#i don’t remember much about that movie good or bad but that line made me cry and stuck with me and seeing smth similar here has me so 🥺🥺

[jojea]

WHAT IF I CRY—

[unriding]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[capseycartwright]

miss me, but let me go

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me."

On November 1, Eddie builds an altar for Shannon and finds a way to let her go.

ao3 link

November 1. The date is not one Eddie is likely to ever forget. Even before Shannon died, Dia de los Muertos wasn’t a holiday he ever missed - as a child, he would help his abuelo make their altar every year, a picture of his abuelo front-and-centre, Edmundo Diaz Senior, the man he’d been named for, looking sharp in his suit as he looked out from the glass picture frame where he’d lived all of Eddie’s life. He’d never met his grandfather - only carried his name. 

Over the years, more faces found a home on the altar - friends, and family, time a fickle thing and the only certainty about life that it ended. Death was familiar, a constant in a world Eddie felt like he could never quite figure out.

After Shannon died -

The first November 1 after she died, Eddie built his own altar for the first time, explaining the tradition to Christopher. They had done it every year since, Christopher’s face in a set line as he made sure everything was absolutely perfect. No less than his mother deserved, Eddie knew. 

Shannon hadn’t grown up with the traditions of All Saints and All Souls, but she’d embraced them wholly when she and Eddie had gotten married, making the altar herself when Eddie wasn’t there. It felt right to honour her with the traditions she had loved herself. That was why Eddie had taken to adding a picture of Shannon’s mother to the altar too, when she died the year after Shannon did. Breast cancer, they’d said, but Eddie knew heartbreak had been the thing that had pushed her over the edge.

Every year, Eddie celebrated Shannon, and her mother, his grandfather, the people he’d served with who had died - 

Except this year.

Eddie felt bad. Really, he did - he was going to build the altar himself, but when his dad had texted a picture of the Diaz family altar, Shannon front and centre, Eddie couldn’t quite bring himself to make his own. Shannon was being remembered - that was what mattered. He’d gone to her grave instead, only half listening as the priest had said mass over the graveyard, praying for the salvation of the souls who were buried there.

Grief was a funny old beast, Eddie knew. Grief had made him do crazy things - grief had driven his son to Texas, for crying out loud. The grief didn’t hit standing by her grave, but it did when dusk descended over Eddie’s house, and the absence of an altar began to feel like one of the worst things he’d done amongst a year of terrible decision-making.

Maybe he should have taken Buck up on his offer of coming over to make an altar with him, but Eddie had asked enough of his best friend in the last four months. Eddie knew Tommy had bought them tickets for some movie Buck was dying to see, and as much as Eddie was a near-professional third wheel now, he didn’t think he’d make a good addition to the back row of their local movie theatre.

Eddie winced as he looked at the candle he’d swiped from the dining table. “It’s cedarwood,” he said, apologetic as he lit it, setting the candle down in front of the framed picture of Shannon that lived on their fireplace. “I know you hated cedarwood, but I’m working with what I’ve got here, Shan.”

Eddie pressed his cheek against his folded arms, taking one, two, three shaky breaths. “I really struggled after you left, Shannon. I don’t think I really even realised how much until now - and it’s not just because you were gone, but you were gone and you wanted a divorce, and I - suddenly, I was never going to get answers.”

He’d been talking about Shannon a lot in therapy, lately, unpacking all his complicated feelings during his excruciating weekly hour with Frank. 

“I don’t know if I even wanted to stay married to you,” Eddie admitted, the candle flickering in the growing dark of his living room. That was terrifying to admit out loud - that even if she had stayed alive, he and Shannon wouldn’t have made it work. There were a thousand reasons why, and Eddie could sit, and list them all, but one was more important than the others. 

“I think I’m gay, Shannon,” Eddie had never said it out loud before, despite the thought never quite leaving his mind, Pandora’s box open, now. “If you were here, I bet you’d have such a laugh with that - not like, in a bad way. Just - I think you’d find it funny, that your mom’s gaydar was right after all.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought himself. Shannon’s mom had been the bitchiest woman he’d ever met, and Eddie loved her for it. 

“I’ve made such a mess of things,” Eddie paused. “But with you, most of all. I’m sorry - for my part in it all. I thought I was doing the right thing, joining the army. I just wanted to take care of you and Chris, and I didn’t see any other way out. I know it was the wrong choice - but I really thought it was the right one. You know?”

Shannon’s picture stayed silent. 

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. For the life she might have had, if not for the car crash - Eddie sometimes liked to indulge himself and think of an alternative life where Shannon had survived, where they got divorced, and learned how to co-parent, and maybe they found their way back to being friends. It was a nice thought.

Eddie wiped roughly at his eyes. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me.” 

With a shaky hand, Eddie pressed a kiss to the framed picture, setting Shannon back down with the candle. It was a half-assed altar, and somehow, that made Eddie feel worse. He scrambled to his feet, heading for his bedroom, and the box of Shannon’s belongings he knew was stashed at the back of his wardrobe. He hadn’t kept much for himself - most of it was for Christopher - but he had a few things. There was a necklace in there, he knew that Eddie had bought her for their first wedding anniversary. It was a cheap thing, because they were always broke, but it was something of hers - it would make it a more acceptable offering.

Eddie couldn’t help the breath that hitched in his throat as he spotted what was in his bedroom. A butterfly, resting on his pillowcase, on the side he always slept on. “Hey, little guy,” he whispered softly, not wanting to startle the tiny creature. His abuela loved butterflies - they were spirits of the people you loved, who had left, coming back to visit. Eddie felt slightly ridiculous, but he said it anyway. “Shannon?”

The butterfly didn’t move. 

“I’m so glad Christopher isn’t here, because he would really think I’ve lost it,” Eddie crouched by the side of his bed, holding out a finger. “Hey. Is this your way of telling me it’s okay to let you go? Did you hear all of that?” 

The butterfly moved, tiny wings fluttering as it came to land on Eddie’s outstretched finger. 

“I hope that’s a yes,” Eddie knew tears were streaming down his cheeks, now, but he didn’t want to freak the butterfly out by wiping them away. “How did you get in here, eh? None of the windows are open.”

If Eddie Diaz believed in a higher power, still, he’d blame God - or the universe. 

“Let’s get you outside,” Eddie said, and the butterfly flapped, a little, coming to land on the windowsill instead. “Yeah? You’re ready to go?”

The butterfly flapped in response again.

“I think I’m ready to let you go, this time,” Eddie admitted, carefully unlatching the window. “We’re going to be okay, me and Christopher. I promise. You can go. You don’t need to worry about us.” 

The butterfly seemed to pause, for a second, before it flew out the open window, disappearing into the beginnings of the evening. Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, tears pouring down his cheeks, rolling off the curve of his chin and onto his shirt, but the next thing he knew, he could hear - 

“Buck?”

“Eddie! You’re a firefighter - how long have you left that candle unattended, huh? Eddie - Eddie, where are you, man?”

Buck appeared in the doorway of Eddie’s bedroom, a family-sized bag of sour patch kids tucked under one arm. “Do I need to teach you the basics of fire safety all over again?” he huffed, pausing as he noticed Eddie’s tears. “Eddie - you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie offered his best friend a teary smile. For the first time, Eddie might actually mean that yes. “I’m okay. There - there was a butterfly,” he explained, gesturing at the window vaguely. “I had to let it out.”

“A butterfly?” Buck looked confused. 

“My abuela always said butterflies were the spirits of people who’ve died,” Eddie explained. “I lit a candle for Shannon, and there was a butterfly just sitting on my pillow, when I came in here. It’s…” he paused. “It’s stupid.”  

Buck’s face softened. ‘It’s not stupid,” he shook his head. “You think it was Shannon?”

Eddie glanced at the window again. “I hope it was,” he admitted, taking a deep breath before he closed the window. That in itself felt like symbolism, Eddie decided - a closing of a chapter he should have let go a long time ago. That’s what he needed it to be, at least. “Wait - aren’t you meant to be on a date?”

Bcuk shrugged. “We changed the tickets to tomorrow,” he explained, holding up the bag of candy. “You said you weren’t going to make an altar, and I didn’t want to let you skip out on it. These were her favourite, right?” 

Eddie could cry all over again. Buck, like Shannon, hadn’t grown up with Dia de los Muertos, but here he was, with a bag of Eddie’s dead wife’s favourite candy, ready to sit in Eddie’s grief with him. Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d done in a previous life to deserve a friend like Evan Buckley, but he thanked whatever God or universe was listening for giving him Buck anyway.

“She’d eat so many she’d give herself a stomach-ache,” Eddie grinned, and the memory didn’t hurt, the way it used to, the grief a dull ache that he could grow around, now. He leaned into the embrace Buck offered, breathing in the familiar cedarwood scent of Buck’s favourite cologne. “Thanks. For being here.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” Buck hummed, pressing a ridiculous, loud, smacking kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Eddie loved him. “But I’m buying you one of those electric candle warmers if you’re going to keep leaving candles unattended, Eddie.” 

Eddie was mostly listening as he let Buck guide him back to the living room, the candle still flickering golden in front of Shannon’s picture. It was the same one he’d put on her memorial programme - bright, and beautiful, just like she’d always been when she was alive. 

Buck grinned, as he set a piece of candy in front of her picture. “Berry,” he explained. “My favourite,” he added, tossing a handful of the sour sweets into his own mouth. 

They sat, the television playing reruns of a procedural in the background, eating candy until their stomachs hurt, the candle burning all the way to the end. 

The butterfly didn’t come back.

Buck stayed.

Eddie was ready to move on.

(Buck stayed.)

[artdcnaldson]

stepbro patrick who comes into your bathroom while you’re taking your lil bubble baths to yap at you and bother you. it’s become so normal, you don’t even question it anymore. this time though, he comes in on a night you’re unbelievably pent up and wanted to just relax with an orgasm or four in your bathtub… but this mf will not stop talking and he looks so good in his stupid white tshirt and jeans, having just come back from hanging with art. you’re trying not to be too obvious about the fact that you keep having to press your legs together to get your poor cunt to stop throbbing every time he looks at you, but he knows.

He’s so meannnn :((

Just lounging on the edge of the tub, occasionally turning on the hot water tap so the bath doesn’t get cold while you’re talking. He keeps picking berries off of the little charcuterie board you’ve made yourself, stealing little swigs of wine straight from the bottle. Your face is so hot you can feel it radiating off of your skin, which you blame on the wine and not on the molten arousal pooling in your belly. He doesn’t even know that he interrupted you, at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t. The second the door swung open you had to practically tear your hand from between your thighs.

He’s going on and on about his plan to get Art to do pro doubles with him, how he really thinks they’d have a chance if they just did it together. Which is fine, but you’ve heard him talk about this a million times before, and you’re just sitting in a steadily cooling bath wondering when the fuck he’ll leave so you can finger fuck yourself into oblivion…. Respectfully!

“Am I boring you?” He asks, leaning forward. You’re properly covered by bubbles (not that it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before), but the way he’s leering at you makes your tummy flip. “Do you want me to go away?”

Yes. “No,” you say quickly. “It’s fine. Just… doubles, yeah.” He steals another berry, and you watch the liquid-y smear of red juice drip from his full lips. You swallow. Hard. He’s probably not saying anything important. And god, you just want to rub at your clit until the persistent hum of need is satisfied and goes back into hibernation for a few more days.

What was it even that set you off so bad? You try to remember if it was a book or a movie or even a goddamn song, but all that’s coming to you is Patrick. Patrick in your room, stripping off his shirt as he tries to get you to pick between two button ups he’s picking to wear out with Art. Patrick, leaning over you, smelling of the nice cologne you’d brought home from a trip with your mother to Paris. Patrick squeezing behind you at the sink so he could shave off a bit of stubble that had started growing back in. You’d dropped your toothbrush and he laughed like you were the biggest idiot.

Or maybe it was because you were watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Who’s to say?

Either way, you’re squeezing your thighs together, squirming in the tub. “Can you turn the hot tap on again?” You ask, but your voice comes out a little uneven. Patrick grins like he’s in on some sort of secret, and obliges. You finish your glass of wine.

“You’re gonna be so pruney when you get out of there,” he says. You lift your foot and turn off the tap with your toes. He grabs your foot in his hand and the motion nearly submerges your top half. “See? Your toes are all wrinkled. You should get out.”

“I should,” you say back. “Turn around.”

He doesn’t move. He just looks at you expectantly, like you’ve just challenged him to a game of chicken. Maybe you have. Your cunt aches with need, his leering gaze isn’t helping. You wonder what he’d do if you just… slipped a hand between your thighs, if you alleviated that craving. But you can’t do that. Even if you now he’d like it, that you’d like it just as much.

When you stand up, his eyes take in your entire figure, raking over you from your partially submerged calves all the way up to your eyes. He wants you to know he sees you, that he’s memorizing the lines of your body. You’re lucky you’re soaking wet, so he can’t make out the slick need between your thighs. “Can you hand me that towel?”

“Yeah,” he replies quickly, swallowing, mouth twitching with the need to say something. He steps closer and wraps it around you, tucking the end in so it won’t fall. He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight.”

You swallow, take a shuddery breath. “Yeah, goodnight.”

When you’re sitting together at breakfast, eating quiches and fresh fruit from the garden, you don’t talk about it.

[just-jordie-things]

bad at flirting - fushiguro megumi

word count: 6.2k warnings: swearing + second hand embarrassment summary: megumi doesn't know he's bad at flirting, but his friends are happy to help him! ___

Megumi is totally, absolutely, downright terrible at flirting.  He can’t lay down a vibe to save his life.  Not once has he had the intention of flirting and actually made the person he’s flirting with realize that he’s flirting with them.  It might not be often that he’s attempted to get a girl’s phone number, but it’s never worked.

And to make matters worse, he has no clue.

His friends don’t realize just how badly he needs their help until she comes around- and even then, it’s two months of her attending Jujutsu Tech that they realize the poor boy’s been trying to flirt with her.

It’s Yuuji that spots the odd interaction first.

Megumi had been walking with her, clearly listening to whatever she was talking about that Yuuji couldn’t hear from where he was hanging out on the front steps of the main building.  But he was close enough that when Megumi noticed him, Yuuji gave him a wave and a grin.

The ravenette gives a short wave back- if you could call raising a hand for two seconds before begrudgingly shoving it back into his pocket a wave- before turning towards her again.

He says something Yuuji can’t quite hear, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and she replies with a nod and a smile, before turning and walking off on her own.

When Megumi makes his way to Yuuji, the first thing he notices is his rosy complexion.

Yuuji doesn’t think he’s ever seen Megumi blush.  The sight makes him snort before laughing.

“What was that all about?” He asks, half teasing as he stands up.

“What do you mean?” Megumi replies, almost dumbly.

“You’re blushing!” Yuuji cackles loudly.  “She must've said something” 

“Not really,” Megumi shrugs.  “Just happens when I flirt” He adds in a mumble.

Yuuji’s entire world shatters around him.  His laughter ceases, his jaw drops, and he’s staring blankly at his friend as if he’s never seen him before.

Megumi? Flirting? Blushing? (y/n)? Megumi’s flirting with (y/n)? On purpose? 

His brain computes it all at once in a fast, sloppy mess of thoughts.  But when it dawns on him, his face splits with a wide beam

“Oh my god you like (y/n)!?” He’s practically screeching with joy.

Megumi tries to scowl, but his pink face betrays him, and it only makes him look more adorable.

“I had no idea!” Yuuji’s bouncing on his feet now, “How long have you liked her? How long have you been flirting with her? What’d you say anyways? Does she flirt back? You got good moves?” 

