#how is that even an option you considered

[solxamber]

Choose Us!

In which you have to decide on a dorm to become part of.

Part 2: You choose the dorm

"You're serious?" you blink at Crowley, half-expecting Grim to wake you up from this fever dream. "I can move into any dorm?"

Crowley clasps his hands together with a benevolent smile that doesn't quite match his usual dramatic flair. "Indeed, my dear prefect! It's the least I can do to ensure your safety and comfort!"

Grim looks up from where he’s gnawing on a suspiciously burnt sofa leg. "Wait, what about me?!"

"You’ll go where the prefect goes, naturally," Crowley waves off Grim’s protests. "Now, chop-chop! Let me know your decision by the end of the day."

And just like that, he floats out of Ramshackle, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos.

Heartslabyul

The second you hit send in the group chat, you regret everything. Ace and Deuce don’t even wait for you to explain. Within minutes, they’re barging into Ramshackle like the Kool-Aid Man.

“Heartslabyul!” Ace yells, grabbing one of your arms.

“Obviously Heartslabyul!” Deuce hollers, seizing the other.

“I haven’t even decided—”

“Blasphemy!” Ace gasps, as if you’d just insulted his mother. “We’re your best friends, how could you even think about choosing another dorm?”

Deuce nods fervently, dragging you toward the door. “Heartslabyul’s clean! Organized! You’d thrive there!”

"And the desserts!" Ace adds. "Think of the desserts!"

Before you know it, you're shoved into Heartslabyul’s rose garden, where Riddle is waiting with the most extravagant tea party setup you’ve ever seen. There’s a towering cake, delicate pastries, and enough tea to drown Grim.

“I thought you might need proper refreshments while considering your options,” Riddle says, adjusting his posture like he isn’t secretly trying to sway you. “Of course, I have no preference where you go. I’m merely concerned for your well-being.”

Trey hands you a plate with the biggest, most immaculate slice of cake you’ve ever seen. “You’d fit right in here, you know,” he says kindly. “We’re all about structure and care… and good desserts.”

"Plus," Cater slides in with a grin, “imagine all the cool pics we could take together! #DormGoals, am I right? You and me chilling in Heartslabyul, like, all the time?”

Riddle clears his throat loudly. “This isn’t about favoritism, mind you. But if you were to choose Heartslabyul, you’d be part of a dorm that values discipline and respect for the rules.”

Ace nudges you with a smirk. “Ignore him. Just think of all the times I’ll sneak you extra tarts.”

You glance around at the hopeful stares. Grim’s already halfway into a tart he snatched off the table. “I feel like I’m being ambushed.”

“Oh, you are,” Ace says shamelessly.

Savanaclaw

You stumble out of the Heartslabyul tea party, feeling like you’ve consumed enough sugar to fuel a small country. Before you can even catch your breath, a shadow looms over you, and suddenly, you're hoisted into the air like a sack of potatoes.

“What the—JACK?!” you squawk, flailing as he throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“You’re coming with me,” Jack grunts, completely unfazed by your protests. “You need to see why Savanaclaw is the best dorm for you.”

“I can walk, you know!” you huff, punching his back.

He ignores you. “Not fast enough.”

By the time he sets you down, you’re in the middle of Savanaclaw’s common area, where Ruggie is lounging on one of the couches, counting a suspiciously thick wad of cash. Leona’s sprawled out nearby, pretending to nap, though his ears twitch at the sound of your arrival.

Ruggie grins as soon as he spots you. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just telling Leona how we could totally use someone like you here. Right, boss?”

Leona cracks one eye open and yawns, his tone dripping with disinterest. “Tch. Don’t care. They can do whatever they want.”

“That’s funny,” Ruggie says, nudging Leona hard enough to make him growl, “’cause I distinctly remember you saying—and I quote—‘If they don’t pick Savanaclaw, everyone else can rot.’”

Leona sits up, glaring daggers at Ruggie. “I said no such thing.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Ruggie snickers before turning back to you, his grin as wide as a hyena’s. “Anyway, check this out. Leona generously donated some funds to help you... you know, see the light.”

He shoves the wad of cash into your hands. You blink at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want! Snacks, clothes, bribes for your annoying friends in Heartslabyul…”

Leona groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re making us look desperate.”

“We? Speak for yourself, Your Highness.” Ruggie winks at you. “He’s just mad ‘cause he doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

Leona slouches further into his seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Look, Herbivore, if you wanna be around people who won’t coddle you, Savanaclaw’s where it’s at. We don’t do tea parties here—”

“Obviously,” you mutter, thinking about the claw marks on the furniture.

“—but we’ll actually challenge you to grow stronger. You can’t get that in the other dorms.”

Jack nods. “He’s right. And we’ve got the best training facilities on campus.”

Ruggie waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, training’s cool and all, but let’s focus on what really matters. Free snacks. Awesome vibes. Me.”

Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re going to scare them off.”

You cross your arms, trying to ignore the way Leona’s ears flick every time you shift your weight. “So… are you guys going to bribe me with anything besides money and vibes?”

Leona smirks. “What, isn’t my dazzling personality enough?”

Ruggie snorts. “Oh, sure. That’s totally why people flock to you.”

You can’t help but laugh, and Leona’s eyes soften just a little, though he quickly turns his head like he doesn’t care.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, handing the wad of cash back to Ruggie, who immediately starts recounting it like you’ve stolen some.

“Better think fast,” Leona mutters, though there’s the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

Octavinelle

As you trudge back to Ramshackle, your brain still processing Savanaclaw’s “recruitment tactics,” a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you, lifting you clean off the ground.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd crows, spinning you around like you’re a prize he just won at a carnival.

“FLOYD! Put me down!” you shout, flailing uselessly in his grip.

“Nah, I got orders,” he says, grinning ear to ear as he hauls you off toward the Mostro Lounge.

By the time you’re unceremoniously deposited (read: still stuck in Floyd’s arms like a glorified teddy bear), you’re face-to-face with Azul and Jade, both of whom look way too pleased with themselves.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Azul says, standing up from his chair with his signature business smile. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have a seat!”

“I would if Floyd let me down,” you deadpan, glaring at the tall eel holding you like a sack of seaweed.

“Nah, you’re comfy,” Floyd chirps, tightening his grip as if daring you to try escaping.

Azul clears his throat, pulling out a scroll of parchment that looks suspiciously like a contract. “Ahem. Now, as I was saying—let’s discuss the many benefits of joining Octavinelle. For starters, we pride ourselves on being a dorm of intellect and resourcefulness. Here, you’ll have access to unmatched networking opportunities, a plethora of unique beverages crafted by Jade himself, and—should you agree—my personal mentorship in matters of… negotiation.”

He flashes you a grin that screams, This is totally not suspicious at all.

Jade slides a glass of something shimmering and iridescent across the table toward you. “I would be delighted to name you our official taste tester. Imagine the prestige of being the first to try all my… experimental creations.”

You eye the drink like it might explode. “Define ‘experimental.’”

Jade smiles serenely. “You’ll find out.”

“Don’t be shy, Shrimpy!” Floyd chimes in, shifting you in his arms so you’re now sitting sideways like some sort of royal guest. “You’d have so much fun here. We’ve got good food, good drinks, and me.”

Azul adjusts his glasses, sliding the contract closer to you. “And, of course, we’ve prepared a special position for you. All you have to do is sign right here, and Octavinelle will officially welcome you as our newest member.”

You glance at the contract, then at the three of them—Azul’s scheming smile, Jade’s unsettling calmness, and Floyd’s unnervingly enthusiastic grin.

“I feel like this is a trap,” you say.

“It’s not a trap,” Floyd says immediately, which makes you even more suspicious.

Azul leans forward, steepling his fingers. “I assure you, everything is perfectly legitimate. Now, shall we seal the deal?”

“Or,” you say, leaning back as far as Floyd’s grip will allow, “I could not.”

Jade hums thoughtfully, handing you another drink. “At least try the beverages before you decide.”

Azul smirks. “I’m sure a sip or two will convince you.”

You glance at the drink, then back at Azul. “Is this bribery?”

“It’s persuasion,” he corrects smoothly.

“Same thing.”

Floyd suddenly squeezes you tight, grinning down at you. “C’mon, Shrimpy. Just say yes already! I’ll carry you everywhere. Betcha Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw didn’t offer that.”

You sigh, resting your head in your hands. This was going to be a long night.

Scarabia

You barely make it out of Octavinelle alive (or at least with your dignity and soul intact) when you’re immediately ambushed again.

“Prefect!” Kalim’s voice rings out, and before you can even process the sound, you’re being yanked into a whirlwind of color, music, and… is that confetti?

You blink as Scarabia's lounge comes into view, transformed into what can only be described as a full-blown festival. Tables are piled high with food, lanterns glow in warm hues, and cheerful music fills the air.

“Surprise!” Kalim grins, throwing his arms wide like he just gifted you the world. “Welcome to Scarabia! We threw a party just for you!”

“A… party?” you repeat, still trying to figure out how you got here so fast.

“Yep!” Kalim grabs your hands, his golden eyes shining with pure, unfiltered excitement. “I thought, ‘What’s the best way to convince you to join us?’ And then I thought, ‘A party! Everyone loves parties!’”

Before you can respond, a plate stacked with delicious-looking food appears in front of you, courtesy of none other than Jamil.

“Eat,” he says simply, pushing the plate closer.

“Oh, uh, thanks?” you mumble, picking up a fork.

Jamil nods, then leans in slightly, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “This is just a taste of what Scarabia has to offer. Stick around, and I’ll make sure you’re well-fed every day. Properly fed.”

You pause mid-bite, noticing the way he emphasizes the word “properly,” like he knows exactly how many instant noodles you’ve been living off of.

Kalim, meanwhile, is still giving you the most devastating puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. “You’ll join, right? We’d have so much fun together! And think of all the parties we could throw! Oh, and I can get you anything you want! Name it, and it’s yours!”

You glance between Kalim’s hopeful grin and Jamil’s subtle but persuasive bribes.

Jamil catches your hesitation and sighs, placing yet another dish in front of you. “Look, I’ll even help you stay on top of your work. You’re clearly the type who needs someone dependable around.”

“Hey!” you protest, only for him to raise an eyebrow as if to say, Am I wrong?

“Please?” Kalim chimes in, practically bouncing in place. “It’ll be so much fun! And I really, really want you to join. Scarabia would be perfect for you!”

You groan internally, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering. Between Kalim’s overwhelming enthusiasm and Jamil’s quiet determination, you’re starting to think Scarabia might actually succeed in breaking your will.

You’re doomed. Aren’t you?

Pomefiore

You stumble out of Scarabia, clutching your overstuffed stomach and wondering how you’ve made it this far without officially losing your sanity. Taking the long way around campus to avoid any more ambushes seems like the best idea—you’ve had enough dorm propaganda for one day.

Or so you thought.

You’re halfway through the forest, breathing a sigh of relief at the quiet, when—

“Bonjour, mon cher trésor!”

You shriek as Rook appears out of thin air. Where did he even come from? Why is there sparkly lighting behind him? Is this even allowed?

“Rook! What—what are you doing here?!”

“Ah, I see you were clever enough to evade the others,” he says, ignoring your question entirely. “But you cannot escape me, the hunter of beauty! Pomefiore awaits, mon ami!”

Before you can protest, he’s scooped you up bridal style and is sprinting through the forest with unnatural speed, his laughter echoing ominously.

“This isn’t fair! You’re cheating!” you yell, flailing helplessly.

“All’s fair in love, war, and dorm recruitment, non?”

You soon find yourself unceremoniously plopped down in the middle of Pomefiore’s lounge. Vil is waiting with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, though the way his foot taps against the floor suggests he’s less than pleased.

“Honestly,” Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was the theatrics really necessary, Rook?”

“Always,” Rook replies with a wink.

Epel is off to the side, clearly trying not to laugh at your predicament while casually carving an apple.

“Well,” Vil says, straightening his posture and fixing you with a regal gaze. “I’ve heard about this… situation of yours. Joining Pomefiore would be the obvious choice. After all, we are the epitome of elegance and refinement. It would be a privilege for you to stay here, and I might even be able to do something about your… appearance.”

