#he doesn’t consider it a burden but he carries it like one!

[her0maris]

fucked up in the club about hero again. do you know what it’s like to have a sibling 3-4 years younger than you? or any younger sibling at all? one of the most important things of being a good older sibling is knowing when your wants, your needs are less important. sometimes you’ll be tired at the end of a long day and so frustrated and upset and irritated with your younger sibling, and you have to kill those feelings in the moment because they look at you and you know that in that moment you hold the power to hurt them in a way no one else on the planet can, and that you must never use it. hero is a character who is always holding himself back, prioritizing how others feel, because that’s what comes of living with the heavy knowledge that a word from a sibling- especially an older one, and especially a Perfect older one- can carry more weight than an entire speech from someone else. when you’re older and bigger your parents make sure you know it: they look up to you. you need to be a good example, show them what they should be doing. both physically and emotionally, you have the power to hurt them- and you know you never want to. and then that’s what you get used to. oh wow this came out ventier than i thought huh

[rafecameronssl4t]

My say || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: an argument between reader and rafe about having a nanny for your son.

Warnings: heavy angst!!! Mentions of breastfeeding

Word count: 1,283

A/n: I hope this kinda gvives you a better insight of what reader x rafe's relationship is like!! I AM SO EXCITED TO CONTINUE WRITING FOR THIS AU!!! send thru any requests you might have :)

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Y/n, you can’t be serious,” Rafe says, his voice laced with disbelief as he stares at you, searching your face for any sign that you might be joking. But your expression remains unyielding, eyes steady as you readjust Leo in your arms, his small hands clutching at you as he feeds. “I’m serious,” you say, your tone casual as you shrug, though the gravity of your words lingers heavily between you.

The tension in the room is palpable. Rafe scoffs, a bitter sound escaping his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief. Without another word, he pushes himself up from the couch, his movements stiff with frustration. He crosses the room with purposeful strides, heading straight for the bar cart. The clink of the whisky bottle against the glass is sharp in the silence, followed by the harsh slam of the glass hitting the cart, the sound echoing through the stillness of the room.

“He hasn’t even turned one yet, and you’re already considering leaving him in the care of someone we don’t even know?” Rafe’s voice is strained with disbelief, his eyes narrowing as he struggles to grasp your logic. . “What is this really about? You want more time for yourself? To get your hair and nails done, meet up with your friends, take boat rides?” His voice is laced with incredulity, each word carrying a mix of accusation and frustration as if he can’t believe you would even consider such a thing.

“You want to hand him over to a stranger—someone who doesn’t know his little habits, his cries, the way he needs to be held to fall asleep?” Rafe’s words tumble out in a rush, his voice thick with a blend of incredulity and concern. It’s as if he can’t even comprehend how you could entertain the idea, the very thought seeming impossible to him.

You let out a soft, disbelieving snort, shaking your head. “And you do, Rafe? You think you know him better than anyone else?” Your voice drips with sarcasm as you meet his gaze, your eyes daring him to challenge you. “When was the last time you were the one pacing the floor at 3 in the morning, trying to calm him down? When have you spent hours figuring out his cries, trying to understand what he needs?”

Rafe stares at you, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You’re his mother—” But before he can finish, you cut him off, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “And I’m trying, Rafe! I’m trying so hard, but it never feels like enough. I can’t seem to get it right, no matter what I do.” Your voice cracks as the weight of your words hangs between you, the raw vulnerability in your tone cutting through the tension like a knife.

“I’m 21, for heaven’s sake!” you exclaim, your frustration boiling over. “I’m still figuring this out, and every day feels like a battle. I’m doing my best, but it’s like I’m constantly failing.” The words spill out in a rush, your voice wavering with the pressure of trying to live up to expectations that feel impossible to meet.

Rafe’s eyes narrow as he leans forward, his voice biting, “Don’t sit there and pretend you weren’t raised for this,” Rafe says, his voice cold and cutting. “You knew from the moment your parents arranged this marriage that your role was to be a mother. They didn’t raise you to chase dreams or find yourself—they raised you to bear children, to fulfill your duty as a wife. So don’t act like this is some surprise or burden you weren’t prepared for.”

You feel a sharp pang in your chest as Rafe’s harsh words sink in, his coldness taking you by surprise. For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, the sting of his accusation cutting deeper than you expected. You roll your eyes, more out of defense than annoyance, trying to push the hurt aside. Exhaling slowly, you steady yourself, refusing to let him see how much his words have affected you.

“Leo will have a nanny,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel. “This isn’t up for debate.” The words come out with a finality that leaves no room for argument, though the hurt lingers beneath your resolve. “End of conversation.” Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, his frustration boiling over into raw anger.

“No, he will not!” he snaps, his voice sharp and intense. “I won’t have a stranger looking after our son—my son!” His words are a burst of anger, his eyes blazing as he struggles to contain the fury coursing through him. You roll your eyes again, your patience wearing thin as Rafe's anger fuels your own frustration.

“You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you retort, trying to keep your tone steady despite your mounting irritation. “In my family, we all had nannies before we were even four months old—” But before you can finish, Rafe’s voice rises in a harsh yell that slices through your words. “This is our family, Y/N!” he shouts, his frustration exploding into full-blown anger.

“Our family! Not just yours. We don’t have to raise our children the way your parents did!” His voice echoes with the force of his rage, the intensity of his glare adding to the weight of his outburst. His voice reverberates off the walls, filling the room with a palpable tension as Leo starts to fuss.

His soft whimpers quickly escalate into full-blown cries, the sound piercing through the charged atmosphere. You flinch at the noise, your heart tightening with a mix of anger and frustration. “Will you lower your voice?” you snap, your own frustration surfacing as you hastily adjust your top, trying to soothe Leo by bouncing him gently in your arms.

Rafe runs a hand through his buzz cut, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh. His shoulders are tense as he plants his hands on his hips, watching you with a mixture of frustration and disbelief while you struggle to soothe Leo. “Look what you’ve done,” you say sharply, your voice cracking with frustration as you glare at him. “He was perfectly calm before you started yelling.”

Rafe’s eyes flash with irritation as he retorts, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, blame it all on me,” he snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He turns and heads towards the door, clearly ready to escape the charged atmosphere. As he walks past you, you reach out and grip his arm, the strength in your hold betraying your desperation.

He stops and looks down at you, his expression softening slightly as he registers the plea in your eyes. “Please, just don’t argue with me right now,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “Leo will be better off with someone who knows what they’re doing.” The earnestness in your plea hangs heavy in the air, cutting through the tension.

Rafe takes a deep breath, the anger in his eyes giving way to a more contemplative look. “I get to choose who the nanny is,” he says, his voice still firm but less harsh. You nod slowly, a quiet resignation in your expression as you release his arm, allowing him to leave.

[chosok-amo]

BLUE : GETO SUGURU

& sum. you’ve been feeling blue lately, more sadder than usual this past week, and all you’ve ever felt is just sadness and you don’t know what happened to you, all you’ve ever wanted is just being hugged by your boyfriend.

warning. non-sorcerer au, fem! reader, angst to comfort, so much comfort lol.

you’ve been feeling down lately, a heavy, unshakable sadness settling over you that you can’t quite explain. it’s been there for a while now—lingering for a week, maybe even longer. it feels as if a dark cloud has settled over you, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe, to move, to do anything without feeling weighed down. even the smallest things seem difficult; every movement feels like dragging yourself through mud, and your mind feels stuck in a fog. the sadness wraps around you tightly, leaving you hollow and empty, and no matter what you try, it just won’t go away.

you’ve lost your appetite completely. food seems tasteless, and there’s no desire to eat when there’s no joy, no spark to fuel you. you hardly have the energy to cook or even consider what you might like. days pass, and you notice how hollow your stomach feels, but the thought of eating feels pointless. it’s like there’s a pit in your chest that even the best meal couldn’t fill.

but geto notices. he always notices, especially when something’s wrong with you. he knows you better than anyone, and even when you try to put on a brave face, he can see right through it. he watches you carefully, studying every small shift in your expression, every slouch of your shoulders, the way your eyes seem a little more distant lately. his intuition, his attention to detail—it’s like he’s tuned into every unspoken feeling you have.

he doesn’t waste any time. geto starts showing up more often, making sure you’re not left alone with the heaviness pressing down on you. whenever he has a break from college, he’s there, by your side, making sure you’re eating, gently coaxing you to have at least a few bites. he’ll sit beside you, bringing your favorite meals, reminding you with a gentle, soft voice that food might help you feel better. he’s patient, never pushing too hard but persistent enough to remind you he’s there and he’s not going anywhere.

and he stays close. his presence feels steady, grounding you when the sadness feels overwhelming. he doesn’t leave you alone for too long, always keeping you within his sight, whether he’s sitting across from you, reading while you rest or quietly checking in every now and then, gently brushing your shoulder or squeezing your hand just to let you know he’s there. his touch is always warm, comforting, and he seems to know just how much you need it, how much you need him, without you having to say a word.

geto doesn’t let you slip away. even when you feel yourself pulling back, withdrawing into that sadness, he pulls you back softly, reminding you of his care, his unwavering support. he’s there through it all—through the silences, the times when words feel too heavy to speak, the moments when you feel like you’re drowning in the quiet ache in your chest. he becomes your anchor, the one steady thing in the midst of it all, and he reminds you, bit by bit, that you’re not alone.

you walk slowly towards him, your shoulders slouched, feeling the weight of sadness pressing down on you harder than it has all week. today feels different—heavier, sharper, and the ache in your chest is almost too much to bear. it’s like every step you take is carrying the burden of everything you’re trying to hold back, and you can feel tears welling up, threatening to spill over at any moment. your throat feels tight, and your vision blurs a little as you get closer to him.

geto looks up from his book the moment he senses you nearby, his eyes softening as he takes you in. his book is forgotten almost instantly, and he sets it aside, opening his arms without a word, inviting you into his warmth. you don’t even have to ask; it’s like he can feel your sadness, see every bit of the weight you’re carrying, and he just knows you need him.

you slide into the couch next to him, his arms already waiting to envelop you, pulling you gently against his chest. as you curl up against him, feeling his warmth seep into you, the ache in your chest loosens just a bit, allowing you to breathe a little easier. you press your back against him, sinking into his embrace, and his arms tighten around you, holding you as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

with your head resting under his chin, you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat a calm, grounding rhythm beneath you. you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and as soon as you exhale, a few quiet tears escape, trailing down your cheeks. you’re grateful for the way he just holds you, silently and steadily, not rushing you to speak or asking what’s wrong. instead, he lets you exist in this moment, letting you feel whatever it is you need to feel, knowing he’s here beside you.

geto leans in closer, his breath soft against the top of your head, and his fingers slowly rubs your back. his touch is gentle, tender, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he applies even an ounce of pressure. his shirt is soft against your cheek, and warmth from his body seems to melt into you, offering a small comfort amidst the storm of sadness within you.

he stays quiet, the silence between you heavy yet somehow not uncomfortable. the feeling of your tears staining his shirt. he doesn’t speak, not yet—he knows now isn’t the time for words, but rather, time for silent understanding and support.

he dips his head, nuzzling gently into your hair, savoring the familiar scent of you. his warm breath dances over the top of your head, a silent reassurance that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere.

but the moment his arm slips beneath your neck and he wraps himself around you, it’s like a dam finally breaks. your tears, already close to spilling over, begin to fall freely, quicker than you can hold back. you don’t even try to stop them, letting the wave of sadness flow out as you cling to him, your hands gripping his arm like he’s the only anchor holding you in place.

you bury your face against his arm, your quiet sobs muffled against the soft fabric of his shirt. his warmth, his steady presence, all of it feels like a lifeline amidst the storm raging inside you. you squeeze his arm tightly, needing the reassurance of his solidity, his unwavering support. the way he holds you, so tenderly, so carefully, only makes you feel more secure. it’s as if he’s sheltering you from the sadness, wrapping you up in his embrace as if he could protect you from everything that feels too overwhelming to face.

you feel his hand slowly rubbing your back, each gentle stroke grounding you, easing the ache just a little bit more. his touch is comforting, gentle yet full of strength, and you can feel his silent promise in every movement—that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going to let you go.

geto feels the shuddering sobs rip through your body, your hold on him impossibly tight, like you're clutching to him as a lifeline. a protective feeling, deep and strong as iron, washes over him, and he pulls you closer, molding your trembling frame to his own. he tightens his arms around you, almost as if he could somehow hold the pieces of you together, keep you from shattering beneath the weight of the pain you were carrying.

he doesn’t try to speak, nor does he try to ask what’s wrong. he simply keeps rubbing soothing circles into your back, his lips hovering above

your head in a silent gesture of comfort. he keeps you tucked against him, holding you close, trying to offer whatever tiny bit of comfort he can amidst the storm of sadness within you. his heartbeat thuds steadily into your ear, a constant rhythm. it says, “i’m here, i’m here, i’m here,” over and over, and his arms, wrapped so tightly around you, are a steady, gentle pressure, promising that he’s not going to go anywhere, that he’ll just keep holding you together until the storm passes.

he murmurs soft, soothing endearments into your hair, his voice a low, tender rumble, “i’ve got you, i’ve got you…i’ve got you...”

he keeps you firmly against him, the feeling of your tears, the quiet sobs, a reminder of the immense pain you’re feeling. he nuzzles his face gently into your hair once more, the motion a silent, tender expression of his love.

for now, he just wants to hold you, to be a steady presence for a bit longer, and slowly, gently try and ease the sadness ripping through you.

his voice is a soft murmur, gentle yet filled with concern. “c’mere,” he whispers, his fingers brushing lightly along your shoulder, coaxing you to turn toward him. something in his tone is so tender, so patient, that you find yourself instinctively following, shifting in his arms until you’re facing him.

without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his torso, holding onto him tightly, as if he’s the only thing keeping you from crumbling. you bury your face against his neck, his familiar scent wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. the warm notes of vanilla and the rich depth of oud wood settle your heart just a little, bringing a faint sense of peace amidst the lingering sadness. the scent is so unmistakably him, grounding you, reminding you that you’re safe here, held close in his arms.

geto’s hand comes up, his fingers threading softly through your hair, his other hand pressing lightly against the small of your back, keeping you close. his touch is soothing, gentle in a way that lets you know he understands, that he’s here with you in this moment, sharing in the weight of your sadness without needing to say a word.