“I guess,” Megumi shrugs, his hands awkwardly fumbling together.  

He’s never really had a crush on anyone before, not like this anyways.  And he’s definitely never had anyone to talk about a crush with before, so he was fairly nervous talking about it now.

“Liked her for a while,” He mumbles, looking anywhere but Yuuji’s expectant, excited face.  “Probably since she got here.  So… I guess I’ve been flirting with her the whole time” 

“That’s adorable,” Yuuji gushes.  “You guys do spend a lot of time together.  Have you gone on any dates?” 

“Yeah, I train with her all the time,” Megumi replies, all too surely.  “And we study, too” 

Yuuji furrows his brows.

Oh, no.

“Training and studying?” He repeats, confused.

Megumi nods his head.

No Megumi, no.

“Those aren’t dates,” Yuuji tells him.  “Dates are movies.  Or ice cream.  Or a picnic, or… well, anything other than training and studying.  Those are just chores you’re doing together” 

“But it’s just the two of us,” Megumi explains.  “And I’m flirting with her” 

“Okay…” Yuuji still sounds unsure.  “Well, how much are you flirting? Give me a line” 

“A line?”

“Yeah, like, tell me something you say to her when you’re flirting” 

“Okay… uh…” Megumi thinks for a second, before smiling to himself and nodding with certainty that he’d remembered a good one.  “She started training with daggers, and I told her she was smart because she’s best with close combat fighting” 

He’s grinning, the poor guy is so proud, and Yuuji can’t help but wince.

“So you… you told her she was smart?” He asked, just to be sure he’d heard him right, and Megumi nodded.

Yuuji sighs, and shakes his head.

“No… no Megumi that’s not flirting,” He huffs.  “I mean, it’s a compliment, but, like, anyone can tell her a compliment- hell, she probably already knew that dude” 

Megumi’s brows draw together, confused at the feedback.  It was his understanding that complimenting her fighting style was flirty- it wasn’t just feedback or critique, it was personal, and therefore intimate.

“So… so she probably didn’t pick up on it?” He asks.  Yuuji nods.

“She for sure didn’t pick up on it dude,” Yuuji tells him.  “But that’s alright, we’ll figure out some other ways of flirting and see what works best for you!” He tells him eagerly.

“Uh… okay… are you sure?” Megumi’s fingers are tangling together again.

“Of course!” Yuuji claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes him in a friendly manner.  “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you landed the girl of your dreams!?”

Megumi’s blushing again. ___

“It’s simple,” Yuuji’s voice rang in Megumi’s head as he tried to work up the courage to approach (y/n).  “Just offer to carry her things, and walk with her after class” 

He glanced to where (y/n) was packing her bag up at her desk.  Yuuji and Nobara had just walked out of the room- not without giving him a thumbs up for encouragement- and it was just the two of them left.

How hard could this be, anyways? He thought to himself, finally striding over to her desk.

“Hey, (y/n)” He greeted, albeit a bit awkward, but it was a start.

“Hey,” She smiled up at him as she zipped up her backpack.  “Weird lesson, right? I’m not convinced Gojo’s taken a single class on how to teach” She chuckles to herself.

“He hasn’t” Megumi answers, recalling a memory of the man tossing a textbook in the trash after Principal Yaga had told him to study up on to make him a more qualified teacher.

“Figures” (y/n) shakes her head, but she’s still smiling, so she must not be too annoyed with their teacher’s weird antics.

“Uh, so…” Megumi starts to work up to his offer, but she looks up at him then, and he has to take a deep breath before continuing.  “Can I… can I carry that for you?” 

He points to her backpack, sitting on top of her desk where she’d left it to give him her attention, and she follows his gesture as though she weren’t sure what he was referring to.

“My bag?” She questions.  “Are you off to the field, too?”

No, I’m supposed to meet up with Maki and Yuuta at the library, Megumi thinks, and he’s not a liar, so he doesn’t lie when he answers.

“No” 

(y/n) giggles to herself, before raising a brow at him.

“So you’re going to walk all the way out to the field and then leave?” 

His face feels hot.  His fingers feel twitchy.  Yuuji didn’t tell him what he was supposed to do now, and he felt like an idiot.

“Yes”

Good.  That was a good answer.

(y/n’s) still laughing, but it doesn’t sound malicious like he would have expected, seeing as he’s standing before her making a fool of himself.  It’s sweet.  It’s cute.

His face still feels hot.

“Alright,” She shrugs a shoulder, and hands him her bag.  “You on some step-tracking kick?” 

Victoriously, Megumi shrugs his arm through one of the straps, sliding it onto his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” He mumbles, because he’s a terrible liar. As they leave the classroom together, (y/n’s) still trying to suppress her laughter.

She hadn’t quite gotten a full grasp of who Fushiguro Megumi was.  He could be quite odd most days, never acting one certain way.  Some days he was mysterious and quiet, some days he was dorky, and some days he would say the most out of pocket things to her that she wasn’t quite sure how to react.  Nonetheless, she enjoyed his company, and was curious to get to know him better.

“What are you up to with your free afternoon?” She asks him, breaking the silence they’d fallen into since exiting the class.

“Just studying,” He shrugs.  “You?” 

“Training,” She shrugs back.  “I haven’t really done anything else since I got here.  Though I’ve been dying to go see Tokyo, I’ve never been” 

She peeks over at him out of the corner of her eye, a part of her hoping to find out if he was free this weekend.  Maybe if she played her cards right, she could find a way to spend some more one on one time with him.

“Oh really?” He hums curiously.  “It’s cool, I guess.  Probably cooler if you weren’t raised there” 

Her heart deflates a little, but she bounces back quickly and forces a smile.

“I’m sure,” She agrees quietly, with a small, awkward laugh.  “I guess it’s old news to you guys, huh?” 

“Nobara loves the shopping district, if that’s what you’re into, you should hit her up for a trip” Megumi tells her with a smile, certain with himself that he’s given her a great piece of advice, and also an outing with a new friend.

She can’t help but smile back at him, but there’s a sinking feeling in her chest that he wasn’t as interested in her as she thought he might have been, and her spirits dampen a little. “Good to know,” She replies.  “I’ll have to ask her if she wants to hang out sometime” 

She lets out a little sigh, her disappointment evident, but luckily they’ve reached the field, and she takes her bag from him.

“Thanks for carrying it, and walking with me,” (y/n) tells him.  “That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to do that” 

“I didn’t mind,” Megumi tucks his hands into his pockets.  “Good luck in training” He tells her with an all-too confident smile for a guy that didn’t realize the girl he was trying to hit on just gave him a clear opening- and he missed it completely.

“Thanks,” (y/n) hums.  “Good luck with studying” 

With that she’s heading off, and Megumi’s on his way back to the building, hoping Maki hadn’t left a bunch of threatening texts on his phone about him being late.  He’s just about to check when out of nowhere, his other two friends are racing towards him.

“Well? How was it!?” Yuuji’s grinning, certain that Megumi couldn’t have messed up such a simple, classic indication of romantic interest.

“Let me guess, she’s completely into you and you’re going out this weekend?” Nobara’s also grinning, her hands clasped together in excitement.

“Well, no, but she did want to go to Tokyo, so I told her you’d probably love to go” Megumi tells her.

Nobara and Yuuji pause, look at each other, and then their smiles drop and they’re both frowning at him.

“You’re kidding” Yuuji states, like it wasn’t even a question, because it had to be a joke.

“No,” Megumi shakes his head.  “I figured it’d help her be closer friends with-” 

“Idiot!” Nobara smacks the back of her hand against his shoulder, effectively cutting him off.  “Why wouldn’t you offer to go with her?”

Megumi opens his mouth to defend himself, but realization strikes and he shuts himself up before he could even try.  She was right.

Stupid! He scolds himself and slaps his palm to his forehead.

“It’s alright! It’s okay!” Yuuji scrambles to reassure his friend.  “You still did a nice thing for her and had some one on one time, so… next time let’s just try to get you two alone for a little longer and… and we’ll talk more about how to move things forward, alright?” 

He’s nodding at both Megumi and Nobara, hoping that she’d help pitch in to agree that he hasn’t completely blown it.

She rolls her eyes, but ultimately Nobara agrees to help.

(Clearly he needed all the help he could get) ___

Megumi wasn’t always the best at complimenting people, but complimenting (y/n) is what he’d been trying to do the past couple months, so Nobara suggested he focused more on that route.  Words of affirmation couldn’t go wrong, right?

However she did tell him he needed to be a little more… romantic in his choice of compliments.  

“Compliment her beauty! Tell her she has pretty eyes, tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, stuff like that” She’d said.

Saying something so intimate made his stomach do backflips, but if that’s what flirting was and that’s what would show (y/n) he liked her as more than a friend, then Megumi told himself he had to give it a shot.

And luckily a few days later, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

It was a nice day out and the two of them had made plans to study.  (y/n) had suggested they do so at one of the many picnic tables scattered around the courtyard, to properly enjoy just lovely weather.

So there they were, just the two of them, comfortably quizzing each other, when Nobara passed by, seemingly casually.  She makes a face at Megumi that he interpreted to mean ‘don’t fuck this up!’, but when (y/n) notices her, it’s nothing but smiles and waves.

“How does she look so pretty all the time?” (y/n) huffs, admiring the girl but clearly feeling a pinch of jealousy.  “I swear, it’s like she doesn’t even try” 

This is it! This is an opening! Megumi cheers internally, proud of himself for knowing this was the right time to say something, just like Nobara had taught him.

“It’s not like you’re trying” 

(y/n) blinks, her eyes meeting his as she tries to figure out what he just said, because it made no sense.

She must have looked just as confused as she felt, because he’s stammering suddenly, trying too hard to explain himself.

“I- I mean you aren’t- you don’t have to- try, I mean,” He’s stuttering over his words so much she can barely keep up with what he’s trying to say.

He drops his head in his hands, hoping to cool his rapidly heating face, and also hide his embarrassment.  He definitely fucked that up.  And now he’s making a bigger idiot of himself by hiding behind his hands like a child.  He wonders if he could convince his shikigami to kill him so he doesn’t have to look at her and further humiliate himself.

“What were you trying to say?” (y/n) asks, and to his surprise her voice is soft.  It’s not cruel, she’s not laughing at him, and she doesn’t seem to be teasing him at all.  The question sounds… genuine.

Megumi sighs, dragging his clammy palms down his face and keeping his eyes focused on the ground as if that would keep her from seeing his embarrassment.

“You don’t have to try to be pretty.  You just are” 

He’s still not looking at her, so he misses the way she grins, although she tries to bite it back.  The blush creeping up her neck is threatening to take over her whole face, and she’s positive she’s making a fool of herself for reacting so girlishly to the compliment, but she can’t help it.

“You’re just saying that,” She says, giggling as she shakes her head.  “You’re cheesing” 

“No, ‘m not,” Megumi mumbles, turning his attention back to the textbook in front of him.  “You’re very pretty” He adds in a quieter, almost too quiet, voice.

(y/n) blinked slowly, sure that when she opened her eyes again she would awake in her room, and this would all have been a silly dream.

But there he is, in front of her, furiously highlighting something, with a significant coat of pink over the bridge of his nose.  He’ll have to ask Nobara later how the hell he was supposed to keep this up, because there’s no way he could look her in the eyes with how hot his face feels.

Did flirting mean he’d always be a blushing mess?

Smooth talking was not easy.  And Megumi had a feeling he hadn’t quite been so smooth.  He’d have to find another way to flirt with her without making him shrink into the collar of his shirt.

Sparing his embarrassment, (y/n) dives back into their studies, asking him to quiz her with her flashcards again.  It takes a few minutes for him to stop stammering and blushing, but after a while he’s back to his usual self.  Maybe just a little more nervous than usual.  But (y/n) doesn’t mind.  In fact, she sort of likes it.

Yuuji comes by when they’re wrapping up their study sesh, hanging out and chatting with them both while they pack up their things.

While (y/n) is distracted with organizing her flashcards, the pink haired boy gives Megumi a grin, and a wink.  Megumi’s stomach drops in fear of whatever that was a signal for.

“So,” Yuuji starts, and Megumi mentally braces himself.  “Nobara and I got paired up for a mission tomorrow! So I guess it’s just you two for movie night” 

“Movie night?” (y/n) crinkles her brow, not recalling a plan for movie night.  “I’m sorry, did we have plans?” She asks sheepishly, embarrassed to have forgotten.

“That’s okay! No biggie, since it’s just you and ‘gumi here” Yuuji elbows his friend in the arm, maybe a little harsher than usual.

Was that supposed to be some signal to say something? Megumi casts his friend a confused look.  This was a stupid ploy anyways, there was no movie night.

“Don’t call me that” Megumi rolls his eyes in response, choosing to ignore the hint, whatever it meant.

“Okay,” (y/n) shrugs a shoulder, sending a smile towards Megumi.  “I mean, I’m free.  Is there already a movie picked out?”

Yuuji turns to his friend, smiling proudly that his plan worked, and he’d scored them some one on one time that wasn’t studying, for once.

“Uh, no, guess not” Megumi replies lamely, unsure of what kind of recommendation to make.

Truthfully, he preferred reading.  He didn’t hate movies, and he’d seen many in the past, but he didn’t know what (y/n) preferred, and he didn’t want to pick something she’d hate and make her change her mind.

“Great! I’ll pick one then,” She decides, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Megumi visibly relaxes.  Yuuji brings his fist to his mouth to hold back a laugh, but it’s not very discreet.

“Hope you like horror” (y/n) says

“Yeah, I, uh, horror’s good” Megumi stammers.

She laughs, and Yuuji decides this is a safe spot to end the interaction and all but drag Megumi away.  He bids (y/n) a cheerful goodbye as he shoves his taller friend away, leaving (y/n) confused but still laughing at the weird pair.

A moment later Megumi looks over his shoulder and gives her an awkward wave goodbye.  She returns it, smiling at him.

He’s a little far to be sure, but she swears, he’s blushing again.

Leading her to wonder if her suspicions were true.

Did Megumi have a crush on her?  ___

At this point, Yuuji and Nobara had pretty much threatened Megumi that if he couldn’t get his shit together for this movie night, they were going to take matters into their own hands to put him and (y/n) together.

“We’ve pretty much secured you a date, got it?” Nobara had snapped as she searched through his closet for just the right thing to wear.  “Do you know how hard it is to convince Gojo we need to go on a paired assignment?” 

“Uh… not hard at all?” Megumi had replied.

“Well… that’s true.  But it’s not how I wanted my Friday night to go!” 

He hadn’t loved letting Nobara go through his closet and dress him up like an oversized doll, but he also didn’t hate the end product.  It was simple, but the black jeans and dark green sweater must have been the right choice, because when (y/n) met him in the common room she’d smiled and complimented him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform,” She’d joked as she plopped onto the sofa.  “You clean up nice”  

He hesitated for a minute before sitting beside her, suddenly all too aware that it would be just the two of them, for the whole night, on this couch.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not” He replied.

(y/n) took the remote and began searching for the movie she’d had in mind, but not before chuckling at him and shaking her head.

“Of course I’m not,” She says.  “I mean it.  You look nice.  You have good style, Megumi” 

Alright, so he’ll have to thank Nobara later, and also make sure to never get rid of this sweater.

“Thanks” He mumbles, the familiar feeling of a blush already creeping across his nose.

(y/n) finally finds the movie, and excitedly pushes play before tossing the remote to the coffee table in front of them.

