#i hate it but i'm not going to make it any better by staring at it lmao

[nylibrty]

girl with the tattoo ⸝ ⸝ ⸝ chapter two

「pairing」 breanna stewart x riley carter (oc)

「summary」 riley is pretty sure she just made breanna hate her, what happens when breanna invites her to dinner?

「cw」 n/a

「notes」 sorry this took so long... pls forgive...

series masterlist

as she left, kayla and kennedy quickly caught up with her. "oh hey guys, did i forget something or?" riley asked, attempting to walk past them in order to get home, not in the brightest mood to ruin any more relationships with her new teammates.

"oh no you're good! we were just wondering if you wanted to come get drinks with us or something," kayla started.

"a rookie welcoming, if you will." kennedy quickly finished kaylas sentence.

riley smiled, the two girls already putting her in a better mood. "i'd love to."

and with that, kennedy and kayla took riley on a tour around town. after about an hour of walking around and talking, mostly kayla asking riley about her college career and just simple get-to-know-you stuff, they finally ended up at a bar. sitting down they each ordered their drink of choice. riley chose a beer, trying to not drink too heavily when she has practice in less than a day.

the conversation flowed well and by the time riley had made her way home, she was put into three new groupchats and was sure kennedy and kayla was taking her under their wing.

—

waking up the next morning was a struggle for riley. she had gone through her normal morning routine but was distracted practically the entire time. running through all the interactions she had with breanna yesterday to somehow get her to hate in her in less than 24 hours.

by the time she got the training it felt like her whole day was off. breanna was nowhere to be seen and she was sure she was purposefully avoiding her. riley sat with kayla and kennedy, something that began to become routine for her, quickly becoming close to the two girls.

"so, whats the deal with stewie? is she always like that with rookies?" riley asked nervously, studying the two girls faces who sat in front of her.

"what do you mean, stewie is like the nicest person here," kennedy laughed, rileys stomach sank, she must have really done something wrong to make her hate her this quickly. "why? is she mean to you or something?" kennedy followed up, leaning closer.

"no, shes just weird towards me..?" riley said, shrugging her shoulders. the two girls bugged her for more information and riley told her what happened yesterday. kennedy and kayla exchanged looks, seemingly talking with their eyes. "what? did i do something?" riley panicked, her eyebrows furrowing.

kayla laughed, "no! i'm sure its nothing..." she shrugged, clearing not sharing everything she had to say.

before riley could inquire any further about their comments, it was time to actually go start warmups. she sat down to start stretching, looking over to see breanna staring at her from afar. a chill went down her spine, a red flush spreading across her face. riley attempted to get herself together, taking a deep breath and focusing back on her stretching.

once she was done stretching they ran a few scrimmages. it went well for riley, the coaching team clearly impressed by her skill. after the scrimmage was done, she sat against the wall, sipping on her waterbottle.

"hey? you got room for one more?" breanna asked, startling riley.

"you can't sneak up on me like that." riley laughed, patting the floor next to her to signal breanna to join her.

the tall girl sat next to her, squirting the water from her waterbottle into her mouth. they sat in silence for a moment, both unsure of exactly what to say.

"so... you enjoying the team so far?" breanna questioned.

"yeah, yeah. its nice, i like it here." she grinned, not caring to notice that breanna definitely kept scooting closer to her.

they sat in silence once more, a clear awkwardness hanging in between them.

breanna set her waterbottle to the side, playing with her fingers, nervous about something. "i usually take the new rookies out for dinner as a welcome to new york kinda thing... i was wondering if you could make it? it'll be tonight after practice." she rambled.

riley was shocked. a mixture of confusion and warmth filled her. she was so sure all about ten minutes ago that the vet surely hated her, but now she was inviting her out? she swallowed, considering her options, her thoughts were quickly interrupted by breannas voice once more.

"its not like mandatory or anything, i know you have a lot going on right now," she reassured the rookie.

riley cleared her throat, the choice clear now. "yeah no, i'd love to go." she smiled.

"perfect! ill text you the information after practice." breanna grinned, that gummy smile making butterflies swarm in rileys stomach.

before she could respond, breanna was up and gone, getting ready for the next part of practice.

—

the rest of practice went smoothly, riley was a lot less in her head now that she knew that breanna didn't hate her. she still couldn't place her finger on what her deal was though, something clearly putting a wall between them.

she walked with leonie back to the locker room, small talk about their days and practice filling dead air.

"did stewie also invite you to some thing tonight?"

"yeah she did, are you going?"

leonie nodded and riley felt a weight fall off her shoulders. she was friends with some of the other rookies, but she was glad to have someone like leo going as well. before the conversation could go anywhere else, they had made it to the locker room and branched out to their separate lockers.

once riley was successfully changed and ready to leave, she looked up to see breanna only a few lockers down, clad in a sports bra and shorts. riley swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away from her physique, tight abs adorning her stomach and biceps bulging. breanna looked over and shot her a smirk. the rookie blushed a deep red, quickly averting her eyes back to her locker, fumbling to close it shut.

she heard a chuckle from breanna, her footsteps approaching.

"eyes to yourself, rook." she whispered in her ear, patting her back before walking off to refill her water bottle.

riley coughed, choking on her own spit. kennedy turned around, also coming up to her locker. "what was all that about?"

"i dont know," riley sighed, pushing past her to leave.

she was confused. confused with this new team, with this new area, and more importantly, was confused on what the fuck was going on between her and breanna.

she was distracted the entire ride home, barely paying attention to what was around her, and focused on getting back to the safety of her apartment. once she finally made it home, she dropped her gym bag and immediately got into the shower.

going about her post practice routine, she hadn't bothered to check her phone, not realizing she had several unread messages.

stewie:  156 Court St meet us there at 6:30.

leonie: youre still going right? i saw that stewie talked to you before you left

brooklyns finest: kt: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT RILEY CARTER

riley checked all of the messages, ignoring breannas message entirely and moving on to leo and the group chat. she typed out a quick yes, sending it to leo before seeing what kayla and kennedy had to say.

brooklyns finest:

kb: exactlyyyy, yall going to dinner tonight rightttt 👀

riley: its not just us two 🙄 she invited leo too.

kt: thats until she cancels last minute...

riley: shut up. its not like she wants me back or anything.

kb: so you DO want her!!!

kt: i knew it!!

riley: gtg

kb: give us all the details when you get home babe 😘

riley rolled her eyes and checked the clock before turning off her phone.

4:00 pm. she had 2 and a half hours to get ready. she could do this.

it wasn't even a date, there was no reason for her to be stressed. leo was gonna be there anyways, it was gonna be fine.

she spent the next hour being anything but fine. spamming kayla and kennedy with outfit choices and practically tearing apart her tiny closet to find the perfect outfit. after what felt like forever, she found a cute dress to wear, showing the perfect amount of skin. by the time she did her hair and makeup and paced around her apartment enough times to calm herself down, she was finally ready. she took a deep breath and left her apartment. riley made her way to the subway and rode towards barclays. she checked her phone multiple times, making sure leo wasn't texting her last minute that she actually was canceling, and to her enjoyment, there was still no text about any sort of cancellation.

she made it to her stop, coming up from underground and beginning to walk towards the restaurant. it wasn't very far from the station, only a couple minutes which she was grateful for. leo was standing around by a pole close by to the restaurant, waiting for riley.

"hey! i was worried you weren't coming." leo laughed, walking towards the entrance with riley.

they continued with the small talk, making their way into the restaurant and finding breanna sitting at a table with ivana and jaylyn beside her. there were two seats left, one right by breanna and one at the end of the table.

leo, who was steps ahead of riley, took the one at the end. which left riley with one place to sit.

right next to breanna.

breanna pulled the chair out for her, a simple gesture that she didn’t even acknowledge. riley secretly appreciated it, sitting down next to her and feeling the comforting presence of the older woman next to her.

conversations flowed as drinks were given and riley fell smoothly into conversation with ivana and jaylyn. breanna was talking to leo, her presence still lingering with riley. she caught her stealing glances with her more than once, a blushing smile on her face.

as dinner went on, everybody had ordered and was enjoying their meals, laughing and talking about past experiences. riley was glad she went, truly. it was nice to get to know people the same age as her and the people who had similar experiences as her.

"alright guys, i gotta get home. thank you for dinner stewie, and everybody else, it was nice to get to know you!" jaylyn said, gathering her items and heading out the door.

with that, most everybody else filtered out. now, it was just breanna and riley.

fuck.

"dinner was nice, thank you." riley said, turning her body to face breanna.

she hadn't taken the time to actually look at breanna tonight. hadn't taken the time to be this close to her and study her features and what she was wearing tonight.

a simple graphic t-shirt with a white button-up over it, she almost laughed at it, coming to a nice dinner wearing her silly outfit.

"you really wore that," riley gestured towards her outfit, "to dinner?"

breanna chuckled, glancing down to examine her own outfit. "what? you don't like it?" she laughed, nudging her with her elbow.

"oh trust me, i like it. you just look stupid, stewart." she raised her eyebrow, returning to that original banter that took place when they first met.

"awh cmon rook, my stupid outfit fits well with the dress number," she grinned, referring to rileys dress. "you look good, by the way," she commented softly, averting her eyes and taking the straw of her drink into her mouth.

"you're not too bad yourself." riley smiled.

they sat in comfortable silence for a moment longer. riley couldn't get over how her heart was bursting or how she wanted to run around and gossip about this like a teenage girl.

before she knew it, breanna had paid for the bill and was walking her out to the subway.

"you have my number, if you ever want recommendations for stuff around town, just text me!" breanna grinned, hearing riley complain about not knowing where to start.

"yeah, yeah, new york native." riley rolled her eyes, standing with breanna as she waited for the subway.

"im serious though, text me anytime rook. i dont bite," she laughed.

before riley could get another word in, the subway was pulling in.

"well, i guess i'll see you tomorrow." breanna said, turning to face her.

"yeah, i'll miss you." riley grinned.

they sat and stared at each other for a moment, in complete silence. as if magnets were pulling them together, suddenly they were getting closer, lips only inches away from each other.

"fuck, i got to go, i'm sorry." riley mumbled, realizing the subway was about to leave at any moment.

breanna snapped back to reality, clearing her throat and pulling away. her face was bright red and she was looking anywhere but rileys face. "yeah—fuck—im sorry riley." she said, realizing what she had just almost done.

"i-its fine," riley brushed it off quickly, leaving without a goodbye.

[goatcheesecak3]

I hate you too Pt.3

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x reader

Warnings: alcohol, brief mentions of nsfw

Fic type: angst, fluff

Summary: both trying to wrap your heads around the situation, you and Adam each reach out to your friends.

A/n: hello!! Probably the last part to this short series, I've had fun writing it though! Maybe I'll try a Lawrence fic next??? Who knows. Anyways, enjoy! :^)

Your heart sank. What the hell kind of sick game was Adam playing with you? Hooking up was one thing, but you'd both poured your hearts out to eachother, you though you had a real connection. You wiped tears from your eyes and gritted your teeth in anger. You needed a friend, a distraction. You called Mark.

"H- hey Mark" you spoke into the phone, sniffling a little and hoping it didn't sound like you'd been crying.

"What's up, y/n?" His voice sounded cheery.

"Look, I don't wanna put you on the spot or anything, man, but I uh... I'm having kinda a bad day, I was wondering if I could come over?"

"Hey, you know you're welcome anytime. Scott's coming over later to watch this lame slasher movie I picked up, it's gonna be a hoot. You should join us!"

His kindness was so jarring I'm contrast to the cold, unfeeling text you'd just recieved from Adam. It almost made you tear up again, but you held it together long enough to set a time, before hanging the phone up.

You made yourself a rather exquisite breakfast consisting of a cigarette, a beer, and several more cigarettes. Following this, you drifted in and out of sleep on the couch while watching episodes of beavis and butthead, and trying your hardest not to think about Adam.

When 6pm rolled around, you finally got yourself dressed and headed out to Mark's apartment.

...

After sending you that awful text, Adam had fallen asleep for a few hours. When he awoke, it was the evening. Despite a full day's rest, he didn't feel any better, in fact, he felt much worse. He knew he'd fucked up, he'd let himself step too far and now he was pretty sure your entire friendship was out the window, let alone any chance at a relationship. He knew deep down this was for the best, or at least he thought so? His head was swimming and he really couldn't make much sense of the whole situation. He had to bite the bullet, and call in for reinforcements in the form of his friend Scott. Adam knew full well that revealing the events that had transpired to Scott would come with a barrage of jokes and teasing, but at the end of it all, Scott was his friend and he'd help him make sense of it all.

...

"Yeah, I can meet you bro. I'm going to Mark's to watch this lame movie, I'll come pick you up and we can talk on the way. We're long overdue for a guy's night"

"Thanks, Man. Yeah, a guy's night sounds good"

Adam was beyond relieved that it would just be the three of them, he couldn't bear to face you right now.

At half six, Scott's beat up old Ford pulled up outside Adam's building, to find him already waiting on the curb, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"You got one of them for me?" Scott grinned as Adam climbed in.

"Always" Adam obliged, handing Scott a cigarette.

"So," Scott pulled off with a screech, "What did you wanna talk about?"

"It's about y/n"

"What, you hittin that or something?" Scott teased.

Adam's unexpected silence answered that question, as he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"No. Way. No fuckin WAY dude. Mark totally owes me 50 bucks" Scott gave Adam an affectionate punch in the arm, briefly averting his gaze from the road to see what he expected to be a smug grin plastered across Adam's face. Instead, however, Adam's face told a story of guilt and confliction.

"What? You didn't her pregnant did you?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

"Nah man, nothing like that. It's just... ugh, I don't know, I think I like her? But like, I'd just break her heart if I went there" Adam stared straight ahead as he spoke.

"You don't know that, man just tell her how you feel. At the very least you'll get to see her naked a couple more times before you completely fuck it up." It seemed that Scott possessed the incredible ability to never take anything seriously.

"Yeah... I don't think i can do that. Like, I think I've pretty much nailed that coffin shut"

"Well you certainly nailed something," Scott held out his fist to Adam and grinned to himself.

"Dude, I'm serious"

"So am I! Dude, emotional bullshit aside, y/n's a fuckin smokeshow, and I'm proud of my boy for his achievements"

Adam bit the insides of his cheeks, but couldn't help the smile from creeping across his face. He knew the whole macho bullshit thing was gross and childish, but admittedly, he was kinda proud of himself for sleeping with you. He bumped Scott's fist.

"There he is" Scott chuckled, "so, now that we've got all this acting like a pussy out the way, you're gonna pick up your phone, call y/n and tell her 'I'll be at your place later with condoms and viagra, chug a couple energy drinks 'cause we're gonna go all night'" he joked.

"You know, I think that approach might be a little full on" Adam laughed. "But you're right, I gotta stop being a little bitch about this and tell her how I feel"

"Awesome. Me and Mark can help you plan how you're gonna do it tonight, but you owe us another guy's night if we do"

"How come?"

"Because you're totally acting like a chick"

"Shut up, man. You're an asshole, you know that?"

...

You'd been at Mark's apartment for a little while already, drinking beer and waiting for Scott to arrive.

"Does he know I'm gonna be here?" You asked casually

"You know, totally slipped my mind to tell him. Hell be here any minute, so I guess he'll find out when he arrives" Mark smiled.

As if to punctuate that sentence, the unmistakable sound of Scott's loud footsteps approached the apartment door, followed by a hefty knock.

Mark opened the door, to see both Scott and Adam waiting.

"Oh hey! Guess the whole gang's here" Mark smiled.

The two men entered the apartment, Adam's expression slowly turning to one of dread when he saw you sat on the couch.

"What the hell is he doing here?!"

"What the hell is she doing here?!" The pair of you exclaimed at the same time.

"Oh come on, not this again. Guys, just sit down, relax, have a few beers. I'm too tired to watch you two fight all night" Mark rolled his eyes.

"Won't be necessary" you said coldly, rising to your feet and attempting to barge your way past the men and out of the apartment.

"Ohhhh I don't think so, little lady" Scott scoffed, blocking your exit.

"Scott, I'm warning you, you know I could kick your ass" you bit.

"Be that as it may, you and Adam got a lot to talk about. Now Mark and I are gonna leave for a while, give you two some privacy, and you're gonna solve this" Scott said. Seeing Scott be the voice of reason was like seeing a unicorn, you couldn't believe your eyes.

"Why should I leave? This is my apartment?" Mark argued as Scott ushered him out

"Because you're gonna head down to the ATM and withdraw that 50 bucks you owe me"

"What?" The realisation set in and he turned to face you and Adam, "you two? No WAY!"

"Have funnnnn" Scott mocked in a sing-song voice as he guided a gobsmacked Mark out of the apartment, closing the door behind them on their way out.

The apartment was silent now, you and Adam both stood, stunned, staring blankly at eachother. You would have kept this stand off going on forever, if you weren't so drained. You threw yourself down onto the couch and sighed exasperatedly.

"This is so fucking humiliating" you muttered under your breath.

Adam sat beside you. You held your head in your hands, eyes glued to the floor, but you could feel Adam's gaze burning into you.

"Y/n, I-"

"No, it's fine, like I get it. Last night was a mistake, it didn't mean anything. You don't have to tell me again." You snapped, not wanting to relive the heartbreak.

Adam exhaled

"I didn't mean that" he said quietly, his voice sounding shameful.

Suddenly, something inside you snapped. You were furious, he'd completely devasted you, and now he'd changed his mind?

"Then what the fuck do you mean?!" You blurted angrily, "you hate me one minute, you like me the next. What the actual fuck is your problem, Adam? What is it you want? Because in case you hadn't realised, you've given me some pretty mixed signals in the last 24 hours!"

"I want you!" He yelled "I mean.. I want to be able to want you" his voice was soft, gentle even.

Yours was not.

"Oh my fucking GOD. Do you only talk in riddles or something? What next, do I need to solve a fucking treasure hunt to find your missing brain?!"

"Y/n, no, please just listen.. okay? I just- man I thought I'd have time to plan this" he exclaimed to himself, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Look, if I don't get a straight answer in the next five minutes I'm walking out that door" you said, calmer now.

"Okay.. okay.." Adam breathed slowly, he seemed to be trying to find the words.

"Look," he began, "I'm in the weirdest place emotionally right now, I've always struggled with being vulnerable, but I mean, I'm so much worse these days. Ever since... well, you know..." he bit the inside of his lip and looked ahead, his eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm still trying to get myself back, and I don't know if the part of me that can let people in is ready.

If I let you in right now, I'm scared that I'll only hurt you further down the line, and I could never ask you to just wait around for me to get better."

He stared at the floor and sighed, feeling quite sorry for himself.

You considered what he had said for a moment, before finally speaking, much gentler this time.

"So get better now"

"What? Y/n, it's mot that simple"

"Yes, Adam, it is that simple" you said, your tone kind, but firm. "You say you're trying to get better at letting people in, and in the last 24 hours you've been more emotionally honest with your arch nemesis than you would ever imagine. Sure, it doesn't exactly scream stability, but that's part of the process. You're making progress" you took Adam's hand and brushed your thumb across his skin reassuringly.

"It's not gonna be easy, but if you don't take this chance and let me in then you're not moving forward".

Adam let out a half hearted chuckle, and wiped a few tears he hoped you hadn't seen from his eyes.

"I hate the fact that you're always right"

"Get used to it" you smiled warmly, giving him a playful nudge.

"Okay... so in the spirit of moving forward" he gulped, "would you uhh... be free for date sometime?"

He smiled sheepishly, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket. You noticed that his eyes seemed to look extra sparkly, as if there was hope and excitement in them for the first time in a while.

"I'm free right now" you giggled, placing your hand on Adam's cheek and leaning in to kiss him.

Adam's hands held onto your waist as he leaned into the kiss, gradually pushing you back onto the sofa. He kissed you deeper now, more hungrily, his fingertips were just brimming the hem of your shirt, when...

"Aaaand the two of you can go continue that "date" literally anywhere but my sofa" Mark exclaimed, bursting into the apartment, Scott following giggling like a schoolboy.

"Were you assholes listening through the door?!" You squealed, jumping up and adjusting your shirt.

"Hey, I didn't wanna, but Mark needed proof that he lost the bet!" Scott laughed, barely able to contain himself.

"Dude! Come on, that was priv- wait.. what bet?" You asked, more curious than annoyed by this point.

"I bet Mark that you and Adam secretly liked eachother, and now I'm 50 bucks richer" Scott said proudly.

"Never would've imagined you guys together" Mark admitted, "but you know what, I like this little dynamic. It's sweet, or at least it is when you're not tryna bang on my couch" he teased.

"Sorry about that, man" Adam chuckled, his cheeks reddening.

"Now, come on you crazy kids," Scott said, in a slightly patronising, but good natured tone, "get your asses down to some restaurant or something where you can sit and make googly eyes at eachother before me and Mark throw up"

...

You and Adam walked down the street after leaving Mark's apartment. Your hands brushed against eachother, and without words they were interlinked. Just to think, a couple days ago you would have thrown up at the thought of holding Adam's hand, but now it was all you wanted to do.

"So... a restaurant, huh?" Adam said, swinging your arms slightly.

"Hm" you tilted your head, "orrrrr... we could head back to mine, crack open a bottle of wine on the balcony... maybe fool around a little?" You looked at Adam with a cheeky grin.

"God, you just get me" Adam laughed, placing his free hand on your waist and planting a soft kiss onto your lips.

And it was indeed, a perfect date.

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter / chapter five

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mentions of transphobia, food mentions, alcohol, kissing, mentions of child abuse, but nothing actually happens (virgil suspects something and dee mentions parenting attitudes that aren’t healthy) also a mention of harassing women, but it’s more of an abstract than any actual harassment. please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,961

notes: fifth verse, same as the first: i hope this can serve as a distraction for some of you today—please go out and vote if you are in the united states!! i'm actually posting this as i'm in line for my ballot so i can vote before work! there are so many important issues on your local ballot (several states have potentially life-saving but certainly life-altering provisions on ballot this year for a lot of folks!) in addition to national-level stuff! and, in regards to why this took so long to get here,

⁂

janus looks at the jar skeptically, his arms folded across his chest.

“this. this is your favorite food?”

logan tries not to take the slight too personally, but he offers the spoonful of loganberry jam to him again.

“yes, it is,” logan says. “i said nothing when you said your favorite food.”

“because my favorite food is normal,” janus grumbles, but he takes the spoonful anyways. “but seriously. just straight up jam?”

“crofter’s loganberry jam,” logan corrects. “followed by the rest of the jams that crofter’s offers.”

janus sighs, but ingests the jam, presumably in the name of getting to know each other better.

with the introduction of a name, logan had thought to propose getting to know each other better; so now logan knows janus’ favorite color (yellow) his favorite book (the art of war) and his favorite food (he’d said mille feuille, then admitted it was really pretzel m&m’s, which perhaps was a more conventional choice than a specific type of jam.)

logan watches him, hawk-eyed.

“so?” he says when janus swallows.

“i mean,” janus says. “it’s a good jam, i guess?”

logan sighs, but accepts that janus’ education when it comes to jam is a work in progress. that’s fine. in the meantime, logan will prepare a jam sandwich as a midnight snack. he dearly anticipates the day when he is no longer a teenager and therefore no longer so hungry all the time.

⁂

janus waits a long time to change into his pajamas.

logan gets up, presumably to go to the bathroom, and comes downstairs with an overly large hoodie without preamble, or even mentioning it at all, really.

janus refuses to smile, but he does change into the pajama set his parents bought him, with a big hoodie advertising a sideshire save-the-bridge fundraiser.

⁂

“why are you making me watch this,” logan groans.

“because it’s a cultural touchstone, hush,” janus says dismissively, staring at the screen but really staring at logan out of the corner of his eyes, trying his very hardest not to start cackling.

“this sex scene has been going on for three minutes!”

“cultural. touchstone.”

“you’re doing this to make me suffer,” logan accuses.

“obviously,” janus says. “that’s the whole point of making someone watch the room for the first time.”

“i should have just lied when you asked if i understood that reference,” logan mumbles under his breath, pointedly avoiding looking at the screen.

janus, in deciding to go full obnoxious, croons, “yooou are my rose, you are my rose, you are my rooo-ooooo-ooooose—”

logan pulls a pillow over his face and declares, muffled, “i hate you.”

“save it,” janus says dismissively. “we haven’t even gotten to the flower shop scene yet.”

“the what?” logan says, peeking tentatively from behind the pillow.

or the other terrible subplots, janus thinks gleefully. he’s not a huge fan of the room, himself, it’s not like he’s proudly in the cult following for it, but being able to show it to logan for the first time is something he absolutely cannot miss out on.

⁂

“but it makes no sense,” logan practically howls at the screen as the credits roll, janus laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

⁂

“christ, isn’t your boyfriend a dancer?” janus complains, shuffling his feet out of the way.

“my boyfriend is the dancer,” logan says, scowling. “my boyfriend.”

“either way, he needs to bring you in for extra waltzing lessons,” janus says. “poppy is going to kill you if you step on her toes even once.”

logan goes a little pale at that.

⁂

“why this,” janus groans, tempted to do what logan did and put a pillow over his face.

“you picked a movie, now i get to pick a movie,” logan says smugly, and janus considers throwing the pillow at the screen. the only reason he doesn’t is because he somewhat respects ken burns, even if logan picked his most boring documentary ever.

⁂

“this is ridiculous,” logan says.

“it’s meant to be a traditional sleepover activity,” janus says dismissively, counting each curl of the spiral, tapping the paper with his pen. “the internet says so.”

“yes, famously lauded for accuracy, the internet,” logan says. janus ignores him and starts crossing off options, counting under his breath as he goes.

“okay,” janus says, straightening the paper with a great deal of fanfare. “you’ll graduate from princeton—”

“surprising.”

“—i know, quite, i’d had you pinned as an east coast man—after majoring in chemistry, that’s a bit of a departure, isn’t it? but after you graduate, you’ll marry bowman—”

“bowman?!” logan says, aghast. “bowman wasn’t one of the options!”

“i editorialized,” janus says dismissively, “and you’ll have a hundred and two beautiful children—”

“where did you get that number?!”

janus ignores him. “—but you’ll settle in los angeles and live in a cozy little shack—”

“well, i’ve done that before,” logan says fairly, and janus tries his hardest to hide his wince as he continues.

“—and, funnily enough, you’ll be an astronomer. the end.”

“this game is ridiculous,” logan says, snatching back the notepad, before he hesitates and looks at janus.

“all right, fine,” he sighs, and readies the pen. “mansion, house, apartment, shack, those are listed. marriage options?”

“jeff bezos, bill gates, and elon musk,” janus says briskly.

“those are all terrible options,” logan says, disgusted. 

“those are all terribly rich options,” janus corrects. “if this is going to be my imaginary m.a.s.h. life, i will live lavishly due to the money my husband will provide. i don’t have morals, i’d gladly be a sugar baby.”

“you don’t get to pick all your spouses,” logan says. “you married me off to bowman.”

“i’d argue elon musk is worse than bowman,” janus points out. 

“narrowly,” logan says under his breath.

⁂

tristan, janus reflects, has to go, of course. 

if not for his being racist toward janus—which is, admittedly, a more self-preservational factor that has put janus into plotting more actively than he has in the aftermath of almost everything else tristan has done. this includes that tristan cheats poorly, lies without even being clever about it, peacocks about with absolutely no sense of swagger or charm, is generally obnoxious, and somehow manages to both virgin-shame and slut-shame girls at their school without imploding from the hypocrisy of it all—

wait. he’s getting distracted.

if not simply for everything else tristan has ever done, then certainly for the note that’s been smuggled into his pocket.

the question, of course, was which plot to pick: to go out with a bang, or to pick a piece of blackmail so heinous that he’d shipped off to military school, with absolutely no time to lose…

⁂

“—and that’s how you say where can i find a newspaper in french, creole, and portuguese,” janus says. “i mean, your next problem would be if you could read it or not, but.”

“i wish i knew another language,” logan says thoughtfully. “the closest i have is latin, and that’s not exactly something i can use to converse with people.”

they’re both lying on their backs, staring up at the artificial ceiling of the pillow fort. 

“i mean,” logan amends. “i know some conversational spanish, but. certainly not fluent.”

“spanish?” janus asks sleepily.

“roman,” logan explains, and janus makes an ah noise. then, “portuguese?”

“childhood nanny,” janus says. “she’s from the dominican republic, not haiti, but. she did teach me some things about haitian culture.”

“i met her, didn’t i?” logan says. “at your grandmother’s.”

“yes, you did,” janus says.

“creole from haiti,” logan guesses, and janus mm-hms.

“and you mentioned your grandmother was french,” logan completes.

