#i want to live in this fic

[fairiesthrum]

reader who can’t stand satoru but then he gets hit by a curse that turns him into a cat. you find him, to his dismay, and take him home, only for him to realize how different you are when he isn’t around to pester you.

at first, he causes a lot of trouble. breaking things in your house, tearing up the pillows. he just wants to be a human again, but nobody can understand him! but you still take care of him and coddle him no matter how much trouble he causes, so different from how people treat him normally, as if he were a nuisance (which he kind of was on purpose). and he finds himself falling for you without realizing it.

so he stops being a bad cat, steadily losing hope that he’ll ever be human again. and satoru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy how you stroked him while you read a book or let him sleep beside you at night. maybe it wasn’t so bad? so he decided then if he was going to be just a cat, he was fine with being your cat.

the higher-ups had taken note of his absence, obviously, and he only knows cause you’ve mentioned it to him. you had this endearingweird quirk where you’d talk to him as if he were a real person.

throughout his stay in your home as a house pet, satoru finds out a lot about you. you’ve always kept to yourself, but you vent your frustrations out to him while he’s like this, and he offers his comfort the best he can. which you appreciate, rewarding him with kisses that he secretly enjoys.

once he turns human again, by some miracle, his first thought is to go and find you. and when he does, you give him the cold shoulder like you used to, and it surprises him. before he realizes that, ah, he wasn’t your pet anymore. he was gojo satoru.

satoru realizes his feelings for you in that moment. when he feels the ache in his chest from your dismissive behavior, it leads him to starting his most important mission yet—winning your heart once more.

but this time, it’ll be as a person, not a damn cat.

[tpwkluv]

this has been my favourite chapter so far! it’s full of such heart-warming moments, and i can’t get enough of these two. from eddie talking her through getting her blood drawn, to learning about his parents, to meeting wayne, to steve and eddie building furniture. all of it is so tender and makes my heart soar.

also, this part:

But as he raised his head again, he offered the slightest of smiles, a quick twitch to the corner of his mouth as he brushed a hair behind his ear that the wind picked up and curled over his mouth.

is such a minuscule thing in life, but you’ve made it such a vivid and beautiful detail. it’s my favourite line

Chapter Four: Elena Munson

summary: what’s in a name? (7.2k words)

warnings: blood mention (r gets blood drawn); needle mention (same as before); mentions of abusive relationship (eddie’s father toward his mother); talks of death (eddie’s mother) and loss.

eddie munson x pregnant!reader || strangers to friends to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, and then they were roommates, forced proximity.

masterlist | previous chapter, next chapter

——

“Sweetheart, the foot tapping is making me a little anxious,” Eddie murmured, reaching over your lap to press his ringed fingers against your thigh.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you gasped, clutching his hand tight within your own, straining the knuckles white as your voice dropped lower, “I’m just a little nervous. I hate doctors, and needles, and they called me last minute to tell me I was getting blood drawn today. So excuse me for being a little much.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

But there was no winning when it came to you and your hormones; he’d lost that battle willingly early on. Decided when you were right, you were right. There was no point in arguing.

You’d playfully shove him off, were it not for the fact you were surrounded by other women in varying stages of pregnancy. All of which sitting either alone or with their partners, some unspoken band of sisterhood when one glanced your way and raised a brow from over the magazine they’d been reading.

“Is this your first one, dearie?” one woman asked, her husband’s bored expression dulling further as he dropped his magazine onto a table beside him and looked up at the two of you.

“Yeah,” you muttered, a little forlorn, sliding a hand down your midsection. “What gave it away?”

“The look on your faces. All that nervous excitement.” She arched a brow Eddie’s way. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“Not yet,” Eddie said, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in closer. “But we’ll find out today.”

“We’re excited,” you told them, jumping upward as your name was called and a nurse appeared in the doorway.

The couple wished you well on your way as you grabbed your things and followed the nurse down the hall, clutching at Eddie’s hand for support as she led you to a room to have your blood drawn. Immediately, your lungs tensed tight in your chest, taking in the little chair meant for you, with a rolling one Eddie tugged over when he asked if he could remain at your side.

Eddie tapped on the back of your hand as the nurse went to work prepping everything she’d need, drumming out a tune you couldn’t recognize.

“So I thought we might get tacos after this,” he suggested, drawing your attention to where he sat. He was all dark eyes and messy hair pulled back into a bun. Handsome, just as he always was. “How do you feel about tacos?”

“I…guess I could do tacos,” you said, biting at your bottom lip as the nurse had you make a fist and wrapped a rubber band tight around your bicep.

“What kind of tacos?” he asked, stroking a soft line against the inside of your wrist.

“Uhm…” You faintly heard the nurse tell you to take a deep breath. Barely registered the prick of the needle sinking into your skin as you answered, “Not sure, but I know I need cheese. Buckets and buckets of cheese.”

“Cheese, huh?” He chuckled, his dark eyes glancing over your arm to watch as the nurse tossed vial after vial into a container. But you relaxed against him all the same, deep breaths falling from your lungs with every brush of his fingers against your skin. “I don’t know about you, but nachos sound good, too. Don’t they?”

You nodded, face a little soft and hopeful, and he glanced up at the nurse’s awaiting gaze, adding, “We don’t eat out super often. Today is a treat.”

“It’s a big day,” the woman agreed. “I won’t tell the doctor, don’t worry. And just like that — you’re done, hon.”

“Really?” you asked. Eddie grinned to himself as you glanced down at the bright blue bandage around your elbow, his chest burning when you looked his way and murmured, “Thank you.”

“Always, Buttercup.”

The walk down to the examination room felt like decades shaved off your lives. Eager anticipation brimmed as you clambered up onto the table and the nurse continued through your routine vital checks, her voice soft as she announced a sonographer would be in soon for the ultrasound.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, palm running along your jeans, wiping away sweat-slicked skin.

“How am I feeling?” He shuddered out a breath. “Excited to see them. Nervous. Mostly excited.”

“Any last guesses as to what it is?”

You’d both been playfully arguing about it on the way to the doctor’s office.

You thought it had to be a boy, given the unruly nature of the little one who had begun to kick at you all hours of the day in the past couple of days, just on the back end of weeks of endless sickness. Once that abated, it seemed like they were insistent on finding other ways to make their presence known.

Eddie, on the other hand, believed whole-heartedly it was a girl. Said he’d had a feeling all along from the moment you sat together at the diner some weeks ago now.

“I’m sticking with my guess,” he said, not protesting at all as your fingers slid back into his, tangling in the space between the two of you. “Deep breaths. It’s gonna be fine.”

“You’re right.” Your back leaned against the table, shoulders relaxing, tension sliding off your form as his other hand ran up and down your forearm gently, tethering you to reality. “They’re fine. We’re fine. It’s going to be okay.”

The exam itself was different from the others that had come before it. More clinical, the technician quieter than they had been at previous appointments. You supposed it was the fact they needed to look into everything, taking time to measure and inspect every little organ and detail. But Eddie sat transfixed on the spot, elbows propped up on the table beside you, still clutching your hand tight in his own.

He was meeting his child for the first time, and the sight had your chest breaking open at the mere realization of it. At one point, you’d stopped watching the screen and instead opted for the man’s face. Reached over and patted his cheek as the sonographer pointed out the little thumb, pressed in the baby’s mouth — a sight that had his eyes growing wide and watery, breath faltering in the back of his throat.

