#i know this one's really 'little happinesses' but let me have the end rhyme if i can't keep the alliteration okay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rambleonwaywardson · 1 month ago

Text

First Christmas

A Clegan Astronaut AU One Shot

Summary: Takes place ~15 years before To the Moon and Back, at the very start of Gale and John's life together. It's the end of their first semester of college, and they're leaving for winter break. John takes Gale home with him for Christmas.

Author's Note: I have no concept of if I'll ever write a prequel or if anything pre-TTMAB will be confined to little one shots like this. But here's a small something. Happy holidays ❤

---

“Fuckin’ finally!” Bucky sighs dramatically as he tosses a suitcase onto the bed. Gale’s bed, actually, since his is the lower bunk in their too-small-for-two-grown-men dorm room. With little to no rhyme or reason, Bucky starts pulling clothes out of his small dresser and even smaller closet – jeans and sweatshirts and sweaters and mismatched socks. He tosses them into or around the suitcase in a haphazard way that would never lead a single person to believe that he was in ROTC.

It’s the end of their very first finals week, and John and Gale both have just stumbled back into their dorm room after a hell of a physics exam. No final, they have decided, under any circumstances, should be scheduled for 4-6pm. Especially not one as hard hitting as fucking physics. First year engineering students are exhausted enough as it is – it’s cruel and unusual punishment to expect them to perform well under these circumstances.

They don’t call it a weed-out class for nothing.

“My brain is mush,” Bucky complains. “I don’t think I was even readin’ right by the end of that exam. None of the numbers made sense anymore. Hell, I could barely remember the kinematics equations. I’m sure you were just fine. Me? Let’s just… hope and pray I even make a passing grade.”

Bucky pauses long enough to glance over at Gale, who’s sitting casually in his desk chair, twisted around with his elbow propped on the back and his chin in his hand as he watches the spectacle that is his roommate. He kind of smiles tiredly at Bucky and shrugs, and that’s all Bucky needs to go on. He knows he’s right. No doubt Gale barely batted an eye at the questions that had Bucky drumming his fingers on the too-small lecture hall desk in a panic.

“What’s done is done,” Bucky says, shoving clothes into the suitcase with zero organization. It almost makes Gale physically wince. Like most teenage boys, he’s not always the most organized guy in the world himself, but there’s something to be said for keeping some semblance of tidiness. That, and his father raised him like a military man. Clean room, neat corners, smooth fabrics… He has half a mind to shove Bucky over and pack for him, save his nicer shirts from the criss-crossed creases that are sure to form the way they are now. He also wonders if he should bother telling Bucky that he actually found the exam hard, too. Would that comfort him or would he think Gale was just trying to make him feel better?

Bucky doesn’t notice Gale’s general air of consternation. He’s too busy trying to move on, move forward with his life, get away from here. Gale tries not to take it personally. Just because he has nowhere to go doesn’t mean Bucky can’t be eager to leave for break, like every other student on campus.

“God, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Bucky says, like he’s read Gale’s mind. He really should’ve packed last night like Gale urged him to, instead of waiting until the very last minute and just hoping he remembers everything he needs, but he was too hyper-focused on trying not to fail the exam today. “Gonna see my dog, my family. Eat a real home-cooked meal.” He stops his frantic packing and looks up at the ceiling, inhaling as if he can smell Christmas dinner or a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. “Five weeks of not having to think about any of this. Can’t fuckin’ wait, Buck.”

Bucky steps back over to his dresser and grabs some underwear, which he dumps into the suitcase, and then his hands freeze. He looks over at Gale, squinting. His roommate is still sitting at his desk, which is adorned with books and notes, a model plane, a small model of the solar system. He’s a little more slumped now, eyes trained on the floor. Bucky stares at him for a while without him noticing.

Bucky realizes that, even though he urged Bucky to pack, Gale hasn’t made any move to pull out a suitcase of his own. Hasn’t set out any neatly folded clothes to stow away for a trip home. He hasn’t expressed any relief to be leaving this college town, to be heading back to his family, or to anyone at all.

He thinks about the very little Gale has ever talked about his family. Small anecdotes here and there. His mother is gone, Bucky knows. No siblings, just his best friend Marge. He doesn’t talk much about his dad. He wonders if Gale even has a dog.

“Hey.”

Gale looks up, blinking away some deep thought that he masks behind an arched eyebrow and tired but curious eyes. He motions to Bucky’s suitcase. “Your clothes are gonna get all wrinkled like that.”

Bucky glances at his scrambled luggage, scrunches his brow, decides it doesn’t matter, and he looks back at Gale. He doesn’t really know how to ask this delicately. Delicacy has never been part of the John Egan repertoire of charm. Neither has subtlety. He frowns and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You, uh… you’re not goin’ home are ya Buck?”

Gale shakes his head quietly. “Don’t got much of a home to go to.” His voice shakes a little, like he doesn’t want to be saying this, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile as he looks at the floor again, and Bucky catches the incorrect grammar, the little slip into a western drawl that he’s learning only comes out when Gale is stressed or upset or really fuckin’ tired.

“Why didn’t ya say?”

Gale shrugs and kicks his shoes off, leaving him in socked feet, a final, decisive move that confirms it: he’s not going anywhere.

Bucky leans against the post of their bunk bed, crossing his arms. “So, what? You’re stayin’ here? Alone?” Bucky can’t stand the idea of staying on this campus when it’s a ghost town, none of their friends around and limited access to the dining halls. He can’t stand the idea of staying here for any longer than he has to.

But he has somewhere to go.

Gale nods. “Yep. Got the approval and all.”

“No,” Bucky finds himself saying. He doesn’t even take a second to think about it.

Gale almost scoffs. “Don’t got much choice, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t stay here alone, Gale. I won’t let you do that.”

“S’not a big deal.” Gale turns away, towards his desk. Too deliberately, he starts peeling sticky notes of definitions and physics diagrams off the wall. The result of hours and hours of studying.

“What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” Bucky pushes. He marches across the room – two whole steps across their tiny dorm – so he’s standing beside Gale’s desk, close enough to be in his line of sight again. He reaches out and puts a hand on Gale’s, stopping him from unnecessarily shuffling his notebooks around his desk.

Gale freezes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, his eyes locked on their hands. He doesn’t really mind the idea of being alone on campus. It’ll be quiet, peaceful. He can catch a bus to the grocery store or the movie theater or head downtown. He can read and study and keep up with his exercise regimen. Go for walks around campus. Really, it’s fine… He’d rather be here, after all, than spend five weeks in the same house as his father. He’ll miss Marge, sure. But she’ll forgive him. She wouldn’t want him to go home either.

“Gale.”

“It’s fine, John.”

They sit in a tense silence, Bucky hardly aware he’s still holding Gale’s hand and Gale hyper-aware of it. Bucky’s fingers are warm compared to his. They’re softer than he’d expect. He likes the contact. It sends something fluttery through him.

“Come with me.”

Gale’s eyes shoot up to Bucky’s. “What?”

Bucky nods, squeezing Gale’s hand tighter. “Come with me! You can- you can just come home with me. Mom will take good care of you, and we can just relax and have fun for a few weeks. Buck…” Bucky sighs. He smiles, and Gale doesn’t quite like the look of sad pity hidden behind it, but it’s sweet enough to make his heart beat too fast anyway. “You can’t be alone for Christmas. Please.”

“I-I couldn’t.”

“No one will mind. They’ll love you more than me, even. Adopt you like another son.”

Gale looks again at Bucky’s suitcase. His chest swells with the idea of spending Christmas with a family. With John. With people who don’t smack him around if he burns the pancakes or asks the wrong questions or sleeps in too long.

Bucky grins and ruffles Gale’s hair. “Yep. You’re comin’. Come on, we leave in an hour. Get your suitcase out.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry the first time he walks through the front door of the Egan household. It’s a stereotypical farmhouse, with a simple but lovely exterior, a stone front walk, and a fresh Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. There’s a dog watching them through the window, and, not for the first time, Gale wonders about the difference between a house and a home. He shuffles in, shy and awkward, behind a boisterous Bucky, who flings the door open and loudly calls out “we’re here!” with such a lack of decorum that it makes Gale flinch, his brain still wired to the house in Wyoming.

“Hi honey!” A light voice drifts through the house, and it’s not unlike Gale’s mother’s voice. The way he remembers it, at least.

That, combined with the smell of cookies baking in the kitchen, shoves a lost memory to the surface of tugging on his mother’s skirt until she offered him a spoon of raw cookie dough. It has him so taken aback that he doesn’t notice the dog running at him until it’s too late. He nearly gets knocked off his feet by the force of two big golden paws colliding with his torso, causing him to stumble back a step, wide eyed.

“Down boy!” Bucky reprimands, but he’s laughing, his commands futile. “That’s Buzz. He likes people.”

Gale can’t help but smile despite his nerves, and he kneels down to the dog’s level, scratching his ears and letting Buzz lick his face. He manages to just barely keep his balance against the way the golden retriever surges toward him. “Buzz Aldrin?” He asks, trying to avoid the dog’s tongue as he glances at Bucky, and he can’t quite understand the look in his roommate’s eye.

“Finally!” Bucky says. “Someone who understands that it isn’t Buzz Lightyear.” Then he yells out, “Ma?”

A short middle-aged woman comes frantically around the corner, and Gale shoots to his feet, trying to smooth out his sweater and jeans again. He tries to remind himself to hold his head high, shoulders straight, make a good impression.

Without even a second thought, though, the woman bypasses her own son, her eyes landing right on Gale. No appraisal, no critical eye toward what he’s wearing or if his hair is too shaggy. She just beams at him, reaching her hands out to immediately pull him into a hug. “You must be Gale.”

Gale awkwardly returns the hug. “Yes ma’am.”

He does not cry at the feeling of a warm, motherly figure who smells like cookies wrapping him in her arms.

When she steps back, she rests her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It seems a little awkward with how tall Gale is, even if Bucky won’t let him forget the small size difference between them. He finds it amusing how, with Bucky being even two inches taller than he is, his mother can’t surpass 5 foot 4. But Mrs. Egan doesn’t seem to mind, and Gale wonders how often she does this to her own son.

She looks him up and down, studying him, and Gale tries not to feel too embarrassed or nervous. Stand up straight, he reminds himself. He’s military after all. It shouldn’t be hard. He braces for some critique, some conclusion that he isn’t good enough. For what, he isn’t sure. To be here, perhaps. But it doesn’t come.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Mrs. Egan gushes instead, shaking her head fondly. She lifts one hand even higher to cup his cheek, and Gale raises an eyebrow, letting himself smile back at her.

“Thank you?”

“Ma, you’re embarrassing him,” Bucky groans. He’s never seen Gale blush so much.

She shoots a glare over at him before looking back at Gale. She squeezes his shoulder gently. “We are just thrilled to have you,” she says. “John talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Oh,” Gale says. He looks over at Bucky, who is rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. Gale’s smile gets a little wider, a little less meek. “Thank you so much for letting me join you for the holidays,” he tells Mrs. Egan. “It means a lot.”

Bucky’s mom gives him another quick hug before turning her attention to her son, hugging him tight and bombarding him with questions about school that Bucky insistently avoids, saying they can talk about everything later, after he helps Gale settle in.

—

Gale doesn’t cry over the way the Egans move mountains to make sure he feels comfortable and welcome in their home.

They set him up in the guest bedroom, which is just one door down from Bucky’s room, which is not unlike his half of their dorm room with the exception of several more remnants of a happy childhood. Bucky’s bedroom is adorned with space travel posters and baseball posters, and Gale can even see where some are missing – the ones Bucky chose to take with him to college. There are little gold baseball trophies lining a bookshelf in the corner, and a photo of him and a couple of his teammates in high school, boyish grins on their faces and sweat soaking through their hats, fresh off a championship win.

Gale wanders around the room when Bucky leads him inside, inspecting the trophies and the photographs. There’s a lego set of the Saturn V rocket, glow in the dark stars pasted to the ceiling, stacks of books about history and science and adventure strewn around the bed and the desk. All the little pieces of John Clarence Egan, a whirlwind force of nature with his eyes on the unknown.

There’s a dog bed on the floor for Buzz, but the dog takes to jumping up on the bed in the guest room instead, keeping Gale company every night.

Bucky wonders what it is about dogs that help them know which people need a little extra love.

Gale marvels at the fact that even the guest bedroom feels homey and cared about. The queen sized bed is the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, with a nice mattress, a selection of pillows, and warm blankets. There are original paintings hung along the walls, beautiful images of the forest and the lake and countryside done by some mysterious artist. There are family photos framed on a bookshelf which is filled with an assortment of books, from science to romance and everything in between. There’s even a string of Christmas lights strung around the room, which Bucky turns on for Gale, looking all giddy about it.

Gale doesn’t cry over how Bucky is patient and kind in a way that isn’t exactly unexpected but also isn’t exactly expected. He lets Gale cling to him, whether it’s sitting down for dinner with the family or hiking through a snow-dusted countryside to watch the sun set or sitting sprawled out on the living room couch with a couple of good books and mugs of hot chocolate. Bucky asks Gale if he needs any extra blankets, and he’s gathering them up from the closet before Gale can even answer. He asks Gale what he likes to eat for breakfast, and the next morning Gale’s favorite cereal is in the pantry and there’s even some fresh pastries – which Gale never would have dreamed of asking for – sitting on the counter. Bucky asks Gale if there’s anything he wants to read, and the next day the book he sheepishly mentioned has appeared on the coffee table.

He brags about Gale to his parents, telling them all about how smart he is and how much he’s helped Bucky this semester. He tells them about how Gale is already excelling in the toughest major in the school all while impressing everyone in ROTC, keeping Bucky in line, and being a humble, easy going guy to boot.

Gale doesn’t cry when Mr. Egan expresses genuine interest in all of his astronomy and physics knowledge at the dinner table. Gale’s own father always wanted him to be a pilot. He never cared much for the rest of it.

He thought academics made his son too soft.

Mr. Egan tells Gale it’ll make him unstoppable.

—

Gale doesn’t cry when he accidentally drops a glass of water in the Egans’ kitchen, sending it shattering across the tile floor in a splash of crystal constellations. He comes damn close, a hot wave of panic rising in his chest at the same time that biting pain blossoms across his skin. His cheeks heat up as he blinks rapidly and tries to figure out how to go about cleaning up this mess all the while bracing for some kind of punishment. And those tears sure come close to actually falling when Mrs. Egan whisks into the kitchen with worry all over her face, wanting to know what the racket was. When she sees the mess, she reaches for Gale. Gale winces, closing his eyes, but all he gets is a firm, guiding hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a gentle voice. “Oh honey, you’re bleeding.”

Gale blinks his eyes open, the tension on his face beginning to drop away as he looks down and realizes all of a sudden that his feet are bare. He doesn’t remember his feet being bare. He vaguely wonders if the red on his pale skin is associated with the stinging feeling in his foot, radiating up to his ankle.

“Don’t move quite yet,” Mrs. Egan says. Her hands are still on the sides of his arms, keeping him standing in one place. “Don’t want you stepping on any sharp bits.” She turns as John comes rushing around the corner. “Johnny, can you get Gale some shoes to-“

Before she can even finish, Bucky, clad in old ragged Converse himself, marches right up to Gale, flakes of glass crunching under foot, and plucks him out of the center of the debris. Just picks him up in the air like he weighs no more than a feather before marching him to the kitchen entryway and plopping him down. Gale stares at him in shock, his brain not quite catching up with everything that just happened.

“I’ll get the vacuum,” Bucky says to his mother, but he’s looking at Gale as he says it, some sort of mischievous little smile on his face, and Gale feels his cheeks turning pink again.

When Bucky leaves the kitchen in search of the vacuum, Gale tries to step away from the wall he’s been placed next to, holding a hand out toward Bucky’s mother. “Mrs. Egan, I can clean-”

“Nonsense.” She waves her hand dismissively, then looks down at his feet, still bare. “You stay right there until John comes back with the vacuum.”

“I’m so sorry about the glass. I didn’t mean-”

“Gale, darling. I don’t give a damn about the glass.” She steps over to him and clasps one of his hands between both of hers. He doesn’t cry at how genuine and concerned she looks. “Let’s get your foot cleaned up and make sure you don’t need any stitches.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry when, on Christmas morning, as all the presents under the tree are being handed out, there’s a few with his name on them. He, John, and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are gathered in the living room, all still in their pajamas. Even Buzz, who can’t seem to sit still and has been making rounds around the room with his tail wagging, has a green and red Christmas bandana around his neck. He keeps stopping to look at the stockings above the fireplace, where he has his very own, filled with dog treats that he has to wait until the end to get.

Bucky, who is passing out the gifts from under the tree, is wearing a Santa hat along with his gray sweatpants and blue Yankees sweatshirt. Gale laughs a little bit every time Bucky makes any sudden move and causes the pom pom on the end of the hat to whip around. Bucky tried to put it on Gale, but was adamantly shoved away. It looks far better on him anyway.

Gale, in green and gray flannel pants and a dark gray university sweatshirt, is sitting on the floor beside the Christmas tree, where Bucky said he himself usually sits. He tries not to ask for the third time if Bucky is sure he doesn’t want any help. Having found himself increasingly comfortable with the Egans over the last week, he instead scratches Buzz behind the ears and laughs as Mr. Egan sings along to the Christmas music playing on the radio. He doesn’t really know what he expected out of this morning – being included is enough; being with a family on the biggest holiday of the year is enough.

So when, once all of the gifts have been passed out, Bucky stands in front of Gale with a stack of wrapped boxes, Gale just blinks dumbly up at him. When Bucky insistently shoves the collection of gifts at him, Gale looks around the room, then starts to shake his head in confusion as his hand falls away from Buzz’s soft fur. “A-Are these for me?” he asks, genuinely confused as he takes the small stack from Bucky and stares down at the name tag on the top package.

“That’s your name ain’t it?” Bucky teases. He takes his seat between Gale and the tree, where he’s amassed his own collection of presents.

Gale nods and looks over at him, eyebrow raised. Bucky tilts his head toward his parents, who are sitting cuddled up on the couch, watching with kind smiles on their faces.

“Couldn’t leave you with nothin’ to open on Christmas morning,” Mr. Egan insists. “You’re family, now.”

Gale swallows thickly, tracing his finger over his name, written in neat script. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he’s worried it didn’t come out at all.

“Well you better open one,” Bucky laughs. He’s sitting so close their shoulders nearly brush. “Youngest goes first.”

Gale tears into the pretty red and white wrapping paper of the first gift. He feels his heart beat too fast in a terrifying but exhilarating way as he peels back the paper, revealing a beautiful, hardcover edition of A Brief History of Time, complete with illustrations. It’s the exact type of book that he would have stared at longingly in a bookstore, knowing he’d probably never have it. He looks up at John’s parents, who are watching him eagerly, and he doesn’t cry at the joy on their faces or the kindness of the gesture. “This is amazing,” he tells them. “Thank you so much.”

He’s so taken with the book, staring down at it and running his fingers gently along its spine, that he barely registers the new video game John gets, or Mr. Egan’s new sweater, or Mrs. Egan’s new romance book. It’s only when they circle back to him, Bucky shoving another gift into his hands, that he really comes back to himself, and he wonders what he did to deserve such kindness.

By the time they’re on their final gifts – Gale had been told to save a specific one for last – Mrs. Egan stops him and Bucky before they can start unwrapping. “Now, Gale, we have a tradition,” she explains. She points to the Christmas tree. “Every year, we each get a new Christmas ornament, and we hang them on the tree. There are ornaments up there from almost every year of John’s life.”

Gale looks at John, then back at the tree. This piece of knowledge runs through his head again, and again, and his eyes fall back to the last little box, wrapped in silver snowflakes. He blinks at it. “Is this-”

Gale almost flinches when Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. The touch has become familiar. He knows it’s safe. “We got you one, too,” Bucky whispers, and Gale nods.

Bucky slowly unwraps his own ornament, and Gale starts to follow his lead. He watches Bucky pull out a little astronaut with a gold visor, sitting on a crescent moon. And oh so carefully, Gale’s fingers loop through a gold string, and he lifts out a matching astronaut, this one with a blue visor, sitting on a crescent moon of its own.

“Would you look at that.” Bucky grins, and he bumps Gale’s shoulder as they hold their ornaments up beside each other.

“Thank you,” Gale finds himself saying again, and he wonders if his voice sounds thick to anyone else. He doesn’t even comprehend the fact that he’s standing up, stepping over to Mrs. Egan. She readily accepts his hug, though, and she lets him cling on, the astronaut resting against the back of her shoulder where it’s clutched in his hand.

