What did he do now?”

Satoru scoffs loudly as he leans back, tilting his chair backwards to balance on two legs of the chair. “Why’re you assuming I did something?”

Suguru’s head turning in the corner of your eye catches your attention enough to stop glaring at Satoru. Suguru’s lips twitch in amusement before he repeats, “What did he do now?”

The question has you glowering at Satoru again. The bastard sips at his ridiculously flavored soda like he doesn’t have a problem in the world. “He told Ijichi, and this is a direct quote, ‘Give up being a sorcerer. You’re useless. Get your driving license. Or I’ll slap you.’”

Suguru whistles lowly, brows raising. “That bad already, huh? It hasn’t been six months.”

Satoru drops his chair back on all four legs. “Yes!” He continues on, not giving you a chance to defend poor Ijichi. “He’s so bad that Sensei has Sketch on loan from the higher-ups to babysit him on all his missions!” He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks back at you. “You’ve bailed him out every single time. Don’t lie.”

You grimace because it’d be impossible to lie about that when Ijichi makes a public spectacle of giving you a gift as thanks for saving his life again. “He’s…just learning. Not everyone can be gifted like our class. Besides, you were bailing me out all the time during our first year!”

“Yeah, yeah, but you had potential,” Satoru asserts. “I mean, c’mon, that guy’s cursed energy levels are like a drop in the bucket compared to yours.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. He’s not the first to mention this to you. Shoko had said something similar at the start of your second year. “My levels aren’t that much higher than normal.”

“Nah, they actually are. Just as high as Suguru’s, if you wanna know.”

Okay, now he’s just blatantly lying. “Suguru can swallow Special Grade spirits. I think I’d know if my amount of cursed energy was that high.”

“I’m telling you—it is. I see it. You’re just too timid to let it all explode.”

You set the knife that you were using to cut vegetables on the table with a little too much force. “Stop trying to pretend that I’m strong like you all are,” you snap. “I’ve always been the weakest out of our class. You know it, I know it, it’s fine. At this point, pretending that I’m anything more is just you being cruel.”

Suguru senses your shifting mood before Satoru does. “Satoru, drop it—”

“Eh? Why should I? And what’s this about being cruel? I’ve been looking at you with my Six Eyes for four years now. You’re just scared of yourself—”

Finally, you understand the reason for your shifting mood. You know why it feels like something is getting shredded up inside you. You slam your hand on the table, sending food scattering and sauces tipping over. “Because if I was as strong as you say then I should’ve saved Yu! If I’m scared of myself for anything, it’s for being so weak and stupid!”

An uncomfortable silence follows. Too uncomfortable. You refuse to look at them because you know they’ll look at you like the pitiful little thing you are. You want to run. Slip under the covers of your bed. But you promised the twins that you’d have dinner with them tonight. Keeping your head ducked down and teeth gritted, you storm away from the table. There’s no better help to calm down than being around two little girls that are extremely sensitive to moods.

Tapping on Mimiko’s door as warning, you open it enough to poke your head in. They’re surrounded by a large number of plushies that, worryingly, keeps growing in size. You need to talk to Suguru and Satoru about that. The plushies are mostly circular, no limbs for Mimiko to accidentally activate her technique with. It was her technique that was the final straw to the villagers, so she’s terrified to use it now.

No wonder Satoru thought you should coach Mimiko through her fears.

“Can I play?”

Nanako brightens immediately and leaps over her circle of plushies to fling open the door for you. “Miss Squid! Yeah! Come play with us!”

You chuckle, glancing over at Mimiko. “We’re in your sister’s room. Shouldn’t we ask her if it’s okay, too?”

Nanako tries to wave off your words. “Mimiko always wants to play with you.”

“Mimiko does or you do?” You wiggle your wrist away from Nanako’s grasp, instead clasping her little hand in yours to focus her attention on you. “You always want to ask someone if they want to do a thing with you. That’s why I asked if I could play. I was asking you and Mimiko. Sometimes, people want to be alone. Or maybe Mimiko only feels good being around you for the day. That’s an okay thing to feel. We always want to ask to see how you’re feeling, okay?”

Her nose scrunches up. You’re worried that you made it too complicated, but she sighs dramatically. “I guess.” She puts her hands on her hips, scowling at the door. “But tell that to Satchan, too! He never asks if he can come inside! He pops in the kitchen and eats our snacks!”

Satoru might be doing it on purpose, you don’t tell her. He was very offended that you’re Miss Squid and Suguru is Mister Suguru while they gave him an informal Satchan. You don’t know where they came up with the nickname, but it’s stuck. You think it’s cute. Satoru thinks it’s too cute for a grown man.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, too.” Finally, you look over at Mimiko, smiling gently at her. “Is it okay if I play with you?”

“Yes.” Mimiko hesitates before shyly adding, “Thank you for asking if it’s okay.”

Your smile grows and you walk over to sit down next to her.

Satoru doesn’t question your decision to spend the night. Before he leaves, he does look at you like a kicked puppy, but it doesn’t work on you. Not right now. You need time to put this back in the box you’ve slowly been constructing over the months. It’s still flimsy, easily torn open by something as small as what happened before dinner.

You’re on the couch and it’s one in the morning. You’re mindlessly flipping through channels, volume low, hoping there might be something interesting enough to keep your mind from straying. It’s not working out for you. Maybe you should’ve forced Satoru to hand over his Game Boy as compensation.

Behind you, a door quietly opens and closes. It’s not a surprise when Suguru settles down at the other end of the couch. You expected as much. You’re only surprised that he waited this long to get out of bed and come talk to you. Still flipping through channels, you wait for the cliché inspirational speech that he’s probably been trying to prepare. He might mix it up and give you sickly sweet words of comfort.

Instead of what you expected, Suguru leads with, “You have a really gentle heart, Squid.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” you whisper. “It would’ve been better if I just stayed behind in the village. I could’ve worked in the fields with my parents.” You sigh irritably, frustrated with yourself. “Vegetables can’t hurt my feelings.”

