#imagine if he at least had 1 friend that was none of the above

[hannibard]

I think Will Graham's problem is that he's constantly surrounded by only 4 groups of people: therapists, serial killers, cops and dogs. No wonder he ended up like That.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (2)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer’s late-night endeavor is teased as a new case arises. wc: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ content, graphic detail of murder

A/n: thank you for all the love it’s very much appreciated! also i want to remind you that this will be a long series, but if you like a murder mystery with a hint of humor and smut, then by all means please continue :3

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

BEING CALLED IN AT NIGHT WAS SOMETHING SPENCER WAS USED TO. It was part of his job. The moment he accepted to be part of the Behavior Analysis Unit at Quantico, he knew the downside of it all. The long hours and pressure to perform the job while working with some of the most dangerous and violent individuals could potentially affect him physically and mentally.

But above all that, he always looked at the bigger picture. His job was to bring justice by catching all the perpetrators of each crime he was assigned with. It was a very dangerous job yet he couldn't imagine his life without lending in his time and intelligence to catch the 'bad guys on the loose'—as Garcia would often put it. So having his dearest friend call him at two o'clock in the morning was something that occasionally occurred. He really didn't mind it.

Until tonight.

For the first time in his eleven years working as an FBI agent, Spencer wished the bad news could wait at least in the morning. By then he would have more time to spend his night with the most irresistible woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

He shook his head. Guilt was a complex, powerful emotion and it was what he was feeling right now. A dead body was found and all he could think about was the beautiful stranger who was now more than an enigma than she ever was. Even when he had seen her in her barest form, tucked underneath his warm body. Even when his hands had roamed around every corner of her luscious curves, her desperate moan sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears.

God, he needed a drink. No, not alcohol, he wasn't one to drink liquor anyway. Well, excluding a few hours ago when sitting all alone waiting for his friends without holding any type of alcoholic drink seemed rather uncommon. He was already feeling out of place the moment he entered the dimly lit bar, his eyes scanning for any familiar faces but being greeted by none.

So ordering a bottle of cold beer seemed ideal as he sat by the bar on his own. He didn't even drink the whole liquid, merely gulping a sip or two before it became a mere prop for blending in with the crowd.

If it wasn’t for Garcia coaxing him into joining her and the girls for a night out in the city, Spencer would still be at the office, his nose buried in the paperwork he needed to finish. But Penelope Garcia was a force not to be underrated. She had a way with words and persuasion, thus Spencer found himself agreeing to spend the night with his peers.

Besides, he enjoyed being around them. He considered the people he worked with as more than mere colleagues. He had spent so much time with them that the bond developed was incredibly special and strong. He considered them as a sort of dysfunctional family in some ways, but it was a family nonetheless. It was a very unique relationship and a special one that he took pride in working with and he was very grateful to be a part of it.

But it didn't stop him from being mad at the fact they had bailed on him at the very last minute.

Fine—a little bit mad. They all seemed to have good excuses for their sudden absence. JJ had to drive back home for her sick son, Prentiss was called back into the office by their unit chief Hotch, and Garcia... well, her answer was pretty vague. All she had said over her frantic call was, "I'm so sorry, boy genius, I need to take a rain check tonight. I'll call you later!"

Then Spencer found himself in a situation he would never imagine being, sitting by himself at the most sociable place he could ever think of.

He needed to leave. The music bouncing over the stereo suddenly sounded too loud, and even though there weren't too many people inside the place, it was still enough to make his demeanor shut down from the several conversations floating in the air.

And don't get him started on the number of pathogens clinging to every nook and corner of this place. He shuddered at that thought as he once again wiped down the bar surface with another pile of napkins he requested from the bartender, who by the looks of it, was starting to eye him with annoyance.

A man suddenly pushed him from behind and went on his way without apologizing. Spencer made a mental note to never agree to another social request without a companion at his arrival. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

His fingers hastily tightened around the strap of his bag, ready to flee the scene when a sudden faint scent of chocolate fluttered through his nose.

Delicious, mouth-watering chocolate.

Spencer had always been conscious of his surroundings. The nerves in his brain would work their way into absorbing all kinds of entities that triggered his senses, and chocolate was a scent he could easily make out.

Chocolate smelled like... well, heaven. It had a sweet, decadent scent that was just divine, triggering all sorts of happy, positive emotions and reactions. He could point out a lot of facts about why roasted cocoa could trigger serotonin throughout one's body, but his brain was too busy trying to pinpoint the source of its scent.

Then he felt movement to his right and the scent lingered around the air like a delicious blanket coating his senses. And there she was—looking divinely gorgeous like heaven on a pair of legs.

Spencer knew there was no singular answer to describe one's beauty, as beauty was subjective and could be defined differently by each person. He also considered himself being very old-school as he perceived beauty through kindness and intelligence. Yet he was still a hot-blooded man and he wasn't going to lie; the woman sitting in front of him was physically attractive and pleasing to the eye.

The way her eyes lit up as they settled on him tightened the knot in his stomach. He might not have much experience with the opposite sex, but he knew when one was interested in his presence, and with that thought in mind he felt rather pleased and flattered.

His eyes roamed around her features; her glazed eyes, her high cheekbones, the delicate shape of her nose, and her plump lips that seemed to look so soft. It wasn't until later in the night he came to the conclusion that they were much softer than they looked. Because tasting her mouth was completely different than simply staring at it.

Spencer didn't know how touch-starved he was until he pressed his lips onto hers, lips that were incredibly soft yet turned every inch of his body very hard. He felt immensely dizzy with need as he nipped her bottom lip, feeling intoxicated each time she squirmed in his arms, her soft body pressing against him, making it more and more difficult to clear his mind with her hands between his legs—

"Late night?"

Spencer looked up. He could feel the blush creeping along his cheeks as if being caught having these inappropriate thoughts. Derek Morgan stood by his side, eying the amount of sugar stashed into the cup of coffee in his hand. To be fair, he really did need something that could wake him up and break him from going down memory lane again.

"Very," he murmured. He proceeded by mixing his caffeine with a spoon, unaware of how Morgan was watching him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"My man," Morgan teased. Spencer sensed the taunting edge in his voice and turned around.

On a normal occasion, he would deny the suggestive tone Morgan would often taunt. His friend had a way of teasing him in what seemed to be simply goodhearted banter. But Spencer wasn't exactly a good liar. He was already quite flustered by the topic of conversation and the moment he opened his mouth, he knew he would only make things worse.

So instead he kept his silence and sipped on his drink, ignoring the grin plastered on Morgan's face as if an epiphany had aroused him in his wake.

"My man," Morgan repeated, wrapping a playful arm around his shoulders. "What has kept the young Dr. Reid awake on this lovely night?"

He shoved his arm away. "I wouldn't consider myself youthful anymore."

Morgan snickered. "You're the baby of the team." Then to annoy him even further, he added, “Kid.”

"I'm thirty-six." Spencer frowned as they climbed their way toward the conference room. "You know, men in their mid-thirties have prefrontal cortexes that are fully developed and they have a lot more experience throughout their lives. Their body is also fully functional so they—I am most definitely a mature, fully grown adult."

"Do you know what else they say about men being in their thirties?" Morgan threw him another one of his grins. "A very high sex drive."

"Actually, studies show that 30% of healthy people aged between 65-74 still enjoy sexual intercourse weekly."

Morgan groaned. "Don't give me that mental image."

"Reid!"

The two men turned to see Garcia scurrying towards them. How she still conjured so much energy at this time of hour would always be a mystery to him. The determined look on her face reminded him of their last conversation on the phone and Spencer quickly turned away, walking into the empty conference room before sitting himself by the round table.

Noticing the weird interaction between his two friends, Morgan threw Garcia a questioning look. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what's going on." She hurriedly entered the room and grabbed the remote control sitting in the middle of the table. She poked Spencer with the device. "This boy right here decided he's too cool to hang out with us."

"Garcia, you're the one who bailed on me."

"So not the point," she deadpanned. "My question is, when are you going to introduce us to your girlfriend? I didn't even know you were dating."

Morgan's brows shot up as he took a seat beside him. "Girlfriend?"

Spencer looked down as she went on, "Imagine my surprise when he answered my call and there was a woman's voice in the background. At this hour."

Morgan laughed at her emphasis on the time because it was common knowledge only certain things happen this late. Especially with an alleged female company. "Really?"

Disliking the way he was thrown into the spotlight, Spencer leaned in his chair and crossed his arms defensively. "She's not my girlfriend."

That statement only raised their interest even further.

"Oh?" That was Morgan.

"You naughty minx." That was Garcia. "Since when have you been seeing her?"

Spencer had two options. He could ignore their curiosity and remain silent, or he could flat-out give them a lie. He looked between the interest on their face and decided he couldn't escape their probing curiosity, so he answered in a very low voice, "Tonight."

"Tonight?" Garcia asked in disbelief. "Wait—didn't you go to the bar earlier?"

"Yes, before everyone ditched me."

"Oh my god," Garcia squealed in surprise. "Dr. Reid, did you spend the night with a stranger?"

There was a long pause as the grip around his mug tightened. Morgan let out a choked laugh. "My man."

"Stop saying that," Spencer muttered, his lips inches away from his steaming cup.

"I can't believe this," Garcia gasped between her giggles, clearly fascinated by this new information. "Our resident boy genius is actually a Casanova in disguise."

"Who's a Casanova?"

The three of them turned to see Emily Prentiss walking into the room followed by a very curious David Rossi. His other colleagues clearly didn't hear the beginning half of their conversation and Spencer wanted to make sure it remained that way.

He casually took a sip of his drink and replied, "Giacomo Casanova. A famous Italian adventurer and author in the 18th century. He became famous for his often complicated and elaborate affairs with women."

Prentiss scoffed as she and Rossi sat down by the table. "I know who Casanova is, I'm asking who is a Casanova."

An awkward silence settled in the room. Spencer shifted in his seat. He really, really didn't want to deal with this. Spending a very intimate night with a stranger wasn't something he would like to discuss in front of his peers. Ever.

He could feel the heavy weight of everyone's eyes and the blush slowly creeping along his cheeks when Derek stepped in, giving the room one of his charming smiles. "We were talking about me."

"You?" Prentiss quirked one of her eyebrows in mocked surprise. "I don't think your girlfriend would be happy with that."

Morgan easily laughed. "We were discussing my old Casanova days."

"Yeah," Garcia interjected. "We were talking about how bad his choices of female friends were."

"Hey!"

"Until now." She gave him a toothy grin. "We love Savannah."

Morgan rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He caught Spencer staring at him with a grateful smile and returned the gesture with an understanding nod. Spencer relaxed as the conversation rolled by and the topic of his secret escapade was long forgotten.

For now.

JJ, another member of the team, entered the room a few minutes later with a huge smile. Then the moment their unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, followed behind, everyone knew it was back to business.

Spencer placed his mug down on the table and focused his attention on the case at hand.

"Alright, so." Garcia pointed the remote towards the black screen and a moment later, gruesome pictures of a murder scene were presented in different angles. The picture of the male body covered in blood greeted them before a passport shot of a middle-aged man smiling happily at the camera was shown. "Fifty-six-year-old Kevin Marshall, a corporate lawyer, was found dead at his home by his secretary."

"At home?" Derek wondered. "Were there no security?"

"There was a sudden blackout going on in the neighborhood for about seven minutes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at that time of hour. His wife and kids were visiting her parents and Mr. Marshall was at home finishing some work. It wasn't later on when he didn't answer his calls that his secretary found him lying in his office with several stab wounds."

"Time of death?" JJ questioned.

"A quarter past midnight." Garcia clicked on her device before another detailed picture of the scene was zoomed in on the screen. "And this was found—no, carved on his back."

The picture had a clear shot of the wound on the victim's back, a sloppy carved-out handwriting slashed across his skin. Spencer narrowed his eyes. "Exodus 20:13," he read, his brain already discerning the meaning of the words. "Thou shalt not kill."

"Quite ironic, don't you think? Given the way the Unsub just brutally acted out his assault," Prentiss wondered out loud.

"The verse might actually tie with the murder into this god-given right for someone to bear arms. The Unsub probably feels justified in murdering the victim because he feels that this man is a sinner, thus he must kill him in the name of the Almighty."

"So, what? Are we looking for a religious vigilante?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Hotch looked over his team and assigned everyone their work. "Since the crime scene is a mere hour away, Morgan can investigate the crime scene with JJ. Reid, go with Rossi to check the autopsy report. Prentiss and I will be here for his family as they're flying straight from Michigan."

"What can I do to help, sir?"

Hotch gave Garcia a pointed look. "Find everything you can on Kevin Marshall. Bank accounts, purchase records, extended family, and also the people he worked with. Report to me when you find something suspicious. Anything."

"Right." She nodded. "Anything."

"And find any possible matches from old cases that have anything to do with carving on body parts. Solved or unsolved."

"Carving on body parts. Got it."

Everyone started scattering around the room, ready to start the investigation. And although his mind somehow drifted back to soft lips and the scent of sweet chocolate, Spencer pushed them away, gulping the last drip of the sweetest coffee he had ever made as if he was draining down all these inappropriate images running through his mind.

It was not the time.

>> NEXT PART

[aseaofyoongi]

behind pixels 1 | jjk

jjk x reader (f)

genre: sex worker au (jk)

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: with rising stress, being caught touching yourself and no satisfaction for your own imagination you decide to take your friends advice of using a certain little app for assistance.

warnings: not another college smut au . . you guessed it lol; foul language; sensual/dirty talk; masturbation; computer sex; strangers to sex worker jk helping you out for the night lol (pls stay safe of the world wide web yall); mentions of sexual intercourse - but ofc there is none; cum eating. . she licks her fingers after.. yeah; open ending and no preparation for a pt. 2 so dont hate me.

next part: behins pixels the sequel

word count: 3,3 thousand words

posted: april 8th, 2023

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BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

Is this your first time

here?

Sorta.

You can’t sorta be

here for the first time.

It's a yes or no question.

I thought this site was

no questions asked. No

strings attached?

You against conversation

or something? Desperate

to get right to it?

Not desperate. . but that is

what we’re here for.

Right bunny boy?

Right.

There was a second of silence in between messages. For a brief moment you interpreted his quietness as a goodbye but he was still online. . Perhaps, he thought you to be too straightforward and that turned him off entirely and he moved on to the next user.

Still, there was a faint hope within you that he would reply so you sat in the dead stillness of your room, lights turned off to avoid recognition, door locked with only your undergarments to hug your body.

Typically, this wouldn’t be the event to make-up your Friday night however stressed induced days. . and the simple fact that you were in a torment of arousal twenty-four seven with no further satisfaction stemming from the guidance your imagination had on your fingers.

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

You sat up on the bed in anticipation of his reply even though you'd never admit it to the stranger on the other side of the screen. He was about to help you get off, so you were definitely at the gates of desperation. It trickled all throughout your body as if a rain cloud sat right above you drenching you in its honeyed ardor.

Your skin turned to goosebumps as the chat bubble continued appearing and disappearing again and again.

Fine. But at least

tell me how you

found me.

I wasn’t specifically

searching for you.

Then who?

Anyone really.

Ouch. You know

I actually felt a bit

special for a second.

You still should. You’re

description helped me

choose you.

Be honest, was it

the tattoos?

If I say maybe would

you be mad at me?

Not at all.

Then, yes.

Plus your description

says you have long hair.

Who was the

runner-up?

Someone named Tae. But

I remembered a friend

visits him often.

So you found out

about us through

a friend?

Yes.

We can do either a

video call or messages.

Which do you prefer?

Video call.

If you’re up for it.

I’m OK with it

as long as you are.

I’ll call you in 5.

I’ll be here.

The rippling anticipation waved through you like electric currents rumbling your entire being right off its course. Though, BunnyBoy98 was a complete stranger you were minutes away from stripping yourself of every bit of shame and vulnerability right before him.

You couldn’t believe you actually went through with it.

And it all began about a week prior. When your friend had walked in on you in a . . less than ideal situation. You succumbed to the pleasure of your favorite toy, legs stretched wide and completely bare on your bottom half. Overcome in the feeling as you maintain focus on chasing your own orgasm. You remember hearing the hinges on the door creak but you weren’t expecting anyone so you remained painting a fervor image behind your eyelids. Envisioning slender fingers being pumped in and out of you repeatedly.

There were beads of sweat strolling down your body as you were in position; about to be catapulted into outer space. The atmosphere you set for yourself was serene and the only sounds that could be heard were your occasional whimpers and the music that played softly in the background. Everything drove you closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

Where you needed to be.

You were so close then a gasp inundated the air around you. A gasp that most certainly did not come from you.

“What the fuck?” You shot your eyes open and quickly saw your friend buried into a corner near the door. She faced the wall but you could only imagine the revolted look on her face, “can you lock the door next time?”

“Oh my,” you quickly pulled the covers over your sweaty body, “can you knock next time?”

“I did knock,” she yelled back, “but you were a little busy.”

“So you just barge in?”

“I thought you might have been dead in the toilet or something,” she shrugged and turned back around to find you sprawled in your bed, “oh, you’re done?”

“What do you think?”

“I mean don’t stop on my account. We all do it,” she sat across from your bed and began spinning around on your computer chair, “I personally like to meet Tae when I’m in the mood but you know this all works too.”

“Who’s Tae?” you questioned sitting up in the bed; wrapping your bed sheets around your figure tightly.

“He’s from this app where guys kinda help girls get off,” she said it so casually you almost didn’t fully decipher the words escaping her lips.

“There’s an app for that?”

“It’s the twenty-first century there’s literally an app for everything.”

You cleared your throat, “is it safe?”

“Are you interested?” she waggled her brows.

“No,” you scoffed, “did you need something?”

“I can’t come over just to spend time?” she shook her head, “I should’ve let you finish. Maybe you would have been in a better mood.”

“Fuck you,” you giggled.

“At least use this next time,” your phone dinged after she quickly sent you a text, “let me know how it goes.”

Her exit was barely audible. You were too preoccupied studying the link she sent for the app called ‘Eargasm An App for Women in Need.’

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

I’m ready.

Can I call you?

Yeah.

You can call.

The ringtone echoing amongst your walls was taunting, and your nerves nearly fooled you into letting it ring. And while it took a lot of physical and mental strength to actually pick your hand up and move it towards the mouse pad you were finally able to press the green button lighting up your screen.

BunnyBoy98 sat up against a wall; glowing under blue LED lights. His black hair was long as detailed in his description and it sat right above his shoulders. Though it was hard to tell under the stark ambiance his eyes mimicked the tint of chocolate and his piercing stare was aimed at you on the other side of the screen. . Well, it was actually aimed at your dark screen. Though, it was selfish of you, as you hid cowardly behind your turned off camera you wished he would remove the black mask hiding the bottom half of his face.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you murmured, perhaps a bit scared that someone might hear this interaction play out although no one would. You made sure your door was locked this time and you didn’t even have a roommate. “Should I continue calling you BunnyBoy or is there something else you prefer to be called?”

“You can call me JK,” his voice was sultry, soothing, grave. Somehow a mixture of all three in one; it vibrated in your inner ear like some sort of an invasively soft tune, one you know you’d be replaying many times after tonight.

“Sorry about the dark screen,” you attempted to swallow down any ounce of nervousness, “I guess you can say I’m a bit nervous.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” his reassurance quickly eased your frazzled nerves, “though I’ll admit you did sound a bit more assertive over messages.”

“I tend to come off over-confident through texts,” you snickered, “it’s a natural flaw.”

“Confidence is sexy so I would say it’s a blessing.”

The word sexy sounded so enticing coming from his lips even as they were hidden behind that damned black cloth. You roamed through countless fantasies of the man sitting right before you, about the way he possibly looked without being covered; how his touch might feel on your scorching skin and the tone of his whispers closer in the proximity of your ear.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he voice was playful, but it was so hard to read his expression behind his covered face, “have you begun having fun without me?”

“No,” you mumbled, “I haven’t.”

“Good,” he said, “why don’t you tell me what you like.”

“Like during. .” you drifted off.

He nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear, “What else are we here for darling?”

“Yes. Of course,” you huffed, slapping your palm on your forehead undoubtedly astounded by your own stupidity, “Uh, I like. .” You gave it some thought but kept rounding the same corners leading to you cluelessness, “I’m not sure I know what I like.”

“Forgive me for being blunt but have you touched yourself recently?”

“That’s the exact reason why I ended up here.”