“I love horror movies,” She tells him, settling back into the couch cushions.  “But you should know, I also hate them” 

Megumi gives her a confused look.

“You love them and hate them?” He repeats, not understanding.

“I think they’re great, but, uh, I hate jump scares” She admits, turning away from him to watch the intro credits.

“Well, everyone hates jump scares,” Megumi tells her, also focusing on the movie.  “But you exorcize curses scarier than any movie monster” He adds.

(y/n) bites her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard.

In all honesty, she’d been far too giddy about this movie night.  She’d spent too much time choosing just the right film to show Megumi, and just the right outfit to wear to seem as casual as possible.  She’d been crossing her fingers that her suspicions were true, that Megumi had the same crush on her that she had on him.  But being too nervous to outright ask him, she decided she’d do everything she could to make tonight the most perfect, easy going, fun night she could.

Megumi gets pretty immersed into the film, although with the intro alone he’s pretty much able to guess how the rest of the movie goes, he doesn’t mind.  It helps that (y/n) seems very into it, and keeps looking over at him to see his reactions to certain scenes.

About halfway into the movie, Megumi pauses it.

“Do you want popcorn?” He asks, and (y/n) breaks into a smile and nods at him.

Despite him offering to make two bowls and bring it out to her, (y/n) follows him into the small kitchen and waits with him while the bag is in the microwave.  She pulls herself up to sit on the counter while they wait.

“So what kind of movies do you like?” She asks, hoping to spend these few minutes getting to know him better.

“Oh,” Megumi laughs under his breath, wishing he was a better liar.  He decides a little truth to her question wouldn’t hurt.  “Actually, I kinda prefer to read” 

“Really?” (y/n’s) eyes light up.  “What do you like to read, then?” 

“Nonfiction mostly,” Megumi says with a shrug.  “I know, it’s boring” 

“I don’t think so,” (y/n) says, which he doesn’t expect.  “I actually love reading about science, and true crime” 

He does his best to hide it, but Megumi’s thrilled.  A common interest, Yuuji said to find a common interest and stick to it!

While the popcorn pops, Megumi asks more about the books she’s liked, and even asks for a few recommendations.  She promises to text him about them later so he won’t forget, and he promises he’ll read them.  (y/n) seems to be happy about this, and Megumi mentally cheers to himself.

Their salty treat is finished shortly enough, and Megumi grabs two bowls from the cabinet.

“You can just put it in one, I don’t mind sharing” (y/n) interjects before he dirties either of the smaller bowls.  “Unless that bothers you, of course” She adds.

“It doesn’t bother me” Megumi replies, swapping out the dishes for one larger bowl that could fit the whole bag.

(y/n) hops off the counter and snatches the bowl as she walks back into the living room, Megumi trailing closely behind her.

He takes the bowl back from her as he sits on the couch, and when she sits behind him, he realizes the beauty of sharing the popcorn.

“You better brace yourself, Megumi, because this is when the movie gets really scary” (y/n) says, and she sounds like she’s only half joking.

He musters a small laugh, but she’s sitting much closer to him than she was before so that they could share their snack easier, and his brain is getting foggy from the sweet smell of her shampoo.

Was it flowery or fruity? He wondered but couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

She wasn’t wrong, the movie did take a turn for the darker, although Megumi wasn’t really one to get genuinely scared from scary movies, (y/n) did flinch here and there at the jumpscares.  With the side of her thigh pressed against his, he could feel it every time her leg twitched.

Their eyes remained glued to the screen, lost in the movie as the main character tiptoed around the house with only a flashlight for lighting.  Megumi could understand now why everyone hated the main characters of these movies, they were always running off on their own and getting themselves into more trouble than necessary.  Although he is reminded of Yuuji.

Encaptured by the tv screen, they’re both blindly reaching for popcorn here and there, addicted to the buttery treat as soon as they’d started eating it.  As Megumi reached his hand over to snag another piece, he’d accidentally brushed his fingers over (y/n’s), not seeing that she’d also been grabbing some.

Anxiously, he pulls his hand away, turning to apologize right away.  But (y/n) looks over at him with a smile before taking a few pieces and popping them into her mouth, turning back to the movie, clearly unfazed.

From that alone, Megumi feels his face go hot, and he tells himself he’s not going to have anymore popcorn, just to save himself the embarrassment.

But, if he did have a craving for a few more pieces, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if his hand touched hers again… would it? 

He felt hot from his neck to his ears, and he’d already lost track of the last few minutes of the movie.  Meanwhile (y/n) only seemed to get more comfortable, tucking her legs up onto the couch underneath her, thus making her lean just the slightest bit more against him.  She was so close Megumi was holding his breath.  She didn’t even realize this until after a few minutes, she noticed he wasn’t eating.

“Am I hogging it?”

She was whispering, even though there wasn’t currently dialogue in the movie, so he wouldn’t have been all that distracted if she’d spoken normally.  However, when he looked down at her to ask what she meant, he’s immediately distracted again.

She’s so much closer to him now that when he looks down at her, her face is just a few mere inches away from his.  He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to her, not even when training.  His voice catches in his throat, and he spends a good minute just silently staring at her with wide eyes.

(y/n) starts to blush under his intense stare and close proximity, but she doesn’t shy away from him, she simply repeats her question.

“The popcorn,” She clarifies, shaking the bowl with the remnants of their snack.  “Am I hogging it?”

Megumi’s eyes briefly flicker to it, but quickly return to hers as he shakes his head.

“No, you’re good,” He finally speaks, and finds that he’s whispering, too.  “I mean, I can always just make more, if you want” 

He’s talking slowly, like he’s not really sure of what he’s saying, but (y/n) doesn’t mind, or find it all too odd.  She’s quite enjoying getting an up close view of his face.  She allows herself to really take in all his features, the way his hair almost hangs over his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the deep blue of his eyes, she’s getting positively lost in staring at him.  Even as the main character is screaming for their life on the tv in front of them, neither one of them loses their focus on the other.

Megumi’s mind is running wild, noticing the trail of her eyes everywhere they go.  As he’s admiring her, she’s admiring him, and he’s trying so hard to work up the courage to do something when her lashes droop low and her eyes land on his lips.

“And for the love of god, if the moment arises that you should kiss her, then fucking do it!” Nobara’s voice rang in his head.

He’s not sure how he landed himself in this perfect intimate moment, but he knows he shouldn’t waste it.

“I- I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” He stutters a little, but tries to ignore and keep this brief burst of confidence intact.  “And, I’m glad you wanted to, um, hang out” 

A small smile tugs at the corners of (y/n’s) lips, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around even more from the flattering.

“That’s funny,” She murmurs.  “I was just thinking the same thing,” 

Megumi’s flustered, his heart is beating excessively, his face is hotter than it’s ever been, and his tongue is tied, but he smiles back at her, soft and warm and inviting.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks, and he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.  “Have you been trying to flirt with me?” 

(y/n) can’t contain the smile on her face as she asks him her question, too eager for his answer.  And when his blush darkens and his eyes momentarily stare down at nothing, her hopes only skyrocket.

“Trying” Megumi mutters the word she used back to her.

“So you have?” (y/n) giggles, leaning in closer to meet his eyes again.

Her eyes are so bright, Megumi can tell, even without the lights on in the common room, even with little to no light coming from the tv due to the dark setting of the movie.  She’s practically glowing with happiness.

“Yeah,” He admits nervously.  “I have” 

(y/n) moves the popcorn bowl off her lap, moving away from him briefly so she could set it on the coffee table, before leaning back towards him, just as close as she was before.  His instincts battle as half of him wants to lean back to give her space, and the other half wants to close the rest of the distance between them.

“Is that what all the compliments on my training were about?” She asks with a knowing smile.

Megumi nods his head shyly.

(y/n’s) giggling again, soft and angelic and he couldn’t possibly be upset that she’s laughing at him, because the sound is so sweet he’d do anything to make her laugh more.

“There wasn’t a movie night, was there?” She asks quietly.

He shakes his head this time.

“So… Yuuji just wanted to set you up, huh?” She asks again as she starts to put the pieces together.

Megumi raises a hand to the back of his neck awkwardly, but he knows he can’t really convince her otherwise, so he confesses.

“Yeah… he… said that I wasn’t doing a good enough job and that I needed a push” He admits, turning his head to the side to hide the now burning blush on his face.

“Well, that’s kind of silly, I thought you were doing a great job,” (y/n) says, and Megumi peeks back at her out of the corner of his eye.  “But I can’t complain, I’m just glad I got to spend more time alone with you, anyways” 

Slowly, he faces her again.

“You are?” He asks, unsurely.

(y/n) nods and gives him an affirmative hum.

“I thought you were just really into studying,” She teases.  “I didn’t think I’d ever get you alone for something fun” 

Flustering, Megumi tries to defend himself.

“I- I like fun stuff too” 

“Like what?” (y/n) asks.

Trying to think on his feet, he thinks back to what Yuuji had described to be actual dates.

“Ice cream,” 

He says it so surely, so confidently, that (y/n) has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing this time.  She has a pretty good understanding of what he’s trying to say, but he’s just so damn cute.

Megumi cringes at himself, smacking his own forehead and wishing the ground would swallow him whole, because it was impossible to keep his sanity when he was talking to her.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that,” He assures her.  “I meant I like going out.  I would like to go out- we- we could go out-” 

“Megumi,” (y/n) ends his misery, reaching forward and tugging on his wrist so he’d remove his hand from his face.  “I would like to go out with you for ice cream” She tells him with a sweet smile.

He doesn’t know what he did to make this girl like him, because he’s pretty sure he’s made an idiot of himself every time he opens his mouth, but he thanks whoever is watching over him that he’s done something that works.

“Really?” 

(y/n) nods, her hand sliding into his, fingers slotting in the spaces between his.  Her hand is significantly smaller compared to his, and it’s so warm it’s almost comforting.  It is comforting.  He can feel his shoulders relax, and his heartbeat finally slowing to a normal pace.

“Really” She affirms.

The tv is flickering with the rolling credits of the movie they’d forgotten, and Megumi finally feels like he could have a grasp on this whole flirting thing.

“Can I kiss you?” 

(y/n) smirks.

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t” 

He didn’t need much more of an answer than that.  With his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck to draw her a few mere inches forward, his lips slant over hers and any embarrassment left in him disappears in a second.  (y/n) returns his kiss with fervor, letting his hand go so she could give into the intrusive thoughts that had attacked her all night, running her fingers through his hair, nails scraping slightly at the nape of his neck.

The sensation was enough to give him an ego boost, and Megumi drops a hand to her hip, pulling her closer until her chest leaned into his, and even still he pulled more, and more, until they couldn’t possibly be any closer.

His lips dragged over hers as his nose prodded hers to the side, tilting his head to deepen their kiss further.  A hum of approval traveled up her throat and vibrated gently against his mouth, and she could only sneak in a few more kisses until she had to pull on his sweater to make him stop so she could catch her breath.

Their blushing faces are mirrored now, both smiling shyly, and still clinging onto one another.

“Did Yuuji give you advice on that too?” (y/n) chuckled, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.  Megumi chuckles, his eyes falling to her now swollen lips.

“If I say yes, are you going to stand me up for our ice cream date?”

The pair giggle quietly amongst themselves, (y/n’s) arms wrapped loosely around his neck, Megumi’s arms wrapped loosely around her waist, neither one of them wanting to part even though their movie had ended and it was rather late into the evening.

“So it’s a date now?” (y/n) quirks a brow.

Megumi smiles, more sure of himself now than he has been in the last couple of months.

“Of course it is” 

(y/n) smiles back at him melting a little further into his embrace.

“So then I suppose that makes you my boyfriend” She adds cheekily.

Megumi raises a hand to curl his fingers under her jaw, his thumb stroking lazily over her skin.  He watches this movement for a minute as he relishes in the delight of being bestowed such a title.

He decides to steal the moment with a kiss, which (y/n) happily returns.  This kiss is softer than their first.  It’s also shorter, but just as passionate.  He’s smiling again when they part, resting his forehead against hers as he gazes fondly into her eyes.

“I suppose it does”  ___

this was supposed to be SHORT what did i DO

xoxo ~ jordie

[9w1ft]

i declare

thinking about the tortured poets department the song, and the charlie puth line, and how maybe like, the act of declaring he should be a bigger artist helps place the song into the greater timeline.

because it’s a sort of weird thing to say in 2024 of an artist that’s no longer up and coming.

charlie puth got his start in youtube in the late 2000’s and released his debut single in february 2015. and leading up to that he had several EP’s and promotional singles. it made me curious, at what point might the people en masse start to pay him attention? i checked google trends and as you can see here he gets a huge jump between the 2014 and 2015 data.

(he then gets a further jump toward 2016 when he did a promo single featuring megan trainor, and then doing “see you again” with wiz khalifa. (coincidentally this song becomes one of the guest duets featured in the 1989 tour movie))

and i was looking around at articles from this time period, when i ran into this tasty morsel:

so i clicked on through

take a little ride with me

so to summarize, charlie puth had his breakout star peak over the course of roughly 2014-2016, during which he was up for an award at the 2015 MTV VMAs. he doesn’t win, and in fact, he loses out to taylor herself! later on in the article it talks about him going to an after party and hanging out with taylor selena and others. so it had me thinking, i could almost imagine taylor talking with her friends that year or that night, or even declaring to charlie himself in the wake of his loss and her win, in a giddy manner, at the party they are reported as having talked at, that he deserves more success than he gets. in this way i came to the conclusion that the timeframe of 2015-ish (rather than 2023) really fits the spirit of the lyric “we declared charlie puth should be a bigger artist”

and

yes.

yes fam.

the 2015 vmas was that vma’s.

that vmas.

let me pull quote an excerpt from the billboard article as i included above, just to emphasize:

4:40 PM: Charlie has the good fortune to walk the carpet in the wake of Taylor Swift’s gaggle of supermodel friends, including “Bad Blood” star Karlie Kloss, leading photographers to alternately yell “Charlie! Karlie! Charlie! Karlie!” as if it were a hectic version of Name Game. While on the carpet, Puth chats with multiple news outlets, and later he says of the dealing with the paparazzi, “It’s amazing that we view people in unnatural states and just love it. I don’t really understand it — it just makes me very uncomfortable. But, whatever. I’m so appreciative to be here.”

such a fun convergence of events, don’t ya think?

and just a few extra points i thought i’d add:

first, i don’t know how many of you remember how taylor was behaving that evening, but don’t you think she was giving major golden retriever energy??

both in how she was chasing after karlie that night,

and also… call me crazy but, her hairstyle??

(also she’s in a houndstooth print, har har)

and i can kind of envision this taylor, who brought the whole bad blood music video crew as her entourage, having more than several bars of chocolate at hand for everyone that night, but ending up eating them all herself 😆

and another thing that helps tie the song to this time period (maybe some of you have guessed?) the line “who else decodes you?” is extra apt because… *da da-da daaaaa*

🤗 karlie had just embarked on her coding journey!

on a more solemn note? i don’t think it requires too much of a stretch of the imagination to see “but you awaken with dread” “i chose this cyclone with you” among other lines pointing to the new layer of stress taylor probably was harboring around being with karlie in public. because this is all taking place in the year directly following kissgate 🥺

so there you have it folks! this is why the tortured poets department is a kaylor song to me 😌

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Five

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Five: Bluebell for Humility

Summary: Renge taking control of the Host Club goes as well as (Y/N) expected.

            With a few roles assigned by Renge, the production of the first Ouran Host Club Movie came into being as the hosts “became” their new personalities.

            “Hitachiin is Ouran’s ace!” cheered the guests as Hikaru and Kaoru played basketball.