You blink. "What's wrong with my appearance?”

Vil waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing I can’t fix. Consider it a favor.”

Epel, meanwhile, sidles up next to you, whispering conspiratorially “Don’t listen to him. He’s just tryna butter you up. But, uh… you should totally join Pomefiore anyway. Look, I brought you some fresh juice from Harveston. And this apple.”

You glance at the carved apple he’s offering. It’s shaped like a little heart.

“Epel,” Vil scolds, glaring at him. “Stop bribing them. That’s hardly dignified.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Epel shoots back, crossing his arms. “I just think we need someone who’ll actually get how hard it is to survive your routines. And they seem cool. So there.”

You feel your brain short-circuiting as Vil and Epel start bickering in front of you. Rook stands off to the side, watching with sparkling eyes like he’s witnessing a masterpiece.

Somehow, you feel like this is still less stressful than Scarabia. But only barely.

Ignihyde

You somehow manage to escape Pomefiore in one piece, though your mind feels like it’s been through a blender. You’re determined to finally make it back to Ramshackle without incident when—

“Prefect!”

You freeze mid-step as Ortho zooms into view, his boosters glowing bright blue. Before you can even blink, he grabs your arm with surprising strength.

“Ignihyde is next!” he announces cheerfully, starting to lift you off the ground.

“Wait, wait!” you shout, flailing. “I can walk! Please, I’ve been carried around like a stolen handbag all day!”

Ortho tilts his head, his LED eyes flickering. “Oh… okay! As long as you promise to come willingly!”

You nod frantically. “I promise! Just no more flying, please.”

Satisfied, Ortho takes your hand and leads you to Ignihyde. The journey is mercifully uneventful, though you can feel your soul leaving your body as you realize what’s waiting for you inside.

Sure enough, Idia is hunched over in the corner of the lounge, a laptop balanced precariously on a stack of game boxes. The moment you enter, the screen lights up with a title slide: “Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Join Ignihyde” in bold, glowing text.

“Oh, you’re here,” Idia mutters, adjusting his hoodie nervously. His hair flickers faintly pink at the tips. “Uh, okay, so—yeah, uh—welcome? Or whatever. Let’s, um, get this over with.”

He clicks to the first slide, which is an overwhelming wall of text filled with bullet points, charts, and what looks like a meme of a cat wearing glasses.

“Reason number one,” Idia starts, stumbling over his words. “Um, we’re quiet? Like, no loud parties or annoying socializing. Uh… unless you count Ortho, but, uh, he’s not that bad. And you can play games as much as you want. Or watch anime. Or—uh—just chill. Yeah.”

Ortho, standing nearby, nods enthusiastically. “Ignihyde is perfect for you! And Brother worked really hard on this presentation!”

You glance at Idia, who’s clearly fighting for his life to make eye contact with you. He clicks to the next slide, which is just a stock photo of a cozy room.

“Reason number two,” he continues. “We, uh, have good Wi-Fi? Like, really good. You could stream in 4K if you wanted to. Not that you’d want to. Or maybe you would? Uh… I dunno. Anyway.”

His hair flickers a deeper pink, and he clicks to the next slide. It’s a crudely edited photo of you and him standing next to each other in front of a glowing Ignihyde logo. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.

He glances at you, his expression oddly hopeful. “So, uh… what do you think?”

You can feel Ortho practically vibrating next to you, his bright smile threatening to blind you. Meanwhile, Idia is trying (and failing) to look indifferent, but the way his fingers tap anxiously on the laptop betrays him.

“I’ll… think about it,” you say carefully, not having the heart to crush Idia’s dreams outright.

His hair sparks bright pink for a split second before he slams the laptop shut, muttering something about “overheating processors” and “input overload.”

Ortho cheers. “Yay! I knew you’d see how great we are!”

You manage a weak smile, already planning your escape route.

Diasomnia

You’re so close—so, so close—to finally making it back to Ramshackle when the universe decides to remind you that peace is but a fleeting dream.

“Ah, there you are!”

You barely have time to scream before Lilia literally materializes out of thin air, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into a swirling vortex of green light.

“Wait, NO—”

Too late. You’re already standing in the middle of Diasomnia’s lounge, disoriented and ready to file a restraining order against anyone with teleportation magic.

Malleus looks up from where he’s seated, eyebrows raising slightly. “Child of man? What brings you here?”

“Great news, Malleus!” Lilia chirps, dropping you onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. “They’re choosing a dorm to transfer to, and we couldn’t possibly let them pick anywhere but Diasomnia!”

Malleus freezes, his eyes wide with surprise, before his expression shifts into one of regal determination. He rises from his seat, his imposing height making you feel like a pebble in the presence of a mountain.

“Is this true?” he asks, his voice deep and serious. “You’re choosing a new dorm?”

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“Then it must be Diasomnia.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Here, you will be protected. No harm shall come to you under my watch. And…” He pauses, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have a gargoyle in my room. A fine specimen. You would enjoy its company.”

You blink. “...A gargoyle?”

“Yes,” Malleus says with absolute sincerity, as though that’s the most convincing argument in the world.

Before you can process that, Sebek practically throws himself to the floor in front of you, bowing with the intensity of a knight swearing fealty.

“Human!” he bellows. “You must choose Diasomnia! To live anywhere else would be an insult to the Young Master’s unparalleled grace and power! Surely, you can see this is the only logical choice!”

“Sebek,” Silver mumbles from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Maybe let them decide for themselves.”

“But, Silver!” Sebek protests, his voice trembling with the sheer force of his conviction. “The honor! The prestige!”

Meanwhile, Lilia floats into view, holding a plate of… something. “Don’t worry about dinner, dear. I’ve prepared a feast for you! Go on, take a bite.”

You stare at the plate. It looks like it might be alive. “I’m… good, thanks.”

“Nonsense! You need to keep your strength up!” Lilia insists, thrusting the plate closer to your face.

Silver sighs, finally sitting up. “You should just do what feels right,” he says, offering you a calm, reassuring smile. “Don’t let them pressure you.”

You glance between Malleus’s earnest expression, Sebek’s passionate pleas, and Lilia’s… questionable cooking. Your stomach growls, but you’re not sure if it’s hunger or the beginnings of a panic attack.

One thing’s for sure: if you survive this day, you’re going to need therapy.

The sun is setting by the time you finally drag your aching body back to Ramshackle. The dorm looms ahead, creaky and crumbling, but for once, it feels like a safe haven compared to the dorm-hopping marathon you just survived.

As you step inside, you’re greeted by the unmistakable voice of your ever-demanding feline companion. “There you are! What took ya so long? I’ve been waitin’ forever!”

Grim is sprawled on the couch, a can of tuna already half-empty beside him. He squints at you suspiciously. “So? Which dorm are we movin’ to?”

You groan, flopping face-first onto the nearest piece of semi-clean furniture. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“What?!” Grim squawks, leaping onto the armrest beside you. “What do ya mean you haven’t decided? This is important! We gotta pick one where I can get the most tuna, y’know?”

You tilt your head just enough to glare at him. “Oh, sure. Let me just base my entire living situation on your snack preferences.”

Grim puffs up, indignant. “Hey! I’ve been puttin’ up with this dump longer than anyone! I deserve to have a say!”

You sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. Somehow, Grim being his usual self is oddly comforting after everything. No bribes, no PowerPoints, no gargoyle sales pitches—just Grim being Grim.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” you mumble, your voice muffled by the cushion. “I’m too tired to think.”

Grim eyes you for a moment before huffing. “Fine. But don’t take too long, got it? I’m not stickin’ around this dump forever!”

With that, he hops off to raid the kitchen, leaving you alone to sink further into the furniture. You stare at the ceiling, your brain too fried to process anything else.

Tomorrow. You’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, all you want is to sleep in your creaky, drafty old dorm. At least here, no one’s trying to kidnap you.

Masterlist

[murderofravens]

fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

(part 3 the dusk till dawn series)

word count: 4.2k

FULL SERIES MASTERLIST

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pubic bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali @thebluehair23

[starmapz]

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety (attacks). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot. 

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[sariyastars]

🕷 Silk and Shadows

I. Shattered Threads

Pairing: Older! Damian Wayne x Spider! Reader Synopsis: While fighting a multiversal anomaly, Spiderlily is thrown into a city of shadows. With their Gizmo shattered and no way home, they discover Gotham’s dangers are far greater than they ever imagined. But giving up is not an option, because with great power, comes great responsibility. TW: Violence, Anxiety, Light Injury, Threatening Creatures, & Disorientation Word Count: 3,601

The city lights of New York had begun to flicker on, as the sun slowly fell over the building's horizons. For the past week, you have been running on pure willpower. Between starting university, working, maintaining a personal life, and keeping up with New York as the friendly neighborhood Spiderlily, it has been difficult to say the least. You loved your life, but being (y/n) and Spiderlily was beyond demanding. 

Bells of the cafe chimed, as you turned to greet the customer. While attending New York University, you worked at a local cafe part-time to help with the bills. The cafe was a small and cozy place, just off of a corner 10 minutes away from NYU. As you lift your head up from wiping the counters, you see your two best friends bounce in. 

Lenora Peterson, better known as Leni, has light brown medium-length hair that curls just a bit at the ends and big golden brown eyes that somehow always seem to have a mischievous glint to them. Leni is the crazy engineer type. She has quite the passion for crafting things and trying out new scientific experiments that should probably be considered illegal. You guessed that being a Mechanical Engineer major allowed her to create such strange machinery whenever she pleased. 

Hanley Munoz, also known as LeyLey, stands at 5'10" with fluffy brown hair styled to the side. His green eyes, often framed by his black thick rimmed glasses, are calculating. Kind but never sure. Hanley was never great with social cues and is trusting to a fault, but is incredibly intelligent despite this. Majoring in Biochemistry, he dedicates most of his time playing lacrosse for the NYU team. 

And then there was you. NYU Biophysics major and local spider-hero. The three of you were like the Three Stooges. Ever since middle school, you were always seen together and rarely ever apart. Participating in multiple different science fairs and other events together. However, you never wanted to involve them in your private life as Spiderlily. It did not take long for Leni to figure out your identity, but Hanley still has not yet seemed to catch on. His lack of awareness played well for you, and you planned to keep it that way. 

Although, ever since Leni has found out about Spiderlily, she began to self-proclaim herself as your ‘man in the chair’. While you were adamantly against this for a while, she ended up becoming one of your greatest assets. She has helped you improve and fix your gadgets when you didn’t have the time. She’s guided you through the city countless times. She has even made your spidersuit. Now, Leni was no seamstress. Except for when the fabric involves vibranium. How she managed to get her hands on a vibranium custom spider suit for you is beyond your comprehension. You’ve learned it’s best not to ask her these kinds of questions. Especially when it's handed to you on such a nice silver platter. 

The smell of coffee washes over you once again as you place your cleaning rag off to the side of the counter. Both Leni and Hanley make their way up to the register to greet you. 

“And how may I help you guys today?”, you ask playfully, meeting them at the front register with your hands on the counter and your head tilted to the side. 

“Our usuals please, madam.”, Leni retorts back in a terrible fake British accent. Her arm is slung around Hanley’s left one, whose hands are in his pocket. His Lacrosse bag is slung on his right arm, along with his school bag. The two both seem tired from the day, but Leni seems to be a bit more energetic as she is tugging Hanley back and forth as she sways.

You note the tired eyes Hanley has while he attempts to stifle a yawn. Presumably exhausted from his classes and Lacrosse practice. You look over to Leni who is now pulling out her wallet. Guess it was her turn to spot for coffee.

As you type up their usual coffee orders, you read it out loud to them- “So, that’ll be one blended medium vanilla frap and one extra large salted caramel cold brew.”.

“Oh! Can you add 5 extra shots to my cold brew.”, Leni quickly pipes in.

You look up at her with a stoic stare. “You’re joking. Right?”