“You’re addicted to masturbating?” He whispered as if he was keeping some big secret.

“No!” you answered back quickly, “Not at all. I’ve just been a bit stressed lately and well. . something else happened.”

“What happened?”

“My friend kinda walked in on me,” you whispered.

“It happens to the best of us sadly,” he chuckled, a sound so beautiful and gentle it matched the soft tune of songbirds in the morning, “how about you begin by telling me about the last time you were aroused. Just walk me through whatever got you in the mood that day.”

You closed your eyes leaning your head against the headboard. Your thoughts traveled back to a couple of days prior when your body sunk into the mattress under the hex of your fingertips. You were stripped down bare but you recalled the way every inch of your body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I had just gotten home after my classes,” a small white lie was the price to pay to save any once of dignity you had left in the eyes of the stranger before you — in reality, that very day and every other day you’d found yourself under the amorous touches of your sinful fantasies whenever you saw him, the boy employed at the campus student center.

You didn’t know his name and in reality he only lived in your mind in small flashes. The first polaroid was composed of his cheeky smile framed by indents of his round cheeks. While other snap shots focused on the way he always wore in a half up half down style or a bun; others were centered around the numerous tattoos inked into his right arm, especially the snake sitting right above his wrist and the patchwork tattoos on the dorsal side of his hand.

“Were you thinking about someone?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing?”

There was a rush of heat traveling through you as you recalled the way you dreamt up his touch against your body, the way his fingers left behind trails of goosebumps on your skin.

“First he began touching me softly,” It was like your body was on auto drive and before you knew it you set the laptop beside you on the bed and began getting comfortable on the bed.

“Was he touching you anywhere specific?”

You hummed in response, “he drew all kinds of figures into my inner thigh, kept inching closer and closer and then he would pull away abruptly.”

“Did you enjoy him pulling away?”

“Yes, it made me want it more.”

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you to do a couple of things. If you don’t want to do something just tell me. I’m here for your pleasure.”

You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you, “Yea, that’s fine.”

A strain of the jitters ate away at your nerves and you weren’t sure if you’d ever come down from that rollercoaster of anxiety. You were sitting at the peak in a single-person cart waiting to be plummeted down the valley of the tracks leading you to the finale; the culmination of an enticing ride.

“Are you naked?”

“Somewhat.”

“Take it all off.”

Even in the stillness of darkness removing your bra and panties made you feel entirely vulnerable. You were technically alone but JK was right there just a couple of pixels away.

“Close your eyes, doll. I want you to begin touching yourself just wherever it feels good,” he instructed and you weren’t sure if it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could’ve sworn his voice became more bass, “start high and slowly make your way down to your breasts. When you’re there let me know.”

His words were tainted with sin meanwhile he still sat back nonchalantly. You'd imagined he was satisfied in the way your soft whimpers overtook the air as you began pinching your perked nipples but you couldn’t tell for sure not while he still wore his mask.

“I’m assuming you’ve made it.” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re not very good at following instructions. Are you, doll?” he rolled up the sleeves of his crewneck, finally exposing the infamous tattoos he detailed in his description. They were like pieces of artwork adorning his entire arm, not a single spot was left visible—and as much as you tried to get a better look at them for some reason you found it impossible to focus on just one.

“Sorry,” you muttered once again, “I was caught up in the moment I guess.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he offered, “but I need you to be vocal since I can’t exactly see you.”

“I’ll be more vocal. I promise,” you said, still toying with your nipples in between your fingers, “right now my hands are still at my tits.”

“Are you bored of that yet, doll?” the onset of his tumultuous utter; it was thunderous, like music for the soul, “you wanna aim lower?”

“Yes.”

“With the tips of your fingers I want you to move down your cleavage,” he said, “and stop right at your pelvis.”

Quickly, it felt like the evening had rushed by and the sun had been relocated right beside your bed. Though you complied with his command any form of coherent words became jammed in your throat incapable of rolling off your tongue.

The way your fingers slid past your folds earned a string of whimpers from your lips earning a satisfied titter from JK on the other side of the screen.

“Nice and slow, doll,” JK said, “be gentle but I want you to apply a bit of pressure every time your fingers meet your clit.”

JK’s voice was no longer muffled from the laptop’s static microphone. Instead in this version of your altered reality he was laying right beside you on your bed, and his fingers substituted yours against your cunt. His touch contained something yours simply did not possess, composed of a sort of spell that left you babbling moans. And as his fingers traced whichever incoherence they wanted into your clit you felt closer to your pinnacle.

“Fuck,” he stuttered, “I love the way you say my name.”

The bubbling daringness dazed with pleasure drove you to chant his name over and over in between your pants and obscenities. “You have no idea the things I would do for you to fuck me right now,” It was your best attempt at trying to break past his professional shell — His head fell back against the wall as his adam’s apple bobbed up and up, his eyes were shut tightly and his hands fidgeted with something off frame.

“You have no idea how much I’d love to fuck you but this is a contactless doll,” his breathing became uneven, “I’m afraid we could never meet. You could never know who I am and I could never know who you are.”

“N-never say never,” the contract enforced by the site was clear and simple, both parties must grant their consent to the meeting online without disclosing their identities. For safety measures you understood the implications of the rules applied but what of it when you genuinely just wanted to meet the dulcet stranger and ride along him for the wildest time of your life.

“Just focus on the feeling,” his voice was rugged; raspy as a result of the groans he sang into the air, “Focus on that shiver taking your back hostage and that very knot tightening in your core. I want you to only let your thoughts be consumed by that very feeling.”

You sat up using your elbow for support, still thriving to maintain the mental image of having JK near in curated colors. Again, you were in the presence of the man dipping the mattress beside you as he laid down with eyes to scorching their umber tone surrounding you in warmth.

“Now, finger yourself.”

The squelching sound of your finger pushing past your entrance had JK sitting up straight like he was intrigued by your facile compliance but you thought it was obvious that by now there was very little you wouldn’t do as long as it came from him.

“I wish I could see you doll,” he confessed, “I bet you look heavenly with your fingers inside of you.”

“C-contactless r-remember,” The motion living up to your satisfaction was hastened —you became divulged in the feeling of your walls on your fingers. You felt soft, warm, tight. All of the sensations combined to create a feeling so addicting your fingers developed a mind of their own as you drove themselves in and out of you with ease.

“Right. .”

“Fuck, this f-feels,” you swallowed to ease the desert developing in the back of your throat, “it feels s-so fucking good.”

“If I were there,” he mumbled, barely audible but your ears still perked up at the lulls of his voice, “First, I would serenade every inch of your skin. Your body would be the portrait I’d paint with my lips.”

“Mhm. .”

“I would cherish your body so well. Eat you out until your legs shake and fuck you until you’re a candid mess.”

“O-oh, fuck! JK don’t stop.”

“I would fuck you so well, doll.”

“I-I’m so close,” your arm became numbed yet, you kept fucking yourself with your fingers still succumbing to the fantasy of having JK in replacement of your own hand.

The temperature in your room draws beads of sweat on your body and the more you strive to reach your high the more scorching the temperature becomes. The creaking of your bed accentuated the speed of your movements, it was like a song featuring your constant moans.

“Until you’re babbling nonsense, and your headboard is marking up the wall and the neighbors finally know my name.”

JK’s words were laced with a delectable nectar, so sweet, a once off taste wasn’t enough and as you pleaded for more and he complied, continuing to fill your ears with sinful promises you crashed hard. Coming in spurts of white coating your fingers.

“I have a surprise for you,” you panted in between almost every word, “you ready?”

He nodded.

Call it post orgasm tipsiness but after sitting up a bit and adjusting the laptop to leave anything that wasn’t your mouth out of frame you turned on your camera for the very first time that night, pushing your glistening fingers which once invaded your walls past your swollen lips.

His hands rose to his hair and he slithered his fingers through it lightly before gripping his roots into his fists looking a fair amount aroused and frustrated. The tattoos you desperately wanted a peek of were finally on full display. After turning off your camera once again and JK began uttering praises your way, you began scanning the ink on his arm from his forearm up slowly. The artwork adorned his skin beautifully.

As you neared his wrists you noticed a very similar serpentine snake—one who you have stared at too often.

“Typically, things here are a bit different,” you finally registered his voice, “you would turn on your camera and I would provide more detailed assistance but I hope you still had a good time. I did.”

“Yeah,” your mind was in outer space, “I had a really good time.”

“Don’t shy away from visiting me again, OK?”

“Yeah,” you said, “bye, JK.”

Once the camera was off and you shut your laptop tightly, coming to the realization.

JK was him.

The boy, your boy from the student center.

-

-

-

an: i was bored and im so sorry lol

reblogs, likes, comments, replies are always appreciated 🫶🏽

[sykokilljoyy]

secrets - wroetoshaw imagine

request: none! however it does kind of link to a few :p words: 1538 warnings: little bit embarrassing i can't lie. implied smut, allusions to sex, but generally just a lot of second hand embarrassment.

tl;dr: harry and y/n have been seeing each other for a while, but the secret's out when harry accidentally exposes some very intimate truths

“Come on, Harry,” Simon laughed, glee written all over his features. He holds onto JJ for support, who chuckled beside him.

“Boys, this is awful!” Harry‘s cheeks were burning, laughing along in front of the camera, which was setup haphazardly on the astro-turf football pitch.

“You said you would do it!” Ethan yelled playfully, holding his friend to his word, “At least give us odds.”

“Fine. Odds of 1-10,” Harry sighed.

It was just a stupid forfeit. He’d accidentally hit the goalpost and due to the rules of the Sidemen Sunday, he would have to do the next 3 penalties with his shirt off. It was the middle of January, so the bite of cold was nipping at his neck already, intruding through his layers of clothing.

“Bet,” Ethan giggled from behind the camera.

“Alright, boys,” Simon called, “3…2…1…”

“Six.”

“Six.”

“Fuck!” Harry cursed, a pit of nervousness pooling in his stomach.

The boisterous whoops and laughs from his friends helped to spur him on a little, but he had never been very confident in front of the camera, let alone topless in the middle of winter, outside the safety confines of his flat. A little part of him was beyond thankful that you were here, tucked behind the camera to help with filming. None of the boys knew, but Harry and yourself had been seeing each other in secret.

It started with just hanging out after filming every so often, grabbing lunch or rides home, just enjoying getting to know each other as a little more than acquaintances. This, however, turned quickly into a couple dates, which fell into long nights and messy mornings, legs tangled in his bed and hands reaching to wherever they could. Not that either of you were ashamed of the other, but there was a certain thrill of keeping it all under the covers that neither were fast to get rid of.

“Come on, Bog,” Ethan hollered. This triggered a wave of ceremonious chants, something along the lines of ‘get your tits out’ from his friends.

Sighing in defeat, Harry shook his jacket off hastily, presuming that if he just gets it over and done with, it’ll be less mortifying. Cheers continued until he was down to his last layer, only himself noting the memory of you wearing this exact t-shirt in his flat the night before, he tried not to think of the fact it still smelt like you.

As his lifted the shirt above his head, the blush dusted upon his freckled shoulders very visible, silence fell on the group. Now, it really wasn’t often that this hyper group of men were dead silent, but after seeing the litter of hickeys cascading down Harry’s chest, sensual scratches marking the skin of his back – a pin could drop and it would sound like something nuclear.

Behind the camera, you blushed deeply, pulling the hem of your hoodie to your nose to hide it. Your eyes followed the lines of the scratches on his back, the memories of the night before still more than fresh in your mind. Averting your gaze to the floor, you could feel your cheeks on fire. Luckily, your friends were all too distracted to notice.

“What?” Harry was immediately self-conscious at the unexpected reaction, pulling his shirt to his chest to cover himself. It was only when he caught a glimpse of something crimson, that it clicked.

“Oh fuck!”

Ethan was the first to laugh, a cackle that broke the shocked tension, the dam of silence bursting open as all of his friends jump to embarrass him.

It was a perfect overreaction, realistically it was only a couple hickeys and such, but as Harry had been historically private about his love life to his friends, this was an ideal opportunity to grill the youngest Sideman.

“Are you dating a vampire or something?” Josh joked first, earning a robust reaction from the group. Followed by waves of playful digs at the already embarrassed blonde boy, who was sheepishly pulling his shirt back over his chest.

“Who knew Harry was getting laid so much?” JJ was flabbergasted, playing up to the camera for a reaction.

“Seems like a very satisfied customer,” Simon chuckled, ruffling Harry’s hair – much to his discomfort, he pouted like a kid.

“Ask her yourself, isn’t that right, Y/N?” Josh chuckled.

He had only meant it as a joke. He had no idea of your relationship, only meaning to embarrass the boy further, as he knew Harry found you attractive.

However, when the pair of you froze like deer in headlights, your throat dry as you try and stutter a whimsical response, panicked eyes darting to each other for support, Josh’s eyes blew wide like dinner plates.

“Oh fuck, was it actually you?” All eyes were on you now, your heart pulsating loudly in your chest, waves of embarrassment hitting you. There was a reason you stayed behind the camera, the pressure of attention being directly on you made you crumble.

Harry knew that, so he spoke loudly to drag eyes back to him, now fully-clothed, “Yeah, uh, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”

“I knew it!” Tobi called, turning to Simon with a victorious grin on his face.

“Fuck!” Simon cursed, “I said it was bullshit.”

“How did you know?” Harry asked Tobi, blush still tainting his cheeks.

“Harry, you practically can’t keep your eyes off her when you think no one’s watching,” this made you flustered, avoiding Harry’s dazed eyes.

“Fuck sake,” JJ interrupted, everyone turning to him as he fiddled with the camera, “Does that mean we can’t use any of this footage now?”

Chuckles rose from the group, but ultimately it was down to you and Harry to make that decision. His gaze found you, blue eyes laced with affection and a tiny bit of an apology for the embarrassment. Now that the cat was out the bag, he couldn’t care who knew. Of course, there was a terrifying reality of the fans reaction, but you’d been shipped so many times it seemed redundant by now.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” You smiled nervously, Harry looking at the football on the ground to hide his boyish grin, kicking it around a little at his feet.

Before everyone hopped back into recording the Sidemen Sunday, returning to their football forfeits, he made his way to you, whilst his friends were distracted retrieving the footballs that were kicked haphazardly across the pitch.

“You okay?” He asked softly, his cold hand ghosting over yours. The pair of you were used to keeping things out of the public eye, subtle glances, fleeting touches, whispers shared whilst no one was looking.

“I’m nervous,” You replied gently, feeling tense under his watchful eye.

“Don’t be,” His head dropped to kiss your cheek carefully, letting his lips linger on your icy skin, a safe way to reassure you that he was there.

It was only small; a gentle expression scratching the surface of his affectionate ways, but your heart skittered at the feeling of his hand playing with yours and his warm lips pressing against you. The strong scent of his cologne hit you at the closeness, the heat radiating from him in the bitter January air. You were still riding the coat tails of a silly schoolgirl crush as he pulled away, the exhilaration of being able to touch him outside the privacy of closed doors spurring you on.

Reaching up, you touched his cheek savouringly, leaning up onto your tip-toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. His hand slipped under your jacket and onto your clothed waist, pulling you towards him only lightly, smiling into the kiss once he felt the corners of your lips curl. Pulling apart, he hid his flustered blush by placing a kiss to your hairline.

“Do you want to get dinner after this?” You enquired hopefully, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

“Only if I can get a couple more of these,” Harry whistled playfully, pulling the collar of his jumper down to reveal the tender, crimson love bites.

“Harry!” You buried your face in his hoodie, embarrassment heating your cheeks promptly, his chest stuttering as he chuckles at your flustered reaction.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He giggled, and you peeled yourself from his embrace, glancing over to see the rest of the group getting ready to film again.

“I’ll take you somewhere real nice, to make up for it.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Mr,” You punched his bicep lightly, pushing him away, back towards the camera setup, “Now, go film. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He nodded, pressing a quick final kiss to your cheek before jogging away sheepishly, batting away the childish calls and digs from his friends.

You watched him happily, smiling at the way he carried himself, the light in his eyes as he joked and battled with his friends, an extra pep in his step as the secretive weight off his shoulders were lifted. He was finally able to care for you in public, to touch you, hold you, tuck the hair behind your ear and kiss you gently without worrying who would find out, and you the same.

It would be hard, when the video releases, and the audience would see the announcement, but you weren’t worried. As long as he was with you, you wouldn’t be scared.

However, you weren’t sure you’ll ever live down the hickeys.

[1986harrington]

I DON'T WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND (I WANNA KISS YOUR NECK) The Valentine's Day Collection: Part 1/3 Word Count: 1200 Warnings: 18+ (eventually)

It had been a little over a week since you told Steve that you had a date tonight, and his imagination had been taunting him about all the different ways it could go ever since. But you turning up on his doorstep just after midnight? That wasn't one of them.

Valentine's Day was fast approaching and - given his current relationship status - it wasn't something Steve was particularly thrilled about.

You were all bundled into his BMW - you and Steve up front, Eddie, Robin and Nancy in the back. You were parked up in the lot of a shitty diner somewhere between Dustin's house and yours, which had become somewhat of a regular occurance on the way home lately. Steve had insisted it was purely so you could all spend at least an hour together having a semi-grown up conversation without the gaggle of "demanding little shitheads" lurking around. But everyone else knew it was because geographically, you were the next logical drop off after Dustin, and Steve was never quite ready to say goodnight to you.

Well, everyone else but you.

On this particular night as you sat in the front with Steve, you had turned in your seat a little so you could face both him and your friends in the back. At some point you'd become uncomfortable enough that you had to readjust your legs, which ended up across Steve's lap.

You'd asked if it was alright, if he was still comfortable, and Steve had barely managed to supress the embarassing flush of his cheeks with a strained "mhm" that cracked to an almost-squeak somewhere in the middle.

The warm press of your bare skin through the material of his jeans made it hard for him to concentrate, while you went back to your conversation none the wise, laughing at whatever nonsense Robin and Eddie were bickering about in the back. Steve found his mind wandering, unable to zone in any of the overlapping conversations spilling from the backseat as his friends yelled over each other. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers began fiddling with the edge of your sock that was rolled down around the top of you well-worn chucks. When his thumb ghosted across your skin - rubbing soft, mindless circles just above your ankle - your leg twitched a little and Steve immediately moved his hand to push it through his hair nervously.

"Shit, I, uh - sorry. I didn't mean to do... that. " He apologised, all bashful and adorable and you nudged at him with the toe of your shoe.

"It's fine, Harrington, relax. It was actually kinda nice. Jus' tickled, that's all."

Steve's head was swimming.

It was nice.

His hands. Touching you.

Did that mean you wanted him to keep going?

No, surely if you wanted him to you'd say so, right?

Or maybe, you were giving him entirely too much credit, assuming that he wasn't a total dumbass and could read a girl without explicit instructions.

Should he maybe just compromise? Put his hand back on your leg but just not move it? No, that would be dumb. Then he would just be holding your leg like a weirdo.

But if he doesn't put it back, where the hell does he put it? There are 5 adults crammed into a what can hardly be described as a spacious car and there's only so much space to go around, and you did put your legs there to begin with and-

Then you moved, twisting back around in your seat, complaining of a twinge in your back and suddenly you were gone, and his decision was made for him. Steve was still silently cursing himself by the time you finally settled back into your spot, attempting to stretch out the best you could without bumping the roof.

As you did, your top that had been loosely tucked into the waistband of your shorts slipped free, exposing a stripe of warm, soft skin around your waist and Steve practically choked on fresh air before Robin changed the topic of conversation.

"So, what's everyone's big plans for next weekend?"

Miserable grumbles sounded out from everyone in the car, before Steve felt a soft thud on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Stevie," Robin teased, hand dropping from where she had nudged him playfully to poke at his ribs. "You must have some sort of game plan?"

"Hey, hey, back off, Buckley!" Steve squirmed in his seat, accidentally setting off the horn with his elbow as he batted her away.

"Tell me your plans and maybe I'll consider it," She teased, reaching for his ribs again.

"Hey, no. I don't- Robin, seriously, stop - I don't have any plans!" He all but yelled, thrashing around in his seat until she let up. "What's so goddamn special about next weekend anyway?"

"Of course you'd forget," Robin sighed exasperated, slumping back into her seat and admitting defeat.

"It's Valentine's Day, dummy." You replied, a wink sent in his direction along with a gentle nudge of your shoulder against his.

"Oh yeah, right. How could I forget? You know, with me being so chronically single and all."