“Are we finding out the sex today?” the sonographer asked.

Your head whipped around to face the screen, heart thumping madly as you and Eddie simultaneously said, “Yes.”

Time seemed to halt. You could feel Eddie’s hair tickling at your arm as he leaned in even further, his hand gripping yours tight, trying to get even the slightest hint from looking at the wriggling form on the screen.

“It’s a girl,” they announced, “and we are all done here. I’ll print out some pictures and the doctor will be in touch with you soon. I’ll give you two a moment. Congratulations.”

The door clicked and your breath fell in a giant whoosh, releasing the air you hadn’t meant to hold in. Beside you, Eddie brushed at his eyes, laughing disbelievingly to himself.

“A girl,” he repeated, testing out the words on his tongue. “You’re having a girl, sweetheart.”

“We’re,” you reminded him, a choked sob spilling from your lips as Eddie brushed at a tear that escaped your eye. “We’re having a little girl.”

Later, as you sat in the front seat of his van and he walked back to the car with multiple bags of your lunch in hand, you marveled at the photo. Pressed a hand to the small swell of your midsection, feeling her roll around again and again.

Jolted a bit before settling into his warmth as Eddie leaned over and dropped a kiss against your forehead, fingers cradling the back of your neck, whispering a soft ‘thank you’ against your skin. Confusion warred in your mind, glancing up into those umber eyes to find him softening there.

“I never…” He exhaled, thumb running over his daughter’s cheek. “My dad wasn’t around. Had been when I was younger, but he’d — he wasn’t a good man. I’d lost my mom pretty young. I never thought I’d be cut out for this. For a long time, it was just my Uncle and I. And I…I already love her so much. It seems so weird — how can you love someone you’ve never met, right? But I know I do, and I’m grateful you’re doing this with me.”

“She’s really lucky, Eddie.”

You left out we’re really lucky, Eddie.

But the sentiment rang true.

His eyes softened, and you worried for a moment he’d get emotional again like in the doctor’s office. But instead he handed you the bags and turned his key in the ignition, curls bouncing about his shoulders.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

Hesitation was far from your mind. In fact, as soon as he uttered the question, you’d nodded. Found yourself sitting now at Lover’s Lake, aptly named for the famous make out spot (though you were sure Eddie was only joking about that).

The windows were rolled down, the winter air turning over into spring already starting to warm up. You sat perched in the front seat beside Eddie, listening as the lake water lapped against the dock. As animals scurried on by, a flap of a tail from a fish, the sound of a bird chirping in the distance.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d been here,” he said, reaching over to grab the bags. “I come here whenever I need to just get away and think.”

He started to pull out the various packages and opened the front driver’s side door, rushing around toward the back to open the vehicle up. A questioning brow raised, head turning over your shoulder, taking in the sight of the man scurrying about to gather some pillows and blankets, laying them out in the back of the van. He patted the surface, eyes on your face, and you narrowed your gaze in questioning.

“Have lunch with me?” he asked, waving you over once more.

With hesitant fingers, you pushed open the side door, rushing around to clamber up into the back beside him. Once settled down, he propped a pile of pillows near your back and tossed a blanket over your thighs, sliding over the tray of nachos closer to your bent kneecaps.

“Cheese for the lady,” he teased, sliding over an extra container of melted cheese for your nachos. “This place actually has really good tacos. Some would say that Taco Tower is the best, but I think this place takes the cake.”

“There’s this place back in the city that actually has really good ones,” you muttered around a mouthful of chips. A napkin raised to your lips, wiping at the remnants of your sour cream there. “All different flavors and types. The lines would always be so long. But this is really good, and the cheese is everything I could have ever dreamed of.”

He chuckled, smiling ruefully. “Do you miss it? The city.”

“Maybe in the beginning,” you said, really giving it a thought. “But I’d told you when we met that night that I dreamed of something slower and a smaller town. Turns out fate led me to Hawkins, I guess.”

“Of all the towns.” He barked out a laugh.

“I love it here,” you admitted, staring out at the lake.

You can smell the nachos below, the crisp air, the freshly cut grass. Back home, it would have been car exhaust, those untrustworthy water dogs, garbage pails. Different, but welcomed. Appreciated. Perfect for where you saw yourself and the little girl tucked beneath your heart.

“I miss Micah and Jeremiah. They’re like family to me,” you said, turning your head to glance at Eddie. “But here it feels like home already. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“I kind of resented it for a while,” he said slowly, breaking off a piece of his taco into a tin. “Moved here when I was twelve. Right around when my mom died. I’d been sent to stay with my uncle, which I hated at first — but I don’t know where I’d have ended up if it hadn’t been with him.”

“You mentioned your mom before.” He stilled, pushing his tray to the side. “Can I…can I ask what she was like?”

He remained quiet for a while. A soft, somber look slid over his face. Those dark lashes lowered a bit, head tipping downward. Fear knitted in the back of your throat; worried over having pushed him too far, the wound still too deep after all this time, the loss of a mother so young so understandably painful.

But as he raised his head again, he offered the slightest of smiles, a quick twitch to the corner of his mouth as he brushed a hair behind his ear that the wind picked up and curled over his mouth.

“She was, uh, she was really great. Always smiling, but I think that was mostly for my own benefit growing up. I didn’t know my dad was…I didn’t know he was.” He swallowed, and your heart plummeted. “He was a piece of shit. Put his hands on her, and she wore a goddamn smile on her face just so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Obviously when I grew up and realized, I did.”

You shifted closer on the blanket, hand curling over the tattoos on the back of his forearm. Inky bats you traced the wing spans of, easing the tension in his shoulders, heart skipping at the audible exhale from his lungs.

“But she had this really pretty hair.” Your fingers trapped a wind spun curl between index and thumb, his beaming lips blooming wider at your arched brow, at the encouraging grin that slid across your lips. “Yeah, like mine. Dark eyes. She was really beautiful. She always had this way of making you feel loved. Just super positive, bright, happy. She was a spitfire. Kind of like you, in that regard. I can only hope our daughter gets that. She loved reading, and I think that’s where my love for fantasy came about; she’d read to me all the time. She’d also — well, I’d come home after school and she’d always be cooking or baking something —”

“Like you,” you pointed out, tugging your blanket up higher on your lap, feeling his dark stare on your face.

“Yeah, we’d cook together. Kind of became our thing,” he said, a little sadly. “My dad was in and out at that point. Came around when he needed money — for alcohol, drugs, to get him out of whatever bind he’d gotten himself into. It didn’t matter though, she was my best friend and we had each other.”

Until they didn’t.

It was the unspoken sentence that lingered in the air, your fingers reaching over onto his lap to curl tentatively around his fingers. He didn’t hesitate to flip your palm within his own, turning it face up, his index finger tracing along the ridges in your skin. Just tracing the curves and edges of your palm, silence extending.

“We’d been driving home from my school one day. The roads were icy and —” He lifted his head to the ceiling, jaw clenching. “I woke up in a hospital and my uncle was there. I don’t even remember what he said, my ears were ringing so loud. I just knew that I made it and she didn’t. We buried her and I moved here.”