“I think your heart would’ve been wasted on vegetables.”

You look down at the space between you two when you hear the slide of something against fabric. His hand rests there, palm facing up. You turn your head back toward the television, wanting so badly to resist him. If this keeps going, you’ll cry, you know it. Not everything is back in the box.

In the end, you cave. You always do with Suguru.

And just like you predicted, your bottom lip starts to wobble when you thread your fingers through his and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I think it’s very brave and you have to be very strong to have a gentle heart in such an unkind world.”

“You might be the only person who thinks that way,” you reply through hitching breaths.

“Haibara thought that way.”

Suguru never plays fucking fair.

Late in summer, nearing the year anniversary of Haibara’s death and your subsequent near-death experience, Satoru is practically glued to the sides of you and Suguru. It’s gotten to the point where you were so worried about him stretching himself too thin between all the warping, worrying, and missions that you hijacked Nanako’s room so you and Suguru are, at least, in the same place now. It’s fine. Nanako ends up in Mimiko’s room most nights, anyway.

September comes and your mood, along with Suguru’s, starts to backslide. There was this American song that Satoru picked at karaoke during your first year to show off his English skills. You’re reminded of it now. Wake me up when September ends. If only. If fucking only.

Your misery is in company, though. More than you thought you’d have when the semester started. When you and Satoru never leave Suguru’s apartment during the first week of September, you think you both wordlessly decide that you’re going to spend the entire month there.

Briefly, you worry about Shoko, about Nanami, but they’re distracting themselves with Ijichi. They spend the month trying and succeeding in peer pressuring Ijichi into driving them around the city, into taking weekend trips. He’s working on his learner’s permit, so they reason with him that this is just more practice. He’s only supposed to practice in his driving class, but practice is practice, they say.

You theorize that Nanami is so invested in Ijichi because it’s keeping Ijichi from sorcerer work. Nanami never wants blood in his eyes again.

The week before Haibara’s death anniversary, your anxiety skyrockets. It’s never enough to be an attack, but it hits you out of nowhere. You’ll just be looking through some documents that your real estate agent sent you about apartments and your heart will start racing for no reason. Your brain will be on high alert. No threat but the paper on the table in front of you. You try to be quiet about it.

You don’t think you’re hiding it very well because Nanako takes up Satoru’s place beside you on the futon. Mimiko follows after her in the middle of the next night. It helps you keep your head on straight. You have to focus really hard on keeping your mind calm because you can’t start sobbing with two little bodies curled around the front and back of you. It would wake them up and put unnecessary weight on their shoulders.

On the night of the anniversary, while you’re helping bathe the girls, Mimiko shyly requests a bedtime story. It’s a request you’ve never heard out of them before. You thought you knew all their nightly routines, but maybe Suguru forgot to mention it? Worried that you’ve been disrupting their peace, you assure her you’ll get Suguru before bed.

“You,” Mimiko insists with a force you’ve never heard from her before. “I miss your voice,” she adds in a mumble. All that confidence from her goes as quickly as it came.

So, not subtle at all with your anxiety. You hadn’t even realized that you were talking less.

You’re not good at coming up with things like stories on the spot, but you have a compromise. When you three are settled on the futon, one head on your chest and the other on your stomach, you recount memories of your childhood with Suguru. You talk about the adventures you two would go on to find him spirits to swallow. They listen to it all. No complaints. And on the cusp of sleep, Mimiko makes you swear that you’ll take her to Osorezan.

Silence settles in after they drift off to sleep. Even the world outside seems muffled now. It is only you and the steady breaths of Mimiko and Nanako that lulls you into…a state of calm. Not peace, not rumination inside your head, just…calm. Time passes slowly with you waiting for something.

Something that you don’t realize you’re waiting for until Satoru’s cursed energy explodes in the middle of the apartment. You hear the creak of Suguru’s bedroom door as it opens, but it doesn’t close like it should. Suguru doesn’t like to sleep with his door open. A leftover of his childhood. An open door being closed bring too much attention to someone trying to hide from a raging father.

Before your phone blinks to life, you’re already debating doing it. Get in here, Satoru’s text reads. You chew at the inside of your cheek, struggling with your yearning to go to them and your guilt screaming at you that you don’t deserve such a thing. You wait too long because another text comes through. I know you’re awake.

Then, the nail in the coffin lights up your phone. Come here, Suguru demands.

Alright. Well, they’re insisting, so…

Very carefully, you peel yourself away from the girls. They stir when you gently move their heads down onto their pillows but quickly settle. You tiptoe out of the room, gliding down the hall to Suguru’s. Just a moment, you hesitate, but you step past the threshold.

You are so tired.

There is a space between their bodies that you crawl up on the bed to lie between. Surprisingly, Suguru is the one to make the first move. You don’t think he nudges you, but you end up on your side, his massive body pressing in behind yours. He draws his knees up in the bend of yours, pelvis pressed against your ass, arm wrapping around your waist, head perched on the top of your head.

Satoru slides forward, chest pressed to yours, knees bumping. The tips of his fingers, cold as ice, touch your cheek. His feet touch yours, as equally cold. A furnace behind you, a block of ice in front of you. It’s weird how they balance each other out. Even weirder that you’re not overwhelmed by being so crowded. Sometimes, you can’t help but think that they’re as familiar to you as your own body is and that’s why they can touch you so much more freely than anyone else.

As Satoru keeps petting your face, glinting blue eyes watching you as he does, your own slowly close. You find yourself drifting to that place you were in with the girls. You are both present and not—enough to not let your mind roam to places it doesn’t want to be but not enough that you’re overwhelmed. You feel like a blank slate, being chiseled away at to match what they want you to be right now. You mold yourself to their bodies and, at some point, your breathing matches theirs.