“No, I have some essays I have to suffer through tonight for English 1301, and our personal project I want to complete.”, Leni finishes with an obvious wink at you. Hinting at the new spider gadgets she has been working on for the past week.

“What? You got something in your eye?”, Hanley questions, turning his head to Leni with a weird look of confusion.

You both are so lucky Hanley is as oblivious as he is. Truly.

Your eyes roll at this as you let out a soft chuckle. “Legally, no. Cold brews are already at max level of caffeine and it would be illegal for me to add any more. So, no.”

Leni scowls at your response, her lips pursing together in thought. “Can you leave some space in the cup and give me 5 shots on the side?”

You both stare at each other for what seems like a long moment. You are lucky the cafe is not busy at this hour. 

“Fine.”, you state while typing it into the system, your face still deadpan before letting out a soft smile. Leni cheered at this and tapped her card on the card reader. 

“What? No tip?”, you tease her again. She playfully sticks her tongue out at you, while Hanley begins to pull out a couple bucks from his wallet and drops it into your tip jar.

“Thank you, HANLEY.”, you emphasize his name. Leni laughs at this and begins to drag Hanley towards their usual table. Hanley grunts in response, as if saying ‘no problem’, as he allows himself to get dragged away from the counter. You laugh as well and begin to turn away to work on their drinks. You were the only barista for the closing night shift today. 

After handing Leni and Hanley their drinks, you lean against the counter as you all chat about your days. Leni is venting about her English 1301 essay she needs to complete. One hand is holding her coffee, that she had poured the 5 extra shots of espresso into, and the other is waving around in the air. “It’s 2 pages TOO long.”, she sighs exasperatedly. Drama queen.

On the other hand, Hanley is mostly quiet. Listening intently to Leni while sipping his vanilla frappuccino. He speaks about his coach and his teammates once in a while, but his schedule remains relatively consistent compared to Leni. 

You love moments like these. Where it’s just the three of you without the weight of anything else on your shoulders. No NYU scholarship kid. No Spiderlily. Just (y/n), and their best friends. 

The cafe is quiet now, with only the three of you left. It is 8pm, just about closing time. You sigh softly, now beginning the closing routine. As you clean up the cafe, you glance over to Leni, who’s sketching something on a napkin, and Hanley, who’s absorbed in his phone. Just for a moment, everything feels normal. 

With the closing routine completed, you lock the cafe up. The metallic click of the lock hit your ears, signaling that the door was properly closed and secure for the night. Leni stood beside you, watching as you locked the door, while Hanley stood a couple steps farther away- adjusting his bags on his shoulders. 

Just as you had removed your key from the lock and turned to face them, your Gizmo buzzed on your wrist, notifying you of yet another anomaly. You quickly glance at the watch that was now lighting up beneath your hoodie’s sleeve. Ignoring the watch, you give Leni a knowing look before glancing over to Hanley who was now yawning. His breath was visible with the cold crisp air. 

“Heyyy, oh my gosh. Completely forgot. I have a huge project to work on tonight that I really need to focus on. Rain check on our study group tonight?”, you ask hesitantly while slowly backing up, ready to run to your apartment.

Leni, always being your cover, quickly grabs Hanley’s arm and begins dragging him in the opposite direction. “Yep! No worries, Hanley and I can just work on other stuff. Isn’t that right, Leyley.”

Before Hanley can respond, Leni is already pulling him farther away. His eyebrows are scrunchies in confusion, but is accepting of his fate. Leni waves in your direction as the two slowly get farther and farther away.

“Bye! We’ll see you tomorrow!”, she waves excitedly. Hanley looks back as well, throwing up a small wave and smile.

Once the two were far enough, you rapidly whip yourself around and book it towards your apartment. The cold air was sharp against your face as you ran home. While running, you pull back the sleeve of your hoodie to read your Gizmo that was continuing to buzz for your attention.

ATTENTION: ANOMALY DETECTED- HIGH PRIORITY

The screen flickered with a brief glitch, just for a moment, before the alert stabilized. Your heart sped up a bit more and a knot tightened in your chest. “High priority?”, you whispered to yourself, your breath visible in the cold air. It has been a long while since you had such an urgent anomaly from the Spider-Society. You were grateful Leni was able to pull Hanley away so efficiently. 

Busting into your apartment, your bag tumbled across the room as you swung yourself into your bedroom. You quickly rip your spidersuit from your hidden wardrobe compartment and throw it on. The suit is sleek and form-fitting. Vibrant crimson web lines flow out from the center of your chest, with patterns similar to that of a spider lily at the base of your boots. Your spider logo is black, like the rest of your suit, with scarlet accents and covers a majority of your chest and shoulders with its long legs and stylized body. 

With a quick tug on your mask, you flatten the fabric around your neck and head towards your back apartment window. It creaks as you push it open, letting a gust of the cold night’s air. Luckily you could not feel much of it through the suit, as it was well insulated with its own warmer. You hop over the window’s sill, gripping to the wall, and push it back shut.

Dangling off of the wall, 5 stories up in the air, you check your Gizmo again to locate the anomaly. Downtown. Not terribly far. 

You jumped off of the building and shot a string of web from your wrist, your body twisting as you glided through the city. The New York’s city lights twinkled around you as you flipped past each window. As much as you loved to admire your city, you couldn’t help but focus on the alert on your wrist. A high-priority anomaly was never an easy night. They were world destroying. You had to take care of this anomaly and fast. 

As you swung into the heart of the city, the air and your chest felt heavier. It was almost suffocating. You jumped up, landing on a nearby building of the location, and found the anomaly. It was a large, iridescent vortex of crackling energy. The area around it was distorted, almost as if it was being sucked into it. The vortex pulsed and projected streaks of colors that flickered erratically. 

Your jaw became slightly ajar at the sight, as a dark clawed hand gripped the vortex’s edge. Almost as if it was trying to pry itself out from its gravitational pull. Soon enough, the shadow ripped itself from the vortex. Its body glitched erratically, similarly to that of the vortex itself. It had no distinct features, just the empty silhouette of a creature, and eyes that were nothing but narrow slits. The creature howled, its voice raspy and defective. 

“Jesus Christ.”, you muttered.

Just as you spoke, another clawed creature ripped itself from the vortex that was soon followed by another. Within just moments, multiple of these shadows had clambered through. You swallowed hard, examining the situation. 

“God… Ah, fuck it.”

You flick your wrist, shooting yourself to the closest shadow creature. They had begun to scramble down the street. With a quick dive, you drive your feet into the nearest creature. Curb stomping them as hard as you could. The creature screeched at the impact before glitching bright colors and dispersing into a black mist.

“One down… One too many to go…”, you say looking at your surrounding vicinity that was now infected with these things. 

You barely get a moment before another shadow lunges at you from behind. Your spidey sense had activated, causing you to jump up quickly. Its claws sliced the concrete street that you were just standing on a second ago, leaving a large scratch mark ingrained into it. You managed to land on a light post, but another lunged at you off of the nearby building. Your body twisted as you jumped, attempting to dodge all of these creatures' attacks. Just one hit might render you unconscious. 

Hanging on the side of a metal balcony, you watch as three more creatures advance toward you. While there were no distinctive figures to them, it almost felt as if they were predators- hunting their prey. Their eyes were locked onto you. Their movements seemed calculated, oddly robotic, and trained onto you. 

The first shadow attacked from below, scaling up the building quickly- tearing into the brick as it raced up. You jumped off of the creaky metal balcony, getting away just in time before webbing yourself up towards another building. As you jumped, you twisted your body around to shoot a web directly at its supposed face. The web hit, covering its face in the sticky strands. It immediately reached up to claw it off of its face, releasing the creature from the building and causing it to fall. A glitchy hiss echoed your ears as the creature was falling. It was not long before the creature hit the ground, dispersing into a glitch of bright colors and black mist- just like the first one. 

Another creature advanced towards you, leaping off of the previous creature's body right before it had hit the concrete. Swinging on your web, you redirected your momentum to make a tight turn and kick the creature with all of your weight. The force from your kick sent the creature through a wall as it yelled and dispersed. 

“So sorry tax-payers!”, you yelled out, still swinging and webbing the creatures as you moved by. 

You continued to take them down as quickly as possible. All it seemed to take was one good hit to destroy them, but there were just so many. You had to handle it by closing the vortex.

As you were thinking, you could hear a shriek cutting through the yells of the shadows. It was sharp and fearful. Your head quickly snapped in the direction of the scream; your spidey sense rang. Abandoning the creatures in front of you, you immediately zipped towards the voice.

There, a young woman stood shaking on the side of the street. Her phone was raised, held tightly in her hands as it recorded a creature about to pounce on her.

“Run!”, you yelled at her, but she did not move. Her eyes glistened with fascination but her body shook with fear. 

“I said MOVE!”, you yelled once again, charging at her full speed.

The creature was just about to pounce, its claws ready to tear into the woman. You quickly shot out a web and yanked her back towards you. The woman flew across the pavement, still attached to your web. Her beanie had slipped off, but otherwise she was still intact with her phone in her hand.

Where the creature had pounced, was left a small crater in the sidewalk. Cracked and dented. That was going to need quite a bit of fixing.

“Seriously? Risking it all just for what? A TikTok?”, you questioned the woman with a breathy angry sigh, grabbing her beanie and slapping it into her chest. “Now GO.”, you demanded.

“But I-”

Another shadow creature began to approach.

“GO!”

The woman nodded at this and quickly scampered off at the sight of it. The creature screamed once again, charging at you like a bull. 

“Always giving me more work.”, you muttered to yourself.

As the creature charged, you jumped up and shot two webs on the street below you. Once it had ran under you, you used the momentum of your webs to slam yourself down onto it.

You continued to take down more shadow creatures as you made your way back towards the vortex that was now pulsating rapidly.

“Okay, Spiderlily.”, you spoke to yourself. “How do we close a giant neon pulsating shadow puking multiversal portal? The answer is totally obvious. Came in the spidey handbook!”

Landing on the same building as the vortex, you look up at it. Analyzing it.

“Think, Spiderlily. Think.”, you whispered, staring deep into its colors.

It did not look like your typical portal. It was cracked, ripped- unstable with frayed ends. Everything about it was simply unnatural. It throbbed violently and seemed to distort reality itself. This anomaly was different from your usual ones. You couldn’t open a portal and kick this portal into it. There had to be a way to reverse it. You just didn’t know how. 

Eventually, you decide that any attempt is better than no attempt. So, you began to pull at the edges of the vortex with your hands and attempt to physically shut it. Sure, there is probably a better solution, but there wasn’t much time and your options were looking relatively limited.

Good news though, the vortex was moving. It was closing with the force you were putting into it. Feeling it slowly inch, you began to pull harder. Soon enough you were close enough to grab the other edge of it with your hand and were now able to pull both ends towards the center. 

“Come on…Come on!”, you grunted through your teeth.

The vortex continued to thrash against you, colors flying out of it as some left over shadows shrieked in the distance. You were nearly there, with just a bit more you would be able to forcibly shut it closed.

Just as you were about to give the last pull, you saw a flash of movement come from behind you and a ringing in your head. Within a split second, you feel a kick on your back. With no time to react, you fall into the vortex.

You felt a surge of panic as you were kicked into the vortex. As you fell, you could see a humanoid shape stand at the end of the vortex you had just fell through. It was glitchy, shadowy, just like the creatures you fought before. However, it held a more sinister smile to it.

Your surroundings dissolved into a blur of glitchy bright lights and colors as the world around you fractured into jagged shards. Your senses were overwhelmed, caught in the series of spiraling portals. Each one flew past you like windows into other dimensions. Worlds you didn’t recognize.

Soon enough, the vortex had spit you out. You tumbled across yet another rooftop, the gravel scratching your sides as you rolled. It took a moment, but you eventually were able to push yourself up- groaning as you held your side. Definitely bruised.

You looked around at your surroundings. The colors of this world were relatively similar, but somehow darker. As you stood up, you immediately checked your Gizmo. The screen was cracked, a bit glitchy, but still responded when you touched the screen. You sighed at this and immediately looked to see what universe you were pushed into. Hopefully, if you were lucky, it would be one of your other spider friends.