“i’m here,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. there’s a softness to his voice that makes you feel seen, truly understood in a way that words alone can’t convey. he holds you even tighter, his arms a steady fortress around you as you let yourself sink further into him. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to stop your tears; instead, he leans into them, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, another quiet assurance that he’s with you.

his hand moves slowly, rubbing small circles on your back, a comforting rhythm that gradually eases some of the tension in your shoulders. the steady rise and fall of his breathing, his warmth, his scent—all of it pulls you away from the sadness just a bit, like a quiet anchor grounding you amidst the storm.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, his voice steady. “take your time… i’m not going anywhere.” with those words, you feel a small shift, a fragile flicker of calm, knowing that you don’t have to face this alone. held in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and gentle reassurance, the ache in your chest softens, if only slightly. and somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, you feel a little bit of your sadness begin to lighten, piece by piece, as you rest against him.

geto leans back against the couch, pulling you along with him so you’re now cradled against his chest. his hands keep rubbing your back slowly, his touch firm, gentle, comforting. he doesn’t try to push you to speak, he just lets you cry into his chest, his shirt growing wet from your tears.

he keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you, holding you close, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. he dips his head down, pressing a few gentle kisses on the top of your head, the gesture soft, tender, trying to soothe away some of the ache.

after a while, your breathing evens out, and your tears finally begin to slow. your fingers, which had been gripping his shirt so tightly, start to relax, your hand slipping slightly as the weight of exhaustion settles in. geto glances down and notices the change, his eyes softening as he realizes you’ve drifted off to sleep in his arms. the tear tracks glisten faintly on your cheeks, and your face is marked by the quiet aftermath of sadness—eyes and nose red, the last traces of tears still fresh on your skin.

he doesn’t move, barely even breathes, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled over you. instead, he adjusts his hold gently, one arm wrapped securely around you while his other hand lifts, fingers tenderly brushing stray strands of hair away from your face. he takes in every detail of your face, the vulnerability in your expression, the exhaustion that has finally pulled you into rest.

geto’s thumb grazes lightly across your cheek, wiping away the remaining traces of tears with a touch so soft it’s almost reverent. his heart aches, seeing the sadness etched onto your sleeping face, and he silently promises to be here, to stay by your side through every moment, no matter how heavy it gets.

carefully, he shifts a bit to make you more comfortable, pulling a nearby blanket over you both, making sure you’re warm and secure in his arms. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if he could transfer some of his own strength to you, a silent promise that he’s here, that he’ll carry the weight with you.

with one last look at your peaceful, albeit tear-stained, face, he settles back, his hand resting protectively on your back as he lets you sleep, holding you close through the noon, fall asleep with you in his arm.

the soft evening light fills the room, muted and gentle, casting a cozy glow around you and geto as you slowly wake from your nap. both of you lie on the couch that geto has carefully rearranged into a makeshift bed, layered with soft pillows and a warm, thick blanket draped over your legs. the couch-turned-bed isn’t just a place to sit anymore—it’s a little haven, a comforting spot where you can rest and feel safe, and geto made sure to set it up so you’d feel just that.

your eyes are puffy, still swollen from the tears you shed earlier, and there's a lingering heaviness, but it feels softer now. after crying so much, your body feels lighter in a way, like some of the sadness has flowed out, leaving a quieter calm in its place. geto’s presence beside you has worked like a balm, soothing some of the hurt that had been weighing on you. on the tv across from you, Coraline is playing. its familiar, almost dreamlike scenes add to the comforting atmosphere, something nostalgic and easy for your mind to focus on without effort. it’s a small but thoughtful choice—geto put it on because he knows it’s a favorite, and its soft glow and gentle storytelling help keep you grounded.

meanwhile, geto is in the kitchen, preparing dinner with quiet care. he’s decided to order takeout from your favorite restaurant; he didn’t feel like cooking tonight, but he knew you needed something special, something comforting. it’s a thoughtful choice, not just because he’s sparing himself the effort of cooking, but because he knows how much little gestures like your favorite food can lift your spirits. even though he isn’t beside you at this moment, he’s thinking of you, and every action he takes tonight is meant to comfort you in the gentlest, simplest ways.

outside, rain taps heavily against the windows, the steady sound creating a peaceful rhythm that wraps around you like an embrace. the world beyond the glass feels quiet and distant, softened by the rain. the storm outside feels almost symbolic of the emotional storm you went through earlier, but now, it’s calming, soothing rather than overwhelming. the sadness in your heart, once so sharp and heavy, feels lighter now, thanks to the release you allowed yourself and the comfort geto has provided.

a little while later, geto returns, balancing two plates of food carefully in his hands. he sets them on the coffee table in front of you and settles down beside you, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. there’s a gentle smile on his face as he hands you one of the plates. “figured this might cheer my favorite girl up,” he says softly. there’s warmth in his eyes, a quiet, tender look that tells you he knows exactly what you need tonight.

taking the plate, you feel a deep sense of gratitude welling up. “thank you, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft, touched by everything he’s done for you without needing words to explain. you both begin to eat, the comforting flavors of your favorite meal and the cozy blanket wrapped around you adding to the sense of warmth that fills the room.

geto’s eyes dart to you every now and then as you eat, studying your expression, trying to gauge your mood. he keeps his voice soft, the volume just above a whisper, as if he's afraid of disrupting the comforting atmosphere between you.

“how are you feeling?” he asks gently, keeping his gaze on your face, waiting for your response. he continues eating, but his attention remains on you, his eyes never leaving yours, the concern in them apparent but not suffocating.

you pause, spoon halfway to your mouth, as geto's question registers in your mind. the softness in his voice, the way his gaze never wavers from your face, makes you feel a warmth that’s almost overwhelming. taking a small spoonful of your food, you savor the familiar taste, letting it bring a quiet calm over you before meeting his eyes.

turning away from the television, you nod and offer him a little smile, one that speaks volumes more than words could. “i feel a lot better now,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “thanks to you.”

geto’s features soften, a small, gentle smile spreading across his face in response to your words. he sets down his fork for a moment, pausing his meal to reach out, his hand gently resting on your knee, giving it a small, encouraging squeeze.

“good,” he murmurs, the word simple, yet filled with relief. he looks at you, the concern in his eyes replaced with a warm, affectionate glow. he keeps his hand on your knee, his thumb gently caressing your skin in small, soothing motions.

he picks up his fork again, continuing to eat while still maintaining his grip on your knee, his fingers gently massaging it through the fabric of your clothes. it’s a small, subtle gesture meant to provide comfort, as if he wants to maintain the physical connection with you even as you're both eating.

“i’ll admit, i was pretty worried about you earlier,” he admits gently, his voice soft and quiet, as if he's hesitant to disturb the peaceful atmosphere between you both.

a small, sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you glance down at his hand on your knee, feeling the warmth of his fingers gently massaging in a comforting rhythm. his touch feels grounding, like he’s trying to keep you tethered to him in the softest way possible.

you look back up at him, letting out a quiet chuckle. “i got pretty dramatic, didn’t i?” you say, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone but softened by the warmth in your eyes. your fingers absentmindedly brush over his hand on your knee, grateful for his steady presence. “it’s just been one of those weeks… everything felt so heavy.” your voice trails off, but there’s relief in your words. “but… honestly, i feel a lot better now. crying it out helped, i think.”

geto listens to your words, his gaze never wavering from your face as you speak. his expression is soft, understanding, a warm comfort in itself. as you mention how crying helped, he gives your knee another small, gentle squeeze.

“there’s nothing wrong with letting it out,” he says gently, a subtle nod of agreement. he sets his fork down and shifts a bit closer to you, his hand on your knee slowly moving further up to rest on your thigh, his thumb still gently massaging your skin.

he looks straight into your eyes, his gaze intense but not overwhelming. “i’m always here, you know that, right?” he whispers, his words an earnest assurance. “you don’t have to hold it all in by yourself.”

he gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, filled with care. he keeps his hand on your thigh, the pressure firm, warm, a promise of steadiness.

you nod softly, setting your plate down on the table as you turn your full attention to him. scooting closer, you place your hand over his chest, feeling the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. there’s something so grounding about that gentle pulse, a reminder of his unwavering presence.

“i know,” you say quietly, your voice carrying a weight of gratitude that words alone can’t express. “and i’m so, so grateful for that.” you let your fingers spread slightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his chest, as if it’s wrapping around you too. looking up at him, you can see that he means every word, his gaze so genuine and reassuring, a quiet promise that he’ll always be there to help carry the weight when you need it.

see as you move closer, geto responds by shifting his position, opening his arms to pull you flush against him. he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you in so your side is pressed against his chest, a warm, solid presence that grounds you. his hand returns to your thigh, continuing its gentle massaging motions, the touch filled with a tenderness that speaks louder than words ever could.

he lowers his head so his chin rests against the top of your head, his eyes drifting half-closed as he holds you close, his heart beating steady and strong beneath your touch.

you rest against him, feeling his arms wrap around you with such warmth, you let your hand drift up, fingers splaying over his chest as you quietly murmur, “i missed you.” your voice is soft, a little shaky, but it’s filled with the depth of everything you’ve been holding in.

for a moment, you just stay there, listening to his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, feeling his hand on your thigh, his chin resting atop your head. it feels like home, like an anchor, and it makes you realize just how much you’ve missed being fully present with him. he’s always been close, physically there whenever you needed, but you were lost in your own thoughts and emotions, feeling distant even when he was near.

geto’s hold on you tightens ever so slightly as you speak, his arm around your waist pulling you in closer, drawing you as close as humanly possible. he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your head.

“i missed you too,” he whispers against your head, his voice low, barely above a murmur. there’s a subtle hoarseness to it, an undertone of emotion that belies the depth of his own longing. he holds you like this for a few more moments, silently taking in the feeling of having you in his arms once again.

his hand on your thigh slowly moves back down, his fingers lightly tracing patterns onto your skin, a gentle, soothing gesture.

he shifts his head, pulling away just enough so he can look down at your face. his expression is filled with a tender affection, the kind that comes from knowing someone on a deep, intimate level.

“i know things get heavy, but we’ll get through it together, okay?” he whispers, his voice filled with unwavering determination. he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch as soft as a feather.

you nod softly, feeling a warmth swell in your chest at his words, the reassurance in his tone anchoring you more than he could ever know. with a quiet, ��okay,” you lift your hand, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb gently brushing along his skin. you can feel the faint stubble under your fingertips, grounding you in this tender moment, in the closeness you’ve both been missing.

with a gentle pull, you guide him closer, closing the small distance between you until his lips meet yours. the kiss is soft, slow, filled with unspoken words and quiet promises. it feels like both a reassurance and a reconnection, his lips warm and comforting against yours, the world around you fading away as you focus solely on him.

geto responds to the kiss instantly, his hand on your thigh moving to cup the back of your head, pulling you in closer. he kisses you back just as gently, his lips moving against yours in a slow, tender dance. there’s a quiet need in the kiss, a silent plea for you to understand the depth of his feelings, how much he’s missed this connection.

as the kiss deepens, geto pulls you fully into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. he continues to hold you tightly, almost possessively, like he doesn’t ever want to let go.

he finally pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead resting against yours. his breathing is ragged, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, his hand slowly caressing the back of your head as he tries to regain some control over his emotions.

“god... i’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice filled with a raw honesty. he pulls you even closer into his lap, pressing his face into your neck, his warm breath against your skin.

your arms instinctively wrap around his broad shoulders, holding him as close as possible, like you’re afraid he might slip away. a soft whisper escapes your lips, “i’ve missed you too, baby,” the words laced with all the emotions you’ve been holding in, each one released as you hold him tighter.

you feel his warmth seep into you as he presses his face into your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment. your fingers gently trace over his back, feeling the tension slowly ease out of him, a silent promise that you’re here too, that you won’t let go.

geto seems to melt into your touch, his body relaxing as your fingers trace over his back. he lets out a low, soft groan, the sound vibrating against your neck, his hands slowly moving down to grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

he pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, a mixture of vulnerability and affection in his eyes. “don’t ever shut me out like that again, okay?” he whispers, his thumb gently caressing your hip. “promise me you’ll talk to me, no matter how shitty things get.”

you nod, a soft smile curving your lips as you meet his gaze. “i promise,” you murmur, your voice filled with sincerity. there’s a warmth in his eyes that melts away any lingering shadows in your mind, and it feels like a weight has finally lifted, a silent understanding passing between you both.

your hand drifts to the back of his neck, fingers pressing gently into his skin, feeling the warmth there as you trail small, soothing circles. you let your fingertips sink slightly, grounding both of you in the closeness of the moment, letting him feel just how much he means to you.

his eyes close for a brief moment as he leans into your touch, his breath coming out in a soft sigh. he pulls you even closer, his grip on your hips secure, as if he never wants to let you go. “good,” he whispers, his voice a bit rough but filled with quiet relief. “because i can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

geto takes a shaky breath, his arms tightening around you involuntarily as he speaks again.

“you’re everything to me,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice low and hoarse. he buries his face into your skin, taking a deep breath, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, the scent of you.

he stays there for a moment, holding you tightly, his embrace both protective and gentle at the same time. with each passing second, you can feel the tension slowly seeping out of him, replaced by a quiet, intimate comfort.

your fingers tighten slightly against the back of his neck as you whisper, “you’re my everything too.” your voice is barely a breath, but it’s filled with all the warmth and affection you have for him.

closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into the moment as his lips brush softly against your neck, each kiss tender and unhurried, as though he’s savoring every inch of you. his warmth spreads through you, soothing, grounding, making you feel safe in a way only he can.

you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, a quiet invitation for him to stay close. your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him as if you’ll never let go, and with every gentle press of his lips against your skin, it’s like he’s telling you without words that he’s here, he’s yours, and he’s not going anywhere.

as you tilt your head, giving him more access to your neck, a soft, guttural noise escapes geto’s lips. he takes your cue, gently nuzzling against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish against the sensitive spots.

he continues to shower your neck and shoulder in soft kisses, his lips leaving a trail of warmth everywhere they touch. his arms remain tightly wrapped around you, holding you against him, a steady, anchoring presence. you can almost feel the depth of his desire and devotion in each gentle kiss, his actions speaking louder than words.

he slowly pulls away from your neck, lifting his head to look at you again, his gaze heavy with emotion. his arms loosen slightly, his hand slowly tracing up and down your back in a gentle caress.

he takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of warmth and raw desperation. he runs his tongue over his lips, a subconscious gesture that betrays his own desire.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough and hoarse. “my god, you’re sooo beautiful.”

a soft hum escapes your lips, and you smile up at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the look in his eyes. his words wrap around you like a gentle embrace, and you feel yourself falling deeper into the love and devotion reflected in his gaze.

without saying a word, you lean in, closing the distance between you until your lips meet his in a tender, lingering kiss. it’s gentle at first, a simple press of your lips against his, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment. but as the kiss deepens, you can feel the raw emotion flowing between you—his need to be close, to remind you just how much he loves you.

your hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin as you pour every ounce of affection, trust, and love into the kiss, letting him know that he’s your everything, too.

geto responds to the gesture instantly, a soft, almost guttural sound escaping his lips as your kiss deepens. he returns the gesture with fervor, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin.

he matches every movement, every touch, as if he’s pouring all his pent up emotions into the kiss. it’s a silent communication, an intimate exchange that speaks volumes. he kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, languid dance.

as the kiss continues, geto’s grip on your hips tightens even more, his touch almost possessive, but not in a controlling way. it’s like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip away from him again.

he moves his mouth over to your jawline, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin there while he gently pulls you impossibly closer against him. his breath is shaky, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. he’s holding you like he never wants to let go.

geto is practically panting against your skin as he continues to kiss and nuzzle your neck, his breath hot and heavy, his lips leaving a trail of wet, feverish kisses. his grip on your hips is firm, his fingers digging into your flesh, as if he’s trying to anchor himself against the raw tide of emotions coursing through him.

“god,” he mutters hoarsely, his voice edged with a hint of desperation, “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this... missed you.”

his lips continue to trace over your jawline, trailing up to your ear, kissing and nipping at the sensitive spots. his touch is urgent, almost needy, his movements driven by a raw, aching desire.

“i need you,” he whispers into your ear, his voice gruff and low. “i need to feel you, taste you, touch you... i need you to know how much i love you.”

a small gasp escapes your lips as geto suddenly rises, lifting you effortlessly with him. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, your arms slipping around his neck, holding him close as he carries you toward the bedroom. is strength and the intensity in his gaze send a thrill through you, and you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest as he holds you so securely, as though he’d never let you go.

you lean closer, brushing your lips near his ear, whispering, “me too, baby.” the words come out breathless, laced with all the longing and affection you feel for him. geto’s hold tightens at your response, a quiet hum of satisfaction escaping him as he carries you down the hallway, his steps steady but quick, his desire evident in every movement.

geto enters the bedroom, his movements sure and steady, like he has a single-minded focus on getting to the bed as quickly as possible.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands coming up to cup your face, his fingers gently caressing your skin. he looks down at you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and desire.

“i need to feel you,” he repeats, his voice gravelly and intense. his hands slide down to your shoulders, slowly pushing you back onto the bed, his body following, his weight settling over you.

geto’s hands are everywhere as he strips your shirt off, his touch urgent and impatient, but laced with a tender reverence.

his hands roam over your now bare skin, tracing along the curves and lines of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch. his fingers graze over your waist, your ribcage, your shoulders, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. he leans down, his lips replacing his hands, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the exposed skin of your chest and neck.

he moves his lips back to your neck, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive spots, as if he’s trying to draw out every gasps and moans from you. his hands continue to wander, tracing over your sides, your hips, your thighs, the movements firm and possessive, as if he can’t bear to be away from you for even a second.

he pulls back slightly, hovering over you, his gaze intense, his breath ragged. he looks down at you, his eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and unbridled love.