Or…maybe it’s you all are becoming one with each other. Pushing and pulling until there’s synchrony. Suguru is the one to curl around you. Satoru’s skin warms. As your breath matches theirs, their breaths match each other, match yours.

Before floating off completely, you remember last July.

Remember the softness of Suguru’s face as your naked bodies were pressed together, soaked in sweat yet satisfied. The morning after, the darkness under his eyes was a little lighter. You’d been a little less worried about him. It’d been nice. And you have that same thought now.

Yes, this is peaceful enough.

On the morning of the year anniversary of your near-death experience, you debate on whether to keep yourself scarce around Suguru or not. While you don’t want to remind him of what happened, if you stay away then that might give him the wrong impression. Either option poses a risk, but you decide to treat it like any other normal day. Maybe if you’re calm enough, it can radiate out to infect him.

Like any other day, you motivate yourself as you’re putting on clothes after your shower. After you dropped the girls off at therapy, you went on an assignment with Ijichi. The curse exploded, blood splattering all over you. Yes, you know the blood crumbles away, but it’s about knowing it was there, so you always try to shower after missions. It was relatively quick, so Suguru was still in bed when you came back.

There’s coffee on. That, combined with the shower running, you were sure that it’d wake Suguru up. Your hunger is getting close to the point of being painful. Yesterday, he said he’d take you out to breakfast. You’re worried that he’s still not up, so you go to his room, hesitantly knocking on the door.

“Sugu—”

What happens next is a whirlwind that makes your head spin. The door that you’re leaned against is flung open, making you lose your balance and tip forward. You don’t hit the ground because your wrist is snatched, and you’re tugged forward against a very solid chest. You don’t even have the chance to look at his face because he spins you around quickly, crowding you forward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

Sprawled out on the bed now, you try to lean up on an elbow, finally looking at Suguru. His eyes are wild with panic, just like his hands are when he straddles you on the bed and starts shoving your shirt up. You yelp at his insisting cold fingers and catch his hands. “Suguru!” You struggle to keep his hands still. He tilts his head up, moving his gaze away from your torso to stare at you directly. “Suguru,” you repeat his name. “What’s wrong?”

His breaths are tight, fast. “I need to see it’s not there,” he pleads. “I need to know you’re not hurt.”

“I’m not,” you insist while motioning toward your exposed torso. You understand what’s going on now. You can’t count how many times you’ve woken up, the smell of blood and flesh rotting in the hot sun in your nose. “See? There’s nothing.” You guide his hands to set them on your abdomen. Shoko made it in time to prevent scarring. He runs his fingers across your exposed, smooth skin. “I’m okay. It’s okay now. It’s over.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, but tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you so much. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me, please—”

You grab him by the shoulders, yanking him down until his chest smacks against yours. You slip an arm around his back, the other threading through his hair. “I’m not leaving,” you assure him. He’s so warm against you. “I forgive you. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I forgive you.”

It’s the first week of October when Satoru announces, “I want to do something.”

Here’s the thing about Satoru—he’s brash and entitled. That’s just never going to change. It’s better than it was when you first met him. What happened last year with you seemed to really humble him. With all that said, he’s only the most considerate with you and Suguru and, even then, it’s more that he gives you a choice to come along with him. In the end, he’s still going to do whatever it is that he wants to do. These days, he’ll sometimes warn everyone what he’s doing, but most times, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word permission.

You know whatever he wants to do right now is going to be bad. Really bad. It’s all about Satoru’s wording there. Saying that he wants to do a thing rather than he is going to do a thing. It’s almost as if he’s asking for your permission. And by asking for your permission, he’s also making you culpable.

Not like that matters anymore, you being an accessory to potential crimes and all. You’ve already lied to the higher-ups. You’ve already, for all intents and purposes, brainwashed the higher-ups. You’re not sure there’s a crime worse than that other than straight up slaughtering them all.

Alright, fine, you’re simply frustrated because these plans of his always end up with you having the most massive headache.

You sigh, resigned to your fate and already feeling drained. “What did you do now?”

“Nothing!” At your deadpan stare, he hunches in on himself, going on to defensively mutter, “Nothing yet. Jeez, cut me some slack, Sketch.”

Yeah, there it is. “Fine. What areyou going to do?”

“…adopt a kid.”

You promptly choke on the plum Fanta that he went out of his way to hunt down for you at two different konbini. In hindsight, you should’ve known he was trying to butter you up. No, no. You’re getting distracted. What did he just say to you? What the fuck did he say?

Satoru slaps you on the back to help clear your airway. Through your coughing, he rushes to explain. “Look, right before he died, Zen’in Toji told me he had a son that was going to be sold off to the Zen’in clan within a few years—”

Are you finally having that brain aneurysm? Words are coming out of his mouth, but they don’t make sense. “You…want to adopt the son of the man that almost killed you?” That did kill him, however briefly that death was, but you don’t say those words out loud.

Satoru rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching you with a look that’s more curious than anything. “I didn’t expect you to be the type to hold the sins of their father against them.”

“It’s not—” you sigh irritably, not wanting to concede that he’s right. Your kneejerk reaction is somewhat because of that. But there’s more to it than that. “This isn’t like Nanako and Mimiko’s situation. We had to get them out of there. If they stayed there, they would’ve died. Why are you doing this? Just to stick it to the Zen’in clan? You can’t collect kids like one of your Digimon figurines.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he pouts. Not exactly helping his case against your argument. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you’re worried that he’s going about this all too fast, getting too impatient. He…he can be a little careless when it comes to other people. That’s not a good thing to be with a child.

Something about what you said to him strikes a nerve because he flatly says, “They’ve been alone for the last year.”

“They?”

“Fushiguro Megumi and his stepsister, Fushiguro Tsumiki. Zen’in Toji took his wife’s surname. Whoever the wife was, she ditched the kids along with him, if she’s even alive. I can’t imagine being married to that guy was safe.” How do you know all this? “I’ve had the clan watching them, poking around for information,” he answers before you can even ask the question.