“Eddie…”

“Yeah, it’s fucked.” His wobbly mouth felt like a knife in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “She sounded so lovely. I’m so sorry.”

“She would have loved you,” he said, gripping the edge of your chin and giving it a soft wiggle, lips tilting upward at your wrinkled nose. “Would have been over the moon if I told her she was gonna be a grandma. Wonder if she knows; I’d like to think she does.”

“She does know.” Your voice wavered, eyes darting to the lake, tears blurring your vision. “I know she does. What was her name?”

“Elena.”

“Her name is as beautiful as she sounds.” A swift nudge had you pausing, a watery laugh spilling from your lips, glancing downward. “I think she likes it too.”

“She’s moving again?” At your nod, he asked, “Can I…is it weird if I…”

“Uh — no, not at all. Here uh —”

He remained still as you shifted closer to him, the blanket falling off of your thighs onto the floor below. You cupped your hand around his, drawing it beneath the hem of your sweater.

A touch that previously would have had heat rolling in your gut for another reason, now suddenly became more intimate in a way you’d never imagined back when you met him on Halloween.

“You might have to give it a minute.”

“Not in a rush.”

He laughed beside you, his gaze firmly planted on where his wrist was draped in fabric, palm warm against your skin.

“She’s kind of like…down further,” you muttered, shivering as his fingers slipped a little lower, brushing at the line of the jeans you wore beneath your sweater.

Your eyes fluttered close, mind willing the little girl within to move. As though she were tethered to you — as though she could hear you.

Eddie had told you not yet, that she’d be able to hear him in a couple of weeks (and therefore, he also promised to start playing his music for her to get her accustomed to the life of a rockstar’s daughter). But still, you wished for it all the same, for her to shift, to give him this moment so he could feel connected to her.

“I think she stopped…” He exhaled, lips dropping into a frown, though his fingers still pressed against the warmth of your skin, spreading wider to cover more surface area. And then — “Wait, was that?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, grinning widely as she moved again and his eyes widened further.

“That’s so cool.”

His breath came out a little shaky, your eyes watching his beautiful features as he waited, as if he’d be able to see her, as if he could pinpoint the next movement. And once he’d felt one, another round was spurred on, and then another, each making his lips tug upward further. Like this he was all soft angles, the curve of his jaw, gentle slope of his nose, those dark eyes narrowing in complete and utter awe of what he was experiencing. It made your breath catch, lungs tightening, stomach rolling wondrously.

“Hi there,” he muttered, bending lower toward your midsection, and your chest ached with it. “I’m your silly dad. You must love cheese, just like your mom. She dances when she eats it too.”

You shoved at him, earning a barked laugh. “Shut up.” You waited a moment, his hand still against your skin, and asked, “What do you think about calling her Elena? I just feel like…she’d been calm up until we started talking about your mom. It felt like a sign.”

His eyes flickered upward, dark and scorching along your skin. “Really?”

“Elena Munson does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

He glanced down again to where he was connected to his unborn daughter, and sniffled loudly. “I’d love that. Thank you, Buttercup. You don’t know what that means to me.”

You both sat like that as evening turned into night. Him with his hand against your abdomen, relishing in those special moments with his daughter. With Elena.

And you watched as he realized fully that he was going to be a father — as he fell in love with his little girl. Tried to keep your tears at bay as he ran a thumb along your skin like he’d traced the photo of her earlier, muttering he loved her out loud, before wiping at the underside of his eye.

Your fingers reached up to brush at his cheek, thumb trailing along his jaw. “Now how about we go get some milkshakes.”

“Chocolate?” he mused, knowing you’d had one a couple days ago when you insisted you needed to have one at eleven at night.

“Please?”

And he could never say no to you, not really.

——

It wasn’t that Eddie hadn’t wanted to tell Wayne about Elena. He just didn’t know how to. Wanted to do so with your company, and in your own timing. And with the craziness of being in California, and then you moving in with him shortly thereafter, no time seemed like the right time.

Until now, that is.

He’d been working on your car in the garage, doing a quick oil change, when the phone had rang. His uncle’s voice spilled through the line as he’d asked Eddie to stop by for dinner — nearly yelling at him to stop being a stranger.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, catching your sleepy stare from where your head poked up over the couch.

He’d thought it adorable how often you napped; figured you needed the rest anyway, despite the fact he knew you would be apologizing left and right for it later since he’d been working on your car while you did so.

“There’s, ah, a reason why I’ve been a little MIA,” Eddie said calmly. “And I kind of wanted to talk to you about it. But it’s the kind of conversation we would need to have in person.”

“Well alright,” his uncle acquiesced gruffly. “Come by this weekend then.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

“Oh I see now.” Only, he didn’t understand half of it. “Bring ‘em on by. They special to you?”

Both of them, he thought, catching your form in the living room. Watched as you folded up your blanket and placed it over the top of the loveseat, snatching your slippers up from the floor and padding into the kitchen.

“Yeah, they’re special,” he admitted, grinning to himself as your head turned to look at him, a box of berries perched within your palm. He reached out to grab one, your nose wrinkling at him as you settled at the kitchen table. “Sunday sounds good? Our usual time?”

“Yeah, Ed,” his uncle said. “See you soon, boy.”

“See you soon.”

As the line went dead, your curiosity only piqued. He could tell from the little furrow of your brows, the way you glanced down at your berries as if they were the most interesting things you’ve seen all day. How you avoided eye contact with him, so as to not make it seem like you’d been listening in on his phone call. He hardly minded, but damn it he thought it so cute how you assumed he did. Hated that his thoughts ventured there more often than not as of late; ventured to that untouched, and to remain untouched, part of your relationship. The romantic part, the place where his emotions dwelled most days.

“You gonna ask who that was, sweetheart?” he teased, dropping down onto the chair across from you. His ringed fingers slipped into the container, grinning to himself when you reached forward and jokingly swatted at him. “I know you’re just dying to know.”

“Are you going to tease me or tell me?” you huffed, eyes lingering a little too long on his mouth when he tossed another berry within.

“It was my uncle.”

“The famous uncle,” you repeated, trying your hardest to keep your intrigue at bay. “The one who raised you that you speak so highly of.”

“Yes, the very one.” He chuckled to himself, tapping your chin when your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, worrying at it. Your bottom lip popped back out, eyes drawn high on his face. “He and I usually have weekly dinners. We haven’t because — well, I was in California for a couple months, and then we’ve been busy with…all of this. But he wants to get together this weekend. And I asked if you could come along.”

“Eddie, I don’t want to intrude on your —”

“I want to tell him about Elena. I want him to meet you.” He reached over to thumb at your wrist, feeling you relax a bit under his gentle touch. “I want you there.”

Apparently Wayne — he refused to let you call him ‘Uncle Wayne’ — knew right away when Eddie had asked you to come along that the news he wanted to share happened to be the two of you were expecting. Said he’d had a gut feeling, but that he was over the moon excited to have a little grand baby in a few months time.

The man himself was lovely. Rougher around the edges, and yet kind in a way that had you immediately comfortable in his presence. You’d even moved outside onto the front step with him, Eddie inside finishing up the dishes and getting dessert ready, a cup of steaming camomile tea resting in your palm, foot tapping on the ground beneath you.