As soon as you clicked the screen for it, the Gizmo beeped.

ERROR: UNREGISTERED DIMENSION

“...What?”, you whispered. It glitches again. 

You attempt to recalibrate it, however nothing seems to work. You continue to get the same notification. Bewildered, you slap the watch on your wrist. Every dimension is registered, even if the Spider-Society does not have all of the spiders from each one. This was supposed to be impossible.

A wave of anxiety washes over you after minutes of attempting to recalibrate it. Your knees were buckling, realizing that there was no way to fix it without any tools. Getting back was going to prove more difficult.

“No, no, no, no!”, you yelled as you continued to slap it- not knowing what else to do. Your breath quickened as you stared in disbelief. You were stranded. 

Your heart pounded in your ears at this thought as you turned your attention to your surroundings. The buildings were similar to New York, but the streets sounded different. The air was heavier, thicker. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you like some sort of thick fog. The architecture around you was so similar yet so different. Everything was just darker, as if encased in an evercasting shadow. You glanced across the city skyline, your eyes catching onto a beam of light- piercing the foggy night sky. A bat logo.

Shit.

Next ➔

A/N: yay! so happy to finally push out the first chapter. hopefully i keep up the motivation to get this finished. i haven't written creatively in a really long time, so i am a bit rusty. i am also a very slow writer which does not help my case lol. anyway, i hope yall liked it! i think im still tryna get a grip on spiderlily's character, so if you guys have any suggestions for this fic- i am very open to it!! i appreciate all comments, notes, and reposts dearly. <3 this was also inspired by a bunch of fic's i have read in the past and @/yannawayne, so please go check them out!

[melodicarias]

Pt:

CBC's Donation Drive!

I am always telling others to act, and so, I've been thinking about how I can better utilize my platform to help others. My friend Ibtisam inspired me with her own idea to write thank you cards for those who are donating to lifesaving causes! So, here's my own, LINK included!

I will be writing up to 100 thank you cards for those who donate at least $10 to any campaign or fundraising program of their choice. This can be individual GoFundMes, SudanFunds, GazaFunds, the PCRF, The Sameer Project, the Sudanese American Physicians Association (SAPA), Friends of the Congo… so many options. I'll take any of them. If you donate $20 or more, I'll even write you a specialized card with whatever you want (200 character max, appropriate things) !

I hope you consider taking the time to participate, and if not, at least reblogging to those who may be interested! ‼️update‼️

As things have changed, I am no longer fundraising specifically for Amal. However, I am still running a drive for a Live-Streamed lesson! If we can get to $500 in donations, I will live stream a lesson for the page!

Please share this updated version! :end pt

CBC's Donation Drive!

I am always telling others to act, and so, I've been thinking about how I can better utilize my platform to help others. My friend Ibtisam inspired me with her own idea to write thank you cards for those who are donating to lifesaving causes!

So, here's my own, LINK included!

I will be writing up to 100 thank you cards for those who donate at least $10 to any campaign or fundraising program of their choice. This can be individual GoFundMes, SudanFunds, GazaFunds, the PCRF, The Sameer Project, the Sudanese American Physicians Association (SAPA), Friends of the Congo... so many options. I'll take any of them. If you donate $20 or more, I'll even write you a specialized card with whatever you want (200 character max, appropriate things) !

I hope you consider taking the time to participate, and if not, at least reblogging to those who may be interested!

‼️UPDATE‼️

As things have changed, I am no longer fundraising specifically for Amal. However, I am still running a drive for a Live-Streamed lesson! If we can get to $500 in donations, I will live stream a lesson for the page!

[clockwayswrites]

I made myself sad with the last part of ‘City Pigeons Bleed Green’ and the whole Annalise thing (and then shared it to make all of you sad too). It wound back to me saying in a server, mostly joking, that now I need to make an AU of my AU where Annalise lives. And as @any-mouse pointed out here by themselves: this crossover is full of realms. And then I showered and had too many thoughts. So have some of them here!

Bruce and Annalise met at boarding school. Not the same boarding school, obviously, how crass. They went to an all boys and all girls school respectively, but they were ‘sibling’ schools and so would hold certain events together. Annalise was an awkward girl, all limbs. She was too tall, too smart, too in the clouds. She was weird. But so was Bruce. He decided they could be the weird kids together.

They became something of confidants for each other—for all the secret things inside themselves no one else would understand, not really.

They didn’t run in exactly the same circles, the Wayne line was far more grand than the Linwood line, but Bruce did his best to stay in touch even as they grew up. That fell apart some when training and Batman consumed his life. That’s when Annalise, in an effort to be normal ended up making some poor decisions and listening to the wrong people.

In the AU of the AU, Bruce asks her to visit before the baby is born. As recklessly caring as he can be, he offered to say he was the child’s father. He would either set Annalise and the baby up to be comfortable, or they could get married. Divorce was always an option later, should either of them find real love. Of course Bruce insists on the best doctors and they find what was missed: a risk to the lives of both Annalise and the baby.

Bruce and Annalise basically end up in a queer platonic relationship together, raising ‘their’ child.

Instead of playboy Brucie, Bruce’s cover becomes that of the slightly hapless but very loving dad. Why on earth is he so fit then? Well, he spends so much time chasing after children! After all they adopted that circus boy, how patient with Bruce Annalise is. Not to mention the other several—wait, when did they get so many?

Well, see, they took in a child from the streets, yes, Park Row, awful place—though better now with the Martha Wayne Foundation’s efforts. And then there was that whole thing when Annalise found out that Tim Drake was being horrible neglected. Such big hears that family.

And when Dick is feeling stifled, he has a little sibling to focus on. To be useful to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And when Jason finds out about Catherine, Annalise is there—a mother to talk to. (And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

(And Annalise has long talks with Bruce.)

And one little hilarious scene in my head:

Jim stared up the steps of Wayne manner. Officer Montoya stared back. She was clearly off the clock. Her hair down and dressed more casually than Jim had ever seen. He didn’t know Montoya could do casual. He supposed casual made sense though, considering the hickies on her neck. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” “What?! Ew, no. Not ew as in—I’m sure he’s very attractive to people into that but no. No, I am definitely not sleeping with Bruce Wayne.” "Well, that's a relief—" “I am, however, sleeping with his wife.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request platonic Nico fic where reader is pinning over someone but Nico it’s silently judging, seeing if that person is truly good enough for their older sibling reader?

‘You like someone.’

You looked over at your brother, who was standing next to you within the shade casted by the trees that kept you both somewhat cool, before raising a brow at him. ‘And how did you come to that conclusion my little shade.’ You replied as you ruffled his hair, much to Nico’s dismay.

‘You’ve got that look on your face.’ He tells you but you couldn’t help but scoff at the inherent vagueness of that statement.

‘I’ve got many looks on my face throughout the day you’re going to have to be more specific here.’ Nico looked at you with a glare, only to be greeted back by your mischievous eyes and matching smile, gods he hated you sometimes for making things more complex then they actually were just because you felt like teasing him.

‘The sappy ‘oh my gods I wish they were mine’ type of look.’ Nico said and you know the look he was on about, but you decided to feign innocence and put on a thoughtful face as though you were trying your very hardest to remember what he was on about. ‘Sappy look…sappy look…’ you trailed off and Nico had just about enough as he shoved you in the side before pointing across the camp and over to where Luke was and your face immediately drops.

‘Him! You like him!’ Nico exclaims and you were quick to cover his mouth with your hand when you noticed a group of campers walking past you both, greeting them with a forced and cordial smile as they breezed past you both, just to look back at your brother with murderous intent. ‘Shut up little shade, I don’t want all of camp to hear you if they haven’t already.’ You hissed as Nico only looked at you unimpressed as he pushed your hand off of his mouth, and you didn’t need to say anything to know that Nico was now in protective mode.

‘Why him? Why Castellan?’ He asked and you sighed as you remembered how the moment you first came to camp by yourself, having been abandoned by the demi-gods that you were originally with, and how Luke was the only one that actually made you feel welcomed even after you gotten claimed by Hades; You don’t hold that grudge against most of camp who shunned you anymore but you weren’t exactly buddy buddy with them either if they were going to be that superficial.

Then again Hades himself gets villainised by many in modern retelling of Greek myth that are forcing the whole ‘girlboss’ bullshit down your throat, which only leads to those kinds of books being put on half sales shelves because it’s that bad. Not that you were saying hades was innocent but out of the entire Greek pantheon, you figured rather early on that your father was the kind of deity to keep out of things that didn’t concern him.

Sins of the father or whatever. You thought to yourself as you remembered that you had left Nico completely hanging for the past five minutes for an explanation.

‘He was the only one who actually gave a shit if I stayed in camp or not.’ You replied and Nico’s brows went towards his hairline, knowing all too well how isolating being the child of Hades was or even just a child of the big three in general, but people quickly warmed up to Percy and Jason but still had caution when addressing you or him.

‘That’s it? Is the bar truly in hell.’ Nico snides as he looks at Luke from the corner of his eye, wondering what the son of Hermes could possibly provide for you. He couldn’t see the appeal as you did but Nico didn’t exactly think there were many good romantic options for you at camp or anywhere for that matter, this didn’t mean he couldn’t see that Luke was attractive and popular but outside of the obvious Nico wasn’t fully convinced that Luke was worth you.

Greatest swordsman at camp or not it was going to take a lot more for Nico to even consider taking Luke seriously.

You groan as you put your hands on your hips. Seriously Nico? You barely knew me a month ago and all of a sudden you’re boxing your opinions on my love life?’

Nico mimics your stance as his dark eyes flare with protectiveness. ‘Someone has to keep an eye on your supposed love interests and make sure there is no ulterior motive underneath.’ You couldn’t help but smile at your younger brother as you ruffle his hair affectionately before pinching his cheeks.

‘Oh is my brave little brother going to fight off all my suitors for me? How sweet.’ You mocked before laughing when Nico bats your hands away from his cheeks.

‘Shut up.’ He grumbles but before you could mess with him some more, like all good older siblings do, you heard a familiar laugh and immediately stilled in your place as Nico’s eyes darkened with weariness. ‘Castellan, what do you want.’ Nico looks the head counsellor of the Hermes cabin up and down with scrutiny as you only nudged him in the side for his lack of filtering his words.

‘Nothing much, just saw you guys and thought I’d check it out.’ Luke said casually as he looked over at you and smiled, making you smile back almost immediately as you could feel yourself practically melt under his dark gaze and perfect smile. Oh you knew you were a goner the moment you started to comforted his laugh your favourite sound and his eyes your favourite colour.

It should be made illegal with the feelings like made you feel but you’d be lying if feeling as weak as you did in his presence didn’t feel good. You know you should pride yourself more and all, however you couldn’t help but downplay yourself in front of Luke in hopes of seeming more appealing to him, but you’d couldn’t help as some seeds of doubt to creep into your mind regarding whether or not Luke would risk being seen with a child of hades.

Nico huffs. ‘You’ve checked it out, seen nothing out of the ordinary, so does that mean you’re going to leave us alone preferably now?’

‘Nico.’ You nudge your brother in the side once more, giving him your best side eye, hoping that he’d understand that now wasn’t the time for his sharp jabs and hostility towards your crush but you knew you were asking for too much. Luke on the other hand only laughs at Nico’s words, not taking offence to anything being said, which only made Nico frown even more as his confident attitude almost came across as too cocky for his liking.

Seriously Nico wanted to desperately understand what it was that you see in that guy?

‘It’s fine, it’s fine I just thought I’d pay my favourite a visit and hope that they might want to join me down by the lake this afternoon.’ Luke replies as he slings an arm over your shoulder, drawing you into his side as he watches you with a look that made you feel as though you were being truly looked at. You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle as you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, and a warmth spread throughout your chest from just his touch alone, you’ve had been in this position before and yet it never fails to make you feel wanted with how casual Luke was with his affection with you.