"Hey, Harrington, don't be such a debbie downer! I bet you could get a date with like, 50 girls, if you wanted."

Yeah, but none of them are you, he grumbled to himself.

"Hm?" You asked sweetly - too sweetly - and when he lifted his head to look at you, he swore it got more painful every damn time.

"I, uh, nothing. You're right. I guess I just didn't really think about it this year."

Lie.

He'd thought about it plenty. Specifically, about asking you out. And not to sit in a movie theatre and make fun of dumb movies, or eat greasy diner food, or babysit a rabble of unruly teens - although he loved doing all those things with you.

No, he wanted to ask you out on a proper date. Wear a proper shirt with buttons on it, pick you up at your house, bring your mom flowers, take you to eat actual food in an actual restaurant with fancy silverware and napkins that you put on your lap and then, on the way home, you could stop by Lover's Lake. Sit out on the hood of his car and look at the stars and pretend your lives normal for once. Then he'd drop you off at home, walk you to your door and if God was on his side, kiss you goodnight.

But none of that happened. Because you'd already turned to face Robin, and as he reached out over the console to take hold of your wrist, to turn you back toward him and ask you that very question, you said:

"Actually, I uh... I have a date!"

Nancy and Robin squealed from their seats in the back, leaning forward to grab at your arms, a chorus of "Oh my god" and "How come you never told us?!" and "We want all the details!" ringing out through the confines of the car.

In the frenzy, no one noticed how Steve slumped back into this seat. How his brow furrowed and his shoulders dropped, one hand rubbing at his jaw, the other tapping with anxious frustration against his thigh.

No one except Eddie, who slapped a hand down on Steve's shoulder from behind in a rare display of reassurance.

"Don't start quitting now, Harrington. It aint over until the fat lady sings."

[katerina-marie]

Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 5

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (Past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 11.8k (whew)

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), no use of y/n, vaginal sex (though not super explicit) so please avoid accordingly! More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes: Peep the cw, because in case you missed it there will be 18+ content in this chapter. But warning, I do not have the talent to write explicitly detailed sex so it's more narrative/vaguely described. I applaud all authors that have that ability! Also, this is 99% fluff and vibes because that's what we all need, right?

P.S. If anyone recognizes where part of the title/included line is from.....no you don't and I'm sorry, not sorry lol

------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: Heart of None, Heart of One (Don't Be Afraid, I Feel It Too)

Neither you or Suguru were dressed for the affluence of this particular part of the city, the two of you wearing light and airy clothing to help ward off the oppressiveness of the summer sun. Names of restaurants and boutiques that you hardly recognized lined each side of the street full of ostentatious vehicles, and you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly Suguru had dragged you to a place neither of you had any real business being in. His fingers were twined through each of yours and had been since the two of you hopped off the train to begin your stroll towards a destination unknown. You weren’t sure if he was being intentionally vague with where you were going, or if Suguru had failed to think any further than necessary and inform you of your day’s plans. 

Men and their inability to consider five minutes ahead of themselves for anyone else’s sake. 

You passed a building with black bricks and golden writing emblazoning its name above the door, and you felt your mouth begin to water as you recognized that the style of the restaurant lended itself to your favorite foreign food. A certainly more upscale version of it anyway, if the valet’s podium and immaculately dressed patrons were any indication. 

“We should come here one day, Suguru,” you told him wistfully, inhaling deep the scent of rich food before it faded from your nose as your steps took you further and further away. Suguru huffed a noncommittal chuckle and gave you an incredulous look of question. 

“Sure, I’ll just swipe Satoru’s credit card when he isn’t looking and we’ll have ourselves a night out.” His voice was full of sarcastic humor and you rolled your eyes at him, because of course you were aware that your meager student allowances couldn’t afford such luxury, nor would Satoru be willing to part with his card without an invitation to join what would have been a date night for the two of you. The idea of it was fun to imagine in the least, and you filed the name of the restaurant away in the back of your mind for an unspecified day in the future somewhere. 

“So what are we doing here?” you asked, peering around the city as you both came to a crosswalk and minded the traffic currently flowing through it. “I can’t say that I have a suspicion, and I would like to enjoy the last afternoon of the weekend together if you don’t have something already planned.”

Suguru was quiet as he glanced up and down the street once the vehicles cleared the road, and he tugged at your hand to spur you into movement once the signal had been given to ensure your safe crossing.

“We are having to make a quick stop to retrieve something,” he said, intentionally avoiding your narrowed eyes by keeping himself one step ahead of you. You’d yank your arm back and hold your ground in a juvenile display of defiance at his reticence, but you didn’t favor being run over in the middle of the street, nor were you confident of your victory in strength should it be put up against his; you’d count on being pulled along no matter how hard you dug your heels in. 

“And what is it that we are retrieving?” You grew annoyed at Suguru’s reluctance to speak anymore than what was barely necessary, and now that the two of you were again on the safety of the sidewalks, you had half a mind to start testing his patience as he was doing yours. Your boyfriend must have been able to pick up on the change in your disposition, and he turned to you with a weary sigh as the two of you came to a stop. 

“Satoru called me earlier,” Suguru admitted, and your face dropped into distaste, mouth open to offer your dissent for whatever moronic task your boyfriend’s best friend has saddled the two of you with, but he shot you a warning glare that stayed your tongue. “He’s still on that assignment, but he forgot to finish up his reports for the last one and Yaga’s going to have his ass if he doesn’t turn them in first thing tomorrow. I told him we’d take care of it this once.” 

You scoffed, offended disbelief fueling your ire for the white-haired sorcerer, and you fixed your withering look on Suguru.

“You coddle him,” you hissed, promptly snatching your hand from his and marching forward on your own even though you hadn’t the faintest clue to where you were. The surrounding buildings were no longer fancy restaurants and expensive retailers but instead towering, dark-windowed monoliths with impressive double glass doors at their entrance. Still swanky, but more unassuming. 

“I’m helping,” Suguru argued, jogging up to your side to keep pace with you. “Friends do that for each other.” 

“I mean, yeah they do, but this feels more like Satoru is intentionally being lazy, unable to deign himself to possibly do his own work and would rather put it off to the less fortunate of us.” Your tone was scathing and your words mean for meanness sake, even if they held a scant bit of truth, and from the look on your boyfriend’s face he didn’t appreciate the disparaging of his best friend’s character. You supposed Satoru could now be considered your friend as well, now that nearly a year and a half had passed since you met your significant other’s “other”, but it had been slow building between you and Satoru, if not for the complete opposite personalities and upbringings you each had then for becoming accustomed to sharing Suguru. 

“Cut him some slack,” Suguru said, his expression knowing and slightly irritated, but his voice for you was softer than it was moments ago, and he brought you to a halt with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not ignoring the fact that Satoru is not the most apt student when it comes to his paperwork or always considerate of other people’s time, but he has a full plate and even heavier burden attached to his name, so I’ll let it slide sometimes.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d agree, but you didn’t want to taint the afternoon with Suguru just because of your disdain for Satoru’s lack of planning, so you gave him a half-hearted shrug and glanced over his shoulder at the building the two of you came to a stop in front of.

“This it?” 

Suguru nodded and took your hand again to lead you through the frosted glass doors serving as the entrance. “He has an apartment here for when he wants solitude, so we’ll just pop in to grab the reports and then be on our way. We’ll stop for lunch after, how about that?” 

The noise of affirmation you made lacked enthusiasm, mostly because you had been thoroughly chastised by your boyfriend and not because you didn’t want to share a meal out with him, but Suguru was undeterred and you turned your attention to the details of the front lobby. The high walls were painted alabaster and arched over certain hallways you guessed lead to various amenities. The slightly darker beige floors gleamed under rich lighting, leaving the forest green and muted mahogany fabrics of plush looking couches and other luxe decor to stand out in their superiority. You and Suguru continued through an archway and came upon an older man situated at a stately wood desk sandwiched between floor-to-ceiling glass doors that prohibited your entrance. You bristled at the idea of having to convince someone to allow you through to somewhere the two of you didn’t look to belong, or worse, have to stand by the desk as other residents came and went while Suguru beckoned Satoru to pick up his phone and petition you two through. However, to your shock, Suguru simply smiled and waved at the gentleman—who returned his greeting in kind—and he had the glass doors sliding open with a touch of a button just in time for the two of you to walk through them.

“A silver spoon Satoru does use,” you commented wryly. The two of you stepped into an open elevator, and you were pleased to see a stifled grin on Suguru’s face. 

“That I won’t deny,” he said, pressing the button for an obnoxiously high floor. You chattered between yourselves about lunch options and other plans for the rest of the day whilst traveling up, and your arrival to Satoru’s floor was announced with a pleasant trilling of a bell. As you walked down a hallway, you took notice of the distance between the doors of each dwelling, marking the considerable size of each one. Suguru came to a stop at the very end of the hall and pressed a series of numbers into a shiny keypad before motioning you through the now opened door. 

Satoru’s apartment was as beautiful as you imagined, with its sprawling living area and enormous windows the first thing to appear after making it through the entrance, and then an extensive gourmet kitchen was located on the left. There were a couple other hallways you assumed lead to various rooms, and you had a thought to explore (snoop) when you felt a hand at your back.

“Satoru should have some sweets in his fridge,” Suguru said, dropping a brief kiss at your temple and then another at your cheek as he brushed by you. “I’m going to his office right quick if you want to help yourself. It’s the least he can offer.” 

That brought a grin to your face, and you immediately turned towards the kitchen as Suguru’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction. Satoru’s fridge was nearly twice your height and the stainless steel was polished so perfectly that you could nearly see your reflection in it. It was all so grandiose, but the excitement immediately abated when you opened the fridge and saw nothing but a couple bags of sweets and water bottles taking up a minute amount of its expansive capacity. You grabbed one of each and brought them to the large island across from the fridge and tucked into your snack. As you munched, you let your eyes drift from space to space, everything meticulously placed and artfully decorated. Though you couldn’t help but notice the absence of anything that made it personal. There were no photos or cookbooks or trinkets of any kind. The copious amounts of furnishings and state of the art appliances all made up an impressive looking home anyone would be thrilled to make use of, but there was not one sign of usage or life that would indicate that Satoru did anything of the sort. The thought humbled your opinion of him a touch, and the quiet melancholy of his apartment made the sweet in your mouth taste oddly of cardboard.

How lonely. 

Now, years later, as you marveled up at the building that scraped the sky, you wondered if Satoru was sitting in the quiet of his apartment cutting a lonesome figure and feeling as such. 

You had taken most of the morning to scour the school grounds in pursuit of him, but no evidence had turned up to support his stay there. Megumi had confirmed it when you ran into him in your frenzied search and mentioned that Satoru had texted him to cancel their end-of-week training because he’d be off campus. The thought of having to transport yourself all the way to that part of the city where his apartment was located felt daunting in your exhaustion, but when you closed your eyes or let your mind wander, the images of Suguru and Satoru walking away from you after turning their backs superimposed over each other and sent a new wave of panic over you every time. 

So you cleaned yourself up the best you could in the least amount of time you were willing to give, and then set out on a train. After that, the walk from the station to his apartment was about ten minutes, but you had only been there once, and you had started to worry when recognition of the area still hadn’t struck. You were only half certain you had found the correct building until you made your way inside the lobby and found familiarity in the arch of the walls and luxuriousness of the furnishings. Ahead, still seated at the same wooden desk, was the gentleman from the one time you had visited with Suguru. Age had greyed his hair and added lines under his eyes, but you recognized him the same. As you walked up to his desk with a nervous smile, you hoped you looked more put together than you felt, and you had just opened your mouth to try and convince him to let you up when he grinned at you. 

“For Gojo, right?” 

You were taken aback at the friendliness in his voice and the expectant way he looked up at you from where he was seated, and you were sure your mouth had flopped open inelegantly. “Uh, yes, but how did you—,” 

“Years ago, he left me a photo of you and a man with black hair and explicit instructions to let either of you up at any time without questions asked.” The gentleman glanced down at his desk and you could just make out his hand scribbling at a large notepad. When he looked back up at you, his gaze was inquisitive. “I just barely remember you from the one time you came with him—the boy appeared often enough that I recognized him—but I haven’t seen either of you since.” There wasn’t any judgment in his voice, just simple observation, but the whole encounter was picking at the fraying threads of your already frail emotions. 

“Yes,” you bit out, swallowing to clear the hoarseness of your voice, “it’s certainly been, uhm, a long time and…” There wasn’t anything you could come up with to fit into a brief enough explanation, and thankfully the gentleman picked up on that fact. 

“Would you like me to call up to him and let him know you’re here?” He offered, his hand already drifting towards a phone on the edge of his desk. You shook your head and flailed your hands in an effort to dissuade him from doing so. 

“No, no, please. I’m…surprising him.”  

The man smiled gently and gestured with his head towards the glass doors as he opened them with a push of a button. “Off you go then.” 

You gave him a hurried thanks and rushed off through the doors before you could lose what little courage remained in you, and when the elevator shut just after you stepped through it, you leaned back against the wall of it to take in large mouthfuls of air. Satoru was definitely home, and you maybe had two minutes to compose yourself into something presentable before you were face to face with him. You took it as a positive sign that he hadn’t immediately revoked your extended invitation into his building (unless he had simply forgotten to and now you had another idea to fret at) and you hoped that when you knocked at his door he would neither ignore you entirely or answer and then proceed to slam it shut in your face. If you made it far enough that he welcomed you in, you had absolutely no idea what you were to say to him, and the pinging of the elevator bell signaling your arrival to his floor made it clear you were running out of time to come up with anything. 

Your steps on the tile echoed loudly in the empty hallway, and you were positive it was your tired mind that made them sound reminiscent of Satoru’s name. By the time you came to his door, it was ringing in your ears and beating to the same rhythm of your pulse, and you wondered if Satoru could hear it from wherever in his apartment he remained hidden from you. The stress of it had you wanting to linger outside to come up with a speech or some kind of plan before you knocked on his door, but the thought that he could sense you waiting—hesitating—drove you deeper into embarrassment, so you lifted your hand to knock your knuckles against the door without a second consideration. The time it took for him to answer left your thoughts to scramble. 

Would he look at you with the same anger he surely saw reflected in your own eyes just hours prior? You figured you both had a right to feel such a way, but whereas you had hurled word after word of condemnation at him without ceasing, regardless of their truth or lack thereof, he hadn’t been given a moment to offer scant more than a stuttered reply. Was it presumptuous to have the hope that he would repay you in kind? That he would offer what you hadn’t and listen to what you had to say? Never again did you want to live with the regret of last words unspoken.

The beeping of his door unlocking snagged your attention, and you inhaled sharply when the knob began to turn. Through a small crack in the door, you saw Satoru peer his head around it, just offering you a sliver of a singular blue eye and the glimpse of a closed off expression on his face. You tangled your fingers together in the hope he didn’t see them shaking, and you gave him the barest of contrite smiles.

“May I come in?” 

Satoru didn’t hesitate to give a single nod of his head and you took a step back when he pushed open the door wide enough for you to walk through, murmuring a small ‘thank you’ as you passed by him. You didn’t wait for him to continue further into his apartment, eager to get out of the small entryway and into the openness of his living space if only so you could feel slightly less confined. In a quick glance around, you noticed that Satoru’s apartment looked nearly identical to how it did the one and only time you visited it. There was still a museum-esque quality to the cleanliness of it, but you could see a half-full glass of water on the island in his kitchen, and you had spied his pair of black shoes by the door next to where you had toed yours off. 

The susurration of his house shoes on the wood floor could be heard coming up behind you, and you turned slowly to face him. You took in his casual clothes, a dark grey sweater and navy lounge pants, and noticed him doing the same to your similar but more feminine outfit. When your eyes met, it pained you to see how his were guarded, lacking their usual brightness and enthusiasm, and you knew it was somewhat your fault. 

“I should have let you talk more,” you blurted, head cleared of any logical thought. “I was within my right to be angry with you, but I should have heard you out, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

Satoru’s expression eased and you wrung your hands. “I want to respect your space. I’m willing to give that to you, but I’m afraid of leaving things unsaid and—,” 

You were horrified when your eyes began to sting and the inside of your nose burned. You flicked your focus down to the floor in the hopes that not looking at him would keep you composed enough to get the rest of your words out. “If you’re willing, I’d like to talk this out with you. I would hate for things to end the way they did.” 

When you looked back up at him, his eyes were wide, and Satoru shuffled forward to reach a hand out to press against the back of your arm. “Of course,” he said, his voice so emphatically eager that it panged your heart. “Of course I’ll listen to you.” 

The pressure of his hand guided you towards the ample seating in his living room, and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the sofa placed in front of a massive entertainment system. Satoru sat just far away enough that two of you wouldn’t touch, but he laid out his arm along the back of the sofa, turned on his hip, and leaned forward slightly on his thigh so he could face you. You mirrored his position but kept your hands in your lap. 

“I don’t hate you. I never could,” you breathed out, and a part of you died inside when relief slackened Satoru’s features and his shoulders lowered as tension bled out from them. “I was angry, and maybe even felt a little betrayed, but it wasn’t you I hated.” 

There must have been a stricken look on your face, because his hand that rested on the back of the sofa lifted and hovered in the air for a moment before he moved it close enough that he could just graze his fingertips along the top of your arm. 

“I think I hated him. I hated Suguru in that split second.” The words felt heavy and disjointed in your mouth, not quite understood by your brain, but you felt palpable liberation once they were out. Satoru kept his eyes on you attentively, and you were powerless to the words that spilled from your tongue. 

“I hated him for what he did. I hated that he left me, and I hated that he chose to speak with you one last time instead of me. I hated that you had to kill him, and that we have to wake up everyday to live in the aftermath of it.” You were interrupted by a hiccuping cry that forced its way through your teeth, and when you looked up at Satoru helplessly, his hands shot out to take yours into his own. 

“But not you, I would never hate you,” you said once you had regained your composure, “and I would like to hear what you have to say. To help me understand what you were going through and why you made the choice to keep what Suguru said a secret until now. I’d like us to be completely understanding of the other, with the intention of being able to move forward.” 

Feeling much like you had just finished a sprint, you drew in a few deep breaths to steady the racing of your heart and calm the adrenaline running through your body. Satoru didn’t look angry or upset. He had an open, albeit cautious, look on his face and he studied your hands in his grasp momentarily before gently releasing them, and you both withdrew your hands to let them rest on your respective laps. 

“It was panic,” he started, pausing to meet your eyes. “I was so panicked that evening, about what I had just done and how I was supposed to reveal that to you. I could barely think straight enough to tell you I killed him, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of having to relay to you what Suguru said when I could hardly make sense of it myself.” 

You watched Satoru closely as he wiped his hands down over his legs and you both heard and felt the stuttered breath he pushed out from deep in his chest.

 “I’m not saying that to excuse my behavior, but it felt like the easiest thing to do for myself at that moment, and I regret it. If I could go back…well, I don’t actually know what I would have done.” Satoru inched a little closer to you and raised a questioning brow. “Would you have been okay if I had told you that he had said something, but couldn’t yet share it with you? Would have it been better to tell you everything he said, but warned you that I didn’t have the capacity to explore the implications of it right then with you? Or—god—I should have told you at any point between then and now.” 

The ideas Satoru was presenting caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever really considered before what you had wanted to hear in the moments when your entire world was collapsing around you. Surely you would have wanted to know, but the anticipation of waiting to hear what those words would have been had you chosen the first option probably would have driven you to madness. In regards to the second, knowing what Suguru had said would have prevented the whole mess the two of you were in now. However, knowing yourself, you very well might have fled the school like you did to avoid discussing things with Satoru once he was ready, keen on never once touching such a topic for the rest of your life, and who knows what outcome would have resulted from that. And him revealing what Suguru said any time after that day and between now would have mostly likely played out the same way it did last night.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, and you couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh. “Either alternative has its merits and its corresponding negatives. In the future, I think open communication would be best, but for things past I don’t see much point in dwelling on what should have been.” 

Satoru nodded, seemingly agreeing with what you had said. You chewed your lip, considering the weight of the question you wanted to ask him before ultimately deciding that he deserved the chance to let himself be heard. 

“How have you been?” Your inquiry had his mouth opening to respond, but he was silent in the aftermath, and you assumed that he needed time to condense his thoughts into words. 

You empathized with that particular plight.  