            “Who made that shot?”

            “Hikaru, Kaoru?”

            “Who cares? They’re both spectacular!”

            “Here’s a towel, Kaoru,” said a girl shyly.

            “Thanks, but I’m Hikaru,” said Hikaru.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” the guest trailed off.

            “No sweat. I’m used to it,” said Hikaru, expression tired. A whistle blew in the game, and Hikaru jumped up from the bench. “Kaoru!” His brother lay on the ground, holding his knee tightly. “Get the stretcher! Take him to the doctor!” Hikaru knelt by Kaoru’s side as he was pulled onto the stretcher.

            “The game’s still on. C’mon, Hikaru,” said another (hired) boy to Hikaru. “Hikaru, I said—”

            “Shut up,” said Hikaru, kneeling beside Kaoru still.

            “Hikaru,” said Kaoru. He reached up to Hikaru. “It’s okay. We can’t share everything. It’s my pain…and your game. Go on.”

            “Kaoru,” said Hikaru softly. “I-I can’t…It hurts. It hurts so much. It’s not your pain, it’s ours! If no one understands, too bad! We have each other. We’re here for each other…that’s how it is.”

            Somehow, they ended up outside during that entire speech, and rain was pelting down on them.

            “I envy you two.” Out of nowhere, Tamaki appeared, soaked in rain. “Never alone, supporting each other.

            “But Tamaki, you’re every student’s idol,” said Hikaru.

            “Idol, huh?” said Tamaki, scoffing. He sighed. “If that’s all the praise I get is about…then I’m probably better off alone.”

            The scene switched to Haruhi leaning against a tree, looking up at Mori and Honey.

            “End of the line, pauper,” said Honey. “Remember, when you go up against me, this is what you get?”

            Haruhi gazed up in fear at Honey (which was a feat since Honey was so short).

            “You must stop.” Mori, a terrible actor, spoke monotonously. “For to hurt others…is to greatly hurt yourself.”

            “Don’t question my actions, Takashi,” said Honey. “My next scolding may be more…severe. There are those who must learn their place.” Honey kept his dark expression in place. However, his expression faltered as he gazed at Haruhi. “Waah!” Tears welled in his eyes, and he jumped at Haruhi to hug her. “I’m so sorry, Haru! I won’t be mean anymore!”

            “That’s not in the script!” shouted Renge, glaring from her director’s tray. “You must stick to the script! And don’t just recite the lines, put some feeling into it! Okay, everyone, take five! And make that rain melancholier!”

            The film crew gave her some thumbs-up. “Yes, ma’am!”

            “Straight from Hollywood, it appears,” said Kyoya.

            “Oh, good, my humiliation will be in perfect resolution,” said (Y/N), shaking their head with a sigh.

            “Rich fan girls…” said Haruhi. “We went from character revisions to a small movie project.”

            “I think she said something about opening footage,” said Hikaru.

            “She’s making the movie version of ‘Uki Memo,’ ” said Kaoru.

            “Aha,” said everyone. It all made sense now.

            “Ah, this is dumb,” said Kaoru, huffing. “What’s with us playing basketball, anyway? And getting drenched by the rain?”

            “This can’t be worse than my scenes,” said (Y/N), sighing.

            “What happened during them?” asked Haruhi. She and the others were working on their scenes, so they hadn’t seen it.

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and they coughed. “I am not Tamaki.”

            “That bad, huh?” said Haruhi, chuckled.

            (Y/N) sighed. Flirting so forwardly, even just for a film, was not their style. They were friendly, yes, and liked to make people feel nice, but the forwardness they had to exhibit for this film? No thank you.

            “Haruhi, (Y/N)! What did you think of my acting?” said Tamaki excitedly.

            “It was, uh, fascinating in a way,” said Haruhi.

            “You’re very good, Tamaki,” said (Y/N). They were being honest, too. It was a bit dramatic, but that was Tamaki’s style.

            “Well, I’ve discovered a new personality facet!” said Tamaki excitedly. “And I think I might go with it for a while.”

            “Really?” Haruhi looked up at him and blinked. “Seems to me you’re okay just the way you are.”

            Haruhi looked straight again, not seeing how Tamaki’s face blossomed a violent red. (Y/N) smiled to themself.

            “I suppose…you could be right,” said Tamaki.

            “Haruhi! Would you come over here, please?” said Renge.

            “Sure, what’s…” Haruhi rounded the corner and trailed off as she saw two tall classmates standing in front of her. (Y/N) peeked around the corner curiously and frowned.

            “I would like these students to appear in our production,” said Renge brightly. “Could you fill them in?”

            Haruhi sweat-dropped, and (Y/N) frowned. These were D-Class students, which could be the children of yakuza members who had the money for Ouran but not exactly the class… (Why they were allowed in, (Y/N) would never understand. Rich people were a strange group). Undoubtedly, Renge had chosen them for this reason since they were D-Class. (Y/N) disapproved.

            “What’s up?” said the boys.

            “We need villains in this piece! And these two will be perfect. They’ll harass our heroes, who will unite to stop them! That will affirm their friendship!” said Renge, grinning fiercely.

            “Renge, I don’t think—” began Haruhi.

            “Hey, we’re not villains!” The two boys looked horrified at the notion (good for them). “We’re swell guys!”

            “In the spectacular ending, Kyoya’s moving words will persuade even the worst elements of the school to be nice and act right!” said Renge excitedly.

            “Renge, you can’t tell order people around because you think they fit a profile,” said (Y/N). “Their relative status doesn’t say anything about them.”

            “I’m sure there’s a point in all that,” said Renge, moving on in a moment. “But never mind.” She took the arm of one of the boys and pulled him towards the stage. “You just come over here and—”

            “Cut it out!” shouted the boy. “Don’t think you can push us around just ‘cause you’re in A-Class!” He shoved Renge towards the scaffolding of the lights.

            “Renge!” (Y/N) caught her before she hit the metal. Instead, (Y/N) took the hit, and their shoulder crashed into the poles. Instantly, pain blossomed in their shoulder, and they winced. They stood shakily, holding their shoulder awkwardly.

            “Oh, my!” said Renge.

            “(Y/N)!” said Haruhi, eyes widening. She went to (Y/N)’s side, concern written on her face. “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), but they winced as they spoke.

            “Haruhi? We heard a—” Tamaki’s eyes widened as he saw Haruhi holding (Y/N) as they grimaced through their discomfort.

            Kyoya’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Mori was instantly looming behind the boys, who flinched. Hikaru and Kaoru glared at them, and Honey even looked serious.

            “Which one of you did this?” said Tamaki, protective as ever of his friends.

            “We…We didn’t do anything…much…” said the boys nervously.

            “Would you like to be expelled?” said Kyoya, stepping forward. His glasses glinted. “Or do you plan on acting properly?”

            The boys paled. “We’re-We’re sorry.”

            “Teacher, two guys from D-Class are causing trouble,” said the twins, pretending to call a figure of authority.

            The boys grabbed one another and ran before anyone else could threaten them.

            “Are you alright, (Y/N)?” said Kyoya, looking at (Y/N).

            They nodded. “I think just bruised.” They rolled their shoulder slightly.

            “Wow.” Renge spoke as she watched the Host Club band together to take care of one of their own. “Camera! Did you get all that?!” She looked at her film crew anxiously.

            “Yep, in the can!” confirmed the team.

            “That’s it, then!” said Renge excitedly. “That’s just what I’m after! All we have left is to shoot is Kyoya’s moving—”

            Crash.

            Kyoya smashed a rock through the camera of the crew with not an ounce of care or emotion in his face. The film crew let out a cry, and Renge’s eyes widened.

            “All the footage! It’s ruined! My camera!” cried he cameraman.

            “Kyo…Kyoya…” said Renge in shock.

            “Sorry to be abrupt,” said Kyoya coldly. “But I cannot permit recordings of our members behaving this way. In fact, this whole business has been a very great bother. Time to wrap it up.”

            “But…why?” Tears sprang to Renge’s eyes. Her lip quivered. “Kyoya would pay my head and say, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Kyoya would—”

            “Nah,” said Tamaki. “That’s not our Kyoya.”

            “Not to say it wasn’t kinda fun,” said Kaoru.

            “Yeah. Love arises for unfathomable reasons,” said Hikaru.

            “But for a true relationship, you need to get to know a person,” said (Y/N).

            “Seeing someone for who they are…that’s real,” said Haruhi.

            “I see…” said Renge quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

l

            (Y/N) sighed as they twisted and pressed the ice packet to their shoulder. Wincing, they had to drop their arm. Every time they turned, it aggravated their bruised shoulder, which made treating it difficult.

            “That won’t work.”

            (Y/N) turned to face the door of the room the Host Club used to store props and costumes. Kyoya walked in and held out his hand.

            (Y/N) silently handed over the ice pack and turned back around. Kyoya raised it and pressed it against their shoulder. (Y/N) winced, and Kyoya relaxed the pressure slightly.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N), smiling over their shoulder at Kyoya.

            “I allowed Renge to have her fun for too long,” said Kyoya. “One of my best hosts got injured. I can’t have that.”

            “It’s barely a bruise,” said (Y/N). “It won’t keep me down.”

            Kyoya pressed slightly with the ice, and (Y/N) winced. “And yet it is clearly affecting you.”

            “Ow,” said (Y/N). “Fine, I’ll take it easy.”

            “Good,” said Kyoya. He looked at them, and (Y/N)’s gaze met his as he spoke. “I can’t have you injured.”

            This time, he did not mention their status as a host. (Y/N)’s chest warmed.

l

            “Tamaki! Hikaru, Kaoru!” said the guests excitedly as the doors of the Host Club opened.

            “Welcome, ladies,” said Tamaki.

            “We bought it! The video,” said the girls happily.

            The Host Club froze. The what?

            “That solemn rain scene is awesome!”

            “I’m just giddy over Hikaru and Kaoru’s relationship!”

            “Honey being a monster is just precious!”

            “Haruhi’s sorrow was so moving!”

            “Mori was so deep and mysterious!”

            “I wish there had been more (Y/N)! But their wink had me blushing!”

            The guests gushed giddily over the video content they’d happily purchased with their money, and the hosts looked on in surprise. They thought it had been destroyed.

            “Kyoya?” said (Y/N), looking at him.

            “It’s a rather simple matter to sneak data out of a digital camera,” said Kyoya as if it was obvious. “Of course, we did have to pay for the camera. Sales will cover that easily.”

            “Anything in the name of profit,” said (Y/N) in amusement.

            “Your—The scenes were judiciously edited,” said Kyoya, doing the computations for profit in his notebook.

            He always has an angle, thought the entire host club.

            “I finally realized!”

            The host club looked at Renge in the doorway of the music room. They had been under the impression that she was returning to France after the film fiasco.

            “I finally realized that the kindness needed to protect someone, no matter the cost, is not going to be found unless one looks and sees!” Renge grabbed (Y/N)’s hands and smiled joyfully at them. “Right, (Y/N)?”

            Everyone could see the hearts floating around her, and the hosts looked at (Y/N).

            They closed their eyes and smiled. “I’m glad you’re going to get to know people.”

            Renge blushed.

            She was quick to change her heart, thought the hosts.

            Kyoya made a note and pushed up his glasses. Hopefully, Renge would not prove a bother again.

l

            “We have the footage,” said one of Kyoya’s servants.

            “Leave it here,” said Kyoya, and the servant bowed, leaving the film on his desk.

            Kyoya picked it up and put the drive into his computer. The edits had been made for the video sold at the Host Club, but Kyoya had to see the rest of the footage and delete what he did not want existing anywhere on the internet. After all, when an Ootori wanted something erased, they did not take half measures.

            Kyoya clicked on the videos, and the first scene that popped up was one of (Y/N)’s. He narrowed his eyes instantly. (Y/N) had done an excellent job acting, no doubt about that, but the script Renge had given them?

            “If only I was as beautiful as all of you.” (Y/N) gently touched a guest’s cheek, who blushed. “No one can compare.” They winked. “You’re like a jewel, darling. Will you let me stand in your light? Pretty please?”

            Kyoya was not a fan. This was not (Y/N). They were not so forward, leaning in with a coy smile and a wink, smirking at guests. It was���interesting, to be certain, Kyoya could not deny that, yet the thought of someone else seeing them made Kyoya’s hand go instantly to the “delete” button.

            No one needed to see this but him.

Taglist:

@roo024

@jmclouds

@yappydoo

@ramblingsoftheill

@girgal73

@rockerica

@nosoyyo1213

@ritzes28

@grippledee-galaxy

@rory-cakes

@neenieweenie

@k03ume

@constellationguy

@paastaboi

@introvertathome

[best-seungkwality]

"stars, screams, and spoonings"

pairing: hazel callahan x popular!easily-scared-of-horror!reader

summary: astrocamp in highschool with less stargazing, and more horror movie marathoning and waking up in hazel's arms.

contains/warnings: fluff; highschool romance; nothing else that's too explicit or serious c:

author's yap note/s: ofc my first fic here would be wuh luh wuh based on a catholic all-girls highschool memory as a gay 😩

also, would like to give credits for the dividers i used: © saradika, magnusthemes in tumblr <3

The hallways were buzzing with excited juniors and seniors that afternoon, organized into neat lines of students. It was Astrocamp day for them, so they were preparing to go to the field to put up their tents and place their things inside. Astrocamp had finally made its comeback from the trenches, giving them a free sleepover in their tents under the stars after a night’s worth of fun activities like stargazing and using the telescopes.

“Gosh, guys, this is so exciting. I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna go look at so many stars.”

You looked to your right and saw one of your classmates, and of course, your crush, Hazel Callahan, with a huge smile on her face— a huge contrast to the other girls around her. You felt bad that they didn’t share her joy as always, but it didn’t seem to mind her.

PJ noticed you were staring at their group and shot you a smile. Ah, you remembered that she did harbor a small admiration for you too, but one that’s not as intense as her crush for Brittany. You returned the smile before putting your attention to your own group of friends in your class. Your bestfriend, bff/n, was already looking at you knowingly. You rolled your eyes, simply making a face in response. She chuckled and looped her arms around yours, not pushing it for now. There was plenty of time for that later for her.

“Alright, you children. Go to the field and pick your own spots. Make sure a class’s tents cluster together for easier monitoring,” the head disciplinarian announced then ushered the sections closest to the exit of the building to get a move on.

You smiled, finally feeling as excited as your friends at the night to come. And your class was going to be camping together— technically— so who knows what interaction you may have with Hazel at the romantic setting of the night under the stars.

“Nooo!”

“There better be a refund!”

“This is so annoying.”

Complaints and groans erupted from the students after it was just announced that Astrocamp was cancelled and everyone would be moved into their classrooms to spend the night due to the sudden rains that poured. If there was anything the school was good at, it was avoiding responsibilities, so naturally, when the risk of students getting sick because of their activity appeared, they decided not to push through with camping. It was a real bummer because it was an opportunity for juniors and seniors to actually have fun at school, especially that it was finals season. Now, they were just stuck in their classrooms, their sleeping bags and other things for bedtime forced to be used on the tiled floors.

As for your class, everyone just went inside your designated room and set up their own sleeping mats, bags and blankets to cozy up for the night. Your heart did a small flip when you realized that your friend group and Hazel’s were beside each other, and she had set up her sleeping mat next to yours. You gave her a smile, which she thankfully returned, before the both of you looked away.