“yeah,” janus says, and even logan can pick up the edge in his voice. logan props himself up on an elbow, furrowing his eyebrows.

janus looks at him, arching his own eyebrows, and repeats, “haitian.”

logan flushes, a little bit, remembering the (very little) amount of haitian history they’d covered in their mutual world history class, and the (slightly more, but still not exactly a wealth of information) studying he’d done in his free time.

“right,” logan says quietly. 

“i’ve got ideas,” janus says darkly, staring up at the blanket ceiling. “my adopted ancestors’ vast fortune? it’s going to go straight into a trans, black haitian’s pockets. they’re probably rolling in their graves.”

logan is quiet, for a couple moments, before he says, “good.”

janus’s grin unfurls as he stares up at the blanket, daydreaming about how best to squander that fortune.

⁂

they’re lying in the pillow fort, mostly quiet, logan on the edge of sleep. but then, tinny and muffled, as if from a phone speaker:

your touch, pullin' fire out of me your touch, like the wind crashing on the sea...

“i am going to kill you,” logan declares, even if he does start laughing when janus does.

⁂

patton staggers down the stairs, stifling a yawn with his hand, and he has to stifle a smile at the sight of a blanket fort in his living room, just big enough for two teenage boys.

he edges around it carefully, heading directly for his first stop every morning: the coffee maker.

by the time the coffee maker starts making those slightly alarming sputtering noises that always makes patton think he should probably get it looked at, the boys emerge from the fort, bleary-eyed and honed in on the scent of fresh coffee.

“mugs in there,” patton mumbles to dee, who grabs three at random and pushes them toward patton so patton can pour, the coffee steaming and diffusing its delectable scent all throughout patton’s tiny kitchen.

there’s a stretch of silence only broken by the sound of sugar shaken into coffee, the pouring of milk, the clattering of a spoon against ceramic, and sipping.

by the time patton’s three-quarters of the way through his mug, he feels much more like a human.

“hope you boys slept well,” patton says, his voice not quite at its usual level of perkiness—he’ll need another mug of coffee for that. “do you have any preferences for breakfast? dee, you’re the guest, you can pick—we could go to virgil’s, that’s got diner breakfast—”

a strange expression flashes over dee’s face. patton takes note of it but doesn’t mention it.

“—remy, he runs the café in town, he does some good breakfast sandwiches… or fran’s, she’s got danishes and little pies and things. she runs the bakery near town center, you might have seen it.”

“fran’s,” dee says decisively.

patton nods, drains his mug, and reaches for a travel thermos. “i’ll go ahead and get going for fran’s, then, it can get a bit busy on weekend mornings. logan, could you fish out a menu and show it to dee? either of you can text me with your orders.”

both boys make sounds of affirmation, mostly preoccupied with consuming as much coffee as possible.

patton can’t really talk; he’s busy trying starting to drink the coffee from his thermos while simultaneously hunting for his house keys.

⁂

is the taste of cinnamon rolls in these small-town bakeries the entire appeal of living in a small town with an entire store for christmas lights? janus can now slightly better understand the appeal of living in a small town, if so.

squidgy without being mushy, just enough cinnamon to keep it from being sickly sweet, just enough icing to keep the whole thing moist, paired with the unexpectedly spectacular coffee from remy’s café…

janus eats three in addition to the rest of the pastry selection patton had generously gotten for them, and is only slightly regretful when a food coma signals its impending arrival.

but, as all things do, his visit to bizzare-o-town comes to an end—he’s put on his clothes and returned the hoodie logan had lent him, he’s tucked patton’s phone number into a small, almost-hidden pocket in his duffel bag, and he stands on the sanders’ surprisingly roomy front porch with logan, patton waving them both out with his ever-cheerful air.

“where are you going again?”

“newsroom,” logan says, shouldering his own backpack. “at this point, i think rudy’s just coming up with new typos to make sure i come around at least once a week. it’s ridiculous. look at this.”

janus obligingly looks at a newspaper, grimacing at the blatant inconsistencies of the use or lack of an oxford comma scattered across the page.

“we use ap style,” logan says mournfully. “he knows about proper comma placement. i know he knows about proper comma placement.”

“well,” janus says, striving for something polite to say, only ending up with, “best of luck with that.”

logan sighs, tucking away the newspaper. “i will require it.”

he holds out his hand. janus shakes it. (he notices only during the drive home his absolute absence of any hesitation.)

“i’ll see you at school.”

“see you at school,” janus echoes.

it’s probably the absolute lack of tension that is serving to make janus feel strange. since the beginning of the school year, they’d been picking at each other over grades, and he’d been needling logan for so long, it feels odd to leave without some kind of academic repartee. 

and, well. who is he to break from tradition, after all.

the entire reason for this gathering being to forcibly break tradition aside.

so he adds, “i bet my score on our science exam is higher than yours.”

“it will not,” logan says, looking affronted. 

janus snorts, shaking his head and starting down the stairs, heading for his car. “whatever you say.”

“it won’t!”

“four point margin.”

“absolutely not! your score will be less than mine by two at most!”

“i’ll make it mine is six points above yours!” janus calls, sliding into the driver’s seat, and sees logan shaking his head and probably muttering to himself.

janus rolls his eyes, but his lip turns up at the corner a bit more than usual as he drives down a rinky-dink little residential street and is that an old couple walking a cat in a stroller?! who put drugs in this town’s water supply?!

⁂

“hey, over here!”

the jolly bell fixed to the top of the door of this (admittedly quite cool) coffeeshop has barely rung before poppy’s attention is called to a corner lit by a big, dramatic brass lamp, where two fat, squashy buttery leather armchairs are framed on either side by bookshelves containing a boggling number of books in seemingly every genre and cool little bits of artsy decor.

poppy waves to lauren, before she points to the bar in a wordless offer. lauren, in answer, holds up her own to-go cup, waving her on to order.

poppy loves coffee.

poppy isn’t allowed to drink coffee. 

well. decaf is fine. but the reason she isn’t allowed to drink caffeine “should be self-evident,” according to her mother. so this cuts down a bit on her café offerings.

the barista—who has the largest cup on offer in one hand, and his phone in the other—barely glances away from his phone to look at her over the frames of his sunglasses.

“what do you want?”

okay, blunt. poppy can appreciate blunt. 

“the honey lavender latte. decaf,” she tacks on.

“size?”

“large.”

“hot or iced?”

“iced.”

“anything else?”

poppy shakes her head, nods when he recites the order back to her, taps her card when asked, and shuffles off to the pickup area to get her coffee, taking a moment to look around.

all of the machinery is sleek, decorated in white and black, down to the framed wall art beneath the menu. the barista is talking on his phone, now, gesticulating grandly with his truly enormous cup of iced—tea, she’s pretty sure?—behind the espresso machine, even as he’s pulling a shot for her drink. it’s frankly an impressive display of multitasking. 

she looks around the room. there are other chilton people here, but not many, and most of them upperclassmen lingering in sideshire before they have to retreat back to the horrors of the workload of their junior and senior years. 

there are a few of sideshire townsfolk, too, most of them chattering in polite undertones, lounging on the couches are the same buttery brown leather of the armchairs. there are also a couple of modern black rocking chairs cushioned in white, also under a couple of those big, brass lamps, all so similar in style; it all looks right out of a period film’s library mashed together with a sleek, black-and-white modernist look. poppy’s burgeoning designer brain can appreciate the adherence to an aesthetic, and this place has it in spades.

the entire place is very… cool.

poppy isn’t very well-versed in how to handle cool. her peers have made this very clear to her.

she scoops up her order when called with a quick “thanks,” and scoots her way over to the other armchair.

“hey!” lauren says, immediately shifting her laptop so poppy can see. “i’m just getting the most likely stuff features onto a flashdrive—what d’you think on this one?”

poppy examines it. it’s a good shot, ana and janey talking, heads leaned in close, fan angled just so to shield what they’re saying from their seat neighbor, but not enough to obscure their faces. ana smirking in perfect profile, janey’s laugh covered in dramatic shadow. 

“that’s good,” poppy says, then, with much more honesty, “well, with a bit of color grading…”

lauren laughs ruefully. “yeah, i know. it’s juuuust cloudy enough to mess with my exposure settings with all the windows in there, let me tell you. i’ll chuck it into the folder of likely contenders and meet up with mel to whittle all the options down on monday. do you wanna help? if you don’t, i can just do it later. i’m procrastinating on an essay for mr. medina.”

mr. medina teaches sophomore and senior honors and ap english. poppy isn’t sure how she’ll handle it next year; he’s a fine enough teacher, sure, but he also doesn’t seem to be the sort to do things when poppy tells him to, like some other teachers at chilton. one compliment to mrs. caldicott, for example, and she’d probably eat out of the palm of poppy’s hand.

“sure, i can help sort photos,” poppy says, wondering if this is some kind of test. she doesn’t know lauren very well—should she just agree with everything she says? will lauren be the sort to get ruffled up if disagreed with, or would she think poppy a suck-up if she didn’t?

and photos, too! so prone to artistic disagreement. so prone to subjectivity! at least design tended to have some very classic rules. poppy knows less with photography; rule of thirds, and that was about it.

“cool, thanks—i don’t have many left, i don’t think, let me get it set up here…”

poppy takes a nervous sip of her beverage as lauren plugs her laptop in to charge, then angles the screen so they can both see it without too much glare. 

the drink is good. very good. just sweet enough with the honey, just floral enough with the lavender, but the drink isn’t too sweet nor too floral nor too bitter from the coffee; all the flavors work in perfect concert with each other. it’s the sort of good that makes poppy very happy she’s taken a risk and gotten a large, and she’s already mentally plotting an excuse to come see logan just so she can swing by this coffeeshop again. 

“okay!” lauren says brightly, enlarges the photo, and poppy can’t help but snort, then wince.

but—it’s, objectively, a bad photo. it’s an insanely blurry shot; it looks like lauren accidentally snapped a photo on its way into her camera bag, focused mostly on the ballet studio’s wooden floors.

“okay, yeah, immediate no,” lauren says, also laughing, which makes poppy’s shoulders relax, just a bit.

she also files the information away; lauren is, at least superficially, okay with laughing at herself. that’s useful intel.

there are very few other immediate nos in there; one where kai, lauren’s boyfriend (poppy thinks? she’s not up on the gossip. she has better ways to spend her time) has stolen lauren’s camera and attempted to take a selfie with it, missing most of his face and instead capturing a surprisingly steady photo of their own shoulder. there’s one where tristan dugray is obviously in the middle of sneezing. (her mother says that poppy ought to have a crush on a boy like tristan, who is objectively handsome, poppy can yield that, but he’s just… such a jackass.) 

a few others pass in that nature; people who turned at the last second, awkward blinking, action stills that aren’t very photogenic, but the one five photos after that are, that kind of thing.

but the rest of them are remarkably well-composed, featuring a mixture of chilton students, not just those who are popular. there’s a mix of dynamics, of expressions, of poses; even as poppy tries to peruse them with a critical eye, as she gathers that lauren does actually want to know her opinion, it’s obvious that lauren has a talent. 

she says as much as they wind down on the end of the photos, lauren detaching the memory card reader from her laptop and packing it away into a teeny tiny little case.

“aw, shucks,” lauren says, grinning, starting to dissemble her camera with swift, practiced motions, detaching the lens and reaching for a microfiber cloth. “i mean, i’ve been taking photos since i was a little kid, i’d hope some sort of talent would have rub off on me by now.”

“so you’ve always wanted to be a photographer?” poppy asks, immediately intrigued. 

lauren hesitates, pausing from polishing the lens.

“...um,” lauren says, and laughs a little bit, awkward, and poppy immediately know she’s overstepped. she doesn’t know how—this is a frequent occurrence—she just knows that she has.

“sorry,” poppy says hastily, knowing that this is typically the smoothest path to resolution.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lauren says, waving her hand. poppy watches the cloth flutter like a flag in the wind. “um—i dunno, it always just gets a bit… you know how chilton is.”

“they do tend to prioritize STEM careers,” poppy agrees hastily. this is a boon for her, considering she intends on going into medicinal research, but she can see how this might be a bit of a struggle for someone more artistically inclined.

“yeah,” lauren says. “um. it’s more… i don’t know what i want to do. actually.”

poppy freezes.

the idea is such anathema to her that it’s boggling her mind. poppy knows her life and who she’s going to grow up to be ever since she had a concept of herself. high school at chilton, college at harvard, then staying at harvard for med school, then making a career in cancer research. that’s it. path plotted.

“like,” lauren says, “at all. i mean, i like photography a lot! i really enjoy mel’s class. but do i like it enough to stake my entire college experience on it? to make a career in that? i really like to bake, too, but i don’t want to be a baker. same with chemistry. same with—everything. i don’t even know which colleges i’ll apply for yet.”

that’s insane. objectively, poppy thinks.

(it’s not.)

even if lauren wasn’t also a chilton student—who famously set their students rigorous exercises and standards for the collegiate application experience—she doesn’t even know where she wants to go?!

“like,” poppy echoes, lost for words. “...at all?”

“like at all,” lauren agrees miserably. “i’m seventeen, anyways! who the hell has their life figured out at seventeen?!”

she does not give poppy an opportunity to answer—probably good, because poppy would have said something like well, i’ve had it figured out since i was four—before she says “no one! no one does! why is society set up like this?!”

“...historical precedent,” poppy decides to say, because that feels safer than offering any emotional input.

“historical precedent is stupid,” lauren grumbles. “all i know i want to do is keep spending time with my boyfriend, take pictures, bake things to bring into class, and probably be editor in chief next year, because i really like the idea of spending more time with mel and molding the paper into the best it can be, not because i know for a fact that i want to be editor in chief someday and i want to put it on my resume.”

wow. poppy and lauren really are different.

“is that too much to ask?!”

“no,” poppy says because, objective wildness of not planning your future since you’ve had a concept of time aside, it isn’t  a lot to ask.

“thank you,” lauren sighs, flopping back into her armchair, then meets poppy’s eyes for the first time since she’s started this little tirade.

“oh, god, i’m sorry,” lauren says. “sorry. it’s just—my parents were getting on me about it right before we got here, they want me to buckle down, like, four years ago, and it’s… sorry. i shouldn’t have put all that on you.”

“no, it’s okay,” poppy says, once again relying on that old faithful of Societal Norms. 

“here i am, freaking out, and here you are, with—” lauren gestures vaguely. “a painstakingly organized agenda and a straightforward trajectory and a—a purpose. a future, a plan. i mean, cancer research, wow!”

it is pretty wow, but poppy thinks it’d be pretty insensitive to bring that up at the moment, as lauren is currently burying her face in her hands.

“i’m all—mess, and you’ve got everything figured out,” lauren finishes. 

“not everything,” flies out of poppy’s mouth before she can even consider a response.

lauren peeks through her fingers, arching an eyebrow.

“i know it sounds—silly,” poppy says, haltingly. “but—you’ve got things figured out that i definitely don’t. i mean—my mom would kill for me to have a boyfriend and do social things like you do.”

“your mom has her priorities a bit skewed.”

“i know that,” poppy tries not to snap, “but that’s—what it is. people like you, you get involved in things, and i can’t even figure out which stupid secret society to join because, even though i have all the family connections, neither of them really like me enough to invite me before now.”

welp. there it is.

poppy knows she’s an acquired taste; the trouble is, she’s never met anyone particularly patient enough to actually acquire it. dee has come close, she guesses, but he’s so hard to read that it’s genuinely difficult to tell, and even then, it’s because they’re “of a like mind,” according to him.

which—considering dee’s reputation within the chilton social stratosphere—is not particularly comforting.

“oh, poppy, that’s not—”

“i’m going to have to suck up to francie jarvis all year if i want to get into the puffs, she all but told me that outright,” poppy snaps. “help her with her homework, secure her a prime spot in the parking lot, organize her locker, scrunch up the plastic strands on her pom-poms to make them fluffy. i’d have to do everything except give her a manicure, if I had any talent with an orange stick.”

“but there’s the—”

“—clairs, i know, but no one’s even approached me about the clairs, even though i have cousins who graduated from both sororities! my family's name and reputation, not to mention my entire future, all depend on me getting into that group—”

“okay, first of all,” lauren says, “the entirety of your family’s name, reputation, and your incredibly bright future do not all depend on which clique you’re in in high school.”

“—my mother was a proud puff,” poppy continues as if she hasn’t spoken, because really, what a ridiculous notion that the world was not pinned on the minutiae of decisions you make in high school, “and my cousin maddie. the connections maddie made with the puffs got her an internship with the supreme court. but my father’s sister was a clair, and so was my cousin ruth. the connections ruth made with the clairs got her an incredible job managing celebrity pr, which sounds like hell to me but she’s thrilled as anything—”

“poppy—poppy!” lauren’s holding up her hands in supplication, and poppy promptly shuts her mouth.

did that guy behind the barista bar screw up and give her full caffeine?! she surreptitiously looks at the sharpie markings on her cup—no, marked off as decaf. hmph.

“okay,” lauren says, speaking in a soft, quiet tone, the way one might talk to an easily startled bunny or something of that nature. which is ridiculous, even if poppy’s shoulder’s relax a little at the sound of it. “first of all: i don’t know about the puffs, but clairs don’t recruit until the last month of your freshman year.”

poppy blinks.

“which wouldn’t be for a minute, for you,” she adds helpfully. “second, you could probably report francie for hazing—”

“it was mostly implied,” poppy mumbles.

“—still,” lauren says. “francie’s…”

poppy waits for lauren to finish that sentence, taking a sip of her drink.

“...francie,” lauren finishes delicately, as if unable to come up with any singular term that would do the work to encapsulate francie. “look. you’re smart, and driven, and you’d succeed in either sorority you wanted, or no sorority, even—”

poppy’s already shaking her head at that notion. 

“—but, hey, part of why i asked you to coffee is to tell you about the clairs,” lauren says, settling back in her armchair. 

“that would be great, thank you,” poppy says politely, trying to pack away their mutual spinouts into the distant past of thirty seconds ago, never to be thought of again. “maddie tells me all about the puffs, but ruth’s pretty quiet about the clairs. what are meetings like?”

“i mean, it’s kind of secret,” lauren says, warmly enough that it’s not entirely discounting the question, “but, i mean—you know how chilton tends to try to keep everything about the secret societies hush-hush and fails at it completely?”

poppy nods. there are ten secret societies worth cracking at chilton, and the puffs have been commonly regarded as number one for the last fifty years. a supreme court justice was once a puff. the ship to keeping secret societies hush-hush had sailed long ago for that reason alone.

“i can tell you the stuff i knew was in the public eye before i got initiated,” lauren says, “which—you probably know, but it’ll probably be good to clear up rumor-rumors from rumors based a little more in fact.”

also accurate. the jefferson has famously implied that the clairosophic society are the closest a modern girl could get to going into the woods and slaughtering chickens and drinking each other’s blood to enact witchcraft, like fabled salem witches of old.

the jefferson has also implied certain things about the puffs and their… well, poppy thinks its not too far of a stretch to mention the comparison to a cultish honeybee hive, complete absolute obeisance to their designated queen—highly likely to be francie for the next few years.

“this is different for every society—and for fraternities and sororities in college—but i can generally tell you that it’s not too different from a lot of club meetings. we have an agenda, we have questions and discussion, we do an occasional activity, we make a plan for what we’ll do between this meeting and the next one.”

vague, but poppy can appreciate mentions of agendas and plans. valuable intel. poppy is notoriously good with agendas and plans—she might be able to finagle this into a boon, regardless of which sorority she joins—

“usually, we talk about things going on at chilton, philanthropy events, any tweaks to the bylaws, social events that we’re all planning, voting for some of the more niche aspects of running a sorority… formal meetings are a lot of bureaucracy.”

poppy can do bureaucracy! poppy is great at bureaucracy!

wait.

“and… informal meetings?” poppy says.

“also a bit secret,” lauren says sheepishly. “more like… friend hangouts. don’t stress about it.”

hilarious. as if poppy has experience with informal hangouts. poppy will absolutely be stressing about it.

“you mentioned philanthropy?” poppy prompts, and lauren brightens.

“yes! we vote on a cause each year, and this year—for the past couple years, actually—we’re focusing our efforts on a children’s research hospital.”

poppy must visibly perk up at this, because lauren grins.

“i thought that might be up your alley.”

“what kind of things do you do?” poppy says, practically vibrating. depending on the puffs’ philanthropic efforts, this could absolutely tilt the scales—establishing connections at a hospital this early! poppy had previously planned on beginning to do volunteer work as soon as she was legally old enough to do some work of import at the hospital, but this was huge, this could advance her plans by years—

“a lot of fundraising—i need to pin down what i’m going to bake for a bake sale in two weeks, actually—helping out with their phone bank, some occasional office administration stuff, supporting their fundraising events. some girls—ana does it, i can give her your number if you have questions—help out in the playroom. ana’s there basically every weekend, she’s there probably the most of anyone. some of the girls on the cross-country and track teams are finagling the rest of them to join in the national 5k.”

poppy nods, absorbing this.

“we partner with a lot of their official events, mostly volunteering to do some of the grunt work. actually, wait, let me find a pamphlet for you from the hospital, i know i’ve got it here somewhere…”

lauren begins rummaging around in her backpack, and poppy takes a moment to drink her coffee and absorb this; a man in a cardigan opens a door that poppy had thought for staff only. the barista looks up, smiling for the first time that she’s seen, and passes the man a prepped to-go cup. the man in the cardigan beams, takes it, and uses his other hand to pull the barista in for a quick kiss.

poppy finds herself staring as the barista leans against the counter; they speak in quiet undertones, cautious not to let any of their words float to the rest of the café—poppy thinks she might be the only one watching, though. the locals don’t seem to care, as if this is a common enough occurrence, and the lingering chilton students are either deep in conversation with each other or scrolling on their phones or laptops with their airpods in.

what a town, where these people can kiss and no one even thinks to comment upon it.

poppy wonders if that’s what life is like outside of the mcmaster household. to be free of a world where every little thing is commented upon.

“here you go,” lauren says cheerfully, passing it over. “even if you don’t join the clairs, i hope you look into this. it’s a really great cause.”

“sure,” poppy says automatically, taking it and tucking it carefully into her bag, then, “do you really not care if i join the clairs or not?”

lauren blinks. “how do you mean?”

“like,” poppy says, gesturing vaguely. “this. this wasn’t some recruitment tactic?”

“oh!” lauren says. “i mean—not formally. i just invited you because…”

“because?” poppy prompts, eyes narrowing.

“because i really do think that we need to stick together,” lauren says. “both in terms of being journalism girls, sure, but also because i think women in general should stick together. i do want you in the clairs, but not because of the fact that you’re a mcmaster or i think you’re going to be really successful some day—which you will—but because i like you.”

poppy blinks. “you like me?”

“sure, i like you!” lauren says. “i think you’re really good at journalism and design. i like that you decided you wanted a feature and went after it. i like that you’re teaming up with logan and dee, even though dee’s kind of out there, because you recognize everyone’s talent, instead of only yours, which i think is way too common in a place like chilton. and i think you’re funny.”

poppy absorbs this for a moment. funny is not a word typically used to describe her. like is not a word typically used to describe her. she sets this aside—the words sure i like you! echoing in her mind nonetheless—and progresses.

“do you think i’d be a good clair?”

“i think you’d be a great member of any sorority,” lauren says. “but, yes—i think you’d be a great clair. you’re driven, you’re smart, you’re so focused on your own goals that i don’t think you’d care that any other clairs’ life path is a little unorthodox.”

“is that common?” poppy says, setting aside the errant thought that unorthodox might have been an invitation to pun. poppy does not pun, but enough people at her synagogue do that it feels near-instinctual to recognize the opportunity and let it float away. “unorthodox life paths, i mean.”

“very,” lauren says honestly. “i mean—my indecision aside. i know that a lot of us don’t fit the chilton mold. girls who are religious outside of christianity, girls who aren’t religious at all, girls who don’t want what society sets out for the path of a “good”—” here she uses air quotes, “chilton girl. like—liv is already setting up to be a professional bridesmaid starting in college, and that’s all she’s ever professed a desire to do, professionally speaking. bella’s thinking about going off the grid entirely and living off the land. soph leads ghost tours on the weekends with the intent of landing a rich eccentric to spouse up with. scarlet doesn’t want to go to college at all, she thinks chilton is scamming her parents.“

yes. those are certainly all off the path of approved post-chilton career paths, which mostly seem to split between “corporate,” “lawyer,” “doctor,” “professor,” or “otherwise professionally or academically outstanding so that we may brag upon our alumni.”

“yeah, you’d be a good clair.”

“oh,” poppy says. “that’s… good. but. i mean. do you think i’d… fit in, as a clair?”

“i think that’s the beauty of the clairs,” lauren says thoughtfully. “none of us fit in. but we manage to fit in with each other. if that makes any sense?”

it does, poppy thinks, stirring her drink with her straw, thinking of hattie, thinking of the barista, thinking of a future where she won’t have to bow to someone’s every whim, but one where she is instead offered mentorship and volunteer opportunities to further her future, without ulterior motive. 

“it really does.”

⁂

seline: ALERT.

francie: You know how much I hate it when you start a text message with a vague message instead of getting right to the point.

seline: right, sorry. 

francie: And learn punctuation.

seline: anyway i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café 

francie: Poppy McMaster? 

seline: she’s that really intense freshman right

francie: WAY too intense.

seline: and loud. and also i think she might be a robot, she never just. STOPS. ykwim

francie: She comes from a long line of us, though. 

seline: ugh. i hate nepotism.

francie: Rich of you to say. It makes the world go ‘round.

francie: Anway, I should care about this, beyond McMaster being insanely intense and coming from a long line of Puffs because…?

seline: right! so i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café 

francie: Get to a point, please.

seline: and she sat with lauren whatever her name is. seline: …and asking her a lot about the clairosophic society.

francie: What?! francie: But her family’s fully puffed!!!

seline: except her cousin.

francie: Who cares about her freaky cousin? A voluntary defector!!! There hasn’t been one in at least ten years, and even then, that was forgiven when she got suspended for troublemaking!!!

seline: maybe i heard her wrong, bc i was listening to that stupid video mr. gardiner keeps saying i should listen to to “improve my understanding of calculus,” but that’s what i think i heard her say.

francie: We absolutely cannot have this. 

⁂

“if katy fincher’s mom tries to butt in on coaching the cheer squad one more time, i’m going to scream,” sasha says, her face buried in her arms where they rest on the desk of their mutual english class. 

they currently have quiet time to work on their papers, which means everyone is talking in quiet voices and absolutely not working on their papers. most are instead online shopping on their laptops or texting other people on the sly.

“mood, retweet, same,” roman says, sticking a post-it in the latest poetry compendium he’s reading. he thinks logan will like this one, even if it is a bit more avant-garde that logan’s usual tastes.

“like, we get it, you were a cheerleader here fifty years ago or whatever, that doesn’t mean you get to just steamroller over our actual coach,” sasha continues, scowling. “it’s enough that she has somehow managed to nepotize katy into a flyer position, now she wants to choreograph routines to bring them back to how they were? no, thank you.”

“she wants to do what,” roman says, looking up from his poetry book. “since when?”

“i don’t even know, but joanna posner texted me that mrs. fincher has some suggestions for practice tomorrow, apparently.”

“the routines are great the way they are! we’re nearly done with the basketball season already, what’s the point of doing it now? is coach actually going to hear her out?”

sasha looks up just enough to shrug and give roman a look at her excellent cut-crease eyeshadow look today—all silvery sparkles and stark, dramatic gunmetal gray—before dropping her forehead back onto her arms. 

“this means she’s probably going to put herkies in it,” sasha whines. “i hate herkies.”

“i also hate herkies,” roman says. it’s true, it’s probably his least-favorite cheer-specific jump, which is something, because he usually loves leaps and jumps. it’s like someone ferociously messed up an attitude leap and decided to just rename it instead of facing up to the fact that they did it wrong.

“if any parent should come in to choreograph a new routine, it’s your mom,” sasha says, rolling so her cheek is resting on her arms now, not her forehead. “your mom rules at teaching routines.”

roman smiles. it’s true. his mom does rule at teaching and also at everything else.

“it was really cool to see her teach and stuff last weekend,” sasha continues. “it makes me wish i actually went to a studio to do ballet instead of trying to teach myself from barbie movies.”

“barbie’s nutcracker and twelve dancing princesses are an integral part of my ballet dancer lore,” roman says, “but yeah, she’s the best. and you did, in fact, miss out on the best dance teacher of all time.”

“not that you’re biased.”

“of course not,” roman agrees, amused. “i’m the least biased in the world.”

the bell rings; there’s a great scraping of chairs and desks as everyone gets up to go to lunch, their teacher calling out reminders on the deadline for the paper maybe two of them were actually working on.

roman tucks his book into his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and asks, “sit with me?”