“But how could they be alone? It’s been a year. Someone must’ve said something to the government by now—”

“How’d Nanako and Mimiko end up alone?” Right. He’s right. Sorcerer or not, people are always falling through the cracks. “I know the Zen’in have been sniffing around, too. Someone with their clan stops by once a week, making sure they’re fed. They’re probably trying to butter the kid up.”

He’s serious about this. Satoru is actually, genuinely serious about this. “Why are they so interested in this boy, anyway? I know that Zen’in Toji walked away from the clan, technically, but they didn’t chase after him. They didn’t want him. Why do they want his son now?”

“Zen’in Toji was an anomaly in the system. For as much as he hated them, though, he was still a Zen’in. Anyone with their blood has the potential to manifest the clan’s inherited technique. You remember it, right?” You nod. There are many techniques in the clan, but the Ten Shadows is coveted. Not many can match a Gojo with Limitless and the Six Eyes, but a fully realized sorcerer with the Ten Shadows? That’s dangerous for a Gojo. “The kid manifested that technique.”

“Shouldn’t he be with people who can teach him more about his technique?” You grimace as you ask the question.

He snorts. “You know what sucks about having a really famous technique that’s been in your clan for hundreds of years? It’s that everyone knows how it works. Same principle with all the other clans.” You’re still skeptical. It must show on your face. “How do you think that kid’s old man got the best of me?”

After all this back and forth with him, he still hasn’t answered the most important question. “Why are you doing this, Satoru?”

Satoru turns away from you, head tilting up to stare at the setting sun. “Fushiguro Megumi is going to be strong. He could be as strong as me. I want that. We need that if we’re going to tear down everything and start over.” He pauses. “But…it’s more than that. This kid should have a choice in what happens to his life. The Zen’in want a weapon. No one should live that way. I didn’t know how…” His brows furrow as he tries to properly articulate himself. “You looked me in the eye and told me I was stupid for believing I was only meant to be a weapon. All the money in the world couldn’t compare to how it felt when I heard you say my name,” he confesses. “This kid shouldn’t have to sit around and hope that one day he’ll meet someone like you.”

There’s that twist in your chest again. It leaves you breathless and shaky. Giddy and warm. It’s such a complicated thing. So big that it makes you want to run and hide from him when he makes such bold declarations like this about you. Once upon a time, you were convinced that you were a stupid, freakish hick from a village that would stick to your best friend’s side until he grew out of you. You still think that.

Why is someone as important as Satoru so insistent that you’re something special?

Am I really worth all this?

Satoru always answers yes.

Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you give a shaky laugh. “How am I even supposed to respond to that?” Face warm, looking everywhere but him, you reach down to lace his fingers through yours. “Okay.” You’ve made your decision. “Okay, I’ll help you give this boy a chance.”

As if you were going to end up anywhere else.

A pair of brown eyes blink up at you.

Déjà vu.

This little girl hasn’t been physically beaten, at least, but you stop that line of thought as soon as it floats across your mind. The Fushiguro siblings and the Hasaba twins are each a side of the same coin. These siblings may not have any physical scars, but the mental scars are there. After all, to be willingly abandoned by the people meant to love and protect you…isn’t that another form of violence?

That same fierce protectiveness that you’d felt on the night you first saw the twins is pressing in again. You have to remind your body that there’s no physical threat here. There are only ghosts here now and the children haunted by them. You can’t speak to her brother, but Tsumiki reeks of loneliness. She’s worryingly trusting, happy to invite you in even before you introduce yourself as someone like her brother.

She insists on you sitting at the kitchen table while she makes tea. Tries to, anyway. “We haven’t gotten our groceries from Megumi’s family yet,” she explains apologetically. “You and your friend can have the last tea bags! If Megumi gets mad, don’t worry! I’ll make sure to take the blame!”

Satoru already explained the plan. He used the word adopt very loosely. If the siblings both agree to come under Satoru’s wing, under his protection, then a caretaker from the Gojo clan will come live with them. Is the Gojo caretaker in Tokyo yet? You don’t want to leave these children alone. It’s been less than ten minutes with Tsumiki and you’re already making plans on how to sneak her into your dorm room until you sign the lease on an apartment.

“Ah, Megumi’s home!” Tsumiki announces brightly after she throws open the window of their apartment.

Not even twenty-years-old and you’re going to be looking after four children.

What a weird little life you’ve come to have.

“Is there a reason we can’t celebrate here?”

Satoru is absolutely scandalized by the suggestion. If he had pearls, he’d be clutching at them tightly to his chest. How is this drama queen your best friend? “What kinda lame shit is that? Sketch, c’mon!”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing out smoke before she passes it on to a grateful Kento. After that trip they took in September, he came back a smoker. Not only has she passed the bad habit to Suguru, but now Kento! She ignores your scathing glare. Next to you, Suguru chuckles lowly, and then pulls out his own carton of cigarettes because he thinks he’s such a cheeky little bastard, doesn’t he?

“Oh, but celebrating with your stuffy clan is somehow less lame?” Shoko shakes her head. “Hard pass, Gojo. Why are we even here, anyway?” She gestures toward herself and Kento. “You’ve never invited us to your birthday before. It’s always Duck and Geto.”

“Oi, Nanamin likes my clan.”

Kento sighs, and he’s close enough to Satoru that the smoke gets in his face. Satoru gives an exaggerated cough. “I appreciated that they took things more seriously than you. That doesn’t mean I liked them. Now, please answer Ieiri’s question. Why am I even here?”

That’s also an answer you’d like to hear because Shoko is right, after all. Even when you and Suguru were fighting, you both put your pride aside to stay with Satoru at the Gojo estate. You’d both been painfully polite, things had been awkward, you’d hardly spoken, and you’d slept on a futon on the floor rather than in the bed, but you’d been there. That’s how it’s always been since you started high school.