Hell even after his touch disappeared along with him as he’s taken elsewhere you were left with the lingering want to keep his arm on your shoulder forever. You didn’t think yourself as someone who was desperate for touch or to have someone constantly providing you with physical affection, if anything you weren’t particularly keen with it as you were quite cold to the touch, a weird perk of being the child of hades was to seemingly have the body temperature of a dead body; Yet you didn’t mind if it was Luke was the one to touch you.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

You and Nico looked at one another in matching narrowed glares.

‘Yes.’ You spit.

‘No.’ Nico retorts back.

‘I’m going whether you like it or not little shade.’ You whispered to your little brother as you looked over a Luke with a smile. ‘I’m totally free this afternoon, absolutely for nothing else happening other than hanging with you at the lake.’ You chuckled awkwardly as you gave him finger guns that you immediately regret soon after, especially upon hearing Nico try not to laugh himself at your forced attempts of being cool. ‘Is anyone else going to be there by chance?’ You added.

‘I was kinda hoping it would just be me and you really.’ Luke says as he rubs the back of his head almost sheepishly. ‘Hope that’s okay.’ God you hated Luke and his beautiful brown eyes and how they made you feel.

‘That’s fine!’ You exclaimed. ‘That’s great even.’

‘Great.’ Luke beamed and it looked like he wanted to say something else but he heard his name being called across camp and his shoulders deflated, something only Nico seemed to have noticed, and he looked back at you with a sympathetic expression. ‘See you later ghost flower.’ He says sweetly as he pulls away from you, leaving you to try not to vocalise your hatred of the departure of his warmth.

‘See you.’ You and Nico watched as Luke walked away from you both and a silence lingered between to two of you, at least until Nico felt it appropriate to let his thoughts be known.

‘I still don’t like him.’ He tells you, arms cross over his chest, glaring at Luke’s back.

‘You don’t like anybody.’ You shot back at him, seeing him shrug from the corner of your eyes, unbothered at your jab.

‘Yeah that might be true but I don’t like him for the fact that he likes you.’ Nico said and you could only see this afternoon with Luke go horribly wrong if your brother was lingering in the shadows of your not date with the Hermes boy.

[relicsongmel]

Iris, Miles, and their mutual "secret"

The Ace Attorney fandom is no stranger to discussions of homoerotic subtext in the game's script—pretty much everyone who's spent more than five seconds here will be able to tell you that. Screenshots of lines that imply romantic tension between same-gender characters are all over the place, to the point that many fans are drawn to the series purely by its reputation as "the gay lawyer game." Some scenes are more well-known than others, but one I find brought up fairly regularly is this conversation between Miles and Iris:

This is optional dialogue that can be triggered by presenting incorrect evidence on Iris' Psyche-Lock during the Investigation portion of Bridge to the Turnabout. The argument here is that the "secret" Iris is referring to is the same as her own: that being, a romantic interest in Phoenix Wright. Which is definitely hilarious when you consider that Iris has known Miles for less than a day and she's already reading him for filth (granted, she could have been clued in by the similarly infamous "indispensable friend" line, and she's also exceptionally good at reading people despite Miles thinking otherwise). As a Narumitsu shipper myself I am not immune to enjoying that interpretation; however, I feel like there's a lot of nuance in this scene that isn't often addressed by the fandom at large. Which is unfortunate because watering it down to just Iris calling out Miles for being the gayass he is (to be fair. she's not wrong) does a MASSIVE disservice to both of their characters, and I'll explain why.

My bone to pick with the usual analysis of this scene is mostly centered around the larger conversation to be had regarding the treatment of female characters in fandom spaces. All too often they tend to play second fiddle to the male characters, and a similar principle holds true for ships with their canonical male love interests: mostly ignored in favor of the the more popular M/M ship(s). At best these women are sidelined, at worse they are flattened into wingmen for the boys (as is frequently the case with many AA girls and Narumitsu, Iris included), and at the absolute worst they are demonized for their perceived "competition" with whatever gay ship is most popular and therefore the Only Valid One for the male characters involved (as exemplified by some very "passionate" fans that I generally try to avoid interacting with). Whenever this scene gets brought up, the focus is almost always exclusively on Miles and what the interaction says about his relationship with Phoenix; Iris is only relevant insofar as she's the one initiating Miles' Homosexual Moment™—you could replace her with almost any other character and there'd be a similar level of neglect for their role in the interaction. Only very rarely will you see attention given to what Iris' question about Miles' secret means when she is the one asking it, and what it can tell us about her relationship with Miles/what she thinks of him, and vice versa (absolutely wild how even Miles himself is often flanderized despite being the fandom's golden child). It's all too characteristic of the systemic misogyny that has plagued fandom since its inception, which is deeply frustrating to me as someone who adores Iris as much as I do (if that wasn't obvious by now). So that said, let's dive deeper into what I think the missing link is here: namely, the Iris-Miles dynamic as it pertains to their relation to Phoenix.

Iris and Miles is one of my favorite relationships to explore in the whole series—but as I've described above, unfortunately a lot of people get it wrong in my opinion. Discussion about the two is frequently centered around Narumitsu Love Drama—which is a conversation worth having, don't get me wrong—but the elements at play there aren't always represented the way I envision them, which again, is frustrating. Take the idea of potential jealousy, for instance: it's pretty standard love triangle fare that can be (and often is) quickly turned into demonization when it's used in a shipping context, character assassination be damned (re: Narumitsu fanfic authors that project their personal dislike of Feenris onto Miles via his jealousy of Iris and/or how they tend to portray Iris unfavorably). However, it's not inherently a bad thing to explore: personally, I do believe that there is mutual jealousy between the two of them. Miles might not have the full context of Iris' history when this conversation takes place, but he's emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on what Iris means to Phoenix, and vice versa. And him being a jealous hoe about it isn't out of the question when you consider that he's a bit of a loner by nature and doesn't have many close friends or outlets for socialization outside of his job. The crucial element that's sometimes missed, though, is that Miles not only lacks the self-awareness to realize he's a jealous hoe...he's also a self-sabotaging jealous hoe.

And the same can be said for Iris, who is similarly introverted and doesn't often leave her home at Hazakura Temple.

The whole reason Miles is peering into Iris' heart in the first place can be found in this exchange, after he breaks her Psyche-Lock:

Miles uses the Magatama in order to gain the answers he needs to bring the truth to light and get Iris acquitted, and he does so for the express purpose of reuniting her with Phoenix so they can find closure—in fact, he reiterates this to her multiple times. He obviously recognizes how Phoenix is suffering from what happened between them (I'd argue he sympathizes with Iris' plight as well) and has resolved to do what he can to help him heal, but there's no reason for him to be so insistent that she rectify things with Phoenix when it does nothing but harm his own chances with him. Unless, of course...that's the whole point.

To convince Iris to reveal her secret so he doesn't have to face his own, because he thinks himself undeserving.

And Iris, noticing this because she empathizes with that feeling of unworthiness, calls him out on it in an almost uncharacteristically forward manner when she asks him what he's hiding.

Takes one to know one, indeed.

Iris highly respects Miles for taking on her defense despite the risk to his job as a prosecutor. She's willing to trust him after hearing he's a friend of Phoenix, hearing him out and letting him reason with her. She still keeps her cards close to her chest in some regards, but she's more honest with him than she's been with anyone else in her life apart from her sister. She sees his commitment to the truth and how it starkly contrasts with how she's lived her life to this point, and thinks that this is the type of partner Phoenix deserves—not someone like her, who only knows how to survive using lies and deception. She sees so much strength in him but still recognizes the insecurity lurking beneath his tenacity, which is why when he falters in his logic, she takes a leap of faith and gives him one last chance to examine his reasons for pushing the burden of his unspoken affections onto her, as if to say: "Look in the mirror. Is this really for me? Or is it for you? Do you really seek the truth for its own sake, or do you merely hope to find one truth so you might run from another?"

Her question to Miles is a gamble—a coin flip of self-sacrifice. If she loses and he presses on, she has to face the secret within her heart she's been suppressing for five years. But if she wins and he gives in to the truth in his, she has to live the rest of her life watching it unfold and knowing she threw away her chance to finally stop living in fear of her own love.

Either way, there's no escaping heartache for her anymore.

Miles and Iris both want what's best for Phoenix and prioritize their vision of his feelings over their own. However, they are also both deeply emotionally repressed people who find difficulty in being direct with their feelings, and are predisposed to self-sabotage due to childhood trauma. These tendencies may manifest in different ways for both of them, but the fact remains that such people would likely not compete for a person's affection in the traditional sense, which is exactly what we see with how Iris and Miles deflect their feelings for Phoenix. These selfless, lovestruck idiots toss that man around like a game of hot-potato because their mutual self-hatred for the ways they've harmed him has rendered them terrified of the reality of what he means to them, and desperate to find a way out of admitting to it. It's the most compelling explanation I can think of for why the usually unassuming Iris makes such a bold judgment about what Miles might be keeping locked away, and why Miles goes to such lengths to make sure she talks to Phoenix and tells him the truth—his agreement to defend her was conditional on that exact promise. They go through this whole song-and-dance of playing wingman to ignore their own feelings while still trying to bring Phoenix the happiness they think he deserves—and then they wonder why seeing Phoenix give the other one attention burns them up inside.

Because they’re dumb. And I love them.

TL;DR the Iris Psyche-Lock scene in BttT is so much more than just "haha Miles gay" and I wish people talked about it more. Also Iris and Miles are way more similar than they appear at first glance and if I think about it for too long it makes me physically ill thank you for coming to my TED talk

[cedar-glade]

Unfortunately I can't get a good ID on it but you have a two choices based on the color and morph for that region. Since It appears to be on bark I would consider Flavoparmelia capereta as my preference the reasoning is the nonconsistant isidiate center and how smooth it is overall with know vein like folding, meaning I wouldnt consider moonlight hammered shield (Parmelia sulcata), or rough speckled sheild( Punctelia rudecta) but powdery axil bristle would be the only secondary option I could think of (Myelochroa aurulenta)

I wish I was better with moss to help you but I definitely need to memorize key features before I even try to get it down to genus. It almost looks like an anomadon but prob not knowing my luck lol

i was clearing out the memory card on my good camera and i found this very affectionate photo i took a little over a year ago, apparently somewhere in wisconsin. my pocket knife is about 4 or so inches across when unfolded…idk the actual species but it looks to me like a species of parmelia, the shield lichens. i have no memory of taking this but the artistic framing suggests ‘look at this big chungus’ and i have to agree 

[jinnie-ret]

make you feel my love

stray kids x ninth member! reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: death (not skz or reader), reason for death not mentioned

word count: 3.2k

summary: the boys help and rescue their fellow member through one of the hardest things she's had to do, all over again - grieve.

requested by: @lieslovefantasy

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤 MAIN MASTERLIST

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“Have you got everything?” Hyunjin fussed over you, wanting to make sure you were fully packed, knowing how forgetful you were.

“Yes, I'm sure, it's okay,” you chuckled, finding his concern over your organisation quite endearing.

“We've got to check these things, knowing you,” Changbin came up from behind, patting your head affectionately.

“You two are acting like concerned parents,” Felix laughed, standing between Chan and Hyunjin, the three of them being the only ones to stay behind at their respective apartments during the scheduled break before comeback. They would get lonely, surely?

Or so you thought.

“Yah, Felix, Jisungie just told me that you're using our apartment to host? Since when?” Seungmin groaned, carry on bag in hand as he approached, the others behind him with grins on their faces.

“I've always wanted to host! It'll be fun,” Felix rolled his eyes at Seungmin playfully, knowing he meant well.

“I don't want paint everywhere.”

“Okay.”

“And don't burn our apartment down.”

“You love my brownies.”

“And Chan don't- umm, there's nothing to really say, you don't do anything wrong,” Seungmin began, not having something to hold over the leader of your group.

“Aw, thanks, I loveeee you Seungmin-”

“You're responsible and old so…”

“Ah, there it is,” Chan sighed in disappointment, his taunting smile quickly dropping from his face.

“Yah! Is this your suitcase? Have you snuck our whole apartment in here or what?” Changbin complained, lifting your large suitcase into Minho's car. And that was saying something, considering he was the strongest in the group.