“i love you so fucking much.”

[lesbianloser69]

It’s such a simple thing really, but “do you want me to be alive?” is one of, if not the saddest, things written in the entire world of one piece. Although, maybe thats just because of my soft spot for found family tropes (especially siblings lol)

Ace is just a small little boy here, a fragile thing compared to the character we all know. This is a harsh contrast compared to Ace in his adulthood, where he’s fueled by his ache to prove himself and prove that he’s more than his father. You never would have guessed the reality of his childhood, considering the cheery and almost comedic relief he can be at times.

I guess I kind of expected this, though. Aces hatred for himself and feeling that he doesn’t deserve to be alive was first hinted through his self deprecative jokes, before we ever knew about his past or who he was. I noticed this myself, that through the facade of sarcasm and cockiness there’s just a guy who feels like his life is a burden to all those around him. And what does it all come down to? His blood, the last name that he refuses to bear out of his hatred for the man who gave it its meaning.

Ace going by his mothers last name isn’t just a testimony for his respect and love for her, but also an act of defiance against his father. I don’t blame him lol, but it’s honestly heartbreaking that Ace has no idea that Roger did love him, and Ace died not knowing this.

The result of Rogers actions on the world though basically fucked Ace over for his entire life, and that was what made Roger selfish.. to go and cause a war and then have a son? It’s no surprise that Ace is seen as the child of the devil, because that’s exactly what Roger was seen as.. the devil.

So for all of Aces childhood he’s taught one thing: that his father was the devil, and that he is the child of that monster. That he doesn’t deserve to live, and what’s worse is he has to listen to strangers talk about murdering Rogers son, if he ever had one. He’s barely even lived to know anything, he’s just a baby, and he already believes what the ENTIRE world thinks of him, he’s hated and worthless and a burden. That’s so much for a 10 year old to have to carry alone, and it’s even sadder to see how this causes Ace to be shut off and cold to everyone he meets.

But of course he is.. hearing people talk about murdering him if he did exist (not directly him because no one knows Ace is Rogers son, except Garp and the mountain bandits. Besides, the world believed Roger having a son was a rumor anyway.) doesn’t make his hatred for anyone he meets that unsurprising. For all he knows, they want him dead too.

When Ace meets Luffy, he’s completely baffled that this boy he’s never met before wants to be his friend! How can someone WANT to be his friend? No ones ever been like that to Ace before, except for Sabo. Even after Ace pushes Luffy away, and makes it extremely obvious he hates him and doesn’t want Luffy near him, Luffy doesn’t give up. He’s urgently insistent on being Aces friend.

So…

“You feel better when you’re around me?”

“You need me?”

Ace is almost at a loss for words here. Luffy feels better around him, Luffy needs him. He’s wanted, he’s loved and he’s cared for, someone notices him for more than just a mistake, that is both beautiful and heartbreaking. And back to this panel:

The way ace nervously fidgets with his hands here (I believe he is, anyway) and his head is tilted downwards.. he’s clearly asking something that means everything to him.

“Do you want me to be alive?”

And little Luffy just instantly, without hesitation, says of course is soooo fucking cute and sweet and UGHHHH!!! Luffy is the first person to EVER say he WANTS (fr gotta emphasize on the want) Ace to be alive. This changed the trajectory of Aces life forever.

I guess I’ll stop here but there’s so much more I could talk about and say.. but Ace and Luffy are very special to me

my small babies☹️

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

hold on,hold on,Yandere!Conner Kent x reader🙏🏻

(sorry for bothering😭)

U ain't a bother and if anybody tells you that u do, then, they gonna face my pinky, my thumb and my fist they gonna run. 😼🐺🧏🏽‍♀️ nobody messes with my first ever anon 😠👊

Anyways

The night has fallen quietly over Metropolis, the cityscape softened under a blanket of stars. The world feels smaller somehow, contained within the walls of your apartment where Connor sits, angled slightly toward you, his gaze unwavering yet serene. He has that brooding, intense look—a mix of steel and tenderness—that you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his. It’s as though he’s carrying a burden, one he won’t let you see, and yet you feel its weight as if he’s drawn you into his orbit without permission.

“Connor,” you say softly, trying to break the quiet, “you’ve been… around a lot more lately.”

His eyes flicker, something shadowy dancing behind them, a vulnerability he usually keeps hidden. He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his gaze travel over your features as if memorizing every detail. The room feels charged, the air between you like the fine thread of a spider’s web—delicate and unbreakable all at once.

Finally, he speaks, his voice hushed but firm. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. Is that so wrong?”

There’s a faint, haunting cadence in his words, something raw and possessive yet laced with an almost tragic reverence. You feel the intensity radiating off him, a barely restrained storm beneath his calm exterior.

“Nothing could happen to you,” he continues, almost to himself. “Not on my watch. I’d make sure of that.”

You’ve always known Connor’s protectiveness runs deep, but tonight, it feels like there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. An edge, a quiet desperation that clings to the room, thick as fog.

“Connor…” you say his name with a gentle tone, hoping it might pull him out of whatever dark place he’s retreating into. He’s so close now, leaning forward, his hand reaching out as if compelled by some invisible force. When his fingers graze your cheek, his touch is featherlight, as though he fears you’ll vanish.

“If I could keep you here,” he whispers, his tone taking on a dreamy, almost poetic quality, “locked away from the world… I would. Not because I want to take anything from you, but because I… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

It’s a confession wrapped in longing, and you see the truth of it in his eyes, where constellations seem to burn just for you. There’s something about his gaze that feels eternal, as if the universe itself has handed him the task of guarding you.

“You mean a lot to me,” he says finally, each word slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to etch them into your soul. “More than you know.”

In that moment, his love feels like an uncharted ocean—beautiful and terrifying, with depths you’re not sure you’re ready to explore. But his sincerity anchors you, and, despite the intensity of his words, you can’t help feeling safe, cocooned in the quiet power of his devotion.

(A/n: is it just me or do you guys also feel suspicious of how I could post every day despite saying I'm too lazy to do so... Maybe my laziness hasn't kicked in yet which is weird and scary considering I'm writing dis rn in front of my 10 homework activities, and yes I am doing it last minute but so what...? I'm too lazy to do all of em and rn I'm don't know what I am talking about... I love yapping but I'm a introvert does it make me a extrovert when i talk too much but not as loud? Guys I'm turning crazy, I need someone to talk to and all my best friends are busy idk why they've been busy since last week....my gf is not replying for like 20 minutes now...im going crazy. Also sorry for spamming the Batfamily tag even though it's not the content I posted, I just feel like it's more famous than the others and also idk how to tag... Though mainly because I'm scared of being a flop hehe...)

[thatlotuscookie]

Mikey from Tokyo Revengers please. Maybe where the reader is the only one who can calm him down when he's having a bad day or feeling overwhelmed, but she doesn’t realize how much it means to him?

✧･ﾟ: a/n : to the lovely anon who requested this—thank you! Mikey’s the type of character who hides his emotions well, but I can totally see him seeking comfort in someone who brings normalcy into his chaotic life. I hope this hits all the right feels for you! I listened to Understand by Keshi the whole time and AGHH brought me into the feels.

✧ Title: ✧ The Weight Of Everything ✧ ✧ Characters: Mikey (Manjiro Sano) x Reader (Fem!Reader) ✧ Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: Mikey carries burdens that no one else can truly understand. On days when everything feels like it’s falling apart, your presence becomes his only source of calm. But when Mikey realizes just how much you mean to him, he's left wondering if there's a chance for something more. ✧ Content/Tags: Emotional vulnerability, Mentions of stress/burnout, Angst, Slow Burn, Vulnerability, Pining, Emotional Support, Confession ✧ WC: 1323 words // 7470 chars

Mikey was used to handling things alone.

Being the leader of Toman came with burdens that no one else could truly understand. The pressure of making decisions, keeping his friends safe, staying strong for everyone—it was a constant weight on his shoulders. Most days, he carried it without complaint, hiding his exhaustion behind that calm, almost childlike demeanor he was known for.

But there were days when it all became too much. Days like today, when even the smallest frustrations piled up until they became overwhelming, leaving him on the verge of snapping.

Mikey sat at the edge of the rundown rooftop, his legs dangling over the side as he stared blankly at the horizon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city, but he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the beauty of it. His mind was racing, his heart heavy with unspoken thoughts.

It was one of those days.

He’d been distant with the gang, unusually quiet, and though his friends had noticed, none of them dared to ask what was wrong. They knew better than to pry when Mikey was in one of his moods. Only Draken had given him a look, that knowing expression that said he understood—but even he hadn’t tried to approach.

Mikey preferred it that way. He didn’t want to be asked how he was feeling. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted… to escape.

And that’s where you came in.

You weren’t a member of Toman, not in the traditional sense, but you’d been around long enough to be considered part of the family. You were close to the core group, though you never really saw yourself as anyone particularly important. You were just… there. Someone who offered a kind smile, someone who listened, someone who brought a sense of normalcy to their otherwise chaotic lives.

Unbeknownst to you, that normalcy had become something Mikey craved more than he would ever admit.

You spotted him sitting alone on the rooftop when you went looking for him. The others had mentioned his unusual behavior today, and while they didn’t seem too worried, you couldn’t help but feel concerned. Something about his silence had struck you as different, more unsettling than usual.

“Mikey?”

Your voice was soft as you approached, not wanting to startle him. He didn’t turn to look at you, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sound of your voice.

Without waiting for an invitation, you sat down beside him, careful to leave a little space between you. The cool breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You glanced at him, noting the way his eyes were fixated on the horizon, distant and unfocused. “You okay?”

Mikey didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t sure how to explain what he was feeling—not even to himself. Instead, he shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

You weren’t surprised by his silence. He had always been a man of few words when it came to his emotions, and you’d long since learned that pushing him for answers wasn’t the way to go. So, you sat quietly beside him, your presence calm and steady.

After a few minutes, you sighed softly and leaned back, resting your hands behind you. “You know,” you began casually, your tone light, “sometimes I just come up here to watch the sunset when I’ve had a bad day. It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

Mikey’s gaze flickered to you for the first time since you’d arrived, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond, but the tension in his posture eased just a little more.

You smiled, more to yourself than to him. “Yeah. It’s peaceful up here. Like nothing else matters.”

He remained quiet, but you didn’t mind. There was something about just sitting with him, even in silence, that felt… right. You didn’t need to fill the space with meaningless words. Sometimes, just being there was enough.

Minutes ticked by, and the sky shifted from orange to pink, then deep purple. The world around you seemed to grow quieter, and you found yourself relaxing more, the weight of the day lifting from your own shoulders.

Mikey, on the other hand, was watching you now. He didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, your mere presence had become something he relied on. Something that grounded him when everything else felt like it was slipping through his fingers. You never asked for anything, never expected him to explain himself or act a certain way around you. You just… were. And that simple fact had become his lifeline.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you, though he made sure not to draw attention to it. He didn’t want you to think too much of it—not yet, at least.

You turned your head, catching his movement, and smiled at him, though you didn’t comment on the fact that he was now sitting a little closer than before.

“Thanks,” he muttered suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the suddenness of his words. “For what?”

“For… this.” His eyes were still on the horizon, but his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “For just… being here.”

Your heart warmed at his words, but you shrugged it off, trying to keep things light. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”

Friends. That word stung more than Mikey had expected it to. Was that all you thought you were? Just friends?

He didn’t respond, but the silence that followed was different this time—more charged, more significant. You felt it too, though you weren’t sure why. There was something in the way he was looking at you now, something in the air between you that made your pulse quicken.

Before you could say anything else, Mikey spoke again, his voice low and almost hesitant. “You don’t… even realize, do you?”

You frowned slightly, confused. “Realize what?”

“How much this means to me.” His gaze finally met yours, and the vulnerability in his eyes took your breath away. “How much you mean to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. You had never seen Mikey like this—so open, so raw. It was like the walls he had spent so long building around himself were starting to crack, just enough for you to see what lay beneath.

“I…” You struggled to find the right words, unsure of how to respond.

Mikey sighed, his usual confident demeanor faltering as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot, but… you’re the only one who can calm me down. When everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’re the only thing that keeps me from losing it.”

His confession hit you like a wave, and suddenly, everything made sense. The way he always seemed to seek you out, the way he relaxed whenever you were around. It wasn’t just coincidence. It was because you had become something more to him—something that went beyond friendship.

“I didn’t know…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t know I meant that much to you.”

Mikey smiled, though it was small and a little sad. “Yeah, well… I didn’t realize it either, until now.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken feelings, and you weren’t sure what to say. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but one thing was clear: Mikey needed you, in a way that no one else did. And maybe, just maybe, you needed him too.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. “I’m here,” you said softly. “Whenever you need me.”

Mikey’s fingers curled around yours, his grip firm yet gentle. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his shoulders lifted, just a little.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope—for something more, for something real.

[bloop-bl00p]

In defense of Octavia

TW: Lots of Trauma Dumping, Mention of abuse

She’s been wronged way too many times in this fandom for some reason. Look at her vibing, how can you hate her?

I’m a fan of Helluva Boss, mainly because of its potential but the quality dropped dead in the second season. We’re gonna talk about a character I’ve seen other fans misinterpreting in favor of the so-great Prince Stolass.

I want to talk about her mainly because I do what I want and because after studying her character I just realized that she’s just like me. Especially regarding her relationship with her father, I see myself in my younger years.

All of that to say…

She has all the right to feel abandoned.

Octavia obliviously has a stronger bond with her father, it shows in her behavior and little background details

When she wants to draw her family, she draws her and Stolas, we mostly see her being happy with him which leads me to think that she’s emotionally neglected by Stella. To her, Octavia is just an ‘egg’ that fell off her and she doesn't care about the impact killing Stolas could have on her daughter.

Despite being emotionally absent, Stella has a much more physical presence than Stolas. Most of the time Stolas is alone in his castle which leads me to think that Octavia is somewhere else with Stella. They did mention the two went on a weekend somewhere. This leads us to this question…

How can Octavia feel more close to her father?

Here’s the thing, I see a lot of my family dynamic here. My mom doesn’t pay attention to me at all, she doesn't want me to bother her and she makes it clear. My dad, however, who’s absent like 90% of the time, always tried to spare time with me. He explained to me that he was working and why he was doing all of this (I was like barely ten) but it never prevented him from trying to play with me, sharing his hobbies, going on a walk, and else.

He was there emotionally and, as a kid who was bullied, had no friends at all, and a mother who didn't give a damn, I cherished this relationship.

I believe the exact same thing happened with Octavia, we never see her with friends or even outside the castle, she’s isolated. Stolas has Prince duties, we’ve seen him carry them in the shows, hence why he’s mostly absent leaving her with her mother. But, at least when she was a kid, he tried to do stuff bringing her to Loo-Loo Land or being the one to comfort her. That is why she clings to her father, he’s the only one who actually shows her love and she’s terrified of losing that.

Regarding her mother, Stella obliviously doesn't care about her so the feeling is reciprocated. From a narrative standpoint, Stella is an unpredictable force of nature getting angry for pretty much anything that doesn't go her way. So Octativa learned to not cross her mother's path.

I know this expression, this is the “Oh fuck… they’re at it again?” she’s used to her mother's constant screaming, she's used to her parents fighting.

She did say they were a time when a parent didn't hate each other, which to me refers to the time when Stolas tanked Stella’s abuse. But, that doesn’t mean that Stella wasn't abusing him in front of a younger Octavia, she’s erratic and they did imply that she can get physical in her toxic behavior. Since Stella was passive, it was probably mostly harmful comments.

Putting personal things here, my mom was also very abusive to my older sibling. Since I was extremely young I learned not to ‘be a burden’ to avoid being abused as well, which includes things like not talking to her unless she does it first. Whether Octavia is aware of the physical abuse or not, she must know enough to know that it’s a bad idea to annoy Stella.

This is the only picture where we see her seemingly having a good relationship with Stolas, which to me feels like she’s faking it considering all we know about the family.