“It’s our last year!” Satoru says with a pout. “Everyone is splitting up after we graduate!”

Everyone sighs in perfect unison which only makes Satoru huffier. “Satoru,” you start patiently, “have you forgotten that you’ll be in school with Suguru and Shoko?”

Satoru blinks. “What?” He looks at Shoko. “Since when? I thought you were going to medical school in Kyoto.”

“Oops,” is all Shoko says, clearly having forgotten to tell Satoru. Admittedly, you forgot, too. You’ve spent so much time with Satoru and Suguru this year that it’s hard to remember the days where you haven’t been with them. You assumed that he’d been part of that conversation.

Even Kento is surprised, watching her with raised brows. Respecting him more than Satoru, she explains her decision. “Tokyo has the better school.”

Suguru and you share a look, but you turn your head away, lips pursing. Shoko’s lying, but it’s not your place to correct her. Her business is her own—that’s what she’d snapped at you when she’d announced her plans, and you’d poked too much at her flimsy excuse. Things haven’t gotten better with Utahime. You’re the only one Utahime trusts to talk to casually to now, but neither she nor Shoko have told you what their blowout was truly over. It can’t be only about a rejection. There has to be more.

“More importantly,” Suguru speaks up in a wry tone, “I can’t leave the girls alone for a weekend.”

Satoru brightens. “We can bring them with us! They can finally meet Megumi and Tsumiki!” Another sigh from everyone. “Hey, what’s with this attitude? What’s wrong with that?”

“We’ve only been around them for two months,” you point out. “We shouldn’t overload them with new places and unfamiliar people.” He opens his mouth to protest. You stop him immediately because you’ve had this argument with him before. “They need stability.”

“Not everyone is as flippant as you,” Kento bluntly says. Satoru’s sputtering response is once again disregarded because Kento’s phone pings. Yours chimes not even a minute later, giving away who is on the other end. Kento doesn’t even look at the text. He turns toward you. “I’ll supervise Ijichi this time, Senpai.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to overwork yourself and you’re already at five missions in a row with him,” you fret.

“Gojo’s been more unbearable lately,” Kento deadpans.

Shoko and Suguru laugh at poor Satoru’s expense. “Good idea, Nanami,” Shoko praises. “Sucks I’m not allowed to be in active combat, or I’d do the same.” She pulls out her cell phone, glancing at the screen. “I’m getting lunch with Mei. Duck, Geto, talk some sense into Gojo before he scars these kids for life.” As she’s walking away, she says loudly enough, so you can all hear, “I can’t believe he wants to be a teacher. I worry for the future of any kids under him.”

“This counts as bullying, Ieiri!” Satoru shouts after her. When she’s out of sight, he puffs his cheeks out in indignation. “This is what I get for trying to be a nice guy. And neither of you defended me, either! I thought you’d be proud that I was trying to include everyone!”

“It wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan, but your heart was definitely in the right place,” you reassure him. You mean that, really. Suguru gives his own silent praise by gently stroking Satoru’s hair. Satoru leans into the touch, his metaphorical tail wagging. It’s cute. They’re cute. It should be criminal to be that cute.

Satoru has been on the bench this entire time. As soon as Suguru started stroking his hair, he leaned over to press himself against Suguru’s side. Because of the angle, Satoru can see what’s behind you. Suguru’s had his eyes on Satoru, expression soft, but he blinks to awareness when Satoru wonders aloud, “Who do you think the normies are?”

In that moment, someone else says your name.

Dread drops like a heavy stone in your belly.

You pray that in the time it takes you to turn around, the world will right itself. You hope that your brain is playing tricks on you and that that they won’t actually be standing there. You’re not that lucky, though. Unfortunately, you’re still as sane as ever, and they’re actually here.

You don’t know how or why, but your mother and father stand before you.

As soon as your mother has your attention, she throws herself forward to wrap her arms around you. You tense under the sudden contact. It feels…foreign now. Then again, it always did. You can’t even remember the last time your father hugged you. Your mother used to be more physically affectionate, but it tapered off. It was easier to just not touch you at all rather than deal with a potential tantrum if you were having a bad day.

“Hi, honey,” your mother whispers in your ear before kissing your temple.

“Hello, Mother,” you respond awkwardly.

Chin on her shoulder, you watch your father watch you, giving a nod of acknowledgement before glancing behind you. “Suguru,” he greets stiffly. Just as curtly, Suguru returns the greeting. Your father’s mouth thins the longer he keeps scrutinizing Suguru. “I hope you’re not smoking, too,” your father says to you, clearly disapproving of Suguru’s habit.

“You’re here to do the exact same thing,” you shoot back testily. He is, he’s pulling the carton out of his pocket right now. “What does it matter if it’s now or in three months after graduation?”

Your mother sighs softly before stepping away, pity on her face. “Are you having a bad day?”

And, ugh, the way that she asks it. To you, it’s always felt like your mother thinks you stopped aging on the day that you got your diagnosis. It hasn’t even been five minutes, and your nerves are already shot, being continually grated on by the presence of your parents. The tips of your ears are starting to burn in embarrassment. Suguru may be used to your parents, but Satoru has never met them. It’s almost an unspoken rule between the three of you to speak of your parents as little as possible.

Your father sighs your mother’s name, exasperated. “Don’t coddle her. She can’t act this way at the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

Your mother and father glance at each other then back to you. “Yes,” your father starts slowly. “On December seventh,” he goes on as if that’ll jog your memory of something you don’t know about. When he only receives the same blank stare, his brows raise in genuine surprise. “Did you not get the proposal?”

The dread in your stomach spreads, slithering through your veins like ice. “Proposal,” you repeat flatly. “What proposal?”