“You know, I haven’t seen that boy smile so much in a long time. You’re good for one another. Always smilin’ and laughin.’”

You didn’t have it in your heart to correct him — to tell him your relationship with his nephew was strictly platonic. Not with the way he’d smiled at you both over dinner, looking so damn proud of Eddie it cleaved your heart down the center. Because this man loved your dark haired metalhead inside. Would defend him to the ends of the earth, if need be.

“I’m proud of him,” he continued, lifting his glass to his lips to take a sip of his coffee. “Worked hard to get himself to where he is, and finally starting up his music career. Now raisin’ a baby. His late Mama is smilin’, if I had to guess.”

“We decided to name her Elena,” you told him. You heard the sharp inhale beside you. “She sounded wonderful.”

“She was one of the best. She loved that boy more than anythin’ in this world. I remember her sittin’ right where you are when she brought him here the first time. He had this dark head of hair, even then. Screamed bloody murder; always had a pair of lungs, my Ed. But god she loved that boy.”

“He’s a good man,” you admitted softly, “hard not to, you know? He talks about you a lot. How you raised him. I bet a lot of that is because of you.”

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he said, staring up at the starry sky. “You plannin’ on staying in Hawkins?”

“Yeah,” you say, stroking along your middle fondly. “I think it’ll be good to plant ourselves here. I have my job over at the school, there’s a daycare nearby, we have friends here. Eddie and I haven’t discussed what happens when he goes on tour, but I know he intends to be here as much as possible.”

“I’m glad,” he admits, glancing your way.

“And we’ll bring Elena over as much as you want.”

His answer was a kind hand over yours on your mug, followed by the sound of a screen door opening and a fluffy head of curly hair poking out. His dark eyes met yours first. “Dessert is ready now.”

Eddie approached you from the front, holding out a hand you definitely didn’t need, but you took it anyway, allowing him to help you to your feet. He curled his palm around your cup of tea as you then helped Wayne up, warmth blooming in your chest as the older man gripped your shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze, slipping inside wordlessly.

“You two have a good time together?” Eddie asked against the crown of your head.

Shoulders slouching as he reached up to rub at the knots in them, you turned your head over your shoulder. “He’s really great. I understand why you love him so much. He speaks so highly of you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed out, cheeks brightening a bit even in the moonlight. “He’s, ah, he’s the best.”

You spent hours together playing Monopoly. Watching as Eddie lost his composure when he’d eventually started losing to his uncle, and not just losing — paying up seemingly every turn. They were a joy to watch, an honor to encounter. What with the way they spoke, how deeply they loved, the strength of their bond evident and on display. And later, as you hugged his uncle goodbye and walked out to the car to get in, your eyes half-lidded in your tiredness, Eddie lingered briefly in Wayne’s doorway, heart clenching as his uncle wound him in a tight hug.

“Love you, son. Don’t be a stranger now, I’ll be wanting to see more of your little lady before my grand baby comes now, you hear me?”

“Oh, she’s not,” he swallowed, looking over his shoulder to where you scrambled into the passenger seat. “We’re…figuring things out.”

“But there’s love there. Respect. Those are good, strong foundations,” he stated plainly, waving when you did.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“She cares for you. You don’t think in my old age I know what it looks like? That I can’t recognize it on the face?” Eddie exhaled, rubbing a hand up and down his neck. “Just give it time. You’ll know what to do. Always do.”

Just give it time.

——

Work that following Monday proved long and arduous. It also happened to be the day your feet finally started to hurt from standing all hours of the day, lower back aching as you stepped through the front door and kicked off your shoes.

The home itself was quiet, save for the sound of Eddie drumming his fingers along the kitchen table as you entered the living room. He had your notebook sprawled out on the table in front of him, a dark head of hair poking up to see you as you approached, fear furrowing his brows when you dipped your gaze downward to peer at what he stumbled upon.

“It was out,” he muttered rapidly, closing the book with a resounding slap. “I swear. I would never just read your personal stuff like that.”

“I know,” you said, stepping further into the room, palm rubbing against your presently aching lower back. “I forgot I left it out. It’s fine that you read it.”

“Sweetheart, you know that stuff is really good, right?” He lifted the notebook once more, fingers running along the leather binding. “Like — really good. You told me you liked to write, but you didn’t mention you’re ridiculously talented.”

You shrugged. “I always wanted to write. I went to school for it, but the issue was always…I couldn’t just write full time. I needed to pay rent. So I worked for a library and then…never had time to write once I started doing that.”

“And now?”

“Since I moved here, I’ve honestly written a ton. I wrote all of what you see there in a little over two months.” You rubbed a hand along your forearm, feeling a little bashful. “Sometimes it’s a sentence in the morning, or sometimes, especially now that she’s been keeping me up sometimes at night, it’ll be a few hundred words when I can’t sleep. But it’s the first time I’ve been consistently writing in years.”

“You need to talk to someone about this. Show this to them.”

“I really don’t think it’s that good, Eddie.” You felt your cheeks warm, hand coming up to rest over your chest, foot digging into the carpet below.

For years, your ex had suggested that writing wasn’t a real career. That it couldn’t get you anywhere, would lead to heartbreak and disappointment. Suggested it was a waste of time. And you’d started to accept that — for a time.

Hated that you did when you could see such excitement in Eddie’s eyes from your written words poured out onto the pages.

“It is that good,” he said, placing the book down onto the coffee table. “I know someone. Nancy Byers. She’s a journalist but I know she’s friends with publishers. She might even know someone you can contact to be an agent.”

“Really?”

Your breath caught. Held for a prolonged beat. You’d always dreamed of writing. Always thought it was your purpose, but it got lost on the way. Swept up in the wind, in the chaos of bills and plans, in business and lost naïveté, in reality in the form of a baby made after a night that was meant to be a one night stand. It seemed like a long lost dream — or at least had for a time.

But now.

Now Eddie seemed convinced you could do this, his eyes so bright and hopeful, voice strained in his excitement as he said, “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t just say it if I didn’t mean it. Have you written anything else aside from this historical romance piece?”

You dropped down onto a chair beside him, snatching the notebook and flicking it nearer to the front of the book, turning to a children’s story you'd written shortly after you’d found out you were expecting.

A particularly rhyme-filled book for hopeful parents, to read to their little one, showing the nervousness and excitement about bringing a new life into the world. And at the end, though there weren’t pictures within it yet, you expressed to Eddie you pictured there would be a drawing of the parents holding their child at last, overjoyed to finally meet them.

“I worked in the children’s section when I was still in the city,” you explained, flipping the book a few more pages back to another children’s book you’d written about bears that go to fairs. “So usually we’d read all the incoming books to better make recommendations for parents. I’d get inspired and write something silly of my own. Like this bear book.”

“It’s not silly.”

And he wasn’t looking at you as though it were either. He held his gaze on your face as your fingers rested across the pages of your old notebook, regarding you with a look in his eye you couldn’t quite place a name to. Interest, intrigue, awe.

“You really think they’re good?” you asked, heart fluttering away nervously behind your ribcage. “Like you really think they could be something?”

“Yes,” he said, bringing a hand up to rub a gentle circle into your shoulder, “I really really think so. I’ll get you Nancy’s information. Her husband, Jonathan, is also in photography and design. I wonder if he knows someone who could help as well with the children’s books. Illustrations and all of that. You should seriously try and submit these.”