“I saw that,” bff/n whispered once you were facing your friends again. “You’re popular; Hazel’s cute and obviously has a crush on you. Why don’t you just make the move so we can stop with this insufferable little interactions that make me wanna crash your lips into each other!” She ranted exasperatedly. She had been your #1 supporter-slash-teaser, so she knew every bit of your relationship with Hazel— which, sadly, wasn’t much yet. Yet.

“I wanna be with her, bff/n, but c’mon. You know I’m not the most confident in making a move.”

Bff/n rolled her eyes. “Right, because it’s others who make a move on you. Forgot about that.”

The two of you laughed, but when your other friends started pestering the two of you about your crush again, you stayed mum until they changed the topic about their crushes. You’re honestly glad they respected the relationship you had with bff/n and your boundaries in the friend group. You had your special bonds with each of them, and you appreciated them for being such good friends to you.

“Guys, since we’re gonna be here for the night, are you all up for a horror movie marathon?” Your class president asked as she was preparing the laptop, white screen, and speakers. You’re not one to break the rules, but since it was the admin’s fault that Astrocamp wouldn’t push through in another schedule, you also felt like there had to be some compensation— like doing whatever the hell you all wanted.

One problem, though, is that you weren’t good with horror movies. You always loved the thrill, but you also always had to cover a big chunk of your line of sight, just enough to see the captions to still know what was going on. It was an unfortnate paradox.

But it wasn't like you could stop her because everyone chattered excitedly and started suggesting the horror movies they want in the lineup. So far, there was Smile, La Llorona, and Sinister listed on the whiteboard. You bit your lip with worry, already wondering how you were going to survive the night.

"Scared?"

You looked towards who asked you and saw Hazel with a small smile on her face. You sighed and nodded.

"I love watching the thrill of watching them, but I also get scared easily. I guess I'm gonna have to cover my eyes and just listen."

Hazel let out a low chuckle, making your heart skip a beat again at how attracted you were to her at this point.

"Hey, we're just beside each other. You can hide next to me."

"I'll keep that in mind," you grinned, feeling giddy at the thought of actually getting that close to Hazel, almost like you two were alone, cuddling while watching movies.

When your class's movie marathon started, you bought some time for yourself by inviting your friends to take a shower and do preparations for bed. Smile was not exactly your cup of tea due to the gore and triggering themes.

You guys talked about silly girl things, like your friends' relationships and interactions with their crushes, or what a bummer it was to not be able to do the actual Astrocamp. You all paid good money to use those telescopes, but at least some of it was returned for your dinner and snacks tonight. The rest, probably corrupted somewhere.

When enough time had passed, they suggested joining your other classmates in the room for the movie marathon. Your friend group had been talking for at least an hour, so maybe Smile was finished.

Thankfully, it really was. La Llorona was finally playing, which you considered one of the "chiller" horror movies. You went to your sleeping mat, positioned between bff/n and Hazel, whose eyes were glued to the screen. She mumble a short greeting to acknowledge your presence, but she remained focused on the story. 'Cute.'

You got cozy under the covers, turning on the more comfortable side, which was coincidentally facing Hazel. While she was probably clueless about how you two were facing each other, you were hyperaware of everything, including how close your faces were.

"Omygod!" You snapped out of your thoughts when La Llorona's scary face popped up on the wide screen, scaring you with the annoying sound effects they used for jumpscares.

It was a good thing the others were also surprised by the jumpscare, or else you would've caught everyone's attention. You covered your eyes with a hand, peeking only at the subtitles.

You saw Hazel stir from her statue position and give you a concerned look. "Y/n, you okay?" She whispered. "Wanna come closer and hide?"

"You haven't even asked me out yet," you told her, trying to play it cool even though the face of La Llorona was still etched in your mind.

Hazel looked a bit panicked and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that- but if you want it to be like that, I'm not opposed- BUT yeah.."

You put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. "Don't worry, I was joking around to lighten the mood," you said, trying to reassure her, which seemed to work.

The two of you tried your best to focus on the movie again, now a bit more conscious of your proximity. For the most part, you were able to enjoy watching, if you were going to ignore how many times the sound effects frustrated and scared you. You didn't even notice your eyes becoming heavier by the minute towards the end of La Llorona— that was how comfortable you felt in your current position, whatever it was.

"Oh my gosh, that is so cute, just kick me in the stomach."

"Shush! You're gonna wake them up! I need to have thousands of pics to tease y/n with."

The first thing that registered in your brain was how cozy you felt and something that smelled really nicely, but when you kept hearing the whispers around you, your eyes fluttered open to peek at what was going on around you.

"Mm, shut up," you heard someone mumble in their sleep, and before you could react, you were suddenly pulled closer in someone's hold. Your eyes now widened, and you woke up to see none other than Hazel Callahan spooning you.

Hazel's face looked so serene and beautiful in the morning light— it was so nice to just stare at that kind of face lesbians would go to war for. Involuntarily, you reached out and caressed her cheek softly, not wanting to wake her up.

"Oh, that's so cute!" Someone squealed, finally waking Hazel up and making you get back to your senses.

The two of you saw that your classmates had surrounded your sleeping mat, their cellphones out to apparently take pictures of Hazel being the big spoon. You looked at Hazel and saw that she shared the same intense blush, being the center of attention and being in a romantic position with you.

"Ah, gosh, sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine!" You interrupted, getting up in a flash, grabbing things to freshen up before leaving the campus, and going to the washroom. You simply ignored the gushes and side comments everyone was spouting as you pushed past the crowd.

You closed the door of the washroom, despite it being communal, and stared at your beet red cheeks. That was not what you expected to happen, even if it was the best thing that you experienced. No wonder you slept so soundly— Hazel was spooning you!

"I'm coming in," you heard said person call from outside, and she really did come in. Thankfully, she also closed to door to block off the girls who wanted to gossip.

"Hazel, I'm sorry I-"

"I'm not sorry." She pursed her lips, breathed in deeply, before continuing, "That was the best sleep and cuddle I've had my whole life, and you know why? Because it was with you. I am sorry if you felt like boundaries were crossed, but I also want to tell you— now or never— that I have been madly in love with you since I laid my eyes on you and talked to you. And I know- I'm sorry, I'm rambling, but-"

You let out a relieved laugh at Hazel's confession. This was truly the best moment of your life.

"Then I'm not sorry either," you beamed at her, "I like you- a lot, Hazel."

Hazel beamed back and gathered your messy selves in a tight hug. "Oh, thank heavens."

The two of you separated when you heard giggles and more whispers from outside the washroom. You laughed together and opened the door, raising your intertwined fingers to tell them, "Yeah, we like each other!"

[starlostseungmin]

— better than “i love you”, ksm.

happy birthday to the love of my life, seungmin! here’s a short drabble i made the other day. it’s supposed to be posted last month but i decided to have it on his birthday.

taglist: @lix-ables , @zoe8stay , @alyszaen , @djeniryuu , @ppiri-bahng , @sleepyleeji , @notastraykid , @skzfelixlove , @seungly , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @ohish , @comet-falls , @mrswolfiechan , @rachabreathing , @iadorethemskz , @minluvly , @dreamingsmile , @flirtyskzbutterfly , @tangylemonade , @gwynsapphire , @annispamz , @surefornext , @seungincore , @skz1-4-3 , @hanjingin , @hyunverse , @hwaberryjuice , @felixglow , @soonyoungblr , @awkwardnesshabitat ( color blue user/s are the ones i can’t tag )

“i think it’s commonly used,” your boyfriend, seungmin uttered as his eyes focused on the movie you were watching as he played with your hair. 

“what?” you asked, looking at him while you lay on his lap. 

“saying i love you as if there are no other words to describe how you are feeling,” he answered. “i love you have a lot of deep reasons inside,” he added as you chuckled in response, sitting up next to him. 

“okay smarty pants, what’s better than i love you?” you asked hearing him sighing in response. 

“for me? or from my perspective about the movie?” he asked. 

“about how you feel,” you answered, making him smile. 

“hmm,” he paused. “i wouldn’t say i love you directly, it can be hypothetical but you always know what i mean. it may sound cringy for some but for me, they’re not.” 

“you’re practically lovesick, seungmin,” 

“no,” he defended. “what i’m trying to say is, i can’t survive a day without seeing you, i am not comfortable if we’re not talking, i don’t want us to fight and go to sleep without talking about the problem, i want to be clingy to you and only you. you always shine and stand out to me, you’re so special, even if you say you’re not perfect, but to me, you always have been. it doesn’t matter if you have flaws, i embrace them with full acceptance because it’s you. your voice feels like a lullaby when you talk. it’s the way my heart beats for you every time. i always remember the smallest details about you, the things you like, the things you don’t like, the books you read, the songs you sing in the shower, the food you always enjoy, and your favorite brands. your contagious laugh. you’re the most beautiful when you smile, you’re like sunshine when you’re happy. the way you just run up to me and hug me when you’re sad or the way you don’t mind how clingy i get when it’s just the two of us. you always hug me when i get home from work, or just when you see me. there’s a reason why you’re my home, y/n. i respect you so much that i don’t want to cross lines and say sorry when i’m wrong. saying i love you is not enough to describe how these things made me feel, 3 words were just a way to shorten a speech but making it full like this can change someone’s perspective, i know i don’t say i love you that much but i want to express it by saying other things,” 

your smile grew bigger as a tear fell on your cheek while listening to him. it was good, it was better, and you know exactly that you feel the same way as he describes everything. 

“i didn’t know you were this down bad,” you smiled but seungmin just scoffed, trying to compose his cool after letting his guard down. 

“one last thing, you always make fun of me when i get serious,” he sighs. 

“you don’t mind me anyway, but i respect you so much seungmin,” you smiled. “the movie doesn’t make sense at all to me now, even if they always say i love you. you’re better than the movies and books seungmin, you always have been,” 

seungmin smiled at you as he planted his lips on yours, “i love you,”

“i know,” you said pecking his lips, “and i love you most,” 

feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated.

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑.

[pitchsidestories]

we'll always have Paris II Élisa de Almeida x GERWNT! Reader

masterlist I word count: 1292

a/n: hi, this oneshot was requested, to the one who sent it in, sorry that it took so long.

It was France versus Germany in the half final of the Women’s Nations League. In this match you were playing against a lot of your teammates but also your girlfriend from Paris Saint-Germany. Each team just had finished singing their national hymns, so it was time for you to shake the hands of your opponents.

“Ohh, your amour is starting to walk to us.”, Laura Freigang who was standing right before you in line, turned her face to comment with a huge smirk on her lips.  Much to your own annoyance Sydney Lohmann made kissing noises to highlight the Eintracht Frankfurt players observation.

“Shut it, Lau and Syd.”, you rolled your eyes at them before turning your attention to your girlfriend who was about to take your hands in hers.

“Salut, Élisa.”

“Salut.”, Élisa greeted you accompanied with a boyish wink.

“I’m going to puke!”, Laura who was bad at staying quiet for too long exclaimed jokingly.

“Don’t forget you play for our side because of that French charmer.”, Sydney reminded you grinning.

“I’ll never forget that.”, you replied sincerely.

“They think you’re that unprofessional?”, your girlfriend rose her eyebrows in surprise.

Clearing your throat, you told her:” Get to your position De Almeida. We’re here to play.”

“Whatever you say, mon amour. I’ll make sure to lift my shirt enough times to distract you with my abs.”, she smiled cheekily at you.

“That won’t work, ma chéri.”, you answered confidently.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Good, luck babe.”, you said before you both turned to your starting position on the pitch waiting for the referee to start the match.

During the game, it was still 0:0 at that time, Sara Doorsoun whispered amused into your ear:” Y/n, the abs of your girlfriend, she’s kind of hot.”

“Stop it, Sara and please stay focused.”, you replied laughing.

“I’m focused.”, the older defender stated.

“Good.”, you nodded satisfied.

“But not bad.”

“Sara!”, you yelled at her.

“Just saying.”, she responded sheepishly smiling.

Secretly, you knew that your teammate was right about your girlfriend, but this was an important game and you always wanted to win even if it was against Élisa. Unfortunately, the football match went in favour of the hosts and Germany lost 2:0.

Exhausted you fell onto your knees after the final whistle of the referee. “We lost.”, you muttered more to yourself than to anyone in particular.

“Shit. You still had a good game.”, Laura tried to cheer you up and padded your shoulder encouragingly.

“And don’t forget we’ve another game to qualify for the Olympics.”, Sydney added.

“Yeah, let’s beat the Netherlands.”, Lena Oberdorf sounded motivated.

“Against Jackies team.”, you remarked, the blonde Dutch was one of yours and your girlfriend closest friends in Paris.

Deep in your own thoughts you didn’t hear Élisa coming, only until she spoke directly to you:” You’ll win the next game.”

“Congrats to your win.”, you mumbled.

The French defender thanked you as she helped to lift you from the ground, so you both could look into each other’s eyes.

You swallowed hard, trying to hide your own disappointment: “You played really great.“

“So did you.“, Élisa replied. Her face was serious. Evidence that she actually meant it and wasn’t just trying to cheer you up.

“That’s what Laura said to.“, you told her.

A small smile appeared on your girlfriends face. With a wink, she reached out and tilted your head upwards with her fingers under your chin: “She didn’t lie to you. Now come on, chin up. You’ll win the next game and qualify for the Olympics.“

“Hopefully.“, you sighed. Your girlfriends optimism was lost on you.

“Also, remember, we’ll always have Paris.“, Élisa grinned, quoting the famous line from the movie Casablanca.

You involuntarily snorted about her dumb joke. “Okay, Humphrey Bogart, I’d like my girlfriend back who gives me a hug and a kiss to make up for this loss.“

Élisa looked at you with a smirk: “A hug and a kiss, huh?“

“Yes. You know, we still have a few days in camp left until we’re back in Paris.“, you said, blinking at her with big innocent eyes.

“And you can’t wait for that long.“, your girlfriend concluded.

“No but if you can, I have to join my team now.“ You pointed over your shoulder where Sydney impatiently bounced on her feet and Laura mimed looking at an invisible watch.

“Okay, come here. One quick kiss.“, Élisa smiled and pulled you close.

You quickly pressed your lips to hers while wrapping your arms around her waist.

“See you in Paris.“, you whispered as you pulled apart.

Lena passed the two of you and grimaced in disgust: “Okay, enough hugs and kisses from the wrong team.“

“Obi, you’re awful!“, you laughed.

Still, you gave your girlfriend one last hug goodbye before following your team mate to the rest of the team.

Sydney determinedly shook her head: “No, she did the right thing.“

You were used to their teasing by now so you only rolled your eyes fondly: “If you girls say so.“

“We do!“, Laura said with emphasis.

You smiled. This team was really something very different than Paris Saint-Germain.

Your second game was against the Netherlands. Whoever won this game would be qualified for the Olympics. The stakes were high and everyone knew it. But your team put on a brilliant performance, beating the Oranje Leeuwinnen with 2:0.

After extensive celebrations the night of the game, you arrived at your apartment in Paris on the next day.

“Hi, I’m home!“, you called, letting your suitcase drop right on the floor. You were still exhilarated from the win.

Élisa appeared from the kitchen: “Hi.“

You crossed the distance to her quickly and jumped right into her arms: “We’re going to the Olympics!“

Laughing, she tried to hold her balance: “I know, I’m so happy for you.“

“Poor Jackie though remind me to invite her to dinner soon.”, you sighed empathetically.

“She’ll be fine, trust me. That’s football. You win some, you lose some. No one should know that better than you.”, the defender reminded you while carrying you to the sofa to place you down on it.

“Yes, it was really a rollercoaster ride.”, you admitted as your girlfriend sat down next to you.