He and Bucky hang their ornaments side by side, two little astronauts shooting for the moon.

—

Gale doesn’t cry later that morning, when Mrs. Egan places a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him and tells him that John mentioned those were his favorite.

He doesn’t cry that afternoon, when Mr. Egan asks to take a look at that book, or when Mrs. Egan asks if he wants to help her with the final batch of Christmas cookies, or when Bucky tries to teach him how to play his new video game.

He doesn’t cry when they ask if he wants to watch a Christmas movie with them, and he finds himself curled up on the couch munching on a cookie with Bucky’s head on his shoulder and Buzz splayed across his lap.

He doesn’t cry at dinner, when Mr. Egan includes him in his prayer, asking the lord to watch out for both of “their” boys.

He doesn’t cry when Mrs. Egan says goodnight to them both late on December 25th, gently kissing the top of Bucky’s head, and then doing the same to Gale.

He holds it together pretty well, he thinks. He laughs, and he finds himself smiling, a warm feeling trying its best to settle in his chest as the good and the bad memories go to war with the perfect reality he’s been met with today. He pushes down the lump in his throat and lets himself, just for a little bit, feel loved and cared for and protected. He loves them all back. He lets himself act like he could be a part of the family, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.

—

Late on Christmas night, after his parents have gone to bed, Bucky steps quietly into the hall and creeps toward the guest room like a child up past his bedtime. He knocks on the door with one knuckle, listening closely.

“Come in.” Gale’s soft voice sounds off, a little uneven. Bucky frowns as he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

Gale is curled up at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard with his knees pulled to his chest, his pillow laid neatly on top of the one beside him. Buzz, having officially traded Bucky in for Buck, is sprawled on his side with his head resting on Gale’s bare foot, right over the bandage from the water glass incident yesterday. The lights are off, and Gale is staring up at the colorful Christmas lights lining the room, as if it’s a sky full of stars.

“Buck?”

“Mmm?”

Bucky walks around to the side of the bed. It’s only when he gets close that he really notices: Gale’s been crying. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy. When he lifts a hand to rub at his face, Bucky notices that he has the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his fists, wet spots marking the fabric.

What’s wrong? Bucky wants to ask. Are you okay? Why are you crying? Did I do something? Do you need anything?

He doesn’t ask any of those questions.

He shoves the pillows down next to the dog and climbs into the bed, settling back against the headboard so close to Gale that their shoulders touch, his legs crossed in front of him. Buzz stretches his head forward to lick his knee, and he reaches out to stroke the dog’s head in return.

“He reminds me of my dog,” Gale says. “He was a mutt, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Dunno if I’ll ever see him again.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of their eyes trained on Buzz. “Why not?”

Gale takes a deep, sharp breath as his whole body tenses, and Bucky worries it was the wrong thing to say. They sit in silence as the seconds tick by. “I haven’t had a Christmas this nice since Mama died…” Gale finally says, something like nostalgia, or maybe resignation twisting through his voice. Sometimes, the line between those two is quite thin. “Well. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Christmas this nice.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. What is he supposed to say? He thinks he’s put enough pieces together over the last few months to understand a bit about his roommate’s home life since his mom died, but Gale’s never said a thing about it out loud.

Gale shrugs uncomfortably in response to Bucky’s silent question, which hangs in the air between them without any words being spoken at all. “Dad wasn’t a… well… I-I guess…” His breath shakes. Bucky presses closer against Gale’s side, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. Gale sinks his weight into the hold, and Bucky finally looks directly at him when he hears quiet sniffling, feels Gale’s fingers latch onto the front of his shirt.

“I don’t plan to ever go home again,” Gale says quietly. His face twists into something angry and sad, but he fights against the expression like he doesn’t want Bucky to see how he’s feeling at all. Bucky wonders if it’s the first time Gale’s ever said this out loud, the first time he’s let such an idea be heard by the world. He wonders how long Gale’s been thinking about it in silence. Days? Weeks? Months? Maybe since the moment he closed the door behind him when he left for college.

“I’m not goin’ home,” Gale says more firmly. “I… I don’t think I’d mind never seein’ him again.”

Gale’s shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly with rattled, unregulated breath, and when he goes still, it takes Bucky a moment to realize that he’s not breathing at all anymore. He’s holding everything in to keep himself from shaking, from crying, from feeling.

Bucky wraps both arms more fully around him, holding him tight like he’s trying to hold him together, trying to hold some invisible weight so Gale doesn’t have to. Like maybe if he takes the burden of keeping Gale in one piece right now, then there will be enough space to breathe again. “You need to breathe, Buck,” he whispers.

Gale turns toward Bucky and wraps his arms around him, and his fingers curl into the back of Bucky’s shirt like he’s grasping for something steady but half expecting it to vanish. His breath hitches when Bucky stays, and his fingers curl tighter into the fabric. Buzz whines and crawls further up the bed, pressing his nose against Gale’s thigh.

“Breathe,” Bucky says again. He rubs Gale’s back in what he really hopes is a soothing way. He hasn’t often found himself in this type of situation, having to find a way to make the world keep turning for someone else. He didn’t know he ever could be that person. “Just breathe.”

It takes a few minutes, but Gale’s breathing evens out, his grip on Bucky’s shirt loosens, and the silent, stubborn tears that he so obviously didn’t want Bucky to see clear out of his eyes. By then, he and Bucky have slid down so that they’re laying on the bed, Gale’s face buried in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky finds that he doesn’t mind, not one bit. When Gale shifts away, no longer trying to hide, Bucky grabs the pillows and puts them back under their heads where they belong. And they stay there, just them and the dog, staring up at the Christmas lights.

“I’m sorry,” Gale says eventually. The sound of his voice is clear again, but still quiet. Bucky looks at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s officially December 26th, no longer Christmas day.

Bucky shifts so his arm is behind his head, and he glances over at Gale. “For what?”

Gale isn’t looking at him. “It’s not your job to-“

“That’s ridiculous, Gale.” Because it is. Ridiculous.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

Bucky frowns and squints up at the lights. He wonders how he’s supposed to say that he doesn’t care without it sounding weird. He wants to see Gale in every mood, every condition, every emotion. He doesn’t care. He wants to help Gale through everything. He wants to make him feel better when he’s sick or tired or scared or putting himself down. He wants to take away any pain he ever feels. He wants to protect him from everything bad that’s ever come his way even though he knows full well how strong and capable he is on his own.

It’s a lot for a college freshman to feel about a person. It’s more than Bucky’s ever felt about anyone before, and he doesn’t really even know what he’s supposed to do about it. So he reaches out and puts his hand over Gale’s, and he fights back a smile when Gale turns over his palm and lets Bucky rub his thumb across his fingers in reassurance. “I’m glad I came to check on you.”

He hopes that says enough.

“Thank you for… everything.” Gale finally looks over at Bucky, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“This really has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had I think. I- I can’t… thank you for including me.”

“You’re family now.”

Gale’s face goes blank, and Bucky knows he has no idea what to say. So he squeezes Gale’s hand once, and he looks back up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

They fall asleep like that, laying on the bed and looking up at colorful, LED stars that reflect off the ceiling and the walls, the light bathing their faces in red and green. Gale’s head rests over Bucky’s chest, where he can hear his heartbeat, steady and calming.

That’s how Bucky’s mom will find them in the morning. She’ll knock softly on the door after realizing her son isn’t in his own bedroom, and then she’ll quietly push it open. She’ll see Bucky, asleep on his back with Gale curled against his side. Bucky will open his eyes tiredly, looking at his mom in confusion as he realizes where he is. His mom will nod, closing the door quietly once again, and then she’ll lean against the wall outside the guest room. She’ll smile to herself, and she’ll thank the universe for bringing her boy someone good, someone to love and to love him.

Bucky will look at Gale beside him, and he won’t even be able to imagine everything that comes next. He’ll hope, and he’ll wonder, and he’ll give it his all, but he won’t know for sure that this was only the beginning. Their first perfect Christmas.

#happy holidays #can you spot all the little references to their dynamic in TTMAB?#kind of an origin story for some of their behaviors here #I actually have a lot of little ideas about this AU #we'll see if I actually get it together #clegan astronaut au #clegan #mota #masters of the air #to the moon and back #john egan #gale cleven #clegan fic #buck x bucky #buck cleven #bucky egan

73 notes · View notes

pareidolla · 1 month ago

Note

hello.

can you tell me what your biggest gripes normally are when people write broken?

like, I get the feeling that there's a fine line between "adorable pathetic sopping wet cat" and "annoying pathetic sopping wet cat" and I personally find Broken in the former. but I cannot really tell what the line is.

I have written Broken before and not to self promo but here is the link in case anyone is curious; like it got positive reviews for the most part. Still, would be nice to know.

hello dearie!! i'm so flattered you asked ♡

i did write this little post about broken a few months ago, and i'd like to first reiterate that i don't want to be labeled an arbiter of broken characterization or anything similar. one thing i admire about the stp fandom is how we all contribute our own distinct flavor to the characters, and i don't want anyone to feel like they're writing broken incorrectly simply because it differs from my interpretation. if i ever were to write a broken fanfic then his voice would be completely off (i just can't help but make him act cute!! he's just an anime girl to me!!!!) so honestly don't place too much stock in my opinions.

with that being said — i'd say my biggest gripe when it comes to depicting broken is when he's pathetic, flat-out, without any rhyme or reason to his actions. he can't perform basic actions, he cowers away regardless of who he's interacting with, and yammers away about giving up just because.

for anyone struggling with writing broken, i think you should first and foremost understand his motivations. ironically, tower is a great place to start here!

one could argue smitten and broken could have switched princesses, with smitten accepting the princess's nature as a world-ending divinity and broken's mirror image being someone equally hollow. except, that's not what either of them desires. smitten wants be the perfect knight in shining armor who whisks away the princess on horseback, and broken?

its easy: once you let her in, you'll be safe forever.

she doesn't want to hurt us. she's just doing what she has to.

what's the point of fighting if she's just going to win everytime? it hurts being sliced to pieces.

broken's main desire is to be safe. you ultimately gain him by failing to be a hero: giving up, expressing hesitance in a key moment, or fruitlessly struggling against a power so much greater than you. as a result, his princess, his love, appears not as a horrific creature, feral beast, or vicious demon, but as a a goddess, someone capable of protecting him.

think of tower less as the dommy-mommy broken was so incredibly horny for he cut his own throat just to kiss her feet, and more as a hurricane. a force of nature which tore apart his home, showed him the frailty and meaninglessness of his life, then offered him both meaning and shelter within her eye of storm—as long as he gives his body to her. which is ideal for broken because it restores the control he's lost by, ironically, offering it to someone else. if he is obedient and lovely and grovel then his savior will take pity on him and he will never suffer again.

to return to my main gripe, if we understand broken desires safety and fawning is his trauma response, then we should know it obviously wouldn't be triggered by every little thing, especially in a controlled environment.

for instance, if broken was invited to a game night with the boys then he's not going to be sobbing pathetically in the corner like a child. he is, and i cannot express this enough, a grown adult man. there are several approaches to writing this—personally, i'd have him decline the invitation outright, muttering excuses about being too busy and he'd sour the mood anyway. if wrestled into it then he'd sit quietly, trying not to take up too much space or attract attention, and then fudge a game once or twice to keep the others happy. ultimately, he doesn't care about winning, and just wants to avoid any fights.

having said that, being conflict-averse does not imply cowardice. broken is a hater, and i love that about him. he's very empathetic and gentle and sweet and the perfect boyfriend, yes, but he's so fucking sassy it's amazing. broken may shy away from conflict but there are several scenes where he expresses his disbelief over how unusual the other voices all are, bickers with them, or straight-up insults them in their face.

like, i'm chill with interpretations where broken secretly admires the voices and aspires to do better, especially post-para apotheosis, but most of the time he hates their fucking asses. he wholeheartedly believes he is the only normal person in a sea of freaks. a caged bird watching as the other birds fling themselves against a glass window. yes, he is a pitiful little sheltered pet who let's out a sad whine every few minutes but please he still has his teeth!!

phew. okay this got too long. uhm! i don't really know how to end this ♡♡♡ i will say i did like your fic! i've been starved for non-wholesome smitbroken look at those boys enabling eachother. if anyone else is reading this, please go forth and create your own broken fic; i will read and i will enjoy it. this is a threat.

#sorry i kinda hopped around everywhere!! had to cut some stuff like his self loathing or empathy or the post would never end jskffiutd #broken is SO multifaceted and interesting and i love him i want to touch his thighs #who said that #also also also if you're having trouble writing broken then combing through his voicelines might help :thumbs up:#i might make a second post compiling the way he speaks as a little cheat sheet #anyway yes yes voice of the yapper takes her bow ty for letting me ramble abt my guy #♡. letters sent #♡. brokenloveposting

55 notes · View notes

dvilsdesire-a · 4 months ago

Text

Some in depth character analysis... (:

This is going to get long... as I do a bit of a character analysis on Haarlep with little bits of Raphael as well. I will likely go on tangents if they come to me, so please be aware that there is likely no solid structure as I ramble!

Please note that this is ALL speculation and headcanon as there is no way of analysing a character's full potential when you only see a few moments of them in game, let alone Haarlep's relationship with Raphael when you don't even get to see them interact outside of Haarlep's small comments and end-game letter.

Know that there is also no right and no wrong, and I will be exploring both sides and "what if" scenarios. These are just some things I want to expand upon, and we are all entitled to different opinions and headcanons. That's the beauty of getting to explore and delve into characters that are given no depth to them--you can make them your own!

First and foremost, it should be noted that DnD lore on incubus has flip flopped over the editions. Where they were once strictly demons, they were then turned to devils, and now they are recognised as simply "fiends". Haarlep, in game, is a fiend, and his race is incubus. Again... be your OWN DM... do what makes you happy, that's the beauty of DnD (but also remember that Larian itself have their own set of rules and lore that they made up which may have separated them from DnD lore as well, and that's not a bad thing! The more creativity, the better imo, especially in a world like FR).

I personally write Haarlep as a devil aligned fiend who is neutral evil (as incubus are neutral evil in lore), but that's just me! Toss in a little demon bloodline, especially with the Queen of Succubus, and play around a little! I could also see him being chaotic leaning in some areas, considering succubus and being demons (or once demons in previous editions).

Okay, let's get into Haarlep! (potentially triggering content)

I'm going to go through this in order of Haarlep's scene. There was a really neat theory that was shared HERE about how Haarlep starts off with a poem as they are introduced. Is this something that the devs simply used as trickery so we THINK it's Raphael in the bed (even though it clearly says Haarlep)?

Also note how Haarlep uses the term "Mouse", the one that Raphael has been calling the player the whole time. A coincidence? Or is this proof that Haarlep is aware of what is going on with Raphael and his potential client? Is this rhyming corruption simply from being within the HoH or something that Haarlep has picked up from via time spent with Raphael? All of these things fascinate me, because as a devil, and Raphael who is quite literally meant to symbolise the real world devil (there is a lot of symbolism with Raphael and Satan/Lucifer imo but that's not something I'll delve into here), or are they just trying to lead us into a false sense of security that this is just Raphael playing his games (despite the name on the subtitles)?

Maybe it's an outer moment of we know as the player, but our actual PC doesn't know. Which gives us the opportunity to play around a little with them, which is also cool. But the idea that Haarlep also says a little poem and speaks in such a devilish manner, is a nice little touch and a reminder OF Raphael as well.

Then, of course, the player themselves, identifies Haarlep as Raphael, despite the youthful look (I'll delve into this later).

What interests me is Haarlep's response if you actually say this. He seems amused that you'd even THINK he's Raphael, despite his obvious visage. The pride of an incubus, perhaps? Haarlep simply toying with you and making this encounter last longer by the way he speaks so slowly and playfully? Luring you in, one question and curiosity at a time.

Haarlep genuinely seems interested in WHY you are there, yet if we go from line one where they're calling you a thief... it pretty much indicates that he knows you're there when you're not supposed to be (which makes entire sense since the whole HoH has its own riddles and games you need to play to get inside rooms under lock and key). Even to get into the boudoir, you require an invitation (though Raphael clearly forgot that he left his door to the balcony wide open and there's rock formation you can traverse lol--things like this are PURELY game mechanics, and I don't think they should be read into deeply. It's a game, your player NEEDS access, whether it's getting it the hard way, the lawful way, or outright breaking in lol).

If you lie to Haarlep and claim it's a botched teleportation spell, he instantly sees through you, you don't even get the chance for a saving check on this. No matter what, Haarlep knows you're not supposed to be there. However, he wants to know WHY you're there.

Interestingly enough, Haarlep's voice is very aggressive when you lie to him, especially when the first introduction is all sweet and breathy. This comes down to control, imo (which we also learn that Haarlep is the dominant role in the bedroom, or at least a top--more on that as I go). Genuinely, though, it feels like Haarlep is very displeased if someone lies to his face, though being the incubus they are, will also give you a chance to respond truthfully before he decides your fate--this is something I also see Raphael do. Even if you attack him in your first meeting, he gives you a second chance (and a third if I recall? He only tells you the deal is off if you attack him in Sharess' Caress and kicks you out of the Devil's Den--tho correct me if I'm wrong as I'm focusing on Haarlep here).

So is this typical devil behaviour and something we can expect from devils, to give you a second chance so they can get the information they want? I'd say yes. Especially if they DO want to know. Haarlep is more than happy to kill you if you don't give him what he wants, so it seems pretty standard for devil practice, and of course, he returns to being softly spoken again, almost immediately, like it's second nature. Or is this something he has simply learned from being around Raphael for so long?

If Raphael does give you a third chance, guess what? So does Haarlep. You can lie to him (though exposed instantly), and then outright tell him you refuse to tell him why you're there, and he gives you the final chance:

Obviously, fantastic that the player can really choose what they want to do, but there's also been far quicker battles in game. Haarlep really is trying to get that information from you (and your soul no doubt). If we wanted to delve deeper (I did say what ifs!), we could also question if this is just Haarlep being playful or lazy. Does he really care to go to the effort to kill, or would he rather just get some useful information? Is he threatening the player so he can just be done with his game, have sex with the player and let them leave so he can just add their glamour to the collection? Who knows! It's all under speculation.

Haarlep's health in battle, if you choose to fight him, is also 169, whereas DnD monster manual has them at 66HP. Haarlep is a stronger incubus, and at 169HP, it's much greater! Again, is this scaled up just due to game mechanics? Or something else? Makes sense by the time you delve into the HoH, a HP of 66 isn't that challenging anymore. I did do a little hc post about my thoughts HERE. Funnily enough, there was also THIS about Haarlep being titled as a courtesan.

Moving on to if you tell Haarlep the truth about why you're there. I find his response here to be very interesting, especially in the way he seems to drop the sensuality for a moment. The thoughtfulness and pause to Haarlep as he likely recognises who you are now.

The facial expression changes also, to something more concerned looking. Of course, this could all be a facade, especially as we know that Haarlep absolutely gives you the Hammer if you're willing to sleep with them.

Not the usual plucky, jovial Haarlep that is being seen, but a moment of thoughtfulness as the creature no doubt ponders what the next move could be. Perhaps Haarlep is even contemplating what Raphael would do if things were out of his control? If Tav was killed.

I often DO wonder how Raphael would react if the game ended where Haarlep killed the PC. Would he be furious that his means to get the crown is entirely fucked now? Would he just go that's frustrating but I'll get it another way? Haarlep, no doubt, would be in a lot of trouble, but it seems that either Haarlep doesn't actually care (because he knows Raphael can't really resist him anyway), or he might just get the crown another way.

Whatever the case, Haarlep does seem to entirely underestimate the powers of Tav an Co, because he attacks them if you don't comply, and I doubt he thought even if they DID get the Hammer, they weren't going to get through Raphael (Haarlep likely is playing his own game, in where yes, sure you can take the Hammer now that I have gotten what I wanted, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to leave). Once the Hammer is taken, the entire HoH becomes hostile, meaning Haarlep LIKELY knew this, and didn't think you were going to actually kill his master.

IS he outright betraying Raphael, or is he just... shortsighted? All of this is entirely up to speculation of course, but Haarlep would 110% be aware of the fact that Raphael is the son of Mephistopheles, and there is no denying that Raphael is the HARDEST boss battle of the entire game, even if you CAN power shot him with your super builds. There is no denying that Raphael's boss battle is difficult, and he would be considered one of the most powerful fights in the entire game (which is so insane to think about since you can SKIP the entire thing or just outright MISS it). So why WOULDN'T Haarlep think that Tav and co would get fucked by him in a fight, when Haarlep has likely witnessed Raphael's wrath and fury before? When we speak of this betrayal from Haarlep, there's no telling that his actual intentions were.