Heat crawled up your spine at his words. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He waited a moment and then asked, “Do you have any more?”

Giddy on riding the high of his sudden interest, the two of you curled up on the living room couch, flipping through the pages of your journal, describing to him how you pictured certain images in your head. Described what you’d want depicted on each page, color schemes and the like. You knew you wouldn’t have much sway in the matter, but it was still fun to dream.

Eventually, he’d asked about the end of your adult romance novel. Wanted to know all the sordid details of your Viscount who had fallen in love with his brother’s best friend, and you told him. Even if he’d be your first and only ever reader of the book, it brought joy to your heart seeing him so excited with every tidbit you gave him. So genuinely invested in a story that you’d written.

“After I finish this one, I did have a plan for a pirate romance as well,” you expressed after a while, when day had turned into evening, and your belly had started to grumble in your hunger.

Hearing that low grumble, Eddie lifted himself up off of the couch and extended a hand your way. Helped you up and off of it with a tug, his hand resting on the small of your back as he ushered you toward the kitchen, saying, “I’m going to start us dinner. But don’t think you’re getting away with just dropping that story idea on me without telling me all you have planned for it.”

You paused in your footsteps, eyes burning with the suddenness of your emotions. These unnamed emotions that constantly flooded your system as of late. Without a name to place to them, you turned into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist instead, settling on running from them, pulling him as close as you could.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t falter or tense. Instead, a hand came up and curled around your hips, low against your waist. Another slid up and over your shoulders, stroking a line into the back of your sweater, warming you through the material.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

Nodding, you mumbled, “Yeah, I’m okay. Just…can I stay here for a minute?”

Better than okay — you felt seen. For the first time in a long time, you felt wholly seen by someone.

Without judgment or ridicule, only acceptance.

“Yeah.” He held you tighter. “For as long as you need.”

——

The middle of March brought with it warmer weather and your twenty-second week. It brought a freshly painted bedroom. Pastel pink, gleaming in sunlight pouring in through the windows. It brought with it a new hamper, boxes of baby clothes gifted by Steve and Chrissy, and deliveries from furniture companies.

It brought with it fresh cinnamon buns that melted on your tongue that sunny Saturday morning, and the image of Eddie sitting on the nursery floor, pink tongue tucked against his bottom lip, tank top showing almost too many tattooed ribs (for your sanity) with his best friend Steve tinkering away across from him.

You’d insisted you had a ton of time to put everything together, but Eddie had been on a mission since he woke that morning, more than sure he’d be capable of handling it all on his own. A few hours later, he’d called in for reinforcements — and you called in an order for pizzas for the guys, swallowing your own heaping mouthful of sauce and cheese in the kitchen with a loud gulp as Eddie slipped into the room rubbing a paper towel along the back of his sweaty neck, revealing that tantalizing curve of his hip bone beneath his Corroded Coffin tank, that smattering of hair low against his abdomen, the soft of his stomach that you’d never forget you marked the path of with your ton —

“Smells so good I could kiss you right now —” He paused, as though he’d realized what he said. As though he caught the way your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, nearly choking on your lunch. “Not that I’m going to. It’s just a phrase. A thing people say. A saying.”

“It’s fine,” you laughed, even though the racing of your heart told you otherwise. “How is the room coming along? You really didn’t have to do all of this. We have a long way to go till she gets here, my friend.”

“We’re almost finished up. And enough of that. I wanted to,” he reminded you, your hand raising in a wave as Steve entered, wearing a white shirt, a pair of tattered basketball shorts, and a backwards baseball bat. “One less thing to worry about.”

“Are you good if I head home soon?” Steve asked, snatching a slice of pizza and a plate from the table top. “Melody is going to stay with Chrissy’s parents and I’m planning on taking her out to dinner.”

“Oh my gosh, Steve, absolutely. You already did more than enough,” you reassured him.

“Seriously,” Eddie said, “I owe you.”

“Pretty sure he was about to start crying soon if you hadn’t showed up with all the whining I kept hearing,” you joked, earning a half-hearted glare from Eddie.

“There’s too many pieces and the directions don’t make sense. Might as well be written in another language.”

Steve chuckled, taking another few bites of his slice before wiping his hands on a paper towel. “We’re still good for next weekend with the kids at my place, right?” His question was directed at Eddie, but your brow arched upward.

“You have more kids?” you teased, though you’d already met some of the ones Steve was referring to.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “A whole bunch of them. Though they’re not really kids anymore.”

“We started hosting DND nights a few years back. Some of Eddie’s guys from Corroded Coffin come, and the kids. Depends on who is free at the time. But the next one is next weekend,” Steve explained, moving to the sink to throw out his dish, catching the image of Elena from your most recent appointment on the fridge. “She’s cute, looks like you — good thing with this guy’s face, am I right?”

He glanced your way as he said it, and Eddie bent the guy nearly in half, arm right around his neck until Steve punched at Eddie’s bare ribs, both laughing brightly.

It dawned on you then, how much had changed in such a short time, and yet how much you loved that it had. This feeling of love and familiarity between them, forged in years of friendship, now an extension of your own life.

It felt safe and secure — the kind of place you could see your daughter raised in, a place for you to rest your head.

Chrissy, Robin, Steve. Eddie. The kids. Wayne. Elena. Different, and yet welcomed. Unfamiliar, and yet fond.

Your heart swelled with it, growing fuller as Steve left and you followed Eddie into Elena’s room, as you took in her newly assembled crib and the nearly finished changing table positioned against the wall. He’d already gone and put some of the clothes you’d bought for her in the closet, a kaleidoscope of color, each outfit cuter than the last.

“Well?” he asked, coming up to stand beside you as you slowly circled around and around in the middle of the room, taking in everything. He halted you with a hand at your side, his lip twitching at the perfectly aimed nudge that pushed back against his palm. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” you exhaled, still overwhelmed by the fact he’d gone and done all of this, just so his house would feel a little more like home for you both. “All of it. She’s going to love it.”

And you…well, you realized then you might have the tiniest, most glaringly obvious, bit of feelings for the man who had gone and done it all.

——

please let me know what you think, and stay tuned for next weeks chapter titled ‘one bed’ 😉🩷

[podcast-hemocytoblast]

What if when Michael got Distortioned he/they/it/(?) had just kept showing up to work? Imagine Gertrude comes into the archives and finds a bunch of paperwork filled out in yellow highlighter and folded into impossible shapes, and then Michael-Distortion just walks into the room door-style and sits down at his work computer so it can email Gertrude a phishing scam.