“I need options!” you fiddle with the strings of your hoodie.

“So you're bringing your wardrobe with you? Even I haven't packed that much,” Jeongin's eyes widened when he noticed the size of your suitcase. Poor guy was in for a long journey home tomorrow all the way down to Busan. You were only off to Gimpo with Minho. Not as far in comparison.

“We’ve known forever how indecisive they are,” Minho shut the boot of the car, turning around with a slight quirk of the lips.

“This will be a fun car journey,” you deadpan.

“You can always walk,” Minho shrugged.

“Or you could sit on the top of the car and hold on tightly. That would be kinda fun,” Jisung mused with an excited look in his eyes.

“I'm not doing that.”

“They're not doing that.”

“Aw you do care!” you wrap your arms around Minho and jostle him about a bit until he gets fed up and steps away.

“Woah! If I did that I'd be tasting tissues for the foreseeable future!” Hyunjin shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, we're not starting this now, they're going to be late in meeting their families again,” Chan quickly intervened, being the first to start a large round of hugs.

And with that, you all said your goodbyes. You mentally prepared yourself for the lonesome feeling that would soon overcome you the instant you set foot in Gimpo. It was never nice, never pleasant nor fun saying goodbye to the guys. Even if it was just for a couple of weeks, you knew you'd have to find something to occupy your time to prevent your mind from wandering.

When you finally left the chaos that seemed to follow you and your fellow members, you peacefully sat in the passenger's seat next to Minho as he drove, watching a flurry of trees rush past. Well, that's what you always liked to imagine, nature running away so that you could have a moment to yourself, stagnant with no worries on your mind. Although, it was hard to feel worried at all when you had Minho cutely singing along to Yoasobi in that soft, soothing voice of his.

“Maccas?” Minho suddenly asked, glancing at your distracted form out of the corner of his eye as he tried to focus on the road.

“Maccas?” you suddenly giggled at the word, “Did Felix and Chan teach you that?”

“Ah, Hyunjinnie started saying it I think,” Minho hummed in thought, the honorary Aussie coming to mind. He made a turn for the fast food restaurant nonetheless, just in case you did want some food. He was right.

“This kimchi burger is unreal,” your eyes practically bulged out in delight as you ate in content.

“Better than your mum's bulgogi?” Minho teased, but it made you pause at the thought. You really did miss her food.

“Nothing beats her bulgogi, you know that,” you smiled weakly. Perhaps Minho would have caught onto your solemn tone if not for the mixed playlist of hyperpop and Japanese pop in the background.

“Yeah, you use her recipe enough times. So do I though, it's really good,” Minho acknowledges with a smile.

“The taste of home,” you add on, gaze drifting back outside as you finish your food, watching a child and their parents with their hands intertwined, swinging them with each step. You missed the innocence you once held, ignorantly blissful in moments of pure joy. You'd give anything to have that again.

“You packed a lot,” Minho mentioned casually.

“Yeah the others already pointed that out…?” you questioned his statement, not knowing what he was getting at.

“Like I said, it's good to have options,” you shrugged, pulling at your hoodie strings to feel more snug and secure. You panicked internally.

“You could just wash them at home though,” Minho smirked, finding your reasoning to be making your life more difficult, when really it was the best option you had if you didn't want to be paying to use a launderette.

“Options,” you said one word and left it at that.

Minho simply shrugged but remained quiet, suspicious of this slightly tense persona you were now presenting. Soon enough, however, you were back in Gimpo, your designated location for when it came to having breaks. You were going to stay at your apartment you shared with Changbin and Hyunjin, but you didn't want to have any questions to answer. Especially today, it made sense for you to pay homage, in a sense.

“Oh, Min, can you drop me off here?” you sat up more, realising you were close.

“Here?” he paused, not driving of course, but in his karaoke.

“Yeah I'm meeting my family for lunch,” you replied, pointing out a left turning down a street you had walked many times before.

“Oh who with?”

“I just said, Minho, my family.”

It was a hard word to say, family, because in your heart you knew the only family you had left were the boys. When you lived a lie for this long, eight years deep, maybe more if you included your trainee years, pretending to see people who only existed in photos, memories and dreams was doing you more damage than you'd ever like to admit.

“Your mum? Dad? Me and the others want to meet them some day, you know? It would be nice to finally try the famous bulgogi from the chef herself,” Minho grinned playfully as he found a car park to drop you off in.

She made the best food, your mum. It truly felt like each time you made her recipe for yourself and the boys, you were 14 years old all over again, sat at the dining table with both of your parents. A dark oak, wooden table with white roses sat in a uniquely crafted vase you had made and painted as a child. Photos lined the walls surrounding the dining room, ones you had now kept safely in your apartment.

“Oh! They're here! I'm gonna be late for our, umm, reservation,” you fumbled with your tote bag before stepping out of the car. Really it was just a reminder of your hotel room being ready. You round the car and Minho helps you take out your huge suitcase. Did anyone mention it was a big suitcase?

“Bye, aegi, see you soon,” Minho pats your head before getting into his car and starting it up again. You waved with the most genuine smile you could paint on your face before taking a deep breath and walking past the restaurants that lined the streets.

In all it's grandeur, sleek tiled floors, the fresh smell of bergamot pumped into the lobby and a chandelier just for measure, the hole in your heart could never truly be healed despite your familiarity with the hotel. Hauling your luggage behind you, with each step you took there was a slight relief, knowing that you had once again managed to keep your secret safe and buried from the boys. Approaching the front desk, your mind whirring with unspoken words, you smiled politely with extra effort in an attempt to not think about the date.

“Umm, hi, room for one, under the name…” you began quietly, “yeah, that's the one.” You could already hear Changbin in your mind, willing you to speak with more confidence.

“Ah yes I can see you've booked with us before, but I'm sorry, your booking is not appearing. You must be mistaken,” the clerk apologised sweetly, eyes scanning the glaring screen in front of her unsurely.

“Oh… really? Umm, ok, I'll take another room,” you sighed, pulling up your phone to double check if you had missed any emails notifying you of the change.

“We're fully booked,” the clerk added, trying to meet your gaze.

“What?” your voice wavered. Anxiety began to gnaw at your stomach.

“I said we're fully booked, ma'am,” she repeated.

“There must be another.. there aren't any other hotels around here… what am I supposed to do?” you murmured, the question being for yourself.

“That is out of our control, ma'am,” the clerk looked away. You could've figured that one out by yourself. What you couldn't figure out was where to go next as you dragged your belongings out of the hotel with you and found a bench to reap your sadness. Should you call Minho? No, he would be with his family by now, you didn't want to disturb him. Should you go back to Seoul? You could always go back to your apartment since Changbin was away and Hyunjin was staying with Chan and Felix. No, what if they returned?

Everything hit you at once like a tidal wave. It came crashing down upon you, forcing your head into your hands as you cried. Weeped. You were just about able to hold back your sobs, but why should you have to? Why were you forcing yourself to withhold your pain for years on end? It wasn't fair to you and it wasn't right to the memory of your parents.

Today was the anniversary of their deaths.

They went together at least. That small fact gave you a semblance of comfort but it wasn't enough to heal your wounds, soothe your nightmares or fill in the gaps they left behind them. Of course, not on purpose, you knew they loved you too much, their only child. There was no one else that you knew of left in your family, by blood.

“I hate it when you lie.”

You jumped, surprised you didn't even notice that Minho took a seat beside you, very cat-like in how he silently moved. Wiping away your tears and glancing away, composing yourself, you braved the situation you were now in and cleared your throat.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with your family,” you sniffed.

“I thought you were staying with your family,” Minho searched your eyes curiously, wondering why you were so distraught.

“Yeah, umm, hotel mistake, umm, we're gonna just stay home instead, yeah,” you stumbled on your words, not knowing in your own head if you were ready for him to know, for anyone to know. Maybe you could get past with this excuse. Maybe he wouldn't ask you why you were at a hotel and not a restaurant. He wouldn't worry about you.

“Where are they?” Minho asked slowly, sensing something was wrong from your offbeat rambling.

“They're… they're gone…” you break down into sobs, not caring about how loud you were. Your body trembled in distress, spluttering and longing for a healthy gasp of air.

“Aigoo, what's wrong, come here, come on,” Minho immediately gathered you in his arms, and before you knew it, he was supporting your weight as he guided you into his car, parked just around the corner. He held you with care, rubbing firm circles into your back and hushing your cries.

“Got nowhere, I've got nowhere to go,” you wiped your face roughly, causing him to grab your wrists and stop you from treating yourself so harshly whilst you panicked. He tried to make sense of it all.

“I miss them so much, I-i…”

“It's ok, I've got you,” Minho murmured against your head.

“They're gone, t-they’re dead… m-my mum and dad, they're gone,” you cried, words spilling from your mouth. The secret you kept from your members for so long now out there in the open.

“I… oh my.. ok.. it's ok… I get it now… I've got you, it'll be ok,” Minho blinked, trying to hold back tears of his own as he felt your sorrow.

“I-i should've said sooner,” you hiccuped, making him sigh in response.

“Don't do that,” he tsked.

“Sorry.”

“Don't do that either. You have no need to apologise. I wish we knew sooner but it wasn't for us to decide that, ok?” he cradled you in his arms, the heat from the car keeping you nice and toasty. It brought another layer of comfort to being in Minho's embrace.

You explained how after all these years of taking breaks and visiting family, you were really staying in a hotel the whole time. To top it all off, it was the anniversary of your parent's deaths. Minho had to fight every instinct in his bones to not scold you for not telling him in the first place and instead he asked your permission to inform the boys of what had happened. You said yes. Messages immediately flooded in. Shock, sympathy, confusion. Minho put his phone down and refocused his attention on you.

“What should I do?” you asked him earnestly.

“We're going home,” Minho stroked your hair back, pulling away to scan your face for any sign of panic once more.

“Minho, you can't drive from here,” you weakly joked, pointing out the fact you were sat in the back of his car.

“Ah, there you are. Never have I been so happy to hear you talk back like that,” he rolled his eyes teasingly. His hand patted your shoulder to signal you to move back to the front of the car with him, where you were sitting merely an hour ago.

The journey on the way back to your apartments was quieter this time. Minho wanted to respect you by simply letting you sit in your thoughts, but it wasn't long before you were sharing some of your fondest memories. He kept a close eye on you, multitasking with driving and your emotions, not wanting to see you as distressed as you had been before.

By the time you pulled up outside the complex, a strange set of nerves took over. The urge to stay in the car and not get out was incredibly strong, but luckily Minho was there to steer you inside, quite literally. An elevator ride later, you were outside your place, where everyone else was gathered, waiting for you. The door whipped open and Chan was first to grab you tightly.

“You don't have to say anything, yeah? We understand,” he whispered, kissing you on the head before pulling away.

Hyunjin and Felix embraced you next and you could see Changbin fidgeting, wanting you in his arms.

“We all love you so much and we'll always be here for you. Your family. We will always look after you. Please don't keep anything from us next time,” Changbin held you against him for a moment, a tight squeeze but it was needed for the both of you.

“I won't, not anymore,” you nod in affirmation.

“Have a brownie, it'll make you feel better,” Felix offered it to you, encased with some tissue. It was the sugar boost and sweet treat that soothed your soul.

“Thanks, Lixie, umm, I better unpack,” you hugged him quickly before looking for your luggage.

Minho was chatting with the others, nudging your suitcase towards you so you could have another moment to yourself.

“One for the road?” Felix called out, wanting to hand you another one as you walked away.

“She'll be too full up, we're gonna try and make some bulgogi…” Jisung whispered, or what he thought was a whisper.

You wheel your suitcase into your room with a smile and unzip it, delicately placing your folded clothes onto your bed into different piles.

“I hope you don't mind,” you heard a voice behind you, Seungmin, “I told my parents about your situation and they said you're always welcome round our house whenever you want. Sorry if that seems-” Seungmin stood by your doorway, rambling in an uncharacteristically shy way, before you barrelled into him to give him another hug.