“Tired,” he said finally, solemnly, and you moved closer towards him until your knees knocked against each other. “I would give anything to have a night’s rest where I didn’t dream about killing my best friend.” This time, you reached out your hand to grip his fingers in yours, and his answering smile was full of gratitude. “Or have a nightmare where you hate me,” he added, squeezing your hand to balm the sting of his words. 

The two of you were silent after that, each of you taking turns glancing at one another and then back at your tangled hands before focusing on anywhere else in the room. However, there was a collective sense of expectation hanging above you both, and you had a good idea of what topic was waiting to be broached. 

“Satoru,” you murmured, biting down on the inside of your cheek as he lifted his head to listen to you. There was trepidation in the way he held himself, and you wondered if he anticipated what you were going to say next. “I tried to kiss you.” 

He was rapt in his attention on you, his face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling, but he fiddled with your fingers and ran his thumb along the inside of your wrist. He ducked his head just barely, and when his hair shifted over his forehead, it was just enough to conceal his eyes from you. “You did.” 

Satoru’s evasion grated you, but you set aside your frustration to focus on what you were trying to convey to him, to get him to understand what you couldn’t even quite wrap your head around fully. 

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to me because of what Suguru said.” His head snapped up and his brows furrowed at your words, but you kept going before he had a chance to interrupt. “I think you probably have an idea about what I feel for you, but I don’t expect you to reciprocate just because you might have some misguided sense of duty or responsibility towards me, and I can forget about that near-kiss if that’s—,” 

“I want you,” Satoru said on a exhale, and he looked to be fighting a bashful grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Your noise of surprise filled the heady silence following his declaration, and you felt as though the two of you teetered on the edge of some great precipice. 

A quiet “oh,” was all you could get out, breathless in a mounting giddiness, and he chuckled at whatever flush warmed your cheeks before his features smoothed out into something more solemn. 

“I do,” he insisted, and you could sense the ‘but’ following his statement and it made all the butterflies that had erupted in your chest fall leadened into your stomach, “but I can’t help feeling a little…unsettled about it, maybe? Not in a bad way necessarily, never with you—,” 

Satoru stammered, an overwhelmed breath heaving his shoulders, and you watched him with a pang of sympathy as he struggled to grasp at the words clearly evading him. “I don’t want you to think I feel entitled to you, and I don’t feel like I’m betraying Suguru by wanting you. I don’t even think I need his permission or anything like that. In fact, he seemed to give it in his own twisted way that night, and it’s just…you were his, once, and now you’re…” 

He trailed off, at a loss for the proper words to adequately explain a concept you both seemed to wrestle with, and the look he gave you was helpless and beseeching in a way that was delightfully captivating to you: eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and if his gaze could be anymore adoring you’d melt into the fabric of his fine linen couch. 

What was previously off limits had become an alluring possibility. A person who had always occupied a strictly friendly role had begun to appear in a way not thought of before. It was overwhelming, exciting, terrifying in what it could mean to want someone who had once been unobtainable, who you had not once considered for yourself before the loss of someone precious to both of you. But Suguru was gone now, and what more could be owed to the two of you than indulging in a shared happiness?

You giggled, catching your bottom lip between your teeth to try and contain the smile that was surely about to overtake your face, and you tugged on Satoru’s hands to pull him in close to you. 

“Don’t be afraid,” you whispered, your voice light and playful while the blue of his eyes danced and his cheeks went round in elation, “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Later, as you contemplated your existence in the quiet sanctuary of your room, you would berate yourself for not taking the opportunity to kiss Satoru senseless. Alas, you had remained dutiful to your mutual agreement to let the enormity of the morning settle before getting carried away with frenzied touches and the mingling of panted breaths. Instead, the two of you stayed seated on his couch for another hour, close in the way you had both drifted to lean against the other while chatting idly about anything ordinary. 

You had taken moments to gently lift strands of hair from his eyes, goosebumps erupting over your skin when his focus couldn’t decide whether to fix on your face or follow the movement of your hand. When you had later regaled him with a forgotten tale from your time abroad, Satoru had spent his time listening by swirling a finger over the top of your kneecap before letting it drift just slightly over your thigh so he could squeeze it gently. The pressure had you stuttering over your words, and you used the increased need to jump from your skin as an excuse to leap from the couch and beg for a glass of water. Satoru smirked at you in that annoyingly smug, but persistently charming habit of his, and had simply sauntered off to his kitchen to leave you to follow in his wake. 

When the afternoon sun began to push shadows further into the depths of his apartment, you begrudgingly announced your intended departure, pointing out to Satoru the exhaustion that clung to you both when he began to protest. A much-needed nap was in order, and he only surrendered his disagreement when you let out an exaggerated yawn. He followed you to the door with your sleeve caught between two of his fingers. The two of you stared at each other after you had slipped on your shoes, neither quite ready to bid the first goodbye. You eventually took the initiative to rock onto the tips of your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you squeezed him to you. Satoru arms circled your waist and after nudging his nose against the top of your head, you heard him breathe in deeply before letting it out in a long exhale, and the yearning of it made you ache. 

You had to pry yourself from him, and you didn’t turn to look back as you walked down the hallway lest you lose any remaining self control and skip your way back to Satoru. It was only once you crossed the threshold of the elevator that you heard the click of his door closing shut. If you had a dopey look on your face as you made your way home, evidenced by the knowing grin on the mouth of the gentleman working the door in the lobby, then who were you to deny it?

As you lay in your bed, huddled under blankets and your head cushioned by pillows while waiting for the swiftness of sleep to weigh down your eyes, you stared at a couple of pictures now decorating a small cork board hanging above your desk. None of them contained a singular person more present than the others and were all full of various friends and toothy grins. For once, the appearance of black hair and pierced ears didn’t evoke a dull throb in your chest at a future lost, but instead welcomed a feeling of contented nostalgia for memories treasured. When your eyes started to flutter and you sensed that your battle against sleep was coming to an end, the sight of brilliant blue from the corner of one photo held your fading attention and beckoned the prospect of enduring happiness by a relationship newly minted. 

————————————————

A dreary midmorning wasn’t something that could keep you cooped up on a Saturday free of obligation, and in an endeavor to make the most of your spare time, you busied yourself with errands in the city. If you found yourself standing in line outside the building of your favorite sweet shop, you would insist it was only to fill your own belly. Any extras that made it into your bag would surely serve as a snack over the rest of the weekend and not linger in your room in the hopes a certain white-haired man would make an appearance and find them. 

The thought of Satoru had you reaching for your phone as you shuffled another step further in line. You had texted Satoru a simple ‘good morning’ right before leaving your room then promptly threw the device into the bottom of your bag to be forgotten until after your errands. Otherwise, you would have worried yourself beyond what was considered healthy about whether or not that message presumed too much in light of yesterday’s breakthrough. 

Maybe overkill would lend itself to your passions too. 

To your dismay, your phone remained disappointingly devoid of new messages, but the sudden appearance of small raindrops on your screen took your attention before you could waste more time wishing it would flash with Satoru’s name. While the sky looked quite grey in your perusal of it, the drops never fell faster or increased in size while you waited for your turn to step into the shop, and you hoped the weather would stay its course until you returned home. Because you, in your distraction, had forgotten to snag your umbrella as you scurried out the door that morning. Instead of dwelling on your possible misfortune, you gave a cursory glance at the shop’s menu board sitting by the door and when you were nearly halfway through reading it, a shadow came over you. 

“Dessert for breakfast again?” 

You jerked your head towards the familiar voice and came face to face with Satoru. He hovered close enough to you so that the large umbrella he carried could shelter both him and yourself from the faint pattering of rain, and you met his beaming smile with one of your own. 

“Satoru! What are you doing here?” His arrival wasn’t at all expected, but you drank in the sight of him no less, pleased to see him in casual clothes instead of his uniform and sporting a black coat to ward off the last of the morning chill. 

“You know, just out and about,” he offered, and mischievousness made the corners of his mouth twitch. You suspected his eyes would twinkle just the same if you could see them through his blindfold. 

“Right,” you drew out, not quite sure if you believed that he just so happened upon you by chance, but you were too preoccupied with the fact he was standing in front of you again to question it any further. “Are you busy? Or do you have time to join me?” 

He was quick to nod, and you reached out to wrap your hand around his bicep when someone cleared their throat pointedly from behind. You jolted, heat flushing your neck and cheeks when you realized that there was a large gap in between you and the door to the shop, and you scurried forward. Satoru beat you to the door, swinging it open for you before you had a chance, and you ducked in while he sat his umbrella off to the side. 

You came to a stop a reasonable distance from the person in front of you and crossed your arms with a small huff as you pretended to study the variety of different sweets sitting in their display cases. Satoru’s coat brushed against your back as he came up behind you, and you prayed he didn’t notice the shiver that shook your shoulders when he leaned down to whisper right by your ear. 

“Distracted?” he asked, voice deeply flirtatious, and a scent a bit spicier than the mild soap you recall him smelling of wafted to your nose and made your thoughts hazy. 

“Nope,” you said as casually as you could manage, trying your best to make a mental note of what options you wanted to order so that you didn’t look like a bumbling fool when it was your turn. His answering chuckle was not only heard, but felt against your back. 

“You sure about that?” 

You whipped your head to the side to glare at him out of the corner of your eye, and your cheek nearly made contact with the tip of his nose. “Positive.” 

There would never be any certainty with his eyes hidden, but you swore you could feel his gaze on your lips, and if you ignored the thought and turned your attention back to what was in front of you, it was only because there was nothing you could do about it in a crowded little sweets shop. 

Thankfully—begrudgingly—it was your turn to order, and you stepped away from Satoru and approached the counter while taking in a much needed deep breath. He didn’t stray far from you, however, and you were conscious of how he lingered at your side while you ordered a couple things for yourself and one or two for Nanami in exchange for the few times he had bought you something from the bakery. 

You were just about to pay for your portion when Satoru came up and bumped you aside with his hip and a smirk on his face, and you watched with mild horror as the employee set down a bag of sweets nearly bulging in its fullness. 

“You have a problem,” you commented warily, imagining the amount of sugar in that bag alone and feeling phantom pain in your teeth. You eyed Satoru as he placed down his card to pay for both orders. 

“If you say so.” His shrug was light hearted and drenched in boyish charm, and you shook your head at him. Before he could find any more opportunities to indulge random acts of chivalry, you swiped your bag off the counter and made haste for the exit, pausing only to throw a wink over your shoulder as you stepped outside the door. You barely caught his indignant protest as he finished up his transaction but paid it no mind as you bent down to grab his umbrella and trotted off down the sidewalk. You only made it to a cross walk a couple yards down and had to come to a stop before he was jogging up to your side. 

“Rude,” Satoru pouted, sidling up next to you to slip the opened umbrella from your hand. 

“I can’t let people think I willingly associate myself with someone who has the taste buds of a child.” You giggled and snuck your hand in the slim space between his side and his arm to curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow. Something fluttered pleasantly in your belly when the action softened the deepening frown on his face. 

“Not all of us can have such sophisticated palettes,” he grumbled, but you could see the hint of a smile on his cheeks, so you leaned just a little further into his side. The delicate kiss he dropped onto your temple had you choking down any retort you were prepared to give him back, and the two of you stood in shy silence until the traffic signal changed in your favor. 

“Follow me to the school?” you asked, already in motion by the time the words left your mouth, and the answering look Satoru gave you made it clear that he never intended anything else. 

————————————————

Twenty minutes later had the two of you back at the school and seated on Satoru’s coat under the large tree nestled in the corner of the campus training grounds.

“Leave my bag alone,” you hissed, slapping at the wandering hand Satoru kept trying to sneak into your own stash of sweets. 

“I wanted to try one of yours. They’re different,” he whined. He stretched over your lap in an attempt to grab said bag from where you had moved it to your other side, but you stopped his progress with a hand on his chest. You pushed back against him until he was seated again. 

“No, what’s left are mine and the ones I bought for Nanami.”

“Nanami?” he asked in offended disbelief. “And you didn’t think to get any for me?”

“I’m surprised they aren’t already in your bag, Satoru. I think you bought the whole store,” you said, feeling a little sick to your stomach when you took note of the dwindling size of his own purchase. He scoffed in disapproval and hunched down further against the tree the two of you were resting against. His antics had your eyes rolling, but you went ahead and pulled one of your treats out from the bag as you had intended to do before he decided to try and pilfer them on his own. 

“Here,” you told him, feigning the exasperation in your voice. You held the treat out in your hand, expecting him to take it from you with his own, but Satoru—with uncovered eyes gleaming—leaned forward and ate the snack right from your fingers. You had a brief second to register the heat of his lips and the way his teeth had just grazed your skin before he was sitting back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Tasty,” he said, looking all too pleased with himself, and all you could do was sit there with your heart pounding. The thought of kissing Satoru had been plaguing your mind since even before the two of you had fought, and now, when his lips were flushed pink and there were crystals of sugar caught on a corner of them, you were weak in your resolve. 

You curled your fingers into the neck of his shirt and pulled him in to meet you, eyes already closing so you didn’t scare yourself out of the idea if there was a shocked look on his face. Your lips met his with an urgency, but you were mindful not to clash teeth or press too hard, and you felt marginally better when Satoru knocked his nose against yours in order to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. His chilled fingertips were a shock to your skin when they settled on the edge of your cheek and under your jaw, and he hummed pleasantly into the kiss when he felt you jump. Satoru’s other arm came to wrap around your back, and his fingers dug into your shirt when you used the tip of your tongue to swipe away any remaining sugar on his lips. 

You were vaguely aware of Satoru pressing closer to you, inching you back incrementally, but you were too lost in the feel of his mouth moving against yours and slipping your arms up and around his neck to pay much mind to it. So when you felt yourself falling back against the ground with Satoru’s hand bracing the back of your head it didn’t trigger the urge to stop, especially not when his free hand landed heavily in the dirt next to your head so he could lower himself down and chase after your lips. However, you could only avoid the cold wet of the ground seeping through your collar for so long, not to mention the fact you two were in public, and you ducked your chin slightly to break away from Satoru. 

“It’s unlikely,” you murmured, feeling him trail his mouth over your cheek to press a kiss just below your ear, “but any of our students—or our peers—could walk by at any given moment.” 

The noise of disagreement he made tickled the skin under your ear that he was nibbling at, but you didn’t have to tell him twice before he was pulling away just hair. All you could see above you was white eyelashes framing bright blue eyes, and the tips of his hair tickled your forehead when Satoru lowered himself just a little so he could nudge his nose into your cheek affectionately. 

“You’re not wrong,” he sighed, sitting himself back up and tugging you along with him by your arm. You pat down your hair and brush some dirt from your sleeves while keeping a watchful eye on his expression from your peripheral. Satoru didn’t seem particularly disappointed or upset at your words, but you, in your habit, worried about the implication of them anyway. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” you reassured him, drawing his focus as you hurried to get your thoughts out to him. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you either, but this is…” you trailed off as words failed you. 

This was new and something precious to you. For the first time in years, you had someone by your side that cared to know everything you thought and longed to be near you. It was all a touch overwhelming to fall for someone you hadn’t ever pictured in a romantic role, and you were eager for the time to understand it fully yourself before allowing others to fix their attention on it. 

“Don’t worry,” Satoru said, and he was cheerful and giddy in the way he smiled while he dragged a finger across the back of your hand. “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Your burgeoning relationship carried on in secrecy for the next three months. In between classes and training of students, you and Satoru would find yourselves in an obscure hallway or forgotten classroom to share whispers and fleeting touches. It was nothing torrid or salacious as of yet, but everyday you longed for the moments you had alone with him to bask in muffled laughter and give in to lingering kisses that he would pull you into when you would try to leave for the umpteenth time. More than once you caught his head following you as he and the students walked by you on school grounds, and the previous week Kugisaki had commented on how keenly you studied Satoru while he demonstrated a fighting technique to Itadori. 

And now, when the school day was long over and the sun was beginning to set, you felt at ease walking through the door of Satoru’s office door to surprise him with spoils from your day. 

“Knock, knock,” you called out gently, peeking your head around the doorframe to find Satoru already looking up at you, blindfold nowhere to be seen. Fatigue clearly was gnawing at him. His head dropped from where his chin was propped up in his hand, and there was the faintest hint of purple under his eyes. A pen was clasped in his right hand where it rested on a large stack of paperwork, and you took notes of the various others crowding his desk as you walked in. “How are all the reports coming along?” 

Satoru groaned and threw himself back against his chair. “It’s been terrible! I’ve been stuck here finishing these reports since this morning. I didn’t even have lunch!” 

You laughed at his plight as you came to stand next to him and lean back against his desk before pulling a small brown sack from your bag. “Here,” you said, passing it to him, “I got you something while we were out today.” 

His face lit up in excitement ,and he eagerly snatched the bag from your grasp and buried his hand in it to pull out the pastry located inside. “You’re incredible,” he said, pausing to express his gratitude before he shoved half of it into his mouth. 

“You’ll choke one day,” you warned, vaguely impressed when he ate the other half in just as big of a bite. Satoru shook his head, and his grin told you he was proud of himself. 

“Was that from our bakery?” he asked, and you were grateful he had swallowed before speaking. 

“Yup. The first years did so well in training today that Nanami and I decided to end things early and treat them. We ended up running into the third years on the way, so they joined us and we all had a happy time together.” Satoru’s face fell somewhere in the beginning when you started talking, and by the time you were done his mouth was turned down into a full blown frown. 

“Without me?” He pouted, and the sad, puppy-esque face he gave you would have worked if you didn’t know what would be awaiting you if he didn’t finish his reports. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted, shaking a finger at him, “you needed to get these done, or else it would have been me taking over the extras and then we would both be miserable.” Satoru scowled, but the sigh he let out was resigned. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

You reached out and ruffled his hair. “Of course I’m not,” you teased, “but I brought you a treat to make up for it.” 

Satoru cocked a brow and stood from his chair so he could take a step towards you. Your lower back was already pressed into the edge of his desk, so you had to crane your head back to meet his eyes. “That’s true,” he said playfully. “You do make everything better.” He closed the space between your chests and the audible hitch in your breathing made him smirk. 

“Cheesy,” you muttered, but exhilaration flowed through you when his hands came up to cradle your jaw and he lowered his head enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your nose. Satoru hummed an amused sound before finally taking your bottom lip between his. You tucked your arms below his so you could fist your hands into the fabric of his uniform as his sides and a fluttering burst into your chest when he started stroking the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs.

It wasn’t wrong to say that Satoru had transfixed you. Everything about him—the way he smelled, the depth of his laugh, how his fingers felt when they danced over your skin—was alluring to you, and you couldn’t help but clutch him closer as your lips moved against his. In response, Satoru’s hands dropped down to grip at your waist, and you let out a noise of surprise in the brief moment your lips disconnected when he lifted you up, only to set you back down on his desk. He was quick to kiss you again, chasing you when you leaned back to make space for him in between your legs.

His hands seemed like they were everywhere at once: between your shoulders to press you into him, cupping your chin to angle it up and allow his lips to ghost over your neck, and then spread over your thighs to grasp and knead. The room was quiet except for the heady exhalations and gasping breaths of the air you shared, and you heard the rustling of paper being scattered as he cleared a spot behind you. 

Somewhere deep in your mind, your brain supplied you with the thought that Satoru’s office was not the ideal first place to do this—to have him. Certainly not as his hand started to sneak under the bottom of your shirt or your fingers toyed with the button on his pants, but every inch of him was plied against you and it would take something monumental to separate—,

“Ahem.” 

As it turned out, your principal clearing his throat outside of the wide open door of Satoru’s office was catastrophic enough for the two of you to spring apart at something close to the speed of light. You propelled yourself off Satoru’s desk to stand rigid at the side of it while turning your head to gawk accusingly at him, because surely the honored one should have sensed Principal Yaga way before he ever arrived. But from the way he immediately dropped straight into his chair to conceal himself from the waist down proved that, astonishingly, Gojo Satoru could be caught unaware. 

 Neither of you three said a word. Principal Yaga eyed you and Satoru with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, and you couldn’t decide whether hurling yourself out of the window behind you would be less painful than the scrutiny coming from the large man at the door. 

“There’s paperwork for this. You two can each get a copy from my office tomorrow,” he said eventually. You were relieved to hear a lack of judgment or disappointment in your principal’s voice and decided you could live with the resigned finality that colored instead. He didn’t offer anything else and had just begun to turn away with a shake of his head and a hand rubbing at his temple when he spun back around suddenly, making you flinch from where you were still rooted next to Satoru’s desk. 