“sure,” sasha says, and so they set off for the cafeteria, briefly interrupted by a conversation with brick davis about if either of them know anything about arranging carpool arrangements—they don’t, but roman gives brick logan’s phone number because he probably will know—before they find a decent table away from the herd of people who probably sprinted here to get to the microwaves first.

elliott finds them all not long after that, sitting down beside sasha.

“hi,” they say, before peeking curiously at the contents of sasha’s lunchbox. “that looks really good.”

“thanks!” sasha says brightly, already drizzling tzatziki over the innards of her wrap. “i’d heat it up if the lines weren’t so bad today, but souvlaki’s okay cold. even if might be blasphemous to my ancestors, whatever, they never had to deal with microwave lines.”

elliott sighs a little, glumly removing a ziplock bag with what looks like a very sad sandwich inside. they examine it for a minute.

“erm,” roman says, briefly glancing up from his chicken caesar salad. “what is that?”

“i… am not really sure,” elliott says. they open it, sniff a little, and hastily reseal it, but not before the scent of heavy mayonnaise reaches roman. “and i am not entirely sure i trust that this is vegetarian, so. what’s on the hot lunch menu today?”

“umm, i think it’s spaghetti? but don’t quote me on that.” sasha adds hastily.

“sold,” elliott says immediately, scooping up their sad, mayo-infused sandwich to dump in the nearest trash can. “be right back.”

sasha, likely reveling in the fact that one of her dad’s favorite hobbies is remaking and gently tweaking family recipes until they match his elusive childhood memories of summers spent in katerini, looks on sympathetically as elliott shuffles their way in line.

“i’d bring them a spare lunch if they ever asked,” she says with a shake of her head. “i think this is the third time in two weeks that elliott’s had to buy a hot lunch because they weren’t sure if their mom remembered to pack something vegetarian.”

“ditto,” roman says, unsuccessfully attempting to spear a crouton. “my mom’s pretty good about meal prep, and even then, i live, like, right next door to virgil. he’d pack them a lunch without a doubt.”

“it’s like they don’t know they’ve got prime food access just by virtue of us,” sasha says.

“we should hint that to them. delicately.”

“for sure,” sasha agrees. “if it’s not mayo, it’s ham. if it’s not ham, it’s, like, really sad pb&js that are half-smushed inside a ziploc bag.”

“you’d think it would get better once chad graduated,” he says, then, “right, right, you’re new. chad is elliott’s older brother.”

“mm,” sasha says, nose wrinkling. “is he, like, a nice chad, or—”

“no. quintessential chad. whatever you’re picturing, you’ve probably got it.”

sasha’s nose wrinkles further, and she and roman distract themselves with eating as much of their lunches as they can until elliott comes back. 

lunch breaks aren’t exactly leisurely at sideshire high. ergo, the sprint to form lines at the microwave; the faster it’s warm, the faster you can eat, the faster you can get to talking to your friends, or visiting your favorite teacher, or stopping by your locker, or what have you.

roman’s pretty sure they aren’t leisurely at chilton, either, but roman bets the students there are a bit less social and a bit more studious with their spare time during lunch breaks.

after a few minutes, elliott drops down at their table and they, too, promptly begin inhaling their spaghetti with marinara sauce and garlic bread on the side.

“we ran into brick earlier, do you know anything about carpooling to the debutante ball?” sasha asks elliott.

they shake their head and make noise of denial. 

“that’s a good idea, though,” they mumble.

“yeah, someone should get on that,” sasha says, then, “wait, duh, i know a quick way to get an answer on this.”

she pulls out her phone and sends a text; roman sees his phone screen light up from where he has it stashed in a backpack pocket, in the sideshire debutantes group chat.

“oh, obviously,” roman says. “why didn’t i think of that?”

“just say your brain’s fried from whatever amount of planning happened this weekend, we’d forgive you,” sasha advises. “it was a really big production, does your mom do that kind of thing a lot?”

“well, she hosts a lot of town meetings,” roman muses. “and, i mean, we teach a lot of classes, but—nothing like that.”

“no, this is a pretty unique situation,” elliott says between bites. “your mom’s still really scary, by the way, it did not get better just because i took a class with her like you said it would.”

“i know, isn’t she the best?” roman beams.

elliott makes a nervous mmmmm sound as sasha says “yes absolutely she is.”

“like, hey, look,” roman says, displaying his salad. “i said i was craving caesar, and look! caesar. with plenty to spare, if anyone ever asked me to bring any spare food to anywhere for any reason, plus, like, really close access to the best restaurant in town.”

“subtle,” sasha mouths at him, and roman just shrugs. 

hey, he can be a lot of things—dramatic, ostentatious, confident—and none of those are exactly synonyms for subtle.

“yeah, speaking of virgil,” elliott says, digging out their phone. “look at my suit! dress? suit-dress?”

“swess,” sasha says, leaning over to peer at elliott’s phone screen.

“druit,” roman says, doing the same.

it looks, frankly, really cool; half perfect tux, half old-fashioned, regency-esque white dress. 

“elliott, that’s gonna look so good,” sasha gushes happily. 

roman says, delighted, “wow, elliott, it turned out great, i can’t wait to see it in person!”

“thanks,” elliott says, ducking their head. “i’m, um, i’m really happy with it, actually. i was really nervous.”

“what are you gonna do with shoes and stuff?” sasha says curiously. “oh, i could totally help you do a half-and-half look, just say the word!”

“would you really?” elliott says, looking surprised. “thanks, sasha, that would be really—really great, actually. i mostly just,” and gestures to their dark eyeshadow. “y’know. not exactly intricate stuff.”

sasha squeals happily, clapping her hands.

“i love having models to do makeup on!” she says. “my sisters are getting so tired of me bursting into their rooms when they’re trying to do homework, let me tell you. ooh, ellie, this is gonna be great! we should probably carpool then, right, if i’m your makeup artist?”

“sure!” elliott says. “we can text other people to see if there’s room in the car, or if you’ve got yours, or—” 

“totally,” sasha says. “sorry, can i just take a picture of your face, real quick? i want to make sure i have a reference for foundation matching.”

“um, sure?” elliott says, and they try their best to offer a neutral expression to the camera.

quickly afterward, not even leaning over to peek at the picture sasha got, elliott turns to roman. “how about you? i don’t think i’ve seen your dress.”

roman grins. “it’s a surprise, darlings.”

“aw, not even one hint?” sasha teases.

roman, faux-thoughtfully, taps his finger against his chin.

“well,” he says with a smile at elliott, “you won’t be the only one doing an avant-garde makeup look, how about that?”

“oh, nice,” elliott says. “i mean—not that you won’t do a great job, sasha, it’s just also nice to know i won’t be the only one.”

“i don’t think you were ever going to be the only one,” sasha says cheerfully. “it’s a ton of people smashing gender norms, interesting fashion and makeup kind of goes hand-in-hand with all of that.”

“interesting fashion seems like a theme with those chilton kids for sure,” elliott says. “i mean, wasn’t that friend of logan’s wearing a cape?”

roman scowls, more out of instinct than anything.

“uh-oh,” sasha says. “we don’t like logan’s friend? what’s their name?”

“dee,” roman grumbles, “and no, we do not like him. he’s competing with logan too hard for valedictorian, which should be logan’s in any sane world, he lied to me for the sake of his own amusement, he pokes his nose in everyone’s business, he—”

“okay, we don’t like him,” sasha says, cutting him off. “got it.”

elliott makes another mm noise.

“what?” roman says, lowering his fork.

elliott jerks their shoulders up and down in a shrug.

“no, really, what?” 

“wellll,” elliott says, drawing out the word, dragging their fork through the pasta. “does he… really suck?”

“yes, he sucks,” roman says fervently. “he, for sure, really, absolutely sucks.”

“do i detect jealousy?” sasha says, a hint of intrigue on her voice.

“you absolutely do not,” roman says fervently. “no. no way. i am not jealous of that—that jason vorhees wannabe!”

elliott’s head tilts, and their mouth pulls to one side.

“what was that face?” roman says. “i’m not!”

“weeeeellllll,” elliott says in a high-pitched voice.

“oh, go on, elliott, you know i’m new,” sasha urges. “you know all this history, i’m at a disadvantage.”

elliott shrugs, lifting a noodle on their fork, letting it drop back down into the tray. “i mean, you and logan have practically been together since kindergarten.”

“not true,” roman mutters petulantly. “if we had been together that long, i could have saved myself a lot of longing staring and yearning angst throughout the years.” 

“not necessarily romantically,” elliott adds to sasha, as if roman isn’t even there. “just, like. it was always roman-and-logan, logan-and-roman, you know?”

they say it very quickly, like they’re used to saying their names as all one word; romanandlogan, loganandroman. roman fights the urge to be sappy about that.

“if one was there, the other wasn’t far behind. they’ve always been,” elliott says, and twines their fingers together, using the gesture to finish their sentence. 

“ohhh,” sasha says, in a great gusting sigh of realization. “i see. logan moved, met this guy, and now this is a whole another person might be becoming important to the person who’s important to me thing.”

“it is not that thing, okay, first of all,” roman says, “he’s evil.”

“evil?!” sasha says, on the edge of a laugh. “he’s a prep wearing a cape, roman, i don’t know if it’s that serious.”

“it is that serious,” roman says vehemently, “he manipulated someone into punching logan, so—!”

“wait, what?” elliott says, and so roman has to catch them all up on the dastardy of dee slange.

this takes the rest of lunch break; they split off for their respective lockers and afternoon classes, roman slightly vindicated by the looks on their faces as they realize that dee slange is heinous.

“but if he did all that—” sasha begins, then breaks it off, her brow furrowing.

“what?” roman says, distracted by the sound of their class bell, putting his phone back into the perfectly sized pocket of his backpack.

elliott and sasha exchange another look.

“well,” sasha says. “i guess i don’t know him as well as either of you do, but… logan seems like a really smart guy. if dee really did all of that—then why is logan bothering to hang out with him?”

roman sets his jaw, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“that’s what i can’t figure out, either,” roman says, and he goes on his way to his next class before either of them can start brainstorming and come up answers that make dee even more abominable than he already is..

or, even worse—

answers that will make roman start to consider dee as logan’s misunderstood confidante.

⁂

“uh-huh. well, that’s good, at least.”

patton makes eye contact with virgil and nods as virgil speaks into the landline; virgil nods back with a little distracted smile on his face as he continues listening intently on the phone. patton contents himself with attempting to guess who’s on the phone based on the half of the conversation he’s walked into the middle of. 

“yeah, it’s all going pretty well, we had a big get-together with a lot of the kids so they all know how it’s gonna go down… probably, yeah, i’m up to my armpits in tulle, but i think i’ve gotten all the last of the last-minute folks in, so i can at least narrow it down…”

okay, someone who is interested in how the debutante ball is going, which means not someone with a strict business relationship based mostly on virgil ordering ingredients and supplies.

“...bit longer, but shouldn’t be much. you know how things get with the seasons, i’ve got a bit more downtime here and there…”

hm. virgil’s tone makes it almost like he’s talking to his mom, which would fit, except virgil’s probably talked to meredith recently enough that she’d know about the timeline, and someone else who knows about how restaurant levels vary. which leaves…

“okay. yeah, see you soon… i will, i will, he’d probably like that… thanks. bye.”

virgil hangs up the landline; if there’s one thing about landlines patton misses, it’s probably that sense of concrete finality that comes from hanging up a phone. smartphones just mean pressing a screen. no theatricality of clicking buttons, no twirling the line around a finger.

lot more convenient to carry, though. and little smartphone games! patton loves little smartphone games.

“bud or maisie?” patton asks, as virgil, smiling, leans forward, elbows on the counter. “i’m guessing maisie.”

“maisie.”

“ha! i got it!” patton crows, before leaning forward; virgil, who he is maybe in the midst of accidentally pavlov’ing, leans the rest of the way to give patton a little greeting kiss.

“maisie wants me to bring my handsome young man back over pretty soon,” virgil says. 

patton grins. he likes bud and maisie quite a bit; he’s pretty pleased that they like him back.

“she and bud say hello.”

“well, i say hello back,” patton declares, despite the fact that virgil would probably have to call them back to pass on this news. it’s in the spirit of the thing. 

“how was work?”

“oh, same old, same old,” patton says vaguely, “except i think one of the kid guests is trying to smuggle one of our squirrels into the hotel so they can smuggle it back home in their luggage.”

virgil considers this. “i don’t know what to do with that.”

“yeah, me either,” patton agrees. “logan never really got into the let’s adopt this animal phase beyond, like, frogs.” 

“ah, i remember reptile phase,” virgil says. “made it a lot easier that you lived by their natural habitat, though. i don’t think this girl can do that unless she convinces her parents to move here.”

“i don’t blame her, though. we’ve got a pretty good squirrel population. very fuzzy, very fat, very prone to posing for pictures.” 

“true,” virgil says. “we have very handsome squirrels here. good representatives to stick on a wildlife brochure. i don’t know how taylor is behind this, but i think taylor is behind this.”

“you and logan think taylor’s behind everything.”

“he is, but continue.”

“well—i don’t think tipping off the parents that their child is planning to abduct the local wildlife is really in my job description, considering she’s been pretty vocal about our squirrels, but i told the landscapers to keep an eye out for it.”

“probably for the best,” virgil agrees. 

“speaking of photogenic,” patton says, and he waggles his eyebrows. “do you have your fancy black tail outfit all sorted out?”

virgil groans—half joke, half real disdain for the stuffy uncomfortableness of it all—and rests his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “do i have to?”

“probably not,” patton says, practical, “considering all the kids are flouting dress codes anyway.”

virgil freezes.

patton grins. “did i just now bring that to your attention?” this strikes patton as particularly ironic, considering virgil’s outfit today; a dark, silky purple button-down tucked into a breezy black maxi skirt, his eyes rimmed with black and his lips painted with burgundy to match.

virgil drops his forehead onto his arms, whining “i could have just not bought a fancy suit?!” into the counter.

“aw, poor virgil,” patton says, running his fingers through his impressively silky hair, then, “...how fancy?”

“very!” virgil grumbles, not moving. “i bought a tailored coat with and without tails because i couldn’t remember which i needed, patton! i have two fancy suit coats i don’t need now!”

“how many fancy suit coats did you have before?” patton says, curious; he thinks he’s only ever seen virgil in suits at weddings, exclusively. photographs of virgil’s siblings’ weddings—patton only ever attended one of the three, though wyatt’s triad is rapidly approaching common law marriage length of relationship had their home state allowed such—and weddings of the general townsfolk, who frequently invite him to fancy events like that since virgil’s the face and name of a town staple and all.

“one!” virgil wails. “i’ve tripled my fancy suit coat collection! how often am i going to be wearing fancy suits?!”

“well—”

“the dry cleaning is a nightmare, patton. i never remember to drop things off at dry cleaning, and then i never remember to pick them up.”

“that i know,” patton says, amused, carding his fingers this way and that through virgil’s hair. “i’m surprised you only had one suit.”

“you have to do business-y things more than me,” virgil says.

“that’s true,” patton says. in addition to weddings—the inn being a popular venue, and patton also being part of a town staple—patton also has much more frequent meetings, bank conferences, the occasional conference for inn owners that maria usually enthuses about, and general tasks that he has to do for his business degree (so close to finishing! patton really does not enjoy studying macro or microeconomics!)

virgil, on the other hand, usually only has bank meetings on the roster. suits in a diner kitchen kind of seemed like a nightmare waiting to happen.

“besides, you’ve got some fancy events coming up other than this, it’ll be nice to have spares,” patton points out—the boys’ graduation within the next couple of years, a fancy dinner or party that patton’s certain his parents will take them both to at one point or another, not to mention the Big Deal Life Events of virgil’s many nieces and nephews. 

just off the top of his head, patton’s pretty sure both wes and mikey are approaching graduation from middle school, and little baby red has had murmurs of a formal christening (primarily moira’s side of the family; silas has never struck patton as particularly religious).

patton mentions this, and virgil only sighs.

“are we done sulking?” patton says, a little amused. “can i see that handsome face, partner of mine?”

“dunno,” virgil mumbles into his arms. “the scratching feels really nice. i could stay here all day.”

patton laughs, scratches a little firmer for emphasis, and says, “we could at least take this to a couch so that you can nod off while i’m doing this, i know you’ve been staying up late with dress alterations lately.”

virgil lets out a sigh of longing, which makes patton giggle, but virgil stands upright.

“there he is,” patton coos, and virgil ducks his head—not quite blushing, but certainly smiling in that shy, bashful way patton loves.

“do you have a suit?”

“oh, my mom referred me to a tailor way back when we first got the dress,” patton says with a little laugh. “i just have to pick it up.”

“probably should have guessed that,” virgil says. “of course your mom would have a tailor on speed dial.”

a tailor. with the way that his mother has her exacting specifications for anything and everything, but especially shopping and appearances in general, coupled with her tendency to immediately fire anyone who displeases her? virgil’s adorable.

“at least i only had to get the cummerbund and coat,” patton reasons, and virgil lets out a great big gust of air.

“can we revisit that whole i lay down on the couch while you scratch through my hair idea?” virgil says. “i’ll bring dinner and the hair. you’ve got couch and the hands.”

“well, how could anyone refuse that offer? it’s a date.” patton beams, and virgil leans over, pressing an imprint of burgundy lipstick into patton’s lips.

patton refuses to wipe it off.

⁂

From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

To: poppymcmaster@chilton.edu

Subject: Design edits for debutante spread

I appreciate your very prompt response in getting your designs on the flashdrive and down to the journalism lab! I’ve have a few minor edits notated on the PDF attached—mostly to switch from HEX to RGB color codes and adjustments to the margin width to best fit printing standards. 

Very well done on the infographic design work—especially for a freshman! I think you may be able to progress to a more advanced course under my tutelage in your sophomore year, considering I anticipate you won’t need much help figuring out Adobe programs. I might need to ask you for pointers!

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

  From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

To: dslange@chilton.edu

Subject: Story edits for debutante spread

I’ve attached the story edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. Very compelling throughline—I would like the transcripts of your interviews as soon as you can get them to me, so that we can work on ensuring it’s fact- and quality-checked before it goes to print. I appreciate your work—I’m unsure if your future goals involve journalism, but I think you have a very bright future in storycraft regardless, no matter which form it takes.

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

  From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

To: logansanders@chilton.edu

Subject: Column edits for debutante spread

From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

I’ve attached the column edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. They’re mostly line edits, though I wonder if you can fit in a graph about your or Dee’s personal connections to this project, to give the story a personalized “human” element. I appreciate the citation section of the report—very thorough!—and, barring the transcript, can tell you that your work’s fact- and quality-checking is about finished. Is this how things are done at the Courant? I must commend whichever editor has instilled this habit within you, as it’s saved a great deal of time. 

Lauren’s told me some about the things she’s seen as she’s been photographer of the project, and her review of the way yourself and Dee work together has been glowing. I’ll admit I was a little hesitant about the prospect of the pair of you teaming up, given the debacle last semester, but I’m pleased to see such talented minds find common ground. 

I hope to see more works that you accomplish together, in whatever capacity (though I certainly would appreciate if they were for the Franklin!)

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

  From: laurenpatrikis@chilton.edu

To: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu; logansanders@chilton.edu; dslange@chilton.edu; poppymcmaster@chilton.edu

Subject: Re: Debutante Spread

Hi all! 

Attached is a rough draft of Poppy’s design layout with the pictures Kram and I picked included. Comments and notes appreciated. I wanted to thank you three again for having me tag along—really fun photography opportunity AND a really interesting story for the paper! Definitely sign me up if you’ve got any more ideas.

—Lauren

  To: logansanders@chilton.edu; dslange@chilton.edu; poppymcmaster@chilton.edu; laurenpatrikis@chilton.edu

Subject: Potential meeting for spread tweaks

I think all the individual aspects of what the spread is so far are very promising. Would the four of you be free to meet before or after school in the coming week so that we can coordinate on reviewing final edits and the plan to cover the event itself?

Please let me know what works best on timing. Color me impressed by what you all have put together so far! The Franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with all of you taking turns manning the helm.

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

⁂

the day starts off simply enough: wake up, brush his teeth and comb his hair, get dressed, go to the diner with dad and virgil, get ahead on some of his daily readings on the bus, walk to his locker to swap out some of his heavy textbooks to the other, then swing by mel’s desk to see if there’s anything else needed for their spread.

at least, he intends to swing by mel’s desk.

instead, logan enters the lab hallway to chaos.

it does not seem to be an exaggeration to state such a thing. francie, of puff fame, nearly knocks him off the stairs at the speed at which she’s storming past him; as he’s rounding the corner on the landing, someone is hastily shoving a copy of the jefferson into his chest then continuing their run to the nearest person with an empty hand; as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, hattie has an arm around summer, also of puff fame, murmuring to her in soft, comforting tones as she cries loudly into hattie’s shoulder.

in the midst of the lab hallway that logan was originally intending to traverse to swing by mel’s desk. there is a crowd the likes of which logan only sees at pep rallies or mandatory assemblies, many of them clutching matching copies of the jefferson, many of them elbowing each other and craning their necks to try and get a look at what lies within the great crush of people.

logan, despite his better judgment, cannot resist his own curiosity; he does not keep walking and ignoring it all. instead, he lingers, because he’s fairly certain nothing will get done in the journalism lab; the crowd’s chatter is slightly subdued, but that is because, logan thinks, in the middle of it all, there is a great deal of yelling.

“—oh, now he’s a CAVEMAN! What were you planning to do, knock me on the back of a head with a club then drag me back to your porsche—?!”

“—BROKEN UP, do you hear me—?!”

“NEVER—in all my years as headmaster—!”

logan blinks, startled, then shuffles vaguely, integrating himself into the great cloud of his navy-plaid-and-gray clad peers, so he can get some impression of what’s going on, then—

“shame,” janus says in a casual, flat tone, appearing suddenly at logan’s side as though summoned by logan’s sheer confusion. logan refuses to jump or startle.

“what is—?”

but then, as the trio shuffles forward, a parting in the crowd, and—

there’s a car.

there’s a car. blue. a honda accord, if he isn’t mistaken. sensible. reliable.

one he’s usually accustomed to seeing in the parking lot, not in the middle of the lab hallway.

in the basement of the school. granted, logan doesn’t know much about cars, but he is 100% certain that the doorways are not wide enough to allow this, let alone the presence of stairs. 

logan turns to janus. “how—?”

“why do you assume i know?” janus scoffs, adjusting his cape. logan still isn’t certain how he isn’t getting daily uniform infringements; logan finds himself touching the knot of his own tie, just to ensure he’s in dress code.

“you’ve been here longer than i have, i just got here,” logan points out. “wait—doesn’t the jefferson usually publish on mondays…?”

“both true,” janus says, then, “shh, charleston might go full thermobaric. he’s been due to blow his top for ages.”

logan barely even has time to mentally recall the meaning of thermobaric—containing a charge of fuel designed to ignite and combine with oxygen present in the atmosphere to produce a prolonged explosion—before charleston resumes his rant.

“—that is IT, that’s IT! I’VE HAD IT! RIGHT TO MY OFFICE, YOU THREE, AND YOU’D BETTER PRAY THAT YOUR PARENTS ARRIVE WITH SUFFICIENT EXPLANATIONS TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING EXPELLED!”

a gasp doesn’t quite suffuse its way through the crowd, but certainly a few of the more excitable members of the student population do, and—

“OUT OF MY WAY!”

a column of students shuffles awkwardly to part the navy sea, lest they get bowled over by the headmaster (and likely given a detention for it, given the foul mood he’s in), and logan beholds

ah. unsurprising.

of course it’s tristan, duncan, and bowman at the scene of the crime.

“and that’s military school for dugray,” janus murmurs into his ear. not quietly enough; tristan’s eyes dart right to janus, glaring, clearly about to say something before charleston’s “MOVE!” gets him into motion.

“military school?” logan repeats. 

“oh, sure,” janus says. “ever since the three of them got caught breaking into a locked safe of bowman senior’s, mr. dugray’s been dying for any excuse. i guess he wanted to go out with a bang.”

janus’ comment is caught by the crowd, but not by many. logan isn’t unique, it seems, for turning to the nearest familiar face to discuss the whole affair. logan hears words like cheater and plagiarism and the jefferson said flying around like a murmuration of starlings, the allegations shifting and shape-changing as easily as any flock.

logan is almost certain that, with the proliferation of gossip, the involvement of the jefferson, and the sheer number of witnesses that the number of new rumors that will crop up over the course of the school week will be dizzying in both number and any lack of logic.

mel clears her throat, loudly, from where she’s located at the end of the hallway.

“all right, everyone, show’s over!” she declares. “get to your first period, the bell’s going to ring in five minutes.”

the crowd, very slowly, begins to disperse, breaking off into duos and trios, all of them with their heads bent together, all of them talking very intently. 

well-timed, logan supposes, for this meltdown to happen on the same day that the national honors society meets before school; well-timed for charleston to catch word right as the flood of early birds (most of the chilton population) were sure to hear the fallout and come along to see the fuss themselves; well-timed that this all imploded the day that tristan and his posse decided to do something stupid.

yes, logan thinks, his eyes drifting to where janus is standing, staring, at the crying girl and the one comforting her. hattie glances up from where she’s smoothing back summer’s hair, as if feeling janus’ stare.

it’s all very well-timed indeed.

hattie and janus lock eyes. 

for a moment, just a moment, but logan can’t help but think—

perhaps, there’s something more than a last-minute debutante escort assignment there.

and then hattie is earnestly making a case to mel, asking for a late pass so she can escort summer to the nurse—”she can’t pay attention to class in this condition, doctor kramschissel, look at her—” and the moment almost fades.

almost.

even as he awkwardly tells mel that he’ll come back at study hall, rushes to his locker, stuffing his copy of the jefferson inside for later perusal, and makes it to his desk just in the nick of time, logan can’t quite shake the feeling that there was a bit more happening than an extremely ostentatious prank carried out with no thought to consequences.

(deep into the witching hour, janus drums his fingers idly against his desk, eyes roving over the password-protected folder hidden in the depths of his laptop, scrolling through a list of transgressions with a deeply bored expression on his face, drag-and-dropping attachments. he examines the note again, written in hattie’s elegant, sloping script.)

(“way past time i did this,” janus mutters, and resumes narrowing down his list of infractions to the most infuriating offenders, dropping each into folders labeled for summer, beth, jessica, kate, claire, kathy, mary, mr. dugray, mr. charleston, mrs. fischer, olivia who is “rumored” to be the current editor of the jefferson, and, just for the hell of it, tristan’s grandfather’s business email, scheduling them all to send should his plan a fail.)

(it does not fail. it’s embarrassingly easy to plant plots into bowman and duncan’s thick skulls.)

(janus sends a number of them from various burner accounts anyway, aided by a world-class vpn and a lack of presence in the hallways at school as he slips forgeries into their lockers, knowing that either bowman or duncan would be eager to claim credit for chaos.)

⁂

hattie: Splashy.

Dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you mean.

hattie: I guess I don’t either. hattie: It’s good that Summer found out in cold, hard proof. hattie: Even if she maybe hasn’t been iron-clad in monogamy either.

dee: scandal!

hattie: Maybe. hattie: Old news now, anyway. hattie: You might tell your new freshie friend that she’s about to have a redhead hot on her tail.

dee: oh?

hattie: Tradition. You know how it gets.

dee: that i do.

hattie: Do you have a ride to the ball? Mother’s insisting I get there early to stake out the best spot in the dressing room.

dee: yes, that’s handled. do they know?

hattie: My parents? They know some. I already had a formal debut last year, I think they’re just pleased I’m not pulling a Libby Dotie.

dee: debut number five this year, isn’t it?

hattie: Poor thing went right after Pukey last time. Shame that Eileen couldn’t hold her booze.

dee: a real shame indeed. midori sour is a real choice for her first blackout.

hattie: Her chances of living that down are absolutely nonexistent.

dee: you can say that again

hattie: Any chance you’ll send me some of that interesting info that didn’t make the cut for some fun reading right before the escorting…? Since we’re talking about nonexistent.

dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you’re implying about nonexistence dee: how IS dear “beau” anyway?

hattie: See you thereeee

⁂

“oh, wow!”

“i guess they paid a mechanic to do it,” logan says, “which makes a great deal of sense—none of them strike me as the sort to gain any sort of practical knowledge.”

“yeah, i’d bet,” patton says, then, shaking his head, “wow. never in all my days at chilton did someone pull a prank that elaborate. so—did it ever come out what the punishment is?!”

“tristan’s dad pulled him out of school and put him into military school, effective immediately.”

“wow.”