“But with a happy ending.”, Élisa grinned at you.

“Right.”, you nodded enthusiastically.

“Can’t wait to go to Paris with you.”, she muttered.

“Actually, that’s great, we’re already there.”, you joked laughing.

“I meant at the final of the Olympics and you know that.”, the French player corrected you.

Her mentioning the end game made your cheeks turn hot: “I know but I couldn’t resist.”

“The qualification clearly has gotten to your head.”, Élisa teased you.

Swiftly you changed the topic away from football: “So, what should we do now?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas.”, the dark-haired woman answered with a dirty smile on her lips.

“Does this involve the bedroom?”, you asked her cheekily.

“Absolutely.”

“I like that a lot.”, you confessed. The weeks away from each other due to national team duties always made you hungry for your lover’s touch, you could feel the sexual tension rise in air.

“Follow me then.”, Élisa said, holding her hand up for you to grasp it before leading you to your shared bedroom. Seeing the bottle of red wine on the nightstand and the rose petals on the bed send you thrills of excitement through your body.

You might have lost against her in the nations league game, but you knew you won her heart as you followed her to bed, awaiting the kisses and touches you both have missed. Knowing deep inside that Paris and the women you loved were always worth coming back to.

Pictures are from pinterest.

[introvert-slushie]

VENOM THE LAST DANCE SPOILERS

I don’t know how to feel…mixed emotions.

I just watched the movie, I feel empty and distraught, it was an okay and good and sad and disappointing movie, however it had amazing action parts. But, god I’m so mad that symbrock fans didn’t get actual queer representation we were hoping for. I know there were undertones that I was happy about though.

What happened to the “But I need him?” “So romantic” lines?! (I might’ve missed them but I didn’t hear them??? edit: okay nvm I remember the “But I need him” my point still stands.)

I cannot believe they cut them out. I was excited for that, I adored Eddie’s character still and Venom. I like the adventures they went on before the final end. I had expected the whole wild end of the battle to be messy. To be honest, most of it made me go “What the hell?” and felt slightly confusing.

And I did cry at Venom’s death, that part was beautiful to me but FUCK I WISH THAT THEY SAID “I LOVE YOU” OR SOMETHING!!! That’s why I felt so empty because I didn’t see not one love confession in this movie, I did cry when Venom kept defending and protecting Eddie and in last plane scene where they talked.

Personal opinion: I wish they focused directly on Eddie and Venom, not so much on other characters. I didn’t think that the family was bad, or the scientists, or the military, or the other symbiotes but could’ve been better if they had their plot lines in sequels rather than this last special movie. I just felt disappointed with some lack of romantic intentions that the venom accounts in Tiktok and Twitter were hyping so much about. It wasn’t there.

I only am upset about that, the rest felt rush but that’s a Venom movie alright. I did love the beginning towards the middle had my favorite parts. And the codex? BRILLIANT! The Xenophages made me actually impressed at how horrific they looked and acted, which was one of my favorite things. And my absolute favorite scene was the river scene. I will talk about that later.

“Hey buddy” Sobbing forever. How dare you.

[schrijverr]

To Pay Medical Bills and Get Insurance

Divergence from chapter 7, where instead of hiding his family, Buck just tells them he has a ‘husband’ and kid at home when Hen asks how he ended up becoming a firefighter. To satiate her burning curiosity, Hen organizes a trip to the zoo with both their families, just to observe the whole situation more, gossiping with Karen as she goes.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slah), Henren