“I want those reports finished and on my desk first thing in the morning, Satoru.” His tone brokered no discussion and—in all the time you’ve known him—you witnessed the loud-mouthed sorcerer at an apparent loss for words. He simply nodded in agreement and then Principal Yaga was gone. 

“Well,” Satoru started slowly, turning to face you in his chair, “I think that makes things official.” His mouth then tilted upwards into an unbothered grin, and he looked at you expectantly. Strained laughter died in your throat. 

“I guess so.” 

————————————————

In an effort to help make up for last week’s incident , Satoru called you midway through the Friday afternoon to, not ask, but summon you for a late night dinner date. In exchange, you got to pick where the two of you would eat and what dessert you would share at the end. It had taken little to no convincing on your part to get you to agree, and when the name of a restaurant in the upscale part of the city near his apartment slipped from your mouth, you were surprised to find that no guilt came along with it. 

Once upon a time, you might have wistfully imagined yourself seated and dined at that particular restaurant with Suguru, as you had told him when the two of you first passed it on the street. However, that daydream never came to fruition, and you refused to let a faded prospect with your long-lost ex-lover get in the way of creating new memories. So, in order to do just that, you took time getting yourself ready and slipped into a new dress before taking a train to the city to meet Satoru. 

The restaurant was everything you expected, and you took in with a small smile the low light atmosphere and your secluded table illuminated with flickering white candles. Waiters bustled to and fro, and the soft plinking of a lounge piano underscored the muffled murmurings of the restaurant’s patrons. You and Satoru talked about anything and nothing as you looked over the menu. The establishment wasn’t overabundant in the options it provided, instead taking great care to provide a few exceptionally well crafted meals, but you still had a difficult time making your decision nonetheless. Satoru offered to select one of the two dishes you went back and forth between for himself so you’d have the opportunity to try it, and while the idea melted your heart into a little puddle, you urged him to pick what he wanted for himself. 

A waiter came by and presented you with an extensive wine list, and while Satoru didn’t partake, he guessed with unbridled enthusiasm at which type you’d choose. His answer had been wrong, but the determined gleam in his eyes told you he’d never again make that mistake. After eventually making up your mind and successfully placing your order, the rest of the dinner flew by. The two of you spent time exchanging bites of each other’s food and sharing stories about the progress of the first year’s training. 

When you were brought the dessert menu, you both leaned over the table towards each other to look over it together, and when the two of you couldn’t decide on just one, you suggested ordering two. Satoru had raised a brow at you, having already heard twice by then how you were too full to have your own dessert and, despite his protest, insisted on sharing one with him. He relented, and you ordered two. When the waiter was out of earshot, you told him in a pointed few words that you had every intention of sharing that second dessert with him as a middle of the night snack. Satoru immediately sat straight in his seat, eyes flashing with heat and want and a whole other amalgamation of emotions that set your blood alight. 

By the time dessert came, you were two minutes shy of snatching the check and hauling him out the door, sweets be damned. But Satoru simply laughed and passed you a spoon while he situated the plate of dessert halfway between you two. When you were two bites in, stomach protesting and your eyes feeling just a bit heavy from the dimness of the restaurant, you tucked your foot under Satoru’s to rest it against his ankle. His answering smile was tender and maybe a little bashful, and while it could’ve been the second glass of wine that caused the stirring in your chest, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was your heart expanding enough to make room for him. 

————————————————

“I want to go there again next week,” you said blissfully, both satisfied from a delicious dinner and feeling relief from the cold floors of Satoru’s apartment on your sore feet. If you never again picked up the heels you had kicked off at his door, it would be too soon. You meandered into his kitchen and plucked a water bottle from his fridge to down in just a few swallows. 

“I suppose we could go back once a week until we finish trying every dessert and dinner option available,” Satoru responded, coming up behind you to curl one arm around your waist and press a kiss into your hair. “Thank you for being my date.” You lifted your arm to reach behind you and drape it around his neck, and he let his mouth glide across the skin that he could touch. 

“Always,” you murmured, and while the implications of the word felt a little heavy and maybe a bit presumptuous for the early stages of your relationship, it didn’t diminish the truth of which you spoke it with. Satoru didn’t seem to have an objection to it and merely pasted every inch of his front against your back. 

“If you’re tired, or if the second glass of wine was too much, I’m happy to lend you a change of clothes and offer you a guest room for the night. We can make breakfast in the morning if you’re willing to supervise.” His laughter tickled your skin, and you were quick to shake your head and turn in his hold.

“No to the guest room, but yes to breakfast.” 

He smiled into the kiss he placed onto your lips and you fisted your fingers into the collar of his shirt in an attempt to keep him against you when he stepped back and nodded in the direction of a hallway. You caught his hand from behind when Satoru turned to walk towards what was presumably his bedroom and held on to it as he led you. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, eyes promising and mouth slightly parted, and when he whirled around completely to tug you through the open door of his room, you caught yourself on his chest and giggled. 

While Satoru busied himself with nuzzling his lips against the curve of your shoulder and fiddling with the various clasps and a zipper at the back of your dress, you peeked around his arm to study the vastness of his bedroom. It was as expertly put together as the rest of his home, but still mostly lacking in its signs of life. The high beamed ceiling and towering window framed by lush dark curtains created a feeling of openness, but the plush comforter on his bed and the stone fireplace set across from it helped cultivate a sense of coziness. You spied his uniform draped over the back of a chair nestled under a desk, and a thrill went through when the computer sitting atop it flashed a screensaver familiar to you—the picture of your dessert from the cafe a thousand miles away. 

You had the mind to ask Satoru about it, but before you could he was peeling your dress off your shoulders and down your arms. His eyes flicked up to yours in silent permission and it only took a subtle dip of your chin before he was pushing it the rest of the way down your torso, and you squirmed when his fingers danced over your ribs in a way that tickled. Hands started to move in a hurry after that point. Yours flew to the buttons of his shirt while his traveled up your arms to cup your cheeks so he could kiss you again. When you divested him of the fabric concealing his chest, seeing it land in a flutter next to your dress on the floor, you immediately started in on his belt, taking pleasure in the stuttered breath Satoru let out above you when you yanked on it in your efforts to get it off. 

As soon as he stepped out his pants, Satoru was turning you to the bed and he just barely caught himself above you when the two of you fell back against it. You grinned up at him as you shuffled up towards the pillows, and he followed obediently to settle between your legs when you opened them for him. It wasn’t until Satoru had already shimmed your underwear off your legs and did the same to himself did you feel a prickle of nervousness in your belly at the sight of him. There had been a few others in the time between Suguru and now, but they all had blended into faceless bodies and blurred memories of dark bedrooms, none ever so important that you bothered to recall them in times of loneliness. But this—Satoru—would be different, and you had only ever known one other man in such a deeper level of intimate feelings.

“Comparing me to someone?” The sarcastic quip from Satoru reclaimed your attention and nearly had you leaving the bed altogether, but the hidden undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice kept you under him. One day, the two of you would have a discussion about appropriate boundaries and how to express one’s emotions with proper words, but for now, you would reassure him that he would not have to spend his entire life worrying that he would never be enough for you. 

“No,” you said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and he actually looked chagrined. “I was actually thinking about how you were longer than I expected.” You punctuated your words by reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, and all the air rushed out of his lungs in a forceful exhale. It wasn’t a lie on your part. Where Suguru had been impressive in his width, Satoru excelled in his length, but that wasn’t any of his particular business. 

“I always thought you’d wear some expensive cologne everyday,” you continued in a whisper, tightening your grip around him until he sagged against your chest and let out a low moan in your ear, “but you smell faintly of clean scented soap and that surprised me.” You trailed the hand not currently occupied over the ridges of his spine and had to bite at your lip when Satoru shuddered against you. “Your skin doesn’t run as hot as I imagined it would, but I don’t mind it.” 

He chuckled a bit at that, and the breathless sound of it made you shiver. In a strained voice he asked, “anything else?” You let out a questioning hum, feigning your need to contemplate the idea, and Satoru nipped at your neck in retaliation. 

“Okay, okay!” you squealed, wriggling under him as he continued his assault up over your ear before replacing them with soft kisses over your cheek. “Your hair feels as soft as it looks and not a day goes by that I don’t think about running my fingers through it.” To emphasize your point, you raked your nails over his scalp and a pleased grumble sounded low in his chest. You debated sharing your next thought with him, but he was searching your eyes in a way that was a little desperate and heart wrenching, so you obliged. 

“The night of that failed date, right before we fought,” you began quietly, tracing your finger over Satoru’s cheek and the bridge of his nose, “I spent the whole time wishing it had been you.” 

The admission must have taken him off guard because his eyes widened and a pink flush took over his cheeks. His chest brushed more firmly against your breasts as his breathing accelerated in the slightest, and you reached up to nudge the tip of your nose against his. You didn’t bother waiting for his reply, and arched your hips upwards to grind them against his, this time you both let out echoing moans. Much of what came next happened in blurs of frenzied movement; his hand slipping between your legs and moving about in a way that had you throwing your head back into his pillows until his room was filled with the sound of you chanting Satoru’s name. When you were breathless and panting, he trailed back up your body with his lips straying to the dip of your waist, the curve of your breast, and then back to your mouth. 

When he finally made space for himself inside you and pulled your thigh higher over his hip, all you could do was grasp at his back and grip at his arms while he murmured your name into the crook of your neck. His movements stole your breath and overwhelmed any other thoughts in your head, but you didn’t mind how much room Satoru took up. Not when his fingers traced your features in delicate awe and wonder, and not when he had you calling his name in response to the sudden burst of warmth that poured over you a second and third time before he followed in kind. 

Satoru rolled the two of you over when your chests were still heaving and limbs were trembling, wrapping you up tightly in the breadth of his arms so you could rest your cheek just under his collarbone while he whispered soft affirmations and praises in your ear. You decided then, when he was still nestled inside you and spoke excitedly of a midnight snack in a plastic to-go bag and of shared breakfast in the morning that Gojo Satoru would never be too much for you. 

————————————————

When Satoru blinked awake, the first thing he noticed was the calmness with which he came out of sleep. His skin wasn’t slicked with sweat, nor were his blankets tangled around his legs. He hadn’t thrashed into consciousness, tormented by an endless loop of nightmares filled with his dead best friend’s face or your vehement ire. Instead, his eyes opened drowsily to take in the blue-black of twilight peeking through his curtains and became instantly aware of the sound of rhythmic breathing to his left. You slept soundly on your side facing away from him, but with your back pressed against his arm. Satoru let out a long breath, feeling more rested than he had in months, but he was in no hurry to find his way out of bed and away from you. In an attempt to coax his mind back into slumber, he shifted onto his side and wiggled down into the bed until he could snuggle his face against the back of your neck. You made a sleepy noise of annoyance when he wrapped his arm around your hips to pull you against him, but you didn’t wake and Satoru sighed in contentment before letting his eyes fall closed.

-----------------------------------------------

I hope y'all enjoyed this sweetness as much as I did!

The next chapter with be the last, but will not be nearly as long and will wrap things up and give a happy ending to our couple. I'm excited to share it will y'all soon<3

Have a good weekend!

Taglist: @paprikaquinn & @kafanizdakicokiyi

[susagnon]

Kyouka: Friendzoned and friendzoning

So. Jirou seems to be the female classmate who the majority of 1-A's guys are most comfortable with.

However, contrary to my headcanon about the most popular 1-A guys, I feel like most of them aren't romantically interested in her.

It might sound a bit sad, but I headcanon that her miffedness about Mineta not naming her among those female classmateds that he wanted to perv on, is not entirely unwarranted... although, having Mineta salivating over you, is probably not something that anyone with self-respect should desire.

I can see her having gained some male admirers outside of the hero students, after the cultural festival.

At first sight, it might seem that Hagakure and Ashido are the most romance-focused girls in 1-A. However, supplemental and canon materials have depicted the tomboyish Jirou as being conscious about the male gender, the most:

During 1-A's practice match against Togata, she was the only girl who completely freaked out over his nudity.

In one of the drama CD stories, she made a big deal inside her head about holding onto the hem of Tokoyami's uniform, when they visited a haunted house together.

In one of the gag comics, she thought that Bakugou was self-conscious about holding her a girl's hands, when he wasn't actually. She basically just self-projected onto him.

In several of the gag comics, Jirou has been depicted as being self-conscious around Kirishima: One example has her perving on him in his costume. Another one, that retold 1-A's trip to the mall before Deku got accosted by Shigaraki, has Jirou imagining being on a date with Kirishima, when the kids paired up to look for Deku... and be pissed, when Kirishima dropped her at the first sight of Bakugou.

Ironically enough, she displays none of that awareness around guys who were hinted as having some interest in her: Kaminari (and I think, I've read something somewhere about Kouda liking her since their practical exams?)

Oh Jirou. You're definitely among those 1-A kids, who have the most growing up to do in the romantic department.

...

I just noticed that, except for Togata, all of the examples above include guys with whom Kaminari is explicitly friends with.

And now I headcanon poor Kaminari getting friendzoned by Jirou until at least until graduation.

The irony of 1-A’s resident flirt being canonically the first one out of all of 1-A’s boys who recognizes that he had fallen for someone: The girl, who just goes through successively crushing on all of his close friends... Now who's the flighty one, huh?

Yes, I imagine the unrequited love switcheroo trope, where Jirou won’t be able to recognize and acknowledge her own feelings for Kaminari for a while. She starts to consciously takes notice of him as a romantic prospect - juuust right when he's about to move on from his own feelings for her.

Drama ensues.

[dykephan]

my thoughts re: how did dan and phil kiss in october and still not start dating until december? from @omatone-dnp's post here :)

i'm sorry in advance for how much forbidden material i'm bringing up here, i feel bad about it which is why i'm putting it under the cut so i can delete this if i want to

so obviously we know they talked online & on skype for months before they decided to meet up in person, and they were heavyyy on the flirting. but we also know that these online spaces were the only places dan and phil were able to be 100% openly queer, so it's natural that they both put on a persona to some extent. this was the time for them to explore who they were & who they wanted to be. dan says he assumed phil would be this super confident smooth guy but then he was awkward and dorky irl, and it was kind of the reverse for phil about dan.

phil might have felt a lot of pressure to be a good example considering he was older, he was someone dan liked on youtube, and phil was one of, if not the first, gay man dan had met. but phil didn't have much romantic experience (...his heart had never done the flippy over thing..............) so i can imagine he felt even more scared of screwing things up. we know he was super nervous the day they met and that he didn't make the first move. i think he wanted to leave that to dan because 1. he didn't know if dan actually liked him or if he was just confused, and 2. he wanted to go at dan's pace for the reasons i mentioned above. we also know that phil had a hard time verbalizing his emotions / understanding them, so he might have wanted to go slower on the romance front too, so he could have time to process everything. he talked quite a bit about how he didn't know where he wanted to go in his life, feeling lost without being in school anymore, and that his family was pressuring him to sort his life out. that's a lot to deal with all at once and adding a serious relationship on top of that can be hard.

for dan, i think the early days were more about finding inner confidence in himself than they were about purposely forming a long term relationship. phil is the one who encouraged dan to make youtube videos, which he'd dreamed about but never thought he would be good enough. phil made him feel safer than he'd felt since he was a tiny child. he introduced him to other queer people and then to his family, who welcomed dan with love (though we don't know how much they actually knew at the time). it was more than just romantic!! it was something dan really needed! :(

at this time, both of them were constantly talking about how they're trying to figure out what to do with their lives, with dan being in his gap year and phil being fresh out of college. it was a transitional period for both of them in very different ways. they weren't even sure if they were going to meet irl, they kept going back and forth about the train tickets for a few months before dan finally bought one. i think as soon as he bought it, he decided he was going to shoot his shot and worry about everything else later.

also, dan was in a relationship with his girlfriend for 3 years, and while we don't know when or how they broke up, he has some tweets indicating that they were still together in 2009 when he began talking to phil online, or at least that dan was still conflicted about the breakup. let me clarify that i'm not saying dan cheated, none of us have any idea what happened and it seems more like their relationship came to a natural conclusion when she moved away for uni, along with all of dan's irl friends which he talked about frequently. i'm more so bringing this up because it marks a shift in how dan talked about love and relationships.

for example, all of these tweets happened in october 2009, right before he met up with phil:

but fast forward to THAT week in december and dan has a completely different perspective on love:

this is the main reason why december makes so much more sense to me as their anniversary. october was about taking a leap of faith even though both of them were afraid of getting it wrong. november was about testing the waters and figuring out how they could logistically make things work, while they were building their bond. december was about finally letting go of all those fears in the pursuit of a happier future for both of them ;-;

[offorestsongs]

OC INTRODUCTION ❣ LYSANDER (ver. 2.0)

"Ah, good seeing you! I was just making soup. Do you want some? It's alright, I can share."

The infamous Ramshackle Prefect. Despite having a reputation of always being where the trouble is, he's actually a pretty calm, quiet person who usually stays out of action until he's pushed directly into it. Suffers from amnesia; his main drive is his intense desire to find new friends and family.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name 🌼 Lysander [last name redacted] nicknames 🌼 Prefect, Lys, Shrimpy/Krill, Monsieur Trickster -> Monsieur Fleur species 🌼 just the most normal human guy imaginable height 🌼 162 cm age 🌼 19 y/o birthday 🌼 [redacted] gender 🌼 trans male (he/him) sexuality 🌼 gay man hometown 🌼 normal human world (the UK specifically) dorm 🌼 Ramshackle class 🌼 1-A club 🌼 none (honorary Pop Music Club member; he doesn't have any musical talents, he's just here for the gossip) favorite subject 🌼 animal linguistics dominant hand 🌼 left talent 🌼cooking hobby 🌼 gardening, embroidery favorite food 🌼 mushroom soup least favorite food 🌼black coffee pet peeve 🌼people being in the kitchen when he's cooking

PERSONALITY

Usually standing on the sidelines and not speaking much unless spoken to, Lysander tends to get overlooked by others. If not, others may think him to be anti-social and unapproachable; his usual grave expression certainly doesn't help his case. However, it cannot be further from the truth.

Lysander is a kind-hearted person who deeply cares for others and is always willing to put their well-being above his own, often to a unhealthy degree. He hates being lonely and desperately wants to have friends, but his quite isolated upbringing didn't give him much of a chance to learn how to properly socialize with others. While he's not exactly shy, it's hard for him to make the first step. He's never quite sure how to approach other people or maintain relationships with them. The fact that he's not exactly a great conversationalist doesn't help him - he feels like he's never learned how to properly talk to people and so he second guesses his every word, worried that he had once again missed an important social cue, which he's prone to doing. In turn, he considers talking quite tiring and definitely prefers listening to others.

Famously bad at saying "no" to people, even when he knows he will regret the decision later; he's just too afraid that refusing to help others will make people hate him and he can't stand seeing his friends inconvenienced. Feels responsible for other people's problems, which probably stems from the fact that he was forced to care for his entire house ever since he was very young. Not that suddenly having to deal with a bunch of traumatised teenagers helps with that.

Really sensitive and emotional, a hopeless romantic at heart, and also, unfortunately, really prone to stress. In crisis situations, his usual response is freeze.

Not used to having much free time, he's always busing himself with something. If it's not cleaning Ramshackle then it's tending to his garden or helping his classmates with their homework or working shifts at the Mostro Lounge. No matter what it is, he simply cannot sit still. He's highly independent and while he does everything to help others, he hates getting help from anyone and tries to do everything by himself. Refusing help is about the only time he will firmly stand his ground and say no.

BACKSTORY

He would love to know as well! The past comes to him in flashes, often triggered by sensations related to the memory. What he had remembered so far doesn't particuraly make him want to go back.

He remembers living in a big, old house, not that different from Ramshackle. He remembers his bedroom, spending long, empty days there, looking out the window. He doesn't remember anything about his parents, just his grandma. She's a looming, dreaded presence in all of Lysander's memories. Any potential siblings or relatives - he doesn't remember anything about them either. Maybe he never had any.

But most imporatntly - he remembers the deep, overwhelming sense of loneliness that seemed to follow his every step.

RELATIONSHIPS

Grim: “He's a bit horrible sometimes, but he's my kitty! Ace says I enable him too much and maybe that's true, but honestly I don't know what I would do without him.”

Riddle: “Poor boy. He was quite horrible to me in the beginning, but…I don't really blame him. There's something about him that makes me almost relate to him, you know? I try to meet up with him for tea when I can. He's a quite good companion once you get to know him.”