“Oh, wow,” your mother laughs nervously. “The messenger did say they liked to do things the old-fashioned way,” she reminds your father before turning back to you with a smile. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything is fine. Why don’t we discuss this with your boyfriend and his father? We’re staying with his clan right now.”

“Boyfriend?” You, Suguru, and Satoru repeat with the same high-pitched alarm.

Your parents are as perplexed as you three are. Your mother shrinks under the volume of your voices, so your father takes over, calling out your name. It’s spoken sharply, with that expression that means he won’t tolerate you getting hysterical. He’s always had little patience with a diagnosis he still refuses to believe in. Time away has given you little patience for him, too, and you need to know what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Father,” you snap back. “What are you talking about?”

“Zen’in Naoya is offering a marriage proposal,” your father finally clarifies. You wish he hadn’t. Panic is shooting through you faster than the dread. “They want to meet to discuss the details on December seventh. They’re housing us at their estate, so we don’t have to pay for a hotel in the city. They even offered to dress us for the important occasion.”

You’re positive your brain is broken because, out of all the things, your brain gets stuck on one detail. “I have plans on that day,” you blurt. “It’s Satoru’s birthday.”

Your mother’s head tilts to the side. “Satoru?”

“Mine and Suguru’s best friend,” you elaborate dumbly.

After lighting his cigarette and taking a few puffs, your father’s gaze slides back behind you. “Suguru, can you take your friend so we can speak to our daughter alone?”

As much as you’d like to run away with them from this conversation, you’re afraid of what will be done on your behalf if you don’t put your foot down. You look over your shoulder at them, nodding in agreement with your father. Suguru does what he’s always done around your parents—bite his tongue and grit his teeth. Same as you’d done with his. Someone getting involved in family affairs always made things worse.

Satoru clearly isn’t happy. His fists are clenched and he’s visibly angry, but Suguru takes him by the upper arm. Suguru leans in to whisper something quietly. You nod with whatever Suguru is saying. Satoru is still pissed off, but when Suguru starts pulling him away, he goes.

They don’t go far, though, because of course not. Enough to get out of sight but still be close enough to hear the conversation with your parents. Perks of being born a sorcerer is slightly enhanced senses. You can sense their cursed energy, lingering around the corner, fluctuating wildly with their emotions. You doubt yours is much better.

“Honey, can’t you just ask your friend to move around your plans?” Your mother takes your hand. You grit your teeth against the contact. “If he’s really your best friend, he’d want the best for you. This is your future we’re talking about.”

You shake your head, wrenching your hand away from hers. “I already have my future planned out,” you hiss. “I’m about to put an offer in on an apartment! I have a job lined up for when I graduate!” They’re both stunned. Good! You want them to be! You want them to see how far you’ve come! “I’m not getting married, especially not to Zen’in Naoya. He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve only met him once, actually, and he was the biggest asshole I’ve ever met!”

“You’re getting hysterical for no reason,” your father says dismissively. “I don’t know where your manners went in the last four years, but I know you did something right around the boy if he’s asking to marry you.”

“I’m allowed to be angry when I’m not even given the courtesy of knowing about my own marriage proposal,” you snarl.

Your father shrugs. “Marriage proposals traditionally go through the parents, you know that.”

“You shouldn’t base your opinion of someone after one meeting,” your mother tries to soothe. “But, honey, I need you to really think about your future. They’re a very wealthy clan. They offered the family a…large amount of money. We’re not only going to be taken care of, either. You will be, too. You need that.”

“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it for the last four years! Did I not just say that I’ll have my own apartment and a job soon?”

Your father scoffs. “Suguru needs to live his own life. He won’t be taking care of you anymore after graduation.”

“I know you’re doing good right now,” your mother starts while putting her hands on your shoulders. “And I’m so proud of you for that. But I don’t think you understand how much work it is to live on your own. How long before it all gets to be too much for you? I know how you are. You’re going to get overwhelmed. I really doubt that your new job is going to be accommodating to your condition.”

Why does she have to keep doing that? This has always been one of your biggest insecurities. Yes, you’re going to have bad days, but who doesn’t? Maybe you have a lot more than a normal person, but you’ve been doing fine until now. You…yeah, okay, you’ve had Shoko and Suguru to help you, but…you’re prepared! You have a notebook you plan to use to write down all the due dates for your bills when you’ve got the utilities set up.

You’re not helpless.

You…you’re not…

Your mother sees the doubt and keeps hammering it home. “We’re not expecting you to get married so soon, of course not. You should get to know him, though. If you married into this clan, you’d never have to work a day in your life. They have workers on their estate that do all the cleaning. The only thing that you’d have to be is a good wife. Nothing else. You could do your art, I’m sure, as long as it’s not those little drawings you used to do. That might be too much, but you could keep yourself busy with drawing something natural, right? I want you to be taken care of. That’s all your father and I want for you.”

“We’re meeting with them regardless,” your father declares with an air of finality. “They’ve paid for kimonos for you and your mother, a yukata for me, and they’re housing us. It’s the least you can do.”

“It’s going to be so nice,” your mother gushes. “The kimono are beautiful. I can’t wait for you to see the ofurisode that they got for you. Oh, and Naoya’s mother already let me have a peek at the menu. The main course is going to be grilled octopus with a ginger miso butter—”

“Seriously?!”

Satoru’s booming voice echoing in the air has you and your mother yelping. Your father’s eyes narrow at what’s behind you which you can only guess is Satoru stomping back over toward the three of you. His cursed energy is a frenzy, more unstable than you’ve ever seen from him before. You’re not trying to resonate with him, but his rage is palpable. You whip your head around so fast that it puts a crick in your neck, watching as Suguru tries to hold him back, but no one can stop Gojo Satoru when his mind is dead set on something.

“Satoru—” you start in a placating tone, only to be interrupted by him.