So... was Haarlep being a typical devil/fiend, scheming and getting what he wanted just to win both ways by believing Raphael would have bested Tav and friends (even if it didn't turn out that way in the end)? Or was he betraying Raphael because he just didn't care? OR, a third option, was he making sure Raphael wouldn't get the crown because his true master is Mephistopheles? By stealing the Hammer, there was no deal that Raphael would GET the crown in turn. There's so many things we could assume and guess, but the fact is... we don't know, because Larian never told us, and that's okay! Because that's what fanfiction is for.

As we move the scene along, Haarlep finally introduces himself. We all know that Haarlep is an anagram for Raphael, which in itself is fascinating. Where did Haarlep get the name? WHO named him? Is Raphael so in love with himself that he named his personal incubus after himself? Was it Mephistopheles? As some kind of joke? Was it Haarlep themselves? What does interest me is is how Haarlep explained that he's not just glamoured as Raphael's image, but he's transfigured. I feel like this makes it something more permanent, or even as a base setting.

I love the idea of True Form Haarlep, personally (and it is my general go to with my writing), but I DID say what if's above, and this is one of them. What if Haarlep HAS no true form? What if his form is now FIXED as Raphael as a base form (we know he can still take on other forms since yours and Haarlep says out loud he has a collection), but what IF? What IF? Because another little bit of DnD lore? Incubus are supposed to change back to their natural form when killed, and guess who doesn't? Haarlep! He remains in Raphael's glamour if you kill him (: So... THAT'S interesting. We just don't know...

I wanted to delve into this line next, because someone pointed out something interesting which I actually wanted to delve into deeper with it:

You might be going "no you're not, you don't look like Raphael as he does now". Well, you are correct. However, I do have a theory behind this as well. As we know in canon lore, cambions generally stop ageing in their 20's. Funnily enough... Haarlep looks around that age, which is where I personally headcanon that they first met and first slept together, when Haarlep was gifted to Raphael. That's not to say Haarlep can't change to Raphael's current, more mature, visage (or even his human form). But when Haarlep says he's the PERFECT copy, I do feel like there's some burn to that, that Raphael is reminded that HE has aged and is no longer that perfect resemblance of what he once was.

There's also a fannon theory going around that Raphael's more mature look is actually a farce, and that he uses it to appear more mature to get souls, etc. That's a really interesting take, and I love it (how manipulative of him and that works!), but my personal headcanons? Raphael is no mere cambion. Raphael is the son of Mephistopheles, and we know nothing about his mother (as mother's die at childbirth). She could have been anyone! Mephistopheles is an Archdevil, and Mephisto also looks more middle aged in most of his pics. It makes sense to me that Raphael would age more compared to other cambions simply because of his more potent bloodline and the fact that he is the son of someone so powerful. This could be a symbol of something amongst devilkind even. We know that Antilia (Raphael's half sister and Mephisto's daughter), though pretty no doubt, is described to look a lot like Mephisto.

So, my theory is that Haarlep is the appearance of Raphael when they FIRST had sex, and when he first consumed Raphael's glamour, and he wears it proudly, and no doubt Raphael keeps Haarlep around like that as a reminder of how youthful and beautiful he was. I'm not saying Raphael isn't a silver fox (he is), and Raphael still considers himself attractive, but it's like looking at your younger self when you've lost some of that edge, and you wish you could be there again. It's almost torment, which... just fits with devils, especially Raphael being such a complex character and a narcissist.

Some people have pointed out that there are some different structures within Haarlep and Raphael's face. Yes, there are. These are actually the things that change with age. The most obvious to me, is the ears. Raphael's are larger. This is legitimately something that happens with age. So is the structure and plumpness of cheeks (as someone who works in healthcare, these are things I see every day with patients). Even myself if I look at a pic of me 10 years ago.

(If I could mod, I would get the same screencap to compare, but for now...)

All things that come with age are (within humans):

Larger ears, wrinkles, less fat around the face and skin that becomes less plump and taut, (particularly cheeks, chin and eyes), and the thinning of lips and complexion paling. These are all exactly what Raphael has in comparison to Haarlep.

A little note on Raph's nose is that the distortion COULD be caused by changes in cartilage over the years, OR... it could be someone punched Raph in the face and it permanently got fucked after he'd been with Haarlep (whatever the case, it's still beautiful!). I still like to think someone punched him tho >.> lol.

You're looking at at least... 20 odd years between these two, tho. Raphael is said to look middle aged (in his 50's), and Haarlep, to me, looks about... 25-28 with those small wrinkles at his forehead and crows feet when he smiles?

I can't say the technical details of who designed this in game? But they did a phenomenal job on what they actually aged (or deaged for Haarlep's encounter). I have no idea if they simply used that technology on Raph's original form or what they did for Haarlep, but it's damn good.

I implore you, take out a photo of you what looked like 20 years ago (if you're old enough) and I can guarantee you'll see some of these changes. Maybe do it of your parents, or grandparents, and you'll see. My older brother looks like a carbon fucking copy of my dad when they were both in their 20's. Genetics are FASCINATING and awesome! And I think they did a super good job with making Haarlep and Raphael's age gap noticeable while changing those important features.

I won't go into Raphael's sexuality in this post because it'll add too much to it, but I DO want to in the future. But moving on to Haarlep once you agree to sleep with them. What does interest me is that Haarlep wants to make sure that you're comfortable during the act, which is when the Archduchess comes to play.

Now... this one makes me question a little (and please fill me in as I don't know all DnD lore!). I do understand that incubus/succubus can be seen as interchangeable, and from what I have read in earlier editions, they can shapechange much like changelings (succubi can appear as your most desired appearance, without any 'glamour'). They can simply use ANY model, any face, WITHOUT consuming someone's body. Unlike Haarlep, who seems to require permission/vow to take on a desired form.

Haarlep speaks about how they're adding your glamour to their collection and that's basically what they are getting out of this little transaction of yours. This is provided with the following prompts:

This gives the impression that Haarlep requires you to actually verbally VOW that he can have your body... that he can add it to his glamour...

Is that the case, or is Haarlep simply using you and playing games because they WANT to hear you say it? Is this devilry at its finest? Or does an incubus literally require permission to gain that glamour? Like the victim is literally giving up a part of themselves in some wicked contract?

So, please... let me know how it works with Raphael's Archduchess form, OR was this simply something Larian threw in there so the player could feel more comfortable with a choice of female or male? I would love to delve more into this, because I REALLY am curious about how the hell Haarlep got a female version of Raphael, or was this something the devs just thought "We'll give them an option".

Personally, I just feel like without that knowledge, I can't see it outside of a "let's just chuck that in there so they have another option and say Raph is curious at times". But please, please let me know if you do! Some devils of Baator CAN change sex on a whim, but by disrupting the order of the Hells, they are actually punished if they do it, even tho it's entirely allowed and absolutely a-okay to do! The laws of Baator are just very stringent. Being a creature of sex, maybe it's different for incubus and succubus? Either way, I find it strange that Haarlep requires permission compared to other previous editions, but then the Archduchess exists. Maybe he's under his own contract? Maybe he's special? Maybe it's just a LepLep thing!?

Also just a note here, you can call Haarlep he, she, or they. The Narrator, in game characters, all use he when Haarlep is male, she when Haarlep is the Archduchess, and they during some of the Narrator's comments.

Speaking of glamours, though, it has been deciphered what Haarlep's harness says in Infernal, and it says "1000 lover's in 1 body" (link to reddit).

Some people have theorised that this is part of the secret contract that Haarlep was under. Personally... I think it's for nothing but Haarlep to gloat about in the Hells. I think it's entirely an aesthetic and prideful thing and nothing more. We know the devs have scribbled infernal on contracts and it literally says nothing (looking at Raphael's lol), it's all weird junk and silly things, so it's no surprise that they've written something like this on the harness Haarlep wears. Some little inside joke, but also a boast for Haarlep.

Raphael clearly likes to see himself wearing skimpy clothes, so maybe it's even to please Raphael. Maybe it's Raphael knowing that Haarlep has slept with that many others while wearing his face? Who knows. But personally, I really don't think there is anything significant when it comes to this, it's just a good little bit of humour added into the game.

During the sex scene, you will notice that Haarlep's eyes begin to glow throughout the rest of the encounter. I also find this fascinating, and I think it likely comes down to arousal or the power of the act, which when taking the glamour, would be a form of magic or corruption.

Pre sex:

During / post sex:

They are significantly brighter, and remain that way throughout the rest of the encounter. So, could it be the use of charm? Could it be arousal? Could it be the corruption and taking your body? Either way, it's something that I found interesting and I wanted to put here also.

Once the act is done, we get back down to business. This is where you can ask if Raphael is any good in bed. Of course, this is a whoooole debate amongst the fandom, and honestly, I don't think it needs to be taken so seriously. You've got to remember, Haarlep is an incubus, someone that is forged from lust and sex, and has likely slept with waaaaay more people than Raphael (especially if we take it literally when Haarlep says Raphael only wants to sleep with himself). That's a whole different topic, though, and this is Haarlep not even elaborating, just laughing and saying "no". But you're never going to get as good in the sack as an incubus, that likely knows all the trades. This isn't just a skill, it's INSTINCT for someone like Haarlep. Even if Raphael WAS bad in bed, though... what's the big deal? Who cares? I actually think it's something that makes Raphael more realistic, because he has a flaw and someone else is better at something than him. Good, make him feel vulnerable, let him be reminded, and perhaps that is also why Haarlep is kept around, so Raphael can imagine the incubus' prowess as his OWN whilst he wears his face.

Back to where Haarlep could be seen as potentially betraying Raphael by pointing you into the direction of the Orphic Hammer. Once again, like mentioned above yonder (this is getting long), there's no telling where this is coming from. Is this a betrayal? Is this Haarlep being short sighted and not really thinking Tav and Co could kill Raphael once he came back, knowing that the HoH was rigged to attack the moment the Orphic Hammer was taken? Interesting how Haarlep disappears amidst the chaos as well.

There's no saying what Haarlep was thinking, it's all speculation and guessing games, which fits perfectly with a fiend, tbh. He's a scheming little shit, just like everyone else in the Nine Hells. Makes perfect sense to me that we don't know his true intentions. Plus, it's literally a 10 minute interaction. You can't possibly understand someone with a 10 minute interaction, you can only guess and assume.

What I do find a little funny is the following:

So we have Haarlep saying that Raphael hides NOTHING from him, and can't (likely because Haarlep wears his face and potentially uses charm on him to get what he wants, and because he's an incubus--these creatures that are behind every high devil or demon, manipulating from the shadows), but also...

Haarlep gives you the key. To. The. Safe. The safe that he doesn't know what sits inside it... (bullshit).

He literally pulls it out of his arse and just hands it to you. Flat out. So how did Haarlep get the key? Why does HE have access to it? But doesn't know what's inside the safe? Definitely bullshit. He knows what's inside it, and Raphael, who has every door locked and invitations required and a ritual to get inside his house etc... just... hands his safe key to Haarlep? Or doesn't realise Haarlep has stolen it and keeps a copy?

Either way, this line about Raphael telling him everything indicates that Haarlep and Raphael talk to each other. Which, of course they do. They have been sharing a bed for who knows how long?

The reason why I have come to it being over a thousand years of being with each other goes back to Haarlep having Raphael's much younger glamour. Raphael is 2000+ years old, as we know thanks to his comment about Karsus' Folly and how he was there to see it.

Haarlep likely came after, after he raged about the Crown, and when Mephistopheles realised that his son was ambitious and wanted power. 1000+ years is a long time to share your bed with someone and not grow some sense of comfort within that company. Even without realising it or admitting it (or even being in denial), Raphael is still a half human and half devil, those weaker natures, those human natures, he no doubt falls to every now and again, no matter how much he detests and attempts to refuse it. Company is company, and if anything, this is the sort of company that feels like it's there for complacency and self gain (not realising the self loss in the process).

I am not saying Haarlep and Raphael love each other. In fact, whatever they share is likely nothing but a mutual benefit from one another somehow (and of course, Haarlep being contracted there). But love is an extremely complex notion, and it's not that simple. I don't think it's yes, and I don't think it's no. I think it's an exceptionally GREY area that has become complacency, comfort, possessiveness, and selfishness. As for Haarlep? Who is a full fiend, tho an incubus of all fiends (master of lust, sensuality, intimacy...), I think Raphael has a greater chance of falling in love than Haarlep does. And that's saying something.

We know for a fact that Haarlep was sent via Mephistopheles, but there's some conflicting dialogue that can feel like Haarlep is "sworn to" Raphael but he's a gift, so who does he really serve?

Whatever the case, I still think that Haarlep is absolutely capable of manipulating Raphael in ways that others can't. Also, if Raphael didn't really care to have Haarlep around, he could just get another incubus to have his glamour and be done with it. Haarlep can change his face to be Raphael, yes, but he can't change his personality that easily. If Raphael really hated Haarlep, he'd just go "be gone" and throw him out the window.

Obviously, as a GIFT from his father... that might hold a little bit of sentimentality to it, especially for someone like Raphael, who is obsessive and possessive of his possessions. Haarlep would be seen as his, and only his. Of course, it would likely be seen as some sort of an insult to Mephisto if he did this as well, because he WAS a gift to his son, so of course he can't be denied. That would make pappa angry.

Then there's the indication that Haarlep is unhappy and hates Raphael as much as any other devil in Baator. Haarlep is jovial in nature, he makes fun of people, including Raphael, his supposed master. I really don't see his end letter as him hating Raphael.

As above with the quote, Haarlep states Raphael can hide nothing from him, and deny him nothing, which pretty much solidifies that Haarlep has him wrapped around his little finger. If anything, Haarlep is the one in control of whatever relationship that they share (whether that's just sexual or not). Raphael still has power, of course, but it's this dynamic that shifts up and down between them, until they are back to the very same place they always end up.

The letter that you see in the epilogue never states anything on Haarlep's feelings towards Raphael. They state what OTHER devils feel. What the letter says is:

The only indication that one might get from this is the term "timely end" when it comes to Raphael's death. I wouldn't say this is an indication of Haarlep detesting the man. Haarlep isn't known for his love, so why would he mourn to a stranger? Why would he care, really? He's a fiend. The death of Raphael meant he was no longer bound to any contract, so it's absolutely opportunistic for him! But opportunity doesn't mean hate.

The entire atmosphere of Haarlep's letter has a sense of superiority around it, which if course it does. It's Haarlep. He's a fancy little snob that thinks he has better taste when he's actually fucking gelugons on a daily basis... Have you seen those things?

I'm more interested in the contract that was binding him to secrecy. It's never explained more upon. Was Haarlep bound to secrecy to stay within the HoH? Was he bound to secrecy so no one knew him and Raphael had slept together and that Raphael had a personal incubus? Raphael has invitations for others to come into the boudoir, so I highly doubt Haarlep was some little secret shame of his. If anything, Raphael seems the sort to boast about getting to have sex with his handsome self. Not to mention multiple people in the HoH (Nebuldin and the Archivist) pretty much tell you to go see Haarlep and enjoy yourself? So yeah... Haarlep being a secret? DEFINITELY busted.

The only secrecy I can get from this would be the fact that it was a secret Haarlep was keeping from Raphael that he was a spy for Mephistopheles.

Which... let's talk about this spy as well. We don't know the terms and conditions of the contract between Haarlep and Mephisto, all Haarlep claims was that he was sent to "distract" Mephistopheles' naughty son.

Doesn't really mean spy. It CAN mean spy! Absolutely it could mean spy (and the devil's in the details). But if we think about what Haarlep was potentially sending back to Mephisto... why didn't Mephisto do anything? After all, Raphael can't hide anything from Haarlep or deny him anything, and that gives me the impression that Haarlep knows most of what is going on, and if he told Mephistopheles about all of that, I'm pretty sure Mephisto would have a shit fit over the fact that his son is after the crown that has been stolen from his vault.

This is a crown that Mephistopheles KNOWS pissed Raphael off when he took it and locked it away. Raphael tells us that he raged over it for years after it happened. So when the vault was broken into, I'm pretty sure Mephistopheles would have been onto Raphael about it immediately. If Raphael came up empty handed and literally didn't know a damn thing about it, maybe... MAYBE his father would be willing to go "fine, whatever," but this is a very paranoid Archdevil that has killed his own spawn before to better himself. Raphael is no different. He is expendable. He doesn't even live in Cania anymore (HoH is in Avernus), and as far as I can tell, he's keeping all those souls to himself so he can use them to turn into an ascended form (which makes me wonder if he got the idea from his father and Cazador).

So for being a spy... Haarlep is a pretty damn poor one, if you ask me. Haarlep comes off as more of a sloth than someone who is really interested in doing hard work. He wants pleasure and games, and he is content if he has that, but he's also a fiend, and Haarlep is still as selfish as any other devil.

If you kill Haarlep, you can also speak to his corpse, where he will give you the same information just in a different way. He will tell you where the key is, he will explain that Raphael was never on top during their bedroom games, and he will tell you he was sent to distract Raphael from Mephistopheles.

I am absolutely certain I could keep going with this, but I'm running out of juice, lol. Anyway, this is my little (big apparently) analysis of Haarlep's character, and why I write him the way I do.

There is no right and wrong when it comes to this, remember. We ALL have our unique headcanons and opinions on characters, and we see all but 10 minutes or so with Haarlep in a game that lasts over 100 hours of gameplay. There is always room for character growth and development. Just because you don't agree with someone's personal hc doesn't mean they're wrong or you're right.

I would love to delve further into some more headcanons, especially with Raph, his sexuality, and Haarlep and his relationship a little bit more, but for now, this his already gotten long enough, so some small dot points:

Hope says she has been in the boudoir against her own will (which makes me believe Haarlep and her have likely shared a bed--this is apparently triggered if you save Hope before doing anything else).

Haarlep is a top in the bedroom (as provided by his own words when you speak to his corpse)

Haarlep doesn't know of any weakness Raphael has in battle (this is indicated when you speak to his corpse and ask if Raphael has any weaknesses in battle, to which the corpse remains silent and the Narrator says "the corpse does not know"). A really neat hc post about that HERE.

Incubus eat hearts and meat (Haarlep, if you agree to let him devour your soul and body) stated that he will eat your heart.

If Haarlep devours your soul and takes your mind and soul, you do not die, you become a thrall of his to command, which will obey him and "my master" (which makes me think he speaks of Mephisto more than Raphael).

Haarlep can command imps (he summons them if you decide you want to battle)

If I think of more, I will add, I'm tired now, lol. If anything, can y'all appreciate how long this got? :'D

#ooc #Haarlep #Haarlep BG3 #raphael the cambion #Meta #Lore #Headcanons

47 notes · View notes

moodymelanist · 5 months ago

Text

dumb love (i love being stupid)

happy day 2 of @nessianweek everyone! I've had so much fun writing wlw!nessian that i just HAD to flip it around and do mlm!nessian too. hope you all enjoy <3 title from casual by chappell roan!

Summary: Five times Cassian didn’t realize he had a boyfriend, plus one time he finally got it.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: Smut at the end!

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Cassian

Cassian knew he’d put off doing his basic science requirement until the last minute, but it didn’t quite hit him just how long he’d put it off until he was standing in a biology lab surrounded by baby-faced freshmen.

“Welcome to bio lab,” their TA greeted them at the top of the hour, taking the time to send everyone reassuring smiles. “Today we’re going to go over the syllabus, some really important safety rules, and, most importantly, how to succeed in this class. But first: assigned seating!”

Most of the assorted freshmen looked relieved at not having to figure out where to sit, but Cassian held back a groan. He was usually pretty good about finding partners or groups who were willing to do a little more of the work around his hectic club soccer schedule, but having assigned seats — and likely partners — meant he’d probably have to suck it up and put in a little more work than usual. That would be fine, though; he just needed to pass this class to graduate, and then next semester he could really let the senioritis kick in.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind how their seats and resulting lab partners were assigned, but Cassian had a sneaking suspicion their TA had paired him up with the only other senior in the room. Cassian had seen the eldest Archeron here or there over the years, mostly because he was pretty tight with the Vanserra brothers and Azriel was dating one of them, but he’d never been this up close and personal with the guy.