“—i think duncan and bowman got away with suspension, which makes sense. they’re not exactly mastermind sorts. if you passed by charleston’s office at any point that morning, though, you could definitely hear a lot of parental yelling, so i’m sure that it’ll be an extended punishment. maybe another entry for military school—apparently the three of them already broke into a safe of mr. bowman’s, so he was very loudly angry.”

“gosh, i couldn’t imagine,” patton tsks, shaking his head. he glances to make sure no one is waiting on them at this stop sign—they aren’t—and reaches over to squeeze logan’s arm. “have i told you how lucky i am to have you as a kid lately?”

“yes,” logan mutters. 

“well, i am,” patton says, pressing on the gas pedal and trundling along. “never has the thought of military school ever had to cross my mind. at least i know that whenever you get up to trouble, it’s good trouble that i can be proud of, like this deal with helping out dee—”

“dad,” logan complains, looking quietly, shyly pleased nonetheless.

“oh, wait!” patton realizes, half-turning to look at him. “all three of them were in the debutante deal, are they—?”

“all kicked out,” logan says firmly. “if not by the society, then probably by their parents, and definitely by dee and i. we’re hunting for last-minute debutantes for some of the escorts—we’re going to have to see how that goes, or maybe just scrap their involvement.”

“it’s a shame that three of the girls won’t be able to join in because their classmates were knuckleheads,” patton says, then, quickly, “don’t tell anyone i called them that.”

“knuckleheads?” logan says, arching an eyebrow. “i think we’re safe from any scandal there. there are several demonstrably worse things you could have said—they’d know, they probably got a lot of them screamed at them from a combination of parents, teachers, and girls tristan has apparently wronged.”

“still,” patton says, as he pulls into the driveway of the elder sanders’ manor. “gosh. poor mr. mccaffey.”

“he’s taken next week for vacation, dee says.”

“he deserves to—his car just got stolen, practically!—grandma might ask you about it, she’s bridge buddies with bitty charleston.”

“i’m sure it was the cause of a great deal of conversation,” logan agrees, unbuckling his seatbelt. “it certainly has been for the student body.”

“a car,” patton repeats. “how long did it take them to, y’know—?”

patton mimes unscrewing a bolt in the air.

“parts of it are still there.”

patton stifles his laughter as they approach the front door and knock. 

the first words out of his mother’s mouth are “you simply must tell me this business about the car, logan!”

“told you,” patton says in an undertone, then, “hi, mom, it’s great to see you too!”

“oh, hush,” emily says dismissively, stepping aside and waving them in. “you’ve had three days to hear all the sordid details secondhand.”

“firsthand,” logan says quietly.

“what was that?” emily says, already leading them to the drink cart.

“firsthand,” logan says, slightly louder. “i missed the beginning of it, but i was there.”

“oh, excellent,” emily says gleefully, then, “richard, put down the paper, logan’s here and he saw the car!”

“what car?” richard says mildly, folding down a corner of the paper, then, “ah, logan, patton! wonderful to see you, won’t you sit?”

“hi, dad,” patton says, settling onto his usual spot on the couch. “how was frankfurt? any sightseeing?”

“i stayed in a conference room a mile from the airport the whole time,” richard says ruefully. “i could have been in new york or shanghai, and i wouldn't have known the difference.”

“wine, soda,” emily says, pushing a glass into patton’s hands (“oh!”) and then logan’s with a sort of fervor typically reserved for new collections from her favorite fashion designers, rushing to sit at her typical place and eagerly smoothing her skirt over her knees. 

she leans forward, eyes bright with gossip she could use to lord over fellow chilton grandmothers. “now, logan, tell me everything, bitty was being quite coy with the details.”

“what details?” richard says, and emily scoffs.

“oh, richard, i told you this earlier! the situation with bertram’s boy—?”

“oh—a transfer to military school in north carolina, wasn’t it?” richard says with a general air of puzzlement.

“men,” emily tuts. “none of you remember the most pressing details. that trait’s certainly skipped a couple generations for our resident journalist—from the beginning now, logan, if you please.”

logan’s straightened up slightly at the mention of our resident journalist, and he clears his throat.

“i missed the beginning, of course,” he says, “though i’d imagine everyone except for bowman, duncan, tristan, and the mechanic they’d hired did too, considering they did most of it under the cover of night…”

even if patton didn’t have the general sense of this logan’s entire life since he’d learn to read and write, he reflects, it’s always wonderful to receive a reminder that logan was, first and foremost, a gifted storyteller, and two, that he was wholeheartedly chasing after a career that he loved—and three, that those things overlapped.

patton had gotten the general rundown over the past couple days, it was true, but it was one thing to hear the ebb and flow of various reports (procured primarily from dee, who had quite an ear for that kind of thing, it seemed) and another to hear it as one smooth, cohesive narrative with a rapt audience. 

though patton and his parents have, obviously, had some difficulties, he can never find fault with how much they adore and treasure logan. this is all the more apparent in how they handle listening to logan’s tale: they gasp in all the right places; they come in with “no!”s and “well, i never!” at all the points that call for it; richard even digs for a pen and paper so he can jot down questions he has as logan talks, ticking them off as logan continues the story.

it carries them all the way through the salad course, logan seeming to enjoy his enthralled audience, painstakingly accurate, citing sources where he can, and even dipping into what is, perhaps, a real-life journalistic no-no but something patton has seen in countless tv shows and movies: “now, this is off the record, of course, and unconfirmed at that, but dee heard…”

this also means that some of the details that logan had either glazed over or patton must have missed take place in a new sort of limelight; the car, the breakups, the expulsion, all of it painted in lurid, scandalous detail (much to the delight of his mother who will, patton knows, be gossiping about this with her bridge group next week.)

and—though patton’s pretty sure most chilton parents aren’t supposed to know about its existence unless they, like him, are alums—logan doesn’t mention the coincidental social explosion ignited by the special edition of the jefferson’s publication to his grandparents, but he had mentioned it to patton.

coincidentally, all of this on the same day.

“wow,” patton says, casual, as he stabs at the endives with a fork. “seems like a pretty big blowout to happen all on coincidence, huh?”

logan glances up at him. patton twists his mouth to one side: you don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you? he tries to impart. 

“no one knows for sure,” logan says, noncommittal in tone, but meeting patton’s eyes. 

“seems like those boys weren’t very careful with not getting caught,” patton says, a lift of the shoulder, an even more significant look: unless someone tipped the scales against them?

“it seems like it, but. no one knows for sure,” logan repeats, with a slight twitch of his eyebrow that reads, to patton, as but i sure have my suspicions.

“huh,” patton says lightly, arching his eyebrows at logan in a way that he hopes imparts i certainly have some guesses too.

“regardless,” logan says swiftly, “rest assured, grandma, that if the dar doesn’t have them taken out of the debutante ball for their behavior, the rest of us will.”

“as you should,” his grandmother says with a firm nod in logan’s direction. “no room for hooliganism in the dar.”

patton hides a laugh as a cough into his napkin. 

“the dar?” richard says mildly. “logan, what’s all this about the debutante ball? are you escorting a young lady?”

patton swivels to look at emily. 

“oh, goodness, i did forget to tell you in all the excitement,” emily says. “richard, logan and dee slange have taken it upon themselves to do a demonstration at the debutante ball this year.”

“a young lady is escorting me,” logan clarifies, then, glancing between his grandparents, “i don’t suppose you know the mcmasters? their daughter poppy is my escort.”

“poppy, poppy…” richard says, frowning.

“coppelia,” logan elaborates. 

“is it really?” emily says, blinking. “that’s… unique.”

“you see why she goes by poppy,” logan says. “she’s a freshman this year.”

“oh, yes,” emily says. “we certainly know the mcmasters. richard, you remember…”

“oh?” he says, then eyes widening, “oh. yes, i remember the mcmasters. their daughter is… ah…”

he looks to emily for help.

“poppy is very driven,” logan says diplomatically. “she’s already gunning for an editorial position at the paper. we’re all doing a feature spread in the franklin together for the event, as a matter of fact—myself, dee, and poppy, i mean, along with the help of a junior.”

“are you really!” emily says. 

“dr. kramschissel said the franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with the three of them manning the helm,” patton says proudly, then, leaning forward, “you know, she’s implied that logan’s first in line for editor in chief senior year.”

“dad,” logan complains, a little smile on the face nonetheless.

“well, of course he is!” emily declares. “a very fine show of initiative. she’d be a fool not to pick you, given your long history. you probably have the most experience in a newsroom of anyone your age who’s gone through the chilton journalism system.”

“you’ll make sure we get a copy or two of that edition,” richard says firmly.

“of course,” logan says, smiling. “we put in final edits just today—i’ll bring it next week.”

“a demonstration, you said?” richard says.

“oh, sure,” logan says, in a very casual tone. “grandma’s very generously given me what was to be dad’s debutante dress. a great deal of us boys are going to be debuted into society.”

richard puts his fork down. patton waits with bated breath.

“debuted?”

“yes,” logan says.

“how many of you?” richard says.

“current count—well, it was 46 before the car debacle, but it might be 43 now. or 40, depending.”

“40 young men in fluffy white dresses are to descend on the dar?”

“well,” logan says, frankly, “about twenty young men. there are some nonbinary people too. and roughly the other half of them are girls in suits.”

richard stares. and stares.

logan tilts up his chin.

and then richard breaks into chuckles.

“a hostile takeover of the debutante!” he hoots. “oh, i wondered if a crop of mischief would pop up in you, young man! some of my fondest memories of my time at yale are banding together with my friends to cause some trouble. well, that and performing with the whiffenpoofs, of course. these things make your high school and collegiate experience, you know.”

“they do?” logan says blankly.

“you’re young and full of energy!” richard exclaims. “this is your time—it certainly was for me. every day was at yale an adventure, no challenge was too great. we wanted to change the world. i have some experience with clothes-based protest too, you know.”

patton’s never heard about this. “you have?”

“certainly,” richard says. “i, and a group of like-minded young men decided to protest the new dress code—oh, it was my sophomore year at yale. we wore silk ties and nothing else.”

patton squeaks, trying not to cover his ears with his hands like a child.

“we were written up by the dean of admissions and threatened with expulsion. we were also suddenly very popular with the ladies.”

patton has the sudden and horrifying realization that one of those ladies might have been either his almost-mother, pennilyn lott, or had an equal chance of being his actual mother.

“ah, yes.” emily huffs. “this is exactly the kind of conversation I had hoped we would have with our son and grandson. what a pleasant family dinner conversation!”

“i was naked for an entire month,” richard says to logan. “a night full of men in dresses does not come near as close, of course, but i’d argue the amount of red tape you had to cut and the number of participants might push you over the top of that particular stunt!”

“wow,” logan says, blinking.

patton understands how he feels. his business-loving father, whose grand excitements seemed to be traveling for work, reading the newspaper, and undertaking new deals, a prankster. would wonders never cease.

(there is a small part of him that wonders if maybe—just maybe—if he had been born a boy, if richard would have been much more forgiving for patton’s own wild teenaged transgressions.)

“this roommate of mine in sophomore year at yale—we absolutely hated him,” richard says, leaning back in his chair, clearly lost in memory. “he was a complete nincompoop. so one night, we tied him between two mattresses and threw him out the window.”

“dad!” patton says, horrified.

“oh, he was fine,” richard says dismissively. “he went to sleep, woke up in the morning, and picked up right where he left off.”

patton puts his face in his hands.

“we wound up throwing him out the window every night for a month, and then he transferred.”

“well, do you think you guys tossing him out the window on a regular basis had something to do with that decision?” patton says, incredulous.

“well, it crossed our minds, yes.”

“so you guys have tickets for entry to the event, yes?” logan intercedes, looking to emily.

“it’s one way to see my descendants debut,” emily says.

patton shrugs, not rising to any bait. “it’ll be nice to escort him.”

“not christopher?” emily asks, but she’s cut off as richard says “ah! you’re in on it?” at the same time.

“a lot of the parents are,” patton says, “then, well, a lot of the sideshire parents are. i’m not quite as close with the chilton parents, of course.”

“we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” richard declares, then, with a big, goofy smile, “my grandson, the mastermind!”

“co-mastermind, really,” logan says. “dee slange was involved too.”

richard blinks, this time setting down his fork. “julian is in on this?”

“well,” logan hedges, higher-pitched. “define ‘in on this.’”

“he fully knows what’s going on, and he agreed?” richard says.

“oh,” logan says. “erm—no.”

“definitely not as much as me, at the very least,” patton says.

“gutsy,” richard comments.

“maybe you could help talk him over,” patton says delicately. “from what i remember of julian, he wasn’t exactly… jokey.”

“no.”

“certainly not,” emily says, almost overlapping her husband.

“maybe you could intercede?” patton says. “point out all the good a bit of trouble does for a boy their age. uh—after the event, of course. don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“yes,” richard says thoughtfully. “yes, perhaps i will. it’s about time julian cut loose.”

that’s one way to put it, patton thinks.

“i can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces,” richard says, perhaps the most excited that patton’s ever seen him for an event put on by the daughters of the american revolution.

well, patton thinks. this is probably the best way that richard could have taken it.

even if it does mean that logan, patton, and emily spend the rest of dinner hearing richard monologue about The Good Old Days back at yale, and patton learns a bit more about his father’s particular brand of young-adult mischief that he, perhaps, shouldn’t have ever heard in the first place.

⁂

roman’s elbow-deep into rearranging his travel makeup bag. it is, generally speaking, where he keeps a lot of his makeup storage, so it’s kind of a mess after spending a lot of time simply dumping the products back in there because he’s running late, only sparing time to remove and wash his brushes and sponges.

it is very much a mess.

he hears a gentle tap against the door.

he glances up; though it’s barely past eight, his mother is already dressed for bed. her hair is damp, still drying from the post-lessons shower she’d taken, free from its typical bun. she’s in an old, too-big t-shirt advertising the ballets russes (from dimitri, probably) and a pair of sweatpants cut into shorts. she completes the ensemble with a pair of fuzzy socks and her feet in a pair of orthopedic-friendly slippers (his mother is, understandably, very conscious of foot health). 

his mother is deeply devoted to her rituals and routines; he knows what she’ll ask even before she says it.

“tea?”

“yes, please,” roman decides, setting aside two different bottles of foundation to be decided later, picking up a few press-on nails, his own pair of fuzzy socks, and a tub of aquaphor, and plods after his mother, heading for the kitchen.

his mother goes about filling up the kettle (an old-style bright red one, the kind you set on a stove, not like the sleek black electric one that virgil has) and turning the stove on as roman pulls out two mugs. he decides on a large, maroon stoneware mug for her, speckled with white, and an equally gigantic ceramic red mug for himself.

“which would you like?” his mother asks, accepting the mug that he hands to her. she’s already pulled out her favored loose leaf herbal chamomile, beginning to scoop it into a infuser; roman notes that it’s the one he got her for mother’s day a couple years ago. he scoots around her to peruse his options. 

his mother’s tea supply surpasses remy’s café in terms of selection and variety; roman thinks tea might be the only thing he’s ever seen his mother spontaneously shop for in the same way roman shops for clothes, or makeup, or jewelry, or little treats, or—

“this one,” he decides, pulling out a blend that promotes good sleep—spearmint, lemongrass, chamomile.

roman hops onto one of the barstools, opening up his tub of aquaphor and doing as his mother almost certainly has: absolutely slathering his feet in healing ointment. he’s aggressively earned these dancer’s calluses, but dang it, he can lessen some of the effects; therefore, absorbing aquaphor overnight, with the aid of fuzzy socks. 

“how are your hamstrings?” she asks. “less tight?”

“definitely,” roman says, shifting his barstool so he’s able to more easily multitask between keeping eye contact with his mother and caring for his feet. “typical cure—”

“stretch and hydrate,” they say simultaneously.

“very good,” his mother continues. “hot and cold therapy?” 

“i used the heated blanket a little bit,” roman says. roman and his mother love those things; roman simply plugs it in and becomes the warmest burrito of his dreams. bigger than a traditional heating pad and more flexible, which means he can just wrap it around whatever body part that needs heat. roman’s pretty sure they have six between them. he could probably just mummify himself on a day where he was really achy.

“be sure to rest this weekend after the ball,” his mother says. “i don’t want you straining anything.”

“i will,” roman promises, pulling on one sock and setting about massaging ointment into the other foot. he should probably start making a dent in that english essay anyway; even though he’d definitely prefer to spend the rest of his weekend reading something that he’s interested in, not something assigned to him.

his mother nods.

“a lot of your classmates are going too,” she notes.

roman smiles a bit, despite himself. on the whole, his gaggle of classmates at the prince family studio were what he imagined it to be like to have a flock of sisters: chatty, hogging the bathroom, annoying and endearing in equal measure, occasionally awkward, but fierce and funny and beautiful, all of them clever in their own ways, all of them deeply capable dancers.

not that he’d know what it was like to have a sister, of course. roman had contented himself with being an only child long ago.

“it’ll be fun,” roman says. “at the very least, we know who’ll be hogging the dance floor all night.”

they share a smile. his mother had chaperoned the sideshire homecoming in the fall, and she’d spent a 33% of the night fielding hi, ms. prince!s from her students, 33% watching in vague bemusement as they danced to trends she’d lost track of long ago, 33% feeling proud as all of them had monopolized the innermost circle of the dance floor with the confidence she strove to teach them, and 1% fighting the urge to go over and correct their form. 

roman gestures with his chin toward the three packs of press-on nails: a classic french manicure, white nails with a red floral design, and a bright blue chrome.

“help me pick? i’ve been driving myself nuts over it. all of them would work, but i just need to decide and go for it.”

his mother hums, examining them. “remind me of the makeup you settled on?”

“classic eighties, to match the dress,” he says. “bright blue eyeshadow, red lip, generally very sparkly and,” he makes a pow! i’m here! hand gesture.

“well, french manicures are very classic,” his mother says thoughtfully, “but—” the kettle begins to whistle. roman, hastily, pulls on his other sock and goes to wash the excess aquaphor off of his hands before he does anything else.

they are waylaid by the pouring of boiling, steaming water, the distribution of milk and/or honey, the procurement of snacks (his mother favors savory foods more often than not, so she puts together a plate of crackers, cheese, and deli meats; roman slices a couple apples with a ramekin of peanut butter for himself, with the intent to steal a bite or two from her plate) and relocating to the living room.

roman sits himself on the ground, setting his snacks on the coffee table; his mother does the same, folding her legs to butterfly position, pressing her hands down onto her knees to stretch.

he considers his options before he just decides to mimic his mother, feeling the familiar stretch through his hips. he settles his elbows on his knees, bending slightly forward and blowing on his tea.

his mother examines the nails again. “can you match these?” she asks, touching the blue chrome.

roman tilts his head, mentally calling up the exact shades of blue in his several eyeshadow palettes. “if not exactly, then close enough to look intentional.”

“i know red is your signature,” she says. roman looks at his fuzzy socks—cherry red—and hers—wine red. in the prince family, red is a neutral that goes with everything.

“but,” she continues, “they fit a certain level of garishness that matches your dress.”

roman nods, setting them aside; he’ll glue them on in the morning. honestly, he’s a bit pleased he can keep the floral red for another occasion. a fancy date with logan, maybe? 

“is that the last detail handled?” his mother says.

“it should be,” he says. “well—i was sorting through my makeup bag, but it’s more of an organization thing than anything else.”

“dress packed?” his mother checks. “shoes, accessories, wig and hair supplies?”

“yes, yes, yes,” roman says dutifully.

“then—that’s your last of prep for tomorrow?” 

“just about,” roman says. 

“good,” she says. “i suppose many of the last-minute details shall be left to logan and dee.”

roman’s lip curls reflexively. the thought of logan and dee, working together, agreeing on things, brainstorming together and coordinating any last minute hiccups. as if they were a team.

“what was that face,” his mother says. her voice is flat, with no edge of scolding or reproach. just genuine curiosity.

roman’s lips twist as he removes the infuser out of his tea, deeming it well-enough steeped. he stirs his cup absently.

“i just…” roman gesticulates vaguely. “what did you think of dee?”

if his mother thinks that’s an odd response, she doesn’t let on. she stacks her makeshift charcuterie—club cracker, slice of cheddar, sliced chicken from the deli—and sets it aside before she goes about formulating other sandwiches. club cracker, mozzarella, turkey breast.

“i didn’t have much opportunity to speak to him,” she says. cracker, cheddar, turkey.

“yeah, but you guys had a look,” roman says. “i saw it.”

“i suppose he seemed… a touch stand-offish,” his mother says. cracker, mozzarella, chicken.

“yes,” roman says, his and??? going unspoken.

“and, perhaps,” his mother says, then, frowning, “well, i didn’t know. that’s the troubling part.”

“dee’s very good at that,” roman mutters resentfully. “presenting himself one way, when he’s really actually the other. the thing is, logan has seen that he’s really actually the other, and yet—here they are!”

“that’s very unlike him,” his mother says, frowning. “logan has a very sound sense of judgment.”

“he does.”

“but if logan’s deemed him appropriate to plan alongside—”

roman drops his forehead to the floor, groaning.

“oh,” his mother says, awkward. roman hears crunching.

“i don’t know why!” bursts out of him. 

“why… what?”

“why logan’s teaming up with him!” roman says. he looks up in time to see his mother washing down her snack with a swallow of tea.

“...roman,” she begins. “it’s entirely understandable to… feel a certain way if your boyfriend is spending time with another—”

“oh my god, i’m not jealous!” roman snaps. “why does everyone think that?!”

his mother doesn’t lecture him about volume, which is nice. 

“well,” his mother says, “what is it, then?”

this is also nice—his mother, ever straightforward, ever blunt. 

roman rubs his hand wearily across his forehead. “did i tell you, last fall, about logan getting punched in the face?”

“yes,” his mother says, her expression darkening; some of that remnant of anger of someone laying hands on his boyfriend roars to life in his chest again.

“i know,” roman says.

“was it that boy?”

his mother isn’t a particularly expressive person, but even any given passerby would categorize that look on her face as thunderous. his mother is very fond of logan—she’d actually told logan so—and roman knows that, over the years, logan’s courtesy and good grades and general support of roman had endeared him to her time and time and time again.

which—obviously. roman’s of the opinion that his boyfriend is one of the best people in the world. of course everyone should recognize that—feel that same protective fire pop up in their chests at any sign of anything going wrong for him, because logan deserves the world.

roman scowls, looking away. “not—technically. but!” he says hastily, “but, he’s the one who started it all. he got a detention for it and everything! louise probably never would have hit logan if he hadn’t been there urging her on!”

“why on earth…?” his mother says, sounding baffled.

“i don’t know!” roman wails. “that’s what’s getting me—i don’t get it! one second, logan’s telling me all about this terrible boy at school, and then his grandmother invites him and his grandma to lunch and apparently that’s super awkward, and then there’s the punching, and then he’s at the stuffed up birthday party logan’s grandparents threw for him, and then logan’s confronting dee and making sure he doesn’t rain on our parade at the winter dance, the next, they’re teaming up together to say ‘screw you’ to the patriarchy! i don’t know why on earth!”

his mother considers this, then pushes the plate of apples toward him, then piles the empty space on the plate with three of the charcuterie sandwiches she’s concocted. roman, grumpily, dips an apple slice in peanut butter and crunches a bit more loudly than he would in any other circumstance.

mother—much like virgil—believed very heartily in proper nutrients fueling every activity. outbursts took energy, which meant that roman should eat carbs, fats, and proteins to replenish that energy, with bonus points for foods that were particularly vitamin- or fiber-rich. roman has been told this for most of his life, only with things like dance lessons or exams or being a pain, this does not mean you’re getting a second soda, pick something substantial swapped in for outbursts as applicable.

“that makes very little sense.”

“exactly!” roman says, gesticulating at her. “thank you!”

“chew your food with your mouth closed,” she says, some automatic motherly impulse, then, “well, what’s changed?”

before roman can answer, she says, “i know you don’t know. but something must have. logan’s a very intelligent young man, and he isn’t fickle—not him, not any of his parental figures that could have persuaded him.” 

patton, virgil, and probably her, roman figures. he doesn’t know much about christopher, but his reasoning definitely wouldn’t override those three.

“do you think it could be on a needs-must basis?”

roman’s mouth twists as he swallows. “maybe,” he hedges.

“but you don’t think so.”

“no,” roman says. “if it was just unavoidable, some sort of grudging alliance, he would have complained about it.” to me, he thinks.

and logan hasn’t.

“could there have been some kind of change?”

roman narrows his eyes, setting aside his honey-sweet tea. “i’m not following.”

“logan’s always struck me as very pragmatic,” she says. “ergo, there could have been some kind of event that would put more weight in dee’s favor.”

“it would have to be a pretty big change,” roman says, mind churning. as it is, that’s the likeliest of answers outside of forced partnership.

“you could ask him.”

roman sighs. “i think the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it to me already…”

“could mean nothing,” his mother says, with a shrug of a shoulder.

“big change,” he reminds her. “big.”

they both consider this, sipping their tea and eating, silent in rumination.

“have you ever dealt with something like this?” roman says, despairing. “like—some dancing partner of yours teaming up with a rival? or—?”

dad, he almost says, but he discards it as soon as the idea comes to mind. no. all he’s heard of his father is that he could be prone to his own flights of whimsy, true, but he’d always been achingly steadfast in partnership with his mother and, to a slightly lesser extent, with virgil.

she seems to see the thought flash across his face, though. her eyes flit—almost unconsciously—to an old photo of the pair of them on the wall behind him. 

roman knows the one without having to look: his mother, stunning and sharp in tutu and pointe-shoed glory, clearly in the middle of telling him off about something; his father, muddy for some reason and in ripped clothes, arm thrown around her shoulder, grinning and giving a thumbs up to the camera, a slight wince on his face the only sign of whatever lecture she’d given.

but, roman thinks. but. people hadn’t necessarily liked his father. even virgil had cautioned him at how strange his father had been, that he’d done things full of mischief and occasional rebellious wrong-doing, that he’d been acquired taste. a bit like…

no. roman shakes the thought without finishing it. no way.

his mother detects it anyway.

“how have you been sleeping?” she asks delicately.

“fine,” roman mutters. he knows what she’s about to ask without her asking it, too.

whatever mental illness his father had had, the only sign of odd or strange thoughts that has ever remotely recurred in roman have been odd, vivid dreams, veering into the occasional night terror.

he has been sleeping fine, though. fitful, sure, and maybe a bit less than his mother would like, but he’s been sleeping fine. no dreams at all to speak of. 

“all right,” she says placatingly. 

roman stirs his tea a bit more vigorously than necessary, the spoon clanking against his mug. his mother smiles a bit.

“you didn’t answer,” roman says. “have you had a situation like this?”

“you know i haven’t,” his mother says. 

“well—i know, not exactly like this,” roman says. he’s known his mother’s aromantic and asexual since he was old enough to learn the words and absorb that that’s what those little flag barrettes she wore during pride meant. no significant romantic partner of his mother’s has ever caused her strife, because she’s never had a significant romantic partner. “but—dimitri teaming up with someone and he didn’t tell you why. or something.”

his mother pauses to think. then:

“no.”

roman sighs, perhaps a bit more loudly than necessary, and dips another apple slice.

“virgil might’ve,” she says thoughtfully.

roman pauses from where he’s trying to scoop extra peanut butter onto his apple.

“yeah?”

“yes,” his mother says. “you remember silas.”

ugh.

“don’t make that face,” she scolds gently. “but—as it happens, i wouldn’t be surprised if either of them didn’t have a moment exactly like this. virgil with some friends of his, silas with your father.”

“how did that go?” roman asks.

his mother smiles. “i believe they talked about it.”

“traitor,” roman grumbles, half-joking. “i can’t believe either of you invented mind-reading technology for me to use in this specific moment.”

“you could just ask.”

“you’ve said that already.” roman says. “does no one in this apartment appreciate the fine-tuning of the delicate art that is teenaged angst and overthinking?”

“you live here,” his mother points out. “you have sufficient appreciation for the both of us.”

roman huffs. his mother tilts his head.

roman scratches his thumb against the mug.

“dee’s very charming,” he mumbles. “i mean—he managed to charm me at logan’s fancy birthday party before i knew who he was. if he’d just started off with that, instead of leading straight into villainy then pulling a 180, then i guess i’d get it a bit more. but as it is—why him? why that guy? logan likes rule-following. he likes that kind of thing. is it a ‘keep your enemies close’ thing? no,” he answers himself, “logan wouldn’t do that, he has no patience for duplicity. which makes it even more confusing, because dee seems to love duplicity, exhibit a, him being charming at emily and richard’s party—erm, mr. and mrs. sanders’ party, i mean.”

his mother hums.