“Do you even give a shit about her?” Satoru demands to know of your parents. His stature and fury have your mother scurrying back to your father’s side. Stubborn until the end, your father doesn’t balk at Satoru’s anger. “Seriously? Have you paid any attention to her all these years? If you cared, even a little bit, you’d know that she can’t stand wearing an ofurisode! You’d know that she fucking hates octopus! These are basic facts about her!”

Your father remains indifferent. As a non-sorcerer, it’s not like he can feel Satoru’s cursed energy. And…you suppose that he’s gotten good at ignoring your breakdowns. He’s probably brushing Satoru off as hysterical, too. “Do you expect us to throw these things back in the Zen’in clan’s face?”

“Yes!” Satoru answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I know how loaded their clan is! Replacing a kimono is just a drop in the bucket! There’s two days to get them to change the menu to something she likes, but I bet you don’t even know what she likes to eat! You don’t know anything about her! Who the fuck do you think you are to show up and talk to her like this? You’re just bulldozing over everything she says, making her think that she’s some helpless maiden that can’t even lift a pinky without hurting herself or some shit!”

Your mother nervously tries to defend herself, “We want what’s—”

“Why are you really doing this?” Satoru continues, completely ignoring her. “Is it the money? Are you just whoring your kid out because they threw a bag of money at you? Because that’s what you’re doing! You can’t come into our world, acting like you know a goddamn thing when you don’t. My clan’s been in a pissing match with them for centuries. We know all their dirty little secrets and those guys would treat her like a glorified baby machine. That’s all women are good for in their eyes. Does that sound like the kinda place you’d want your daughter in?”

“Sounds like you’re biased, then,” your father remarks dryly. Satoru’s flush deepens as his anger only builds in response to your father’s apathy. Your father has that effect on people, yes. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your clan. If your clan has a sliver of the wealth that the Zen’in does, then you can never understand my family. Money is security. It’s freedom.”

“You’re trading her freedom for yours,” Satoru snarls. “You’d have her nail a mask on her face and dance for people that don’t love her and never will. The only ones that would fit in perfectly there are you. You’re all the same, making her feel terrible just because she doesn’t fit your bullshit definition of normal. If you want to be like them so bad, then here.” Satoru flings something directly at your father’s face. The sleek, black credit card that his family gave him when he left for school nails your father right between the eyes. “There’s your freedom. Spend as much as you want. It’s all chump change to me if it gets you to fuck off and get off her back.”

And that’s it. Satoru always makes sure to have the last word. He snatches your hand and you almost trip over your feet trying to keep up with his long, furious strides. Suguru’s parted mouth, probably a reflection of your own, snaps shut. He tries to dodge out of Satoru’s war path, but Satoru grabs Suguru’s hand, too. You can almost see the steam blowing out of his ears and he’s angrily muttering under his breath as he drags you both along behind him.

“Those are your parents, Sketch?” Satoru is disgusted and in disbelief. “How did someone like you come from people like that?”

“Uh…probably because I had Suguru?” He’s closing in on the torii gates. You are not going to let him drag you down those steps like this. It’d be incredibly embarrassing to be a sorcerer and die because you fell down some stairs. “Satoru, I know you’re upset but please calm down. I’m going to fall and break my neck.”

Suguru doesn’t even give Satoru the chance to stop himself. Suguru grabs you by the back of your collar to hold you steady as he forcibly stops and brings Satoru with him. Suguru drops his hold of your collar, big hand spreading out across the back of your neck, sliding down to the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” Suguru asks quietly.

Familiarity is such an odd thing, you realize suddenly. No, that’s not it. Because you spent more time with your parents than Satoru and Suguru, technically. So, what is it that makes their presence a comfort while such a brief encounter with your parents only brought dread and distress? It felt invasive when your mother hugged you so suddenly, but you crave more of Suguru’s touch. Just your mother so close had you on edge, but Satoru and Suguru both are pressed in close, and it just feels like home to you.

You want Satoru to warp you all back to Suguru’s apartment and curl up in Suguru’s bed with both of them against you. And you know that they’d do it. They’d be happy to exist with you, no expectations of you talking to them the rest of the night because they understand talking is hard for you when you’ve had a really bad day. It doesn’t bother them when you cry. They’d hold you if you asked them to or they’d busy themselves by reading or gaming if you didn’t want to be touched. They just get it. They get you.

This is what it feels to be known.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly because your heart is so full up. “Just…tired. I think I want to nap until it’s time to pick the girls up from school.”

“I’m breaking out the PlayStation and playing Resident Evil Two while you do!” Satoru declares with a huff. “I need something to kill!”

You chuckle. “Just go blow up a curse.”

“Like I’m leaving you alone! Give me more credit than that!”

You knew it. You just really wanted to hear him say it.

Graduation is weird at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.

For everyone else in the country, the third year is supposed to be your last. And, technically, in the eyes of Japan, you have graduated. But in the jujutsu world, the official graduation ceremony happens in your fourth year. There’s an option to leave after the third year, for those who decide that sorcery isn’t for them or if they feel that they’re ready to walk the sorcerer path on their own. Those people don’t have a ceremony. They’re sent on their way with their diploma.

Most opt for the fourth year, obviously. It’s spent with steadily increasing assignments and slowly decreasing supervision. Not to mention that it gives you time to prepare for the life of an adult. Apartment hunting in Tokyo might be more difficult than actual sorcery, so you get a year to build up enough for a deposit while finding a place to live.

In the months leading up to your March graduation, it’s…actually been a relatively normal experience that you expect any other high schooler in Japan to go through.

Other than the deadly curses and marriage proposal thing.

That offer in December fell through. You’d been a little heartbroken about it, but you and Shoko kept at it, and each found your own apartment. Satoru, of course, already had something waiting for him courtesy of his clan. Out of your friend group, he’s the furthest away in terms of distance. No one can afford to live in his part of the city. You’re the closest to Shoko which Satoru and Suguru were not happy about. You and she are a walk away from each other while you’ve got to take a train to get to Suguru and Satoru.