“I would love that.”

When you re-entered the lounge, there were no expectant glances at you, just the safety of being with the people you love.

“I can't believe you managed to hide it from us,” Jisung commented with no ill intent, gazing upon you.

“I am sorry, guys, really-”

“No, no, I didn't mean it that way!” he waved his hands apologetically, “it's just, we can normally read you like a book. I'm more sorry we didn't notice something was wrong.”

“No, no, you don't have to be. Look, I, I don't really know what to say, Sungie,” you now understood where he was coming from.

“It's ok, I'll just hug you.”

He felt guilty for nearly making you feel like you were in the wrong, so he made the conscious effort to be glued to your side, holding your hand in his as you say on the sofas a blanket covering the two of you.

There was one person who hadn't said anything yet. You decide to make conversation to help break the awkwardness.

“What time are you going to Busan tomorrow?” you wonder, glancing at Jeongin.

“Oh, Busan? I'm not going this time,” he shook his head, watching your reaction.

“Jeongin…”

“There is always next time. Plus, I'm still with my family this way too.”

Bundled together on the sofas in the Hyunbin + you apartment, you felt relaxed. You didn't know how much you missed spending time together in the comfort of your own home. It had been a while since all nine of you lived together, after all. That evening you ate bulgogi, whipped up by Minho and his sous-chef Jeongin. Nine people were connected, whether it was Hyunjin teasing Minho by pretending to bite his feet (clothed, don't worry), Jisung pressed against your side or the multitude of legs strewn across each other. The others apart from your usual roommates reluctantly left you the next day after you promised you would be okay, or as okay as you could be. There was something that brightened your day though, and it appeared in the form of Hwang Hyunjin gifting you some art.

“I tried to capture their faces, but if you don't like it then-”

“I love it. I love it so much. Thank you, Hyune.”

The beauty in which you all came together, just like you always did, ran deeply through your souls, bonded together as a family forever.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @katzline @kiwihrt @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve

[moomenmes3]

We Urgently Need Your Support and Compassion

hello👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Moamen, and I am a father of three young children. I am reaching out to you during an incredibly challenging time for my family and me.

We are currently facing a dire situation, and I humbly appeal for your help to save my family, particularly my infant child. Our goal is to escape the ongoing hardships in Gaza and find refuge in Egypt, where we can build a new life. Alternatively, we seek support to secure the essentials that can sustain us and provide a foundation for survival.

Asking for help has not been an easy decision, but our circumstances leave us no other option. We are determined to survive and work towards rebuilding our shattered lives. Any assistance, no matter how small, will make a profound difference in alleviating our suffering and bringing hope back to our family.

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Thank you for taking the time to read our story and for any support you can provide.

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[sunsetsover]

looking back at kantbison's relationship and specifically kant's relationship with submission throughout the show after episode 8 has really put a lot of things into perspective for me.

bc like. it's complicated. i'm not gonna pretend that it's not. there's too much there in kant's character to ever really be able to isolate one thing he says or does before like. episode 6 or so. and be able to say 'this was exactly what he meant, this was his sole feeling and/or his sole motivation here' bc everything's far too intertwined to ever pick apart properly.

that said though. i always felt there was a sense of reluctance in kant when it came to giving bison power over him and specifically the bdsm thing. and i could never quite figure out bc i didn't particularly get the impression that he disliked it either but there was just something that was off about it that i could never quite put my finger on, but i think i've finally figured it out. and it's really not that surprising, bc as this show's gone on it's become increasingly clear that with kant all roads lead to the same place, and that's the issue of choice - or lack of choice, in kant's case.

submission was never really the issue i don't think. kant knows how to submit, is good at submitting - at the end of the day, isn't that what he does with christ? submit to his will, follow his orders? isn't he collared and chained to him? isn't he such a well behaved dog for him? kant knows very well how to submit. but the thing is is that it's not a willing act of submission where christ is concerned. kant submits because, like with pretty much every other facet of his life, he has no other choice. he behaves because he has to.

and then the next thing kant knows there's bison, outright telling him that he'd like him to submit. to let bison take charge and have kant bend to his will, to follow his every whim. and bison wasn't pushy about it - if anything it was the opposite. he was reluctant, assuring kant that it was fine, that he didn't have to, that actually maybe it was better that they didn't. he gives kant the choice. but it's not a real choice. kant's answer is already laid out for him.

and i think that's where the dissonance entered. you see hints of annoyance and frustration before then, but the much more subtle 'off' feeling that i felt started around then. and i think it's bc for all intents and purposes kant was already completely submitting to bison's will. he was already going along w whatever bison wanted bc he had to, bc he needed bison to trust him, bc saying no to anything thrown his way wasn't (and had never been) an option.

but ofc bison didn't know that. he just wanted to dom his boy. but i think he could also feel the reluctance and the confusion around it all. bc despite what he said and did to reassure bison that he was into it and wanted it too, kant was always subconsciously resisting. and as i said i think there's a lot in that too, it's not simply one thing - bison is a murderer at the end of the day, and dom/sub dynamics are supposed to be built primarily on trust, and kant didn't trust bison not to hurt him too much or go too far. it was also clearly a new thing to him considering he didn't even know what a safeword was. and it was maybe even some weird sense of loyalty to christ. you know what they say: you can't serve two masters. and kant already had one. he was already collared and chained, already submitting. and kant's current master had an awful lot of power over him. he knew what kind of punishment awaited him if he disobeyed.

but above all else kant knew he couldn't really say no. and he hated that.

and so we're back to choice again. the one thing kant has never had. here he is getting forced into submission again - not by bison, but by circumstance. and so no matter what he says or does or how into it he really does seem, there's always this subtle reluctance that rolls off of him. there's always just something off about it all. (which, thinking about, may have been one of the reasons why so many people were turned off by kantbison, bc there was just something not quite right in the vibes, but i digress)

but obviously things change. kant accidentally falls in love with bison, despite his best intentions. and, maybe even more importantly, bison falls in love with kant. and that love changes bison - bison, who needed power so desperately when they first met that he turned nearly every interaction they had into a game of tug of war. bison who, despite not necessarily needing kant's submission, would also never ever give in to kant's will, not even a little. but that same bison falls for kant, and he begins to yield. starts to let himself just be, and by extension let kant just be too. bison begins to settle, become a little docile. he lays on kant's chest and kisses his feet. he rolls onto his back and lets kant loom big and dominating over him, despite how desperate he once was for power. and kant is clever, he knows that's what bison wanted. that's why he gave into him all the time. but by letting kant maintain some of the power in their relationship without a fight, he's basically telling kant i would like you to submit to me, but i don't need it. i just want you. and kant hears that. and that changes things. because without knowing it or even really meaning to, he's given kant a choice.

and we all know what kant chooses.

and to be clear, for the most part i think this is all happening on a subconscious level without either really realising it or thinking about what's happening. but the choice is conscious. it's his. and kant chooses the master that gives him the option to choose. that choice changes everything for kant. everything. it recalibrates his whole world view, his whole life. and the minute he chooses (chooses!) bison, he submits himself to him wholeheartedly. he puts the collar on himself.

but we don't get the reality of what that means until ep 8 bc of yknow. all the stabbing and kidnapping and manipulation and retraumatisation and scheming such. but then we do see it. and we see just how deep it goes for kant, that ease of submission, and his desire for it. how he doesn't run despite having many, many opportunities to do so. how he doesn't eat even when bison's nowhere to be found and he has freshly cooked food in his hands bc bison hasn't said he can. how he doesn't untie himself despite being able to bc bison tied him up for a reason. and sure, all of that is love too, and it's also playing nice bc he desperately wants bison's forgiveness. but this is all also an active form of submission, the same way a dog submits to their owner when they say sit, down, stay, wait. a good dog doesn't eat until it's given permission. and ultimately doesn't the fact that kant safewords tell us exactly what kind of state of mind he's in? what he thinks about their situation and their relationship? (and i won't go over it bc i've already talked about in length here but the act of safewording truly said so, so much)

and yknow, thinking about it really it shouldn't even be surprising bc we were literally shown who kant was back when they first met. and what did he do? went when bison said to go, came when bison said to come back. bison said you're not doing this alone and kant sat still and let bison ride him to his heart's content. it was very subtle, but he really was submitting to bison in little ways all the way back then! the signs were there!

and the beautiful thing about it to me is that in episode 8 there is not a single moment of dissonance between kant and bison. there's no more weird vibes. there's just kant and the first choice he's ever got to make. kant and his chosen master. kant and the hand at the end of his leash. kant and bison.

[raptorific]

I think people need to understand that in mainstream American political discourse, "liberal" and "left-wing" mean the same thing, full-stop. Not "to a conservative, any liberal is a raging radical leftist" or "the center is so far-right that even liberals are on the left side of it" or even "most people are uninformed about the differences between being a liberal and a leftist" but straight up "those two words, to most people, mean the same thing."

Somebody who's a middle-of-the-road centrist that's slightly to the left of the political center is considered "a little liberal." Someone who's calling for UBI and Universal Healthcare and an end to privatized education and the abolition of the prison-industrial complex and the police and military institutions is considered "incredibly liberal." There is no point on the left of the spectrum where you stop being Liberal and start being some other, cooler thing. The furthest-left person in America is The Most Liberal, and the furthest-right person in America is The Least Liberal. You can be "more liberal" (further left, no matter how far) or "less liberal" (further right) and there are zero other options.

The fun thing is that this does not actually need explaining to anybody who's actually politically active. The people who attempt to draw a distinction between "liberal" and "leftist," or the people who think "liberal" refers to a specific political faction who are left-of-center, but right-of-leftists, are largely politely dismissed for not knowing what they're talking about and, behind closed doors, laughed at by people who actually understand politics, and only think Everybody Thinks There's A Difference because they're in a self-constructed bubble

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

"Another theoretical path for Zoe would be to let Chloe redeem Zoe. We know that Zoe was a massive liar in the past."

If I understood your pov about a Chloe redemption and how Lilia neither has reason to be on the show: if you had to use a character for Chloe to redeem, and kinda serve both as a foil for her and a lesson for Adrien's character growth, it wouldn't be Zoe, but Lila?

*sighs* You bring so many good points on the characters' writing that I can't beleive how many "repeated" characters the show has! Would you consider Socqueline another innecessary character?

(Post this was in reference to for Zoe and for Lila)

It's not shocking that the show has "repeated" characters. It's a school drama with 21 teen heroes in the canon cast (24 if we count the special characters). It's damn near impossible to give that many characters a unique role in the story unless you're dealing with extremely complex plots a la Game of Thrones where it's less one large cast in a single story and more smaller casts in mini stories that all intermingle. If you look at something like GoT, you'll notice that, while the overall cast is massive, each mini story has a more normal sized cast and those smaller groups only come together after they're extremely well established. Miraculous could have done something like that with each member of the class getting a mini arc that focused on them, but it didn't, so the cast is basically a uniform blob.

Zoe, Chloe, & Lila

Before we talk about Socqueline, I wanted to quickly make some comments on Zoe and Lila. If I had to have Chloe redeem someone to show off her new skills post redemption, then I'd have it be Sabrina. If Sabrina is off the table, then I'd pick Zoe. If Zoe is off the table, only then would I look to Lila because why use Lila when you have Chloe's best friend and sister as options? That's far more compelling than some random girl no one knew before this year and who no one is connected to. Even the Zoe route is questionable since she's so underdeveloped right now. Both her and Lila would need major work to be fully functional characters and I personally have no interest in doing that work since I don't feel like it adds enough value to canon.

I will note that Lila and Zoe actually had potential to be an interesting contrast to each other since they're both liars. Redeeming one and damning the other works far better than doing the same narrative with Lila and Chloe since Lila and Zoe have the same core problem while Lila and Chloe have nothing in common to the point where canon has to retcon in Chloe having a Marinette obsession so that the Chloe and Lila team up made sense.