[wordsinhaled]

thinking about how edwin wore the confession outfit and niko told him he looked nice and charles gave him a onceover. thinking about how charles thought edwin dressed up nice for monty. how charles thought he dressed up nice.

for someone else - or maybe even simply for the sake of telling charles he had feelings for someone else - to make a good impression - to give himself more confidence while sharing a truth about himself with his best mate…

and edwin never had time to correct him, to say: “i dressed up nice for you. this is for you. i am for you.”

and only in hell does it all make sense - edwin is in love with him. but did it click for charles - maybe not right away in the moment on the staircase, but maybe later - that edwin had changed outfits for him? that edwin had been trying to impress him. to look good for him and catch his eye and make it special.

thinking about charles - after he realizes his feelings, realizes he reciprocates and finally tells edwin as much - looking back on that moment and thinking that was for me. charles being unable to let it go once he understands. asking edwin if he still has the jumper; asking if he’ll wear it again so he can appreciate it properly.

i just think charles would love that edwin did that. that edwin, who has worn the same thing for decades, put that sort of thought into the occasion of admitting his feelings to charles, even without any expectation that charles would feel the same.

thinking about charles who has perhaps in the past been used to not being the forever choice, loving that edwin takes loving him seriously, wanting to let edwin know the effort wasn’t in vain. charles unable to take his eyes off edwin the second time that edwin wears the outfit, looking so besotted that anyone could see how much he adores edwin from miles off.

and edwin, feeling wanted, feeling loved in return under charles’ attention, not realizing how much he’d appreciate having charles see him in this outfit as intended and how much it would settle something in him. perhaps edwin getting to say the words he’d planned to say, in the comfort of knowing they will be received and returned in kind.

simply - charles having a whole Experience about the confession outfit and getting to revisit it while they are in an established relationship, and it bringing them both this sort of closure and thrill and happiness, at getting to be in love, at getting to communicate their love to each other…

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

[mimiscappinisideblog]

Me throughout 2020-2021-2022-2023:

Me the moment AO3 has been down for more than ten hours:

[justaz]

battle of camlann but merlin wasn’t ancient as shit. he blasts the warriors around arthur away and arthur turns to see a glowering, golden-eyed merlin. he tightens his grip on his sword but isn’t able to raise it. the inconceivable notion that merlin has betrayed him runs through his mind but he cant quite grasp it. his father is screaming in his head to kill the wretched sorcerer but all arthur can see is his friend wearing a face that looks too much like morgana’s. merlin glances up at arthur and the expression of rage fizzles into one tinged with fear and concern - all too confusing for him to unpack in the midst of battle. merlin is slow to approach his side and even then he keeps his distance. before either of them can say anything, mordred appears, sword in hand, glaring at arthur.

merlin tries to draw the former knights attention away from arthur, tries to goad him into fighting merlin instead, but mordred is deadset on fighting arthur. he calls morgana over instead and says emrys’s fight is with her while his is with arthur. with the extra seconds of back and forth, arthur isn’t as shocked when he raises his sword against mordred’s. morgana and merlin blast each other great distances until they’re far away from modred vs arthur and land on the front line between the two armies. both armies back off and watch the light show as morgana and emrys battle until morgana’s army uses the distraction to close in on camelot’s army.

three battles occurring at once until morgana gets a lucky hit in and merlin goes flying. he lands next to a gwaine who is currently bleeding out. he smiles when he sees who’s next to him “merlin!” which sounds so much like his greeting every time they ran into each other before gwaine became a knight. he reaches out and heals gwaine’s wound and leon just looks up at him for a moment before going “you’re always full of surprises, aren’t you merlin?” merlin grins and goes “i got one more” he stands up on surprisingly steady legs and calls on kilgharrah. in for a penny, out for a pound. arthur is already fuming at him, might as well rip the bandaid off right?

kilgharrah attacks morgana’s army while merlin orders aithusa to stand down. camelot’s army is able to march through the charred army and bring down those who remain, mordred is loosing but persevering through rage and spite alone, morgana is screaming (like she always is nowadays). merlin and morgana battle once more until mordred and morgana’s armies have fallen. merlin makes a tactical retreat to arthur who is still staring at him wearily (and definitely irate). he requests permission to kill morgana which is baffling but she is his sister and he’s always cared for her even after her betrayal so he supposes it makes sense. once he gives it, their fight doesn’t last longer than a minute. emrys was always stronger than her, he was just buying time.

camelot emerges victorious though they don’t seem all that excited about it. the other warriors cheer and clap each other on the back, but arthur is just watching merlin. the knights watch them uneasily. merlin returns arthur’s gaze. “is that the fucking dragon i killed?” merlin looks up at kilgharrah who is needlessly burning the remains of morgana’s army. merlin turns back to him “yes.”

[fiendishartist2]

guy who doesnt dance x guy who will drag you onto the dance floor

[green-socks]

WELL DAMN!!!

this is so funnnnnnnn!!! Magic mike whomst, I want these guys

Do I Wanna Know?

➢synopsis: It's your friend's bachelorette party, and she drags you to The Hard Deck where a certain brunette stripper catches your attention ➢word count: 3.3k ➢warnings: stripping, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence, mentions of being cheated on, sexual tension, mentions of prostitution

A strip club was not on the top of your list of things to be at this Saturday night. You could probably name about a hundred other places you would rather be at, but it was your best friend’s bachelorette party. Even though you had been hailed with the lovely title of maid of honor, you left the party details up to her sorority sisters from college.

You loved Malia with all your heart. She had been your longest friend, sticking by your side through everything. Your bond was really sealed when she stood in the same handicap bathroom stall as you took a pregnancy test at some random Walmart. But that bond had become somewhat weak when she went to NYU for college and you stayed back and got a two year degree at the local community college. 

“A strip club?!” Malia’s cheery voice sounded out from the middle of the party bus. Also, not your idea whatsoever. 

Malia seemed to be having the time of her life as she wore a white fringe dress with a sash across her body and in glittery gold writing it spelled ‘future bride’. One of her sorority sister’s had given her a sparkly white cowboy hat to try and complete the look. Everyone else was told to wear black, so you dug out a black off the shoulder dress from the deepest parts of hell, aka your closet. You were surprised that you even still had this dress. 

“Everyone deserves one last dance!” Jessica, no Jennifer, you were pretty sure her name was Jennifer, shouted and held up her red solo cup. That was one thing you didn’t like about sorority girls, they never seemed to grow up. 

You walked somewhat behind the group as they got off the bus, your feet were starting to ache from bar hopping earlier. You were probably the more sober one among the group, choosing to opt out of the fireball shots at the last club. One of the girl’s gave her name to the bouncer, a tall tan man with a mustache, who smirked and then walked their group into the club. You rolled your eyes at the sign above the door. 

‘The Hard Deck’ 

You knew it was a play on words since the club was near the port. San Diego was known for its dirty dingy clubs that were more than just strip clubs. With the military base so close by, restless sailors were always looking for a way to blow off some steam when they reached port. But this club was a lot nicer than most, whoever owned it obviously took pride in their business.

The bouncer led your group to a section right at the front of the stage. The sorority sister who booked the section winked at the bouncer before he left. You huffed as you sat down in a chair as far away from the stage as you could get. 

“Hey,” You turned your head to see Malia sitting down next to you, “Thank you for coming out tonight. I know none of this can be easy. It totally sucks that Justin broke-” 

“Let’s not talk about my sham of an engagement,” You shook your head and grabbed Malia’s hand in yours, “This is your night. You’re going to be the future Missus Malia Pfifer.” 

Malia squealed and stomped her feet. You couldn’t help but giggle at her excitement. Malia always reminded you of a golden retriever, constant energy, always a ball of sunshine. You were truly happy for her and her fiance Max, it was the timing of everything that couldn’t have been worse.