She has a pretty shitty household but her relationship with her father make it bearable until Stolas did a 180°

He randomly started to prioritize Blitz and don’t spill me the bullshit of ‘he’s trying’ he stopped trying long ago.

Let’s analyze this episode by episode:

In Loo Loo Land, Stolas seemingly tries to rebuild a visibly strained relationship with his daughter by bringing her to a park she liked when she was a kid. To this, she immediately responds with an “I’m not 5 anymore.” and an “I rather kill myself.” There’s no room for miscommunication, she doesn't want to go there, and she won’t enjoy it as much as she did back then. Still, he decides to go there, showing that he doesn't listen, and, he brings the one the thing that is currently ruining his already horrible marriage because of his own actions. Blitzø.

He’s trying to spend time with his daughter after a long time (this is mentioned in the episode) and he decides to bring in that one guy he’s hooking up with to deliberately make sexual remarks about him in front of her.

She’s uncomfortable the whole time, not just because she allegedly doesn’t like listening to her father's comments but because she doesn't like the park. She said it, yet Stolas doesn't acknowledge it, he doesn't realize the faces she makes which are to me pretty communicative of her annoyance and discomfort.

This is not even subtle body language, yet he only notices it when she runs off. The worst part is that he still finds a way to think about Blitzø when his daughter leaves.

He looked upset that Blitzø didn't follow him! Did he expect that guy to pursue him constantly? He was in the middle of an argument with his daughter, I personally would have stepped away to give them space to talk and reconcile. But no, apparently Blitzø should be at his beck and call all the time.

But you know what, after all of this. He still apologized. That absolutely does not negate everything he did during the day but, at the end of it, he finally listened to her and even brought her to a place she actually wanted to be. Which is good, he acknowledged her discomfort and did something she liked.

Until Seeing Star.

Look I know Stolas was busy with Stella but he clearly doesn't care about her and her stuff.

Don’t tell me he couldn’t pinpoint Stella’s location with magic and teleport all of her belongings to her. Their discussion was barely about the furniture, he could have said that they were gonna be delivered and hung up the second he saw Octavia. Arguing with Stella is pointless, he’s the number one guy that should know that! Why does he continue to insult her, he’s just fuelling the fire!

Moving out her belongings would have been 10 times faster if he just hung up the phone, then he could have had a more mindful talk with Octavia without the constant bickering of his ex-wife.

But he didn't for some reason, fair enough, I guess. The writers do whatever they want. Anyway, Octavia got angry and ran to go see the stars on her own.

So, Stolas’ castle is in Pride but my point still stands, Octavia had the time to run from home and make the way all from her father's place to the city, find the specific building Blitzø held his organization in and Stolas didn't notice a thing.

You cannot tell me Stella managed to get his attention for that long AND you cannot tell me that his castle is close to the shitty disaffected building and the populace. His daughter ran off and he did not notice a thing.

Not only that but he has the nerve of blaming Blitzø for not watching the book. Like, dude! You should have watched your daughter instead!

Then he spills out more bullshit.

I don’t know Stolas, how could you possibly find her when you were shown to have countless abilities to do so?

Like bubbles projecting the image and locations of people.

Or that on time when you possessed corpses and one woman just to go full eldritch monstrosity just for one that one guy you’re cheating your wife with. And don’t whine about “They don’t love each other.” it’s still affecting his family, mainly his daughter so it’s still bad.

Of course, you do all of that without your grimoire without any problem, brushing it off with a…

I guess he forgot his ‘ways’ when it came to Octavia. But honestly, Loona literally found her easily just by looking at her Instagram account, couldn't he just call her or something? The girl had her phone the whole time and he didn't just think of calling her.

Me when I forget that I have teleportation power when I am in an enclosed space with nobody is looking.

You’re certainly not worrying right now. Via literally told him to his face that she was scared and he kept flirting with him even though he once again caused her to run away because of his neglect.

He’s not trying his best, THIS IS NOT TRYING!

No Loona, his daughter communicated very clearly issues related to their relationship, rather than reassuring her and being there for her as much as it’s realistically possible (he still has duties to carry), he gets in an avoidable petty fight with his ex and keeps an unhealthy dynamics with an imp he's been obsessing over. He doesn't focus, his priorities aren’t straight, and now Octavia feels abandoned.

I did mention that I had a good relationship with my father back then, but it stopped abruptly. His focus changed and he went out with friends after work and gradually stopped spending time with me. Until we never spent time together again, (to give you an idea the only moment where I could see him was in the morning for breakfast) now that can sound silly but I was a child, with no friends and a neglectful mom, losing the only good thing I had in life broke me. I knew his schedule, I knew he was spending time with work buddies and that just stung my self-esteem even more leaving me feeling like a burden when I was just a kid who wanted to feel love.

This is why I don’t like the “He’s trying.” I know what a trying struggling parent looks like and I know what happens when they stop. If you keep trying to do something and you’re constantly failing, either your technique isn’t the right one or you’re not and you’re convincing yourself you are.

And then there are people that’ll tell me that “He lived through the abuse of Stella for years for her.”

If you read all of this then I don’t feel like I need to explain how Octavia was at least partially exposed to Stella's toxic behavior and was affected by it.

For those who don’t know how it feels to live with an erratic mood-swinging person, it’s pure constant stress. You have to think constantly before you talk or move because you know that if you fuck up you’re gonna pay the price. And if you still eventually mess up you can never know with these types of people! You can’t defend yourself because the punishment will be far worse. You are ALWAYS in the wrong.

So he lived through the abuse of Stella just so his daughter could get neglected and abused in a less physical way?

The difference between my parents and Octavia is that they love each other. Stolas doesn't give a damn about Stella, he did say he was nice at first because he empathized with her they were in this shitty situation together, and fine, it's reasonable. But she never changed! Stella stayed the same! Why didn’t he leave her when he stopped carrying about her?! There’s no trauma bounding, Stella isn’t guilt-tripping or manipulating him, they got the child he could have divorced her easily without consequences! If anything, she’s the losing part of this divorce she’s lower in the hierarchy! “Andreaphul will get angry.” HE’S A MARQUIS! Hierarchically speaking Stolas is far more important and he mopes the floor with his peacock ass!

Am I supposed to be empathetic with that one dude who willingly let his daughter grow up in a hyper-toxic environment with an emotionally neglectful and unpredictable wife?! Am I supposed to believe he cares when he kept sleeping in his house in his bed with the same guy his daughter clearly is worried he’s going to leave her with?! Really?!

Don’t ever tell me that this is trying.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Re: Reyna joining the Hunters and why I think it’s actually really depressing

So for a variety of reasons I’m not a huge fan of Reyna’s arc ending with her joining the Hunters of Artemis. Part of that is rrverse characters should be allowed to be single without joining the eternal celibacy club, but that’s not a problem exclusive to Reyna. I also think handling asexuality in the context of celibacy by choice is… messy by default, especially if it’s your one confirmed ace character.

Beyond that, though, there’s a bunch of context surrounding Reyna’s life and personality that just make that choice seem really sad to me?

I’ll split this into three thematic subsections and put the second and third one under the cut because this got pretty long

Reyna and her sense of duty:

I highly suspect Reyna’s fatal flaw is her sense of duty. This is never explicitly confirmed (because no one except Percy and Annabeth has confirmed fatal flaws), but duty is the theme her entire character revolves around. Basically from birth she’s raised to believe the fate of New Rome lies on her shoulders. A lot of her actions in the books explicitly link back to her sense of duty.

She runs herself ragged trying to find Jason and trying to manage a job made for two people on her own before Son of Neptune.

A lot of her conflict stems from the fact that what is necessary to protect her home (leaving her post and following Jason) inherently clashes with the rules of that home.

Reyna also actively chides others (like Lavinia in ToA) for leaving their posts and not sharing that same sense of duty.

Because of this, like Jason, Reyna is never really able to be a kid.

Joining the Hunters sort of does a good thing in that it allows Reyna to gain some distance specifically from New Rome, which her fate and also a lot of her trauma regarding her upbringing revolves around.

But it doesn’t allow her to be a kid any more than being a praetor at Camp Jupiter did. Potentially less so, actually, seeing as the Hunters are basically always on the move doing something important while at Camp Jupiter you probably have regular days off and a city to visit and relax in always right around the corner.

Reyna lays down one duty and immediately commits herself to the next one. She doesn’t grow and learn that she doesn’t have to carry the fate of the world on her shoulders. She just trades one burden for another.

—————————

Reyna and her emotions:

The timing of Reyna’s choice to join the Hunters seems really off. New Rome is mostly destroyed and just suffered a catastrophic amount of losses. Reyna absolutely has a right to step down as a leader, but this seems like an odd time for her to do it, especially considering she just completely up and leaves instead of at least sticking around to help rebuild her home and then join the Hunters after. As someone so fundamentally defined by her duties and her loyalty to New Rome, why does she spend half a day off-screen and then suddenly decide actually she’ll leave her destroyed home and all those grieving people for someone else to deal with? It just seems really out of character for her.

This begs the question: is Reyna really making that choice because she figured out it’s what she wants, or is it because she can’t deal with what happened? Because looking at all the destruction and attending all the funerals—deaths that happened while she was technically in charge but unable to be present, people she was supposed to protect—reminds her of every way she’s failed her home?

Also, Jason just died.

Jason was Reyna’s best friend for years. He was the first person she allowed herself to grow close to after her sister left her, and very possibly the first person she ever fell in love with. She never properly got to make up with Jason. Very likely they were both afraid to be hurt again. They both thought there’d be time for it later. But there wasn’t. There isn’t. She only got her best friend back in a coffin, and even in death, returning to New Rome (to her) wasn’t Jason’s choice.

Reyna leaves the place where they grew up together, the duties they used to share and all the memories—memories that were just hers, no longer his, since he never properly got them back—two days after she watched his pyre burn.

How much of that is her leaving because she wants to, and how much of it is the fact that she can’t keep her walls up and keep herself going in the place that used to be theirs, where Jason’s ghost is staring back at her at every corner? How much of her leaving is her unwillingness to deal with her grief?

Reyna running away from her feelings is an ongoing theme. It makes sense from a lot of different angles why she’d do it.

She was raised by an abusive father who often turned his feelings (what child Reyna would have seen as “love”, but was primarily paranoia/anger) against her and Hylla.

It’s also addressed directly that Reyna worries if she feels nervous or scared, her emotions will cause the camp to worry as well—her power is quite literally to project her own emotions outward, so if she does that with negative emotions (intentionally or unintentionally), it would cause problems. Suppressing them feels safer. On top of that, in her role as a leader, she has to provide a certain sense of confidence and assurance even when she herself doesn’t feel it.

Joining the Hunters instead of facing those feelings is not exactly a great way to heal in that regard.

————————

Reyna and the weight of Bellona’s prophecy:

As far as we’re aware, Camp Jupiter has faced more threats in the few years Reyna was in charge than it has in centuries. First the Titan war (which Reyna must have arrived partway through, depending on how early the Romans even knew about and were involved in what was happening there), then the war with Gaia, then the Emperors.

And obviously that’s not actually Reyna’s fault—Reyna is, in fact, a huge contributing factor to why these disasters weren’t a lot worse and didn’t claim even more lives. But this is all put on the shoulders of a girl who knows her fate is intricately linked to the legacy of Rome.

A girl who is already convinced that her love is fundamentally destructive and keeps other people from being happy. Her father spent her entire childhood suspicious of Reyna potentially betraying him—and, because she ended up killing him in self-defense, it’s very easy for a traumatized ten year old to internalize that maybe that suspicion was totally warranted. Then Circe’s Island gets destroyed. Then Hylla finds her happiness with the Amazons by leaving Reyna. Then Jason leaves her, seeming so much happier with Piper and Leo than he ever was with her.

Everyone she loves always seems to be happier without her.

So maybe the best thing she can do for New Rome—a home that she loves and that has faced so much destruction in the short time she’s spent there—is to leave.

Maybe the best way to keep New Rome safe (because New Rome’s survival is linked to Hylla and Reyna’s bloodline continuing to exist) is to make herself immortal and preserve it that way. Because, unless Reyna dies in battle, she could live centuries—potentially thousands of years—as a Hunter. She can’t ever properly go back to the home she loved, because that’s not how the Hunters work. But she’s still bound to her fate by her blood. She’s still doing her duty to New Rome by living as long as she can.

It’s not something she can ever be free of.

The worst thing about this is I think Reyna choosing to find a fate for herself outside of New Rome could have actually been a great way to conclude her arc, but god do I wish it was executed differently and actually given proper exploration/space to breathe instead of just resolved by taking her off-screen for a few hours and then sticking her with the group of female warriors that barely gets to have any plot relevance outside of conveniently coming to people’s rescue.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! I really like your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a Yandere!Platonic 1st Years (+Grim) with an Eri!Reader?

How would they feel learning of her abused, trauma, and her unfamiliarity with general society and social norms? (Who’s looking murderous when they see just the scars littered around her arms and legs when her bandages are removed?)

Though it’s a whole different story when she says she sees her power as nothing but a ‘curse’, and her existence a ‘burden’ that only makes others suffer? All because of the man named ‘Overhaul’, the one who did this so her? (Who’s about to go feral when she admits she doesn’t remember how to smile?)

But she starts to become more positive thanks to Grim and slowly the others (She likes Grim and is very sparkly eyed because he talks, breaths fire and thinks he’s amazing)

Imagine when she says she made a friend all on her very own who’s ‘like her’, though they lightly chastise her that she shouldn’t talk with strangers (It’s Malleus, they’re both lonely, have horns she has 1, while Malleus has 2, have an incredible power that’s very dangerous, and they’re unfamiliar/slow with society)

Eri Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’ve been through so much….so you’ve been told. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant voice in your head that has guilt weighing on your little heart. Your transportation to Twisted Wonderland couldn’t come at a better time. They’re going to welcome you cage you to this new world more than willing to spoil you to your hearts content:

Grim 

“Oi oi servant they all think we’re monsters!”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah! So we gotta show them we’re gonna be the greatest mages in here!”

“Oh….okay!”

He’s the perfect chaotic companion

He teaches you to allow yourself to do what you want

Granted his guidance isn’t all knowing

No matter how tasty Heartslabyul’s tarts are you shouldn’t eat them everytime you visit — especially without permission

Either way you’re learning to forgive yourself and allow you to have fun

And leave it to Grim to say whatever snarky thing you’d like to say when your big-brothers get in the way

“Nyeh! You won’t be able to do anything against my flames, nyah!”

Ace Trappola

“Hey if I catch you moping about that plague doctor guy, I’ll sock ya in the head!”

“Ace?!”

“I-i-i won’t!”

In a weird way you’re so used to being bullied (by kai) that you tend to take his bully-affection to heart

You know he cares, he just won’t tell you often

He reminds you of a certain blonde…

It also makes you more privy to his very willing desire to steamroll over anyone he deems a problem for you

“I think he meant that as a joke, Ace…”

“Joke schmoke, I warned you, you stain! I’m putting you in the medical wing.”

“Ace, please!” 

Deuce Spade

“(Y/n), did you eat today? Are you feeling well? Do you need me to carry you!”

Mother hen of the group

He’s hovering close behind even when you don’t see him

Always making sure you’re safe and happy as can be

He’s teeming with anxiety if he’s not watching you himself

Even worse if you get hurt accidentally or on purpose

Now he’s Mama bear totally bearing the claws to protect you

He’s not going to leave you to defend yourself

Especially when your abilities hinge on your mental state

He’s trying his best

“Are you doing the breathing techniques Crewel recommended? Where’s your paper bag?”

Jack Howl

“Hello little one.”

“Hi.”

“Would you…like to sit on my shoulders?”

“Yes!”

Your #1 guard dog

Doesn’t have to worry considering Deuce is freaking out for him

He’ll be the sane voice of reason because Ace isn’t anywhere close to reliable in his eyes

Naturally he entrances you with his tail and overall dog-like personality

But don’t forget he’s got the bite force of a wolf that he’s not afraid to use if he deems fit

“Pup, don’t stop yourself from having fun or being…young. I–we will keep you safe.”