Until now, anyway. The eldest Archeron was tall, only a few inches shorter than Cassian himself; his golden brown hair was parted to the side and pushed back from his face to reveal a pair of gray-blue eyes framed with pretty, bronze lashes. He was dressed comfortably in a white shirt and jeans, though Cassian had a sneaking suspicion those two items alone cost more than his rent, let alone the backpack that just screamed quiet luxury.

“Hey, man,” Cassian said once they were seated, doing his best not to look like he was staring. Which he absolutely wasn’t, but who could blame him? The guy had a jawline sharp enough to cut something, and those eyes were even icier up close. “I’m Cassian.”

“Earnest Nathaniel,” came the other man’s reply. He smelled really good, and it was a miracle Cassian managed to catch his full name with the way he was fighting leaning in closer to take a whiff.

“That’s kind of a mouthful,” Cassian replied jokingly. “Your parents must’ve had it out for you, huh?”

Earnest Nathaniel stared at Cassian for several long seconds, clearly unimpressed with Cassian’s joke. “Whatever nickname you’re about to come up with, I’m not interested in hearing it.”

“Whatever you say, Nes,” Cassian fired back, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it belonged there.

“Don’t call me that.”

“EN?”

“Jesus Christ, no.”

“Nessie?”

“Do I look like the Loch Ness monster to you?”

“Didn’t peg you for a Twilight fan.”

“Didn’t peg you as such an idiot.”

“Okay, Nesbit.”

“How are these getting worse?”

“Nesseroni? Yes? No?”

“Definite no.”

“Mhmm… think I’ll stick with my first choice, then,” Cassian said with a victorious grin. “Nes.”

Whatever Nes was about to say back was cut short by their TA calling their class back to order, and Cassian sent the other man a pleased little smirk before trying his best to pay attention. He’d gone through enough sylly weeks to know the drill, but if it had the added bonus of getting under his new lab partner’s skin, then he was going to be the most model student possible.

Still, Cassian must not have fucked up as badly as he thought he did, because Earnest Nathaniel — Nes, in Cassian’s mind — stiffly asked Cassian to grab coffee with him after class. It turned into a bit of a standing thing on Tuesdays and Thursdays, mostly to work through the bulk of their weekly lab reports, but they talked about plenty of other things too. Cassian was on the receiving end of a lot of witty one-liners, but he also learned about Nes’ sisters, about the books he liked to read, and even about the other man’s law school applications.

Those were Cassian’s favorite coffee days, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. Maybe he just liked making a new friend, or maybe it was just Nes himself.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

A week or two into October, Cassian caught a nasty cold one weekend and couldn’t shake it off by the time Tuesday's lab rolled around. He’d at least been able to email his professors and TAs to let them know he probably wouldn’t be in class this week, but he’d completely forgotten to give Nes a heads up before lab started.

They’d exchanged numbers after that first day, and they texted here and there about anything from class to memes Cassian thought Nes would like to random soccer facts that Nes thought Cassian would care about. Still, Cassian wasn’t expecting Nes to be texting him from class when the guy was normally such a stickler for following the rules, so when his phone buzzed, he couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised at the name on his screen when he finally discovered his phone half-buried beneath his comforter.

Nes Archeron, 11:12 AM

????

Where are you?

Cassian didn’t have the energy to say much, and he was a little woozy from the strength of the medicine he’d taken about twenty minutes ago. He somehow managed to take a picture of him surrounded by tissues and Tylenol and typed out a short reply that he thought conveyed his predicament well enough.

Cassian Hernández, 11:15 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image]

send help im dying

Cassian didn’t stay awake long enough to see if Nes had replied, letting the cold medicine pull him into an easy nap instead. He woke up about an hour and a half later to the sound of someone knocking on his bedroom door, and he was still too sleepy to come up with a proper sentence. “Huh?”

Azriel opened the door and poked his head around the corner, his nose wrinkling at the unpleasant sight of a sick roommate. “Your boyfriend’s here with some soup and more medicine.”

“Ha, ha,” Cassian said, sniffling very attractively. Not that it mattered; it was just Azriel, and they’d been friends for far too long for Cassian to care about what he thought. “You’re hilarious.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Azriel said back with a roll of his eyes. He opened the door fully to reveal Nes standing there with a steaming thermos in one hand and a grocery bag filled with cold medicine in the other. Once Cassian had fully processed that this was happening and Nes was very much standing outside his bedroom, Azriel turned back to Nes and said, “Good luck with him. He’s even dumber than usual right now.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Nes replied dryly. They exchanged a knowing glance before Azriel huffed a laugh and left them to it, disappearing down the hallway back to his own room. “You doing okay, Cassian?”

Cassian suddenly and intensely regretted not cleaning up the massive pile of tissues surrounding him. He probably didn’t smell great, either, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth. So much for it not mattering. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Nes responded, though his tone seemed a little more sympathetic than usual. “I didn’t know what you had on hand, so I brought you some stuff. Hope that’s cool.”

“Very cool,” Cassian agreed. It was a really thoughtful thing to do, and something went a little soft and gooey and a little sad inside Cassian at the realization that he probably hadn’t been taken care of like this since he was in high school. Mostly soft and gooey, though, so he’d take it for the kind gesture that it was and leave the rest to examine probably… never. “Thanks, Nes.”

“You’re welcome,” Nes answered simply, the barest hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks.

Instead of trying to clear Cassian’s bed, Nes had the much smarter idea of pulling over the chair from Cassian’s desk and sitting there. He put down the thermos — which smelled like chicken noodle soup, now that it was close enough for Cassian’s nose to pick up on it — and spread out his cold medicine haul across one of Cassian’s end tables.

“What have you taken today?” Nes asked expectantly.

Cassian wasn’t totally sure what time he’d taken his meds this morning, and he told the other man as much. “Uh…”

“Idiot,” Nes muttered, though it sounded fond. “Just try to eat a little something, and you can take some more meds when you wake up.”

Nes helped Cassian sit up so he could get a little something in his stomach, his touch firm against Cassian’s back as he shifted up on the bed. Cassian didn’t totally understand why he could still feel Nes’ hands on him long after the other man had let go, but he wasn’t going to question it. It had felt nice, and the soup was even nicer, warm and seasoned surprisingly well despite its source.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Nes said haughtily, though he couldn’t keep up the act for very long. “I, uh… one of my sisters helped. Lucky for you, Elain actually knows what she’s doing.”

“Knew it,” Cassian said back. He managed a smirk before his nose started running again, and then Nes was taking the thermos out of his hands, offering him a clean tissue, and helping him lie back down. He didn’t even blink before holding up the trash can so Cassian could weakly toss the used tissue inside it.

“You need some more rest,” Nes informed him matter-of-factly. He put down the trash can and left it close enough to Cassian’s bed that he could throw more tissues inside it as needed. “I’ll text you when you should take some more medicine.”

“Okay,” Cassian agreed, his eyes half-closed already. He hated being sick and how much it took out of him, but it didn’t seem so bad with Nes here taking care of him for a little while. “Stay until I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nes promised. His voice had gone strangely soft but Cassian decided not to question it, much more focused on how good his pillow felt against his cheek.

Before Cassian drifted off to sleep, he swore he felt Nes’ cool fingers gently pushing his hair back from his face. What a dedicated friend, Cassian thought before he was tugged completely under.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Cassian made a full recovery by the end of that week, just in time to start prepping for fall midterms. However, the week after they’d taken their bio lecture exam, everything went to shit for several days, and Cassian had no reason why.

He and Nes had gone for their usual post-lab coffee, and the two of them had been standing outside the library when a certain blonde friend decided to make an appearance.

“Cassian!”

Cassian turned from where he was talking with Nes to see Mor barreling up the walkway towards him, his arms automatically coming up to catch her as she leapt into his arms. “Hey, Mor.”

“Hey yourself,” Mor said back, a little out of breath from her short sprint. She squeezed Cassian tight before jumping out of his hold. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”

“Semester’s been kicking my ass, you know how it is,” Cassian replied apologetically. Mor had been trying to corner him for a catch-up lunch for weeks now, and while he hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her, things had just been much busier than he’d expected in his final year of college. “You know I wouldn’t ignore you on purpose.”

“Of course not, silly,” Mor told him with a little laugh. She put her hand on Cassian’s arm before adding, “You know there’d be hell to pay. I have you too well-trained.”

“Cassian,” Nes suddenly interjected before Cassian could respond, his voice as icy as his eyes. Cassian turned to see a muscle in the other man’s jaw working overtime as he stared Mor down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your… friend?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Cassian said sheepishly. Jesus fuck, where were his manners? “Nes, this is my friend Mor. Mor, this is Nes. We’re lab partners this semester.”

“It’s Earnest Nathaniel, actually,” Nes corrected coldly. His eyes zeroed in on where Mor’s hand was still on Cassian’s arm, and Cassian jumped out of her grip like he’d been burned. “I don’t do nicknames.”

“I’m Morrigan, then, if we’re being formal,” Mor replied with a roll of her eyes. Cassian didn’t know why things were suddenly so tense, but he’d do anything to get that blank look off of Nes’ face. “Aren’t you friends with Eris?”

“Since middle school,” Nes answered shortly. Cassian had to blink back his surprise; normally Nes was always ready to talk about how he and Eris had gone from bonding over being the two oldest sons in their respective families to being roommates all four years. He didn’t know what had changed now, but it left him feeling uneasy all the same.

“Then we’ve definitely met before,” Mor responded. Cassian remembered that she and Eris had had a brief fling their sophomore year before Eris abruptly realized he was gay and had started dating Azriel not too long after. “We’ve probably seen each other around, at least.”

“I don’t recall,” Nes told her stiffly. He made a big show of checking his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and shouldering his backpack. “I have to go, I’m running late for something. Have fun with your friend.”

“See you… around,” Cassian finished lamley, watching helplessly as Nes’ long legs carried him halfway across the quad in record time. He turned back to Mor with a sigh. “I don’t know why he’s being like that.”

Mor stared at Cassian like he was the biggest idiot in the world for several long moments, eventually throwing her hands up with a loud scoff. “Az was right. You’re actually such a dumbass.”

“What?” Cassian said, totally thrown by Mor’s response. She just shook her head at him before she took off too, leaving him standing by himself wondering what, exactly, he’d done to piss off not one, but two people in such record time. “Thanks for the help! Not!”

Cassian still didn’t understand just what he’d done to make Nes so upset, but by the time Tuesday’s lab rolled around, he was determined to make things right. Nes hadn’t answered his texts all weekend, but after Cassian had reposted one of Mor’s Instagram stories from Friday night happy hour with her and her girlfriend, Nes was suddenly much happier to see him.

Weird.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

October eventually turned into November, and Cassian found himself suddenly getting ready to play his last home club soccer game. It wasn’t nearly as intense as playing varsity, but he’d enjoyed having an outlet for all his restless energy over the years, and even more so getting to know the rest of the guys on the team.

Cassian had mentioned his final home game in passing to Nes during one of their post-class coffee hangouts, but he certainly hadn’t expected to find him sitting in the bleachers on a rainy, miserable Saturday in early November. Usually the only other people at their games were close friends and family members, so it was a nice surprise to see Nes up there; none of Cassian’s other friends had been able to make it for various reasons, so he’d fully been expecting to be celebrated later. Even more surprising was that Nes wasn’t alone – Cassian could spot two other women up there with him, and judging by that familiar golden-brown hair, it could only be Elain and Feyre.

Cassian waved happily from the field, grinning when Feyre and Elain immediately and eagerlty returned his wave while Nes’ just held up his hand in greeting. He knew how much Nes hated getting up early, especially on a weekend, and the fact that he’d dragged himself out of bed for a 10 AM game made something go warm and fuzzy in Cassian’s chest just like that day where Nes had come over to check on him.

He didn’t have time to investigate that right now, though. He had a game to win, especially with an audience as important as this one, so he channeled all that sudden nervous energy into being the best left back he could.

After the game — which they’d won 2-0, much to Cassian’s glee — he walked over to where Nes and his two sisters were waiting for him, having walked down from the bleachers in the time it had taken Cassian to finish up with his teammates. He couldn’t stop smiling at the fact that Nes had dragged himself down here just to watch Cassian kick a ball around.

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asked once they were all standing together, still pleasantly surprised ninety minutes later. “I thought you didn’t believe in waking up during single digit hours.”

Nes flushed, much to his sisters’ clear amusement. “It was your last home game. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wake up that early since high school, Earnie,” one of Nes’ sisters teased. She looked the most like Nes, with her gray-blue eyes and high cheekbones, and she was bundled up in an oversized cream sweater and leggings.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that, Feyre,” Nes grumbled, much to Cassian’s delight.

“Not enough to make it stick,” Feyre retorted with a laugh. She turned back to Cassian and stuck her hand out expectantly, so he shook it and hoped she didn’t mind the grass and sweat on his hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassian. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t scare him off, Feyre,” Elain, Nes’ other sister, responded. She was the shortest of the three Archerons, and had warm brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when she smiled up at Cassian. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though. I promise we’ve only heard good things!”

“That doesn’t sound like Nes at all,” Cassian replied, teasing Nes just a little bit. He liked that Nes only showed his softer side to the people he cared about, and he counted himself very lucky to have somehow made it into that small group. “Lord knows I’ve given him plenty of things to complain about.”

Feyre’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early, and even Elain couldn’t stop her smile. Cassian wondered what had been so significant about his words, though his question was quickly answered.

“Shut up, Feyre,” Nes said before Feyre could get a chance to comment.

“If you buy me lunch, I won’t say anything,” Feyre said back, “even though it’s extremely tempting to comment on this new nickname.”

Nes sighed heavily, clearly unable to resist Feyre for too long. “Fine, but nothing too crazy. I’m not made of money.”

“We literally get the same allowance, so objectively—”

“Well then, objectively, you should be able to pay for your own food for once—”

“I’m sure you’re hungry, Cassian,” Elain turned to him with a smile, clearly used to tuning out her siblings’ bickering. “You should join us!”

“Oh,” Cassian answered, touched that they’d want to invite him to their family bonding time. “Sure, I could eat.”

“Great!” Elain clapped her hands together before reaching out and yanking Feyre to her side, her grip appearing surprisingly strong for someone so small. She nudged Nes in Cassian’s direction as she said, “You two, stop your bickering so we can go get some food. Lead the way, Earn.”

Once Cassian got his gear together and changed out of his cleats, the four of them made their way to one of the fast casual places right outside of campus. Feyre and Elain were fun to hang out with, even if they asked a lot of strangely personal questions, but it was more than worth it for all the nuggets of information they gave him about Nes. It was more than a nice way to spend the rest of his afternoon, even more so when Nes paid for everyone’s food, but Cassian knew he’d pay the other man back in coffee and pastries after lab next week.

Cassian eventually got up to use the bathroom, and as he made his way back to their table, he overheard the Archerons talking amongst themselves.

“I really like this one, Earn,” Cassian heard Elain say. He slowed his steps to give them time for a sibling moment if they needed it, but he was strangely curious what else they’d say about him. Assuming they were talking about him, anyway. “He seems like a really good guy.”

“Yeah,” Nes replied, his voice strangely soft again. “Me too.”

Cassian wasn’t sure why hearing that put a smile on his face for the rest of the day, but he’d take it. He hadn’t known he was facing some kind of sibling friend test, but he was glad all the same that he’d passed.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

The weekend before everyone went home for Thanksgiving break, Cassian got invited to an end of the semester party that one of the guys on the football team was throwing. Most of his other friends were going, so it was bound to be at least a fun enough time between that and the ridiculous amounts of alcohol that tended to be at these kinds of things.

Cassian of course invited Nes, pleasantly surprised when the other man said he’d be there. Nes didn’t exactly strike Cassian as the party type, but maybe he wanted to let loose after a long semester just like everybody else.

“Whose party is it, anyway?” Nes asked as they waited for their Uber. Nes had a car, but they both knew the odds of them both staying sober were slim to none, so he’d parked in the garage across from Cassian’s building so they could ride to the party together. Azriel and Eris were also going to this party, so Cassian figured Nes would maybe catch a ride back with Eris when everything was said and done and would come grab his car another time.

Cassian laughed, his breath fogging up in front of him in the brisk November air. “Now you’re asking?”

“Feyre and Elain said they might come,” Nes replied, rolling his eyes. He looked really good in a pair of dark jeans and the fur-lined leather jacket he’d stolen from Cassian’s closet, and Cassian had a hard time taking his eyes off him. “I can’t just send them in without any information.”

“Aww,” Cassian cooed. “What a good older brother.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Nes shot back without much venom. “Someone has to keep an eye on them.”

Cassian had learned just how shitty the Archeron parents were over the course of getting to know Nes, so he didn’t dare make another joke, not about that. Instead, he double-checked his group text with Rhys and Azriel for the information Nes had asked for in the first place. “Jurian’s throwing it. I think he’s one of Lucien’s friends?”

“Jurian’s alright,” Nes responded. He pulled out his phone and typed out a few quick texts before putting his hands back in his pockets, and Cassian had to stifle the insane urge to slide his hands into those pockets, too. “Besides, even if he weren’t, Lucien will help me keep an eye on them.”

“Don’t forget to have some fun for yourself, too,” Cassian told him. Nes always took himself so seriously that Cassian was almost hoping to see him let a little loose tonight, for once.

“Don’t worry,” Nes said just as their Uber arrived. He held Cassian’s gaze for a few charged moments in which Cassian nearly forgot how to breathe. “I plan to.”

—

About an hour and a half into the party, Cassian could safely say they were both having a good time. Feyre and Elain had spent most of their time chatting with Rhys and Lucien respectively, so Nes felt comfortable enough leaving his sisters with them that he was actually drinking and laughing and generally letting loose the exact way Cassian had hoped he would.

Cassian had a nice buzz going himself, even more so after he’d done the rounds and said hey to a lot of his own friends. He was playing some beer pong with Tarquin, one of his friends on the swim team, against Tarquin’s cousins Varian and Cresseida, and even though they were losing spectacularly he didn’t mind not one bit. Nes was still close by enough that Cassian could keep an eye on him, unable to look away as Nes laughed at something Eris had said.

“It’s your turn, Cassian,” Tarquin pulled him back to the game, yelling to be heard properly over the music. Cassian took the ball and missed his first throw but sank his second easily, and he high-fived Tarquin as Cresseida jokingly flipped them off from across the table. “Nice!”

Their luck didn’t hold for long, however. Varian and Cresseida got their heads in the game and absolutely destroyed Cassian and Tarquin, who split the cups in half before downing one cup after the other.

Whoever had decided to use tequila instead of beer deserved to have a perpetually warm pillow or something, Cassian thought as he finished his half of the cups. Even as big as he was, he knew drinking that much tequila in such a short time frame was only asking for trouble, so he just hoped the rest of the night would be worth it if he ended up throwing up tonight.

Cassian really hoped he didn’t throw up tonight. He didn’t want Nes to see him like that, even though he’d definitely already seen Cassian all gross and sick earlier in the semester. Something about Nes just made Cassian want to be on his best behavior, and he was once again hoping that whatever he did would be enough to impress Nes’ high standards.

Speaking of Nes, where had he even gone? Cassian looked around the room for almost a minute until he spotted the right head of golden-brown hair, and then he was making his way through the crowd to where Nes was still talking to Eris. He and Azriel had shown up to the party at some point during beer pong, both of them covered in hickies and Azriel’s hair way too mussed to be natural bedhead.

At the moment, though, Azriel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and even though they were all friends, something about watching Nes laugh yet again at something Eris said made Cassian want to haul Nes away and keep him all to himself.

Nes was still chuckling once Cassian came close enough to interrupt whatever conversation was happening, and Cassian was willing to do whatever it took to get that attention directed at him instead of Eris.

“Heeeeey, guys,” Cassian said, casually throwing his arm around Nes’ shoulders like it was a thing they did all the time. It should be a thing they did all the time; Nes was the perfect height for Cassian to do that and a whole lot of other things that Cassian hadn’t considered until just now. “What’s going on?”

Eris looked like he wanted to laugh, but he swallowed it down. “Hey, Cassian. You having fun?”

“Yup,” Cassian answered, popping the p. “Soooo much fun.”

“You okay, Cassian?” Nes asked. He shifted his drink to his right hand so the left one could snake around Cassian’s waist, and wow was that a nice feeling. Almost as nice as hearing his name come out of Nes’ perfect mouth. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I lost beer pong,” Cassian replied, fighting the urge to turn and press his face into Nes’ hair. It was always shiny and perfectly styled and just long enough that Cassian would be able to run his fingers through it if he could, but he knew Nes spent way too much on his haircuts for that to be a reality. “Well, really it was tequila pong. They should rename it.”