Ace: “Honestly, I never thought I'd be friends with somebody like him. Not in a bad way! But he's just so bold and brazen, I wish I could be more like him… He won't stop calling me an old man though…”

Deuce: “He's just such a darling! I can see he's always trying his best, so I try to help him out with his studying when I can.”

Trey: “He’s a sweetheart! And he knows so much about baking! I didn’t have much time to indulge in making sweets before but he’s always willing to share some advice as long as I help him out in the kitchen, which is so nice.”

Cater: “Cater was actually one of the first friends I’ve made here. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ace and Deuce, but it’s nice to have somebody closer in age to converse with. And it can be confusing when I’m new at school while everyone seems to already know everyone, but he always knows all the rumors so I don’t feel lost with him.”

Leona: “He’s a bit scary but I know he has a good heart deep down. Not good enough to let me pet his ears though…”

Ruggie: “Sometimes I feel bad for him. It seems that life hasn’t been kind to him, and he’s always working so hard! Sometimes I cook too much so I can give the leftovers to him - it’s the best I can do.”

Jack: “He’s always so serious but he’s such a sweet boy. Sometimes I go to Spelldrive matches just to cheer him on, though I’m still not quite sure if I even understand how the sport works.”

Azul: “I know some people don’t trust him but he was always nice to me! When he saw that I’m struggling with money, he offered me a job, which I think is awfully nice of him. He pays me fairly and I think that’s all that matters.”

Jade: “He’s actually quite nice! He knows a lot about different flora and he’s always willing to talk about it, too. We don’t really spend much time together but I love listening to him when I can.”

Floyd: “I- I don’t want to be mean, but there’s just something about him that makes a shiver run down my spine. I prefer to not be alone with him if I can.”

Kalim: “What a darling! He’s always so sweet and nice to me, it’s a delight to be around him. I just wish he’d stop offering he’d share some of his family riches with me… I’m running out of ways to refuse, which is quite awkward.”

Jamil: “We’re not really close but I do respect him a great deal. I wish I could help him and Kalim somehow, but I guess some things are outside even my capabilities.”

Vil: “He’s really intimidating, I used to be a bit afraid of him. But he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him! He has helped me a lot with many things and I’ll forever be grateful to him. I think he’s one of my best friends, though I’m not sure if he thinks the same about me…”

Rook: “Oh- I- Well- Um. Yes. He’s quite nice, isn’t he? And he’s pretty… uh, a pretty good friend! Yes! We’ve been spending a lot of time together recently and- I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I feel around him. Quite mortifying.”

Epel: “Ah, I do understand him a lot. I too often struggle with not feeling like I’m a man enough, as stupid as it is. I wish I could offer him some guidance, but I’m not really qualified for that.”

Idia: “I’m not really sure how I feel about him. We don’t really spend much time together and truth be told, I usually have no idea what he’s talking about. Cater said that’s because I touch too much grass, whatever that means.”

Ortho: “The sweetest boy! He’s always such a joy to be around, sometimes I wish I could steal him from Idia… Don’t tell him that!”

Malleus: “I know well how it is to not have any friends, so I’m always happy to offer him company. We seem to understand each other and he never expects me to talk a lot which is awfully sweet of him.”

Lilia: “He’s a bit eccentric and a bit intimidating, but I don’t mind him. In fact, I’ve often come to him for advice. He seems to know a lot about life for a student.”

Silver: “Like Malleus, he simply lets me sit in comfortable silence with him, which I really appreciate. I really hope we can be closer friends someday.” Sebek: “His dedication to Malleus is really admirable, but I do think this boy needs more friends. Not me, apparently. I don’t think he likes me much, even though I never get in his way.”

TRIVIA

the only other time he will say no to people is when they try to help him with cooking; he has a very particular way of doing things in the kitchen and hates when other mess up what he considers his most sacred space

a big animal lover, especially when it comes to cats - he'll try to pet every stray cat he sees on his way

he's very afraid of losing his memories again - because of that, he started keeping a journal where he writes down the important details of his new life. he carries it with him everywhere

he's autistic, though he was never officially diagnosed. his grandma was more the "vaccines cause autism" type than "take the child in your care to see a specialist"

almost always feels cold, which is why he's usually bundled in thick sweaters

doesn't like throwing things away, which means that Ramshackle is always full of usueless but sentimental trinkets

he's nearsighted. his eyesight is actually pretty bad - anything past the distance of his outstreched hand is a blurr to him

feels very insecure about his height and so he always wears shoes with heels

his hair magically magically turned pink after getting isekaied

tends to call people "darling" and "sweetheart" a lot

WRITING

headcanons; lysander fun facts! lilyarrow ship intro lilyarrow headcanons lilyarrow headcanons: phones orange peel theory

fics; stolen affections flirting tactics cat and mouse romantic secrets heart-shaped locket flirty prompts ask game 1 flirty prompts ask game 2

CARDS

SR Tsumsitter SR Tropical Wear SR Sleepwear [fan event] SR Music Weeks [fan event]

dividers.

[misty--nights]

It’s time for episode 6. I always start these thinking I won’t find much and it’ll be a short one, and then I’ll just keep finding details and the posts get pretty long

The recap editing strikes again. Immediately after Edwin tells Monty “I wasn’t talking about you” we get a shot of his hug with Charles

There are some colorful glasses up on the division between the spaces of Niko’s room (I don’t know the name of that thing) and I can just imagine Niko asking Jenny for a ladder to put them up there. Also there is a blue butterfly glued above her closet door

The sign with the name of Tragic Mick’s shop has a little fish jumping over it, which is really cute

When they first arrive at the shop and are talking with Mick, there is a figure on one of the shelves that kind of looks like a polar bear with a red dress

Niko’s card is pink and has like a cute bunny thing decoration. All of her things are adorable, I love her

It’s really funny just how terrible at lying all of these kids are. They are almost implausibly bad at it, and it’s always hilarious how the others just shrug and go with it

Speaking of, Monty flipping his hair and putting on a dramatic tone to tell them that his good friend has a problem is just peak. This boy is amazing, and his lying abilities fit right in with al the others (to his credit, none of the main kids realized he was a crow before the Cat King reveals the truth, so I guess it’s working for him)

The names for their potential cases are hilarious: Phantom Yodeler, Undead Milkman, Doppelganger Gang, Sentient Pants, Restless Piano Syndrome. (Can’t really make out what the last 2 say, but I can make out the words Cricket Wicket in one, and Gargoyle in the other)

Edwin has a little smile after Niko tells him he looks nice <3

I just realized that the reason Crystal’s attempt at pretending to read the tree is so bad is because she cannot tell that her eyes go white every time she uses her powers

Monty is immediately concerned when Charles says the elemental consumes ghosts. I love how clearly you can see the different emotions on his face, how you can tell the instant he starts to have second thoughts about this plan, even if he is still going to go through with it for revenge (for a little while at least)

Edwin’s science glasses are just for the drama/aesthetic, right? All of the others are standing right there by him without any glasses, so it’s not like they are for protection. Also you have to love the fact that he passes Charles the vial to throw it even though I’m sure it would have been the same if Edwin himself had done it? Charles doesn’t throw it too far, so it’s not like it required a lot of strength or anything. It’s just the way they do things, I guess. Edwin creates the potions, Charles throws them. Brains and brawn

I could be wrong, but I think that when the Night Nurse and Kashi are talking you can hear Angie’s heartbeat in the background

After Charles breaks all of David’s mirrors, the ground of Crystal’s mind place is full of glass (I think it wasn’t before, but my memory isn’t great so I could be wrong about this one too)

I’ve been thinking about since the episode 1 rewatch, but I think it’s interesting that none of the kids (minus Niko) made the connection between Monty the boy and Monty the witches familiar, given the way Esther yells Monty’s name after that first confrontation when they rescued Becky Aspen. I know it’s a wild connection to make, but Monty isn’t that common of a name, and they all were very much there when she yelled “Monty, shut up” at the screaming crow inside of her house. I don’t know, I think it could have been funny for Charles to fixate on Edwin’s new pal having the same name as Esther’s crow, and then for the others to dismiss it as jealousy. It would be hilarious, and it’d give Charles a chance to be all “I told you so” after the reveal

All of the chairs around the table by Crystal’s tree are a little different

Petition to make Crystal part of the Brawn team in the agency, because the way she fights Esther is vicious. She should get to beat the shit out of more enemies next season

Charles sounds like he’s been crying right after Crystal rescues the two of them. His voice is all watery and broken even though he’s smiling

One of Niko’s cushions on her windowsill has an octopus on it

Ghosts don’t have reflections, but they do have shadows. I guess shadows would be harder to remove irl? I noticed the shadows during the scene where they’re thinking of a name for Crystal’s move

The Night Nurse says she’s been working at that post for over two million hours, which means (according to google) that she’s been at the Lost and Found department for almost 230 years. No wonder she’s so done with everyone’s bullshit. Imagine working the same shitty job for over 200 years

[bluevaractyl]

I tried and failed to talk myself out of writing yet another angsty fic. I guess it was Four's turn to suffer. At least it's short?

Warning: lots of blood

“Hey Four, could you go get Twilight? I wanted to ask him about a recipe he mentioned yesterday.”

Four looked up from the letter he’d been writing to Dot. Wild was squinting at the labels on some of Grandpa Smith’s spices, probably trying to make sense of the unfamiliar writing.

“Sure,” Four answered. He finished his sentence and set down the quill.

They had arrived at Four’s home yesterday afternoon. Most of the group were taking the opportunity to rest and relax, but Four had heard Twilight asking his grandpa how he could help out. The steady thunk of an axe hitting wood led him out to the front yard.

Twilight set down the axe when he saw Four. He wiped sweat from his brow. “Hey Four, what’s up?”

“Wild wanted to ask you about a recipe,” Four explained.

Twilight nodded. “I’ll be there in a sec, just lemme finish this up.” He started gathering up the split logs to stack.

A familiar voice called, “Link!”

Four whipped around to see Dot leaning over the fence, waving. He grinned and waved back. She hopped down and came up the path to greet him.

“I didn’t know you were back! How long have you been here? Why didn’t you come visit?” she demanded, playful accusation in her tone.

Four laughed. “We haven’t been here a day yet. I was just writing to tell you before you showed up.”

Dot laughed with him. She grabbed his arm and started tugging him toward the path, saying, “I’ve got so much to ask you! Come on, walk with me!”

Four glanced back, meeting Twilight’s amused gaze. The Rancher said, “Go on, I’ll tell the others where you’ve gone. Stay safe and be back for dinner, alright?” Four nodded gratefully and let Dot pull him away.

The woods were full of fond memories. Four relaxed as he walked alongside Dot, eagerly describing the places and times he’d visited with the others. She smiled, swinging their clasped hands and letting him talk. Usually she’d be chattier, but he had plenty to say for them both.

They’d gone quite far when she pulled him to a stop. He turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, Link,” she said. Her smile had turned sad.

“What for?” Four asked, genuine confusion furrowing his brow, even as unease crept through him. Something wasn’t right.

She stepped closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “You deserved better.”

Something punched Four in the gut, winding him. He gasped and found he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Dot drew away. The motion wrenched a grunt of pain from Four. He looked down to see her pulling her hand away from his tunic. There was something in her hand. It gleamed red.

Four’s legs suddenly buckled, and he sat down hard. His breathing had turned fast and shallow. His hands instinctively went to his stomach, where the pain was worst. They met wet fabric. He slowly looked up.

Dot was cleaning blood—his blood—from a dagger with a bright white handkerchief. She lowered her gaze to meet his, and a cold smile stole across her face. With false sympathy, she murmured, “Oh, that must hurt. Let me help.”

She shoved him hard in the chest. His back hit the dirt, vision whiting out when his head smacked a rock. Dazed, he lay blinking up at the sky, still trying and failing to draw a full breath. Every twitch of the muscles in his abdomen sent agony shooting through him.

Dot came to stand above him, blocking out the sky. Her eyes had taken on a red glint. She twirled the shining dagger in her hands. “It would be so easy to finish you off now…but I think I’d rather your friends find you still warm. Imagine their anguish when they realize they were mere minutes too late.”

Four stared up at her, mind whirling. None of this made sense. She had—but why—

Another wave of pain rolled over him, and he let out a breathless whine. Dot (it wasn’t Dot, though, it couldn’t be Dot) smirked, then turned and began walking away.

“Farewell, Hero,” she said, and then she was gone.

Four tried to process what had just happened, but his thoughts kept slipping through his fingers. There was something he needed to do. Something about pressure?

Right. Pressure, to stop the blood.

Four raised shaky hands to the wound in his stomach and pressed down. The pain immediately spiked, bringing tears to his eyes. He could tell it wasn’t enough. His strength was fading frighteningly fast, and his coherence with it. If he didn’t get help soon, he was going to die.

His options were limited. There was no way he could walk like this, and trying would only hasten the blood loss. The others wouldn’t be looking for him for a while yet. Maybe he had potions in his bag?

His bag. Which he had left at home, since he hadn’t planned on going anywhere when he went out to find Twilight.

Okay. Okay, so no potions, no fairies, no items…

Four braced himself, took as deep a breath as he could manage, and called, “Hello?” The word came out high and wavering and not nearly loud enough. He tried again. “Can anyone hear—”

He broke off with a whimper. The pain in his middle was blinding. He panted harshly, trying to ride it out. He coughed. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. That’s not good.

A rising sense of helplessness threatened to drown him. He couldn’t stop the bleeding on his own, and he had no way to get help. He really didn’t want to die here, but it didn’t look like he had a say in the matter. He could feel a sort of fog settling over his thoughts. Even the pain had started to dull. He was running out of time.

Something tapped his chin. His eyes fluttered open. He didn’t remember closing them.

“Wake up! Small Hero, wake up!” cried a voice. The speaker sounded distressed. Four tried unsuccessfully to raise his head to look. He was so tired.

Something brushed by his nose, making it tickle, and then he was squinting cross-eyed at the minish perched on his cheek. They wrung their paws anxiously and called again, “You are alright, Small Hero? So much red. Too much. Alright?”

Four licked his lips, tasting blood, and rasped, “No. Need…h-help.”

The minish flicked their tail, a flicker of bright red in his darkening periphery, then patted his cheek reassuringly. “Help for the Small Hero, we can find. Stay awake!” With those words, they scurried away out of his field of view.

Soft chittering told him he hadn’t been abandoned. Several minish clambered around his numb fingers, and he could feel a few gently tugging at his hair, weaving blades of grass and small flowers into the strands. One came to his left ear and chattered quietly about how they had added another member to their family, and about the humans who had moved into a house not far away and the gifts they had left to welcome them, and how the forest had seen new growth where a fire had been last season…

“Wake up! Please, Small Hero, help is coming!”

Four groaned and dragged his eyes open again. Many small paws patted and pressed at his face and neck and ears. He had worried them. Four mumbled, “It's alright, I’m…awake.” He coughed weakly, accidentally jostling his small riders, and the taste of blood sharpened. The minish chittered in alarm.

Suddenly Four could hear something crashing through the trees. He hoped it wasn’t a monster. Even an octorok could probably take him out like this.

“Four!” came a familiar shout. He blinked, and Wind was crouching over him, dark eyes wide and round. The minish who had first found Four was cupped in his palm. Wind set them on Four’s chest, then placed his hands on the wound and pressed down firmly. The pain came roaring back.

“A-ah,” Four gasped out. Wind made an apologetic noise but didn’t let up.

More footsteps. A wet nose nudged Four’s cheek, and Wolfie whined. Four shivered. The others were being loud.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, that’s a lot of blood—”

“Can he take a potion like that?”

“Who has a fairy?”

There were more hands on him. Someone pressed their fingers to the pulse point at his throat. Four woozily protested, “W-watch out f’r minish.”

“Is he okay? What’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know, but his pulse is pretty weak, and it’s way too fast.”

Wind patted his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Four, I’ve got them. You just hold on, okay?”

Four tried to parse that out. “Hold on…t’ what?”

Someone made a funny noise. Wind said, “Uh…”

Someone else grabbed his cold, clammy hand and squeezed it. He could barely feel it. “Hold on to me, Four.” He tried squeezing back and managed a weak twitch of his fingers.

“Here!”

There was a familiar chiming sound, and then a fairy was fluttering over Four. They swooped low so that he couldn’t see them anymore. The pressure on his middle lifted. The throbbing, stabbing pain in his abdomen increased sharply and then abruptly started to ebb away. Somewhere inside of him, he could feel tears mending and new flesh forming. Tender skin sealed over the gaping holes in his front and back. In minutes, the mortal wound had completely healed.

Four finally took in a deeper breath, letting it out in a sigh of relief. He still felt dizzy and weak and tired, but he wasn’t hurting anymore.

Little feet scampered up his chest. He lifted his head to see the first minish sitting on his collarbone. Their large, dark eyes met his own. “Small Hero will be alright?” they asked in their soft, chirruping speech.

Four smiled at them and assured, “Yes, I’ll be alright.” He let his head fall and murmured, “Thank you.”

Small hands patted his chin, and then the minish ran down his arm to his unoccupied hand. They pressed something smooth and flat into his palm and disappeared. Four curled his fingers around the object and felt the familiar ridges of a kinstone piece. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

“Let’s get you home,” said Warriors.

Time carefully lifted him with an arm under his shoulders and his knees. Even as slowly as he was moving, the motion brought on a wave of vertigo. Four moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

Slim fingers grasped his wrist to take his pulse. “He’s so cold,” said Warriors, sounding concerned. A moment later, a warm weight was draped over him.

Time adjusted his hold so that Four’s head was nestled against his shoulder, then started walking. He wasn’t wearing any armor. Four wondered how the minish had found the others and brought them here.

Four’s heart was still beating quickly, trying to compensate for the blood loss, but the adrenaline had faded. He was struggling to stay awake.

Time must have noticed. “You can sleep now, Smithy. We’ve got you.”

Four was asleep in seconds.

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Horror nights (hanjisung)

DISCLAIMER: these longer writings can be read as both standalones or part 2's/prequels etc if you will.

IF you wish to imagine the characters following a chronological narration of events, this one can definitely be read before "I'm not leaving you". as it could serve as a moment in time that happens before the events in the blurb mentioned above.

WARNING : *mentions of blood and graphic fake movie depictions of brutality

PART 1

You really were so surprised at how unphased Han had been throughout the whole first movie. And how he still looked almost amused if not even bored at the horrific scenes currently displaying on the screen. For someone who's usually so sensitive and jumpy and easily overwhelmed, he looked completely at ease while watching literal bodies being sawn apart. Well, not literally, it was just prosthetics and cgi but the oozing blood and inhuman heart wrenching screams felt pretty fucking real and terrifying in your humble opinion.

Horror movie nights were both your favourite and your least favourite hang outs with your friends. You loved the activity in the fall for it was cozy and chill and required minimal effort and preparation. The most proactive thing you had to do was usually just pick some snacks and drive to one of your friends' houses with your duffel bag ready for the sleepover. Admittedly your favourite part was that it gave you the chance to shamelessly cuddle with the boys and enjoy how warm and protective they felt, Han being the more readily available one seeing that he had been your closest friend for longer.

But to counterbalance all that, your least favourite thing about it all was having to stomach up to 4 and a half hours of usually gory splatter horror movie marathons, either that or some fucked up rather mentally violent psychological thriller that Seugmin would choose and subject to you all even though everyone protested. Even trying to set him up with one of your girlfriends didn't persuade him enough to stop picking such awful films, and actually your girlfriend started enjoying them too so it only brought them closer which to Seugmin meant he was even more validated and encouraged to being a menace.

The real worse thing about this scary movies night tradition of sorts though was that it set the perfect storm for your budding feelings for Han: you weren't really sure when it all started but at one point down the many years of your friendship you started looking at him differently, noticing all those little lovable things about him and seeing him grow and become a young handsome man, the man with the biggest golden heart you knew. You slowly but surely started falling for him and you were now stuck in this uncomfortable limbo where you really wanted to confess but you couldn't bring yourself to cause you were sure he only saw you as a friend, even as a sister maybe.

Him being a naturally physically affectionate person didn't help either. You and the boys were all pretty comfortable in each other presence, had no problem being openly cuddly and close so you being all over Felix or Chan and Han being all over you on a typical movie night never raised any eyebrows except you couldn't help but get all warm and fuzzy and jittery inside whenever Han cuddled you and you were always so fucking afraid it would clearly show on your face. You didn't necessarily want any of the guys to notice too much cause you knew damn well they functioned like one body one mind and that none of them were able to keep their mouths shut.