A week ago you had walked in on your fiance Justin, who was Max’s best friend and best man, in between the legs of your coworker. He had tried to justify the scene, telling you it was an accident, but you were smart enough to know that you don’t just fall in between someone’s bare legs. You threw the ring at him, as well as some other items until he got out of your house. You called Malia in tears and she was over so quickly you knew she broke traffic laws. She spent the night helping you dump glitter into boxes of Justin’s clothes and put them in your driveway for him to get in the morning. You knew that if you needed to hide a body, Malia would be the one to call. 

But you also didn’t want to be the dark shadow in her way. Her wedding was three weeks away, and this was her night to let loose before she took on the role of the doting wife. She had already accepted that role so well and there weren't any legal ramifications about it. 

“Well, as long as you are having fun. And hey! Who knows, maybe you’ll meet your future husband here!” Malia smiled. 

“This isn’t Magic Mike, Mals,” You chuckled. Malia just shrugged and kissed your cheek as a redhead, who you think is named Amanda, walked over with a fat stack of ones and a tray of shots. You sucked in a breath and looked around the club. If you couldn’t beat them, you might as well join them. 

— — — 

Everyone had their own pre-show prep. Some of the guys went over their new dances in their heads, some of them lathered oil on their abs to make them shine just that much more, some popped pills and snorted white lines on a tray, some of them did a last minute workout to make their muscles plump a bit more, and some of them sat on their phones and looked through tiktoks. 

Rooster was the last of the options. 

He felt confident in his dances for the night. He hardly changed up his routine from week to week, knowing that simple was better. He worked out a couple hours before work so he had time to shower and knew for a fact that he didn’t stink. He also hated putting excess baby oil on him, it made everything slippery and he has had one too many slips on stage. And he stayed away from the drugs that floated around the locker room. He had seen one too many guys get hooked on the junk and fired for not being able to perform. Stripping was about all Rooster had going for him, and he was not about to do something stupid. 

No, working at a strip club wasn’t what he imagined he would be doing when he was a little kid. He thought he was going to be a pilot, but one stupid mistake cost him his whole future. He had nowhere to go, no higher education than a high school diploma, and was facing jail time. That’s when he stumbled across the Hard Deck. It was the middle of the day, and from first glance he thought it was just a regular bar, but when he walked in, he quickly learned it was not. He was about to turn around when a sweet voice called out to him. 

“Boys! I told you to keep the bathrooms clean! I am not your damn maid!” 

Rooster looked up from his phone, hearing that voice that had called out to him all those years ago. Penny Benjamin, aka their house mother and partial owner of the club. She had welcomed Bradley with a plate of food and a place to lay his head. The only thing she asked in return, is that he worked to pay his keep. At the time, Rooster didn’t know a single thing about dancing let alone stripping, but Penny told him not to stress about it. Declan, the MC and mainshow boat took Rooster under his wing and taught him everything he needed to know about working the stage and getting the tips. 

“Sorry mom,” Rooster said and gave Penny a lopsided smile. 

“Not your fucking mother, Rooster,” Penny pointed at him, “Keep this shit clean, or I’m taking wages for a cleaning fee.” 

“Payback said there’s a bridal party in the house,” Jake said, taking a seat next to Bradley. He was one of the ones who lathered more oil than necessary onto his abdomen, “You know what that means.” 

“Horny middle aged women trying to pull my pants down?” Bradley said, looking up at him. 

“No, more tips man,” Jake rolled his eyes, “Bachelorette girls are fucking crazy. Fucking wink at them and their pulling their panties to the side.” 

Bradley tossed his phone onto the counter in front of him and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair started getting a little long, but the women in the club seemed to dig it. He trimmed up his mustache a bit and put some light makeup over his face. That was another thing Bradley never thought he would do, put makeup on his face. But Declan said it helped bring in tips, so Bradley wasn’t complaining as he put foundation powder on his nose. 

“Declan also wants us to do It’s Raining with the new kid,” Jake said and Bradley groaned. He looked over to the other side of the room where Bob, the newest recruit, was going over the steps to It’s Raining. It used to be a trio between Bradley, Jake and Javy. Bob wasn’t the average looking stripper. He wasn’t supper ripped, or had an oversized ego. He was cute, and had just the right amount of muscle on him. He also looked no older than eighteen, which made the two-time divorced mothers go absolutely feral. 

“Fucking Coyote just had to get a concussion,” Bradley mumbled and pushed himself up from his chair, “What are you doing tonight?” 

“Thinking about a lil Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” Jake smirked at himself, flexing his abs in the mirror. He wore a pair of tight Wranglers with an obnoxious belt buckle. He was shirtless and had a red bandana tied around his neck. He picked up his black cowboy hat from the counter and put it on his head, “What about you? Another 80s rock song?” 

Bradley rolled his eyes, “Not sure yet. Depends on the crowd. If you crash and burn then I know that I shouldn’t do country.” 

“Ha, ha,” It was now Jake who rolled his eyes. He took one glance at himself in the mirror and winked at his reflection, “See you on the flip side, Rooster.” 

— — — 

You hate country music. And what made it even worse was the blonde haired green eyed stripper who was dressed as a cowboy, grinding his junk into your friend’s face. He traded his black cowboy hat for her white one, and pulled her up on the stage. You stifled a laugh as you watched Malia turn as red as a tomato as he dragged her hand down his abs, landing on his crotch. 

So far you had been impressed with the guys that had been up on the stage. You felt a bit uncomfy with the baby-faced one who danced to some remix of Toxic and Pony. He might’ve been slender but he sure could move his hips. You thought Jennifer was nearly going to have an aneurysm for how much she screamed for the stripper’s attention and stuffed money into his jeans. You also found it quite comical how red he turned when he had to push her hands away from him and scramble for his shirt before going off stage. 

“Alright, alright,” The MC, who had introduced himself as Declan said, walked back out on the stage. Your eyebrows raised as you noticed him now wearing a tight pair of leather shorts, “A little birdy told me that we have a bride among us. . .” He talked low and slow, trying to be seductive, but you could not take a man in short shorts seriously, “Where is the lucky lady?” 

“Right here!” Malia said, shooting her hand up. 

Declan’s eyes went to her and he kneeled down right in front of her. Malia blushed profusely and bit her lip, “Your poor husband is going to have to ward off men for the rest of your lives.” You rolled your eyes, “Do you wanna know your surprise?” 

“Oh yes! Yes!” You choked on your whisky at the breathless pleas from Malia. If you didn’t know better you would think she was getting railed instead of standing in front of a forty year old male stripper. Declan smiled and stood up on his feet. 

“Well, ladies, I think you better take cover, would hate for you to get. . .wet. . .” 

“Of fucking course,” You rolled your eyes at the entrance of the song, meanwhile the other girls lost their damn minds. 

Three men stepped out on stage as smoke filled the stage. You recognized the two from earlier, they had changed into black jeans and yellow rain jackets. You had to give it to the Hard Deck dancers, they could actually do more than grind on the ground and do body rolls. You sat back in your chair and watched as the three of them moved on stage, and turned around to face the crowd. Your eyes locked on the tall brunette in the middle with the ridiculous porn stache. He caught your eye and winked at you as he slid forward on his knee, pushing his open raincoat back to show off his abs. 