“Or maybe you should be better at the game,” Nes told him, though Cassian could tell there wasn’t any real venom behind it.

“Maybe you can be my teammate next time,” Cassian responded with a pleased little grin. What an excellent suggestion his brain had come up with.

Nes just snorted. “Not really my thing.”

“We’ll just find something that is, then,” Cassian promised. Whatever it took to spend more time in Nes’ arms, he’d do it. “Pinky promise.”

“What are you, five?” Nes retorted, though he finished the rest of his drink and put the cup down somewhere just so he could brush his fingers against the hand Cassian had slung across his shoulders. Cassian seized the opportunity and grabbed hold of Nes’ hand before he could move too far away, interlacing their fingers and giving them a fond little squeeze.

“Oh, thank God,” Eris said suddenly. Cassian looked away from Nes and his pretty, flushed cheeks to see that Azriel had returned to his boyfriend’s side. “They’re being disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic,” Nes said back with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s PEMDAS, it cancels out,” Azriel replied with a sly little grin. That grin disappeared as he took a good, long look at Cassian, who tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny. “Cassian, how drunk are you?”

“How drunk are you, Az?” Cassian fired back.

Azriel rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Nes. “You should probably take him home soon. If he drinks any more he’s going to start throwing up, and nobody wants to see that.”

“Nobody’s going to throw up,” Cassian responded, frowning. He was not going to do that, especially in front of Nes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, Cassian,” Azriel placated him. He turned back to Nes and added, “I’m going back with Eris after this, so… knock yourselves out, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Nes answered dryly. He squeezed Cassian’s hand one last time before letting go, ignoring Cassian’s pout as he pulled his phone out and started to call an Uber. “It’s time to take you home, Cassian.”

“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” Cassian said, still pouting. “Nessssss.”

“Too bad,” Nes said back. Cassian didn’t need to be looking at him to know the other man was rolling his eyes, though he liked watching Nes do it anyway. “Let’s start saying bye to your friends.”

Nes made quick work of guiding Cassian to the door while still managing to exchange goodbyes with everyone who mattered. Their driver was already waiting when they finally made it outside, and Cassian didn’t even mind sitting in the middle seat if it meant staying close to Nes. Cassian spent most of the Uber home leaning on Nes’ shoulder, thoroughly enjoying the way their thighs were pressed together in the backseat. When they got out of the car, Cassian also enjoyed the very firm grip that Nes kept on him as they walked.

Tonight had really been amazing.

“Where are your keys?” Nes asked as he corralled Cassian toward his building. Cassian mumbled out something unintelligent in response, more than ready to crash in his bed, and Nes sighed heavily. “Cassian, come on, it’s fucking freezing and you’re heavy as hell.”

“Left pocket,” Cassian eventually told him. He giggled as Nes shoved his hand in said left pocket and came up empty-handed. “No. My other left.”

“You’re even dumber when you’re drunk,” Nes grumbled, sticking his hand in Cassian’s right pocket and finally coming up with the keys. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nes used Cassian’s key fob to get into the building and onto the elevator, apparently remembering the way well enough that he didn’t bother to ask Cassian for his floor. Cassian was far too busy trying to remain upright, finally throwing caution to the wind and slumping fully against Nes. “Mhmm. You’re warm.”

“You’re heavy,” Nes said, though he didn’t sound mad about it. He actually released a huff of laughter that tickled the side of Cassian’s ear before poking at Cassian a few times to get him moving. “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

They eventually made their way down the hallway, Nes using Cassian’s keys to open the door to his and Azriel’s apartment. They managed to make it to Cassian’s room without bumping into anything despite not turning on any of the lights, though Nes turned on the lamp on Cassian’s desk so they had a little bit of light in the bedroom. While Nes busied himself with taking off his borrowed jacket, Cassian sat on the edge of the bed and fell backwards so he was comfortable.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Nes said sharply once he noticed Cassian was laying on the bed. “You’re not going to sleep in all that. You’ll overheat in the middle of the night.”

“Says you,” Cassian said back, closing his eyes. Nes loudly snapped his fingers right in front of Cassian’s face, and Cassian forced his eyes back open just so he could roll them, hard. “Ugh. Whatever, Dad.”

Despite Cassian’s grumbling, he didn’t put up too much of a fight at Nes making him kick off his shoes and take off his jacket. He didn’t even mind taking off his shirt, since that’s usually how he slept anyway, but when it came time for Nes to coax him out of his pants, suddenly all bets were off.

“Come on, Cassian,” Nes said, exasperated. He’d gotten Cassian to sit up while his other clothes had come off, and he was being really patient as he tried to unfasten Cassian’s jeans and take them off. “You can’t go to sleep in jeans.”

“No jeans for everyone,” Cassian said back with a loud laugh. He knew he was drunk and being more than a little annoying, but Nes certainly didn’t seem to mind as Cassian fumbled with the buttons on the other man’s jeans. “It’s only fair.”

“It’s not about fair, it’s about— hey!” Nes yelped as Cassian got the bright idea of suddenly yanking him forward. They overbalanced and Nes landed awkwardly on top of Cassian, who had developed a serious case of the giggles at the shocked expression on the other man’s face. “Really, Cassian?”

“Oh man,” Cassian replied, still giggling, “the look on your face.”

“Ha, ha,” Nes deadpanned. “Very funny.”

Cassian’s giggles abruptly stopped as he realized just how close he and Nes suddenly were. Cassian didn’t think they’d ever been so close before, and he found himself liking it, probably more than he should considering Nes was just trying to be a good friend and help him get ready for bed. It didn’t stop him from finally giving into the urge he’d been shoving down all night to bury his face into the side of Nes’ neck.

“Mhmmm,” Cassian said, breathing in the smell of Nes’ cologne and whatever fancy pomade he liked to use on his hair. Even underneath the smell of weed and alcohol and sweat from the party, he still smelled so goddamn good. “You smell good.”

“Thank you,” Nes said back, his voice a little strained. “Can I get up now?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Cassian said.

Cassian shifted underneath Nes, ready to sit them both up so they could stop fucking around and go to sleep, but it seemed the universe had other plans. As Cassian tried to sit up, he was completely unprepared for the hot stab of arousal that hit him as he realized their dicks were pressed together, and that it felt good.

Really good.

“Fuck,” Cassian said, his dick already half-hard. He was torn between apologizing for making things weird and shifting under Nes again, but he didn’t know what to say to make either thing happen. He just laid there, his heart pounding out of his chest as he waited to see what Nes would do.

Nes had frozen too, his full, pink lips parted in surprise. He stared down at Cassian for a few moments without saying a word, and Cassian braced himself for the worst.

But then Nes rolled his hips against Cassian’s, thrusting against him with intention, and any and all worries Cassian had abruptly disappeared with the feeling of Nes’ very hard dick grinding against his. “Oh, fuck, you feel good.”

“Yeah?” Cassian breathed. Now that he wasn’t worried about Nes’ reaction, all that nervous energy had been replaced with pure hunger. He’d never been with another guy before, but that didn’t change the way he wanted to know what Nes looked like when he came.

“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking semester,” Nes continued, pausing briefly to yank off his shirt and kick his jeans off. Cassian could only gape at the sheer amount of skin suddenly on display, interrupted only by the dark blue boxers Nes was still wearing. “You have any lube?”

Cassian flushed as he realized why they might need that. “Um. I. No?”

“That’s fine,” Nes answered, yanking off Cassian’s jeans before climbing back on top of Cassian. “Take out your dick.”

Cassian had never moved faster in his life. He scrambled to pull his dick out through the hole in the front of his boxers, hissing a little as he touched himself. He was so hard it almost hurt, and he nearly stopped breathing as Nes reached down and wrapped his hand around Cassian’s dick.

“Oh my God,” Cassian breathed, though he was pretty sure it had come out more like a whimper. He’d earned plenty of notches on his bedpost over the years, but somehow this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

And that was before Nes started to actually move his hand. Cassian groaned when Nes began to slowly stroke him, his cock leaking like a faucet the entire time, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting upwards into Nes’ firm grip. “Nes, come on, please.”

Nes smirked down at Cassian for a few moments before deciding to take pity on him. He sped up a little bit, just enough to reach a nice, steady pace, and Cassian couldn’t help making helpless little noises every time Nes flicked his wrist upwards. After a few minutes of that, Nes finally pulled out his own cock and worked himself over a few times, his eyes fluttering shut at how good it must have felt, and then he was reaching for Cassian’s hand and placing it on his cock.

Cassian had thought things were intense before, but this was an entirely new level.

“Jesus,” Cassian muttered, all of this going straight to his own dick. He’d never touched another cock before, but it wasn’t so different from touching his own. The angle and the way Nes’ cock felt in his hand were different, yeah, but that was a very welcome change. Nes wasn’t as thick as Cassian, but he certainly made up for it with the inch or two he had extra.

Once Nes had decided Cassian had done enough staring, he closed his hand around Cassian’s and started to show Cassian what he liked. Cassian was mesmerized by the slow, slick slide of their hands moving together over Nes’ admittedly very nice cock; he hadn’t stared openly at very many dicks in his life, but Cassian was more than happy to look at this one. He was even happier to look at the man it was attached to, doing his best to commit the look on Nes’ face to memory for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of just yet.

“Yeah, just like that,” Nes groaned, his voice low. He let go of Cassian’s hand, apparently trusting him to keep the rhythm they’d set together, and reached for Cassian’s dick again. “Yeah, fuck, Cassian, that’s it.”

Cassian moaned as Nes started stroking Cassian’s dick a little faster than he’d done before, the praise and the perfect friction against Cassian’s dick absolutely doing it for him. They were both hot and slick under the other’s hand, and Cassian swore as Nes turned his focus to the very tip of Cassian’s dick. “Shit, don’t stop.”

Of course, Nes picked that exact moment to let go. “Relax, Cassian. I have a better idea.”

“It better be— oh,” Cassian cut himself off with a shocked gasp as Nes knocked Cassian’s hand out of the way so he could hold both of their cocks together in one hand. “Oh, God.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nes replied smugly. He shifted so their cocks were better lined up, and Cassian saw stars as Nes started to stroke both of their cocks together. Everything was slippery and hot and perfect, especially once they fell into rhythm that guaranteed the most friction between them, Cassian surging upward while Nes’ hips moved back, over and over and over again. Eventually Nes moved his hand out of the way so they were just grinding against each other, their cocks trapped between their bodies as Nes leaned down and completely covered Cassian’s body with his own, leaner frame.

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop,” Cassian panted, reaching down to grab a handful of Nes’ ass so they could press together that much better. “So good, Jesus, you feel so good…”

Feeling Nes move against him was giving Cassian all sorts of ideas, mostly about what it would be like if he was fucking Cassian for real. Cassian’s rhythm turned frantic as he thought about Nes holding him down, fucking him hard, making him take it—

Cassian came with a choked off moan of Nes’ name, his come spilling across both of their cocks and setting Nes off. Nes drew it out for both of them until Cassian was squirming underneath him, not stopping the movement of his hips until Cassian was near tears and the pleasure-pain of it, and then the only sound in the room was both of their heavy breathing.

Nes gracefully rolled off of Cassian and reached for a nearby towel, using it to wipe up their shared come as best he could before tossing it toward Cassian’s hamper. “Move over.”

Cassian didn’t even think to object, his head spinning between the tequila still in his system and the enormity of what had just happened between them. But Nes didn’t seem to be as affected; he just kicked off his wet underwear before delving under the covers. “Night, Cassian.”

Cassian guessed they would just talk about whatever that was in the morning, so he kicked off his own underwear, got under the covers, threw his arm around Nes’ waist, and let sleep take him. Nes’ feet were freezing where they were pressed between Cassian’s calves, but he didn’t mind that one bit.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

When Cassian woke up the next morning, he didn’t have the faintest clue how things were going to go. Last night had been beyond even his wildest fantasies, but the reality of Nes warming his bed was starting to creep in.

Not that he had a lot of time to really ponder that, considering Nes was already awake and staring at him expectantly. They’d fallen asleep spooning, but they must have rolled apart during the night given Nes was now facing Cassian.

Their legs were still tangled together, though. Maybe that counted for something.

“Hey,” Cassian said hesitantly. He had a solid headache from last night, but he knew even that couldn’t stop this conversation from happening. “Um. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Nes replied, his voice a little raspier and deeper than usual. It went straight to Cassian’s dick, which was not helping his creeping panic at the discussion they were about to have, though it was certainly another thing to add to his mental list of things Nes did that were incredibly attractive.

He wasn’t even freaked out at his newfound bisexuality — he’d always thought of himself as open to experimenting, so it was nice to know that hadn’t just been a passing fantasy — it was more that he didn’t want to risk his relationship with Nes. Cassian didn’t know what he’d do without their coffee hangouts, or their text threads, or the way Nes looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on campus.

“What are we doing?” Cassian asked hesitantly, knowing the only way forward was through. He just had to rip the band-aid off, and if that meant their friendship was done, he’d be okay. Eventually. “Are we… together now?”

“We’ve been together,” Nes said, an adorable frown appearing on his pretty face. Cassian wanted to smooth it out with his fingers. “What do you mean, what are we doing?”

“We’ve been together?” Cassian repeated. He was so, so confused, but also a not-insignificant part of him was incredibly relieved that Nes wasn’t going anywhere. “Since… when?”

“You can’t be serious,” Nes replied. When he realized Cassian wasn’t kidding, his frown morphed into a deep scowl. No smoothing that one out with his fingers. “Oh my God. You are being serious.”

“What are you talking about right now?” Cassian asked, realizing just how out of his depth he was. Had he missed something from before they’d hooked up last night? “I’m not fucking around, Nes. What’s happening?”

“I asked you out after our first lab,” Nes answered slowly, like he was talking to a little kid. “I brought you soup when you were sick, I came to your soccer game — you met my sisters, for fuck’s sake. We’ve been dating all semester, Cassian.”

“Oh,” Cassian said, unable to come up with something more eloquent as a lot of pieces suddenly fell into place. He’d chalked all of that — and the way it made him feel — up to Nes just going above and beyond in their friendship, but clearly there was so much more than that going on here. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Nes said back, irritated.

“Is that why you were so mad at Mor that day?” Cassian asked, a light bulb suddenly switching on in his mind. No wonder Mor had said he was being such a dumbass; he owed her a massive apology. “Holy shit, were you jealous?”

“She was touching you,” Nes hissed, that muscle in his jaw working overtime as he thought back to that fateful afternoon. “Of course I was fucking jealous, you idiot.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Nes,” Cassian replied. He couldn’t stop smiling, and the more worked up Nes got, the wider his grin became. “Mor doesn’t even like men romantically!”

“How was I supposed to know that at the time, Cass,” Nes retorted.

“This is such a ridiculous argument, sweetheart. Besides, you know how much I like you,” Cass said, immediately gratified at the look on Nes’ face. “Oh, wait, you like that nickname.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nes immediately denied. Cassian knew it was bullshit from the adorable pink flush spreading across the other man’s cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Nes. Nesseroni. Earn,” Cassian said, running through all of Nes’ other names just because he could. He could do a lot of things now, apparently. “Earnest Nathaniel.”

“Just Nes is fine,” Nes grumbled. “All those other names suck.”

“Sure they do. Hey, do you want to be my boyfriend?” Cassian asked before he could lose his nerve.

Nes sighed, but Cassian saw right through that from the pleased tilt of his mouth. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”

“Just whatever?” Cassian repeated with a grin. He shuffled forward until their chests were pressed together and rolled them so he was on top of Nes, very much enjoying this new development.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Nes replied. Cassian was more than happy to follow orders, leaning in and closing the distance between their lips. Both of them had morning breath and Nes had a little bit of stubble tickling Cassian’s upper lip, but it was easily one of the best kisses he’d ever experienced. Nes’ lips were softer than Cassian had been expecting, and they parted easily so Cassian could explore with his tongue. The slick slide of their tongues immediately reminded Cassian of the way their cocks slid together the night before, but he forced himself to stay focused. They’d have plenty of time for mind-blowing sex later, if Cassian had anything to say about it.

“Was that… okay?” Nes asked quietly after a few more minutes of kissing, his gray-blue eyes furiously searching Cassian’s hazel ones for the slightest hint of any discomfort.

“So much better than okay,” Cassian answered. He didn’t want Nes to have even a single doubt, so he leaned in and kissed Nes again, though they were both smiling a little too much for it to count as a real kiss. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

Nes hmmed and they lazily made out for a while, though it wasn’t with any intent beyond just exploring each other’s mouths. When they eventually broke apart, Cassian just had to laugh at how much of a dumbass he’d really been all these weeks. At Nes’ confused look, Cassian said, “Don’t get mad, but… this whole time I thought you were just really invested in being my friend.”

“You’re actually one of the most ridiculous people I’ve ever met,” Nes said, though the effect was lessened given how pink his lips were from all the kissing. He pushed at Cassian, who rolled over so they were on their sides facing each other again. “Jesus Christ, how were you so oblivious?”

“I just thought you really, really liked me,” Cassian said back, still laughing at himself. God, he was such an idiot. “Platonically, though.”

Nes stared at him incredulously for several long seconds. “Should I be concerned that you thought all the things we did were totally platonic?”

“I figured it out in the end!” Cassian protested. Sure, maybe it had taken a ridiculously long time to come to what felt like a very obvious conclusion, but Cassian wouldn’t change it. Not when he got to be the one waking up next to Nes exchanging good morning kisses.

“Yeah, after I told you to take your dick out,” Nes responded. He released a long-suffering sigh that absolutely delighted Cassian to hear. “Like I said… you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Nah,” Cassian said, grinning. “I’m lucky you like me so much.”

His boyfriend — and wasn’t that a thought — didn’t deny it. Instead, Nes graced Cassian with a rare smile and said, “Yeah. Something like that.”

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #moodymelanistwrites #pro nessian #pro nesta archeron #pro cassian #pro cassian acotar #cassian acotar

45 notes · View notes

d-dixonimagines · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! Maybe a cute idea for you: Daryl and reader are on a run and find some dasies. The reader does the petal plucking rhyme of "he loves me, he loves me not" and keeps picking flowers and doing it cause it keeps ending on "he loves me not" and she finds it hilariously apauling cause it's just not true.

To stay on the AI trend.. because I'm still having way too much fun with it, here is a photo dedicated to this cute idea! I do apologize for how long it has taken me to do it! My brain just doesn't want to work like it used to! Daryl Dixon, Female x Reader there's probably typos, i'm very sorry

It was amazing what beautiful things still came from such an ugly world, but you relished in the surprises. At this particular moment everything felt perfect. What started as a regular day doing a run, it ended in you and Daryl being in your own little world. After walking for miles, you both had stumbled upon a grassy hill covered in daisies and it was impossible not to stop and take a rest in them. You didn't know how long you had been there, but it didn't matter because everything was peaceful and you were with the only person you'd want to share this with. A cool breeze was justarting to pick up as the sun made its slow descent. Your eyes opened and you stared up at the clouds as they moved across the sky. You could have stayed lost in your thoughts but you tore your eyes away and turned your head towards Daryl, who was seemingly lost in a daydream of his own. You smiled softly to yourself as you watched him for a long moment, his features relaxed, his mouth twitching slightly as his tongue fiddled with the stem of a daisy that rested between his lips. Eventually you looked away and picked a flower of your own. Your fingers grazed over the petals briefly before picking them off one by one. "He loves me... he loves me not... he loves me... he loves me not..." Daryl peaked through one eyes as your voice sank into his consciousness. He pulled the flower from his mouth and turned to look at you. "What are you doin'?" His question made you laugh and you weren't sure why. Instead of answering him you continued plucking the petals off, the last one landing on 'he loves me not'. Letting out a huff, you tossed the stem and picked another one, going through the rhyme once more. "Hey, weirdo," Daryl turned his body towards you and gently swatted the half plucked flower from your hand before pulling you by the waist so you'd turn towards him, causing you to let out another laugh. "You never heard that rhyme before?" A sweet smile spread across your face as your eyes locked with his. "Nah." It was a quick, playful answer. The kind that sounds like he doesn't really care about what the answer is but you knew he actually did. "It's what little kids do when they have crush. You want the last petal to be 'loves me.'" "Why's that?" His grip tightened on your side. You gave a quick shrug. "Wouldn't you prefer it's that one over 'loves me not'?" "I don't need'a flower to tell me anything. Neither do you." You scrunched your nose at him and propped your elbow up, resting your head on your palm. "You're right about that. All these flowers keep saying you don't love me, they must me wrong." A light gust of wind picked up blowing strands of hair into your face. Daryl moved his hand from your waist to brush the hair from your eyes. "They're way wrong." He didn't ever have to say the words for you to know that he did love you because you already knew. And you couldn't lie, you thought it was cute the way he squirmed when things got too mushy, like he was now. "C'mere already," a smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled you into him. He kissed your forehead and you both rested on your back again, the sky painted different shades of orange and pink. It was truly breathtaking and you were enormously happy to be sharing this moment with your Daryl.