“and—i don’t know. he’s off at chilton, doing great, and i’m happy he’s making friends, i seriously am, i’m not jealous, but it just. suddenly, both of us in different schools means we spend less time together, and that’s making me think about college, and, unless miracle of miracles happens and i find the perfect ivy league that has a combo of the perfect dance program and the perfect journalism program that will accept both of us that’s close to new york, we’re going to spend even less time together, and that sucks.”

his mother nods sagely, placing her right foot against her left knee, stretching to grasp her own socked foot.

“and it’s, like. why that guy? if you’re going to hang out with someone outside of school out of preference and not obligation, why the one i’ve heard the most negative things about? why the one who’s in direct competition with you? why the one that would probably have sabotaged him, given the chance? why?”

his mother remains quiet.

“say something,” roman requests desperately. “i’m asking questions here, they’re not hypotheticals.”

his mother blinks. “you were doing a good job of talking it out to yourself.”

“well, sure, but,” he gestures between them, “input. it’s mother-son time.”

there’s a pause.

“this isn’t like you,” she decides.

“what?”

“this,” she gestures at him. “indecision about what to do. it’s unlike you.”

“it’s unlike logan to consort with ne’er-do-wells,” roman sniffs.

his mother simply arches an eyebrow. roman sighs, picking up his mug, savoring the warmth it seeps against his palms.

“i don’t know,” roman says quietly. “it just—it is different for logan, to… consort with someone like this. there’s some big reason why, and i don’t know what it is, and it’s just… it’s driving me a little crazy.”

his mother politely does not say anything along the lines of i can see that or obviously.

instead, she says, “does the concept of talking to logan about this make you nervous or anxious?”

“what? no.” roman scoffs.

“it’s all right if it does,” his mother says. “i won’t think less of you or logan. it’s very normal to be a bit worried about having a big conversation in any relationship, much less one that’s been weighing heavily on your mind.”

“i’m not—”

his mother arches her eyebrows at him, and yeah, okay, roman can see how saying i’m not worried when he’s dominated the conversation obsessing over why that guy would probably come off… not great.

roman sighs, slumping his shoulders.

“fine,” he mutters. “yeah, i’m worried.”

“perfectly natural,” she says. she switches positions, placing her left foot against right knee, stretching.

“i know,” he grumbles. “i just—i don’t want to come off as that kind of boyfriend, you know what i mean?”

“no.”

fair.

“like,” roman says, drawing himself up. “why are you hanging out with that guy? hang out with this person instead, not that guy. you’re not allowed to see him. you know? like—jealous. possessive. whatever. i mean—logan was so understanding with jess. so understanding! they didn’t have a ton in common, but logan was still polite and everything.

“and i don’t want to turn right around and be like, hey, i don’t like that guy, what’s up with that? or insult his intelligence—’cause he’s way book-smarter than me—by being like, i think that guy might be manipulating his way into your life. thoughts?”

“do you think—?”

“what other explanation is there?!” roman whines, drawing there into, like, five syllables.

“and we’re back to square one,” his mother says. “all right. i see.”

roman goes about polishing off the last of the snacks.

“i still think you should talk to him,” she says. “i know you’re worried—that’s understandable. but logan isn’t going to go into this thinking the worst of you. he ought to know that you only have his best interests at heart.”

roman sighs after swallowing a mouthful of charcuterie. “i guess.”

his mother smiles slightly.

“you’re so very much our son,” she says, and roman ducks his head, trying not to flush.

“remus got any sense of propriety or caution surgically removed, to hear some tell it. and i probably wouldn’t have figured out such a careful way to put it: i probably wouldn’t have said anything at all until it got pressing. it’s difficult, i know, but i’m proud of the middle ground that you walk.”

“yeah, yeah,” roman mumbles, still pleased. our son. he felt so divided, sometimes: the face of his father, the skill of his mother, the rest of anything else him, from nowhere at all. 

“you don’t have to go into it unplanned, of course,” his mother says. “text him your thoughts if that’s easier. put a pen to paper to figure out what to say and how to say it.”

“true,” roman admits.

his mother drains the last of her tea and stands.

“well,” she says. “it’s probably best for you to talk to him tonight. or early tomorrow morning, if you care to sleep on it. may as well clear the air before the ball. i’ll leave you to your thoughts?”

“sure,” he says, slowly drinks the rest of his tea, thinking. then, quietly, “thanks, mom.”

he hears his mother placing the dishes in the dishwasher, shutting off the lights in the kitchen, ensuring everything is in its proper place, before she journeys back to the main room and shuts off all the lights except for the one closest to his room—he’ll turn that off when he goes to bed.

he watches her achieve the rest of the good night routine: she plugs her phone in to charge, she nudges her shoes so they’re in line with his at the door, and then…

she detours. she walks back to him, where he still sits on their rug.

she leans over to smooth her hand over his hair.

“goodnight, mijo. dulces sueños.”

“dulces sueños, mami,” he says.

and then she just… goes to her room.

she���s left the front door unlocked. she’d simply nodded to him, went to her room, and closed the door, almost like…

wait.

does she…?

no. there’s no way.

his curfew-issuing, sleep-adoring, routine-oriented-to-a-fault mother? roman would have gotten grounded, like, ten years ago for ten years if she actually knew how often he snuck out to the gazebo to talk to logan.

yeah. no way she knows that he sneaks out.

⁂

“hey.”

“hey! sorry if i responded late—we were squaring away escorts for the ladies. turns out some sideshire kids decided to join last-minute, so we should be all even. no idea what they’re doing for dresses, but it’s in their hands now, i suppose.”

“no, that’s all good—c’mere, it’s still a bit chilly out.”

“of course.”

…

“so, what did you want to talk about?”

“oh, right. um—may as well just come out and say it, i guess.”

“...sure?”

“what’s up with teaming up with dee?”

“...ah.”

“i mean—i guess i just don’t really get it? i’ve been trying to figure it out, and i can’t. like—one second, he’s getting someone to punch you in the face, the next, you guys are architecting this plot to go after the daughters of the american revolution.”

“no, i—i understand. it must seem jarring from the outside.”

“...so?”

“...”

“um. admittedly, i find your renewed and increased friendship with dee very confusing. the things i’ve heard about him have, generally, been pretty bad—for example, the punching incident, your birthday party at your grandparents’, and the winter formal. ”

“...are those notes…?”

“shh. you’ve never particularly struck me as the kind of person to simply be friends with someone for the sake of making life easier: my mom says you’ve always struck her as very pragmatic, and i agree. it makes me think that something in your relationship with dee has changed, because otherwise, i find myself… well, deeply confused and honestly a little worried that dee might be up to something again.”

“you talked about this with your mom?”

“well—i didn’t, like, set out to do that, but yeah. she suggested that i just talk to you about it, since you’d know that i have your best interests at heart, and that you have your reasons ‘cause you’re so smart, and also maybe write down what i wanted to say so i didn’t come off like a huge controlling jackass.”

“she said that?”

“not that last bit—i’m editorializing.”

“that’s—huh. okay… um. how do i phrase this.”

“…”

“i’m sorry, i’m walking an awkward line of secrecy here.”

“how secret? secret, like, jo posner’s first kiss, or secret, like, secret-secret.”

“secret-secret.”

“...oh.”

“but i still want to—communicate.”

“right. um… is there a little loophole you can thread here?”

“like what?”

“like… i dunno. i know they aren’t your strong suit, but a metaphor? or a comparison to something else that’s happened in our general lives?”

“like what?”

“well, i don’t know, logan. that’s kind of why we’re here.”

“right. yes. um… let me think.”

“sure. take your time. if it’s secret-secret, i promise i’ll keep it, but even then, i get not wanting to say anything. like—”

“oh! oh, i remember!”

“...remember…?”

“back in eighth grade, when you had elliott over to that sleepover, and elliott told you about how they were feeling regarding their identity, but to keep it secret double-pinky-promise even from me?”

“yeah, of course.”

“and they didn’t come out until the middle of last year?”

“right.”

“...i find a lot of parallels to then.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“oh—okay. i see.”

“it’s not one-to-one. as a matter of fact, there’s more to it. this is the part i feel most comfortable disclosing, since that part is generally a jo posner’s first kiss level of open secret at chilton.”

“sure.”

“but—”

“i get it. there’s more. okay. that… huh. okay.”

“right.”

“i guess i can see it. the cape should have tipped me off. have you told… anyone else? about the things outside the parallels?”

“no—no one. not even dad.”

“really?”

“really. well—he might know part of it, so maybe that doesn’t count, or dee might have told him more, but. really. not even dad.”

“...you said…. even more?”

“i’m very glad no one in our lives has parallelism to this that i can apply here.”

“...me too, i guess?”

“trust me—you are.”

“okay. i will. i do trust you. you know that, right?”

“of course i do. i trust you too.”

“okay. good. good. i didn’t want it to come off like i didn’t trust your judgment or something. you were so understanding with jess, i wanted to extend the same thing—”

“—we’re not—”

“—i know it’s not a one-to-one. trust me, we’d have a lot more to talk about if it was any kind of romantic scenario. there’d be yelling. i know it’s not. i’m just saying: you and jess didn’t have a lot in common, but you were still decent to him because you knew i wanted to… associate with him. i want to do the same for you.”

“right. of course. i—well, frankly, i hadn’t really considered your point of view. i can see how it would be strange from the outside perspective. i’m sorry i didn’t think of it.”

“you’ve had a lot going on.”

“sure, but still. i should have looped you in as much as i could.”

“well, i appreciate that. thank you.”

“and thank you for bringing it up.”

“this is very mature of us.”

“i know.”

“for teenagers, and all.”

“and for my first romantic relationship.”

“i’m more used to bickering. this is weird.”

“definitely.”

“...wanna make out?”

“say no more.”

find the next half of this chapter here!

[glowingreverie]

the past two days, i've just been watching mukbangs

[idontdrinkgatorade]

i feel so anxious rn

[chuluoyi]

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre/warnings: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Third Wheel

Dark!SatoSugu x reader

(Warnings: Yandere, dark content, dark, misogynistic language, delusional behavior, kidnapping, blood, violence, +ShokoHime x reader, choking (not in the sexy way tho), threesomes, oral!F!recieving)

Synopsis: Regardless of what Satoru and Suguru tell you, you've always felt left out in this relationship. But when you leave, you quickly find out there's no line your ex-lovers won't cross to get you back

Word Count: 7.3k

When you come home that night, they're already cuddled together, watching TV. 

It's cute. Your boyfriends were always so loose with their affection. When Suguru was cooking, Satoru would lean on his back, more than happy to talk his ear off. Suguru would hold Satoru's waist, steadying him, being his anchor. At night, you'd catch them reaching for each other, trying to hold hands even in their sleep. 

It's clear to even the blind: they are soulmates. 

And you were just extra baggage. 

You don't know how you caught their eyes, but this past year was fun. They've been sweet, both of them have. Inviting you into their lives, into their home, into their bed. Everything moved so fast, but you didn't mind. You were young and a bit spontaneous. Two beautiful men showing a glimpse of interest in you wasn't something you could pass up. This was nice, while it lasted. 

But unlike them, you aren't forever. Their bond would never come close to anything they could have with you. 

It took a while for you to accept that, but eventually, you did. 

"Hey, babe," Satoru calls. "Rough day?" He lazily waves you over. Suguru grunts, before shifting over to make space. 

Despite it all, you're a coward. You don't announce it; you just stare at them. Fondly. Yes, this was nice. You don't think you could handle telling them, though; that would be too much. Seeing how little they cared would break you. 

"Yeah." You give. "Rough day." 

You weave through the house. It's theirs. Not yours. That they've made clear. You're an afterthought. It's the little things. Their toothbrushes are together, yours on the other side of the sink. Their shoes were neatly stacked side by side, and yours were always tucked away in a corner. Left out. Forgotten. Why wouldn't it be like that? They've been together for years. You were still an outsider. 

You only have a little to grab. You just grab your extra clothes, the hair clips you have a terrible habit of leaving around. Just a few items. And then the bedroom looks like you'd never been there at all. 

When you come back out, they don't notice your suitcase. Satoru laughs loudly at something happening on screen. Suguru chides him sternly. Good. It's better this way, you think as you take your suitcase to your car. You don't need any additional heartbreak. 

You make a few more rounds, collecting everything you need. Suguru only catches you when you are about to leave their house forever. 

"Angel?" He calls. "Where are you going?" 

He's looking at you, head tilted in mild curiosity. You manage to smile, looking down at your car keys. 

"Out for a drive." You shrug. "I'll be back." 

Suguru takes it at face value. He lets you go with a small 'have fun'. The walk to the car is heavy. Metal dumbbells on your shoulders. 

When you get in the seat, you finally allow yourself to sob. 

~

I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore

That's how you ended the wall of text before blocking them. It was the coward's way out. 

"No." Utahime's quick to tell you. "It's the only way. Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise." 

You shouldn't be so quick to listen to her, considering she hates them both. Still, she was more than happy to offer you her home while you picked yourself back up, and started looking for an apartment. You'll humor her for the time being. 

"She's right," Shoko pipes up. Her dark circles are even more prominent tonight. You guiltily think it has more to do with you than with her patients, but she and Utahime have insisted that you stay with them. 

"It was for my sake, more than theirs." You say honestly, tucking yourself into the couch. "They...don't care about me. At least, not like they do each other." 

Utahime rolls her eyes. "You are blind." She says. "Those two were obsessed with you. I'm just glad you got out while you could." 

You laugh, but it beats crying all over again. Utahime doesn't find what she said as funny. She chides you again, something about being oblivious before she settles down to watch the movie she put on. Shoko falls asleep right at the intermission. Her head falls against your shoulder. Utahime leans against you too. And it's nice to have friends to fill the void they left. 

~

Satoru appears first. 

You woke up later than you would have liked. Your eyes are itchy and red from crying all night. Utahime was more than happy to give you her guestroom, but you know you can't take advantage of her kindness for too long. Tomorrow, you'll start apartment hunting. 

Today, you'd sit on the couch and eat ice cream. 

When you go downstairs, you hear a hushed whisper. Utahime's by the door, using her body to keep someone out. She looks angry. 

"-No one's here but me. Now get the fuck off my property." She seethes. 

You recognize his voice. You aren't ready. "Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" 

"No." Utahime gripes. "So go, Gojo-" 

He catches your eyes. Your heart gets stuck in your throat. 

He's taller than her. It takes little to no effort to barrel through her body, easily shoving her aside to get to you. You flinch, his touch burns when he grabs you, pulling you into his arms. 

"Oh, baby." He sighs into your hair. "There you are. Missed you." 

It's too soon. You aren't ready. You can still feel the emotions bubble up from that night, when you collapsed in Utahime's arms, sobbing your heart out. This wasn't fair. They never made it fair. 

You cast a glance at Utahime. She was scowling, close to boiling right over the edge. It gives you enough strength to try to push Gojo off, but he only lets go, when he wants to. 

"Okay." He smiles, reaching down to grab your hand. "C'mon. Let's go home. You had us both so worried for a sec, but if we explain everything to Suguru it'll be okay." 

You find your voice then. As well as your strength. His grip on your hand isn't all that tight. It slips away when you gently shake him off. Satoru stops, confused. 

"Satoru..." You start. "Didn't you get my text?" 

He rolls his shoulders, agitated. "Yeah, but-but it doesn't matter." 

There it was. His lovable personality. Casual careless, nonchalance. For once, you aren't annoyed by it. Maybe your grief made you numb to it. 

"I did mean it," you say as plainly as you can, "every word." 

He freezes. You smile at Utahime. 

"Could you give us some time?" You ask. 

She frowns, but she's never been able to say no to you. 

"Ten minutes." She finally says, before she's marching back to the kitchen. You still hear her muttering while leading Satoru back to your room. 

"I'm sorry." He says when the door shuts behind him. 

"For what?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, taking off those glasses he loves so much. You can't look him in the eyes for too long. It brings up too many memories. 

"I fucked up, right?" He says, he sounds desperate. You've never heard him sound like this before. "I'm sorry. I dunno what I did, but I'm sorry." 

You shrug, picking at the lint of your sleeves. "You didn't do anything. I just...it felt like a good point to just-" 

"-Leave us?" He cuts in. "Come home, baby. I'm so sorry, just come home and we'll figure this out." You look away because you can feel the tears burn up. 

"You didn't do anything." You insist, but your voice is weaker. 

"Was it Suguru? Did he do some bullshit?" Satoru interrogates. "What'd he do? I'll kick his ass, I promise." You hide your smile underneath your sleeves. 

"He didn't do anything either," you assure, "neither of you did." 

He's getting more and more desperate. "Then why did you leave us? What's wrong with us? Why can't we go home and talk this out? Please come back, baby; home doesn't feel like home without you." 

Isn't this what you wanted? A confession. Evidence that they wanted you just as much as they wanted each other. Satoru certainly did. Suguru did, too, considering how hurt Satoru implied him to be. A week ago, you might have been over the moon, too wallowed in self-pity to do anything but agree, run back into their arms, and willingly sink back into 2nd place all over again. 

But the thought of going back to their home makes you feel sick. 

"I can't." You decide. "I just can't. It's over, Satoru." 

I'm sorry. You keep that last line to yourself because you're too scared to crack in front of him. Shatter. Splinter. 

Satoru doesn't share the same sentiment. You hear movement, and when you look up, he's crying. 

A part of you wants to hug him, but you hold yourself back because he isn't yours anymore, and maybe he never was. Still, it hurts seeing him like this. The piece of you that still wanted him is ready to forgive and forget. Your vindictiveness keeps it at bay. 

"That's not fucking fair." He's saying through his tears, even when he's crying, he's beautiful, "You-you can't just ditch us like this. You don't get it; we can't live without you. It's killing us; you're killing us, baby." He staggers forward, in a way that makes you afraid he might fall. In the end, he just collapses on the bed. Eventually, you take a seat next to him. 

He's looking around, you catch him eyeing the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. The hair ties on top of the drawer. The plushies on the bed. You think it might finally be starting to sink that that you're truly gone. 

"Suguru can't sleep these days, y'know that?" He starts, a sardonic laugh in his throat. "He pretends to, but he can't. He stays up all night just wishing you'd come home. The guy is miserable without you, and you can't even gimme a fucking answer." 

His voice cuts you just the way it's supposed to. You wince, feeling his words slice into his skin, finding their way into your heart. You look at his shoes for a moment. He didn't bother to remove them. Maybe that's another reason why Utahime was so pissed. 

"I was starting to feel like an afterthought with you two." You speak. "I mean, it makes sense, you two were together, first. I thought the barrier would just take time to go away....but then it didn't." 

How many times has Suguru taken Satoru's hand over yours? How many times has Satoru forgotten your drink but not Suguru's? How many inside jokes you didn't understand? You always felt petty for being jealous over the tiniest things, but those tiny things kept getting bigger and bigger until it felt like they'd been purposely building that barrier themselves.

You were sick of feeling like the third wheel in your relationship. 

"Baby..." Satoru's voice is tinged in guilt and you can't look at him because you can feel the tears start to well up. "I-I didn't realize." He grabs your hand. 

"Come home." He pleads. "We'll fix it, I promise. We'll be better. We'll do better." 

You shake your head, slipping away from his grip. 

"It's too late." Your voice is shaky. Please let him not notice. Please, please, please for once can his oblivious about everything but his one and only work in your favor? "You can't fix anything, Satoru. Not now." 

"You haven't even given us a chance to-" 

"You should go." You stand up. Satoru follows you out the door. Utahime's already outside. She catches your eyes and nods. 

"Gojo." She speaks, tone clipped. "Get the fuck out of my house." 

He stills, frozen like the prettiest painting in the world. His eyes turn to ice as he stares at her. Utahime doesn't budge. If anything, she advances, pulling you close, acting like a human barrier between you and your ex-boyfriend. You take it immediately, nestling into her side, taking refuge from his icy stare. 

There's silence. You only relax when you hear his footsteps fade and the door slams ricochets into the apartment. And that's when you break down into Utahime's arms completely, letting her coo you into comfort. 

"Maybe I am being overdramatic," you say when Shoko comes back later that day. Utahime was enraged since Satoru left, pacing around the apartment. It's only after both you and Shoko coaxed her back into the couch that she calms down enough to take a seat next to you. 

"Maybe this whole thing is ridiculous. I-I should just go back and-"

"No." Shoko is immediately saying voice firm. "Absolutely Not." 

You can smell the hint of smoke when she came back from the hospital. You try not to assume it's because of you. 

"No way in hell are we letting you go back there after what he did." Utahime gripes. 

"He didn't do anything." You argue. "I swear, I-I was just...being pathetic." 

Warm hands lift your head up. You struggle, still shuddering from your sobs as Utahime forces you to look at her. 

Her eyes are brown. Not as glittery as Satoru's, who's eyes shine like the burning sun itself. Not like Suguru, with his celestial purple. No, hers are just brown. 

You didn't realize how beautiful brown eyes could be. Not just the color of home; the color of chocolate; the color of brownies. The way the light cast down at them made them deep and dark, like a night sky. If you looked closer, you could see tiny stars swimming around. 

"Listen. Are you listening?" When you nod, her voice softens. She tucks your hair behind your ear. 

"You deserve better." She insists. "You deserve better than them. So so much better. I know you can't see it right now, but there is better out there waiting for you." Her voice loses all momentum all at once. "Just...trust me, okay?" 

Her desperation to be heard makes you smile a bit. You nod. Her frown loosens, just the tiniest bit. She relaxes. 

"Thanks," you say after a beat. "I...I needed that. I'm glad I have goods friends." 

Utahime's hands drop from your face. She collapses into the couch cushions with a groan. Shoko laughs. 

"Told you." Shoko says, mirth and alcohol on her tongue. 

Utahime flips her off, and Shoko takes her place. She settles into your side. 

"They were assholes." She tells you. "Forget about them. And she's right, you deserve better." 

You were glad they were there for you, even when you weren't there for yourself. It felt nice that they cared. Vouched, Advocated for your comfort. They made better boyfriends than your old boyfriends ever did. Their support helped heal the Satoru and Suguru-sized holes left in your heart. Every day became a bit better. 

When Suguru eventually turned up, you were a bit more prepared. 

He's a bit nicer than Satoru was. He actually knocks, instead of relentlessly pounding on the door. He doesn't barrel through Shoko when he spots you cowering behind her. His face betrays nothing. He's still. A polite smile is stretched on his lips. Shoko isn't happy about letting him into her home, but when she glances at you, you nod. You needed to do this. You needed closure. 

And so did Suguru. 

You don't speak to him until you're shut in your room. Geto cuts the silence first. 

"How have you been?" He asks nicely. 

"Good." You respond. "You?" 

"Good." 

Conversation stilts. You don't know what to say. Luckily, your ex is never the man who stays silent for long. 

"How's living with Shoko and Utahime been?" He asks, "I'm surprised you've put up with them for this long. They were pretty scary in high school." 

"I bet you two were scarier." You counter. 

He smiles. It's soft, looks good on him. You find yourself smiling back. When you take a seat on the the of the bed, he doesn't follow. You don't know whether to feel glad or not. 

"Yeah, I'm not the proudest of those times." He admits with a sheepish laugh. 

It dies down, and you know the artificial barrier between you two has broken. You shift, waiting for the inevitable. 

"Satoru told me what happened." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Angel. We-I didn't know how you felt. Everything was so perfect, I just thought you felt the same." 

"It's fine." You assure, and this time, your throat doesn't clog up, and your eyes don't feel itchy. "Really. It's-it's fine." 

"It's not." Suguru shakes his head. "You'd be in bed with us if it were." 

That comment pricks something deep within your skin. You swallow, turning away from his piercing purple eyes. They were much like Satoru's. Breathtaking, you could stare at them for hours. You used to. 

But now, you don't have that desire anymore. 

And maybe now that you aren't so attached, maybe you could try being a little more honest. 

"I was jealous." You finally admit. "I couldn't help it. I-I always felt like I was fighting within my relationship. You two were so much closer to each other than I was. Than I ever could be, honestly." 

Suguru frowns, troubled. 

"That's not true." He insists, soft, but something's burning underneath his tone. "Satoru and I have history, but that doesn't mean-" 

"I was runner-up." You cut him off. "For both of you. Looking back, I'm not really upset. It was always impossible for anything to come between the two of you. This-" You gesture between you and him "-was always inevitable." 

"It's my fault." You smile at him, hoping it comes across as sincere as you feel. "I couldn't stand being second place." 

He moves then, kneeling in front of you. Eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He catches your hands in his. You let him. A parting gift. 

"Angel." He starts. "We never once thought of you as that." 

You shrug. "It doesn't matter." You reply. "It's how I always felt. You can't really change the way I feel about things, Suguru." 

You think he's realizing that he's beginning to lose you. His grip gets tighter as if he can physically keep you with him at the very least. He shifts until he's right at your knees, looking up at you desperately. 

"Come back." He insists, abandoning his persuasions. "Just...come back. At least for a little while? We can try again, can't we? Just give us a second chance?" 

It's strange, they don't look too similar, but you can see the similarities. Wow, they're just perfect for each other, aren't they? Yin and Yang. Two halves; one whole. 

You were always a leftover. You just had to learn that the hard way, through days of heartbreak, crying, and sobbing your heart out. It took you awhile to understand that the affection they had for each other is different from the affection they had for you. 

You shake your head. His hands nearly crush yours. 

"I love you." 

It takes you a while to figure out what he said. When it does sink in, your world tilts. Your heart stops at his abrupt declaration and you must stare at him because why? At first, you think he's just desperate: lovebombing. And then you look into his eyes, his sincerity. No, he means it. It makes you feel worse. 

"Satoru does, too, but you know him-he'd rather die than admit something like that." Suguru gives a bitter laugh, one you find familiar even after all this time. "I've always wanted to tell you but thought it was too soon. I thought we had all the time in the world." His voice tapers so he doesn't have to say the obvious but clearly you three didn't. 

You want to reach over, tuck a stray lock behind his ear but you stop yourself because he isn't yours anymore. You gave it all away when you ran. Instead, you curl your hands around his in silent understanding. 

You don't know how you didn't realize it before, but Suguru is less put together than usual. His hair is typically well-groomed and shiny, but now you see split ends. His eyes are clear and bright, but today...they aren't. A dull purple. Hazy violet. 

He's miserable. 

You did this. This was all you. 

"Satoru misses you," he says, "always had. Barely smiles anymore. I don't think I can blame him." 

They loved you. They love you. This was all what you wanted. Just a bit of recognition. There's a tiny part of you that's still itching to jump back in Suguru's arms, kiss him until you're out of breath 'just kidding! it was a prank! let's go home!' and then you two would leave hand-in-hand back to Satoru. 

Going back to them would make them happy, but not you.

But Shoko was right. You deserved better. 

 "It'll get better." You assure. "You'll heal." 

Day by day, the cracks in your heart start to seal. Bit by bit. It may never heal over completely, but you know you'll be okay one day. And they'll be alright too. Who knows, maybe in a couple years, you'll all laugh at this. 

Suguru shakes his head and stands up. His eyes are just the bit glassy, but he's blinking them away before anything gives. It's just like him, honestly, so you're not too upset. 

"You don't get it." He's smiling, not quite in humor. "I don't think you'll ever do but..." He trails off, mid-thought. 

"But what?" You press. 

Then he sighs and closes his eyes. When he looks at you again, his signature pleasantly cold smile is on his face. 

"I did all I could, I think." He turns around, abrupt. "I'll see myself out." 

You're caught off-guard by his sudden departure, but by the time you're following him, Shoko's already leading him out the front door, locking it with exasperation. 

"Is that it?" She asks. "They won't be barging in anytime soon, right?" 

You stare out the window, watching as Suguru gets in his car. Something bubbled in your stomach. 

~

It was one of those nights. Shoko had come back early. Utahime was back from the school. You had planned a cute little evening for the girls and a relaxing night in. You had everything: wine, freshly-prepared dinner, a cheesy horror movie, and an announcement you're sure they were more than happy to hear.

You had just settled down the blanket when you hear Shoko come through the door. You take off her coat before she can even touch it, excitedly flitting around her. 

"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" Shoko asks, her dark circles even more profound than before. You don't have to feel guilty about those for long. 

"You'll see!" You chirp back. 

Utahime strolls out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. Her hair is still wet. You'll ask if you can blow dry it later. 

"That's what you've been saying for nearly an hour now." Utahime groans. "Just tell us already. Or at least, me."

"Patience." You chastise. "But, it's a good surprise, I promise." 

She's not satisfied, but she sits down anyway. They eat dinner, complimenting your skills all the while. You preen at their praise. It's a stark contrast between Suguru and Satoru, how cold they'd often been whenever you did something nice for them: tilted smiles, less-than-receptive words of 'oh baby you didn't have to'. 