Epel Felmier

“You’re so pretty.”

“...Thanks.”

You’re the only one who can get away with calling him that

And he loves nothing more than escaping Vil to find out what other sweet makes you smile sweetly 

He’s also one of the first to join Ace as part of the self-proclaimed protection committee

He’s also one of the first to suggest taking it further than a mere beatdown

Anything for his new little sibling

“If there’s no body…there’ll be no problems.”

Sebek Zigvolt

“TINY HORNED HUMAN! WHERE IS YOUR DIASOMNIA PIN!” 

“Uhm…Ace took it from me…said it was unfair.”

“THAT FOOL. COME CHILD I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU THE PIN AGAIN.”

Is definitely apart of a brainwash committee of his own and is insistent you become Diasomnia’s new mascot…under Malleus of course

His loudness sometimes scares you off but he means well

And will no doubt join the others if a few heads need to roll

“Rest easy, child. On my watch, no one will harm you.”

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

How would they act during their wife pregnancy ?

Malleus, Azul, Duece, Jamil, Rook

Azul Ashengrotto:

You wanted something? It was yours. Zero hesitation. Azul had always spoiled you when he could but there wasn’t enough money in the world to pay you back for what you were going through. He knows it’s not as simple as a give or take relationship, but he erred on the side of giving in this very special case.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce quite literally doesn’t let you do anything that could be considered strenuous. You’re treated like royalty who should never consider doing another chore, but you knew he was wearing himself thin. He just wanted to be there for you in a way his father never had been for his mother; his mom is the one who eventually comes over to help as well, knowing he’d be too stubborn to give up on shouldering all the household duties.

Jamil Viper:

You always ate great after marrying Jamil but you do note he provided you with bigger meals now. He takes nutrition into account, wanting your child to grow well and strong. You think the act he has you ONLY eating his homemade meals is a little wild, especially to outsiders, but they were probably not lucky enough to have tasted one of Jamil’s meals.

Malleus Draconia:

If you think Malleus was protective before, it only gets worse when you’re pregnant with his child. Knowing you’re carrying around his baby already came with you being assigned extra guards, but Malleus himself often insisted on accompanying you most places. He doesn’t travel as much during your pregnancy either, never wanting to be too far from home just in case he’s needed.

Rook Hunt:

It was his job to provide and protect and he did just that. He never treated you as if he could no longer care for yourself but he tried to take on the heavier burdens. He would ask first to not get scolded for assuming but even when he might upset you, he can’t stop bringing up that special glow you have and normally derailed the potential argument.

[eevees-hobbies]

oh oh oh eve how do you think sakura, ume, togame, and kiryu are reacting to seeing the girl they’re 👀talking👀 to in a cute lil sundress for the first time 🤭

Author’s Note: Hi, Anon! I wasn’t sure if you meant talking as in the “relationship is still brand new” way or “we talk and do OTHER things” way, haha, so I wanted to be safe! If you want NSFW, I can do a part 2! 

Content Warning: Some minor suggestiveness in Umemiya’s and Kiryu’s, but no smut anywhere in this post. I’m shocked, too.

Word Count: 900 words (short and sweet, like you!)

Haruka Sakura

Sakura was convinced that all dresses looked the same.

When you asked him to explain what he knew about which types of dresses existed, he rolled his eyes at you as though it was a burden to explain something so simple, 

“Yeah, you got the floofy ones, and those that…are less floofy?” 

But when you asked him if you could model your sundress for him, he gave an almost apathetic shrug until you pranced out in front of him, giving him a twirl and sticking your tongue out at him. As you complete your circle, you throw your hands up and ask, “What do you think, Kitten?”

Sakura’s face is bright red as he looks at your dress, scanning the areas where it hugs you in all the right places and where it leaves little to the imagination.

“W-what kind of dress is that?!”

You sigh and place a hand on your hip in exasperation, “Don’t you listen? It’s a SUNDRESS! Do you not like it?”

He mumbles something barely above a whisper; in return, you cup your hand around your ear, “Huh?? Can’t hear you.” 

“Are you….are you crazy? Of course…I like it! It looks great on you,” he huffs and looks away. “I think you should wear that thing more often.” 

“Oh, Kitten!” You throw your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m so glad you said that because I needed an excuse to buy more, and you can carry all of my shopping bags.”

“I didn’t say-“

“Because you’re so strong! Look at these muscles!” You pump his bicep with your hand, which causes him to blush.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll carry all your sundresses.” 

Hajime Umemiya

Gardening during the Summer can be brutal! You often help Umemiya in his garden, and no amount of spraying each other with the water hose is enough to keep you from drenching the soil in the collective sweat you both produce.

While putting away the gardening tools in the shed and removing his brown leather gloves, Ume offers a solution: “Hey, maybe you should wear something more comfortable tomorrow?”

So you take him up on his offer and show up the next day wearing a light blue sundress, comfortable flats, and a wide-brimmed sun hat.

Ume has to shield his eyes from the sun when he looks up at you, but his heart falters when his vision focuses. Umemiya doesn’t usually care about what you wear—to him, you are perfection personified. But in that moment, he realized he might have a thing for you in sundresses.

“A-are you sure you want to garden in that? It looks like it might get dirty easily?”

He so desperately wants to reach out and feel the fabric against his fingers and pull you closer to feel your shape against him, but what you have is so new that he’s trying to be as much of a gentleman as possible. 

“Ume, I can still get down and dirty,” you joke and turn away to grab a watering pail.

You leave Umemiya nodding to himself as he watches you walk away, “Y-yeah, down and dirty.”

Mitsuki Kiryu

When Kiryu sends you links to a few sundresses he found online, you get the feeling that he is trying to tell you something.

“These are cute, yeah? Sent you some money for a few. Surprise me with your favorite one on our date?”

You check the links, scrolling through the name-brand dresses with price tags that make you sweat. Kiryu has impeccable taste, though, so you put some in your cart and place your order in time for the movie date.

As you approach the cinema, briefly feeling self-conscious of what Kiryu might think of you, you consider texting him to say you’ll be late to give you time to go back home and change. Those unnecessary feelings melt away as Kiryu waves at you, a grin on his face as though you are responsible for supplying the planet with light.

“You look so beautiful! I think my heart stopped when I saw you turn the corner.” He takes your hand in his and presses his lips against your knuckles.

“It’ll be hard to control myself in our seats, but for you, I’ll do my best,” he says, looping his arms around yours. Then he walks you into the theater, inquiring if you saw more dresses you’d like to buy.

Jo Togame

Togame laughs the first time he sees you in a sundress. Literally, uncharacteristically doubles over in rapturous laughter. 

“Togame-” with the sole warning of his name, you pick up your purse, fully ready to swing.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, wiping a tear from his eye, “Hey, calm down. I’m laughing because I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

He pulls you into his arms; your head rests against his chest, allowing you to hear his heart beating loudly against his ribcage.

“You look like the type of girl I’d be too afraid to ask out, and somehow, I’ve tricked you into dating me.”

You scrunch your nose up, “tricked? Togame, please don’t talk like that. You’re hot and the man of my dreams.”

“Even with Choji?”

“Yes, even with our throuple.” 

He laughs again, but this time, you know it’s a laugh to be shared rather than at your expense. 

“Can you twirl for me? I can’t stop lookin’ at you.”

And it’s true. You're so ridiculously pretty that Togame can’t believe someone who looks like you gives him the time of day. He’s obsessed with your sundress look, pointing you out to his friends and saying almost nonchalantly,

‘Yeah, that’s my girl. Doesn’t she look cute?”

Choji waves at you from where he’s standing next to Togame, “I know what your girlfriend looks like.”

“Sorry, thought you could use a reminder.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER 

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!” 

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already. 

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie. 

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing.  If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon. 

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket. 

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet. 

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like. 

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

Oh. 

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs. 

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic. 

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality. 

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week.  She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot. 

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you. 

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?” 

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her. 

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips. 

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to. 

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment. 

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before. 

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back. 

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone. 

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?” 

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy. 

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips. 

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night. 

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.” 

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive. 

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.” 

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?” 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room. 

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him. 

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade. 

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why. 

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it. 

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike. 

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late. 

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.” 

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t. 

“We… are.” 

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.” 

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.” 

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.” 

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once. 

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.” 

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding. 

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you. 

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds. 

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning. 

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet. 

Yet. 

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM 

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you? 

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you. 

So why is that all you could feel right now? 

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he? 

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?” 

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time. 

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.” 

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening. 

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real. 

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened. 

I could never hate you. 

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past. 

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate. 

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.” 

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you. 

Almost. 

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” 

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now. 

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.” 

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does. 

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips. 

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.” 

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?” 

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.” 

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.” 

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about. 

I could never hate you. 

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?” 

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference. 

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face. 

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility. 

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.” 

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore. 

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.” 

You deserve my honesty. 

I could never hate you. 

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.” 

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night. 

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust. 

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop. 

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point. 

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest. 

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.” 

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated. 

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question. 

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?” 

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar. 

“That’s my question,” you confirm. 

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly. 

It’s not a good baseline question. 

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.” 

“Got kicked out? Why?” 

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you. 

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.” 

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly? 

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.” 

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.” 

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.” 

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[livelaughlovesubs]

do you write for nanami? if you do, i have a req :3

au where hes still with us (sniffles) and being a sorcerer is more of an on-the-side thing, and he's like an overworked office middle class guy whos also a wizard on the lowkey. sometimes he works so much he even forgets his birthday. but you didn't. ohhh no you did not. you're at home patiently waiting for him, and all you want is to spoil him for the night because he deserves it!! he deserves to just be taken care of, given the care he needs, maybe a little overstim in the process, but it's all with good intentions... (right?)

SORRY THIS IS SO LONG OMG 😭😭

anyway...... requesting a sub!nanami x softdom!female!reader with a little overstim <3 (out here exposing my service dom fantasies)

idk if you do emoji anons, but if you do can i be 🎱 anon? tysm!! i love your works and i hope your have a lovely day/night :) <333

So taking care of nanami on his birthday? Consider it done. Also welcome 🎱 anon, I’m happy about all my new anons ^^

Dom!reader x sub!nanami

Warning: blow job (reader giving), teasing, marking - hickeys, fluff, use of pet names

Hands moving across the table, reaching for the dirty porcelain. The sound of plates being stacked could be heard, and you swiftly placed the dishes on the counter. Nanami tried to help, carrying the cake over to the refrigerator, though you stopped him. “Let me do it, it’s your birthday today! You are forbidden from working.” You declared, snatching whatever he was holding away and putting it in its rightful place yourself. “My birthday isn’t that important, just let me help.” He was such a gentleman, but you still stayed stubborn. Today was his birthday, yet he still went to work, he even did overtime. That’s not acceptable, at least now you should lift some burden off his shoulder.

Right, that was your plan. To take care of him, make him feel loved and happy. Also most importantly, not let him do any chores. Even if it doesn’t look like that, he also has to rest. You really adored him which is why you wished he’d take care of himself some more, and have a mesmerising birthday of course. So why did he look so troubled? You told him not to help. Instead of relaxing he looks uncomfortable or awkward. Just sitting there, watching you do it all. Seems like this part failed a little.. then it’s time to move onto the next one.

Still determined to make him enjoy himself, you brought him to your shared bedroom after watching a movie. “Could you please sit down, my dear?” You asked him, while slowly stripping your clothes. Until you were only in your undergarments. In the meantime the Blondie sat down, a slightly hesitant look on his face. He wasn’t sure what to do, since you’ve been taking everything upon yourself the entire time. His hands wandered to his belt, gaze never leaving your body. Before he could get rid of his belt, he felt your hands on top of his, stopping him gently. “Leave it all to me, alright?”

Nanami felt really embarrassed now. What was he, a kid? Why would he need help undressing himself? Despite his inner turmoil, he still let you do whatever you wanted. It looked like you planned all of this just for him, thus he’ll try to play along. The last thing he’d want is to inconvenient you. Slowly you pulled his belt out, then your fingers wandered up to his collar. He felt a slight tug as you pulled on his tie, untying the knot. Then you gently, and carefully unbuttoned his deep blue shirt. You were only focused on him, and nothing else, pupils glancing at his face every now and then. A smile spread across your features when you saw him furrowing his brows. “You can take off those glasses now.” You whispered, one hand reaching for his cheeks, caressing him while the other still held his dress shirt. His own hand moved upwards and took them off, placing them on the nightstand.

“Such beautiful eyes, don’t hide them from me all the time, hehe.” “I’m not hiding anything from you.” You sure hoped that was the case, considering how he thinks most of the stuff happening at work isn’t worth mentioning. Now that that was out of the picture, you resumed your previous antics, opening one button after another. Soon it revealed his muscular body, and you couldn’t help but stare. You have always loved everything about him, from the head to toes. Yet right now you were sure his torso was your favourite. How beautiful his skin was, as well as the little, barely visible scars from battles; or his firm chest with those cute nipples.

You moved your face closer to his, hands on his pecs now as you kissed him, locking your lips with his. His lips were soft and you were like in a trance when you kissed him. Before he got to enjoy it you pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. It was way too short for him, but he didn’t complain, he could never get mad at you. Afterwards you started kissing his neck. So carefully and tender, that it felt like a feather brushing over his skin, it was almost ticklish. His breath sharpened by a notch when you started groping his chest, squeezing that place with your fingers. In between kisses and smooches, you made sure to whisper into his ear, showering him with compliments. “I’m so glad to have you, my handsome and beautiful boy.” This continued for a bit, and soon his entire collarbone area was covered by red spots. Some hickeys were on his torso too. “You look gorgeous right now.” you commented on those trails of marks you left behind, before fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

You didn’t strip him entirely naked, only enough that you get to touch him wherever. Pulling his pants and underwear down a little to free his cock. He groaned a little when you wrapped your hand around his shaft, rubbing the part that is connected to his pelvis. “Y/n, darling.. don’t tease today.” Immediately your attention wandered to him again, shushing him with your finger as you said, “don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, I’ll make you feel good today.” A light chuckle, then you played with his tip. The adoration you had for him was genuine, and visible in your eyes.

The way you looked so confident and eager to make him feel good was so adorable in his eyes, and he just can’t help himself but fall even more. Sighting a little before it turned into a breathy moan, “uhh,..huh.” Your delicate fingers were touching all the right places, and soon he was fully erect. One of his hands was clutching the sheets, while the other reached out to your hair, stroking it gently. This surprised you a little, but it wasn’t too bad so you let him be. Then you moved lower, until your lips were inches away from his dick. You let your saliva drool down, afterwards you licked his tip as a tease. “Hmm- i told you not to tease.” “Oh? Guess i forgot that then~” an adorable giggle followed, coming from you. He was truly lucky to have you here with him.

While he was still admiring the relationship you two have build, you took him into your mouth and sucked. Trying your best to avoid any teeth and using your tongue to roll it over his tip. “Ughh- haa..” his grip on your hair tightened. Normally you’d push his hand away, though today was a special occasion. Sweet moans and the occasional gasp spilled from his lips, eyes now clenched shut. Sometimes he’d bite his bottom lip too, to try and keep his voice down. You just continued taking more of him, using your hand to jerk off the rest that didn’t fit. “Darling.” He called out to you, but stopped mid sentence to compose himself. It was getting harder and harder to speak, or to think.

He could feel every fever of his being pulsing, his heart pounding like crazy. The blood rushed to his face and abdomen, making the rest of his limps go numb. Strength was leaving his legs and arms slowly, all while more and more pleasure flourished within him. How his body convulsed every time you licked his tip, or when the inside of your mouth clenched down on him. It felt warm and soft, so good he could feel himself getting closer to the edge.