Warnings: none

~~~

Hen wasn’t sure about the new recruit when he first came in. She trusts Bobby’s judgment, but when Buck arrived with all his frat boy vibes, she couldn’t help but remember her start at the 118.

Fortunately, her worries were for nothing and she finds that she actually likes Buck quite a bit. He’s nice, easy to get along with and all around fun to have the station. He’s up for shenanigans and serious when they need him to.

Buck has been a good addition. He’s willing to argue about stupid stuff and willing to do the crazy stunts Hen prefers to pass up on. She has a wife and kid to come home to, you know.

That morning Bobby and Buck are puttering around in the kitchen – another good thing about Buck’s addition – while Hen and Chim are ‘helping’ AKA stealing bits of the prep work to snack on as they wait for breakfast.

She and Chim are talking about a call they once took, before the others even worked there. Chimney is definitely embellishing it, but she lets him. The probie can use an ego check sometimes, even if she has to be careful not to let Chimney’s ego get out of hand.

“They were super thankful,” Chimney finishes smugly. “It’s why I do what I do. The thanks.”

“Pff, alright saint,” Hen laughs, before directing her next comment to Buck. “What about you? What made you decide to become a firefighter?”

It’s out of a bored interest to avoid getting sucked into another Chimney tale, as much as she does love them. However, upon seeing Buck’s reaction that vague interest turns into piqued curiosity.

Buck physically pauses for a second, before he speaks with forced nonchalance. “Uh- oh- Me? I- I saw a movie with them. Looked cool.”

All of them look at him for a few beats of silence. None of them buy it for second. Hen hadn’t realized how horrid a liar Buck was, until that moment, but that was tragic. Truly tragic. She’s sure her disbelief shows on her face. It does for Bobby and Chimney at least.

“Okay, so that’s not the reason,” Buck says when he spots their expressions and it’s clear they don’t believe him.

“You don’t have to share unless you want to,” Bobby offers immediately.

Even if they don't believe a word of what Buck is saying, they’re not going to force him to change his story. A lot of times people get into this line of work, because something happened to them. They’re not going to make him talk about it, if he doesn’t want to.

Buck gives them a grateful smile, before he turns sheepish. “It’s nothing bad, just not very noble.”

“Not everyone’s is,” Hen replies with a smirk to Chimney, who elbows her for it.

That makes Buck laugh and he now looks to be more comfortable, which means Hen’s mission is accomplished. Then he says: “Honestly, I googled jobs that pay well without needing a college degree. I kinda needed the income on short notice and this spoke to me most. I’m glad it did, because I do love it, but it’s not the most glamorous story.”

“So you just stumbled upon this because you had bills to pay?” Hen asks, fascinated by that. Most people have a story or are a legacy, it’s her first time hearing something like this and it's quite interesting. She didn’t know that happened too.

Buck nods.

Sympathetically, Chimney says: “Played too hard and came face to face with real life?”

It’s not too far out there with what they know of Buck – which is barely anything at second thought – so it’s surprising when he recoils with a frown.

“What? No,” he says. “To pay medical bills and get insurance.”

“You were injured?” Bobby asks, sounding worried.

Hen shares the sentiment, scrutinizing Buck to see if she can spot where. Maybe he still has lingering effects or something? That’s good to keep in mind when out in the field. And definitely should have been in his file.

“Oh, no, not me. Eddie got injured, but those bills were mostly covered, but Chris has CP, it’s a permanent thing, you know, you need solid insurance,” Buck explains quickly, trying to assure them he won’t be a liability in the field.

None of them have heard any of those names before. Hen thinks, maybe he’s in some polycule with these people, which is why he didn’t say or he’s really close with his friends.

“And Chris and Eddie are...” she asks before anyone else can, leaving it open ended to not push any assumptions onto him. She hopes he feels comfortable sharing or is able to lie better about this. She wouldn’t have asked if didn’t she know that otherwise Bobby or Chim would have. And they’d be a lot less delicate.

Buck looks caught for a second, clearing his throat, before he grimace-smiles: “Long story.”

Hen is more than happy to let him leave it there, but before she can communicate that with the others, Chimney has exclaimed: “Oh come on, that’s such a non-answer.”

She steps on his foot, but it’s already too late. Buck’s features are painted with guilt. She is about to assure Buck he doesn’t have to say shit, but he’s already answering.

“Technically, Eddie is my husband.” His reply is tentative and there is something off in his voice.

Hen feels herself wince. She knows how hard it can be to put yourself out there like that and by the looks of it, Buck wasn’t planning on it. The technically also isn’t a great thing to say. Eva is technically Denny’s mom, that is what she means when she says ‘technically’ and ‘long story.’

Bobby and Chimney have both frozen, more unsure than Hen with the newly introduced queer aspect. To put all of them out of your misery, she says: “Thanks for sharing that. You know we always have your back, right?”

“Yeah.” “Of course!” the other two also jump on it to assure Buck.

“Thanks, you guys,” Buck says, a relieved smile breaking out. Then something pained gets mixed in and his smile becomes strained. “But it’s not like that. Uh, Eddie’s straight.”

“And what about Chris?” Chimney asks curiously now that they seemingly have permission to ask.

“Chris is six, so I don’t know. Not truly relevant for me,” Buck shrugs.

“Six?” Hen finds herself choking. “You have a kid?”

“Well, biologically he’s Eddie’s, according to LAFD paperwork he’s all mine, but we share,” Buck jokes, but it doesn’t really land. Buck clears his throat awkwardly, then explains: “I married Eddie to adopt Chris when he redeployed to pay the bills, medical debt is no joke. But it’s a convenience thing. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“That… that is very kind of you. To step up for your friend like that,” Bobby finally says after the room had been filled with dead air. Buck sends him a beaming smile.

“Though I have no clue how you’d end up in that situation,” Chimney adds. “Where is his mom?”

“Uh, she left when he was four, but I met her and Chris when he was three. I babysat, then she left, I became friendly with Eddie and it turned into a co-parenting thing and now we’re here,” Buck shrugs again, recounting it shortly and nonchalantly.

“Now you’re here,” Hen can’t help but repeat, slightly disbelieving.

She can still remember how her and Karen nearly broke apart over Denny. It’s not a situation you roll into easily, adoption, but apparently it is when you’re Buck. The way he tells it, he watched the kid and then never left and Eddie – the kid’s father – was fine with it, even married him to leave the kid with Buck for god knows how long while he was off being a soldier.

It doesn’t entirely rhyme yet in her head. And apparently it doesn’t for the others either, because they’re all quiet as they try to process.

“Yeah, I guess. Like, I said, long story,” Buck says after a beat, rubbing the back of his head.

“You can say that again,” Chimney says, looking at Buck with puzzled eyes as he plops another bit of prep work in his mouth. “I’m still trying to picture probie Buck as a dad. Haven’t figured that one out yet. No offense.”

Buck raises a brow at that, then sternly points the wooden spoon he picked up to stir in Chimney’s direction. “No more eating the prep work, young man. Or you won’t have an appetite later.”

They all gape at him, because it is a weird parody of the new recruit they’ve come to know. It’s not entirely out of character, more a highlight of the maturity they’ve seen shining through before, but it’s definitely not entirely familiar either.

The moment is broken by Buck giving out in a big smile as he rubs the back of his head. “I’m just kidding, I am definitely more the good cop.”

“Well you’ve convinced me,” Hen says, mildly impressed and a little disturbed.

“Thanks,” Buck gives her his puppy like smile, highlighting his youth. God, he’s already a parent, but he’s still a baby to her. Though, to be fair he’s already twenty-five. Still, a six year old at twenty-five is teen parent territory, even if Buck wasn’t a part of the conception.

At twenty-five she was still dating Eva and lying to herself that she wanted to be work pharmaceuticals, the idea of a having a family still a vague unreachable concept in her mind.

Hen wonders what this Eddie must be like. The bad cop. The other parent. The straight guy that married Buck for his son after his wife left. She has so many questions for Buck, but all feel too invasive – trust her, she’s used to invasive questions about her family – so she just looks at him, as if she can find the answers on his face.

Buck, meanwhile, seems completely oblivious to the fact that he has just radically altered their perception of him and has turned back to cooking breakfast, humming softly under his breath. The three of them share a confused look, before following his lead; apparently that conversation is over now.

However, thankfully for Hen’s burning curiosity, the conversation is not permanently over. Buck, it seems, is a bragger.

They’re answering a call in a book store, nothing major, possible broken hip of a grandmother shopping with her grandkids. As she is loaded onto a gurney, Buck picks up one of the books she dropped. “Hey, I know this book. Chris loves it, read it to him all the time. But he can already read it himself too. His teacher says he’s ahead in reading level.”

Jumping on the opening to learn more, Chimney asks: “Yeah, the little guy likes dinosaurs?”

“Oh definitely,” Buck snorts. “Kid’s obsessed. He loves animals in general. We’ve been campaigning to convince Eddie to get a membership to the zoo.”

“Denny loves the zoo too,” Hen interjects. “We can go with you sometimes. Me and Karen have a membership, maybe showing Eddie will convince him.”

Is it in part because she is highly curious about this Eddie and wants to know more? Yes. But it is also because Denny does really love the zoo as well and she knows how hard it can be to make friends as a parent in a new city. She just wants to help out.

“That sounds great!” Buck exclaims. “I have to warn you, though, me and Chris take zoo trips very seriously. Eddie has basically uninvited himself, because he thinks we get too into it.”

“You clearly haven’t met Karen yet,” Hen snorts.

“Making plans later, people, helping now,” Bobby reminds them as he comes up behind them.

“I’ll text,” Hen mouths to Buck, before turning back to their patient. Chimney totally had her while she and Buck talked, just like she had her when Chimney talked. They can multitask.

And indeed she does text, after discussing it with Karen, who immediately gets invested in whatever is happening between Buck and his straight husband. She pushes Hen to invite Eddie along as well, since Karen is coming too, which Buck agrees to.

So, when they have a weekend off, they find themselves waiting at LA zoo for Buck, Eddie and Chris, with Denny by their side.

Hen – who knows who they’re looking for – spots them first. Buck towers over most and Eddie isn’t short either. For a second, she just watches them, observing. Buck is chattering excitedly with the boy who is with them, who is chattering as well, replying to what Buck is saying. Eddie seems to be content to listen, vaguely nodding along and commenting here and there.

Eddie is dressed pretty low key, but stylish and comfortable. Basic, but classic, she supposes. While he isn’t participating heavily, he appears to be genuinely listening and emerged in the conversation. As she watches, he makes a comment that makes Buck and Chris laugh as they roll their eyes, a self satisfied smirk coming onto Eddie’s face.

Having observed them in their unobserved, natural habitat for long enough, she hollers: “Buck! Hi, over here.”

At the sound of his name, Buck perks up to attention like a puppy, halting whatever reaction he was about to give Eddie. He spots Hen with her family and smiles at them as he gives them a big wave.

When they get there, Buck says hello to all of them, before he gives Hen a hug. Then he shakes Karen’s hand, saying: “Buck, hi, nice to meet you,” before turning to Denny and smiling: “And you must be Denny. How’d ya wanna say hello?”

Denny holds his hand up for a high five. Buck grins as he nods, giving Denny his high five as he says: “High five, I like it. Good choice.” That makes Denny smile.

With that ice broken, Buck steps to the side slightly to put Chris in the line of sight from where he is standing next to Eddie. He looks at Denny with big eyes. Denny is a year older, which at that age, means he is ancient and cool. Buck says: “Wanna meet Chris?”

“Yeah,” Denny smiles with a nod, before stepping forwards. Hen watches with pride as he introduces himself to Chris with nothing but gentle kindness, just like they always try to teach him. “Hi, I’m Denny. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Chris,” Chris introduces himself, standing up a little straighter and slightly more confident as he replies: “It’s nice to meet you too.”

As the kids introduce themselves, Eddie keeps to the background, but now he steps forward, shaking both Hen’s and Karen’s hand as he says: “Eddie, it’s nice to meet you.” To Hen he adds: “Buck told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope,” Hen smiles humorously.

“Of course, of course,” Eddie grins. Then he turns to Denny, holding up his own hand for a high five, which Denny gives him happily. “I’m Eddie, Chris’s other dad. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Denny smiles happily.

With that all done for, Buck claps his hands and says: “Who’s ready for the zoo?”

“Me!” both Chris and Denny cheer.

“Then let’s rock ‘n roll,” Buck says, matching their enthusiasm, before the group moves towards the queue.

As they walk, Eddie leans in and whispers: “One day he’s going to know you’re a dork for that and think you’re lame, you know that right?”

“Yup,” Buck says chipperly. “But today is not yet that day, you kill-joy.”

“Just keeping your ego in check,” Eddie shrugs, playfully shoulder checking Buck, who lets out a loud laugh, before skipping forward to catch up with Chris and Denny, interrogating them about what they’re most excited to see today, while Eddie rolls his eyes fondly.

Hen turns away from the scene to Karen with a raised brow. Her beautiful, smart wife is already giving her the same look in reply.

She goes to walk next to Eddie, smiling and nodding to Buck as he comments: “Still a big kid himself sometimes, huh?”

Eddie looks surprised for a second, then laughs too. “Yeah, definitely. But he’s an adult when it counts, no one budgets like Buck. It’s terrifying.”

“Oh, clipboard Buck comes out at home too?” Hen asks, slightly delighted at the thought.

“That’s what you call him? I’ve been calling it Planner Evan, but yeah, he has notebook, which I guess is close,” Eddie says. “He’s worse than some of my drill sargents sometimes, but he gets results, we definitely wouldn’t be going to the zoo as often without him.”

“Why not invest in a membership?” Karen also joins the conversation. “It honestly spares a lot of costs in the long run. I made a spread sheet about it, I could get Hen to send it to you, so you can look it over.”

“That would be great, thank you,” Eddie says, sounding a little pained.

Hen remembers that he’s in camp not wanting a membership, probably not a huge fan of getting more opposition. Just to be nosy, she asks: “You don’t want to?”

“I do, but Buck wants to get one for me too, but honestly, I usually don’t come on these excursions. I was mostly a little curious about meeting one of his infamous coworkers,” Eddie confesses.

“Well, I hope I live up to the hype,” Hen jokes.

“Of course you do, you’re great,” Karen immediately defends her.

“Thank you, babe.”

“So far, I am definitely impressed. I was an army medic, but some of the things Buck describes you doing is truly something. You sound like you’re amazing at your job,” Eddie says.

Hen flushes a bit, but Karen beams with pride, slinging an arm around Hen as she brags: “That’s my wife, the best paramedic in LA.”

“Thank you,” Hen smiles warmly at her wife, before admitting: “I was also very curious to meet you, I have to be honest. We didn’t expect Buck to pull a family out of thin air. Chimney tried to come along just to check that he wasn’t lying. We all kind of pegged him as a frat boy.”

“Buck?” Eddie says incredulously. He squints as he studies Buck for a second, then shakes his head: “I guess he kind of has a face and is way too social, but no.”

“Way too social?” Hen repeats with amusement. “That why you usually pass up on the zoo? Or just not a fan?”

“Not the zoo in particularly, but crowds in general, yeah,” Eddie says, wrinkling his nose at the mention of crowds. “Besides, I don’t get excited about it like they do,” he adds, nodding to others. Whatever Buck is talking about got the two boys hanging onto his lips and bouncing in excitement, his own sparkle in his eye as well. “It’s more their thing. He just wants me to get a membership because he fells bad about excluding me.”

“Ah,” Hen nods, wanting to pry more, but not wanting to scare Eddie off. He seems like an okay guy and asking if that’s an issue in his non-relationship with Buck seems a little much for a first meeting.

“Anyway, enough about me,” Eddie says awkwardly, despite having shared almost nothing about himself, having mostly talked about Buck and Chris. “ I hear, you’re a rocket scientist, Karen? That is so cool. What kind of stuff do you do?”

Karen loves talking about her work and Hen loves listening to her wife, so they stay with the topic on their way into the park. Then Karen directs herself at Buck as she says: “Hen said you had a plan about tackling the park? We usually do too, but we’re letting you lead.”

“Yes,” Buck nods with a serious look on his face, unfolding the map he already has in his bag. “We mapped out a route for optimal animal engagement. The weather should remain nicely average, so there is a good chance we’ll see the large predators, so they’re on the list, but it’s getting a little colder later, so we’re also going by the reptile exhibit. That sound good with everyone?”

The kids cheer and Hen and Eddie nod vaguely, their opinion clearly doesn’t count. Karen looks pleased, stepping forward to look at the map as she says: “That sounds perfect. You drew this out beforehand?”

“Yeah, we usually grab a fresh map each time, so we can plan the next visit,” Buck says, showing her the map better. “Chris is into reptiles and Hen mentioned Denny likes the Savanna, so we tried to plan with that in mind. And of course the weather.”

“That’s a great system,” Karen says as they all start to walk, Chris talking lead with Denny, Karen and Buck right on their tails, while Hen and Eddie close the ranks.

“Karen the planner?” Eddie asks with amusement, nodding at the two.

“Definitely,” Hen snorts fondly. Her wife is the best.

For the first part of the day, it remains like that with Hen and Eddie talking about firefighting, since he is thinking about joining the academy. Karen sometimes comes by, but she with Buck are mostly in charge of the kids, looking as excited as them when they indeed spot the animals, which is watched fondly from the sidelines by Hen and Eddie.

Denny and Chris have become fast friends – which is easier at that age, but it’s still a relief to the parents – pointing the animals out to each other and bouncing fun facts back and forth. It’s clear Buck has had a hand in raising Chris; when he’s sharing his face and mannerisms are just like him. It’s a little trippy if Hen is honest, but also adorable. Buck seems like a great dad.

At lunch, the others return back to reform the group with Buck announcing: “The children have spoken, we’re eating at the Fork in the Road.”

Hen and Karen are more than fine with that, so they nod. It’s definitely lunch time and eating something and sitting down for a moment, looking at the kids, they probably feel the same. Buck must notice that last thing too, because he calls out to Eddie: “Hey, Eddie, piggy back race to the restaurant?”

Eddie glances at the kids, before a competitive grin comes on his face: “You’re on.” He looks and Chris, quirking his brow. “You wanna hitch a ride, mijo? We have to show papi we’re still the fastest.”

“Okay,” Chris agrees easily and with a big grin.

As Eddie lets Chris clamber on, Buck turns to Denny, asking: “You good to be my passenger? Or should I ask one of your moms instead?”

Denny giggles at that. “No, I can go.”

“Whoo, let’s go then,” Buck says, scooping Denny up and sprinting off, as he calls back to Eddie: “You’re already too slow.”

“You’re playing unfair,” Eddie calls back, setting off after him.

Hen and Karen keep walking at their regular pace, laughing at their antics, while slowly the delighted shrieks of the kids disappear. Karen does look to Hen and suddenly asks: “Are we becoming old and boring?”

“Nah, we’re being sensible. They’re just still young and too energetic,” Hen tells her, slinging her arm around her as they walk. “So, what do you think of Buck?”

“He’s nice, I like him,” Karen says. “I can definitely see what you mean when you said he’s like a big kid, but he’s really good with the kids. And you’re totally right about all the fun facts, I don’t know where in his brain he stores them. How’s Eddie?”

“Good company, nice sense of humor. A bit emotionally stunted, but not in a noticeable way. More in a guy way. I think he grew up catholic,” she says.

“Ah, that type,” Karen nods. “Repressed?”

“Definitely a bit,” Hen confirms.

The two of them chat a little more about their company, before reaching the agreed upon restaurant, where they spot Eddie on a table with the kids, Buck nowhere in sight. As they come up, Karen asks: “So, who won?”

“Me and Buck, mom, we did,” Denny says proudly.

“You were cheating,” Chris pouts.

“We never agreed on the rules,” Denny counters.

“I’m still a little injured. Definitely not playing fair,” Eddie backs up his son. Much to Hen’s amusement, they have the same crease on their forehead. A bit of a sore loser then.

However, before they can start – what is clearly – rehashing the argument, Hen decides to ask: “So where is Buck?”

“He’s in the line,” Eddie says nodding to the food line. “We’re holding down the fort. But I can go pass along your orders?”

“Nah, I’ll wait with him,” Hen assures him. “Your usual?” she asks Karen, who nods.

Leaving the four of them behind, she goes to find Buck in the line, greeting him with: “Did Eddie put you on waiting duty, because you beat him or is this your usual task?”

“A bit of both,” Buck laughs. “Though it was cheating a little. Eddie has only been running again for a few weeks.”

“You both mentioned, he was injured,” Hen prompts.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck’s eyes get pained as he says that, as if remembering something unpleasant. “His chopper got shot down, uh, whole platoon nearly died. He pulled them out, got a Silver Star and three bullets in him for his troubles.”

Hen takes a moment to process. “Whoa, that’s quite a lot. He seems to be recovering well.”

“Yeah, thank god for that. Let me tell you, not a great call to get, that your husband is in surgery in Germany somewhere after getting airlifted from the battle field,” Buck says.

“Husband,” Hen repeats, curious at why he phrased it like that.

“Well, not like that, but you know. Still my best friend and my kid’s other dad,” Buck blushes.

Hen suddenly realizes Buck does want it to be like that with Eddie. A burst of sympathy goes through her at the realization, but standing in like at the Fork in the Road in the middle of the zoo, doesn’t feel like the time and place to get into it. “Must have been scary,” is what she says instead.

“It was. Luckily, he returned home okay,” Buck says, injecting a bit too much cheer into his voice. “It’s why we didn’t end up divorcing. So Chris could stay on my insurance while he recovers. He would have pushed himself to all Hell if given the chance. Having Chris is good for him, so I can tell him to sit his ass down and pretend it’s about Chris, while it’s about him too. Picking a table is a very important task in our family,” he tells her conspiratorially.

“Of course,” Hen nods with am understanding smile. Chris needs to sit sometimes, needs someone to carry him when he’s doing this much walking. They’ve become quite a team at making him feel like other kids, while making sure his needs are met. It’s no surprise Buck is using those skills on Eddie too.