As you lived with both couples, you can see the similarities. Utahime's temper is close to Satoru's, but that's where the similarities stop. She's more serious and less likely to blow off your feelings with a playful huff. Shoko and Suguru share the same laid-back personality, but Shoko is always there to listen to you instead of cutting you off with condescending sympathy. 

Wow, maybe Satoru and Suguru were a little more shitty than you initially thought. 

Eventually, the night draws to a close. They're drunk, full, and smiling. Perfect. You clear your throat just when Shoko refills her fourth glass. 

"Again, I'd really like to thank you for letting me stay." You start. "It meant so much to me to have two amazing people to support me like this. So, thank you." 

Utahime smiles. "Don't thank us," she says, "again, you can stay for as long as you want-forever, honestly!" 

You nod. "Well, I don't think I have to do that anymore." 

Shoko freezes mid-sip. 

"What?" She asks. 

"I talked to my parents." You tell them, oblivious to their stone faces. "And I'm going to move back in with them, just until I get back on my feet. Isn't that great? Now, you two won't have to-" 

You stop when you finally notice how cold they look. Utahime looks close to tears. 

"What's wrong?" You ask. 

"You're leaving?" Utahime asks, her voice nearly cracks. "Why?" 

That...wasn't what you were expecting. Shouldn't they be glad the third wheel is finally out of their house? Why does Utahime look so heartbroken? Why is Shoko so quiet? What was going on?

"Isn't-isn't this what you wanted?" You fumble with your words. "Now, you don't have to share the house with me anymore. It'll be just the two of you again." 

They exchange glances, and it reminds you of those secret conversations Suguru and Satoru used to have. Except this time, you can read their faces. 

"What if...we don't want it to be just the two of us anymore?" Shoko starts, hesitant, reproachful like she's approaching a scared wild animal. 

Your eyebrows scrunch. "I don't understand." 

At that, Utahime drops her head in her hands. "Oh, c'mon! We've been doing this for weeks! You can't be that oblivious-" 

And then, she stops herself. Looks at you. You stare right back, and the three of you have the exact same realization at the exact same time. 

"Oh." You breathe. 

"Oh." Utahime whispers. 

"We're all idiots." Shoko says behind her glass. 

"Wait wait. Hold on." You backtrack. "You-you two want...with me?" 

"Yes!" Utahime exclaims. "Yes! God, now everything makes sense. I thought you were just trying to let us down gently, but this whole time you just weren't even paying attention!" 

"No." You argue, face hot. "You two were just really subtle." 

"We all sleep in the same room, these days." Shoko lists. "'Hime sat on your lap with nothing on but a bra and panties." 

"I thought we were just doing friend things!" 

"What kinds of friends sit on your lap, half-naked?" Utahime asks, mortified. 

"I-I-" You give up. 

All this time. You were mourning over something you lost months ago, even when there was something blooming right under your nose. God, you're an idiot. 

Hands. They clasp your own. You look up into Utahime's pretty brown eyes. 

"We want you to stay." She whispers. "We want you." You take a glance at Shoko. 

"Do you want us?" 

You take a deep breath. 

You nod. 

She's smiling, and then Utahime's kissing you. Soft, so soft, nothing like the possessive kisses Satoru gives you. It's innocent and adoring and you find yourself melting into her completely. 

Utahime disappears and before you can mourn her warmth, Shoko's lips join yours. You can smell the alcohol, the slightest sting of cigarettes. You don't mind it. Her kisses are nothing like Suguru's, all powerful and domineering. She takes what you give her, asking ever so nicely for more. 

You break away, panting. 

"You good?" She asks. 

You nod. 

"Good." Shoko hums. "Cuz we're gonna fuck you now." 

"What?" 

Shoko pushes you down on the couch. You land with an oomph before Utahime's descends on you with a flurry of kisses. 

"Waited so long to do this, baby." She's sighing into your lips, fiddling with your shirt so she can pull it off. "Weeks and weeks." 

She pulls down one of your bra cups, massaging at your tits. You hadn't had action in so long, so you eagerly encouraged her movements, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Shoko takes her place next to her girlfriend, pawing at your other tit. 

"Look." Shoko purrs. "One for each of us." Her soft mouth sucks on your nipple, swirling it around her mouth. Your head leans back with a pleasant sigh. 

"Feel good?" Utahime asks. "She's good with her tongue, isn't she?" 

"Yes," you nod, and Utahime gives out a delighted giggle, peppering your face with kisses. You gasp when you feel her hand shift through your shorts, palming at your dripping pussy. 

"Poor thing." Utahime's cooing, and there's a brief hint of mockery in her tone. You've never heard that before. It turns you on even more. "They never gave you attention back there did they?" She circles your clit. "They were too busy sucking each other's dicks to pay attention to such a pretty pussy." 

Shoko pops off your tits, shifting down. She kisses her way to your stomach. You blearily watch as she adjusts herself until she's right at your shorts. Utahime follows her lead, tugging off your shorts. Your panties go next. 

And then you're staring down at them with trepid anticipation. 

"I meant what I said." Shoko says softly. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who cares for you." 

"You deserve us." With that, She and Utahime latch onto your pussy. 

They're everywhere. You have to stop yourself from cumming right then and there, arching your back as one of them sucks on your clit while the other licks into your hole. She manages to stick her tongue inside of you, and it's enough to shoot sparks through your eyes. 

"So tight." Utahime's hissing into your cunt. "Sho, after this, you wanna try to fuck this pussy with your strap?" 

There's a soft laugh, and Shoko pulls away from your clit to answer, much to your disappointment. You whine, thrusting your hips in the air. She stills you with a hush. 

"I don't think we're ready just yet." She hums. "Yet." 

When you glance down, they both are making out with your clit. It's debaucherous. Their soft lips are connected, your tiny bud locked in the middle as their spit trickles down into your pussy. Utahime groans and when you look further down, you realize she's touching herself. 

You don't know which part of this makes you cum, but you cum. It's the hardest you've ever orgasmed. There's so much stimulation that your hips buck up, trying to chase the sparks of pleasure. They let you, licking you through your orgasm. 

When you come down, your thighs fall apart, splayed against the soft cushions. Utahime still isn't finished, licking at your clit. You shudder at the overstimulation, whining until Shoko is pulling her off of you by her hair. 

"Good, baby?" She asks, crawling back up to you. You kiss her as an answer. She melts in delight. 

You break the kiss, glancing over at Utahime. 

Taking the silent request, she kisses you again. You can taste yourself on her lips. You don't mind it. For some reason, it's sweeter on Utahime's tongue. 

When she breaks away, she stares at you, face soft. "You're staying, right?" She asks you. "You'll stay with us? Because after this, I don't think we could ever let you go." 

You give a shy nod, and Utahime beams. 

"Then, you're ours now," Shoko says, settling into your side. "And we're yours. Always." 

"Always." You breathe, content, happy. You could almost go to sleep. 

Shoko slaps your thigh. 

"Not yet." She warns before propping you up. "First, I want you to sit on my face." 

Hours later, you wake up delightfully sore in bed. The two girls are curled up next to you. When you move, you can still feel the bruises Utahime left. You never knew she liked to bite so much. 

You can't even begin to remember what happened, but you don't regret any of it. Hours and hours had passed as they fucked you and fucked each other, and you fucked them. 

Shoko shifts beside you. She was always a light sleeper. 

"Awake?" She asks. 

"Yeah." You softly say back. 

She hums, shifting a little more to face you. Utahime's behind you, arms protectively curled around your waist. At your voice, her eyes twitch. 

"Shut up." She grumbles, but her arms cinch around your waist. 

Shoko stretches as she rises up. You miss her body warmth but you don't mind the view she gives as she saunters over to the dresser, pulling on some clothes. 

"I'm gonna get food." 

Utahime mumbles out her order. You say nothing because you don't want to come in between them, and then Shoko looks at you. 

"What do you want?" She prompts. 

You blink, and when you answer, Shoko smiles, and then she's out the door. 

The interaction makes your heart warm. 

Still, it can't last. 

When you go to get up, Utahime protests, grabbing your wrist. 

"And where are you going?" She prods. 

You fumble. "Back to my room?" 

"What? Why?" Utahime demands with a frown. "What's the point, you're already with us, now." 

"Oh." You blink, but you give in and slink back into bed. "Is...this really okay?" 

"For God's sake, " she hisses, but you don't count it against her because Utahime has always been a little grumpy after waking up. "Yes. We're obsessed with you. How are you so blind?" 

"We want you, and we're not like them." Her voice drops in disdain. "We'll treat you better. You're ours now. You're mine." 

"Yours." You repeat, something warm fluttering in your belly. 

"You can't leave, we'd go crazy, okay?" She seriously tells you. "If someone else takes you away, I'd lose it. And Shoko is okay with murder." 

You laugh. 

"That's not a joke." She warns. 

"I know." And you kiss her again. 

It's like that for a couple weeks. You live in peaceful domestic bliss with two wonderful girlfriends. Now that you're in an actual loving relationship, you can't tell why you ever contemplated ever going back to Satoru and Suguru. Shoko actually talked to you about your feelings. Utahime cared about your input. You weren't treated like an afterthought, second place. 

They were with each other longer than they had been with you, but they never made you feel like you had to fight for your relationship. Speaking off Satoru and Suguru, they never once contacted you after their first two attempts. They'd clearly given up. 

Everything was just perfect. 

And then, it just wasn't. 

You were in bed with them. Fifteen minutes ago, Utahime shuffled off to go to the bathroom. She still wasn't back. Half asleep, Shoko grumbled. 

"She's probably in there fighting a cockroach." She complains, but she rises anyway. "Sleep, I'll be back." She kisses you on the cheek, and then she's gone. 

Their body warmth fades, but they stay because they're tired. These days, you can't really sleep without them, so you wait for the girls to return. Two minutes pass. Then, five. Then, ten. By then, the bed is cold. 

You open your eyes, sitting up. It's so quiet. Are they okay? 

You pull off the comforter, stepping onto the cold wooden floor. The apartment feels strangely...haunted somehow. The air felt heavier now, thick with an invisible tension, like the house itself was holding its breath. It must be because you feel alone, you're sure of it. 

The bedroom leads to a dark hallway. As you make your way down, you can hear something. Voices? Murmuring. The relief almost makes you laugh. Seriously, what were you even afraid about? 

The living room is horrific. 

They look dead. You can't tell if they're breathing or not. Shoko's eyes are closed. Utahime's limp body is sprawled across the floor. There's blood on the wooden panels. 

Suguru doesn't even blink. 

"You're awake." He says it so casually, like waking up to your ex-boyfriends mauling your girlfriends is normal. 

"What..." Your voice fails, you weakly try again. "What did you two do?" 

Satoru answers, smiling with glinty teeth. 

"Isn't it obvious? We're getting rid of the competition." 

You don't understand, your brain hasn't caught up yet, you still think you can talk to these psychos. 

"It's their fault." Satoru's still smiling, but there's nothing happy about his tone. He's carrying a knife. There's blood on it. "It's all their fault. They manipulated you into breaking up with us, baby. That's how these useless sluts got you into their arms." He spits on Utahime's hair. You cover your face with your hands. 

"But, it's not like you aren't at fault, Baby." He points the knife at you. "You left us for them. I'm not letting you off the hook for that." 

You don't know what he's saying. His movements scare you, his eyes, the knife. When you glance at Suguru, you don't know what you're expecting. 

But you know you aren't expecting...that. 

His purple eyes are icy cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion. You don't think you're staring at a person, anymore. 

"You lied," Suguru says, "You lied about us not giving you enough attention. You just wanted to leave us. For them." 

You step back. They step forward. 

Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise. Utahime warned you. Looking at her limp body, you wondered if she thought they'd ever go this far. 

"I didn't." You weakly insist. "I-I wasn't lying about anything! It-it wasn't like I wanted to leave-" 

"Stop lying," Gojo insists. "Stop fucking lying already." 

He smiles again. 

"It's okay, baby. I know you'll come back with us. Right after we're done dealing with these two whores." 

"You'll belong to us." Suguru promises and he steps on Shoko's hands. "Just like always."

They were both crazy. Nothing could get through to them. Now, you would sit there and watch them maul the only things in your life that made you feel complete. 

The worst part is that everything was your fault. 

Shoko's pinky twitches. You can see Utahime take shallow breathes.

And you speak. 

"I'm sorry." 

Your weak voice makes them stop in their tracks. Satoru glances at you, Suguru does too. You can't convince them. The only thing you can do is play into their delusions. 

"You're right." You say, the tears finally feeling useful. "I just wanted to leave. I-I was just bored. I wanted something new." Suguru's lips curl and you quickly move on. "But-but the more I stayed with them, the more I realized...how much I missed you two." 

Satoru halts. You caught him. 

"I did." You stress, carefully making your way to him on feet that were close to dropping at any minute. "Every day, I thought about you two." You reach out, touching his face with shaky fingers. "I really really wanted to come back, but I was afra-afraid you wouldn't...want me back."

Satoru reaches up to touch your hand. His fingers are cold. You resist the urge to shudder. 

"You missed us?" He wonders. 

The lie feels like sand. 

"More than anything." 

His kiss is violent. He crushes you with his grip, touching and biting and everything you hate. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting him suck your soul dry. 

"Don't kill them." You whisper when he finally pulls away. "Please don't kill them. Everything was my fault." 

Satoru's face is pensive. His gaze drifts off to Suguru's. Those silent conversations you hated so much. 

Then, Satoru gives a delighted sigh. 

"You're lucky. I love you so much." He kisses your nose, before pushing you in Suguru's arms. 

"I'll clean up here. Suguru, go back to the truck." He demands. 

You don't fight, letting Suguru drag you away. Shoko and Utahime live in apartments, but you're afraid if you scream, Satoru might change his mind and gut them anyway. Before Suguru leads you off, you catch Gojo scoffing before he kicks at Utahime's face. You gasp and pray that when Shoko wakes up, she'll be coherent enough to call for an ambulance. 

I'm sorry, you tell them. I'm so so sorry. 

Suguru pushes you into the backseat of their vehicle. You obediently take a seat. 

"You shouldn't have left." He tells you. "You should've stayed." 

His face is cold, but his tone betrays the tiniest tremor. If you weren't so scared, you'd laugh. The irony is that he's the one who feels wronged here. 

"I'm sorry," you say anyway. 

He hums, not quite satisfied with your answer. 

"You aren't." He responds, and you hate how well he knows your tells. 

And then, he grins. 

"But you will be."

Hands reach out, gripping your neck. You flail immediately as Suguru cuts of your oxygen. You can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe. No matter how tightly you squeeze onto his wrist, digging your nails into his hands, clawing at his face. He keeps you still, keeping you there as you grow weaker. Your vision gets blurry. Your attempts get sluggish. There's a kiss on your forehead, and you black out completely. 

~

You wake up in a room you've never seen before. And your neck is sore. 

The pain drifts in as soon as consciousness does. You feel like you have a hangover, your head throbs, your eyes struggle to remain open. You can't go back to sleep either, not when it hurts so much. 

The panic doesn't settle in until you catch the cuffs on either one of your legs, keeping you attached to the bedpost. Silver chains, with enough lead to let you move around a bit. The cuffs are padded so you don't rub yourself raw. You don't care about the thoughtfulness. 

They're in the room with you, watching with silent eyes. Nausea builds up in your stomach, and you wonder how long they'd stayed there, just watching you. 

You miss Shoko. You miss Utahime. You missed people who actually loved you. 

Not these two. Monsters that lied and pretended, but deep down, they were just too selfish to share. 

"You were out for a while." Suguru comments. 

"I told you to use the syringe," Satoru remarks, but he doesn't sound too upset. At his voice, Suguru laughs. 

You shift in your spot. Suguru takes that as an invitation. He sits at the edge of the bed, watching you with satisfied eyes. You must look pathetic: shivering, in tears. He reaches up, catching your tears with his finger.

"So cute." And then he frowns. "You know why we're doing this, yes? You were bad. You need to be punished."

"I'm sorry." It's all you can say. You feel like a broken record, doomed to repetition over and over again.

"You aren't. You should stop lying." Suguru says sweetly. "But I'm sure, a couple hours in your new home will help you think about how much you hurt us."

You wanted to scream, but you can't cuz your throat still hurts from Suguru's hands, and you know he's not above putting his hands on you this time. Maybe he never was, you just never saw this side of him until you made him snap.

"You're leaving?" You stumble, moving as they back away but the chains only take you so far. There are no windows, and when Suguru shuts the light off, the only thing that's keeping you from the dark entirely is the light emitting out the hallway.

"Wait." You beg. "Please. Wait, don't-don't leave me here. I'm sorry. This is scary. I'm scared."

Satoru hesitates at your broken voice. Like a shark smelling blood, you pounce.

"Satoru, please."

"If you keep coddling, then the lesson will never be learned." Suguru warns.

Satoru stares at you. He's not wearing his sunglasses. You can see him for what he is now.

"I love you." He says it so sincerely, you almost believe it. "This is for your own good."

The door shuts, and everything goes dark.

[kisskuni]

“who did this to you?”

↳ he finds you injured / “who did this to you?” trope - [diluc, kaeya, wriothesley x gn!reader]

tags: injuries + mentions of blood/reader gets hurt. swearing. threats to kill people lol.

notes: wooo first genshin post.. i need to catch up on this game

diluc ━━━

the way adelinde stood outside of the winery, hands playing nervous with each other and shifting her weight, told diluc that something was wrong. his brows were pinned as he approached her.

“everything alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even and calm but there was a hint of worry underneath. something was wrong. something was definitely wrong.

adelinde cleared her throat before speaking, “y/n arrived about half an-”

diluc didn’t need to hear the rest. he moved past her and into the house, calling your name as he moved up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. he was already rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt; what exactly was wrong he didn't know, but he was more than willing to get his hands dirty.

he knocked on the door to your shared room only once before clicking the door open. there was a nurse next to the bed, but she wasn’t tending to you at the moment. she looked a little startled as he entered, but he paid her no mind.

he was kneeling at your bedside in a second. the nurse had taken a few steps back to give him space. he held your hand in his, his lips pressed against your knuckles.

“are you okay? what happened?” he asked, a little breathless, his eyes moving over you. there was a bandage wrapped around your abdomen, but he didn’t see any other injuries.

you nod and swallow dryly. “yeah… yeah ‘m alright.”

"bullshit." he mutters under his breath, eyes wandering over the wound. he wants to get a better look at it, but he knows the bandaging is fresh and he doesn't want to disturb it.

"i'll be fine, diluc... honest."

"who did this?" he asks, his voice suddenly a lot lower than before.

"...what?"

it almost startles you, the way small, almost unnoticeable flames flicker along the skin of diluc's forearms. his voice is calm, but strained, when he speaks, "who?"

"it was just some treasure hoarders, i'm-"

"where?"

"they're dealt with, diluc."

he stares at you for another few moments, eyes watching your face as if searching for some sort of sign that you were being dishonest. finally, he shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. this time, when he speaks, his voice is much softer and caring than before.

"do you need anything?"

"i'm okay. some water, maybe?"

"of course," he hums, moving to press a kiss against your forehead. "just get some rest."

kaeya ━━━

you were supposed to be back an hour ago.

and yet, you weren't back.

he hates that he's pacing, hates that he feels so helpless. he should go find you. he should tell jean he's leaving, that he's not going to work for the rest of the day, that he's going to the outskirts of mondstadt to-

"kaeya!"

his head snaps up, his gaze falling to you. you were limping, why were- oh. there is a gash across your hip, bloody and staining your pants almost black, fading into red at the edges.

he's at your side as quickly as he can be. he's holding your shoulders, a silent plea not to move, not to put weight against the wound.

"shit- what happened? who did this to you?"

you swallow thickly, panting slightly. "just- i ran in to some people-"

"what kind of 'people'?"

"people that got taken care of, kaeya. i promise."

he stares at you for another few moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. then he nods and moves to your injured side. he grabs your arm to drape it over his shoulders and around his neck, his other arm wrapping around you and pulling you into him.

"we're getting you inside, and safe, and then i'm going to make sure every last one is properly dealt with."

you shake your head at him, but don't say anything. you're grateful for the support on your leg and you weren't about to complain. slowly, he helps you hobble back to the city and slowly deposits you into an infirmary bed.

a nurse ushers kaeya away, and he spends the next twenty minutes pacing outside of the building, his arms crossed. finally, the door opens, and the same nurse sticks their head out of the door, "kaeya? you can come in."

he moves back into the building, maneuvering around people and equipment to kneel at your bedside.

"hey..." he says softly. his hand comes up to your face, back of his hand running affectionately across your cheek. "you feeling alright?"

you give him a small smile. "i'm fine."

"you are," he affirms. "but i still intend on finding the sons of bitches."

you frown at him, though it holds little heat. you study him for another moment before you give him a resigned sigh, "near cape oath."

he presses a kiss against your forehead, already standing up, "i'll be back before dark, my love."

wriothesley ━━━

wriothesley did not consider himself to be a violent person.

today, he was about to be.

it was the way you stumbled into his office, looking so worn out, blood draining down your face and down your chin. your lip was busted and a gash broke the skin near your temple, crimson trickling down your face and dripping onto his floor.

he’d been by your side before you could even utter a word, letting you lean against him and forcing you to sit on the floor. his thumb ran over the blood, as if trying to convince himself that this was real. that this had happened. likely in the fortress, no less.

had it been? no. there was no way. no one would harm someone so blatantly important to the duke… right?

he was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle grumble from you.

“give me a name.” he said, without really thinking about it. his voice was stern, and cold, and left no room for argument.

“what?” you blinked hard, seemingly trying to ground yourself.

“shit.” he cursed under his breath, helping you stand back up. why the hell you had come looking for him before medical attention, he’d never know.

still, he held you against him and helped you to the infirmary, whispering sweet affirmations under his breath the whole way. his string of ‘you are gonna be fine’s and ‘everything is gonna be alright’s dissipates as he slowly lowers you into an infirmary bed.

he straightens, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl twisting his face.

“who did this to you?” wriothesley asked again, this time more firmly.

you shake your head. “is… okay, wrio-”

“give me a goddamn name.” he asks again, and then his voice softens. “please.”

you watch him for another few moments before nodding and letting the person’s name fall from your lips. a muscle in his jaw ticks. he looks down to one of the melusines.

“i’ll be back in an hour. you tell me if they so much as twitch a finger weird.” he orders. he doesn’t wait for a reply, his jaw set as he moves out of the infirmary.

[werecreature-addicted]

werewolf boyfriend that never shifts back from his wolf form- he doesn't want to. people stare, in horror and fascination as this 8 foot tall beast walks beside you, holds your hand, speaks to you so gently. they wonder how you tamed him.

i don't know where to go with this the sex is also nasty and awesome

You'd long since gotten used to the odd looks you got and the whispers you'd hear when you were out with your boyfriend. Most humans spent their childhood learning how to spot werewolves and monsters in their human forms, so to see a werewolf fully shifted going about his day-to-day was a shock, taken as a sign of aggression.

It was ridiculous the way that mothers would yank their children out of your way as if he was going to gobble them up right here in broad daylight. Or the way that people would cross the street as soon as they saw him. Your boyfriend was a sweetheart and wouldn't hurt a soul not that anyone cared, they only saw his towering frame and sharp teeth and jumped to the conclusion that he was a dangerous werewolf. But just because you were used to the attention didn't mean you didn't hate it.

"Honestly it's rude- it's just Rude I don't know what goes through people's heads sometimes to say something like that to you-" you huff as you storm into your shared home, and your werewolf boyfriend follows after you, nodding solemnly as he listens to you rant.

"Babe it's fine." he purrs lowly trying to soothe you "-well it's not fine he was an asshole. but I'm fine sweet thing," He amends running his clawed hands over your shoulders trying to soothe you. You felt a little guilty. He was the one hurt and here he was having to calm you down.

"Sorry baby, i just wish there was more i could do to help," you mumble.

"Well if you want. There is something you could do to make this day better," he says. You perk up instantly. You're so blinded by the idea of making your boyfriend happy you completely miss the innuendo in his voice and the way his eyes darken.

"How?" You ask eagerly and a split second later you're on your knees gagging on his thick cock. He's not even fully hard yet and you can feel his dick stiffen and grow with each bob of your head. He's so big you can only fit half of him down your throat, the rest of him you manage with your hands.

He cups the back of your head with a clawed hand and pushes you farther down on his cock groaning in satisfaction when you gag. "see how could i have a bad day when I've got this pretty mouth to fuck hmm?" he groans before pulling you up and off his cock before pushing you down on the living room floor.

"Come on babe don't be shy baby spread your legs for me" he growls. he doesn't even give you a chance to comply before he forces your thighs apart and pushes your knees to your chest. He growls as he pushes his cock into you. it's such a low sound in his chest you wonder if he's doing it on purpose or if it's just the way his body reacts to being inside of you. Then his cock hits that spot inside of you and your brain shuts off and it's hard to think of anything other than "good" and "more".

He must be a mind reader as well as a werewolf because he did give you more. fucking you hard and grinding you into the floor, the thick tip of his cock pushes up making your stomach bulge as he fucks himself into your tight heat.

"You like that? you must you're making such pretty noises for me babe, moaning like a fucking whore, tell me how much you like getting fucked like this" he growls. You try to comply, try to verbalize how much you like his dick but all that comes out of you is a broken whine. that's okay, it's as good as any praise in his mind.

"Gonna knot you, baby, you want that?" he asks knowing you won't be able to answer and again all you manage is a breathy moan that gets close to words. if he had to guess it sounded like a yes, please.

His hips jut forward one last time sinking his knot into you as he cums you cry out beneath him as you reach your climax too. You're so pretty like this, flushed and heaving, sweaty and fucked stupid. He'd keep you like this forever if he could.

The werewolf leans down and kisses your forehead before wrapping you tight in his arms as his knot throbs inside of you. It's not such a bad day if he can come home to his sweet mate and fuck you as stress relief.

[snowsinterlude]

playing dangerous.

c.w: gun play, peacekeeper coriolanus, fingering, rough sex, throatfucking, slapping, degrading, breeding, hate fucking, unproctected sex

based on this ask ! hope you like it anon, sorry if i got anything wrong. mwah

you could say a lot of things about coriolanus snow. you could say he was mentally unstable, that he was a whiny bitch who would throw a tantrum at any small thing that made him angry.

however, you couldn't say he was a bad fuck. not when he had your face pressed down and a gun pointed at your sopping cunt. you couldn't say he was ugly either, not with that white peacekeeper uniform hugging his body so well.

"don't worry," he whispered, biting your shoulder, "it only has one bullet." he smiled, chuckling at your clear despair, a total contrast to your soaked panties. "not as if you care, though"

"of course i do! fuck it, snow. you're the reason people call cops bastards!" you said, frowning at him as if your hips weren't bucking up on the gun. you didn't even knew if what he said was actually true.

"you should be grateful i'm not playing russian roulette on your pussy, darling." he said, thanking heaven's he handcuffed your hands before all that. "if you don't like it, i know just the right place to aim it. other than that perverted wet pussy of yours. are you a pervert? god, you're soaking wet" he said, grinding the gun in your cunt.

"aim it at your head, you sickfuck." you spat, not bothering looking at him.

"i don't know if you noticed but i have a gun pointed to your pussy, if you don't wanna get shot you should start being a good girl instead of a manic bitch." he said, slapping your ass and making your body jolt.

how the hell did it come to this?! you remembered that he had returned home after deployment and your parents made you go over to his house to give him some sweet dessert as a way to ❛thank him for his services.❜ fuck it. you hated him. if depended on you, he would have been killed by a rebel or something, but god, that's the best dick you've ever seen or felt, even if through grinding. you would never admit it to him though.

"on your knees, please." he said, a fake chivalry on his sadistic tone. and did you have any other options? of course not. so now you were on your knees, gulping down and watching him unbuckle his pants, his hand slapping your face lightly to make you wake up and stop looking so much at his eight inches shaft. "god, you're drooling so much just from looking. guess i won't have to aim a gun to your head for you to suck it." he said, and you stared at him with anger.

"you better kill me already cause i am not sucking that thing." you said.

well, all your defenses were throw away as he pointed the loaded gun to your head, smiling as you opened your mouth and engulfed him obediently, still looking at him with that angry stare in your eyes, that was soon replaced with tears as you took him. god, how could a dick taste so good?

"fuck, you're taking me so good, doll." he said, smiling as you drooled on his dick, getting it all wet from your saliva. "making such a mess, crying so much... you're so pretty when you're not running your mouth around so much." he said, grabbing your hair and making you curse mentally before he started to fuck your throat, his balls meeting your chin as you took him, giving in as you moaned against his cock.

too aggressive, you thought. but it was just as good as you imagined it to be. and he was getting just what he wanted to. he was fucking that attitude out of you, your throat taking him so well he only wondered how good it would feel to fuck your cunt. with that thought in mind, he pulled back of your mouth, and you thought you were really dumb from how you tried to get him to thrust into your mouth again. you wanted to taste him, and he couldn't help but chuckle at your despair.