#daryl dixon #d-dixonimagines #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon x reader #twd: daryl dixon #the walking dead

139 notes · View notes

alpydk · 7 months ago

Text

Words and Memories

Just some spite writing after my head cannon last night. I will not go into details, just my head didn't handle something well with it. Anyway, I have a unique perspective and voice. I won't let someone take that from me. I write for myself, that's all that matters.

Word Count - 1066 - Hurt/No comfort

Dearest Tav,

Gale scratched the words out. Solicallor… Another strike of the quill as it met the parchment, as the words seemed to catch with his own breath. He could feel the subtle tremor of his nerves, the orb soon to be in need of satiating, its darkness consuming everything within, from his magic to the very words he wished he could give her. Soon it would be over for him, though, and she would be left behind. She’d hurt, she’d grieve, but she would be alive, and that was all that mattered.

He watched as she slept on the bedroll, the way her white hair glowed the subtle gold of the candlelight. He reflected over the sunflowers he’d gazed upon earlier in the day, a fleeting dream that he could plant them alongside his tower and watch as they rose to the heavens, her smile the sunlight upon ambitious stems. Now those dreams were gone, grey clouds basking over those skies, the sunflowers doomed to wilt and rot.

His wrist ached with each marking of the quill, and yet he needed to be sure that all had been said that could be. I love you. That was all that really mattered, what lay deep in his heart, more powerful than any spell he could conjure upon his fingertips. Was there any rhyme or reason for the sleepless hours and torment he now placed his own body under or was this just regrets for how things had ended with Mystra, a desperate attempt to end things on his own terms?

----

My love,

Another letter imagined as he walked the road behind his group of friends, the words flowing in front of his sight as the breeze blew in his hair. It would make writing all the easier tonight as they slept shielded from the curse of the surrounding lands. He would claim he was keeping guard, as was his turn after so many nights he’d been unable to. The orb no longer attacked his body, and yet the guilt drained him instead now, knowing his fate was sealed.

I love you. Would the words even be enough? Words he had wanted to say for so long to her. She’d glance at him, her lilac eyes full of the hope he believed he’d lost long ago. To touch her hand was to feel the warmth of the fire burning, to know that life existed in the darkened shadow of his existence. Life that would continue long after he was gone.

---

The battle had come and gone, but the letters continued to be written; for what right did he have to be alive? After all he had done, all the mistakes, a soul too burdened to fly, why did he deserve to live when so many others had not been so fortunate? …a more worthy love. That was what she deserved after all she had done for him, after all she had done for each whose path she had crossed. Butterfly wings fluttering upon the breeze, the ripples bringing change to so many; that was her blessing.

Solicallor: warm light of the sun, a dawn upon his conjured nights, an ever-burning star guiding travellers home. He would never see his home with her, never see the sunflowers bloom, or the docks under her bright gaze. He wished for her, though; the words flowing, unlike the tears he refused to shed. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, his only emotion would be hope for her. That she would find happiness after he was gone, that she would find a love more worthy.

---

1493

Gale had died, and time had meant little to Tav as she watched the night descend upon the tower once again. The stars shone, but none as brightly as he had. She’d watched as his projection had faded in her very arms, as her tears had smudged the ink of the letter handed to her, as sunflowers had bloomed and wilted in shadow.

It all felt so empty without him there, the silence now enough to drown her, his voice missing unlike that one magical night. The warmth of the study had gone, the bench on the balcony remaining vacated, a fear of disturbing it always in the back of her mind as she viewed it from a distance.

She was unsure why she stayed; there was nothing there for her. The others had tried to persuade her to leave, had wiped tears, and tried to lift spirits, but she clung on as if hope to bring him back was enough, as if denying his death would bring him back. The letter had not been enough, no number of words enough to fill the hole she had been left with, a darkness that consumed everything from within. He’d been her light, guiding her forward, leading her to be better, to be worthy of his love, and now he was gone.

Gone.

The bag fell to the floor with a thud, his pack one that she had dared not look in since his departure. She’d hung the weathered straps up next to one of his old cloaks, the smell of sandalwood, one she would bury her head in on darker nights. The smell lingered, the faintest hint of brandy that took her back to poetry filled evenings. There would be no more poetry. She approached the pack, its contents spilt onto the dark wooden floor, sheets of parchment and ink bleeding through the pages.

She gathered them up, little attention paid to the contents, a reflex to clean before damage was made permanent, before the blackened ink spread any further. Her fingers, her clothing, my love…

Letter upon letter, notes scribbled, I love you neatly penned a thousand times buried under devotion and prayer. Nights of script written for her eyes alone. Solicallor… His warmth drifting from unread words, his hope for her fluttering like butterfly wings, his love, something she wished she had been good enough for.

She sat on the study floor; the papers scattered around her. She wished words were enough to bring him back, that the letters could ease the pain, that sunflowers could reach the heavens and guide him back to her. But this was it; now he was nothing but the words in front of her, and it’s all he would ever be. Just tear stained words and lost memories.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance

35 notes · View notes

amberlynnmurdock · 2 years ago

Text

Blind Faith

Chapter 6: A Deal with the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt, Foggy, and Karen take you out to Josie's. Your night always ends with Daredevil.

Warnings for this chapter: very mild smut at the end, sorry to leave you guys hanging, LOL.

A/N: I love writing Foggy Nelson. That is all.

TAG LIST (please let me know if I missed you/you'd like to be tagged!): @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynn

Chapter 5 here

credit to gif owner!

Hell’s Kitchen

Nelson & Murdock was an interesting law firm to work at. There was no rhyme or reason to the things they did or the way they operated, but you adapted fairly quickly to the revolving door of clients and how to speak to them. For now, Karen had you complete intake forms with everyone who came in. Greet them, ask them why they’re here, things like that. You enjoyed it a lot.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Cruz,” you squeezed the elderly woman’s arm. “I’ll get your case details in our system and set up a meeting with either Mr. Nelson or Mr. Murdock.”

The older woman smiled at you graciously. “Gracias, señorita.”

You stood up from your chair and walked over to Karen who fervently typed away at her computer.

“Okay, all ten of the clients waiting are now ready to be inputted into the system,” you told her, holding a stack of manila folders and a clipboard. Karen looked up from her desk surprised.

“Really?! You are amazing!” Karen exclaimed. You blushed and smiled at her, appreciating her praise. “I’ll have to get you your own laptop so you can learn how the system works. Seriously, how did you get through all of them without any issues?”

You shrugged, “good old speaking like a human. I was never good with a customer service voice. It’s all about the approach, you know?”

“Yes!” Karen smiled. “I’m so happy you’re here. I know Foggy and Matt are, too.”

You smiled in return. You believed her, that she and Foggy were happy you were here. Matt, on the other hand, was a little strange. You didn’t want to make any assumptions, and you tried to be understanding. But he was very quiet around you, and never really tried to make any conversation like Karen and Foggy did. You found yourself going to them for questions first before you ever had to ask Matt something, which rarely happened. He was intimidating. The most you ever got out of him was an “excuse me” or “good morning.” Never anything more, never anything less.

While the other two were very bright and bubbly, Matt seemed to always be in his own world. He didn’t join in any conversations you had with them, and he never offered help as Foggy did. You didn’t mind; you were just worried it might have been you he didn’t like. Then again, he was blind, so you knew his world was very different from your own. You didn’t let it get to you, and you just accepted that he was more guarded than the others.

Karen flipped through the pages of clients you had just interviewed. Her brows were furrowed—her mind was going a million miles a minute.

“Looks like this pile will be handled by Matt and this one, Foggy. Looks like Matt’s the winner today,” she realized. “I’ll give these to Foggy and run it by him. You can talk to Matt about his cases.”

“Oh, uh, you sure? I…,” you trailed off, unsure what it was you were trying to object to. Your gaze fell toward Matt’s office. He was at his desk, brows furrowed with focus as his fingers ran over braille.

Karen looked at you knowingly. “I know Matt’s quiet, but trust me, it’s not you. He’s just a little bit more focused at work. Not that we’re all not focused, but his focus is a little different.”

You nodded, “I understand. I’ll run these cases by him.”

“Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

I need a drink, you thought. “Okay.”

You turned on your heel and held the manilla folders in your hands, bracing yourself. You took a deep breath and walked to Matt’s office door, and knocked on it gently.

“Come in,” he called out.

You slowly opened the door and walked inside, gently shutting it behind you.

“It’s me, __,” you announced slightly awkwardly. Matt smiled a little, behind his dark red glasses.

“I know,” he replied, “I can recognize voices.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding your head. Damn it, he can’t see a nod. “I—well, Karen said I should run by these new clients with you. I don’t know what she meant by it, but she said you’re the winner today.”

“Hmm,” Matt hummed. “Means most of the cases are intentional torts. Please, sit,” he said in a friendly tone. Slightly caught off guard by his kindness, you sat in the chair in front of his desk. This conversation is the most you’ve spoken with Matt ever since you started just a few weeks ago. A memory popped into your head. You had shared an awkward encounter with Matt as he was leaving work one day—you asked if he needed help closing up anything but he was in a rush, and barely replied to you as he rushed out the door.

“So, the first person I spoke with, Anna Campbell, has a claim her neighbor is taking pictures of her in her house…uh…” you flipped through the pages and cleared your throat. “Negligent employer case…assault outside of a club that may have been intentional and not a random crime of opportunity…” You read through the rest of the clients you just spoke with and watched Matt carefully for any reaction. He sat like a statue, with his brows scrunched and lips slightly pressed together, as he listened to you. His hands were together, fingers interlocked. You continued to speak.

“Ms. Marisol Cruz. She was such a sweet woman. I feel really bad for her. She’s in a terrible apartment complex, with a high criminal element, and the landlord won’t listen or do anything about it. There are kids in the place, and she’s worried about them,” you explained Ms. Cruz’s story in more detail to Matt, since you felt a little more compassionate to her. You probably weren’t supposed to, but you couldn’t help it. “Her landlord says he needs proof of the element, or he won’t do anything. And she’s a frail woman, and she can’t do anything.”

Matt stayed quiet for a moment longer.

“Thank you, __,” Matt said after a bit. You smiled.

You placed the files on his desk.

“Oh,” you said, startling yourself, “you probably need these translated to braille. I’ll transfer them with the printer.”

Matt smiled and stood up from his desk. His hands rested on his waist. Maybe the reason why you were so intimidated by Matt was because of how handsome you found him. His dress shirt fit snugly on his body, and the rare moments you did catch his smile, made your heart flutter more than you’d like to admit.

“I appreciate that,” he cooly said.

“Okay well, I’ll get on that now.” You turned to exit his office, but he called your name rather softly.

“Just—just a word of advice,” he began to say, “I know it may be easy to feel more compassionate for some cases more than others. That can be a good thing. But it can also be dangerous. Don’t take the work home with you, is what I’m trying to say.”

You considered his words for a moment and nodded in understanding.

“I won’t,” you replied, “I promise.”

He smiled lightly before sitting back down again. You left his office.

⣿⣿⣿⣿

After a busy afternoon at Nelson & Murdock, you found yourself in the conference room, transferring all the files you had today into the system they used. You were focused as you input all the information, listening to music as you did. Suddenly, Foggy came into the room.

“There she is, the superstar client coordinator!” Foggy announced with a clap. You pulled your headphone out of your ear and smiled at him. Foggy had a way of radiating warmth and vibrant energy—you loved working with him. “I heard you got through everyone pretty quickly.”

“I did!” you said, “it was quite enjoyable. I like talking to people and listening to them.”

“That’s good. Great! Well, I came in here because, it’s six o’clock, Friday night, and you’re still working,” Foggy analyzed, rubbing his chin. “Aren’t you crazy kids supposed to be getting in all sorts of trouble?”

You laughed, and then Karen came into the room.

“She’s not a crazy kid, Foggy,” she defended, “she’s a bright, intelligent young woman who is bound to do great things in life.” You smiled at Karen.

“I know, I know. But seriously, you’re still working?!”

You shrugged, “I’m waiting for the okay to go home! Besides, I don’t want to leave anything unfinished.”

“Well, you've been doing so well. We wanted to show our thanks in the only way we know how—Josie’s!” Foggy raised a finger in the air.

“Josie’s?” You questioned.

“It's a dive bar in the Kitchen we like to go to,” Karen explained. “We’d love to take you out and celebrate. Of course, if you don’t already have plans.”

The only plan you could think of involved a man in a black mask and your rooftop—but you didn’t say that.

“I don’t have any plans, actually,” you answered, straightening up a bit. “I’d love to join you guys at Josie’s!” You leaped at the opportunity to get to know Karen and Foggy more. And—Matt just walked in.

“I’m heading out,” Matt said, in his usual serious tone. You hated how your heartbeat picked up at the sight of him, with his cane in his hand and bag on his shoulder. Part of you was disappointed he wouldn’t join you at Josie’s.

“Oh, come on, Matt,” Foggy sighed. “You owe us one! Last time, you promised next time. You’re coming out, buddy!”

“Yeah, come on, we’re taking __ out!” Karen added. You pressed your lips together, awaiting his response. Matt sheepishly smiled.

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, after a short while.

“Atta boy,” Foggy patted his back. You began to clean up your workspace as Foggy and Karen left the room. Matt lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. You watched him carefully as you gathered your things. You went to the bathroom to fix your appearance. Your hair was still styled, more or less, when you curled it this morning. You straightened your button-down white shirt that was tucked into your black slacks. You sprayed on your marshmallow-scented perfume and decided this was as good as it was going to get.

Exiting the bathroom, Matt still stood in the doorway but now Foggy and Karen joined him; they were waiting for you.

“Ready,” you stated.

“Huzzah!” Foggy exclaimed.

⣿⣿⣿⣿

Josie’s

Josie’s wasn’t too far from the office. You stayed walking with Karen while Foggy and Matt walked slightly ahead, Matt holding onto Foggy’s elbow as his cane tapped in front of him. When you saw the buzzing red light that read JOSIE’S in the window, it was obvious you reached the destination.

“Before we enter, we must knight __ for this is her first time at Josie’s, which is a special event, indeed,” Foggy spoke in a British accent. Matt laughed, flashing the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him. It made sense: if there was one person who could crack him open, it was Foggy Nelson. You had a feeling tonight you’d learn about their history.

After Foggy “knighted” you, he opened the door and you were immediately met with an intense smell of smoke, old wood, and sweat. Pool cues clacked and barstools groaned from years of being sat on. Someone spilled a pitcher of beer on the floor. It was overwhelmingly hot and stuffy in here—you rolled up your sleeves.

“Welcome to Josie’s,” Karen smiled cheerfully. “What do you drink?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “I’ll try a martini. Three olives.”

“I don't know about that,” Foggy said, “the olives part. I would hold the olives.”

“Alrighty, a martini, hold the olives.”

“And what kind of shots do we want?”

“…tequila?” You suggested. Foggy groaned.

“Let’s see if I still got it. Four shots of tequila, please!”

Foggy and Karen lingered by the bar, getting an older woman’s attention, whom you assumed was Josie. She had brown and gray hair and a slightly suspicious look. You stood holding your bag, looking around the place. Matt was so quiet, you didn’t realize he was standing next to you.

“Should we find a spot to sit while they order?” You suggested casually. Matt turned his head in your direction, nodding slightly.

“Lead the way,” he said. You mirrored what Foggy did earlier when he offered his arm for Matt to hold. You gently touched Matt’s arm with your elbow. You couldn’t tell if he was startled, but he was quite hesitant. However, he did latch gently to your elbow as if you were a piece of paper, and you walked him over to a table in the middle of the bar, close to the wall. He reached his hands out for the table and felt for it as he placed his briefcase on the chair. You wrapped the strap of your bag on your chair and sat a seat away from him, intentionally.

“I’m sure this isn’t what you’re used to,” Matt suddenly spoke, trying to initiate conversation. You looked at him amused.

“What do you mean?” You smiled.

“I—,” he stuttered a bit, “I just mean kids your age probably go out to fancier clubs than this.”

“I’m not a kid,” you gently corrected. “I may be fresh out of college but I’m sure I’m not that much younger than you guys.”

“Sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”

“And you’d be surprised…I can enjoy a dive bar every now and then. I actually think I like them better than what my friends and I are used to. You can at least have conversations at places like this.”

“Then, why don’t you go to them more often?”

“Whatever the majority vote is. I never luck out.”

Suddenly, Foggy came with a tray of drinks while Karen carried over the shots. Foggy lined the drinks and shots up and returned the tray. Karen found her seat next to Matt while Foggy sat next to you.

“To Nelson and Murdock’s newest and brightest!” Foggy cheered. Everyone took their shots. You felt the tequila burn down your throat as you grimaced. It was like no other tequila you had before. And you’ve had plenty.

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed when he saw your reaction, “Josie’s got the hard stuff.”

“Is that even tequila? It tasted like straight-up poison,” you shook your head. “Let’s get another round.”

Foggy laughed, “I may not be able to keep up, but I’m up for the challenge!”

⣿⣿⣿⣿

For some reason, spending time with Karen, Foggy, and Matt felt like you were being officially christened into their work group—you were officially a part of Nelson & Murdock. You wanted to pace yourself since you were with your bosses, but Foggy insisted on more shots and drinks—something you found hard to say “no” to.

You learned that Matt and Foggy met at law school. Columbia, no less. Your dream school. Foggy promised he’d write you a stellar letter of recommendation when the time came. Matt agreed as well, to your surprise.

“Really?” You asked. “You guys would do that for me?”

“Of course, Young Padawan,” Foggy said in a Yoda voice. You laughed. “In all seriousness though, you’d kill it at Columbia. Right, Matt?”

“Right,” Matt agreed, almost immediately. You were thankful he couldn’t see your blush, and everyone else was too drunk to notice.

As the night went on, Foggy and Karen got up to dance and then challenged other bar-goers to a round of pool. Matt sat in his corner, his hand wrapped around a cold beer. At this point in the night, you ditched your button-down shirt and only wore your undershirt.

Although he was quiet, his presence was anything but. It was like he had some sort of force field around him; the closer you sat next to him, the more prone you were to be sucked into it. You made no attempts to get yourself away. You pretended to be engaged in watching Foggy and Karen play pool, shouting whenever Foggy hit a striped ball.

Part of you wanted to join them, but the other part wanted to stay next to Matt. Maybe tonight was the icebreaker you needed to figure out why he was so different around you compared to everyone else.

“Would you like another beer? I’ll go get another round,” you offered.

“Oh uh, yes, please.”

When you came back from the bar, you placed the beer in front of Matt and sat in the chair next to him. You clinked your glass on his.

“Cheers,” you said quietly.

Matt offered a small smile. “Cheers,” he returned.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 9 o’clock already. If you were home, you’d probably be getting ready to see Mike. You worried about missing him tonight. At least, you kept the burner phone he gave you in your bag. He’s only a call away but for emergencies. Pushing the thought away, you tried to be more present. Karen hit a striped ball and high-fived Foggy. The two men they were playing looked slightly disappointed in how good your bosses were doing. More people had filtered into Josie’s and it only grew more stuffy.

“Thank you for the time you’ve put in with us,” suddenly Matt spoke. “It doesn’t go unnoticed, as you can see. Especially with Karen. I know she’s really happy with you here.”

“I’m just as grateful for the opportunity,” you shrugged, feeling a warmth spread in your chest at his comment. On second thought, maybe the tequila was finally catching up to you.

“Did you have any other places you were looking at?”

“A few, but no one got back to me. I suppose getting a job at a firm in the city is harder than it looks."

“Even Foggy and I struggled for a bit. We had a job at Landman & Zack lined up, but we ended up going on our own way. You’ll end up just where you’re supposed to be,” Matt said in a bit of a reminiscent way. You softened at his words.

“You and Foggy seem like you’ve been through a lot together,” you observed, “it wasn’t always easy, was it?”