“Ahh.. keep going, just like that.. please.” Finally he finished his sentence, pleading with you with a meek voice. You didn’t plan on stopping anyway, instead you wanted to make him beg you to stop at the end of this session. Smirking to yourself as you kept doing your own thing, enjoying the noises he’d make. Did it really feel that good? Was what you would have liked to ask, but this is fine too. As long as your lovely boyfriend looks ecstatic and full of bliss, you were content too. Out of nowhere his grip righted by a lot, enough to make it hurt for you. He mumbled apologies while saying, “ah.. I’m clo-close.. haa, sorry., darling…”

What a lucky boy. If today was any other day you would have punished him. Fine, guess you were going to be especially merciful with him. You didn’t mind the slight sting his tug brought you, mouth and hands still working on bringing him over the edge. He let go of your hair in the last minute and clasped it over his mouth. A silent moan left him, then a repressed groan followed. “Nghhnmmm…!! Ahhh..ugh..” his voice was beautiful, you could listen to him all day. Even though his hand wasn’t in your hair anymore, you still didn’t move away. Letting him cum in your mouth, before you finally moved back. When your lips left his dick you made a wet slurping sound, then swallowed everything he offered to you. “Delicious~” you smiled innocently as if you didn’t just make him see heaven.

Suddenly he moved closer to you, sitting up and hands grabbing your cheeks now. “Nanami? Is something?” You wondered, but that curiosity soon got replaced by shock and a joyful feeling you haven’t felt for a while. He kissed your forehead, cupping your face with his hands as he whispered, “I’m glad i can spend my birthday with you.” All while smiling so tenderly, with a calmness and warmth that was unfamiliar to you. Only sometimes he’d get emotional enough to be like this, and whenever he did, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him all over again. “Happy birthday, nanami.”

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch9 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

❥ Word Count: ~7K

❥ Warnings: non-con, handjobs (btwn stsg), deepthroating (btwn stsg), strap-ons/pegging (w/ gojo), gojo being the submissive brat boy we all know he is.

❥ Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either.

Stepping into these pampering sessions after another monotonous day has come to be one of your few reprieves in a situation like this. Geto finds any and all ways to try to sway you to his direction, so he dials everything up to 100 during these sessions. This time he’s hired some of his devotees who runs a spa nearby to treat you to some facials, full body shaves or scrubs, or massages. He’s happy and content to be on the sidelines just observing you. It might be over the top, but that’’s something he has in common with Gojo: he’ll do everything and anything to get you to favor him.

And for Geto, it doesn’t stop here.

While the nail techs from the spa work on your manicure—they’re in the middle of buffing your nails after removing your cuticles—you glance up as Geto approaches you. You’re relaxing on a lounge chair, adorned in a fancier silk robe Geto bought you a couple of weeks ago. It’s a deep burgundy with gold lining on the rims of your sleeves. Geto tells you when he gives it to you that you look something more akin to royalty in it. It’s an appropriate compliment to him, all things considered. But you don’t feel like royalty. Not even a tiny, little bit.

“Enjoying yourself?” Geto asks as he brushes his fingers across your forehead with a little smile on his lips. You shut your eyes again, taking a deep breath. It’s a nice break from everything, yes. You know it’s because he’s trying to get something from you. Whatever it is, you don’t really care about at the moment. Now two more nail techs are working on scraping off the callouses off of your feet.

You nod, adjusting yourself a bit in your spot. “Mm-mhm. Thank you, Suguru.”

His smile brightens his entire face. Something you have to admit, you have never seen before. Lately it’s like he’s been carrying some heavy burden on his shoulders that you haven’t pieced together yourself. Satoru’s visits have become next to none lately, and you know it’s because of whatever obligations he has outside of this. Geto has expected it, the longer absences, and that’s precisely why you’re here. At least at the beginning, now it seems like you have taken on a larger role than both of them initially anticipated.

But maybe Gojo’s absence is affecting him more than he lets on. But on the bright side, he hasn’t been initiating anything intimate between you both. He seems more concerned in making sure you really are comfortable here.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

You bite back a knowing sigh. You know the game by now. He does something over the top like this and it means he wants something more from you. You don’t know what that is just yet, but you don’t have to worry or speculate about something you already know is going to happen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

“Relax your hands,” one of the nail techs instructs while patting the hand she’s working on. You try. You can’t really relax in his presence but you sure damn try.

Geto pulls up a chair and settles down next to you. He rests his chin in his hand, smiling at you. You try not to pay attention, focusing on the way the nail techs are so gentle and slow with their treatments. The heels of your feet are probably already much smoother than they were previously—the exercise routines Geto’s forced you on has worn you out in more ways than one and has done a number on your skin health—and you can’t remember the last time you actually took care of your body like this. Not beyond the basic stuff.

Being someone’s pretty pet often left you no time for such things; apparently, you have a more important matter which is making sure your captor is thoroughly satisfied with you.

The pampering does feel so short-lived. After they’re done, your finger and toe nails are painted a nice matte black color, the gel shining brightly every time it reflected some light. They take the time to comb and snip off the breakage from your hair and provide all kinds of intensive hair care treatments, and you have never felt better (you know, all things considered). You wonder why Geto keeps going above and beyond like this. It’s like you said before, it can’t mean anything good for you at all.

After your evening pampering session, Geto escorts you back to the bedroom. He watches as you settle onto the bed, fingers running through your smooth hair after the keratin treatment the spa techs provided for you. Your hair feels great. So bouncy. So shiny. So soft. You’re practically beaming while swinging your legs against the bed and your entire expression brightens. It’s probably the first time in a long time you felt something other than utter dread and boredom.

Suddenly, his voice breaks your silent rejoicing.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers, lowering his head.

You freeze. Suddenly all of that little sliver of joy evaporates into thin air as you glance up at Geto, timid. Frightened. As if this can’t get any worse for you?!

“I… what?” You blink. He’s admitted to you before that he’s gotten some kind of affection for you, yes, but… in love with you? That sounds downright wacky considering his whole spiel.

“I meant to tell you sooner,” he goes on as he moves to disrobe. “But I figure there’s never going to be a good time. I’m in love with you. You’ve…made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I know you probably still aren’t happy here, and I can’t expect that you ever would be. That’s fine with me. You know what your job is here.”

“You want a functional family for the twins,” you tell him, looking away as he settles in bed next to you, his weight dipping the mattress.

He rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging out a sigh.

“Your cooperation is enough,” he insists, kissing your temple. You’re surprised you don’t flinch this time. “But I’d like to make this a real thing. One of these days.”

“What do you mean?” you find yourself asking out loud. You fear what he means. You know exactly what he means, yet you want to hear him say it. He smiles again, but it’s a little more solemn this time. Likely because he’s anticipated an unhappy reaction because of course, what else is he going to expect from you at all?

“Marriage, of course,” he answers with a little purr, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. His hand trails down to your neck, where you still wear that gold chain on your neck like a dog collar. He owns you—entirely and completely, as much as you loathe to admit it. It’s already been a year and a half. Your spirit has begun to wear down. You have come close to accepting your fate. The same monotonous routine. Again and again. Being forced into a role you never wanted to play. Pretending like you actually care about the twins, which, truthfully, there’s a little part of you that does but a part of you resents them. Resents them for bringing this man into your life. Resents them for being the ones to suggest any of this at all.

Yet, a part of you can’t wholly fault them, either. They have been caught up in all of this mess. While they understand the kind of man Geto is…

No.

You have every right to be as resentful toward the girls as you are toward Geto and Gojo.

The tears dropping to your palms catch you by surprise.

And you’re sniffling. Loudly.

“Haven’t you done enough?” you whimper, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t hold back the sheer resentment and hatred. Your body trembles, your vision blurring as more tears stream down your cheeks. So much for acceptance, huh? “Or does finding other ways to make me loathe you more get your dick hard?”

Geto’s eyebrows raise at that, and you’re shocked that it’s not anger you see in his eyes but pain. Exhaustion. “Mamma…”

“Don’t call me that,” you sneer through a sob, shooting him a glare with a fury you have kept buried in you for so long you’re impressed you’re still managing an even tone. “I don’t understand why you don’t just off me like any other non-sorcerer. I’d just be one less monkey for the world, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not true,” he replies, his expression crestfallen. “You’re damn worthy of everything I have to offer you. You know I don’t say things like that freely. You have the girls to thank for that. They helped me see how worthy you are.”

To hell with the girls, you so dearly wish to say but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross with Geto unless you really are asking for something.

“Do what you must to me,” you finally reply, “No matter what you do—punish me, whatever the hell it is you choose to—it won’t change anything. Ever. I loathe you. I loathe you and I loathe Satoru.”

“Mamma,” he murmurs, inching closer to you and resting a hand on the small of your back—but the way he touches you feels less like a warning and more like he’s attempting to console you instead and you can’t decide which is worse in that moment. Like what he does to you, what he has done to you, and what he will continue to do to you means nothing and that all you’re doing is overreacting. He rubs soothing circles into your back, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t believe the audacity of this man.

“I won’t punish you,” he starts in an authoritative tone, much like he uses with the twins. “There’s no point to that anymore. Besides, it’s proved ineffective in the past if my goal is to make you feel like you’re part of our family.”

“I will never be a part of the family,” you shout, but the sob that comes out of your mouth makes you feel pathetic. More tears streaming down your face uncontrollably and you’re surprised how much comes out. How long have you been holding it? How has it taken you this long to release it?

Instead of scolding you, or being the condescending prick he usually is, his hands reach up to cup your face, brushing away the tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. He leans in and presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, frowning as he allows you to finally fucking crash out on him like you’ve wanted but you know this is ultimately going to solve nothing. He’s selfish; he won’t set you free. You’re everything he wants (apparently), and the girls adore you. Satoru adores you.

But it feels damning. It feels like a sentence worse than eternity in Hell. Every time you have tried to attempt at hurting yourself, something forbids you. You don’t know what it is, but you know Geto and the girls must have done something. With whatever they’re capable of doing as sorcerers. You can’t kill yourself. You can’t harm yourself. Every time you try you fail and due to forces you can’t see yourself.

“I still don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he whispers to you, and you break down into more sobs. You’re more than afraid of him. You loathe him—doesn’t he fucking see that?

“There’s nothing you can do to change that now,” you reply in a snippy tone. “Like I said, Suguru, do what you must. It won’t change my feelings. Nothing you do ever will. It must suck for you, huh? Living with someone who can’t even stand to look at you let alone breathe the same air as you, and it’s from a part of a subspecies you hate. Must really piss you off.”

“Not quite,” he answers flippantly, his expression hardening. “But I am disappointed. All I want is to be let in your world, Mamma, because I’ve already let you in mine. And there’s no way out for you now. I’m going to help you make the best of it.”

“Burn in Hell,” you quip, scrunching your nose before swatting his hands away from your face. He looks at you with wide eyes before he fully retracts his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m not letting you get off that easily,” he says, “But fine. Get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be all calmed down in the morning and we can have a civil discussion about our future together.”

“But if it eases some of your pain, Satoru doesn’t have to come near you like that anymore,” he decides, hoping that would gauge a more favorable reaction out of you. It does. A little bit. “I know you haven’t been fond of that as of late.”

“Fine,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest with a stubborn little pout for good measure. “Keep your fucking promise about that and then we’ll see.”

Jackpot. Don’t you dare give anything away. Don’t smirk or smile, nothing. That gets you out of something, at the very least. No more punishments. No more Satoru. That just means you have much more wiggle room.

Men really can be easy, can’t they?

Geto treats you to another date at a park. Unaccompanied by the girls this time around (otherwise it won’t be a date, he jokes)—likely in an effort to see how well you’re going to receive spending the rest of your life with him in a nightmare as hellish as this. It doesn’t matter what he does. It doesn’t matter what he changes. You aren’t in love with him. Not even a little bit. Not even a hint of Stockholm Syndrome because that’s just not who the fuck you are. You refuse to allow your resolve to crumble like paper; you’re made of fucking titanium and the fact that you’ve gone on this long without crashing out is a fucking miracle.

His hand is tightly wrapped around yours, and you can’t help but marvel at how much larger he is all around compared to you. His hand makes yours feel puny in his like a child’s, and he stands tall like a majestic Greek statue replica of a God. You can admire someone’s objective beauty without being attracted to them, and Geto’s the definition of an ethereal beauty. You have noticed the stares. He’s popular in the area; everyone knows about that wacky cult leader who performs exorcisms at his temple for those who believe they have been by spirits. Little do they know their suspicions are correct and they aren’t the crazy ones, but to the general public, it obviously sounds fucking insane.

But the more you pick up on curse spirits, the more you realize how much of humanity has been the cause of their own suffering. You have overheard Gojo and Geto discuss how spirits are born from negative human emotions, and when you think about the history of all of the supernatural folklore you’ve consumed in your youth, you can’t say you’re surprised. Most monsters are human, or human-born, and Geto is an example of that fact: born from normal humans but became a monster due to negative human experiences. Gojo on the other hand is seemingly attempting to take a more noble approach but there’s nothing about that guy that screams ‘noble.’ He’s as wicked and vile as Geto, but perhaps in more specific settings.

You glance at your surroundings. It’s a clear sky. You hear various species’ of birds chirping and while in the early mornings it grinds your gears at this moment it feels tranquil and peaceful. Even if you are with an absolute psychopath keeping close to you like a shadow. Everyone’s out enjoying their simple lives; you even catch a few happy, carefree couples like the day Geto spirited you away from the bakery. Something tugs at your heartstrings at the sight.

Even if you do get out of his hands, are you ever going to have a normal life? Are you ever going to find a peaceful, safe love, like these couples seem to? They seem like they’re glowing and perhaps that’s in part due to the glow of the sun’s rays bathing their skin. It all seems so unfair that your chances at anything normal might be done for the count. All because you have caught the eye of two greedy sorcerers who think they rule the damn universe.

They may as well be, if what they say is true: that they’re the strongest of the strong. Nothing can stop them. The only people who can stop each other, is well, each other. And neither of them want to destroy the other for the sake of stupid sorcerer vs human politics.

Geto calls your name, and you don’t realize you stopped in the middle of the stone bridge.

“Did you want to stay and enjoy the view here?” Geto inquires with a hum, shifting to wrap his arms around your stomach. You rest your hands over the rail and look out, smiling a little as you can see little schools of fishes in the small pond below. You sigh in delight as a refreshing gust of wind rushes past you both; the ends of Geto’s mane tickling your neck a little.

“I guess I had been lost in thought,” you admit shyly, not protesting as Geto pulls you in closer until your the back of your head rested against his chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, looking ahead to the distance with you. “Is it true, that only Gojo can kill you if it ever came down to it?”

“That is a matter that doesn’t concern you,” he mumbles, “But it is getting more complicated for him to see us.”

“Do you miss him?” you ask, rolling your eyes upward.

“Of course I do,” he says, lowering his voice a little. “But I have you here now. I’m not all that lonely anymore.”

Even if I can never love you back? Because the difference between Gojo and I is that he loves you, you think to yourself, biting back a groan in annoyance as Geto tightens his grip around your waist, fiddling with the hem of your pants absently like he wants to avoid this subject. Maybe Gojo’s absence really is affecting him.

“You know, maybe you should go after him,” you offer, “He might need to be the one to be chased, sometimes, you know?”

What the hell are you doing?

Not even you know.

But you don’’t think you’re crossing a line if you’re trying to console Geto in this case, and it’s all between you and him, right? You’re trying to push them in the right direction. Whatever the hell that means for them. As long as it gets them to shove you all the way out because you still don’t fully understand your purpose or your role.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he mutters after a period of reflection. “I think I’ll try that this time. I expect you to be on your best behavior if I’m gone for a while.”

“I don’t think you can expect anything less.” You can’t go anywhere. Not yet, anyway. But you’re going to find a way out of there.

You prefer without the ‘die trying’ part. You want to have some life left in you when you finally escape.

“I’m growing bored,” Geto announces while tugging you along across the bridge. “Come on. Let’s stroll around for a bit longer and then we can grab dinner anywhere around Takeshita Street.”

With a reluctant pout you allow him to tow you in wherever direction.

“Mom!” Mimiko calls out to you while approaching you with a little skip to her step. After the park date, Geto excuses himself to follow through on your suggestion under the guise of some matters he has to handle outside his business. He comes up with some elaborate yet believable lie, but now you’re left to cater to the twins in his absence while Miguel and some of his other nameless goons keep an eye on you.