"i didn't even had a proper taste of your cunt and you're already dumb? thought you were stronger." he said, getting you to stand up as you were still salivating. he cleaned your tear stained cheeks, the softest thing he would do to you today. so, ripping your panties and seeing your cunt, he thrusted two fingers in it, not mindinho if you were uncomfortable. your wetness made it very clear that you weren't anywhere close to discomfort or pain. and your moans did it too.

"fuck it, get away, coriolanus!" you pleaded, not wanting to be the one moaning his name that night. and he didn’t even bother listening to you, too occupied with thrusting his entire lenght inside of you. it felt horribly good, his hot cock sloppily fucking your pussy as he fucked you in missionary, holding your left thigh to hug his waist just so he could have a better access to you. so good. so hot. it felt perfect.

you felt dumb.

your eyes closed shut as you did your best to hold in your moans, letting out a few groans and grunts as he slapped your ass, getting a hold of your other thigh and fucking you with your back against the wall, your eyes looking into his. fuck. you prayed to god that he wouldn’t end up making you say something, but god didn't seem to want to help you.

"tell me, doll," he started, groaning against your lips. "who does this pussy belongs to?" he asked, and you did your best not to answer, but the way your hips were trying to buck against his seemed as an answer. "words, bunny. use your words."

"n-no. no- i won't- fuck!" you moaned, lips opened slightly as you couldn't help but let your moans out of your mouth. you just wanted to cum already. it was too brain-mushing for you to do something other than moan and squeeze his dick inside you.

"tell me, or i'm not gonna let you cum." he said, brushing the gun on your clit, the cold metal making you mewl and cry.

"i-it's yours, c-coryo. it's yours. i'm sorry! please let me cum!" you begged, crying. he smiled, kissing your cheek and tasting your salty tear drop.

"i don't recall letting you call me coryo, bunny." he said, his dick kissing your cervix as you felt it throbbing inside you.

"o-officer! fuck, i'm sorry!" you slurred, and finally he had what he wanted.

he finally fucked the attitude out of you. not only that but he also got his dick wet. it was perfect.

"good girl." and you came, shaking on his cock as he kept thrusting in you, running for his climax.

once he did came inside you, he didn’t allow you to clean yourself, made you walk and sleep with your pussy filled by his cum.

[lilacgaby]

i guess i'm stuck forever by the glue,

oh, and you.

pairing: spiderman!megumi x reader

synopsisꨄ: you and megumi have been on and off for a while, one situation to another has you two webbed together. not like either of you mind. wc: 3k

tags: fem!reader, cursing, fighting, use of she/her, drinking, yuuji is the goat, suggestive (kissing(???)), fluff, pet names, college!au, megumi has a lip piercing. yeah.

as megumi swung back from a night full of work, greeting his roommate yuuji with a fist bump and an exhausted smile as he pulled up his mask, he laid down on his bed exhausted.

his black webbed suit now discarded by the bed as he stared up to the ceiling of his room. his chest heaving slightly as he put an arm over his eyes, blocking out all light so he could sleep for a couple hours before it all began at nine.

not.

he had classes today, classes he dreaded for one reason. you.

something happened between you that should've never been given a single thought, never should've been conceived even in his mind.

he'd kissed you. and that was putting it lightly.

it was at some random college party he'd been convinced to go to by yuuji, he had been taking down cans of cheap beer mindlessly, the bottle now a bit crushed in his hand as he saw you walk in.

fitted dress, hugging you so right. jewelry shining in the dim light of the party, but this place was forgotten as his eyes settled on you. and yours in him.

a lot of the party was a blur in his mind, events playing together and becoming one because the only thing he kept focused on was you.

he thinks you drank a lot too, he can't quite remember. his hand slaps over his eyes in frustration, because the one part he thinks he'll never forget plays in his head on repeat.

your lips on his, you on his lap as his hand held you against him. you were on a bed, how did you get there? he didn't know but didn't care. his hand tilting your head slightly, with the feeling of your hands in his hair. the piercing on his lip rubbing almost addictively painful against yours, his tongue almost slipping in your mouth until–

todo. his stupid upperclassman barged in, a comically loud gasp coming from his lips as he yelled, “megumi and [name] are making out in here!”

safe to say you jumped off of him pretty quick, his hands ripped off your waist as he stood to attention, you shoving past him as you left. megumi shot an annoyed glare as he walked past him, only for yuuji to laugh in his face as he settled back onto the couch of the living room.

“what?” megumi grunted, he was already annoyed, he didn't need yuuji laughing at him right now.

“it's just..” yuuji pointed a finger to his face, before cracking an impossibly wider smile. “you have lipstick all over your face megumi.”

after throwing a pillow at yuuji’s face, he went home.

but you've been on his mind ever since, and he didn't know what to do about it.

you've been ‘friends’ for a while, only because of mutual relations between your other friends. but you'd always had this weird connection between you two. sharing wired headphones during school trips, lending a shoulder to sleep on, studying together.

he'd hate to think it'd be lost just because of a drunken— no it wasn't an accident. far from it. but he just wished he talked to you before it got that far.

with a groan, he shoves his head into a pillow, letting out a muffled scream.

he finally felt his thoughts calm down, his eyes closing as he fell asleep..

and awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock. he threw a web at it and stuck it to the wall. this was going to be annoying.

you seemed to be just as awkward as he was about this whole ordeal, fingers playing with each other as you avoided eye contact with him at all cost.

not like he fared any better, anytime he tried to start up conversation with you, his eyes would fall to your lips and make him flush red.

just two hopeless idiots.

class ended with no words spoken between you two and a voice screaming at him to do something. anything.

but he didn't, and you were already gone. he sighed before packing up and heading back to the dorm.

yuuji had become sort of like his intelligence.. though it wasn't the best idea megumi ever had, he was good hearted about it at least.

as megumi snacked on a bunny-shaped popsicle, yuuji looked shocked to see him. he looked at him blankly before starting, “i didn't think you'd be here.”

megumi squinted, “why wouldn't i be in my own house?”

“because doc oc attacked by one of the school dorms?”

a moment of silence passed, the bunny now miserably dripping down the drain forgotten, as megumi ran to put his suit on. “lead with that shit, idiot!”

he zipped out the window of his room, yuuji yelled out behind him, “dorm 5-C!”

megumi swung quickly, the black and white suit making him stand out in the broad daylight as he sped over there. landing a kick on the face of the man controlling the robotic suit, before landing perfectly on the top of the dorm.

“hey freak. don't you have anything better to do?” he mocked, before webbing down one of their arms.

“oh, nice of you to finally show up, spiderman.” the man spoke, attempting to grab him but slamming his hand down onto the building instead. “so slow, what if i'd killed someone already?”

“you think you're that good?” he sped over to land a kick on the main body of the mission, making the man keel over.

“no, i know so.” the man retorted, before slamming down three arms at once. he missed megumi entirely, but one section of the dorm was now completely cut off.

‘crap’. megumi thought, before attaching a string of web to the man's neck. “can you be more considerate next time?” before he could swat it off, a wave of venom passed through his neck, paralyzing him.

megumi, after breathing a sigh of relief, quickly did a once-over of the damaged area. swinging by only to see you, standing at the broken off chunk of what must've been your room with a horrified look.

you stared blankly at the outside, an odd look on your face. the boba that you stopped to get at the cafe now dropped on the floor.

megumi rushed over to you, moving you from the dangerous edge as he instinctively asked, “[name]! are you okay?”

you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion as he held you close. “..spider-man? why do you know my name?”

shit.

“uhh. i.. know one of your friends? he spoke of you once.”

“really? who?”

“um.. oops.. his name must of slipped my mind.”

“oh?”

“just– listen, you've got to find someone to stay with. sorry about this, but your dorm is wrecked.”

it seemed to get your attention off the topic for a second you looking over and mentally crying at all your lost things. “aw man, my stuff.”

he finally let you out his embrace so you could start calling up people to let you stay with them. “um.. i'm really sorry about this [name].”

“it's not your fault spider-man,” you said while texting, “i probably would be dead if you didn't come when you did. so thank you.”

you gave him a polite smile, before he nodded and swung off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, slumping over at his desk, changing quickly so he could just be done.

he walked out his room, sweatpants hung low as he went to go get another bunny popsicle, only for this one to meet the same fate as its predecessor when he saw you walk in with yuuji.

“hey megumi!” yuuji waved, his eyes wide as if to signal something.

“she's gonna be staying here, since her dorm was ruined by a villain. isn't that horrible?”

“why are you being weird?”

“i'm not?”

megumi stood jaw slack at the implications of living with you, his face flushed before he let out a small. “okay.”

weeks living with you weren't bad. you were a good roommate, you'd clean, do your part of the dishes, hang out as you three, it was all good.

he'd let you borrow his clothes, his sweatshirts and pants became you new style. since his fight with that villain had left you without any clothes.

everything had been fine, you'd even hung out in his room one on one once, lazing about as you laid on the silken sheets, not knowing how you were affecting him.

one day, an altercation with some random villain had left him bleeding from the stomach, stumbling as he walked in. he only managed to make it to the living room, before falling onto the floor. he didn't have his suit on thankfully, he had been caught off guard and had to fight without it, but he'd never missed the slight protection it gave him until now.

you saw him, keeled over on the floor, and rushed to his side. “megumi? what's–” you let a sharp gasp escape your lips at the sight of the blood puddle under him. you flipped him over as gentle as you could, pulling up his shirt and running to find a kit.

you didn't think you'd ever need to use your sewing skills for skin, but you were weaving the needle in and out of the huge wound with precision, ignoring the tears burning at you eyes.

you didn't know what was going on with him, why'd he'd leave at random hours throughout the night and come back bruised every time. but you couldn't find it in yourself to ask.

now you wish you did.

“megumi?” he was out cold, face still as you poked his cheek gently. you dabbed at his wound, cleaning it up before getting yuuji to help him into his bed.

he woke up alone, his wounds even from the months before having been taken care of. when he walked in to the kitchen, only to have you grab his hand.

“megumi.”

“ah. [name].” his eyes were wide as he stared at your grip on him. “what.. what do you do when you go out? you come back all.. bruised and stuff.”

crap.

“i.. i can't tell you.”

you gripped his hand tighter at that, before letting go completely. “‘kay. but,” you held up a finger to his face. “i'll take care of your injuries everyday.”

his eyes widened impossibly, before a small smile overcame his face. “yeah? sounds good.”

that's how he found himself, every night with your hand tending anything that ailed him. you'd make jokes about what you think he was out doing, beating up underclassmen or whatnot. until.. he left his mask in plain vision once.

“hey, why do you have spider-man's mask in here?”

his breath hitched, eye catching the object that fell out of the closet he shoved it in.

“uh.. i'm.. spider-man's friend?” he mentally face palmed.

…

“oh!” you said, eyes brightening. “now i get it! wouldn't you believe it if i said that i met spider-man when my dorm like.. got destroyed?”

“yeah. uh– he told me.”

“oh! he said he had a friend, i didn't know it was you!”

“yeah i help him. research and stuff, get caught in the aftermath a lot.”

“that makes sense. you're so cool megumi.”

he flushed, becoming hyper aware of your hands on his.

“yeah, whatever.”

your almost nightly ritual was only cut off by a party your friend was throwing. you were so excited, not having gone to one since your dorm room was destroyed.

until you needed someone to help zip up your dress. with your friends half an hour away, you wrapped a towel around yourself and knocked on megumi’s door.

“yo–” whatever he was going to say got caught in his breath at this sight of you, clad in a towel.

“hey megumi. can you help me real quick?”

he ripped his eyes off of you momentarily, before averting his eyes and gesturing for you to come in.

he almost freaked out when you dropped the towel, only to see a gorgeous dress underneath. “can you zip me up? i can't reach.”

he sucked in a deep breath, before putting a thumbs up.

with shaky hands he zipped up your dress, instinctively you turned around. “how do i look?”

he couldn't voice his words, but as you saw the gulp that came over him, you knew you looked good. with a pat on the back and a, “see you there!” you set off.

and you found yourself in the same position as the last time, except he was on top of you, your hands pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around him. same bed too, not that it mattered.

you felt the same pressure from his piercing from last time, you two weren't nearly as drunk as then though. it was bruising your lip, you two were breathless, his hands moved, about to hold your face when–

his phone rang. you both jumped, but when he saw who it was he knew he had to answer. it was yuuji, and he wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. “sorry.” is all he said before he went outside.

he always kept his suit near him, so he slipped it on and went to the site where it was reported doc oc would be. being he escaped prison and all.

you were upset and angry in all senses of the word. you stormed out into the streets, the cold biting your skin as you stomped away. only to find yourself… entangled in an iron hand.

“spider-man likes you, right?” a man asked, warped voice behind you. “stay still and i won't hurt you. too bad.”

you were dragged, silent as to not upset this strange man. he settled over a random building, holding you over an edge.

“stay quiet 'til he gets here, i don't wanna hear you scream.”

—-

all the information had been wrong, doc had been on the complete opposite side of the city. with a screaming yuuji in his ear, he now knew the villain held you in his grasp. great.

the guy was shaking you around over the edge, the one you were tumbling over mentally was now physical as the far distance to the bottom loomed under you.

his heart sped up at the sight of you, he made his presence known. “hey, how'd you escape from the psych ward?”

“it was confinement, and i don't owe you any answer spider-man! you'll let me beat you down or– or i'll throw your girlfriend off this roof.” the villain shook you slightly, making you yelp.

“you won't be doing anything.”

“oh, yes i will.”

the arm with you encircled in it raised, he sped over to web the base of his body to the ground, kicking the control in with his leg.

the dome surrounding the villains body shattered, leaving a shaking man in its wake.

“d-don't hurt me! or i'll–”

a punch by the side of his head shut him up. “put her down, before i put you down.”

“i– i can't! that arm is broken! t-the whole panel is!”

he looked and sure enough he was right, the control buttons were electrified and tweaking.

he scoffed. “stay here, actually.” he webbed him down, with a little venom just to be safe.

he walked calmly on top of the arm, seeing the relief form on your lips bruised from him.

“hey pretty.” he said, not knowing where the sudden confidence came from.

“spider-man! thank god.” you breathed a sigh. “yeah, don't thank me yet.” he muttered. “you have to trust me [name]. can you do that for me?” he asked, looking right at you as he stood over the only thing keeping you alive.

“i mean.. yeah.”

“okay then. you're going to fall. but i'm going to catch you, okay?”

you nodded, closing your eyes. “okay. don't worry, i got you.”

before you knew it you were falling, you screamed obviously, because you stupidly opened your eyes to the cars moving below. the lights blinding as you fell closer and closer, until you were suddenly in the embrace of him.

“are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face of pure shock at the feeling of being swung around. “yeah, now that you're here! this is so cool!” he smiled, the fabric of his mask wrinkling as he took you to your unknowingly shared home, though he took the long route.

he was a bit too happy when he dropped you off at your window, antsy as you finally settled in. “thank you, spidey.”

“ah, it's nothing. just doing my job you know?” he smirked, you nodded. you tilted you head slightly as you moved towards him, heart in your throat as you put your hand under the neck of his mask, lifting it up just to reveal his lips.

“what, you trying to pay me for my trouble?” he genuinely didn't know why he was acting on his impulses so much around you, maybe it was the freedom of being spiderman. but you didn't mind as you kissed him. sparks flew, almost literally.

a lightbulb went off in your head, you gasped when you felt the metal of his piercing nudge against the sensitive bruise on your lip from earlier.

no way. “megumi?”

he froze, before a small, “hi?” escaped him.

you pulled off his mask, green eyes greeting you and a messy bunch of hair that you have no idea how it fit being revealed. all you could do was laugh, before planting another kiss on his lips.

“you're so dumb. but i guess i am too, huh?”

a smile overcame his lips, matching yours as he let out a small laugh too.

“guess we are.”

the night ended with you two in each others arms, him speaking on his experiences as spider-man and you questioning him on it. his hands now playing with your hair.

“name slipped your mind huh?” you joked, reminiscing on your first conversation with spider-man.

“tch, shut up.” he grumbled, before silencing you with a kiss. he physically didn't want to be far from you anymore, he held you even closer. even if you poked fun at him.

a webbed seal of fate tied you two together, a web woven by cupid themself.

[wysteria-bloom]

⚝ " i'll never smile again "

The hazbin boys are visibly stressed

Warnings : I used female pronouns. There are mentions of Valentino. Highly suggestive in Vox's part because yeah it makes sense. Alastor offers to go on a murderous rampage with the reader 🥰

Genre : Fluff, suggestive

A/n : I hate the people in my life and they stress me tf out so I'm writing to vent my frustrations out. :) I only included my favs in this one but if you would like a part two with other characters then say the word.

Characters : Alastor, Vox, Lucifer

▢ vox ᯤ

- Offering sexual favours -

Vox growled to himself gently as he typed away at the screen in front of him, eyes honing in obsessively on the words and news articles.

He was on media control right now because fucking Val blew up on Angel in public today.

Now he's forced to get rid of every media that is sculpting Valentino out to be the bad guy.

Whoopee fucking doo.

"Fuckin' Val... stupid idiot.... stupidly hot idiot." He sighed out, running his hands down his face tiredly then his eyes widened with an idea,"... Where's my assistant."

"Here, sir."

"Fuckin' christ-!" He yelped out at the sudden voice and he spun around quickly in his chair, coming face to face with her amused little shit-eating grin. He glared, scowl on his lips," You been there the whole time?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded, hands folded in her lap modestly.

"You're a little creep, y'know that?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the painful cracks that resounded from them," You seen the media?"

She nodded," yes, quite the 'clusterfuck' as you would put it."

His lip twitched in amusement," perfect descriptor, honestly." He then clicked his fingers at the screen," Is Troy on today? Tell him to deal with the rest of the articles pl-"

"It's Troy's day off today, sir." (Name) interrupted, walking so she was standing next to him, she leaned over him a little to click away at the tabs he had opened," But I will call him to come in. You need rest." She replied promptly.

Vox watched her with an almost sleepy look in his eyes, watching her close down the articles with quick and manicured claws.

"What would I do without you, eh?" He hummed out.

A chuckle flitted from her lips and he found himself entranced by the sound of it," I think you'd do well for yourself without me, sir." She reassured with a gentle voice and stepped away from the desk a little, turning to face him," would you like me to accompany you to your room?"

He blinked and then smirked," how forward of you, sweetheart." He cooed out with that sultry tone of his," Take me out to dinner first, yeah?"

She tilted her head to the side with an owlish blink,"... Would you like to go to dinner? Would that be a better form of stress relief for you that the first option?"

His mouth fell open with a shocked look as he stared at her, a little buffering symbol in the top right corner of his screen for a moment before it disappeared, a dark blush appearing on his face," f-fuck wait... w-were you suggesting we..."

"We have sex? Yes. I hear it's a rather fantastic way of stress relief and you are a rather sexually frustrated individual so it would-"

He place a hand over her mouth as he stood from his chair, basically towering over her.

There was a hungry look in his eyes as he let that charming grin twitch onto his lips," You're about the best damn fuckin' assistant I've ever had."

She smiled beneath his hand and grabbed onto his wrist gently, maneuvering it so she could place an oh-so-gentle kiss to his wrist whilst looking into his eyes," I'm honoured, sir." She hummed out in a sultry fashion.

Vox gulped, his self-control snapping, red leaking from his mouth," I'm gonna fuck the shit outta you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, sir."

▢ alastor ⍋

- Expressing your issues over a glass of giggle juice -

A sigh and a huff fell from her lips as she made her way into the hotel lobby, shoulders sagging from a long day of work.

There seemed to be nobody in the lobby as she walked over to the bar and poured herself out a glass of whiskey.

"Late-night drinking? That's not like you." The familiar static of Alastor graced her ears.

(Name) blinked and looked over to him, noticing how tensed his smile seemed. His eyes looked... genuinely exhausted. His ears flopped downwards ever so slightly.

"Looks like you should be joining me," She hummed back and grabbed another glass, wiggling it at him suggestively.

He watched it for a second before relaxing and grabbing it, sitting next to her at the bar and pouring the liquid. He took a sip with her and his smile seemed to curl in a more soft way now.

"Hm, I dare say my dear, that does just hit the spot doesn't it?" He hummed out, a more relaxed expression on his face.

"You can say that again. No wonder Husk is an alcoholic, I understand the appeal after having an awful day." She replied with a nod of agreement," yknow, sometimes I wish Hell was just a personal purgatory instead of me having to deal with other people's shit."

"Agreed. It gets tiring, doesn't it? Makes you want to go a little batshit insane, yes?" He said this with a polite tone of voice, ears perked up.

"I want to go on a murderous rampage every second of every day."

"We could join forces if it ever came to that. We would kill twice the amount of demons."

She grinned at him," how flattering. You'd go on a murder spree with me, Al?"

He pressed a hand to his heart to express his genuine sincerity," Dear, if I ever say no to a question like that then I give you my full and utter permission to kill me in the most brutal way you can think of." He replied honestly, and (name) didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned but she found herself laughing along anyways.

"What a charmer," She grinned at him brightly," You can be so romantic when you want to, hm?"

"Romance has nothing to do with it. It is merely etiquette." He tilted his head at her, resting it in the palm of his hand, expression seemingly brightened from just a conversation with her," what's got you so downtrodden?"

She deflated a little, smile tired," Overworked and under-appreciated for the work I do." She replied simply, taking a sip of her whiskey," I'll never smile again~" She sang sadly.

Alastor perked up at the familiar song," until I smile at youuu~" he serenaded, smile only widening at the sound of her amused laughter.

Then he looked her over, an almost disappointed glint in his eyes," I still wonder why you work for that insolent shitbox after all these years." His smile seemed to sharpen at the thought of Vox," He doesn't deserve you at all. Not a single bit."

(Name) shrugged," I'm helpless, what can I say?"

"You're not. You're a strong woman, (name). Stand up for yourself. And if you can't stand?" His eyes glowed sinisterly," Break his legs off so you can."

She stared on for a second before raising her glass," Most sound advice I've heard for years."

Alastor barked out an amused laugh and raised his hlass to hers, "For that compliment? I will break his legs for you if it is needed, darlin'. "

Clink went their glasses as they enjoyed each other's company for a while longer.

▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝

- Gentle caresses and positive affirmations -

"Okay so... meeting with the angels next week... then I have to call Michael- eugh cowabummer... then I have to-"

(Name) watched her friend flail around his office with a concerned frown on her lips, arms crossed over her chest.

He's been so stressed lately. He had that little break in between where he could just... chill.

And make his cute rubber duckies.

But now with everything in the hotel, he's had a lot more work on his shoulders. Specifically with Heaven, as unfortunate as that was.

She saw his claws scratching through his hair as he paced back and forth, as though he was entranced by all these... issues. He's so entranced he's forgotten she's there with him.

So she sighed and lifted herself from the wall and walked into his walk-cycle path, grabbing onto his shoulders before he could crash into her.

He blinked in surprise and met eyes with her, a dumbfounded expression on his face," Oh... Hey."

She smiled," Hey."

"Sorry, you've probably heard me complain enough lately. Your pretty ears must be burning with all the yapping-"

"Of course not, Lou..." She huffed out, interrupting him with a frown of disapproval. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his arms, rubbing gentle touches of comfort," I think you've got too much on your plate lately - you using me as an outlet to vent to is the least of my problems."

He deflated a little, a tiredly wry grin on his lips," You're... you're too nice, y'know that?"

"What? You'd rather I spit and degrade you~?" She flirted teasingly with a fanged grin.

"No thanks... for now." He then sighed and moved his head to rest on her chest, cheek smooshing against her collar bone," I need a vacation."

(Name) laughed as she threaded her fingers through his mussed-up hair gently and soothingly," You were basically on a vacation already, hon. Now's the time to get back to work. Put all those wonderful thoughts and dreams to good use."

He melted in her arms, closing his eyes slowly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. This felt more domestic than platonic, but the two of them were too focused on eachother to admit that.

"You'll stay, right? I like having you here." He mumbled tiredly," U-unless you don't wanna which I totally understand and a-accept... y'know, you don't have to be here if you don't want t-"

"Stop worrying you dummy." (Name) chuckled out,"... I'd love to stay here with you."

"Phew..." He huffed and grinned sharply," Good to hear... a-amazing to hear!... Y... you're the best."

"Don't I know it~!"

[samsmissingshoee]

ANGEL — SAM WINCHESTER.

SUMMARY — sam starts to grow fond of an angel. they have grown more comfortable around each other, and tensions run high when dean leaves for a bar.

WARNINGS — no plot all porn... 18+, softdom!sam, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f!receiving, unexperienced!reader, angel!reader, LOTS of praise, biting, creampie, mentions of religion, sam's a sweetheart. he's also a freak.

WC — 4.3k. i got carried away.

A/N — i feel like i'm going to hell just from the warnings alone. i erm. i don't even know. shout out the two people who asked to get tagged in this 🙏 first ever smut fic, if you hate i'll probably delete my account. i am not editing 4.3k words btw. i'm lazy.

angels weren't supposed to enjoy the feeling of a human. that much was well known.

and when you came from heaven to assist castiel in whatever the hell it was that he was doing, that was repeated to you over and over again. these 'humans', they weren't important. your only job was to make sure sam winchester didn't get hurt. that was all this was supposed to be. a casual round of protecting the winchesters.

you didn't understand human norms, and at first, sam didn't like you. you didn't take personally, of course, because, well, sam hated any angel at first. castiel quickly explained to you about the brother's and how you'd be spending more time with them while he awaited directions. honestly, you couldn't care less about either of the brothers, too. they were hunters, and you were an angel. you weren't supposed to mix anyway.

sam winchester was more interesting than his older and shorter brother, though. sam was thoughtful and a lot more curious about you than he let on at first. as you spent more time 'watching' over him, you realized he enjoyed asking you questions about heaven, and the angels, and about castiel. and you tried to answer them to the best of your ability.

sam was more open to learning about you than dean, and he was more considerate when it came to teaching you knew things. slowly, he started defending you against dean's antics, and he learned about how curious you were, too.

he spent many late nights awake with you, struggling with his insomnia. you made it much more enjoyable. on the off chance that he did get some sleep, he'd wake up to you in the bunker, lounging and reading one of his books. as soon as you saw him awake, you'd pounce on him, eager to talk all about it.

sam found you endearing in the same way you found him intriguing. you both taught each other different things. he taught you about different emotions and how to communicate them to him. he showed you his favorite movies. he told you about his time in standford and about how he was studying law. you taught him about the bible, about praying and how you'd always come if he prayed for you. you taught him about heaven and hell, and angels and everything in between.

eventually, you two become friends, as much as younger sam would have hated to admit that. he showed you what friendship was and what it was like to worry about someone more than yourself. he explained to you what love was and about heartbreak. sam watched as you turned from this unemotional, blunt angel into a person, crafted by the things you loved.

you two kissed about six months after hunting with him. you were unexerienced, and painfully so, and your first kiss was nothing but giggles and awkward stares. the second, third, and fourth ones weren't any better. sam was ridiculously dotting and patient, and even though you were an angel and didn't understand what a relationship was, you still tried for him, and he loved you for it.

after a week of sneaky kisses and rushing into each other's rooms once dean fell asleep, you seemed to have gotten the hang of it. you and sam hadn't done anything remotely sexual other than a few hands-under-the-bra's and one /bad/ attempt at a handjob. sam was enthralled in watching you become more confident and learning how to touch him the way that he liked and how to kiss him properly. so he didn't mind taking things slow.

you two agreed to not have sex yet, partially because to you, it was a sin, and partially because you didn't know what you were doing. sam had no issue waiting. that was, until tonight.

you don't even remember how this happened, honestly — the lingering touches became more frequent, more needy, and at some point, sam had slipped you out of your shirt and bra. you'd barely even made it to his room /thank god for dean being out at a bar tonight/, before he was kissing you, his lips hiding something more intense tonight.

you wouldn't have protested anyways, but as soon as your shirt was gone, sam was all over you.