“Are you enjoying today a little?” Buck changes topics. “I know Karen is – she is awesome, by the way, she knows so much about space, it’s so cool – but I feel like we’ve barely spoken.”

Hen assures him she’s enjoying today and that Eddie is great company, also enjoying Buck’s company as they wait. This outing started out of curiosity, but she is genuinely having a grand time. It’s also good for trust in the field, to get closer to coworkers like this and she really hopes Buck is there to stay. She likes the guy.

Soon they’re returning to the table with the trays, handing them out. Buck plops down next to Eddie when he’s done and Eddie gives him a critical look.

“What? Got something on my face?” Buck asks.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, reaching into the backpack. “I don’t know how with this weather, but your nose is burning. You always forget your nose.” He comes back up with a bottle of sunscreen, putting some on his hand as he motions Buck to lean over. “Here, I’ll get it.”

Buck only becomes redder at the gesture, but goes easily too. It speaks of a familiarity, as if this is not the first time they’ve done that.

Eddie seems oblivious to Buck’s reaction, efficiently applying the sunscreen to Buck’s face, before turning to Chris. He puts more sunscreen on his hand as he says: “You too, mijo. We don’t want you to burn. There is still sun, even when there are clouds.” Chris pouts a little, but goes easily too, letting his dad fuss.

After that, lunch continues as normal. It’s fun and restful, but soon they’re on their way to the reptile exhibit.

The reptile exhibit is less walking and they spend more time in front of each habitat, Chris’s face pressed to the glass as he tries to get the best look possible. Denny is slightly less interested, but happily joins his new friend.

Due to the slower nature of this venture, Karen has taken a step back from making sure no one gets lost, finding her place under Hen’s arm as they wander about.

Eddie is the opposite of thrilled to be in the exhibit, usually keeping his distance, but calling back encouraging things to Chris whenever he shares a fact.

Buck of course already knows this, so when Denny and Chris are watching a snake excitedly, he comes up to Eddie with a shit eating grin. “Don’t you wanna come take a closer look, Eddie?”

“You know I don’t,” Eddie glares at him.

“Come on, they’re really interesting creatures. And there is glass between you and them,” Buck tries to entice him.

“I’m not scared of them,” Eddie protests.

“I didn’t say you were,” Buck replies, slightly patronizing, letting Eddie knows he knows better. “It’s a Californian King, it’s found here as well as in Mexico. I thought maybe you’d feel some kinship with it or something. It’s currently Chris’s favorite. He’s going to ask your opinion.”

Eddie doesn’t look very pleased when he hears the name, nor when Buck tells him where it is found. He also looks unhappy at the knowledge that if he wants to make his kid happy, he’ll have to go look at the snake.

Buck makes a sympathetic face, his little shit-ness from earlier gone. He puts a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder and further sweetens the deal by adding: “I’ll be right there the whole time.”

A small beat of silence passes, then Eddie groans: “Fine. I’ll go look at the snake.”

“Yes,” Buck fist pumps.

He leads Eddie to the exhibit Denny and Chris are looking at, hand subconsciously landing on Eddie’s lower back. Eddie is tense all the way there, but relaxes slightly when Chris starts babbling excitedly about the snake.

Together, the four look at more exhibits, while Karen and Hen watch them look. Throughout the whole visit, Eddie never once leaves Buck’s side, nor does he comment on the hand that Buck keeps on him at all times.

After about an hour of this, Karen leans in and whispers: “Are you sure they’re platonically married?”

“I’m sure that’s what they think,” Hen whispers back.

“You said Eddie was repressed?” Karen asks and Hen confirms. Karen nods thoughtfully for a moment, then says: “I give them a year, before they figure it out.”

“Confident,” Hen laughs. “I give them two.”

“You have yourself a bet,” Karen grins, grabbing Hen’s hand so they can shake on it.

Amused, Hen comments: “Chimney is going to be so mad about me making him miss this.”

“It might be for the best that he missed it, though,” Karen says. “Something like this, you need to figure out in your own time. I love him, but Chim can’t keep a secret.”

“That he can’t,” Hen agrees with a huff of laughter.

Before they can continue to whisper together like two school girls, Buck calls out: “Hen, Karen, you guys ready to move onto the gift shop?” While in the background Chris and Denny are chanting: “Gift shop, gift shop!”

“We’re coming,” they call back, hurrying their steps to catch up.

In the gift shop, Denny convinces them that he desperately needs the lion plushy they have, while further down Chris tries to make a case about getting a snake plushy. As Hen half listens along, she gets what Buck meant when he said he’s usually the good cop. Chris gets his plushy.

Outside the zoo, they say goodbye, promising to meet up again, if not to go to the zoo, then to set up a play date, before they bundle a tired Denny into the car. The excitement of the day has caught up and he sleeps the whole route home.

Karen and Hen are happy to drive with the radio low. Karen looks out of the window, humming along to the songs, while Hen mentally thinks back on today.

She wasn’t sure about Buck when he first came in, but she is so happy she trusted Bobby’s judgment, because Buck is so much more than his frat boy vibes. In fact, Hen quite likes him. He has surprised her a lot with his maturity and his happy personality to keep their spirits up.

Overall, Buck has been a great addition to the 118 family and she’s more than ready to integrate him and his family further into hers. Hopefully one day, he and Eddie figure it out too, she can use more queer friends.

~~

A/N:

I looked up a map and the species that are found everywhere on the website for the LA zoo for this fic lmao

Also, Hen and Karen gossiping and speculating about their friends is so dear to me <3

(idk how old Denny is so I made it up here)

[whatsyourcolor]

Psycho-Pass Providence Review (with major spoilers!!! Don’t read if you don’t want spoilers!!)

As promised, I went to see Psycho-Pass Providence at Nijo Toho Cinemas in Kyoto. They had a little merch at the theater. They also gave everyone a booklet with artwork that I’ll include at the end of this review. If you want to wait until you can see the movie, please stop reading now because I will be basically telling everything that happened, good and bad. I was glad to see more people coming to watch the movie because when I bought the tickets most seats were available! We are a small fandom, but we are loyal! Now, please understand I don’t know any Japanese, so a lot of the information here is things that happened, but I can’t tell you much about the dialogue. I’m dying for someone to translate it once the movie becomes available everywhere.

Spoilers below:

The movie starts in a ship off the coast of Kanagawa, Japan, that is being attacked by the infamous peace breakers led by Akira Ignatov, Kei’s strange brother. The men in the ship are SAD agents that are getting murdered left and right. What do the peacebreakers want? Get something from a woman named Stronoyka who is currently traveling in the ship. From the synopsis we know this woman holds a dossier that details how to destroy Sibyl (or something of the sort, can’t quite remember). Kogami is the first on the scene in a suit reminiscent of a flying squirrel, but unfortunately, he’s too late. He looks hot as hell though when he jumps in the water.

The intro with a song by Ling Tosite Sigure had me excited to be watching a Psycho-Pass movie in a movie theater and surrounded by Japanese fans of the movie. It was sweet!

To skip ahead, SAD and the MWPSB have to work together. Akane, Kogami, Ginoza, Sugo, Saiga and Frederica travel to Dejima to investigate, I think. Let’s get to the meat of what the fandom wants to know.

Kogami and Ginoza Reunited

Akane is talking to Frederica and as they’re walking towards Division 1 office, they find Ginoza grabbing Kogami by the collar and yelling at him while Sugo is trying to separate them. What was Ginoza saying? No idea, but he was probably getting back at Kogami for leaving or coming back, etc.

At some point, however, Kogami and Ginoza fight together against their enemies. There seems to be some will for reconciliation.

Akane and Kogami Reunited

Akane walks in the room with Frederica when Gino is yelling at Kogami. Ko says “Kanishkan” at some point, so I think he’s addressing Akane, but her reaction is…should I say, enigmatic? Indifferent? Maybe she’s controlling herself?

SAD and the aforementioned team travel together to Dejima, and Akane and Kogami barely talk on the way. Once there, Saiga and Kogami talk and at some point they mention Akane. Later Akane calls Kogami while he’s in his room. They both sound like they disagree about something or like something is awkward between them and Akane hangs up on him, surprising him.

The thing about this movie is that they gave Akane the cutest outfits. Especially one in a very crucial moment. I’m so glad they made her look so cute and beautiful in the movie.

At some point the infamous peacebreakers begin their attack, and in the famous explosion scene, Frederica, Saiga, Kogami and Akane are walking down a hallway when an explosion goes off. Kogami doesn’t even think once about protecting Saiga or Frederica, he straight up runs to Akane and they fall to the ground. There are some lines of dialogue here while he’s laying on top of her. This is the part when Akane gets her bruised cheek.

In another scene, after Akira basically gives himself up, Kogami is interrogating him and then another guy shows up and shoots at them. Kogami gets shot and he ends up in the hospital. Akane visits him and when he makes to start smoking, she takes the cigarette off his mouth. There’s a moment here where it seems like he’s teasing her, because he sits up on his bed and kinda leans towards her. Very cute moment between them.

Saiga

Saiga and Kogami have a long talk about many things (I assume, remember, I don’t know any Japanese) but at some point they mention Akane.

A very sad, traumatic moment for Akane. They get attacked by a specially unkillable peacebreaker and Saiga ends up being held hostage by the guy. In the last moment, what we feared happens. Saiga’s last words are for Akane. Our poor girl suffers a lot and Kogami is there to console her and help her push through. They look so good together!

Akira, Kei, Maiko, Arata and Arata’s Dad

Honestly, most of the plot escapes me. Akira at some point even fights himself. He seems to be controlled by an old man who appears to be creating his own version of Sibyl. Akane is actually invited to Kei and Maiko’s wedding and on the same night Arata’s dad, with whom she seemed to have a very good relationship (there’s a lot of dialogue between Arata’s dad and Akane), killls himself while holding a photo of his family.

Craziness Ensues

Akane agrees to meet the mastermind behind all these terror attacks while a tactical team formed by Frederica, Gino, Kogami and Sugo fighting lasers from the air attack the headquarters of the peacebreakers. Here we see for the first time the two old dudes that become obsessed with Kogami in Season 3.

While everyone is fighting and there are explosions and shooting everywhere, Akane has a dialogue with the mastermind. At some point she draws her dominator but his crime coefficient is around 40. The whole place begins to collapse and by then, the mastermind has shot Akane on the leg and has her cuffed. They discuss and debate when he shoots her again (that asshole!). By the time Kogami shows up to rescue her, the other man is pointing his gut right at Akane’s forehead while they debate. At some point Akane says something that irks the guy and he pistol whips her a little bit. Kogami shoots him and gets her out of there.

The craziest plot twist

They show Akane dressed in a ceremonial uniform (and she looks so beautiful!) while Kogami is confined to an isolation facility. He begins reading a letter she wrote to him. They show her at a ceremony where it seems she will be recognized for her achievements. It is here when Akane shoots Chief Kasei in front of everyone.

They show Mika running to arrest Akane for her crime and she yells at Akane with frustration for what she did. Akane offers no resistance. As Kogami is reading the letter he looks angry, frustrated and sad for what Akane did. Why did she do it? We will have to wait until someone translates the movie.

Akane’s face is plastered all over the news as the inspector who went crazy and killed her boss. They show a parallel of Kogami walking out of the isolation facility while Akane is walking in. They don’t cross paths, but once Akane is alone she completely breaks down sobbing uncontrollably. It was so sad to see her suffer like that! Then they show Kogami walking free on the street and he says something and then the movie ends. Did Akane go to jail because of Kogami?

I’ll write more thoughts tomorrow! Overall it was well made. Lots of CGI and explosions almost made me think at times that I was watching a Transformers movie.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Movie Marathon (Fluff)

2003!Michelangelo x reader

A/N: I’ve just started watching the 2003 TMNT again, and it is as amazing as I remembered it🧡

Warnings: None, other than the spelling google docs didn't catch.

—------------------------------------------------

The lair was unusually quiet that evening. Michelangelo and (Y/N) found themselves alone, the rest of the turtles and Master Splinter had gone off to their rooms, to do whatever they had decided to do. And that worked amazingly with the plans you and Michelangelo had for the evening. The two of you had decided to have a movie marathon, where you would watch all of your favorites. It was something the two of you would do quite often, and that you both enjoyed. Except when Mikey had certain ideas about what movies you should watch.

“Mikey! I don’t want to watch another horror movie”, you yelled as you saw the DVD in your green best friend’s three fingered hand.

“Aw! Come on (Y/N)! This one is really good!”, your orange clad friend exclaimed, holding “Lovers Lane Blood Massacre 2: Revenge of the Hook Hand Man” up for you so you could see the movie cover.

“I said no Mikey! I don’t want to watch another horror movie. Especially not what happened after last time!”

You did not need to remind Mikey of what happened the last time, when you watched “Lovers Lane Blood Massacre 1: Hook Hand Man Awakens”. You couldn’t sleep for two weeks without at least one of the turtles standing guard in your living room - which usually would be Mikey.

“Aw shell”, Mikey sighed, throwing the DVD back into his collection. “You’re probably right about that”.

“Probably? No Mikey, I am always right”.

“Oh, how could I forget!?”, Mikey said in a teasing tone, slapping his forehead dramatically. “The lady is always right! Excuse my forgetfulness”.

“The lady has forgiven you”, you laughed, as Mikey started to dramatically ask for forgiveness.

“Great”, Mikey said, placing a hand over his heart. “I can breathe calmly again. Then what would you like to watch?”

“Anything else Mikester, just not horror movies”.

"Ooh, so we're talking all the classics then! Action, comedy, maybe even a little romance," Michelangelo replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, his hands rubbing together.

“See, that I’m into!”, you smiled. “Bring me your best Mikey Man!”

And with that they two of you settled in the cozy couch of the lair, surrounded by an assortment of snacks from the kitchen and a stack of DVDs. The first movie kicked off, and as the night progressed, laughter and banter filled the air. It was a good old comedy. The comfortable silence between lines of dialogue spoke volumes about the easy friendship you two shared.

As the movie went on, you couldn’t help but laugh at the bad jokes. And each time you laugh, Mikey found his attention being drawn towards you more than the movie. For the longest time, Mikey had found himself captivated by your face whenever you laughed. The way your eyes would narrow and your lips widen, showing off where your dimples would be. It was a sight to behold, and Mikey enjoyed it everytime. He often found himself doing crazy things, just to make you laugh. He even loved the way it sounded. And nothing made him prouder, than knowing he was the one causing that smile.

As the credits rolled on the third movie of the night, Michelangelo turned to you with a grin. "That one was epic! Who knew movie marathons could be so much fun, right?"

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "Absolutely, Mikester. Thanks for the awesome idea."

The lair dimmed, the only light coming from the soft glow of the TV screen, as names rolled from the bottom and up. A quiet moment hung in the air as Michelangelo hesitated, glancing at you with a hint of vulnerability.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he began, his voice softer than usual. You noticed how he started fidgeting with the padding on his knee. "You know, I really enjoy spending time with you. You're like the best friend anyone could ask for".

You felt your heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading through you. "Mikey, you're an amazing friend too. I'm really grateful for our adventures and all the laughter we share".

Michelangelo's gaze lingered, and a moment of unspoken understanding passed between them. In the dim light, you could see a mixture of emotions flickering in his eyes - a depth that transcended the goofy exterior he often displayed. It was rare that you got to see Michelangelo like this. He wasn’t really comfortable with being too serious. But when he had to, you were one of the few people he could do it around.

"Actually", Mikey continued, scratching the back of his head. "There's something else I've been wanting to say. It's just, um, kinda hard to put into words".

You felt a flutter of anticipation, your own emotions mirroring Michelangelo's. "Mikey, you can tell me anything. We're friends, right?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. "Yeah, we're friends. But, you see, I... I think I might feel something more. Like, something beyond friendship, you know?"

The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You processed the words, and a smile crept onto your face, causing Mikey’s heart to skip a beat. "Mikey, I think I might feel the same way".

A weight lifted from Michelangelo's shoulders, replaced by an exhilarating warmth. The air buzzed with a newfound energy as the realization settled in.

"Really?" he asked, a mixture of surprise and joy in his voice.

"Really", you confirmed, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "Would you like to turn our movie marathon into date night?"

Michelangelo grinned, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "Totally! Best movie night ever!"

Mikey started another movie, before returning to the couch, placing an arm around you. To no one’s surprise, it was a romance. And as the main title started rolling, Mikey couldn’t help a certain thought from sneaking its way into his head. He had had that thought several times before, but now it finally seemed like it could become reality.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” His heart was beating in his chest. You could feel it through his plastron.

“Yeah, Mikey?”

“Can I… Uhm… Can I kiss you?”

You looked down trying to hide your blush. Mikey saw it and felt like he was about to pass out. You were blushing at the thought of kissing him?

“Yes you can, Mikey”.

Mikey was nervous when he finally let his lips press against yours. It was a soft and tender kiss. Mikey’s first kiss. You couldn’t help but laugh when you pulled back and saw him smile like an idiot. Damn he was adorable.

The rest of the night you and Mikey would hold each other tight, and exchange small kisses every now and then, all while watching the rest of the movies you had planned for the night.

[catluniscia]

Clea Strange

Doctor Strange has a wife in the comics or had I don't know relationships are at the moment, all I know is the outfit she is currently in inspiring and I wanna have fun drawing swishy clothing with rips and stuff...also I really hate that window, which I had to make by hand like 10 times because the things wouldn't line up right, I hope to make it noticeable with all my hard work. (context this was written in late September when only 2 episodes of Agatha All Along had posted)  I really hope she is in Agatha All Along, like I would like there to be more cool bad ass magic users in the universe, which is why I am excited for Agatha, but like I am also one of those who wishes the Marvel Project workers actually talked to each other and or had notes to pass along so things can line up better, Again Multiverse of Madness folks didn't know anything happening in Wandavision, and I really wish they did. I just wish Disney/marvel would stop doing quantity and did quality but you know too much to ask I guess -sips drink- I know Clea is in Multiverse of Madness, and um. I saw her outfit...it's very Marvel Movie. And yes that is a semi insult. Like her concept art for the movie is fine, I like it, but something about it going from Concept to movie something happened and it went from fine, to eh, like it's better than the whole CGI made costumes cause CGI folks aren't unionized yet and there for over worked, but like I don't know maybe the photos I saw aren't that good quality, Mind you online its only like one photo and it isn't even a full body one. Or its badly photoshopped, or AI, which god don't get me started on that rant. Also when looking up I found out there is this fan trailer for Doctor Strange 3 and Google it keeps acting like its legit and like its so obviously fan made it looks...y'all remember when you would photoshop yourself to your fave character, or do ship art? And the quality was clearly photoshopped? That's what the trailer thumbnail looks like to me, like No shit onto the person making this fan trailer, like find your joy would love some more bad ass ladies in the MCU but GOOGLE its clear and bloody obvious its a fan trailer please stop acting like it's legit.  Sorry I think I just zoned out and started ranting about google trying to show fake things as legit as well as complaining about costuming directions in modern movies. UUUUHHHHHH Anyway this is the full art, and I am rambling like crazy and should take a nap, please enjoy this artwork I did and all the texture and detailing. I want a nap and a cookie.

[neufer]

I need to talk about Johnny Cade for a minute

This is mainly about his character in the musical and the song Stay Gold, but it all applies to his character in the book and movie as well.

This kid, man. Life has not been kind to him. He’s been abused, neglected, attacked, and just plain beat down. As Ponyboy sings in Great Expectations, “Johnny has no kind of chance in this world. Not from where he's had to start.” Despite all of this, Johnny is still just so good and manages to make peace with his life and it makes me want to bawl.

Even looking at before his death and Stay Gold, all of these bad things happen to Johnny, yet Ponyboy says he is the most law abiding out of all of them and doesn’t even carry a blade until after the Socs attack him. (I’ve not seen the musical but just remembered that in it Dally gives him the knife so it’s a little different than the book/movie. I can’t even begin to think about that and the guilt it causes for Dally.) Then on top of everything, he has to kill Bob in self-defense. Yet he still follows Ponyboy into the church to save the kids from the fire. And then after being burned and being upset because 16 years ain’t going to be long enough, he is able to say “I’ll hold on to the good 'cause I've made my peace with all the bad” in Stay Gold. This line means so much to me, and to have it come from Johnny Cade speaks volumes on who he is as a character.

While that line really ties Stay Gold and Johnny together for me, there are of course others. He has been abused, neglected, attacked, and beat down but can still see beauty in the fold. He knows it’s the only way to keep from growing old (even though he ultimately never will😭) and that he and Ponyboy (I think he’s referring to the others too) are the lucky ones. And lastly, despite it all, HE HAS KNOWN A LOVE THAT MANY NEVER KNOW. And he’s holding on to that love and all of the good and letting it outweigh the bad and making peace with his life. Like fuck. I just love Johnny so much.

That being said, I don’t want to give the impression that I think Dally is worse than Johnny for being hardened by his unfair life. He is still good too, even if he couldn’t make peace with it in the end like Johnny. I just can’t even begin to express that in a coherent way.