You greet her with the most plastic smile you can.

“What is it, love?”

“How was your date with Mr. Geto?” she asks eagerly. Then Nanako steps in, shoving past her.

“Yeah! Did he get all romantic and everything?” she asks while clasping her hands together.

“Are you falling in love with Mr. Geto, Mom?”

“Girls, girls!” You sound like a kindergarten teacher calming a group of rowdy children as you raise your hands up in surrender. “Geto has been wonderful, no doubt.” What a fucking lie. “But everything is going to take some time to develop.”

“But you are staying, right?” Mimiko asks with hopeful eyes.

No.

“Of course,” you reply in a more robotic tone that they don’t point out much to your relief.

The girls beam at each other before turning to you again.

“We just want you to be happy too, Mom!” Nanako says, “And we don’t want you to be sad!”

Such fucking lies.

You can feel Miguel observing the scene unfold from the sidelines, his arms folded over his large, chiseled torso and you can’t make out his expression. He tends to maintain a neutral facade perhaps to protect himself.

As Nanako and Mimiko talk amongst themselves, you retire to sit on one of the couches. The thuds of heavy footfalls approach you, and you glance up to meet Miguel’s unreadable face.

“Hello,” you greet, your lips a bit pursed.

“So, got room to breathe did ya?”

You shrug. “Whatever that means for Geto, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and you quirk an eyebrow…for what? You have a feeling for what, they don’t think you belong here. Not for the reasons you at first suspect which is they all share disdain toward non-sorcerers. But because he pities your situation much like Suda does.

“Don’t have to be,” you reply, offering a small smile.

Miguel takes out your hand and rests a tiny, folded slip of paper onto your palm.

“I’ll escort you to your room now.”

“Thank you,” you respond, clenching your fist with the paper in it.

When he does, he speaks up again just outside the bedroom door.

“Your insignia,” he gestures to the pendant on the gold chain around your neck. “I added a little something extra for your sake.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head as your eyebrows knit together.

You unfold the paper and reveal the message.

It’s some kind of incantation along with instructions.

“Memorize it now. I have to burn the evidence,” Miguel instructs you. You nod, ingraining it all to your memory the best that you can. “While Satoru Gojo might be a little more difficult to escape, you’ll have no problem getting out of Gsto’s radar.”

Your brain short circuits for a moment.

…Hold the fucking phone.

“You know?” you gasp.

“Yeah,” he almost snickers, “Everyone and their mother here does. Those guys really think they have everyone fooled but no one is that dumb.”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a snort.

“Hang in there. I love Geto like a brother, but these matters aren’t your concern. You’ve just been dragged in for some unfortunate reason,” he goes on, adjusting his collar with a little grunt. “And I don’t know. I guess I just can’t let myself live with that. Neither can Miss Suda. Just remember, it’s between us.”

Miguel swipes the paper back and burns it to a crisp with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen. That is just like when Geto killed those innocent victims.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “So why did you choose to work for him?”

He shrugs as he brushes past you.

“I guess I just get where he’s coming from,” he answers, “He’s not all wacky, you know?”

“I very much disagree,” you counter with a frown.

Miguel laughs heartedly at that. “Can’t blame you one bit, Miss …. We’re not here claiming to be right or good, you know? We’re sorcerers, not saints. No matter which side we fight on.”

You bite your bottom lip.

“What more can you tell me about this world?”

It doesn’t look like Geto will return for a bit. Might as well take advantage of his absence while he fights for whatever it is he believes in between he and Gojo.

Miguel finally fills you in on some details Geto conveniently leaves you in the dark about.

It is in the dead of night when your sleep is interrupted by some rustling beside you. Geto curls an arm around you and kisses into your shoulder.

“Miss me?” he whispers with a little chuckle. Yeah. Sure, sure whatever he wants to believe, you fucking guess.

You hold your tongue, always knowing better than to speak your real truth—not unless you want things to go south for you all over again and you can’t afford another failure.

You scrunch your nose, adjusting yourself a little in your side of the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit as you move. “Mmhm-mm. How did things go with Satoru?”

“Wonderful,” he breathes, you can hear his smile, you don’t have to go searching for it in the blackness of the room. “Thanks to you and your brilliance, Mamma. Thank you.”

“Good,” you reply through a loud yawn, once again shifting in your spot and trying to get comfortable. “Get some sleep, darling. I’m glad I could do something for you.”

Laying it on so fucking thick.

“Satoru is coming by tomorrow,” he tells you, and you make a sound before you could stop yourself.

Fear shoots through your veins like an injection.

“But—!”

“—worry not,” he interjects, stealing another kiss on the corner of your lips, and then your jaw. “I won’t let him touch you. Not unless you’re okay with it. I’m a man of my word, Mamma.”

You find that very hard to believe.

“Okay,” you whimper, not protesting as he pulls you in close, practically spooning you and your breath hitches when his pelvis grinds into your ass.

“Suguru, darling,” you whisper, hiding your face into your pillow. You know a tear has slipped from your cheek. A real one. You’re so tired, and not just from the day. “Rest.”

“Okay,” he replies, nuzzling his nose into your neck, keeping you caged around his body.

You feel like you might suffocate in his hold but you just remind yourself that it might very well be almost over. Miguel is there. Suda is there.

You’re going to be okay.

Needless to say, Gojo doesn’t take well to the change in the arrangement. You can’t remember the last time Gojo came for a visit so naturally he’s going to be furious at the idea of not getting his end of the deal. He ultimately won’t deny anything Geto tells him to, you have taken notice to that very early on.

Geto lets him down easy, but even then—

“—What the fuck do you mean I can’t do anything today?”

“She’s not feeling it,” Geto retorts, casting a judging glare at Gojo. “Simple as that.”

Gojo casts a curious glance at you, fuming like a petulant toddler.

“Can we still snuggle, Princess? I swear I’ll keep my hands in modest places,” he begs, stepping toward you.

You’re sprawled on the couch, and dragging out a defeated sigh, you gesture for him to come with a wave of both of your hands. Gojo beams and squeals in glee like a child who just hit the jackpot at an arcade and swoops into your arms, burying his face between your breasts.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your clothes with a pleased sigh, rubbing his face harder between your busty mounds. “Fuck, I’m in Heaven.”

So much for keeping his hands in modest places… they never truly follow through ok their word and you have come to accept that. It doesn’t mean it still doesn’t fucking piss you the fuck off.

You sneak a curious glance at Geto, who doesn’t seem pleased by Gojo in that moment. Oh so maybe he does actually want to show you a little grace for once? What a fucking refreshing change of pace!

Yet you doubt it’s going to last. Geto can only hang on for so long. His resolve crumbles so easily.

“Don’t touch, Satoru,” Suguru chides. This time his tone sounds a little different, like he’s playing a different tune. You sense a little note of jealousy. You aren’t sure if your ears are fooling you. Yes, Suguru believes he’s in love with you, but these feelings for you can’t possibly be real. “I expect you to follow orders.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves him off. His eyes roll up with a little sparkle to them. It’s here where you realize just how snow white his lashes are up close. It’s such a beautiful contrast, and such beauty is wasted on a man as pathetic as him.

Suguru joins the two of you on the couch, casting a sideways glance at Satoru burying his head between your boobs. You can catch that little flash of green from envy, like he fears Satoru may take advantage of you.

Why does he care so much all of a sudden? You feel your head winding like a spinning top—what the hell has changed all of a sudden? Nothing adds up. You’re adding two plus two and somehow coming out with five.

Then you remember what Geto brought up before. Realization dawns on you and your stomach sinks like the goddamn Titanic.

Is he serious about marrying you should things go to shit between he and Satoru because of that war?

When Miguel filled you in on the details you knew so little about, it still doesn’t make much sense to you, and nobody honestly expects you to understand anything. It’s a whole new world for you. Try as you truly might and even you have to accept the fact that indeed, this is not something you are meant to understand and maybe you just don’t have to. All the more reason why you have no reason to be here, in a world where nothing makes sense and you’re caught in a loop of being their favorite pet to torture.

“So what the hell are we doing then? If I can’t touch, Suguru?” he asks with a little indignant huff, snaking his arms around your waist and clinging tight. “Not sexually, I mean.”

As if this isn’t that, either?

“I’m still here, Satoru,” Suguru answers with a little smolder that makes you want to vomit. Satoru’s head snaps up and he grins wide.

“Of course I can’t say no to that!” Gojo says gleefully, his eyes practically lighting up at the prospect.

You wish you can breathe out in relief but you know that might raise questions. And you have no mood to be interrogated by the most infuriating duo. But Satoru settles onto Suguru’s lap instead, peppering slobbery kisses all over his face. Suguru cast a curious glance at you, hoping to see some kind of positive reaction that you won’t give him the satisfaction of giving because no one should be rewarded for basic decency. You turn away, hugging your knees to your chest.

As long as neither of them have to touch you today. Then you’re fine with whatever happens.

You just don’t want to be touched, for once.

“There was never us ruling out that she could be in charge of you today, Satoru,” you hear Suguru suggest and this time you twist your head over your shoulder, your mouth agape as you assess his expression for any catch to the idea.

“If it means I can feel her, then that’s a fantastic idea,” Satoru purrs with a wraggling of his eyebrows.

You definitely feel some bile threatening to spew out of your mouth. Fucking sickis. Fucking psychopaths. Fucking…dinguses! Morons! Nightmares! FUCKERS! YOU HATE FHEM WITH EVERYTHING IN YOUR HEART!

But you have to admit, Suguru’s idea does pique your interest a little.

“What am I allowed to do, Suguru?” you inquire with that same innocent tone, hoping your voice isn’t betraying you.

Suguru locks his arms around Satoru’s hips, humming in thought.

“Well, Satoru does have this little fantasy of getting pegged while he sucks me off…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Are you okay with that, Suguru?” you ask in a syrupy sweet tone as you inch toward him, brushing your lips against his ear in a tantalizing, delicious way. You see his breath hitch in his throat and you can’t help yourself, your lips twitching upward in a smirk. “I’m happy to do that, if it makes you happy, Suguru.”

“I’m only happy if you’re comfortable doing so. But Satoru doesn’t get to touch you. That’s the rule now,” he whispers seductively, stealing a kiss on your lips. His hands sneak up Satoru’s thighs and Satoru gasps, instinctively spreading himself against Suguru’s lap.

Suguru cups Satoru’s cock roughly through his slacks and Satoru inhales through his nose sharply, inching toward the touch.

“Satoru, relax,” he chuckles, slipping his lover’s cock out and cuffing his tip roughly with one of his hands as the other pumps his shaft. “I barely even started.”

You snake an arm around Geto’s neck, scooting closer. He flashes you a little smirk.

“Can’t—haaa—help it, missed you,” he whimpers while his hands fly up to Geto’s chest, pinching his nipples through his robe.

“Undress me, my love,” he instructs you and you nod, sliding off the robe and he adjusts himself to make the process a bit easier. Gojo whines again, latching his lips onto one of Geto’s pecs and lavishing it with his tongue while Geto continues to fondle his cock. It’s already strained and stiff and leaking and Gojo is squirming in his spot, rendered utterly helpless at the slightest touch.

“Suguru?” you beckon for further instruction, trailing your fingers down one of his arms. He lets out a dreamy little sound, pleased by your touch, by your cooperation more so.

“Just follow my lead, my love.” He’s been calling you that more than ‘little dove,’ which is an improvement but not ideal to say the very least about the shift. “He can’t touch you, but you can touch him. Do you understand?”

So, there’s the catch. Of fucking course it’s never that fucking easy.

You nod. His mischievous smile widens.

“Good. Go to the storage unit and pick your poison. Grab the lube and choose a large one to peg him with. He needs something my size or bigger to satisfy that slutty hole of his.”

He emphasizes that statement with a firm fisting of his shaft and Gojo squirms in his hold again, whining.

“Suguru…! Haaa…! Please! Want Princess to fuck me!”

“Patience,” he chides with a sharp swat on one of Satoru’s thighs, making him keen and arch his back into Geto’s body.

“Want her to fuck my brains out,” he babbles on as you gather the strap-on, lube, and eyeballing the sizes. You choose one of the far girthier ones. You furrow your brows as you adjust the strap on and return with the bottle of lube in hand. While you have gathered the items Suguru has yanked Satoru’s pants off and adjusted him so it was just him on the couch. He keeps his legs spread wide and you hand the bottle of lube to Geto.

“I can take care of the prep and I’ll talk you through it, my love. You haven’t done any of this before?”

You shake your head. Of course you haven’t. This is all foreign territory to you but the idea you can control what happens to a certain degree in this is kind of appetizing and you shouldn’t feel that way because you know it’s all part of some grander scheme up Geto’s sleeve. He wants you to want him. He wants you to return his feelings no matter what he tells you otherwise. He is trying to appeal to you.

Don’t fall for it, you remind yourself. Don’t fucking fall for it. It’s all a fucking game.

Suguru grabs Gojo’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks, and guides him to his cock. Gojo opens up without protest, groaning in delight and arousal the moment Geto’s cock fully settles in his mouth. Slobber dribbles messily down Gojo’s chin as he bobs his head back and forth on his lover’s huge, hard cock. Moaning and groaning like it’s an honor to please him.

All the while Geto’s dextrous, slicked up fingers work him open with his other hand still pumping Gojo’s shaft.

You’re awestruck at the sight in the worst way, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. Just like they go at it like rabid animals with you, they go at it like rabid, insatiable animals with each other. Geto maintains a stellar pokerface while making Gojo deepthroat him and you’re certain you’re appalled yet you can’t deny the arousal pooling in your groin. 

You’re sick of your own perfectly natural physiological reactions. Maybe you’re getting off to the fact that you can actually take something back. The lewd squelching noises and the slicht! Slicht! Slitch! from Geto fisting Gojo’s cock is overstimulating and Gojo shouts when he splatters his own seed all across his abdomen and torso. Geto just laughs with vigor as Gojo pants from the high, muffled through Geto’s cock constantly hitting the back of his throat mercilessly.

Geto’s piercing violet gaze fixes on you as he curls his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion, and you cautiously approach him. He grasps the toy you chose that you attached to the strap on and lines it up to Gojo’s stretched entrance. He coos little sweet nothings to you as he assists you in sinking it inside, making Gojo thrash about but Geto commands him to hold fucking still.

“Just thrust your hips like that, my love. There you go, find a rhythm that works for you and makes him feel good,” he talks you through it like he promises, purring as he grabs a fistful of Gojo’s hair and controls the pace in which he fucks his mouth while you fuck into Gojo’s ass.

“Swallow me, Satoru,” Geto grunts a command and Gojo moans as he does as he’s told. He yanks Gojo’s mouth off of his dick and Gojo parts with kissing the tip of it before his voice breaks into more broken moans as you pick up a kind of moderate pace once you get the hang of it. Geto continues to coach you and guide you, admiring the view of the ridged girthy toy disappearing into Gojo’s hole.

“Fuuuuck, Princess, you’re such a fucking natural. Don’t stop!” Gojo babbles as a line of drool dribbles down his chin. Geto chuckles, remaining behind you and rubbing your shoulders as beads of sweat drops from your forehead and slides across one of your brows. Gojo’s praises and Geto’s words of encouragement do make you feel a type of way. You feel a sense of empowerment you haven’t felt in a long time. Watching Gojo grip the edge of the cushion he’s seated on trying to maintain some semblance of composure but he’s writhing and keening and all because of you and it’s riveting. Truly riveting and you can’t believe it.

“Ah—fuck—gonna—haaaaa—come, Princess! Fuck!” He shouts as Geto instructs you to watch his hole clench around the toy and his pathetic cock twitch as more seed splatters on his stomach again.

“You did so well, my love,” Geto gushes as he helps you pull out the toy and yanks it off of you. Gojo’s panting heavily, whimpering again.

“Don’t want to stop,” he begs, pouting, “Please please please let her fuck me again!”

Geto eyeballs you and you shake your head. While you kind of do, that took a lot out of you.