"i know it feels dirty, honey. but it's not. i wouldn't lie to you." sam hums against your throat, kissing the soft skin. when he talks like that, all low and soothing, you might just believe anything he says. he pulls back to look at your concerned expression, and his smile softens.

his movement stills, and you frown, almost wishing sam would convince you to do more. that feeling in your stomach, the one that felt close to nausea, started to feel nice. and you craved more of it. you craved more of sam.

although his desire outweighed his guilt for ruining the purity of an angel like this, sam still sat up for a moment, his hazel eyes practically begging you. he was nothing, if not a gentleman. "do you want this?" sam asks, hushed and spoken like a prayer, and you think you might get sent to hell just from how he's looking at you.

sam's hair is a ruffled mess, and his long sleeve black shirt was rolled up to his elbows. his carhartt jacket had long been discarded by you, tossed somewhere into the dark abyss that was the dingy, horribly lit motel room. he looks beautiful.

"i do, sammy, but—" you breathe out shakily. before you can finish answering, his hands are on your hips, tugging you closer to him. you're both standing up, his large hands moving up your skirt to trail up your sides. sam can feel your back arch against his hands slightly, and it's taking everything in him to not lose his resolve.

san, who previously said he was okay with waiting, felt like a selfish man tonight. he could honestly care less about your innocence right now. what he did care about was you, though. sam knew that if you wanted him to continue, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"but what?" sam mumbled, his fingertips digging against your hips. his erection was pressed dangerously against your thigh. he shifted you until you were pressed against him — he knew what he was doing and the effect it was having on you. you didn't answer and could only grumble a complaint out.

"just needa taste you, honey. we don't have to go all the way if you don't want to." sam's words are a contradiction to how he was staring at you. "although, i have thought about doing more." he hums, and he has a slight shit eating grin on his face. it's sort of surprising that this is your sweet sammy.

you're conflicted— this is wrong. sinful. but there was a bubbling heat in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to make sam feel good. maybe a part of being human was indulging in your sins. you pout at him slightly, and sam has to stop himself from moving his hips up against you. he doesn't just want this, he needs this. he needs to corrupt you, to ruin your innocence until all you can think about is him.

"fine. be gentle, though, sam. i mean it." you relent, although you didn't need much convincing. honestly, if he tried to pull off of you, you'd be the one begging him to touch you and not the other way around.

"oh, fuck—" sam groans, and he almost instantly falls to his knees. his hands are tugging off your jeans faster than you can process. "you don't know how long i've wanted this." his tone makes you feel dirty, and you can't help when your brows crumple into a slight glare. you didn't know what he was doing, but you wanted him to hurry it up.

you help him kick your jeans off around your ankles and step out of them. you're left in your cotton panties, and for some reason, it turns sam on more to know you weren't planning for this. honestly, neither was he.

"leave these on." two fingers slip underneath the elastic by your thigh, tugging them and letting them go, the fabric snapping against your skin. the action makes you suck in a breath. sam's lips make their way to your upper thighs, sucking and kissing at the sensitive skin. it's not enough, and he knows that. he's driving you crazy on purpose to see you squirm for him.

"sam—" you chastise, like a scold, your hand running through his hair and tugging on it gently, trying to bring your hips closer to him. sam fucking moans. he moans at getting his hair pulled, and it makes your brows crease in bewilderment. /you would definitely be keeping that in mind./

sam looks up at you with those same puppydog eyes, and you swear you're going to burst into literal flames and have your wings removed instantly. "needa taste my girl's pussy. y'gonna let me?" sam says softly, his voice muffled by your thigh, gently biting on a spot. when you whimper, he pulls back to kiss at the forming bruise, his hands massaging at the fat of your ass.

truth be told, you'd probably let him fold into a pretzel at this point, but you didn't want to stroke his massive ego.

the noise you make is answer enough, and sam deftly pulls your panties to the side. his hand brings yours to hold them. he needs *both* hands for devouring you. sam's two middle fingers move to collect your slick from your folds, and you shiver. his brows raise, and he smiles again. "you're soaked, baby. you really want me that bad?" he asks, and you're nodding quickly.

sam can't hold back when you look this pretty above him. you can feel his breath against you. even just looking at you bare in front of him is enough to make him want to cum in his fucking jeans.

he flattens his tongue against you, and your hips stutter against his mouth. you've never felt anything like this before. you can feel sam's grin against your cunt, his hands cupping into your ass and pulling your hips further into his mouth.

seeing such a large man, especially one like sam, at his knees, lapping at your pussy like a fucking starved man— it makes your head fuzzy.

without warning, his middle finger slips into you. your hands move to his hair to steady yourself, massaging at the brown strands, pushing some from off his sticky forehead. the concentration on his face is almost cute, but it soon becomes too hard to keep your eyes open.

another finger slips past your folds, and you're mouthing his name like a prayer. his fingers are rocking into you at a slow speed, but his mouth— it was fucking dirty, the way he'd suck on your clit, only pulling away to breathe. everytime he pulled away, a string of saliva followed, connected between you two. his chin was slick with your arousal, his chest panting with heavy breaths. and then he was right back to devouring you.

maybe sam winchester was the devil.

your hands tug on his hair slightly, and sam groans against you. the heat in your stomach was building and sam was near drunk on your pussy. when he looked up at you with those hazel eyes, you moaned, your thighs tremoring.

"sam— sam, it feels too good... please—" you breathed out, panting too now, and sam didn't relent, no matter how hard you were tugging at his hair. his hand was holding your hip hard not daring to let you squirm away from him. indents of his fingertips would ruin your pretty skin by the morning. you had to shy away from his intense gaze.

sam pulled away, still fucking his fingers into you. "eyes on me, baby." he mumbled, before sinking flush against your clit again. you listened, although your face was an embarrassing hue of pink. sam was just as loud and needy, if not worse than you. everytime your thighs clenched around him, or you tugged on his hair, profanities and groans slipped from his lips. he needed you.

sam kept his tongue latched onto you, his eyes showing that he was as desperate as you were to make you cum. the noises he was making were filth, soft grunts and groans, all muffled by your puffy pussy. when your eyes flickered down, you noticed that one of his hands were palming himself through his jeans.

with every shake and spasm, it was like sam knew you were close. he was using his hands to rock your hips more onto his tongue, your weight practically suffocating him. sam would gladly die a happy man in between your folds, if it meant getting to look up at your beautiful face contorting in pleasure. his chest swells at the fact that he is the one who gets to touch you like this.

that feeling returned as quickly as it left, and soon you were cumming on his face, your legs shaking as he kept his fingers curled into your folds. that was probably the best thing you'd felt since coming to earth. sam pressed a kiss to your overstimulated clit, before kissing up your stomach, your breasts, collarbone, and finally standing to his full height over you.

"how was that?" sam asks, licking the wetness off his fingers. as much as he wanted to ruin you, he also wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

heavy pants still wracked both of your bodies, your thighs aching and barely able to hold your own weight. he had the audacity to ask that after making you feel things you hadn't felt in your centuries alive? in between deep breaths, you shot him a slight glare.

"what do you think?" you tutted, puffing his lips out in that gorgeous pout that made sam was to kiss you stupid, holding onto his biceps so you didn't lose balance.

sam grins in response, his hands moving to your bare hips, pressing you into him. his cock was fucking painfully hard and he had to refrain from rutting against you. "i need to fuck you, honey." fuck sam and his beautiful eyes, pleading at you. his hand leads your to palm him from over his jeans, and he moans softly, so prettily.

you were conflicted. you knew his cock would feel so much better than his fingers, but this was wrong. "sammy—" you say in the same chastising voice that drives him insane.

"please, let me fuck you. need to feel you around my dick. fuck, doesn't even have to be all the way." sam pleads, and you have a hard time saying no to that. he was practically begging you. you sigh at how weak you were for this man. "please fuck me, sam."

sam eyes widen slightly, and he can't help his grin as he pushes you back against the bed. his eyes stay on you as he pulls his shirt off, discarding it across the motel floor along with all of yours. you can't help but stare at him. all tanned, scarred, and bruised, despite being young. it was so different compared to your imperfect skin, free of any blemishes or let alone scars.

sam's tantalizingly slow as he takes off his belt, followed by his jeans. he's fucking huge. that much you can tell by his bulge alone. your eyes widen slightly when he strips his boxers off.

he wanted to take his time with you, to treat you like the goddamn angel you were, to wrack every noise he can from your lips. but, sam was impatient as hell. and he was really, really hard.

"you're beautiful." sam coos, caging you in between his much larger frame. there is a shine in his gaze, so soft and loving, that it almost makes you feel queasy. he's not doing this because he's bored or because he wants to get off. sam's doing this because you're his world.

"you're alright." you respond, not able to hold back the giggle that escaped your lips afterward, especially when you felt sam's annoyed sigh against the crook of your neck. you can feel his irritated grin. sam fell in love with that devilish laugh of yours, and he found it endearing that even during this, he could make you sound like that.

it was such a sharp contrast from how emotionless and... awkward— you first were when you met the winchester brothers. sam has loved watching you adapt this sassy personality, loved eyeing you while you admire new things, hearing the way your voice heightened whenever you laughed, the way you took over parts of his and dean's own quirks and personalities.

"just alright? you wound me, angel."

this time, you rolled your eyes. you turn your head to the side to press your lips against the mole below his right eye. "you're beautiful too, sammy. you already know that." you huff out, your tone unmistakably soft. sam scoffed, nipping at her neck slightly. it was nice to hear that from you, regardless of what he thought about himself.

unfortunately for you, the compliment rushes to sam's head. he sits up slightly, his cock pressed against your lower stomach, a hand brushing over your cheek, moving your fanned hair out of your face. "are you sure you're okay with this? we can stop— i'll put on a movie, and we can forget—"

you interrupt sam's worries by pressing a kiss to his palm. "yes sam, i'm sure. please." and that small act of intimacy followed by your voice pleading for him was enough reassurance for sam. no need to tell him twice.

sam pumps himself a few times, his eyes not once leaving yours. "scoot your hips up for me, honey." you oblige, and you can feel his cock pressed against your clothed entrance. the sight leaves nothing for the imagination and sam sighs as his fingers pulls your panties down to your ankles.

sam looks like he's in fucking heaven, his lips parted and staring at you bare in front of him. his thumb habitually moves to your clit, rubbing soft circles against it just to watch you squirm under him.

"sam, quit being a damn tease." you frown and wiggle your hips into his more. his gaze is making you shy, something you didn't know was even possible as an angel.

"innocent angel, my ass." sam mumbles under his breath, but he obliges, lining up his cock to you. he collects your slick with his tip, dragging the wetness over your already overstimulated clit. sam rubs it against your folds a few times, before pressing only about halfway in. the moan that leaves your lips is heavenly, so much so that sam's head has to fall to your shoulder and bites it softly so he doesn't cum too fast like a damn high schooler.

"you're so fucking tight, shit—" sam groans and it's so dirty coming from him. he's usually so sweet to you, so hearing this is different. and arousing. but different. you'd expect this talk out of dean, not sam.

sam really wished he would've slept around a little more in college now because it was taking far too much concentration to not finish already.

"need to fuck you, baby. please." sam all but whimpers out. all of your beliefs, your nightly prayers, all of it was gone the second you felt him inside of you. you can only nod in response, your hands tugging at his waist to come closer to you.

sam stills, looking at you for a moment like he can't believe you want this. and slowly, he pushes in all the way, and you both share a pornographic moan.

sam is quiet as he lets you adjust to his size. he wasn't one to toot his own horn, but he was pretty big. and even though your vessel wasn't a virgin, mentally, you still were. sam had a mantra of things going through his head — the main ones being: please don't cum, please don't cum, please don't cum. don't say i love you. don't move too fast yet. let her adjust.

sam leans down to kiss your forehead. "good?" he hums.

you nod again. "hurts a little." and sam is nothing but patient, kissing each of your temples before brushing your hair away.

"i promise you're doing so good. it's gonna hurt for a moment. it'll feel better soon. just relax." sam murmured against your shoulder, his lips sighing down towards your collarbone. "gonna move now, sweet girl." calloused palms are pressing your thighs to your chest. he leans down enough so you can hold on to his shoulders if you need.

with one hand still on the back of your leg, and the other one cupping one of your breasts, he pulls out almost all the way before rocking in slowly. your eyes screwing shut from pleasure is enough to test the waters with a more heavy thrust. "that's it, baby. look at you—" sam groans, his fingertips digging into your skin. his eyes were glued to where his cock was entering you rhythmically, and god, he could get addicted to that sight. sam could fucking see where the tip of his cock was pressing into your belly. his palm moved over it, adding slight pressure to your lower pelvis. the feeling made him groan out your name softly. he was just as loud as you were. "so beautiful."

part of you wanted sam to shut up so you could focus on the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock, but the other half of you enjoyed the flithy words leaving his flushed lips.

"oh, fuck. sammy, 's too much—" you whimpered out, your hand squeezing his biceps. your legs wrapped around his waist to bring him closer, the balls of your heels digging against his ass. sam think he likes that you're not very vocal. it makes every beg, every moan that much more special to him. he was the only one who got to see his angel falling apart like this.

everything about sam is fucking massive, from his height, to his sheer size difference over you. it shouldn't have been shocking that his dick was huge too, but you felt it now. you felt every single inch, stretching you out, your arousal slipping down his shaft. sam's thrusts grew more feverish, his shaggy brown bangs falling into his face as his head fell forward slightly. "i know you can handle it baby." he grunted in response to your plea, hazel eyes fucked out with lust.

that feeling in your lower belly returned, and now, at least, you know what it meant. it was overwhelming, but not enough for you. your hand reached for sam's hand, guiding it to you clit. sam thought that was the hottest thing he'd ever fucking seen, and shuddered slightly. "you wanna cum around my cock? is that it, sweetheart?" sam asks, a small, contemplating smile on his lips.

you're writhing under his cock, your back arching off the bed, his thumb rubbing soft circles around your nub. you tap his bicep in warning of your approaching orgasm, but he doesn't stop. he doesn't slow down either. in fact, he ruts his hips faster. the feeling of you clenching around his dick is enough to send him over the edge, too. he's biting down hard on his cheek to stop himself from cumming before you. he wants, needs to see you cum first, before he can.

your face contorts into pleasure, and you cum hard, sam still fucking you through your orgasm. he groans and his eyes close when he watches you making a mess all over him. "thaaat's it. that's my girl." he encourages, the feeling of your walls clenching around him tipping him over the edge. "fuck. gonna fill you up." he grunts against your shoulder, his hips stuttering slightly and you moan as you feel his cock twitch inside you, before you feel cum spurt into your cunt.

sam pulls out a moment after, his eyes blown out when he watches his spend leak from your pulsating hole. he uses two fingers to spread it around over your folds. once he's satisfied with his handiwork, he slumps down into the bed next to you.

you're still a panting, sighing mess. you feel your legs twitch occasionally, and you're finally coming to your senses. you were just fucked stupid by your best friend. a human.

"jesus, sam. is this really what humans are doing?" you ask, out of genuine curiosity, and sam pinches your side with a slight laugh. he looks spent, almost as bad as you. his head falls to your shoulder, pressing his lips to the soft skin present.

"the lucky ones, yeah." sam huffs in amusement. "you're okay, right? i didn't hurt you, or pressure you or anything?" his voice is a little persistent, worried, already overthinking like he wasn't just inside of you.

"'course not. that was amazing. i think i'd go to hell if it meant having sex everyday— i see why castiel was encouraging me into trying this." you tilt your head to the side, and sam raises an eyebrow. he didn't even dare ask what odd things castiel told you about. nor did he want to know. he couldn't see castiel doing anyone without scaring them away with his bluntness first.

sam chooses to ignore that, leaning over to pepper kisses onto your cheeks, nose, and forehead. anywhere you'll let him at this point. "you did amazing. absolutely drained me. y'sure you haven't done that before?" he teases, and you roll your eyes at him. your eyes watched him with concern when sam stood.

"alright, crazy girl. let's get you cleaned up."

[lxdymoon0357]

Hello 👋 can I pls request relationship and suggestive headcanons for Claude (wmmap) Regis (FIDWYM) and Lante Agriche with a female reader? Thank you ❤️

(some days, I'm gonna be better and consistent...:[ | Warnings: mentions of dying at childbirth, blood, murder, NSFW content, diana-claude poly mentions? idk..Anyways, NSFW content. )

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

Claude De Alger Obelia, Legis Floyen and Lante Agriche SFW/NSFW HCs

Claude De Alger Obelia

♕ Definitely loves to spoil you! He loves to spoil you when he can, bringing jewellery, making your favourite food, spending extra time with you, buying you clothes, flowers, gifts, anything you want! He is always happy to spoil you, Athy gets a bit worried, but she also loves you and makes handmade gifts for you which you definitely appreciate!

♕ Constantly worried for your health and safety, has a maid and a guard follow you everywhere, he would let them follow you to the bathroom if it wasn't unethical, but yeah..Constantly worried something is gonna happen to you..

♕ Also, constantly making sure you're in top health, always consults doctors about anything he finds unusual on you, if you two were to have kids, he's have a long talk with doctors if you can have kids and there won't be any complications and if anything were to happen, if he'd be able to save you over the kid...

♕ Definitely not loosing you to childbirth like he lost Diana, you both are the biggest jewels in his eyes and he doesn't want to lose you like he lost Diana. Definitely thinks how you both would be with each other if you met, would you both like each other more than him? Would you be open to be with both of them or would he simply be with Diana and you'd go off with someone else??

♕ You, him and Athy spend a lot of time together, eating, tea parties, talking about trends, gossiping or anything in between about Athy's love interests or something. Sometimes even Jeanette joins you both, she's so happy to be included, but after Anastacius left with her, she was happy to learn things from far away, you gave her your blessings, she'll miss all of you but tries to find time to visit when she can..

♕ You and Claude would dance together late at night for fun, it's so quiet and so intimate and so romantic, cue you both forgetting the dance and end up making out against a wall with him leaving hickeys! speaking of them, he leaves TOO many damn hickeys, it's his love language at one point...

♕ He is a busy man, being an emperor and all, but he still finds time for you, you're the most important thing to him after Athy and he tries to find time for both of you, together and individually like during meals, before he goes to sleep, after he wakes up, free time, he loves to spend it with you or alone doing something he enjoys..

♕ He is romantic while sex, but also very rough, be careful, don't piss him off, you won't be able to sit with a bruised ass or the aching cunt or walk due to the shaking and sore legs. He knows how to make brats behave, loves you but don't piss him off.

♕ Hates it when other people stare, will go to a nearby room or maybe the balcony if he's extra mad and simply fuck you till you're screaming your throat raw with leaving hickeys and making sure everyone and especially the person is hearing and seeing the whole thing...Likes the eyes on him sometimes, don't know why but he does, maybe it gives him thrill maybe it gives him the chance to prove himself in some way maybe he gets gratification, no way. But likes the way when you're bent over and crying your eyes out.

♕ Cages your hand above your head with a single one of his own and simply fingers you before pulling away and edging you till you're asking him to properly fuck you dumb, even if he's feeling soft, he likes to do it cause you're crying face and whines and moans sound cut to him and he can never get enough of it

♕ Leaves a lot of bitemarks, hickeys, bruises, it's concerning if you don't know it's out of love and how much he can't control his strength at times..When he's about to cum, he bites your neck to muffle his own moans and whines when you're clenching down on him..One hand constantly working on your clit.

♕ Let's say they have some medicine which works as Plan B, cause keep in mind, he will be breeding you, it's one of his biggest kinks, he would love to see you pregnant with his baby who is your and his mix, Athy needs a sibling after all! Will be pounding in you even after you've gone enough, he cant help himself sometimes!

Legis Adri Floyen

◈ Now Legis would be a bit closed off, but still after a while be extremely sweet and romantic, constantly being a gentleman, holding your hand when you're walking down the stairs, gets you gifts, when you got tired, he carried you where you want, feeds you, kisses you and looks at you like you're gold.

◈ You and Jubelian have to sometimes remind him to take breaks, you and Jubelian and literally bestest of friends yet being the cutest mother-daughter duo in Legis's eyes, two of his favourite girls being together and happy and getting alone and all the cute stuff?! Oh man, he feels like he's in heaven!

◈ Loves to spend time with you and Juve when he can, bringing you both gifts and you both in return make tiny gifts for him, like bouquets or like maybe you stitched something for him on a napkin and he carried it everywhere, or maybe you and Juve went out together to choose and mix-match jewellery for Legis and then you both gift it to him, she is always so happy to spend time with her parents!

◈ He and you would spend time kissing and then Juve would be grossed out but finds it cute or maybe you and Legis would spend time sparring or sword-fighting cause women back then used to do a lot of sports including archery, sword-fighting, hiking, so maybe he would love for you to join him in sparring sometime or maybe hand-to-hand combat where you are always winning because he refuses to put in effort, he gets too mesmerised by you anyway.

◈ He would love to take you on trips to anywhere you want, get dresses custom made so no-one else can have them, have portraits painted of you, he's such a sweetheart!! He would love to have a family portrait with you and Juve beside him!!

◈ Another thing is, matching clothes!! You wear something matching in your outfits at ALL times, be it a brooch, be it the colour of the clothing, be it the way the pattern of the dress, he loves to match with you, he even has dresses which are carbon copies of some of Juve's! You both look gorgeous in them!!

◈ Kind of needs your reassurance that he is doing the correct thing, if there is something you don't like, please say cause when you do things passive and aggressively, it makes him overthink things....And if he overthinks, he cries and I'm sure you don't want your husband to cry? Yeah, that's what I thought, communicate!

◈ Okay, first he finds you cute and adorable and hot and so squishable and he folds you like a chair fucking you in matching press with your thighs pressed against your chest while he toys with your cunt and clit so sweetly, it's almost innocent in a way!

◈ PRAISE!! Of-course, the biggest praise kink is in him, his eyes start to water from overwhelming love when he is praised during sex, so just to ground him, hold his hand tightly in yours in anyway you can to remind him you're both there..He gets carried away, poor baby..

◈ Loves to see you ride him, cause it's so cute in his eyes when you're trying your best to take him cause first of he's VERY BIG, secondly you try your best to take him, struggle with it, crying for him to do something to make something out of your fruitless ventures, of-course he teases you until you beg a lot, but because he likes your cries and tears and face

◈ Speaking of crying, he won't stop eating your cunt until tears are streaming down he's pulled a good few orgasms, your cunt is almost raw but i's still drooling...and he can't get enough, you're just sound so cute and taste so amazing, but okay, he'll take pity and fuck you properly, if you don't tell him to, he'll cum from just eating you out, grinding against whatever he can.

◈ Suck him off under his desk after he's overworked, probably one of the only dilfs who moans and whimpers and can't hide them, he sounds cute, as you gag on his cock, he sounds adorable!! Not your fault it's a good way to relax him from overworking and to just tease him!

◈ He sometimes gets so lot in making you cum, he does it for a good while until he simply pulls dry orgasms, until legs are shaking, you're both covered in bodily fluids, drools, sweat, clit is engorged a bit and it hurts but feels too good for him to pull out now as you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close..

Lante Agriche

☠ Now for this request, I will say he's like a yandere-type in love with you and he's a bit sane and okay in head. Lante would always follow you around, carrying you when he can, holding you on his lap during those special dinners with his top three favourite kids as he fed you food with his hands, does your hair, albeit a bit haphazardly.

☠ He desperately needs you be locked down with him, he would kill anyone you pay too much attention to, that includes his kids, well your kids are his favourite kids, so he doesn't want you to be sad, but threatening them is the way to go!!

☠ likes to bring you the severed head of his victims as gifts with a deranged smile, expecting praise. I hope you give some to him for the sake of your neck joint...I mean, he'd also bring bloodied flowers, a skull, some sword, some jewel, etc, whatever he finds interesting all covered in blood cause he thinks you look hot in blood and everything looks better covered in blood.

☠ Leaves hickeys on your necks, for everyone and leaves more if you try to cover them. He has no shame, not like anyone would dare to say anything, but if they did, you'd have another severed head to your collection. So enjoy!!

☠ DESPISES people staring at you for a second too late, hates it, cannot stand it, will not stand for it, will kill someone for it. I mean, he's a man known for crimes, of-course he's gonna murder someone for looking at you too long! He's such a munchy weirdo..

☠ Would have your ring on your hand AT ALL TIMES, ain't no one snatching up his weirdo, hell naw! Anyways, he gets new rings made for you whenever you need one and it's all decorated well and stuff and so now you have a ring collection and it's very gorgeous and probably cost more than the whole manor and humans who die inside regularly!

☠ He slow dances with you over the dead bodies of people, enjoying the way their bones crunch under you both as you both softly danced while you both are in each other's embrace and are softly being intimate in silence..

☠ Oh now, don't think that if he got jealous and mad at some public event he is also one to not care if he fucks you on a balcony when everyone can hear you both while you scream and wail like it's no one's business in the balcony and later on everyone's too shy to make eye contact with you, including the kids and other wives...

☠ Bending you over on his desk to fuck you all while there are people in the next room or simply eat you out until you cry, but eating you out is a unusual occurrence...He doesn't just give you pleasure without getting anything in return, no.

☠ Edging you constantly, not letting you cum until you beg hard enough or until he possibly can't take it anymore or until you do it yourself earning a punishment by him where either he overstimulates you till you physically pass out and only have dry orgasms, so there are a few options of him to choose from, maybe play the safe submissive and subservient role for a while unless you're confident in your skills as a dom to top him..

☠ knife kink, I said it. Knife kink, holds a knife to your neck while he makes you ride him, and presses it down sometimes to nick your body parts for fun and for the sadistic tendencies...

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (5.5) - Bonus

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: ~700

Warnings: azriel's pov, fluff that will make you explode probably idk

a/n: Hi so I'm crazy and needed to write this after getting asks about it and getting inspo surrounding Az singing night court lullabies to Mel. Please enjoy and I'm sorry for two posts in one day 😅

read part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part 6

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel was back in her room the moment he heard the call. 

He’d placed Melanie down in her bed only ten minutes prior, but her sleep had been fitful and disjointed over the past day and Azriel hadn’t expected her to stay down for long. It was strange—the way the bond connecting him to you burned with the same protectiveness for Melanie. 

“Hey, Melanie,” Azriel whispered, kneeling beside her bed with his fingers resting on the outer edge of her quilt. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” 

Melanie sat up in her bed with a small groan, the braid you had put in her hair earlier in disarray. “Yeah. Don’t wanna sleep. Where’s mommy?” 

Azriel hummed and pushed a wild curl behind her ear. “Mommy’s sick, so she’s sleeping. Like you should be.” 

“You aren’t sick, Mr. Azriel?” 

“No, I can’t get sick like you. Not right now, anyway.” 

Melanie’s brow furrowed and her head swayed. “Can you hold me like mommy does?” 

Azriel’s heart shattered in his chest at her request. Her sleepy eyes blearily stared up at him as he let out a shaky breath and attempted to push down some of his joy at her request. 

Maybe you didn’t fully trust him yet, but Melanie did. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replied, reaching out beneath her arms to hoist her up. When her head immediately found a home in the juncture of his neck, Azriel melted. “Are you feeling any better?” 

Melanie fisted Azriel’s shirt as he situated her against his chest. “Little bit.” 

Sometimes, when she spoke, Azriel could hear you in Melanie’s voice. 

He wanted so badly to be part of that connection. 

The want often scared him. 

“Can we go to mommy’s room?” she asked, pulling her head up to send him a sleepy question. “Not to wake her up. Mommy’s room is just nice.” 

The two of you always sought each other out—always found safety in being near. 

Azriel rubbed Melanie’s back and nodded with a smile that was fueled both by adoration and melancholy. 

Your room was dark when he entered. Melanie had taken a glance at your sleeping figure and then rested her head back into the crook of Azriel’s neck. He could feel each breath she took and felt each clench of her fists into his shirt. 

“Is this better?” Azriel asked, voice so low and careful he wasn’t sure if the five-year-old would hear him. 

But Melanie nodded and whispered back a small confirmation that made Azriel’s chest hurt. He held her closer to his chest and watched the rise and fall of yours as you slept an arm’s length away. When Melanie’s breathing didn’t even out after a few minutes, he placed a hand behind her head and started lightly swaying. 

“You have to try and sleep, Mel. That’s how you get better,” he whispered into her ear. 

“I’m trying,” she whispered back, strained and trying to keep quiet for her mom. “It’s hard, Mr. Azriel. My head doesn’t feel good.” 

Azriel tutted and hated that there was very little he could do for this illness. “I know, Mel. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

Her only response was to bury her face further into his shoulder. 

Azriel thought back to his youth, to the perils and hardships he had endured, and he sought after the light—the good moments. His mother’s singing stood out, the melody of a Night Court lullaby gently lulling in his mind. 

Azriel didn’t have much experience with children other than Nyx, but, with Melanie, that didn’t seem to matter. With Melanie, everything came to him with a practiced ease that didn’t feel deserved. But he took from it anyway. 

So, Azriel began to hum the lullabies from his childhood, wrapping a wing around the child in his arms to block everything else out. 

And she was able to sleep. 

part 6