Matt paused for a moment, and tilted his head—something you noticed over the past few weeks working with him. As if he was really considering your words and thinking of a way to respond.

“It wasn’t,” he agreed, after a little while, “but if the people stay with you through the tough times, you know it was worth it. Or, you find a reason to make it worth it—for them.”

You hummed in response.

Matt took a sip of his beer. He listened as you got up from your seat to join Karen and Foggy after they called for you.

⣿⣿⣿⣿

It was strange for him to talk to you like this in a public setting—as Matt Murdock, your boss, and not as “Mike”, your savior, as you called him. When you left your seat, he heard something ruffle in your bag—the phone he’d given you for emergencies. Good. She keeps it on her.

He’d been avoiding you at the office and he knew you picked up on it after a few days. It was for the better, he thought. The more distance he kept from you there, the less likely it would be you’d put two and two together—if you could. It was to be cautious and to make sure his secret stayed a secret. You stayed his secret. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, perhaps it was lying, perhaps that was all true. Even if Matt wanted to reveal who he really was to you, there’s no guessing how you’d react. To put it simply, Matt dug himself even deeper the day Karen said she’d hire you and he didn’t make any effort to convince her to not.

And the more he saw you at night, the more he couldn’t stay away. God, you were all-consuming to him. He found his new altar and it was your lips. His prayer, your name. Whatever the affair was, his new religion. It was cliche to say, but it was true: it felt so right with you. So right, and perfect, and whenever something so good falls into Matt Murdock’s lap, he always finds a way to convince himself he’s undeserving of it. He wants to be with you. He wants to keep you. But things are just so chaotically fucked up now, now that you work with him and he has to lie to you every day like he doesn’t want to pin you against the wall in his office and kiss your entire body.

Matt clenched his jaw uncomfortably, pushing the thought away. That’s another reason why he must avoid you; to avoid thinking like this at work. It was hard enough that you were there.

Being with you during the day was interesting. You were so different professionally, so polite and smart. Thoughtful, he decided. Nothing like the girl he came to see at night, who didn’t hold back a bite and wasn’t afraid of confrontation. He liked that girl just as much as the version he got at the office, though. It was like he was with two different people—and then he thought that he was basically playing two different people with you, too. Except, he realizes his unfair advantage.

At the office, you were subtle with your actions—careful and alert. How you went out of your way to make sure documents were translated to braille for him, how you took your time with each client in the waiting room…yes, of course, Matt listened to you when you were with them. He always did. And quite frankly, he was impressed with how you carried yourself. Putting his feelings aside for you, and what it was that you shared, he truly thought you were a good employee—a promising future attorney.

But God, was it hard to pretend to not know what your lips felt like. How hard it is for him to pretend he couldn’t care less when really, you’re all he cares about these days.

And here you were, coming by his side again, and he has to put on the facade all over again—another mask, he thought ironically, to pretend around you. For the first time ever, he felt a heavy weight press on his heart. No, this wasn’t fair to you at all.

“Hey, Matt,” you called for him, and he decided he loved to hear you call him by his real name. Your voice was lighter than it was before, actually lighter than it has been at the office, whenever you spoke to him. Maybe a night like tonight at Josie’s needed to happen—so Matt could feel more comfortable around you as Matt. He felt a wall crumbling inside him.

“Yeah?” He answered.

“We’re going to take one more round of shots and then step outside for fresh air. Are you in?”

Matt smiled.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

⣿⣿⣿⣿

12 AM

Foggy hailed a cab for you to get home. You managed to get inside your apartment to find it empty, with nothing but a half-filled bottle of tequila on the counter and red solo cups. Your friends went out again, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine after tonight, having the best time with your new co-workers, and feeling better that maybe the one you were afraid of really liked you after all.

And then, you thought of him. Mike.

Would he be up there? It didn’t hurt to try…

Before you stumbled up the steps to the roof, you changed into something a little more comfortable. Sweat shorts and a tank top.

Now that summer was in full effect, nights remained humid. Your tank top stuck to the sweat on your skin. What were the chances of him actually coming tonight?

Apparently, very likely. As you turned the corner, you jumped to see him already waiting for you, dressed in his usual black outfit—face covered.

“Jesus,” You exclaimed and held your hand to your heart.

“Language,” Mike said smugly as he stepped into the light. You smiled.

“Don’t get all righteous on me now,” you teased, “I believe you are way past that.”

Mike snaked a strong arm around your waist and pulled you into him. He kissed you softly and slowly—different from the way he normally kisses you, which was more ravenous in nature. You matched his nature, and placed your hands on either side of his face, holding him steady as you kissed.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“You’re quiet again,” you breathed. “Why?”

“You make me feel calm,” he told you. The way his lips moved when he spoke was mesmerizing, inviting you to kiss him again. You did. You teased your tongue on his bottom lip. Mike groaned faintly.

“Calm isn’t something I’m used to,” Mike continued, chasing your lips with a kiss. “And when I feel something I’m not used to, but that I like, those things tend to slip from my grasp just as I got a good hold on them.”

You contemplated his words for a moment and realized what he meant.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you truthfully said. “I…like what we have.”

“But,” Mike guided, knowing you had more to say.

“But… most people in affairs know who exactly they’re dealing with.”

Mike turned his masked face away from you. You knew that was the only answer you’d get.

“Not yet,” he spoke quietly, “I can’t reveal myself yet.”

“But why? You think I’ll think you’re ugly?” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but you realized you even failed yourself. The more you got in deeper with Mike, the more it hurt, knowing this was all you’d get out of him: late nights on your rooftop, kisses you’d never experienced with anyone else—feelings you didn’t know you could feel so intensely that it felt like your mind suffocated with thoughts of him. Him. You didn’t even know who he was. But he had you in the palm of his hand.

“Do you want to stop? With this, with me?” He asked ardently.

“What kind of question is that? No, I don’t want to stop seeing you,” you argued. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he replied almost instantly. “But we should reach an agreement on this. You have to be okay with me not being ready to reveal myself. And you have to know that my not revealing myself has nothing to do with how I feel about you and how much I trust you.”

“How do you feel about me?” You couldn’t help but ask him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Like I’ve never felt for anyone before,” Mike whispered and kissed you, deeply, slowly again. “Just give me the time I need.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “You’ve got a deal. As long as you keep coming to me.”

“I’ll never stop,” Mike promised.

You ran your hands along his strong torso. You could feel the sweat under his shirt. You slid your hands under his shirt and felt his skin—soft, and… scarred. You gasped as your fingers traced along a gash, that’s since healed. You felt another one on his rib cage and another on his chest. You gasped again.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s from another life.”

“That’s… scary,” you said in a small voice.

“Don’t worry about me,” he told you gently. “It’s different these days.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I expected to see you one night and you didn’t come…”

“I’ll always come to you,” Mike stated. “Until there comes a day you don’t want me to.”

“That day will never come, I can assure you that.”

He kissed you more and ran his fingers through your hair, tugging a little so your neck was revealed to him. You shivered as he kissed along your neck, slowly, antagonizing. You ran your fingers along his back and closed your eyes.

You didn’t want your nights to be anything but this.

You lifted your left leg and he grabbed it to wrap around his waist, holding your back to steady you. He gently laid you on the ground.

“Can I…take this off?” He asked, gesturing to your shorts. You laughed.

“Will someone see us?”

“No one will see us. They might hear you though.”

“Take them off.”

Mike slowly pulled your shorts and underwear off, and you were completely exposed to him in a dark corner of your roof. You wished you brought a blanket. Mike began to kiss your inner thighs, slowly, reaching closer up to your legs and your wetness. You let your mind drift off, thinking of the deal you’d just made with him. You weren’t completely truthful about being okay with not knowing who he is. But your connection and feelings for him were stronger than your fears of what could happen—you’d teach yourself to be okay with it.

But your discomfort was quickly replaced with euphoria when you felt his lips kiss your sex, and his tongue began to lap at your wetness slowly and then urgently. You sighed blissfully, closing your eyes. You suddenly couldn’t care less about your worries.

241 notes · View notes

moonsidesong · 2 months ago

Text

finished UT Yellow pacifist ! i really really enjoyed it! i will definitely be going back for the other runs but i'd like to let this sit for at least a few days before i go back in.

extended thoughts below!! yaayay!!!!

ok im sorry to open with a negative thought but if i can be a little mean. ceroba's fight suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks. visually its insanely cool, musically its insanely cool, the presentation overall rocks, but gameplay wise its the worst ive played so far bar none.

i think this game for the most part had pretty fun and interesting bullet patterns for the bosses and, especially in the case of Axis, El Bailador, and Guardener's fights, i really got the sense i was getting a little better each time as i memorized the attacks, which is exactly what i want from a UTDR boss fight! i heart memorization.

... but Ceroba's fight was the only one where i felt like the bullet patterns just had no rhyme or reason to them. i think using several simple attacks to make a layered complicated one is a good idea in theory but in the way they did it i kinda just felt like she was throwing random crap at me and when I did beat it (which took i think around an hour) i sorta just got the impression that i was lucky enough her RNG picked the easier ones a few extra turns in a row rather than feeling like i actually accomplished anything (anything with the gravity black hole added was just kind of a death sentence for me, maybe its a skill issue but i feel like yknow. im okaaayyy at bullet hell... wah...)

also, i dont know much about game design, but the overall momentum of the fight is set up to really only be good if you beat it the first time. which is not great. they make you watch a cutscene every time you die and although it is brief, it breaks things up just a little too long! you get really sick of hearing the first few notes of what are otherwise great songs in her fight, and it makes it harder to feel for her when watching her scream starts to become annoying. i think if it were up to me, it'd be best if when you died, there was no cutscene, and the game over screen didnt have music or text and was JUST the Retry/Continue prompts so you can jump back into the action quickly. if we wanna take it a step further, because the music opens with such intense notes, stop making it start over!!!! pick it up where it left off!!!! maybe even have the game over menu not even stop the music, just muffle it temporarily or something. i dont know. thats what id do if it were up to me but i did not make anything im just a guy writing a tumblr post

anyway hater hour over. i mentioned those three boss fights earlier because they were my favorites. i thought they were really fun. i can see how some people might think the shield mechanic during Axis's fight might suck but it was like easily my favorite actually HAHAHA idk i thought it was fuuuuun heehehe yaay i block the bullets and it makes a good sound sound makea me happy <- this is the hightest compliment you can get from a misophonic player

also the ending made me cry. this isnt saying much because literally everything makes me cry but it did in fact make me cry. u show me characters showing a moment of genuine vulnerability in a bittersweet atmosphere and uh oh

anyway.

i mentioned in my previous thought post that i was interested in seeing where the running theme of "jobs/employment" was going, and seeing it play out into meaning "forever unfinished business" was really good. Martlet quits the Royal Guard having felt like she never really did anything there, neither Chujin nor Ceroba could finish what they set out to do, and Clover never even saw the other human souls. theres probably more than that too thats just what i remeber my memorys actually kinda bad i never remember anything until i play it like three times oops. maybe i should start writing my thoughts as i go instead of making big unorganized writeups on tumblr after the fact.

also this is a really small personal nitpick that doesnt matter but i dont like ceroba's skirt. i think having such a regal traditional outfit otherwise and then just wearing a short skirt that goes above her knees makes her look more like a schoolgirl than it does someone who is like At The Minimum in her thirties. i get not wanting a long skirt to get in the way of her silhouette for her boss fight since shes all like stanced up but at that point just give her pants LOL

i don't care to comment much on the writing, on the whole i really liked it so i dont have as much to say, but i dont think martlet shouldve been there in the room with you for Chujin's tapes. i think that shouldve been a quiet moment with just Clover so it could Sit with you for a second. thats my only writing gripe in this very moment.

anyway GRAHHHH I ENDED UP WRITING A LOT OF THINGS I DIDNT LIKE AND I DONT WANT TO LEAVE WITH THE IMPRESSION I HAD A NEGATIVE EXPERIENCE SO:

MUSIC WAS REALLY GOOD!!! I LIKED ALL THE CHARACTERS!!!! I LIKED MAKING AXIS'S FUNNY ROBOT PARTNER I THOUGHT THAT WAS FUNNY!!!!!!!! ASIDE FROM THE FINAL BOSS I THOUGHT THE GAMEPLAY WAS FUN!!!!! THE MAIL MECHANIC WAS REALLY SILLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I PLAYED WITH MY FRIEND AND I HAD A VERY GOOD TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAAY!!! I VIDEO LOVE GAMES!!!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading! im sure ill have more thoughts to share by the time i do the other routes, but like i said at the start, id like to just sit on my thoughts and let the game simmer for now. my overall opinion is that i thought it was good! not perfect by any means, but very very good. i'm sure i will revisit it someday. and by that i mean right now im gonna draw and watch a bit of saltydkdan's video of it before bed.

if you read this far tell me your favorite hot drink :) lately ive been really obsessed with like, this basic ass cinnamon/nutmeg/coriander chai from target. i put a little honey and cream in it and its like my favorite thing ever i have some every morning. i used to think i only liked fruity teas but my eyes have been truly opened.

#bri talks #bri thoughts

13 notes · View notes

moldsporr · 8 months ago

Text

FINISHED ACT 2!!!! I promise I'm taking my time

Act 1 live reaction here

Here are notes I took while reading!!!

Hi vagabond fella… you're cute

Huh. So the world ended. Okay

Happy birthday john, you fucked up!!!! My god!!!!

Oh interesting… wonder if the kernel will come back later

I like this sprite lmaoooo silly guy

“It's a long way down” Hey. Hey wait a sec. Isn't that deltarune

HEY THE BUNNY WHERE DID IT GO

Bro Rose probably thinks you're dead lmfaooooo

House trapped. LIKE THE TITLE HOMESTUCK DO U GET IT

Am I supposed to ignore the Stop Scurrying button btw. He will scurry to my hearts content

HEY WHERES DAD.

“Would you like to play a game?” C…caliborn….? :3

We scurried until we couldn't scurry anymore

Aw he's scared :( WALK ACROSS IT ur fine…

A voice?? Is it the blue text. The sprite

OMG ITS THE VAGABOND!!!!

Sorry rose I'm not reading allat

So wait. Did the game cause the meteors or is it just saving people from them. Why was there no warning

Betty crocker is born /j

Nvm sprite said No <3

NOT NANNAS ASHESSSSS LMAOOOO

“Hoo-hoo-hoo” HEY I SAW CALIBORN GIGGLE LIKE THAT IN A FIC. I know the Striders have more to do with Caliborn but let me reach

OH its the sprite

Dave. Honey. Nows not the time for your rap

Which admittedly has fun rhymes

AW FLUCK IT

Dave what are you yapping about

THE FUCKIHG CAR OH MY GOD

DAVE OH MY GOD HOW ARE YOU STILL GOING

Fluthlu… I love you

I'm not even gonna try to spell that but I like the other squid octopus creature as well

Oglogoth… goth !!!!

Hey wait. The horror terrors are part of sburb. Is the game influenced by their lives and interests. Like. Deltarune

OH PSYCHE!!! hi Dave

Sword!!!!!!

Wow your room is really mHEY I KNOW THOSE GUYS. THATS THE FELT GUYS. SQUAREWAVE AND RHE OTHER ROBOT. I KNOW THOSE ONES!!!!! OHHHHHH

Bleat like a goat and piss on your turntable

Oh Dave. Oh Dave

Hey wait is this earlier in the day.

Okay this is definitely earlier in the day

Aw. He doesn't wanna make satire of the sburb review

FUCK IM FALLING DOWN ALL THESE STAIRS……

Is that. John's hand???? what the fuck is happening in midnight crew

Flagrant Homosexuality

YOU CANT BE SAYING THAT WHITE BABY (I was told that they use slurs, slur count 2!!!!)

Her life depends on you playing that game Dave

Ewwww what's the shit under the door

It's okay Dave piss probably isn't that bad. It's also probably Apple juice You're fine

HE GOT PISS/JUICE ON HIS TURNTABLES NOOOOOO

. They're gonna fly out the window

OH MY GOD BIRD NO

Wait. Davesprite is a bird with a sword in him. Omg is that bird the beginning of Davesprite omg!!!!

Wizard

Rose and her mom are fucking weird

MOM!!!!!

Hardcore parkour

Jade be telling the future…. Why can she do that

LIL CAL MENTION

NARRATOR YOU CANT BE SAYING THAT (slur count: 3)

Ironic Indulgence

Btw. Are you able to. Win the strifes. I'm so confused

“Fine, you'll interrupt your reading and turn around, but you don't see what could possibly be so oh my god it's a monster.” Hi this is absolute gold this is how I type

John died :(

Yay he's alive!!!

YOOOOO SICKKKK AFFFFF MOVE

John is such a nerd I love him

JASPERS NOOO

Hi Nanna harlequin sprite

Dave is very suddenly creeped out by the puppets, okay. Don't diss Lil cal bro

Baked good hater for Life!!! Also I am just like John I have absolutely no idea what Nannasprite was talking about. We r along for the ride

HUMAN ETIQUETTE WOOOO I NEED THAY BOOK

Jade why do you know all this stuff

Haha Dave's an emoji

IS THAT A DRIPPED OUT SLAPPY

HI CAL HI BABYGIRL !!!! I like Cal he's the man

Sweet Bro n Hella Jeff is. I

Cals eyes are so shiny

HAHAHAHAH JOHN MADE A SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF REFERENCE. I can't

U and me both Rose. We Are giggling

John died again

What the fuck is happening at Dave's house

ROSE RAP ROSE RAP

WHSJSHSJSH THE LITTLE IMP????

What the fuck is happening

I WANT TO PLAY A GAME is this a caliborn reference. Anyway uhhh Bro is kinda weird what's going on with him

Why does he have a camera in the saw guy figurine. Bro. What's uh up with you

BRO REALLY IS A NINJA…. Whys he jusy moving Cal around

Dave. I know you said your Bro is awesome but I think he's just really weird. He's silly

I do think it's interesting. John doesn't like his dad even though his dad is great (worst thing is he ignores that his kid doesn't like betty crocker goods). Rose hates her mom, but.. for like, the wrong reasons?? Like yeah her mom’s an alcoholic and seems neglectful but she doesn't seem to do the Irony shit Rose says she does. And then Dave seems to think Bro is the absolute best even though. This is not a great situation. I wonder what Jade's family is like

Also John and Rose avoid their parents but Dave's Bro seems to avoid Dave. interesting

Anyway POOR DAVE HE GOT SMOOSHED

Hey that letter is the same as the one in the trans dirk comic I saw :0

NOOO I WANTED TO SEE BRO

Yoooo John that's a cool weapon actually

That's a big boy right there what a big boy

ROSE THE FIRE ITS AT UR WINDOW

YO WAS THAT SILHOUETTE JADE?!?!?! JADE YAAA

Big boy!!!!!!

HEY I WAS INVESTED IN SEEING JOHN FIGHT. Oh at least we can see Bro. Wait how's Rose

??? JADE???

OOP NOPE. VAGABOND

What the fuck is happening I

vagabond is so silly I like him

Hey guys I think a king hurt vagabond. Just a guess. Probably reaching idk /j

VAGABOND PISS SCENE ?!?!?! YIPPEE!!!

Oh nvm. Btw can we get this guy a burger

HES SO HAPPY OVER THE. idk what that is DANGANRONPA BLOOD IN A CAN!!!!!!

HEY WHAT THE FUCK ARE ON THESE SCREENS BTW. Wait I'm shouting so much. But what the fuck. Dave has his sprite??? Yay???? I thought he was gonna fight Bro??? What happened to Lil Cal???

Hey isn't that Jade's symbol on the pumpkin

Yooo that's such a cool cutscene actuHUH HOW IS IT THE END OF THE ACT AGAIN

The frick….

Anyway. Thoughts: I like Vagabond. Jade is mysterious. Dave gay. Bro creepy. Someone pls save Rose. John you gotta put your big boy pants on and fight those ogres. Good act!!! idk why people say the pre-trolls stuff is boring I'm enjoying myself

#textpost #homestuck #live reaction #live homestuck reaction #first rime reading homestuck #long post

24 notes · View notes

smoments · 1 year ago

Text

✧ part 14: memories of a stranger // a satosugu reincarnation au

❝ let's meet again, for the first time. ❞

╰┈➤ in which 19-year old gojo satoru happens upon a stranger at a cafe who speaks his name with a kind of softness and familiarity that satoru’s sure he’s heard before.

➽ chapter 14: the transience of summer

“This is pretty smart, if you think about it. They have students make the art, set up the displays alone, and take everything down at the end. And then they get the money from the whole event!”