Similarly, if you damn Chloe, redeeming Zoe could have been interesting. You could even redeem her and then, though her, save Chloe since Zoe hasn't suffered from Chloe anywhere near as much as the rest of the cast. That and their sibling status makes Zoe a decent choice for the person who changes Chloe's heart just like the Zoe's backstory feels like a good contrast to Chloe's canon story.

Zoe is introduced right after Chloe supposedly proved she didn't want to change (for this post, we're pretending people actually tried to help Chloe and failed). That should mean that everyone is really freaking wary of the new girl who shows manipulative tendencies while also claiming that she wants to change. That could have led to an arc showing how you know when someone does want to change and how to navigate that.

I don't think Zoe is a great candidate for that since she's a total stranger who no one but Chloe has any reason to care about, but it would have done something to make the people in canon actually learn the supposed redemption lesson we're currently missing. As-is, Marinette just randomly believes in Zoe right from the start and Zoe is good basically right from the start, showing that Chloe's betrayal meant nothing to the cast and driving home that Marinette's first impressions of people are basically always right. Adrien seems to be the only exception.

Socqueline

Socqueline is a totally pointless character who I would never have included. It's not that she's bad in and of herself, it's that she once again adds nothing to the cast that wasn't already there. She is Origins Alya on steroids. She's here to protect Marinette from Chloe and inspire Marinette to be brave and that's about it. Why she needed to do that when Alya is supposed to have that role is anyone's guess.

If anything, Socqueline undermines Alya since we now know that Marinette had an amazing best friend before Alya came around! Socqueline was willing to fight Chloe even before Chloe randomly mellowed out into a nicer person because seasons one-to-three Chloe has nothing on Derision Chloe. Even seasons four and five Chloe aren't as bad as Derision Chloe. This show has no idea what it's doing.

[capricornlevi]

closing night -- part 1 of 3: pre-show.

bandmate!gojo x reader

secret relationship, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, nsfw, mdni

part 1 wc: 1.6k

“On in ten!”

You hear your tour manager’s voice as it drifts down the hallway outside your dressing room; he’s knocking on every door he sees, one after another, doing his best to summon the five members of the band before the support act finishes up. Sighing wearily, he gives one last knock outside your room. 

“If you run late again you’ll have to cut the setlist short!”

At that, Gojo’s head lifts to meet your gaze, his lips shiny and pink from where they were just fixed around one of your nipples.

“D’you think he’s talking about us?” he grins. 

You roll your eyes while fighting back a smile of your own, already missing the sensation of his mouth. 

“It’d be pretty hard to go on without the guitarist and singer,” you quip, trying to straighten your posture from where you were previously backed up against the wall, shoulders aching from where the brickwork was digging into your skin. 

You’re caged in between his toned arms; he widens his stance to give you space but keeps his palms against the wall, his body still so close that you can feel his chest graze against yours when he breathes in. 

He pauses as though considering his options, tilting his head somewhat to the side and narrowing those icy blue eyes.

“But not impossible?”

You chuckle despite your initial unwillingness to give him the satisfaction. 

No, you internally reprimant yourself. You need to get it together. 

You’re something of a leader for the band, an anchor, guiding this ragtag group of your old college friends that somehow made it bigger than big, and so you feel a sense of responsibility you can’t seem to shake no matter how many tour coordinators or PR personnel join the crew. It would be completely irresponsible to be late for the second show in a row because of a clandestine hookup - no matter how tempting the thought may be - and so you reach down, arms weaving under Gojo’s, to reluctantly pick your shirt from where it was tossed on the back of an old office chair. 

Gojo makes a noise of disappointment at the sight but backs up to give you space to redress. He runs a hand through his messy white hair, soft tresses catching on his fingers as he brushes them back into place. 

You watch from the corner of your eye as he makes his way towards the wall-length mirror, no doubt surveying the eyeliner you helped apply –

it was the forced proximity that got you into this mess tonight, with you cupping his face with one of your hands to steady your grip, and him deciding to lean in just as you lifted the eye pencil from his waterline  – 

and, seeing no changes to be made, he double-checks his pockets to make sure he has some spare picks. He fishes one out and flicks it up into the air like a coin toss, catching it in his palm with ease.

His pre-show ritual. You know it so well it might as well be your own superstition.

With your clothes now back in the right place, you decide to join him by the mirror. He smiles at you through the reflection; you match it instinctively, without even thinking.

Your mind blanks for a moment as you try to recall what brought you over here in the first place.

Ah. 

Of course.

You need to make sure your appearance is satisfactory before taking the stage in front of thousands of people who paid good money to see you play on time. 

Which you will do, you assure yourself, glancing at the clock on the wall before back to the mirror. 

Thankfully, your own makeup lasted better than you thought it would. You raise a hand to grab your lipstick from the vanity but Gojo beats you to it, picking it up and slipping it into your palm without so much as saying a word. 

You give a muffled thanks while applying it to your lips, the lips that were kiss-slick just minutes ago, the lips that were asking him to do the most obscene things to you, things you’d been craving since you were last together like this. 

Now, eyes drifting away from your mouth, you see the reflected image of his unbuttoned shirt collar, spotting the platinum chain he wears as a good luck charm; again, you avert your eyes before he sees you looking. 

It’s funny, you think to yourself, how you’ve known one another for years, before he’d ever picked up a guitar and before you’d ever built up the courage to sing in front of other people, and yet this phenomenon of hooking up before (and after) shows is relatively new. 

It was last year, to be exact, when you had first tumbled into bed with each other, high on the adrenaline of finishing up a sold-out tour in your home city and the thrill of the new, perfect feeling of your lips on his. 

The word ‘tumbled’ being used literally – with Gojo’s height and the exhaustion of the performance, you had pretty much dragged him down on top of you in a mess of limbs and messy kisses, reassured by the fact that this was a one-time thing.

Except, tale as old as time, it most certainly was not just one time. He’d slept over at yours that night – he’d done it before, of course, though it used to always be on the couch - and you’d ended up going for another round the next morning. That one was harder to explain away; there was no adrenaline, no impulse. It happened naturally. Organically. As though it was something you had always been doing. 

And so you both decided that to be the official party line: it was like you’ve always been doing this. There was no need to discuss it with the other members … or with each other, for that matter. Whenever you had a stolen moment before a show, after a photoshoot, late at night on tour when everyone else was out partying, you’d gravitate towards him without a second thought, and he’d welcome you in with hedonistic touches and pretty words of praised whispered in your ear.

Then, afterwards, things went back to normal. Back to being the best of friends. To your knowledge, nobody else suspects a thing.

It was truly the best of both worlds, you thought, having the best parts of friendship with all the satisfaction of amazing sex, and with someone who knows you so well. You'd been lonely for some time before that -- you know how aggravating it is to complain about things like that since you'd achieved your dream, and there's so much about fame that you love, but none of it changed that fact that you craved something real. Everyone you met before you made it big looks at you differently, and everyone you meet now wants something from you. Gojo does neither, really, he expects nothing from you other than to be the person who he shares his lyrics with, knowing you'll leave genius little notes in the margins, signing it off with a little smiley face. He trusts you with that, and everything else is a welcome extra.

It's a perfect system, honed over the last year. Mutually beneficial and foolproof.

But recently, your system is proving to have a few flaws you hadn't expected; last week, you’d both gotten carried away, lost in your own minds, and it had made you late for the show. You’d never been late to a single gig before in your entire career, and the feeling had unsettled you deeply. It only took a few excuses about your alarm not going off for the others to believe you, but you hated lying to them, and you’d hated that something that was once so simple has now turned into something that is teetering on the edge of combustion. 

You had wanted to address it today, which is why you’d invited Gojo in under the guise of getting ready together. Obviously, things had gotten carried away, but it’s still on the tip of your tongue, burning in your mouth, begging to be said.

You turn your head, looking directly at him instead of facing his reflection. He does the same, eyes fixing on your own in a way that makes you think he can read your mind. 

“‘Toru, I think we should talk –”

“Two minutes!” 

Your tour manager’s now-desperate shout snaps you out of your spell. You blink up at Gojo, processing a hundred things at once, shaking your head softly.

“Nevermind, it's nothing --"

“Let’s go play the best show of our lives first, hm?” Gojo offers, tone gentler than you would have expected. He’s still his confident, assured self, but there’s a lilt of something else in his voice. It’s comforting.

You just nod.

Now isn't the time for distractions. It's time to enjoy the peak of your career, the pinnacle of your success. On that, you know you both agree.

Turning around for one last glance in the mirror, you turn to half-walk, half-sprint out of the dressing room, leaving Gojo to lag back for a few moments so as not to seem too suspicious.

Your manager is too distracted by seeing you and shoving an earpiece into your ear to notice Gojo slip out of the room, pacing down the hall towards the stage. 

When your manager hurries you stageside, Gojo’s waiting there as though he’s been hanging around all day, guitar strap slung over his strong shoulders. 

He smiles, the same one he gave you in the mirror. 

You smile back.

Show time. 

[radioiaci]

Never one to turn down a meal, Alastor polishes his own similarly. The steak, though having not been his actual selection, sated just as well as the chicken might have. And he chased it effectively with the rather large portion of sides he'd procured as well. Still not full - never full, even now - but content for the time being, sipping casually at his wine as they enjoyed the peaceful moment, free of oppressive themes of his own personal tragedy.

At least for now.

"I will do my utmost to treat the handling of it with the privilege it's owed," he offered in turn. Absently, he wondered what it might look like braided, but Alastor did not know how to do that. Best to not make the attempt and sully it with haphazard hair dressing skills. Alastor had never really had any long hair - not in childhood and not in adulthood. Its length in death was the longest it had ever been - and even then, he had never found it especially prudent to style it in any meaningful way aside from straight.

But, it seemed, that was not something that everyone found as appealing. The mention of his curls - evident as they were now - had him blinking once or twice as he seemed to consider the request.

"Only for you. It makes it incredibly hard to have my tendrils wrapped around one's throat when they are too busy complimenting the volume of my hair." It was a half joke. But he did tend to give a softer impression when he was so curly and fluffy. Too soft. He would like to remain much more sharp angled than that.

The offer of the orange made him give it a brief stare. He was less opposed to citrus fruits than other, sweeter options. And so he had no problem with taking it from Pentious to pop into his own mouth. Not quite as prim or proper in its consumption, but sometimes the illusion of being such had to drop. He was a bit emotionally and mentally spent, for the time being. And he had no real reason to overly impress.

Which meant that perhaps he could be just a bit more brazen.

"You'll have to tell me when you're done so I can properly ravage you."

Just tossing that out there unbidden. They were in private. It was fine.

Despite the strange sensation of a much smaller mouth and less formidable teeth, Pentious enjoyed his own half of the meal with great appetite. Their eventful morning had rendered his stomach into all but an aching pit and so there the chicken and sides quickly disappeared. He especially appreciated the spiciness of the food, a quality he had eagerly expected knowing they would be dining in Louisiana.

Soon, Pentious caught Alastor looking, and he met the other's gaze with a smile peeking from behind his wine glass. He had to really think about the other's question before he was able to answer. Pentious had been so excited about the prospect of brushing his hair at

"I don't recall it being anything complicated," the man chuckled. Goodness, it could be done in any manner of ways, couldn't it? "Just straight and out of my face was my preference, but you can do anything you like, darling. As long as you are gentle."

The only thing he was, and had always been against was losing length in his locks. What had started as a childish fear towards barbers and a ridiculous anxiety that his brain would lose its brilliant cells by cutting off his hair had developed into a comforting style he refused to let go of. No matter how often he was reminded how outdated and unstylish it was. Even within the realm of those ridiculous hoop skirts, deadly fabric dyes and mountainlike top hats. Yes. A man with long hair was the truly strangest sight one could imagine.

"Your hair is endearing. Please let it coil more often, if only for my eyes," Pentious begged, admiring the softness of the other's hair. He loved it, whether in this form or the other, so fiery red.

Pentious took an orange from the fruit assortment, which he peeled and then cut into portions with his knife. The scent was refreshing in that particular, nearly stinging way. The sticky juice ran down Pentious' pale hand as he held out one of the pieces for the other demon.

"Here, Luv. Essential vitamins."