As another blood coiling scream pierces through the TV speakers you flinch visibly and blink manier manier times, trying to collect yourself when the scene doesn't develop in any actual jumpscares but a mere cliffhanger that seems to be lasting forever and Han must've noticed how on edge you look cause he quietly scoots closer to you on the couch, putting an arm around your shoulder and giving it a little squeeze as you low key shift closer to him, Jeongin sitting on the other side, almost half asleep and definitely not noticing you drifting away from him. You swallow inaudibly and pull the blanket up your knees, absentmindedly making sure to cover Han's legs as well and he grins at you at the gesture, pulling you even closer to him.

And that's when you breathe him in and almost pass out cause why does he have to smell so fucking nice? You could already smell the faint scent of his shampoo from your former spot on the couch but now you can clearly inhale the fresh, sweet fragrance along with the muskier and powdery scent of his clothes and skin, the slightest hint of popcorn on his breath. Also why does his hair have to look so shiny and healthy and soft? And why does his side profile has to look so handsome? With the chiseled jawline but chubbier cheeks and his small straight nose and and pretty eyes so intent on the movie and those damn lips, barely parted, the bottom one sticking out so plump and rosy even in the semi darkness of the room - you are officially spiraling.

One of the characters in the movie suddenly gets possessed by some kind of demon and he tears himself apart, blood and guts spilling all over the scene and you just cannot. If one moment ago you were almost too overwhelmed by Han's mere scent you now literally bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying to cover your face with the curtain of your hair which earns you a soft snicker from him, "you're okay there?", he whispers in your hair, unaware of the shiver he just sent down your spine, you nod and mumble something unintelligible and slowly, ever so slowly lift your head up, quickly checking the screen to see if it's safe again, mainly focusing on the shadowed heads of your friends sitting and cuddling all around on the floor.

Han slips his other arm out from beneath the blanket and gently places his hand on top of yours, "squeeze if you need to", he instructs, his left arm tightening around your shoulder now that you straightened out again. You thank him quietly, your voice barely a whisper, and in a tiny leap of faith you interlock your fingers with his, hoping he won't be too bothered by that which doesn't seem to be the case since he just keeps on watching the movie, completely desensitized to the gore.

A few more relatively calm scenes roll by and you start to reassure yourself into believing maybe now there's a little amount of time where the plot just needs to develop without the obsessive amount of splatter. But just as you're about to almost quiet down completely and possibly fall asleep on your friend's shoulder a fucking ghost face thing jumps into full vision and attacks some other characters by slinging an axe down their backs and the sound of bones breaking and blood erupting everywhere makes you literally jump on the couch and whimper in pain as if you're the one being massacred, a few of the boys either mutter profanities themselves or straight up gasp, "oh my god oh my god ohmygod" you whisper/shout squeezing Han's hand so tight he frowns deeply at you and then he is pulling you into his arms in just a matter of mere seconds.

His embrace his warm and welcoming, you shut your almost teary eyes and focus on his fast heartbeat, "it's gone, baby. It's gone, I promise it's all over now", he repeats over and over again, his voice a very low, soft whisper as he pats your back, "gosh... you're shaking", he adds then, first vigorously holding and caressing your back and then cupping your face and stroking your cheeks repeatedly when he realises you're still so shaken, "it's okay, y/n it's okay, it's all over now, see? They killed him. They're walking away in a field now", he narrates softly, guiding you back on the couch, still keeping an arm protectively around your back.

You gradually calm down but still snuggle close to him, your heartbeat going a hundred miles per hour either from the violence you just witnessed or Han's immediate reaction and strong embrace. You kind of enjoy it, this sort of roller coaster of emotions, the edge keeping you very much alert and sensitive to every little touch and shift in vibration coming off of both you and Han who on the other hand seems to now be fully aware and responsive towards your every move, to every hitch on your breath as you reluctantly try to keep on watching the movie.

PART 2

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Arctic Wolf (1/2)

Virgil had never really thought that he would end up in the Hunger Games.

When he does, he never thought he would come out of it alive.

----

| Ao3 | Next ->

| Art of Virgil |

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!! Rated Mature for graphic deptictions of violence !!

Warnings: Death, Government mandated murder, Weapons, Virgil is an orphan street rat and 14 (just stating incase that bothers people), Talk about potential starvation, dehydration and animal attacks, General anxiety.

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3511

Notes:

HELLO!!

So excited to be posting the first part of this fic!! I've been working on it for a little while. I absolutely love this au I've made with @sleepy-nova-tea - it's so awesome :3

----

Virgil had never really thought that he would end up in the Hunger Games. 

It’s not like he thought he was immune or above anyone or anything, but he was young - only fourteen - and his name was only in the reaping four times. With no family to provide for, he only needed the tesserae offered for himself, he was in a good position not to be picked when he knew there were others who had their names in forty-odd times. 

That’s why he thought it was just a little bit unfair when they called out his name. 

No-one volunteered, of course, he didn’t expect them to - why would they? It was a death sentence. All he got were a few sympathetic looks from the people in the crowd who knew him. 

At least there was no-one here who would really remember him. 

An orphan with no family or friends to speak of - a few people who could afford to give him food every so often knew who he was, but aside from that… Well. He was glad it was him if the alternative was someone who would leave people behind. 

—-

The female tribute from his district was someone he didn’t know, nor was she someone he was interested in knowing. He was going to be dead soon anyway, it didn’t matter if they made friends, in fact, it would only hurt more if they were. 

Their stay in the Capitol went too quickly and too slowly all at once. Living like kings before they would be sent to the slaughter. It was backhanded and cruel in Virgil’s mind, showing him everything he had ever wanted back home - a warm bed, plentiful food, clean clothes - for such a short time before shoving him into whatever cruel arena they had thought up this year. 

Training was difficult, it gave him a chance to see how the other tribute’s skills compared to his (every single one beating him out by a landslide). There was no way he would be winning this game through combat that was for sure. He saw the girl from two throw a spear with accuracy he couldn’t imagine, he saw the boy from four throwing knives. Everyone seemed to be prioritising combat. Virgil knew he would never win that way, which meant he would have to focus on something else. 

So, Virgil spent all his days training working on survival skills. Learning how to build fires, find shelter, catch food and make natural remedies he could make in his time of need. A lot of the other tributes looked at him like he was dead meat, the first up on the chopping block,  he probably was. 

Virgil was weak, malnourished, spider limbed and quiet, he hadn’t touched a single weapon the entire time they were here and he never once talked to another tribute. What he had done was memorise the plants to look out for, looked for hints in the training exercise as to what the arena might entail so he could better prepare and he had made a point to ask the capitol staff running the training for help and tips - it wasn’t something he had seen anyone else doing aside from those looking to spar, he just hoped that maybe it would be helpful. 

He didn’t talk to anyone during lunch, he didn’t talk to anyone during training, and he certainly didn’t talk to anyone any other time. If he was going to win this game, his only chance was alone. Not that he thought he would, but hey, he may as well try. Besides, that was how he had been all his life. 

During his examination, Virgil showcased his knowledge of poisonous plants and insects. Sure, it wasn’t throwing knives or spears or anything showy or impressive, but it was all he got. 

In the end, he would be going in with a score of five, which, looking on the bright side, made him far less of a target for the careers than some of the higher scoring tributes.

—-

“Virgil Helio, from district eight!” Announced Caesar after his little introduction spiel that Virgil hadn’t paid attention too, and suddenly Virgil was being pushed forward onto the stage by a peacekeeper. He almost tripped over the long cloak his stylist had dressed him in as he climbed the stairs and took his seat. The crowd was cheering - so many people were sitting here, watching, they had come to see the tributes and Virgil could already feel himself freezing up as they went quiet. 

“-Seem a little nervous?”

Virgil only caught the tail end of that statement, but he could guess what Caeser was asking, “Uh- yeah, kinda,” he admitted, “Just- give me a second.”

Taking a deep breath in to steady himself, Virgil closed his eyes and let it out slowly, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Virgil answered the questions almost in a daze. He was asked about his time in district eight, how it felt to be the youngest tribute in the arena, his strengths and weaknesses. He answered them all as though from behind a wall - he heard his own voice like it was distant, that was the only way he felt he could keep it together for the whole interview. 

“So, you’re skilled in finding shelter and catching food,” Caesar said as Virgil finished answering the last question, “So what kind of arena are you hoping for?”

“Well - I guess something with forested areas? Trees are great shelter, and there’s more places to hide,” Virgil said, he didn’t want to reveal all of his plans, “I’m not a fighter.”

—-

It was cold. 

As Virgil rose up on that podium wind whipped his face, icy air ripping into his exposed cheeks. The clothes he had been given to wear into the area were thick and thermal and now he could see why. The entire arena was covered in a blanket of snow, not a single patch of grass to be seen as Virgil looked around. 

The countdown thrummed in his ears, the loud voice counting down making his heart race quicker with every number. A glance around the circle of tributes had Virgil realising that this was about to be a bloodbath. The careers looked downright bloodthirsty, half the others looked determined, one or two looked scared like him. One of the careers glanced in his direction and Virgil could already tell he was done for. 

The cornucopia would be a bloodbath, even if there were valuable supplies, there was no need for him to go for them if he was dead. What he did see as the timer ticked down to zero was a backpack and supplies not too far from his podium. If he could grab them and run into the pines behind him he would be set - well, that did depend on what was in the bag, but at least he wouldn’t be dead. 

With the sound of the gong ringing in his ears, Virgil sprinted. 

He was one of the first of the tributes off of their podiums, and he had snatched up the bag he had seen before any of them had even reached a weapon. Running for the treeline he also paused to grab what looked like a thermal blanket before darting back past the podiums and towards the tree line - tall pines covered in snow and ice just waiting to fall. He was just glad that the weather was looking clear for now. Who knew how quickly that would change. 

Just as he reached the treeline, Virgil heard what sounded like an arrow whistle past him and ducked to the side, the metal arrow thudded into a tree trunk, and Virgil glanced back before running over and yanking it back out. It wasn’t as good as a knife or a sword, but a weapon was a weapon, at least he had one. 

Finding a cave was easy. Finding a good cave was the hard part.

It turned out that the arena was covered in holes, there were nooks and crannies and places to hide everywhere. Half of them had animals in them - he could tell by nearby damaged branches and tousled shrubbery as well as tracks in the snow. Virgil was not taking his chances with a wolf or a lynx, let alone some kind of mutt. 

He wandered for what must have been at least a few hours, only coming across one other tribute in that time. Hissing at her seemed to have scared her off though, so Virgil had been safe enough for now.

As he walked he mentally mapped out the arena. The cornucopia had been in a clearing, trees on all sides. To the north he came across a huge basin. He’d spotted a few caves in the dipping terrain, but they weren’t worth it. There was no tree cover there and besides, he’d freeze to death before the next dawn. There was a frozen river further west, behind which seemed to be more clifflike terrain. Virgil wouldn’t risk climbing it for now. In an emergency, he knew he could, but he didn’t want to risk falling and breaking his neck for potentially no reward this early on. No. Careful to pick the part of the river where the ice should be thickest, Virgil made his way across and began to search along the rocky cliffs for caves. It would make sense for caves to form along here and eventually he found the jackpot. A cave with a small entrance he had to crawl through, pretty hidden by the rocks and with a tiny freshwater stream that travelled from under the ice it seemed. It was perfect for a home base.

In the backpack he had grabbed there was some rope, a few matches, and a pouch that he could attach to his belt to hold a weapon he didn’t have. Well - he had his arrow, but that wouldn’t fit, it was meant for a knife or dagger. He was sure he could find some kind of use for it regardless. 

The biggest glaring issue Virgil faced was that he had no food. In fact, looking at it critically as he tried to fall asleep that night, wrapped up in the insulating blanket he was incredibly grateful he had grabbed, Virgil was food. Every time he risked leaving his cave he risked being attacked by some kind of predator, something that needed to eat just like him. It was highly doubtful that there would be anything to hunt out here either. Maybe there would be a few plants he could grab, worst come to worst he could eat the pine needles off of the trees, but really if he wanted to stay alive he would have to find something better. 

The only place he could get something better was the cornucopia - or the other tributes. The careers were probably guarding the cornucopia and all of its supplies. He was lucky to have a freshwater supply, but he wouldn’t last another day without something to eat. 

He fell asleep last night after listening to the cannons - seven fallen tributes on the first day. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t out last. 

The next morning he woke up to an empty stomach. With a soft groan he sat up, his blanket still wrapped snugly around him and for a few seconds was reminded of home during the winter. 

Trying so hard to think of the positives, Virgil decided that at least that meant he was familiar with this part. Being hungry, waking up from a cold night, sleeping on the ground. The thermal blanket might actually be an upgrade, but at least at home he didn’t have sixteen possibly armed teenagers after him. 

He heard a howling wolf followed by a cannon shot in the distance. Fifteen, he thought. At least his fears of the arena wildlife weren’t unfounded. 

It was still early, though, and the sun wasn’t quite up yet. Virgil was used to rising before dawn, but this seemed different. He felt like the sun should be up by now if his body clock was anything to go by. He supposed though if this arena was mimicking winter it would reflect that with longer nights and shorter days. 

Going now would make it easier to stay hidden from other tributes, but it also made him a sitting duck for any creature out there looking for a quick snack. 

He weighed up his options and eventually - arrow held tightly in hand and bag on his back - crept out of the cave. So long as he was quiet maybe he wouldn’t be noticed. 

There was little trouble as Virgil reached the clearing that housed the cornucopia. He felt lucky to have not come across any wild animals on his trek through the snow. Now he crouched behind a tree watching. The sky was starting to get lighter by now, and there was a fire crackling in the mouth of the cornucopia, around which five tributes sat. Two from district one, one from two, and two from four. Virgil took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, he had to think rationally about this or he’d never get anything done.

Virgil could see where all the supplies were stored - behind them inside the cornucopia. He guessed it was to protect them from the worst of the cold. There’s no way he could grab it like this with them all there, they’d see him in an instant in the black clothing they’d been given for the arena, he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he left the trees. Waiting for them to leave would be his best bet, but who knows how long that would be, and he was vulnerable here - maybe he could draw them away somehow…

“Psst-” He heard behind him, causing him to whip around, clutching his arrow in his hand he scanned the area until his eyes caught on a girl with short black hair peeking out from behind a nearby tree. Vaguely he recognised her as the girl he had hissed at on the first day - he thought she might be from Three, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to the others to know her name. She made a gesture for him to come over - Virgil just frowned and gripped his arrow tighter - he couldn’t trust anyone here. The girl frowned, holding up her hands in a surrender, before gesturing with her chin behind her. She clearly wanted to talk, but they couldn’t do it here with the careers so close by. Eventually Virgil sighed and nodded, carefully making his way over to her. He was lucky, he supposed. She could have killed him easily as she led him a little further into the trees - a safe enough distance away to talk. 

“Sorry for scaring you,” she whispered once they were far enough away.

“Sorry for hissing at you,” Virgil returned with a shrug, “You’re um - you’re from Three, right?”

“Mhm - My name’s Bug Scintilla - You’re Virgil, from Eight,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake - he did so hesitantly with a small nod, “Great - you’re looking to go after their stuff, right?”

Another nod, she smiled.

“Not the talking type?”

Virgil shrugged with a small smile, “Not really.”

“Well good, I talk a lot,” she said, “Now - guess you’re looking for food, right? That’s why I’m here too, there’s nothing good to eat in the rest of the arena unless you’re able to kill a wolf which, no offence, you look really scrawny and your only weapon is an arrow.”

He shrugged again - she was right. 

“So, d’you have a plan?”

“I was in the middle of making one,” He said, shaking his head, looking back in the direction of the clearing, she sighed. 

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” She said, beginning to draw a map of the clearing in the snow, Virgil sat down with her and looked, “Did you see where they had everything?”

“The supplies are all piled up in the cornucopia,” Virgil added, pointing to the map, she nodded, adding a cross, “So we gotta draw them away…”

For a while, they went back and forth on the best ways to do it, lighting a fire, making a lot of noise - noise might draw some of the wild animals in the arena, and if the careers were killed by them whilst looking for the source then Virgil certainly wouldn’t be too upset. 

“Are you sure you could get away, though?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Mhm - I’m good at climbing and the trees here are pretty tightly packed, I can get away that way,” She said, “You can sneak in from behind the cornucopia - they’ll leave a lookout, but you’re small and I saw how stealthy you were back in training, I think you can do it.”

Virgil nodded slowly, “Okay, right.”

“And make sure you’re fast too, we don’t know how long they’ll be distracted for and I don’t want you to get caught.”

Virgil nodded, “You know the river on the west side?” he said, she nodded, “We can meet there afterwards - I guess if we don’t make it there by sundown we can assume…”

“The cannons will tell anyway,” she shook her head, “But good plan - let's head out - we want this done before we starve, and hey - if you see anything else useful you can grab - no harm in having more, right?”

Virgil nodded yet again. There were so many things that could go wrong with this plan, neither of them were guaranteed safety or results, but he supposed they would both die either way if they didn’t try. At least if they went for it they would have some kind of chance. 

After a moment of hesitance, Bug pulled him in for a hug. Virgil had never been a touchy person, and this certainly startled him, but he still put his arms around her in return. “In case we don’t make it back,” she says, quietly, before hurrying away into the trees. 

Taking a deep breath, Virgil made his way in the other direction, keeping his fingers crossed that he wouldn’t come across any animals or other tributes as he made his way around the treeline until he was facing the back of the cornucopia. Once he had made it, he crouched in the shrubbery to wait.

The plan had gone smoothly right up until Virgil was trying to leave the cornucopia. 

He had managed to find two bags and stuff them full of food and supplies, he’d grabbed a couple of weapons, and a flask of water for them both too. He’d stolen as much as he could fit in the two bags before hefting one onto his shoulders and making his way out only to see the careers making their way back across the clearing.

Virgil panicked, snatching a knife from a nearby pile of weapons so that he had something in his hand and attempting to slip out of the cornucopia. Yelling behind him let him know that he had been unsuccessful. He ran, but they were gaining on him. The other careers had been at the other side of the clearing, but the district four guy they had left behind - a big, muscled guy who must be on the older end of the scale - was right behind him. 

Virgil turned, and in some vain hope, threw the knife. 

It landed with a dull thud in the poor guy’s abdomen, for a moment the world slowed and Virgil just stood there as the guy stopped, blood poured from around the knife, soaking into his clothes as he reached to pull it out. Virgil almost told him not to, but then he wanted this guy to die, didn’t he? Seeing the crimson splatter into the snow beneath them seemed to trip a switch in Virgil’s mind and he scrambled to keep running. He kept running even when he reached the trees, waving a path that he hoped wouldn’t be easily followed. 

Once he was sure he had lost them, he leaned over, bracing himself on a tree, and tried not to throw up when he heard the cannon shot in the distance. He had just killed someone.

He stayed there for a long while, crouched next to a tree and heaving - doing his best to keep his insides inside of him as he attempted to calm down the raging panic inside him. He counted in his head as he took deep breaths, trying to even out his intake of air and calm his mind. He had just killed another human being, if he hadn’t killed that boy then he’d be dead himself. It’s kill or be killed in this arena. Odds had nothing to do with it. 

Virgil stood, clutching the two bags he had grabbed tightly and began making his way back to the river. It didn’t make up for taking a human life, even in this situation, Virgil couldn’t justify it, but at least he had something to show for it.

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 @goldnskyart (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[wyrdle]

Big Sho Minazuki fan here, I think it's a shame that Ikutsuki wasn't fleshed out any further. Like he's exposed as a bad guy and then immediately just... falls off.

YEAH. it's such a shame, when he's like the perfect foil character to MC lmao. One gains strength from bonds, the other has none/is incapable of it and thus sees no meaning in living. I'd have loved for his social link to be one which stays permanently at 1, regardless of what you do with him, as an illustration of this. And instead of SLs talking at you about things, he becomes your confidant and you reveal more about yourself and your friends lol. Throughout this there's the risk of revealing Pharos sealed within you, thus links to Aigis' shutdown etc, as well as an undercurrent of "This man is not normal" beyond his puns lol. I'd have loved to see the puns taken further as a masking tactic, one that whilst he personally enjoys, is still cover up lol. Maybe nearing November, as his excitement to finally die grows, you learn more about him as a person finally. idk lol I'm doing Atlus' job in making the earlier parts of the game fun and intriguing to carry you through the months.