“Satoru, they do it primarily for your benefit. It’s a good way to expand your horizons and have professionals see your work.”

“Plus, what do you mean, alone? We were there too.”

Satoru hefts the canvas up above his head just to set it back down atop the set of stairs leading outside, exhaling dramatically and shooting them a wide grin. “You’re right! Whatever would I do without you two.” He pulls them into suffocating side-hugs, beaming like a proud parent when neither of them slap him.

After a second, Shoko swats at his shoulder in a request to be released and looks at him sideways when he relents, her gaze curious.

“I told you about that one guy, right? Who was, like, obsessed with your painting?”

“For real? First I’m hearing of this.”

She tilts her head at him apologetically, fighting a smile. “Oops, must’ve slipped my mind. But he owns a gallery somewhere over in Minato, and he wanted to display it there.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“Think you’ll do it?”

“That’s… Well, wait a second. I forgot to tell you guys, but I’ve been thinking deeply about my future lately,” he starts, looking around at his friends for shocked reactions and realizing he definitely expected too much when they simply meet his gaze with blank faces, “And I don’t think I want to be an artist.”

This part captures their attention; Suguru flinches back as though slapped, and Shoko gasps like he’s just admitted to locking a very artistic body double in his basement and forcing them to make all his paintings for him.

“Excuse me?”

He waves off their concern, speaking lightly and self-assuredly. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love painting and stuff, but do you know what I like even more than that?”

“Being a bad influence on others?” Shoko offers.

“Educating the youth!”

“Half points.” Suguru tells her sagely.

“My life is not a game show.”

He chuckles at this, lifting his shoulders in surrender.

“We never said you wouldn’t be a good teacher. I bet you’d keep things interesting, at the very least.”

“Yeah, and besides, you know we don’t really care what you do. Like, it’s whatever as long as you’re happy with it.”

He gives her an indulgently gratified look as Suguru walks over to the display, checking for any forgotten pieces of the setup. “Is it just me, or was that actually kinda sweet?”

“Yeah, obviously,” she responds, mildly offended.

“Satoru?”

In spite of its softness, Suguru’s voice has a way of attracting attention, and they both look over curiously, searching his face for the same surprise that was so clearly audible in his tone.

“What’s this?”

Satoru’s eyes widen when the cool light overhead catches on a glint of gold in Suguru’s grasp, and he lets out a shriek as Shoko covers her mouth to stifle a delighted laugh.

“Shoko! Get that away from him!”

“Can’t. I’m holding this.” She lifts the basket in her hands, which would have been haphazardly put together except that Suguru turned out to have a knack for arranging gifts. He’d turned pale when Satoru announced that it was finally ready and held it up proudly for him to see, insisting that he’d clean it up a little before giving it to Shoko (Satoru was greatly wounded by this until he laid his eyes on the final product and decided his pride was a worthy sacrifice for such a beautiful result).

“And what’s the issue, anyway? I like your poetry.”

“I told you already, it wasn’t my poetry! And it didn’t rhyme, either!”

“Thank you, Satoru.”

Satoru looks up sharply when Suguru finally speaks, his face aflame, and does his very best to sound unbothered.

“It wasn’t even anything. Really. I didn’t even write it.”

Suguru smiles back at him warmly, and he feels what he’s sure used to be clear, perfectly formed thoughts falling away and melting on the floor of his brain in a pool of mush. This is definitely not healthy. Luckily for him, Shoko sets a prompting hand on his shoulder, startling him back into clarity.

“I’ve gotta get back - an American singing show Utahime accidentally got us both hooked on is airing today. Thanks for all this, though.” She gestures to the basket in her grip. “My skin gets dry sometimes, especially in winter.”

“I knew it!”

“What?… Okay then, bye.”

“Bye, Shoko.”

He loses himself in thought as watches her turn to leave, pausing to whisper something to Suguru on her way to the door. She’s only just made it down the front steps of the gallery when he calls out to her.

“And- uh- sorry I didn’t take the time to say anything to you earlier.”

She slowly spins to face him, surprise written into the curves of her face and the part of her lips, and he meets her gaze with more earnestness than he’d ideally like anybody to associate with him.

“I’m trying to work on being more proactive and stuff. Not that it’s an excuse for being so dense about what you were going through. Anyway, you needed someone to talk to, I think. I should have been that for you. So… I’m sorry.”

Shoko stills, her throat bobbing visibly when she swallows, and she laughs with that casual ease that he’s come to know her for. It’s too high this time, though; almost like she’s nervous. And he didn’t expect his words to mean anything to her, because it wasn’t as though he could actually go back and fix his maddening lack of initiative, but her dark eyebrows are uncharacteristically taut with emotion, and she’s looking at him now with something like gratitude.

“Thanks, Satoru. It means a lot.”

She waves at them quietly, then continues on her way, her other hand coming up to support the weight of the basket in her grip and her fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around the handle. She glances down at the little cat that rests right at the top, a centerpiece among the overflowing snacks and hand-picked gifts packed into the large container, and it smiles complacently back at her with those dark, painted eyes as her own lips curve upward.

“What did Shoko tell you?”

Suguru is staring glassy-eyed into the wall like he’s just witnessed something unspeakable, and Satoru eyes him with concern.

“What…? Nothing. Just to have a good day.”

“Why would she only say that to you?” He asks bemusedly, his brow furrowed. His gaze trails down the collar of Suguru’s uniform to the item in his hand, and his heart skips a beat. He reaches over to pry his fingers off of the placard and tuck it into his own pocket, thanking his luck that Suguru is so out of it he barely notices.

“Let’s head out?”

“Yeah.”

He lets Suguru lead the way, fishing through his pocket and slipping out the smooth, shiny rectangle to get another look at it.

He wasn’t thinking when he wrote it, really; the words came to him in a dream. They didn’t feel like his, and he didn’t remember ever taking the time to put them together, but the raw emotion seemed to pour from them like water, a tidal wave that sent him to his knees with how deeply it resounded in his chest, and so he allowed them to grace the placard that ended up just below his treasured painting on the wall of the gallery. Even now, his breath catches when his eyes skim the small, engraved letters carved into the golden metal, and he picks up his pace to come to Suguru’s side, trying to ignore the incessant pounding of his heart.

to you, who bloomed and fell away like a fruitless flower.

even if these days fade away, they will remain forever colored.

“we’ll meet again, right?”

words spoken in an unheard voice. in the depths of eternity left behind. scattered within a sea of endless blue.

i’m sorry we couldn’t ever reach you.

Suguru shoots him a subdued glance as he rings the doorbell beside the wooden sign that spells out ‘Fushiguro’ in dark, neat letters, trying and failing to sound exasperated.

“We saw him last week, Satoru.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been missing that kid too. You mentioned him, like, four times yesterday. You were obviously hoping I’d pick up on the subliminal messaging behind your words and come here with you.”

The front door creaks open after a notable amount of time, and a pair of large, sharp eyes peek through the gap in the entrance. Megumi’s wary gaze finds Satoru first, and his expression drops. He moves to shut the door in their faces without appearing the slightest bit remorseful about it, but Satoru sticks his foot through the gap and eases it open before he has the chance.

“We came to hang out with you!” He announces gaily, beaming down at the child through his dark sunglasses.

“Don’t you have any friends your own age?” Megumi grumbles dispassionately, but allows him to push open the door without any voiced complaint. Satoru narrows his eyes, open hands gravitating towards Megumi’s mess of hair threateningly.

“This brat-”

Suguru cuts him off by stepping lightly on his foot, making him roll his eyes and press his lips together. “Yes, of course, Megumi, but we were hoping to take you somewhere if you have time. Would Tsumiki like to come too?”

Megumi looks at Suguru with a bit more tolerance - likely thanks in part to him putting Satoru in his place. Still, he averts his eyes as soon as he’s finished speaking, resignation settling on his features.

“I can’t. I have somewhere to be.”

Satoru crouches down so they’re at eye-level, giving him a suspicious once-over.

“And where’s that?”

“None of your business.” He looks vaguely embarrassed all of a sudden and drops his gaze to the ground. “But… I have to go to a… school meeting.”

“Going to school after school? Did you get in trouble? I knew the nerd act was all a show.”

When Megumi remains silent and fidgets with his hands nervously instead of giving him the scathing look he expected, Satoru’s mouth drops open.

“Wait, for real?”

Suguru speaks up as Satoru sits there gaping, his tone gently coercing.

“What happened?”

“I have to… I did something to this guy, but he deserved it.” When he catches the look of awe on both their faces, he continues with a touch more defensiveness. “Maybe you shouldn’t be a jerk if you don’t want to face the repercussions.”

Satoru knows Suguru has been teaching Megumi new vocabulary words on top of the knowledge he must amass from the books he always has his nose buried into, but he’s still unnervingly well-spoken for a seven year old. He nods slowly, pretending to be deep in thought, and then sighs like he’s just been requested to do something horribly strenuous.

“Okay, okay, sit down and walk us through it.”

Satoru strolls past the elementary schooler and into the house, making himself at home on the small couch in the living room. Megumi gives him a look, but follows him inside silently, leaving the door ajar for Suguru to enter too.

After receiving a slightly more detailed account of the situation that leaves him feeling equal parts proud and disbelieving of the seemingly innocuous child in front of him, Satoru snaps his fingers, beaming.

“Suguru, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Megumi… you just need parents, right?”

Suguru immediately understands his intentions and returns his meaningful look with a warning one.

“Satoru.”

“It’s fine! As long as they’re not, like, homophobic. And see? He looks just like us!”

He leans down next to Megumi, who is seated between them, and grins, poking his cheek in an attempt to squish his face into a smile while he struggles to get away.

“They don’t just let you do whatever, you know. I’m sure they’ll check for identification of some sort. And besides, Megumi probably doesn’t want-“

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Really?!”

Megumi rubs his cheek, which is slowly returning to its normal color, and sighs heavily.

“It’s fine. It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

“Woah, don’t get too excited there, kid.”

“And you two are… Megumi’s parents?”

His teacher, a kind-looking young woman with blond hair cut to her chin, looks uncertainly at the odd group before her - and Satoru can’t really blame her, because he and Suguru are quite clearly college students and barely old enough to drive, let alone have a seven-year-old child.

“Yes, but we really do just love him so much, and we only want what’s best for him, so I hardly think this conversation-“

Suguru cuts off his tirade with a picturesque smile, his tone agreeable.

“That’s right. Thank you for having us here. There was something you wanted to discuss?”

She shuffles the pile of test papers on her desk hesitantly, the tips of her fingers brushing the width of the stack, and then sets it down again and dips her head in acknowledgement, bringing her hands together primly. A folded paper name tag rests next to them with Ms. Nitta written in neat print and bordered by colorful, doodle-esque flowers and hearts.

“Right. So, based on what we’ve gathered from his classmates’ accounts, Megumi has been getting into fights on school property.”

Satoru bites back an ‘is he winning’ and instead gasps dramatically, putting an affronted hand to his heart as though the very idea is unthinkable. Anyway, didn’t Megumi say ‘guy’, as in singular? He was definitely not properly prepared for this. Suguru, on the other hand, is playing the role of concerned parent a little too well, especially considering his earlier protests.

“My darling child would never-“

“Was he provoked? Was it well-deserved?” Suguru inquires. “You see, I don’t think he’d go around starting trouble without reason.”

Satoru tilts his head toward him, slightly surprised at how reasonable a question it is, and Ms. Nitta clears her throat awkwardly.

“Well, perhaps, but that’s quite besides the point. You can imagine a parent’s reaction to their kid coming home all beaten up. Still… he does tend to gravitate towards those who are… aggressively inclined.”

“See? Case closed,” Satoru exclaims triumphantly, throwing up his hands. “He’s just beating up losers. He’s basically a superhero.”

She wrinkles her brow, confusion apparent on her face. “Even if we were to gloss over the other things, I’m afraid that’s not it. Megumi is undoubtedly a very smart kid, but he has some trouble getting along with his peers.”

“Aw, yeah, he’s our antisocial little… guy. He takes after this one.”

He jabs a thumb at Suguru, whose eye twitches in annoyance. He directs a tight, closed-eye smile at Ms. Nitta.

“Yes, and he gets all his agreeability from Satoru here.”

“Are you saying my son is disagreeable?! How dare you!”

“He’s fifty percent my son, too.”

“Well, I carried him for nine months, so I think I deserve at least fifty-one percent!”

“You carried him? Nobody decided that!”

“Yeah, ‘cause it was obvious that-“

“If we could keep personal matters out of the discussion…”

“Please.” Megumi agrees, making no effort to mask the disgust on his face.

“You sure this is the right classroom, right, Yuuji? Damn it-“ The sound of a rattling door knob and muffled swearing pulls them from their heated argument regarding the rightful custody of their non-rightful child, and Satoru squints at the door before leaning in to whisper to Suguru.

“Does he have… tattoos on his face?”

“Ah - this is one of Megumi’s classmates. He requested to be here today.” Ms. Nitta explains, moving swiftly to the door and turning the lock on the knob. She holds it open for them to enter, smiling down at Yuuji, who trots in second. The tattooed man gives her a gruff nod of thanks as his eyes travel the room indifferently, double-taking when he notices Megumi sitting between them.

“Fushiguro?” He nudges Yuuji with his elbow, leaning down to hiss at him in what is quite a poor excuse for a whisper. “You didn’t tell me Fushiguro would be here.”

“I did, ‘kuna,” he protests, indignant. “You were busy playing video games.”

“Huhh? I don’t think so. Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

Ms. Nitta looks to Yuuji questioningly as he and his acquaintance take seats in the tiny plastic chairs usually reserved for her elementary schoolers. Her doubtful eyes flick to the latter, who crosses his legs importantly as the bright yellow plastic squeaks beneath his weight.

“And… are you Yuuji’s father?” She winces at the thought.

“Nah, I’m his brother,” he replies, making a barely perceptible amount of effort to incline his tone towards politeness.

“Big brother,” Yuuji adds unnecessarily. “His real name is Sukuna, but I think he prefers ‘kuna.”

“I absolutely do not, brat.” He glares down at Yuuji, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks, and Ms. Nitta clears her throat.

“So, you had something you wanted to say for Fushiguro?”

“Yes!” Yuuji’s hand shoots into the air enthusiastically. He lets it hover, waiting for stated permission to speak, and she gestures for him to continue. Sukuna rolls his eyes at Yuuji’s behavior, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Fushiguro didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Itadori-” Megumi tries self-consciously, and frowns when Yuuji waves him off.

“No! These annoying brats were bothering Junpei, and Fushiguro took care of them!”

“Whaddya mean, ‘took care of them’? He’s seven.” Sukuna replies disbelievingly. “Not some, like, old war hero-veteran.”

“So am I!”

“Yeah, exactly. You better not be beating people up, either.”

“But you beat people up.”

“Right. Because I’m a grown-up.”

Suguru appears slightly troubled at this particular thread of logic, but thinks better of voicing his concerns. “…Right. Megumi is good to go, then?”

Ms. Nitta lifts her eyes to the ceiling, apparently quantifying the emotional turmoil of having to listen to their side conversations against that of explaining to a livid parent that the child who beat up their own (rightfully, but they wouldn’t hear that) was running free without consequence. Eventually, she settles on the latter of the two evils.

“You all can be free to leave if you promise that this won’t happen again? I’d rather avoid any more trouble, and-“

The unpleasant screech of shoes against linoleum cuts her off, and they all look with interest at the young girl standing resolutely in front of the classroom door, her shoulders heaving with the effort expended on her run over. She blows a bothersome strand of brown, chin-length hair out of her face and opens her mouth to make a resounding declaration to the room that leaves little room for argument.

“Fushiguro didn’t do anything! He’s not even that strong! I bet I could beat him up.”

“If you notice any bullying in the future, just talk to me, okay, Megumi? You can’t cancel out violence with violence, can you?”

Ms. Nitta smiles, patting him gently on the head and confirming Satoru’s suspicions that resisting the gravitational pull of that porcupine hair is next to impossible.

“No, ma’am.” Megumi mutters, embarrassed. Despite his grouchy insistence that his friends didn’t need to show up for him and he would have been fine just dealing with the consequences of his actions all on his own, Satoru can tell from the lingering softness in his gaze that he’s grateful to them for stepping in.

The brief walk back to Megumi’s house passes mostly in silence. They wave him off at the entrance to his house, and he returns the gesture half-heartedly, offering them a rare smile before stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind himself. Satoru grins to himself, warmth enveloping his body at the small act.

It goes without question that they've grown attached to Megumi in the few months they've known him - it would have been hard not to, really. He's the kind of person whose kind nature melts right through the ice around his words, his occasional moments of naivety made to feel even more precious against the dark, impenetrable backdrop of his mind.

Satoru was never so fond of children, in all honesty; as a teenager, he thought them annoying, a sentiment heightened by the resentment that welled up within him whenever he caught a glimpse of a clearly well-loved child laughing in the arms of a parent, pant knees grass-stained and clothes streaked with dirt. How could their parents still want to hold them when they looked such a mess? What had they done to elicit such affection? And what had he done wrong not to?

Satoru had always wondered if the reason that he remembered his childhood as being so lonely in spite of how many people starred in it was his ungratefulness. Maybe it really wasn't so bad. Maybe he was just a brat. There was always food on the table, after all. He was always taken care of - sometimes to the point of feeling suffocated by it. So why couldn't he stand to speak to his parents, even now?

Children brought up uncomfortable feelings. He preferred to avoid them.

But Megumi was tolerable. Not because of his independence, necessarily, but because of his goodness. It was clear that he didn't have it easy. But it was also clear that his struggles weren't rooted in some misdeed he'd committed.

How could he look at this seven-year-old child and blame him for the situation he was in? How could he even think for a second that it might be his fault?

He couldn't.

And if he couldn't do it to Megumi, he couldn't do it to himself.

So, at his most selfish, he enjoyed being around Megumi because it healed something inside him.

And somewhere along the way, it dissolved into the kind of warm affection he never thought he could feel for what was supposed to be some random kid.

Such emotional vulnerability frightened him, though, especially because theirs was a bond that seemed so precarious; each unpleasant reminder that he wasn't really theirs brought a pang to his chest. They had no real connection to him, no matter how Satoru might have tried to pretend, and no matter that his teacher now believed they were his parents. He had his own life that didn't involve them, and if he decided that he didn't want them to be part of it, that it had been fun while it lasted, but he had better things to do now, then that was it.

He would rather not consider that such an event might come to fruition. And it probably won't.

That's right- Suguru won't be so rash. He won't let his mind be clouded by emotion.

Suguru will tell him he's being ridiculous.

Satoru locks eyes with the only other person who might be able to understand the mess of emotions swirling in his chest, and immediately senses that he’s following an identical train of thought. So when Suguru speaks up, his voice soft, he isn’t particularly surprised.

“You think it’ll always be like this?”

Satoru wants to reply with the kind of incredulity he doesn’t feel; he wants to say that of course it will, that everything will turn out okay, that all of them will stay just like this forever. Instead, he lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

They linger on the sidewalk for a second without breaking the silence that now hangs in the air between them, the spring breeze tender against their skin. And then, Suguru clears his throat, straightening up abruptly like he’s just come back to himself.

“We’re loitering.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Loitering is dumb. What does that even mean?”

He lets out a breath of laughter, and Satoru’s mouth twitches into a grin at the gentle familiarity of the sound, fondness coursing through his chest. Then, a flash of movement in his peripheral vision directs his attention to the entrance of Megumi’s house, where a crack has now emerged in the doorway, and he blinks, wondering if he’s seeing things until a small head pokes through the gap and calls out to them in that characteristically monotonous tone.

“You said Tsumiki can come next time, right?”

It takes a moment for him to process Megumi’s words, but the second he does, a beam spreads over his face. He elbows Suguru in a way that comes off as more excited than smug like he intended, then looks over at him and finds himself unable to drag his eyes away from the wide-eyed relief on his face- even though it’s an expression that is almost certainly mirrored on his own.

When he remembers that he still has yet to respond, Satoru coughs and turns away, lifting a hand to wave at Megumi, and wonders why he feels so unexpectedly sappy when he wasn’t at all worried in the first place.

“As long as it’s not another one of your behavioral conferences, sure.”

He and Suguru exchange a fond look as Megumi rolls his eyes and shuts the door once more.

#jjk #satosugu #crying screaming throwing up #geto suguru #gojo satoru #ao3 fanfic #coffee shop au #fanfiction #alternate universe #archive of our own #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen

28 notes · View notes