— — — 

Bradley hated this song more than anything. He thought it was a cliche and Bob was half a count behind. It had been Declan’s idea about a year ago, and it had become almost a weekly thing that they’d do for the bachelorette parties in the club. It wasn’t that Bradley hated sharing the stage with others, it was that when the three of them were on stage, women tended to look at Javy or Jake more. But not her. Her eyes were locked on him, roaming over his abs. He smirked as he moved forward, as Bob and Jake took the sides of the stage. Bradley felt the confidence go through his body as he tossed his head back and held on to the ridiculous yellow rain hat, and thrusted his hips into the air. 

When the song ended, Bradley was out of breath and had probably 200 hundred dollars shoved into his waist band. Jake took extra time getting off stage, enjoying the young women swooning over him, and returned the white cowboy hat back to the bride to be. He knew that she was engaged but he couldn’t help that electric feeling when she placed a quick kiss on his cheek before placing his cowboy hat on his head. 

“Did I do alright?” Bob asked, huffing and puffing for air. He grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge and handed one to Jake and Bradley, “I know that’s yours and Javy’s thing.” 

“You did alright, Floyd,” Jake said and took a gulp of water, “It’s just this part. . .” 

Bradley ignored whatever Jake was explaining to Bob about the dance and walked over to the DJ booth, telling him what song he was going to do tonight. He had spent the last two weeks working on it, and it was Declan approved yet, but Bradley didn’t care. He knew that it would catch the eye of the girl in the crowd again. 

Bradley quickly wiped the sweat off his body, and change out of his yellow rain jacket, deciding to just go without a shirt. He peaked out from behind the black curtains and noticed her still in her spot, a bit behind the group of young women who stared up at Fanboy with wide eyes like kids on christmas. She looked bored and for whatever reason, that spurred Bradley on even more. 

Call it what you want, but Bradley Bradshaw liked women who could give him a run for his money. 

Fanboy walked off the stage giggling, running a hand through his curls. That was one thing that Bradley liked about Fanboy, he was the comedic relief they all needed sometimes. He told Bradley to break a leg and patted his shoulder before dipping back into the dressing room. Bradley let out a breath and shook out his shoulders as his song started. He nodded his head to the beat and when the guitar started strumming he walked out on stage. 

He could hear the whistles and cheers of the women, but he wondered if she was cheering for him. The DJ had placed a black chair in the middle of the stage for Bradley to use. Usually, he’d pick a girl from the audience to sit in it, but it didn’t feel right unless he was picking her. 

Bradley closed his eyes as the voice of Alex Turner filled his head. His body moved with muscle memory as he struted around stage, using the chair to his advantage. He opened his eyes as he turned the chair around backwards and sat down, rolling his hips as he did. She still had that same bored expression on her face and it fired him up even more. 

He wasn’t sure what caused him to do it, maybe it was the eye roll or maybe it was the way she sipped whisky from a rocks glass, but he jumped off the stage and swaggered his way over to her. The same bored expression never leaving her face as he flooded her personal space. 

— — — 

Malia’s jaw hit the floor as the porn stached man jumped off the stage and walked right to you. You clenched your jaw and tightened your grip on the glass. He was skilled, clearly spending more time practicing his routines than anyone else here. You wondered if maybe he was an actual dancer before he decided to strip. 

He was intoxicating and you thought his song choice was interesting. You sucked in a breath as he stood in front of you, he rolled his hips, pushing his junk towards your face, but you kept your eyes trained on his face. His eyes were dark, but you could see that they were honey brown. He smirked as he dropped to his knees in front of you. And damn you for opening your legs for him to slot in between them. 

You knew the rule of the strip club, no touching costumers unless they consent, and he did a good job at remembering that. He placed his hands on either side of your chair as he lowered his head towards your lap and snaked his body back up to look at you. He was trying to get a rise out of you, to see you break and stick money into his waistline. But you were not about to give him that satisfaction. 

‘Crawlin back to you, never thought I’d call’ 

He was going to push the limits, you could tell by the smirk on his face as he grabbed your glass of whisky from your hand, and took a drink. There was a glint in his eye and you nodded your head subtly, giving him permission. He grabbed your jaw, digging his fingers lightly into the skin to get you to open your mouth.

You kept eye contact with him as he spit the brown liquid back into your mouth. You swallowed without a second thought, your eyes on him the whole time. He smirked and wiped a dribble of whisky from your lip before setting the glass back in your hand and going back to the stage, making sure to put an extra swing into his hips. 

“Dude!” Malia swatted your arm, snapping you out of your trance, as the Arctic Monkeys' song came to an end, “What the hell was that!” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at your now empty drink and then back at your friend, “I’m not entirely sure. . .but I liked it.”

to be tagged filled out the taglist form:)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[fiasco95]

Streamer!Regulus & James’ relationship isn’t a secret but private. They’ve been dating for 6 years and their community knows they’re together but they both never confirmed it officially. Well until…

Chat: Where were you?? Are you okay?? You were gone for 4 days!!!

Streamer!Regulus: Yeah, sorry I was getting married.

At the same time…

Streamer!James: Oh!! Sorry, everyone. I was getting married to the love of my life! But hey, we’re back!

Chat:

The internet:

Both their communities:

Both their communities: WHAT?!???

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[soulftie]

One word, one feeling: speechless 😍

Send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it

You Did All Of This...For Me? But Why? Why Would You Do That?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @topmagtiger @ireadfanfictionontheweekends @flopiboni @evee87

Nolan doesn’t celebrate his birthday, he hasn’t for a couple of years now. People think it’s because he hates the idea of getting older but the truth is there’s never been anyone special in his life to share it with. His relationships have always been casual and his friends are the type you talk law review with, they’re more likely to stab you in the back so they can hijack your case than raise a glass to your success.

When he walks into his office that morning, he doesn’t expect the balloons tied to his chair, the birthday banner strung up across his book shelves or the brightly coloured confetti sprinkled across his desk. There’s gift bag perched in the centre of his desk alongside a cake with his name written neatly on it.

He finds himself smiling despite himself because he knows exactly who the culprit is.  He’d let slip by accident that he had a birthday coming up and you’d been appalled that he was going to spend the day like any other. You’d coerced him into dinner that evening, somewhere expensive on you. He’d tried to protest but you weren’t having any of it.

He spends the rest of the day with a lightness in his chest because all of this, it’s evidence that someone cares about him, that someone wants to put their time and their effort into him.

“Why? Why would you do all that?” He asks you over the best pasta in New York that night. “I don’t understand why you would go to all that trouble.”

“Yea you do.” You say, your eyes locked on his as you take a sip from your wine glass. He shakes his head and you sigh as you set the glass back down again. Your hand comes to rest on his, thumb chasing over the hollow of his wrist as you lean in close and say.

“I’m in love with you Nolan, I thought you would have worked that out by now.”

Love Nolan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[chinelacanta]

i just know he’d be a really awkward but supportive dad (< delusional)

[foolishlovers]

anything can be a good omens au if you’re unhinged enough

[khruschevshoe]

There's just something very specific about homoerotic character-enveloping friendships from around 2010 where they're semi-aware that gay people exist but queerbaiting isn't quite a thing yet sp their relationship consumes the narrative and changes them both irrevocably forever and they end in tragedy but the ending is JUST open enough for the fic writers to wriggle into that just makes me go fucking FERAL