“Go easy on her, Satoru,” he purrs, “That was her first time doing something like that. And isn’t she a natural?”

His hand rests on the small of your back. You ignore the shot of cold crawling up and down your spine. You can’t show you still fear him yet you do. You do fear him and that’s exactly what he’s trying so hard not to make you feel around him.

But you mean what you said before—nothing’s ever going to change. Not for as long as your heart is still beating life into your body, are you ever going to feel anything other than fear and resentment for either he and Satoru. These men are a plague to you—parasites that have made a home out of tormenting you under the guise of affection.

“Want moooorrree, Suguru…” he drawls, sticking his tongue past his lips while clawing his hands at the air. “So good.”

“Looks like you broke him,” Geto murmurs in an amused tone into your ear, expecting a little giggle out of you at least but all you do is glance up at him with bewildered eyes. His expression falters. Of course you don’t fall for the schemes he pulls. “I got it from here. You rest now. You did so good.”

He presses a tender kiss to the bridge of your nose, and then your lips. When he pulls away, he has a soft look on his face. In another world it might have knocked the wind out of your lungs in the best way.

But this is not that world, you remind yourself. This world is still your personal Hell.

[bg-brainrot]

To Be Known (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: Astarion reads a book and wonders what it means to be known.

Tags: Astarion's POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3 but pre-Cazador, Astarion is Bad at Feelings,

A/N: Disclaimer up top: I'm not abandoning any of my other fic! Promise! Just trying to get over a tough month and get back into the swing of things :'D

Also, based on the quote: “To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is like being loved by God.” (disclaimer: I’m not religious, and I know this quote comes in a few different forms, but google told me about this version so I stuck to it.)

Word count: ~2.1k

“To be fully known and truly loved is as if you are loved by the gods,” Astarion reads aloud, to no one in particular.

A silence follows, wherein his mind repeats the words he’s just read, absorbing none of them. To be fully known and truly loved… The words don’t seem to stick. 

Finally deciding that the sentence isn’t worth his effort, he tosses the book onto his bedroll with a groan. “What rubbish.”

Outside of this author's haughty approach to prose, Astarion doesn’t particularly care to think too deeply about what it means to be loved– especially by any godsforsaken deities. 

He has only just come around to the idea of love, not that he’s said the word ‘love’ to you just yet. It felt too much, too heavy a word to carry considering all of the other burdens the two of you bore between you. But the idea of it? Well, he was warming up to it. And with every moment shared between you, he believes he may be warming up all the more.

But what does being known have to do with love? No, that concept has him pulling his brows together, getting up from his bedroll and putting distance between himself and the drivel that Gale had recommended to him.

That’s what I get for listening to the damned wizard’s tastes, he thinks, shaking his head slightly. Some philosophical prattle, just as verbose as he is.

But even as he stands, brushes himself off, shoves the book away to the furthest corner of his tent before he makes to leave, the question of being known never escapes him.

What does it even mean to be known? he wonders, now lost in thought as he emerges from his tent. How could anyone know me, after all I’ve been through… do I even know who I am anymore?

The idea hangs over him, trails him like a storm cloud as he begins stalking about the camp you’ve all set up in the outskirts of Rivington. He’s not sure where his feet are leading him other than away– away from the distasteful book, away from away from your knowing gaze, which would only pry his thoughts out of him.

Much to Astarion’s disappointment, the trail he takes doesn’t stop the winding path his thoughts have taken.

Have I ever been known? he wonders, vaguely registering the breeze in his hair and the distant sounds of running water as he travels further and further from camp.

Perhaps I was once upon a time, but I could hardly be expected to remember now, could I? The thought is bitter and unwelcome, though likely true. He brusquely swats a branch out of his way and continues into a bramble unrepentantly. Gods, how can he bring himself to care about something as trifling as nature when he’s quite busily lost in thought right now, thank-you-very-much.

Astarion releases a sigh as he finally fights his way into a copse of trees. Secluded, finally. 

Alone. 

With his thoughts.

Which won’t seem to quiet despite the soft chittering of small animals, nor the sickly sweet smell of flowers in the air.

Why are some pitiful poet’s ‘words of wisdom’ even bothering me? he thinks as he lowers himself onto the trunk of a fallen tree. What’s even the use in being known?

Astarion crosses his legs in front of him, watching with narrowed eyes as his boots press into the soft grass, crushing it easily. There is no use to being known, he decides as he presses harder with one foot and the grass is further flattened. To wish that is…

His foot twists down even more firmly.

Pathetic, Astarion thinks, lifting his boot back up to see his handiwork. The grass lies flat, thoroughly smashed by him. This world is simply about being the one who tramples, and not the one being trampled.

That thought oddly comforts him. He knows the push and pull of power well enough– this dynamic is second nature to him. Like an old, threadbare blanket, it wraps around his shoulders, providing no warmth, but plenty of familiar reassurance.

It’s moments later that the blanket is wrenched from him and he’s laid bare once more, under the startling sunlight of your attention.

“Astarion?”

Your voice pierces through his thoughts, and his instinctual answering emotions are new to him. Surprise. Elation. Relief.

The vampire had been utterly unprepared to hear your voice, convinced he’d found a spot away from you all. Convinced that you wouldn’t be here with your thoughtful gaze– not now, while he’s still busy sorting through a myriad of questions. But he still can’t deny the way he welcomes your presence. 

He suspects that your perceptive gaze can easily catch that, despite the way his shoulder’s tense and the way his head turns away, his ears still tilt back toward you, ready for your next words.

“Astarion, there you are,” you say. He hears the same emotions he feels in your voice. How odd it feels to be mirrored by you. He can’t deny enjoying that either. “What’s the matter? When I couldn’t find you around camp, I thought the worst might have happened."

The man scoffs, trying his best to sound unaffected by your sudden arrival, refusing to meet your inquiring gaze. “And what, pray tell, did you assume could have happened?”

“We’re practically at the Gate, Astarion. Anything could have happened. Need I remind you what happened to Dribbles?” you respond, voice tight with worry. 

Ah yes. The dead clown. “It will take more than a shapeshifter to take me out, darling,” he retorts, still refusing to turn toward you, now dutifully inspecting his nails.

You let out a small huff of disapproval. “And what about Cazador?”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Astarion replies, though the thought of being caught unawares by Cazador bristles at him. If he did get caught, it would be entirely Gale’s fault for lending him that book… He shakes his head of white curls and continues, “Besides, I barely got more than a few dozen yards away before you came chasing after me. I could hardly be in any real danger.”

When you sigh, he finally turns to face you. The expression you give him then isn’t frustration, nor anger– it’s an unusual mixture of worry and… joy? “I couldn’t help but chase. Would it be pathetic to say that I miss you when you’re gone for too long?” you respond.

He’s not sure he has an answer to that.

Especially when he feels pathetic for how light his undead heart feels at the statement.

Astarion drops his head, avoiding your gaze, and hoping you don’t catch the startled happiness on his face.

When it’s clear he doesn’t have a response for you, you change the subject as you close the distance between you, “So, what brought you out here?”

“Nothing,” he replies, too easily. You know it’s a lie. He knows that you know it.

“Nothing, eh?” you ask, finding a seat next to him on the fallen tree. “What about that nothing has you running into the woods?”

“I was not running,” he defends, with a click of his tongue. “I was taking a brisk stroll.”

“Fine then,” you relent, elbowing his arm gently. “What about it led to a ‘brisk stroll’?”

There’s no use hiding from them, is there? he thinks, leaning back on the trunk. “I’ll tell you,” he begins, staring out into a bush. “But only if you answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” you say, and he can feel your shrug on his arm.

“Who am I, really?”

You still. Astarion had expected no less. After all, it’s not an easy question to answer– even for him. He’s putting quite a lot of undue pressure onto you with the question, it’s selfish really… but he can’t help but want to be selfish around you.

So he lets the question settle into the silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is crisp in the muted sounds of the clearing. “Promise you won’t care for me any less after I answer you?”

Astarion snaps his head back at you, his mouth turning down in a frown. “Well that depends, my dear. What are you planning to say?”

“Promise?” you press.

As if he could care any less for you– he would have done so already if he could. “I promise,” he murmurs reluctantly. “Now, please, the suspense is really too much.”

“You are Astarion,” you start, reaching out for his hand. He cautiously places his in yours, unable to hide the twitch of a smile as your warm fingers lock with his. “You’re a beautiful, elven vampire, with silver hair, and red eyes. You’re talented, witty, and…”

Your voice trails off, and Astarion can’t help but wonder why you’d been so hesitant to answer. So far, he is loving this answer.

“And you’re an absolute arse at times.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, moving to pull his hand out of yours.

You don’t release it, but you do continue, “You laugh at the misfortune of others, you steal, you lie, you cheat at games, you can be incredibly selfish.”

“Darling, are we certain you care about me after all this?” he grumbles, giving up on fighting your grip on him as your words wash over him. He knows all of this, of course, has been entirely unashamed of it all before… but it feels different when you say it. When you lay it out plainly before him.

“Yes,” you answer quickly, tugging on his hand gently. “Because all of that makes you you. And, personally, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He blinks at you, confused on how you arrived at this conclusion.

“You are so unabashedly you, love. And I adore that. I know it might not feel like it after all you’ve been through… but you are still yourself. No one has been able to take that from you.”

Now Astarion stares at your intertwined hands, wondering if he deserves such impassioned, absurd words said in his defense. His voice comes quietly when he asks his next questions, “And how do I know that’s who I have always been? Who I was meant to be?”

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a soft, warm kiss before you continue, “Astarion, I don’t know what might have bothered you, but I want you to know that, no matter what it was, you’re amazing as the man you are. Whoever you were, whoever you think you were meant to be, you should be proud of who you are now. And… once we deal with Cazador, I hope you have the chance to rediscover that man.”

Astarion hadn’t meant this to be some kind of journey of self-discovery– really, he’d only been irked by the needless philosophy of the book Gale had lent him. But, hearing you say those words, it feels as if some weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

Worry, he realizes. Of losing who he was, of course, but also of being utterly, desolately unknown. Naturally he needn’t have worried because here you are, ready and willing to understand him. To accept and care for him, even while knowing him, flaws and all.

Maybe being known wasn’t such a burden. Not if it were by you.

“Yes, well,” he begins, suddenly unsure what to say to your earnest words. “Thank you for that, I think. Though, really, I could have done without all of the barbs. It feels like I've been struck by psychic damage.” Astarion gives a dramatic head loll, averting his flustered face.

You laugh and squeeze his hand. “Well, it’s a good thing I have no clue how to deal psychic damage, but I’ll be sure to get Gale right over if you need a good jostle to the brain.”

Gale’s done enough of that, Astarion thinks. But he doesn’t say so to you. Instead, the man simply shakes his head. “I’m quite alright. Speaking of the rest of those fools, they’ve likely begun to burn the camp down without us. Shall we head back?”

While the trek to the clearing had been filled with spiraling thoughts and matters of the self, Astarion finds that the journey back is filled with far more soft touches and kisses– Not that he minds.

In fact, he thinks with a smile, as you both walk together, practically falling into each others’ arms. Maybe this was who I was meant to be all along.

That night, once he’s settled back into his tent for bed, Astarion reads the passage once more, “To be fully known and truly loved is as if you are loved by the gods.”

Astarion is certainly no closer to believing in the gods’ willingness or ability to love him, but he could hardly care. No, he suspects that he knows what a god’s love is– after all, if you truly love him, fangs, scars, and all… well, that may very well be divine.

[komoboko]

𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Muichiro tokito x gn!reader ・can be read as platonic or romantic ・heavy angst ・muichiro lives in this scenario hurt no comfort ・major kny spoilers ・major character death

Am I a bundle of joy be honest

The day of your death was something Muichiro didn’t think he would ever forget. Memorization was never his strong suit but he knew this would be something that would haunt him.

He never thought of the possibility of loosing you. He knew the mortality rate in the infinity castle was low, even lower when it came to putting yourself on the front line. He just never thought that you would fall along with the many other slayers that loss their lives that same night. He never thought about coming back home alone, how you wouldn’t be making the journey back to see everybody along with him.

His mind is burnt with the image of your body mutilated, blood poured out of you. There was so much blood, to much where anybody would know you were beyond saving. Uppermoon 1, his ancestor had finally crumbled into dust but at what cost? The cost of you being left to rot on the floor until the castle would crumble and destroy itself underneath its own weight? Why did you have to suffer? Why did you have to leave him behind?

7 days. It’s been 7 days since you died and Muichiro struggles, moving slowly through the stages of grief.

It’s difficult for him to look into any photos that included you. His grief that morphed into anger that he expressed alone in the defeating silence of your room. It hurts him to be in there, the memories of you and your presence weigh him down. He doesn’t want to accept the fact you would never return. That your body would never find peace as it was crumbled and turned to ash. That you had to leave him alone on this earth. It hurt him alot it was difficult for him to handle so much grief. It reminded him of the detain of his brother, a memory he didn’t want to remember either.

Death was something that seemed to follow him. His blood flowed with the remains of the Tsugikuni family lineage. A bloodline that was considered some sort of curse, a force of evil and failure for 500 years. Muichiro only lingers in your room, standing in the middle of the room while his eyes face down on the floor. He didn’t want to look up, be met with photos where your eyes were filled with so much light. He couldn’t find it in him to look at your face, the memory of your body still so fresh inside of his mind. It hurt, a pain he didn’t want to bare.

1 month. It’s been a month since the final night before demons were vanquished. It’s then when muichiro memory problem begins to fail him.

When he looks at flowers his chest stings but he doesn’t know why. He walks past places that feel so familiar to him but he can’t remember why it hurts to be around there. Details about you that used to come to him like second nature slowly seep from his mind. He knows your name, your face, your occupation, your birthday, your death date but after that he doesn’t seem to remember anymore. He knows you but knowing you to such a personal level slowly starts to decline.

Your room is still left untouched despite all of this. Your haori that you left on the bed before you went to the infinity castle still lays there untouched. Everything in place how you left it like you would come back and fix it. It hurts him still to walk in there. A burden in his shoulders, one that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. Death was a heavy weight he’s always has had to carry and he wishes he never had to in the first place.

3 months. Things seem to get worse, Muichiro now begins to question even more about things in his own home.

Your room is some place where he’s filmed with less pain and now more confusion. He looks at the things left inside of your room and wonders why they were there. He stares at pictures of you left in there, he knows who’s in the picture yet he doesn’t know why he has it. He knows it’s you, he remembers you but why were you in his home? Why was there a portrait of you and him together that was left on the counter. Why was there a picture of you left on his bedside table.

He knows he couldn’t forget you, he mustn’t but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why you play such a signifiant part in the space taken up in his estate. He doesn’t know why you take up such an important place in his heart. Why it hurts so much to see you, even if you look so happy in the picture he has right next to his bed. Why does somebody make him feel so much pain even if he has yet to see them in so long?

6 months. 6 months has gone by since the final battle and muichiro has changed.

Tanjiro who was fully healed now, took the liberty to go and visit muichiro once again. He’s sent him letters in the mail multiple times in the past but it’s always good to see people in person. Tanjiro was happy to see Muichiro outside of his estate, taking up on his request to go out and grab something to eat. Maybe visit some of the now retired hashira’s along the way.

The boy went to muichiro estate to start their trip. He waited by the door for a minute but it wasn’t long for Muichiro to come and open it. He smiled greeting the long haired boy before taking the liberty to step inside. His eyes follow around to see some things have changed. Furniture has moved around and there was boxes near by the door, what tanjiro had assumed was things he planned to get rid off.

His eyes fall onto one box that catches his attention. He strolls over before leaning down to grab a picture that was left on top of the box. Blowing off the dust that covered the photo he found a picture of you. A smile fell on Tanjiro’s face before he turns to muichiro pointing towards the photo. “They were always such a lovely person weren’t they?” Tanjiro says looking down at the photo catching Muichiro’s attention.

Muichiro only stares at the photo in Tanjiro’s hand. His face blank, a usual expression to be seen on his face. Muichiro stays quiet for a moment before opening his mouth, he only had one thing to say.

“Who?”