Suguru, incredibly intelligent and having almost finished his third year before he dropped out, manages to get his high school diploma before it’s time for the university entrance exams. It’s still disorienting to think that he and Satoru are going to be teachers. All your best friends keep nudging you to go to school with them, get an art degree. You respectfully decline. Your high school diploma is doing you just fine. You’ve already met with headquarters to hash the details of your upcoming job.

Here you are, at the start of adulthood, and it’s a surreal experience.

The official ceremony is small and quick. There are only three of you, after all. All the higher-ups are in attendance and some other high-ranking sorcerers. Shoko’s parents, still in their scrubs, are in the little crowd. Satoru’s, too, and some of the other Gojo elders. In the back is Suguru and Utahime with a gaggle of children with them. They’re all still skittish around each other, so the twins stick to Suguru while Tsumiki and Megumi linger with Utahime until the ceremony is over and then they’re both at your side.

Between all the congratulations and the gift giving, you lose track of Satoru until he sends you a message asking you to meet him somewhere private.

The campus only has one cherry blossom tree, situated by a koi pond. It’s one of those spots on campus that are meant to promote meditation. No one spends much time at it, though, because…well, a group of friends hanging out at one tree is kind of lame. It’s also an excuse to go down into the city to have a cherry blossom viewing party.

For two people, though, this one tree is more than enough.

“Are you okay?” This is the umpteenth time today that you’ve asked him this question.

And, for the umpteenth time today, Satoru lies with a nervous, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

That’s what you’d like to know, damn it. Satoru has been like this all day long. A bundle of nervous energy. Fidgeting and leg bouncing so fast that he rattles the tables he’s sitting at. He didn’t even make a scene during the graduation ceremony! It was a shock to everyone. Kento, who stuck around after receiving his diploma because he’s opting for early graduation, asked you and Shoko if Satoru was alright.

Frustratingly, you think that Shoko knows what’s up with him. She’s watched him with amused eyes, tracking his movements, and smirking if he ever catches her staring. They’ve had so many unspoken conversations with those looks. And she won’t spill the beans! She’s downright chipper! And when you told her that you were headed to talk to him, you swear that she’d been downright vibrating from excitement. It was, frankly, a little terrifying.

Since no one else is around, you feel like you can freely speak. “Satoru, even without my technique, you’re smothering everyone with your nervous energy.” His shoulders practically climb up to his reddening ears. “I don’t want to come off as pushy,” you quickly add. “I’m…worried, is all.”

“Just…gimme a second,” is all he says before he starts pacing.

You blink. Because wow. He is really nervous. Have you ever seen him this outwardly anxious before? Your mouth opens, closes, but you don’t know what to say. All you can settle on is, “Um…okay…”

Minutes pass by with it going like that—Satoru pacing back and forth, stopping occasionally to nervously run a hand through his hair. He’s not panting, per se, but his chest is rising and falling a little quicker than normally. You’re genuinely worried that he’s on the verge of a panic attack. The darkening of his cheeks and tips of his ears definitely don’t ease that concern, either. At around the five-minute mark, he yanks his sunglasses off, shoving them in his pocket, so you can outright see the nervous glances he shoots you.

This breaks you—even though you told yourself that you’d give him the time he asked for. Your nerves have reached their critical breaking point.

“Sa—”

Satoru puts his foot down. Literally. Stomps on the ground as he turns to face you with a shout that startles you. “I want to take you on a date!” His fists are clenched tight, and his chest is puffed out. The stance he takes is almost…aggressive. As if he’s about to attack you. Completely at odds with what he said before and what he says next. “A romantic date!”

To make sure that Satoru totally cements his seriousness in this matter, he practically rips the second button off his blazer, stomps forward, and shoves it into your hand. Blush now spreading to his entire face, he guides your fingers to close around the button, unable to meet your gaze as he does. Then, he carefully steps away, staring down at the ground, fists balling up again as he waits on you to reply.

Even someone like you, clueless about subtleties and social rules, understands what this signifies. The buttons of a student’s blazer are symbols. The top is the self. The third is your best friend. But the second, the one closest to the heart, is meant for the one you like the most. Romantically, like Satoru said.

Clutching the button against your chest, you quietly ask, “You…like me?” It’s important that you clarify this. You need to know that he understands what this second button and giving it away means. “You want to date me? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Satoru whispers. “I…” He hesitates. Such a rare thing from him. “I really like you.” He glances away. “I get it…if you don’t like me in the same way. We…you’re still my best friend, even if you reject me. And…um…if you need more time to think about it—”

“Yes,” you blurt without a second thought. His head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. Before he can ask what that means, because his lips are already parting, you rush to clarify. “Yes, I want to go out on a date with you.” Your other hand flies up so both of them are keeping his given button pressed to your chest.

“You’re…you’re not doing it because it’s what you think I want…right?”

“No,” you answer softly after navigating your racing thoughts and feelings. “I really want to.”

Satoru takes a cautious step toward you. “Okay, but…but you’re allowed to change your mind!” It is both a heartwarming and bewildering experience, watching the blossoming hope in his eyes warring with his anxious mind. “And, uh, we’ll wait until after we move into our new places! If you get too…y’know…flustered seeing me then I don’t have to help you like I said! I can have some people from the Gojo estate—”

You’re hot all over, buzzing with a giddiness that you’ve never felt before. Are you sure you’re not the one that’s going to be too flustered, you want to ask him. You resist the urge. It took him a lot of courage. He’s absolutely been in his head all day long. His heart rate needs some time to recover after this. “As long as you’re okay with it, I still want you to help.”

Satoru collapses on the bench next to you, exhaling so loudly that it startles you. He hunches over, elbows on his knees, hanging his head. “Good,” he wheezes while doing a thumbs-up. “That’s awesome.”

“That’s awesome,” you agree as giggles burst free from your chest.

You never stop clutching that button to your chest.

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