ANYWAY. his relationship to Sho is so fascinating to me, because it's wild that Sho is even left alive tbh. For a guy who views death as deliverance/freedom from suffering+ his saviour complex with SEES, you'd think he'd pull life support off Sho and recollect the plume of dusk from his dead body. So there's plenty reason to kill Sho if he were just any experiment, and start over, even wipe a potential loose end to his research with Kirijo group. But he doesn't, and even leaves Sho with an inheritance I assume is hefty enough to last him his lifetime. So yeah, I feel like there was some twisted care and affection for Sho as a son, coming from the guy who, if set up properly next to P3 MC, whose nihlism is born from lack of bonds combined with who knows what he went through.

@ponderousorb has likened him to a real life saint called Thérèse of Lisieux, who was chronically ill and eventually developed "chosen one" or other strange beliefs as a coping mechanism whilst living. Basically whatever the pun guy went through in his life twisted him into viewing everything so bleakly and his "selfish" desire to be a Prince a coping mechanism. Dude's depressed and suicidal at his core, and of course combined with being embroiled into a death cult... well. Can't be a good parent lol.

Of course, all of the above is just my input/perspective/spin on his character. The games seem happy to leave him as a madman without elaboration about his brand of nihlism. I think if they did, Sho's story wouldn't have changed, but at the moments where Shadow Shuji popped up, stuff would've been more layered beyond whump for Sho. (Potentially flashbacks of interactions between them that leave Sho so pitifully confused and torn... ooft ouch).

It's a fun time to ponder how Shuji and Sho might've been like, if neither had been part of Kirijo Group. I like thinking Shuji might've at least tried to be there for Sho, if he wasn't off feeling like a miserable waste of space. Still not a good parent and neglectful, but I prefer thinking Shuji didn't find pleasure in causing him pain lol. Maybe it started off as clinical then eventual caring, but unfortunately he's deluded himself so hard he might've even thought he was doing Sho good by making him jacked lol. Whatever momentary guilt that'd surface, would be shrouded by his delusions. Idk, he offered SEES a "place by his side" for judgement day since they played such a large part, I can imagine he wished for Sho to reap the "benefits" too.

TLDR man's fucked in the head truly, but narrative (and most persona fans lol, not their fault tbh) never expands on it to investigate the tragedy of nihlism this way. It's such a big plunder on their end tbh, would've made him more interesting as a an antagonist, and certainly bolstered the game's core themes. Like. Why DOES this guy and old Kirijo group want death so badly lmao. The other guys are dead, Shuji is the only remaining mouthpiece for it... and we get absolutely nothing. If we knew his story, we could piece together the sort of underlying motivations of Kirijo group lol.

But anyway. Yeah. Lots of fun stuff, left unexplored! Apologies for the ramble I'm speed running my thesis on Shuji Ikutsuki 🤣

[gardenofnoah]

it lives where i live

part 2 is here! this was a difficult one to write because there’s so much i want to say and i have no idea how to say any of it. but this is an important one and i hope you enjoy it :)

wc: 3.4 k. cw: angst, unintentional self-harm (touya scratches himself in his sleep), injury (scratch), blood (scratch), reader is not well mentally, gn reader, no pronouns used 

read part 1 here, read part 3 here

There is a warmth against your cheek when you stir, creeping up to heat the skin of your forehead as you stretch and squirm—fighting the lure of just a few more moments of sleep. Blinking slowly, you study the beam of light peaking through the sheer curtains—the way the little refraction cuts through the otherwise dark of your room.

For a moment, in the light, you forget.

But when you roll to your side—away from the light, looking to the door—you feel everything with a force that leaves you breathless.

Despite the weight of it all, you push up off your bed to sit, head hung a little as you take in a few deep breaths. The house is quiet, but you didn’t expect anything else. Your eyes burn a little, and you wait for the tears to come. When they don’t, you sigh—there’s nothing good to come from crying, anyway.

You stand and move to the door, opening it quietly and distantly wondering when you started moving around like an intruder in your own home. There’s a heat that comes with the thought—it curls in your stomach, slithering around the other feelings you’ve been holding there, and you shove it down, down, down, because you don’t want to be angry at him. Because he’s been through enough.

You don’t listen to the thought that tells you: so have you.

When you walk down the hall, the bathroom door is open, and Touya’s bedroom door is not. He must have woken up before you, if he slept at all. You don’t imagine you’ll see him today—at least not during the day. You fight the urge to hover outside his door, ear crammed to the wood to try to hear him breathing.

You make it to the kitchen, flicking the switch on your old coffee maker and reaching your arms above your head, stretching a little. It does well to put you back in your body—you reach to the ceiling and remember that you are still a human being. 

You realize that you’d forgotten that, since Touya had come back—that, despite the void inside you his absence caused, the world continued to turn. You felt indignant about that, for a while—how dare anyone else move forward, when he could not? But despite yourself, you did just that. You graduated, went to college, graduated again, got a job. You made other friends, but none ever made it as close to you as he had.

Every single thing you did felt insignificant, despite your best attempts at a normal life. That in itself was something to grieve—you found no sense of accomplishment in the things you’d done, and the loneliness, despite being surrounded by other people, was debilitating. You had found it hard to connect, and sustaining friendships had been difficult because he was always the comparison in the forefront of your mind. Every day, he haunted you. He would never know that you never even asked him to stop.

The coffee maker beeps and you are back again, sighing as you reach for a mug. You pour, breathing the smell in deeply and allowing it to bring you some semblance of comfort. You didn’t much care for the taste, if you were honest—but it was warm in the morning and it felt like something of a ritual—a small, rare indulgence you allowed yourself—so you drink it.

You move through the house on autopilot after that—dressing quickly, brushing your teeth, splashing water on your face in a half-attempt at washing it. You grab the grocery list from where it’s taped to the fridge, and you are halfway to the front door when you hear movement down the hall. You pause, listening as the floor creaks under Touya’s weight, and then it stops.

All at once, you are overcome by the need you feel—the longing that tells you to open that door and hold him to you. To breathe him in and feel the flutter of his heart beat from behind his ribs and know for sure that he is alive and there with you, because you’re still not convinced.

The feeling fades as quickly as it came, and it leaves you gasping, sagging against the wall as you try to come back to yourself. You wonder if it will always be like this. Grieving for him with his ghost in the next room.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to reach a shaky hand toward the door and stagger out of it. The cold, winter air hits you, and it jars you enough that it’s all you can do to just stand there, gulping down the chill into your lungs. You let it move through you, summoning whatever bravery you have to make it to your car and put the keys in the ignition. You feel a tug behind you as you walk—the same one that you felt when you were 13 and walking away from the scattering of the little ash that was left of Touya. The same one you felt as you all but carried his mother back to the car from the hospital after seeing him again. The thread that ties you to him. You wonder how long it can stretch before it starts to fray—or if it already has.

Your phone rings as you pull into the grocery store parking lot. You feel a tinge of regret as you answer it.

“Hi, Natsuo.”

“Hey!” he says into the phone, and the kindness that radiates from his voice warms you a bit, makes you smile. He’d always been a light, despite all he’d been through.

“Sorry,” you tell him, opening the car door and climbing out, back into the cold, “I just got to the store. We needed food—Touya’s still at home.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I can try again later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

You huff out a tiny laugh at his bad joke, and it makes you feel a little lighter. You find that the ache of putting one foot in front of the other is lessened, however minutely.

“Listen,” he starts, sounding a bit cautious, “I was actually hoping to talk to you. I wanted to see how you were doing—I know this probably isn’t easy for you.”

And you hate the way you want to hang up the phone immediately, because now your eyes are burning as you walk into the store and this is definitely not the place to let out whatever has been lurking in your gut, but it’s Natsuo and he’s so good and he cares for you like he always has, so you try to hold on to yourself. When Touya was gone, he stepped in and looked after you, adopting you as some sort of pseudo-sibling. You think he may have needed it as much as you did.

“I’m…managing,” you say after a pause, too tired to tell him anything but the truth, “I just—I feel like I’m going to wake up and he’ll be gone. And it scares me a little that sometimes I wish that were true.”

You think that maybe you shouldn’t have said that last part, not to Natsuo—but the knowing sigh from the other end of the phone tells you that it’s alright.

“Has he said anything yet?”

“No, not really. I think he might have told me good night last night, but I was so tired that I’m not convinced I didn’t make it up.”

“Hey, that’s progress!” he says, but his tone doesn’t quite deliver the excitement you think he wanted to. You realize that he might feel as worn down as you do.

“Do you think it’ll ever get better?” you ask quietly, not sure if you want to know the answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you start to think the call may have been disconnected, and then he says, “Don’t give up on him, okay? I think…I think he’s trying.”

__

You make it back to your house and you haul the groceries up to the front door, the conversation with Natsuo at the forefront of your mind, despite your best attempts to will it away. You know how hard it’s been for him to be away from Touya—to know that he is alive and so close and not be able to see him. The commission has not yet given you the greenlight to have his family over to visit, even without Enji. You understand, and you think it would probably be too much for Touya anyway—to see all of them and believe that the only thing that has changed—really, fundamentally changed, into something so mangled and nearly unrecognizable—is him. You wish you could show him that it wasn’t true, but it’s hard, and the guilt you feel reinforces that. Either way you spin it, the world kept turning. You all kept living.

You think you could understand why he’d want to burn everything to ash, after seeing that.

You set the bags on the counter, grabbing one and moving to the fridge to fill it, and you think of him, like you have done every waking moment since you found out he was still alive. Part of you is angry at that, like you seem to be at everything now, because the life you are suffering through and the thoughts you think are not yours. You wonder if they ever were, really—was there ever a single moment that you were separate from Touya? Even in his absence, you never could tell where he stopped and you began.

You all but jump out of your skin when you hear movement behind you. You whip your head around, a surprised shriek preemptively gathering in the back of your throat, when you see Touya—glass from last night in hand, visibly startled by your reaction. Setting it down in the sink, his movements are slow, and you have to fight to regulate your breathing. You stand there, eyes wide and clutching a bag of spinach to your chest, frozen in place as he turns to look at you.

His eyes meet yours and he doesn’t look away, for the first time in the weeks he’s been here, and suddenly you are 13 and he’s the king of the castle made of sticks. He’s telling you that he’ll protect you —his counsel, his confidant, his right hand—from anything, and all you can think is you liar, you liar, you liar. 

It takes every ounce of control you have to not audibly whimper under his stare, but then he opens his mouth and rasps a soft thanks, and you think he’s probably thanking you for the water from last night or maybe for the groceries but then it doesn’t matter at all because suddenly your vision blurs and then you’re crying.

It’s too much—the blue of his eyes that hasn’t changed at all and the way you are so angry at him you think the feeling alone might burn you alive from the inside and the way he is standing in front of you like a deer in headlights, an arm half-extended to you because he has no idea what’s happening or how to stop it. And you want to laugh, because you don’t either.

But right now you can’t do anything but cry, head hung and arms around yourself, fridge door still open and groceries dropped on the floor around your feet. Suddenly you’re afraid that if you let go, you may very well fall apart, bodily.

You cry until you feel like there’s nothing left in you, and when you wipe your eyes you find that he’s still standing there. And then you’re wishing that you were still sad because now you’re just angry, and there’s nothing to stop you from scrunching up your face and spitting out a venom-filled where were you? at him.

And you can’t really blame him when, after a pause, he turns on his heel and retreats to his room.

__

You find yourself once again suffocating in the silence of your house through the evening. You drag yourself to bed early—not bothering to clean yourself or change—and faceplant into the covers. It’s not necessarily your intention to fall asleep, and you don’t even realize you have until a hoarse, sharp cry has you shooting upright from your bed, blinking blearily and trying to sink your fingers deep enough into your consciousness to drag it up to a functioning level.

You sit there for a moment, barely breathing as you strain to hear through the wall. And then you hear a tiny, pained whimper and you are out of your bed and moving out of your room before you can even consider if you really heard it or not.

You do the only thing you can think of, and you hurry to the kitchen to fill up the glass Touya had returned earlier. Water in hand, you walk back down the hallway—slowly, like you’re approaching a feral cat, with a forearm hovering in front of your face to thwart any fearful swats—and stop outside of his door.

“Touya?” you call gently, knocking on the door softly with a knuckle, “I have some water for you.”

There’s no movement behind the door—you expected as much, so you let out a slow breath and take a seat, back leaning up against the door. Part of you wonders if this is okay—if you should just leave it outside of the door for him to pick up after you’ve gone back to bed—but the other part is so tired of this. Tired of tiptoeing around him, tired of pretending that god forsaken elephant in the room that crushes both of you isn’t there. You think you might owe him an apology for earlier, too.

You realize you’d fallen asleep when the sudden absence of the door behind you has you startling. You look up from your spot on the floor, and he’s there in the doorway—blue eyes wide and staring at you like he doesn’t know what to make of this. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, despite the bitterness you feel, “I just wanted to give y—hey, are you bleeding?”

His eyes move to where yours are now locked on the hand of his that grips the door, and he sucks in a breath when he sees what you are seeing.

A fresh wound over the back of his hand—a tear of the skin over the exact spot his staples used to be, the blood now dripping onto your floor.

Neither of you move, let alone say anything, for a long moment.

You are the first to shatter the silence: “Can I clean that for you?”

His head is down, but you can see him eye you from under his white bangs, carefully mulling it over. It is a painfully long time before you see him nod minutely. You pull yourself to your feet and turn, walking toward the bathroom. You hope he chooses to follow.

You throw open the cabinet under the sink to locate your first aid kit. Luckily, Touya’s care team had sent some supplies with him to care for his skin, but you’re not sure if there’s anything that can be helpful if he needs stitches.

You hear him enter the bathroom behind you, and a wave of something akin to relief washes over you. You hand the glass of water you’re still holding to him, and he takes it from you silently. You gather up the supplies you think will be the most helpful, and you turn to face him.

And you’re immediately a little woozy, because he is still bleeding, a little more than what you’d consider a reasonable amount. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though, and he just stands there, eyeing you. Cautious.

“You—can you sit on the toilet so I can look at it?”

He moves silently after a moment, sitting before you. It is another before he lifts his hand up to you, so slowly, his whole body tense.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

He hums, short and more of a grunt than anything, and you slowly wrap your fingers around his wrist, turning it to examine the gash.

After cleaning a little bit of the blood away, you realize it’s not as bad as you’d thought. But it does need rinsed out, patched up.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you tell him quietly, unwrapping the sterile wipes from their packages, “but if you think there’s a problem with the grafts, we should call the doctor.”

He’s silent and you continue working, unfolding the towelette and wiping it over the wound, murmuring a small apology for the sting. You’re not sure if he feels nothing or everything—not sure how the nerves in his body react to stimuli anymore—but if he’s in pain, he’s not showing it.

“It’s—not that,” he mutters, and you have to physically restrain yourself from tensing the hand that’s still holding onto him. To hear him speak is so foreign and so devastating that you almost have to block it out to focus on the task at hand. He hesitates, and out of the corner of your eye you see him open his mouth and shut it again, like the words are there but unwilling to come out.

“Okay,” you tell him, pulling a piece of gauze from its wrappings and applying it to the clean wound. You pull another few to add to it, and he finds his voice again. You hope you’re not shaking.

“Happens when I sleep,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him, and he’s turning his head away from you, like he needs to look at anything else to get it out, “the—the dreams.”

You don’t look at him, but you desperately want to. You unwrap the roll of bandages, considering your next words carefully.

“Did you do this to yourself?”

He sighs at that, like you’re the biggest idiot in the world for asking. Like it inconveniences him to have to even hear it. You want to kick yourself, and after a lengthy pause, you wish you hadn’t asked at all.

“Not…on purpose. In my sleep.”

You have no idea what to say to that, and you have the feeling that if you say anything at all you might start crying again and you know that would startle him, so you grit your teeth and nod—almost mechanically—as you wrap the bandage around his hand with as much finality as you can muster. You force yourself not to linger, drawing your fingers back like he burned you. Immediately regretting it when you realize that’s probably what it seemed like to him.

“Should be okay now,” you say, and it’s almost a whisper. Thick with emotion that refuses to leave you be.

“Thanks.”

And it’s so much softer than you think he should ever be, especially now. It’s alien—wrong, you think, bitterly—and you don’t respond because there’s a part of you that is so, so devastated at the fact that up until very recently he’s had no one to tend to his wounds like this. Like he deserves—gently, and with humanity. You wonder if he’ll ever tell you about the dreams. 

“Are you—” he starts, and then stalls, and you watch as his hands clench and then unclench in his lap, the fresh bandage straining around his knuckles. You watch the movement and wait for him to continue.

“Are you angry?”

Your eyes snap up to meet his, already searching for you. You see him tense, like it’s too much, but he doesn’t look away, and neither do you. You decide that it’s not fair to either of you to lie, so you tell him the truth.

“Yes,” you whisper, and his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t say anything to that, and you think that maybe it’s for the best, because right now would be just about the worst time for him to suddenly want to unpack your anger. You are bone tired, teetering on some edge that is far too unstable, and you just want to retreat back into your bed and cry it out. So you stand, murmur a quiet good night to him, and you do just that.

You’re not sure how long it is before you’ve wrung yourself out, and you give up on any hope of sleep, pulling yourself up off the mattress with the intent of making sure Touya made it back to his room.

When you walk into the hall, you nearly trip over it—the glass of water from earlier, full again—a white flag at your door, waiting for you.

this fic belongs to me (@b-writes-things). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[atlasalexanderwrites]

Malcolm Merlyn x Queen!Reader Pt. 5

IMAGINE…it’s Moira and Walter’s wedding day, people aren’t as oblivious to your “thing” with Malcolm as you previously believed they were, and after (nearly) two years, you and Malcolm take a step further in your relationship.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this! I’m so excited about getting to events that take place during the first two (ish) seasons of Arrow! ALSO, I such at summaries sooo sorry for the “imagine” line above.

Pt. 1 2 3 4 6 7

WORD COUNT: 3,804

WARNING: None, possible ooc!Malcolm Merlyn

(GIF ISN’T MINE! FOUND ON GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH!)

Moira and Walter’s wedding ceremony was beautiful. Breathtaking even and you could do nothing but grin like an idiot next to Thea, both of you shedding tears of happiness (and some sadness as Oliver wasn’t alive to be there as well).

The reception was held at your family’s estate and thankfully the weather remained warm and sunny.

“…welcome, thank you for coming.” You and Thea stood under the arch that led to the designated reception area, greeting the guests.

With everyone you smiled at and thanked for coming, your nerves intensified. You knew the Merlyns were invited; they had been at the church after all. You just had no idea where in line they were. There were at least four hundred guests (six hundred at most).

“I am very glad mom went with blue for us. Can you imagine us in the pink?” Thea grumbled in between guests. She was growing impatient – no doubt your fifteen year old sister was ready to mingle with whichever of her friends had shown up.

You couldn’t argue with her; the baby pink dress had been…questionable. No way would Thea have worn it without a fight, and there was no way it would have looked as good as your step-mother had believed at the time.

“Thank you for coming. It means so much to us,” you smiled, hugging a few women you knew were companions of Moira.

And then you caught sight of Malcolm and Tommy. They were six people back, dressed in black with near matching ties (no doubt, Tommy had been coerced into wearing his by something fast and expensive).

Soon enough they were standing in front of you with Thea giggling Tommy’s name and hugging him while you greeted the CEO of Merlyn Global.

He was grinning, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he stepped toward you.

Your breath caught and you could do nothing but say his name, a nervous smile tugging at your lips.

“Y/n,” Malcolm said your name with amusement as he leaned forward and kissed your cheek as you placed a hand to his chest, grabbing at his shirt as if you were struggling to remain on your feet. “You look stunning,” he added, the hot air of his breath hitting your ear as he began to pull away.

Dropping your hand from his chest and reminding yourself that the two of you weren’t alone no matter how much the feelings you had for him always made you forget you weren’t the only two people on Earth, you teased with a laugh, “Save your compliments for the bride, Mr. Merlyn. Although Walter might forgo his poshness if you’re too friendly.”

Malcolm’s blue eyes held yours and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was going to be suggestive about the secret affair the two of you had or if he would simply go along with you, finally he said, “We wouldn’t want that.”

God he’s so attractive…

Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest and you could hear all the noise around you disappearing, your existence narrowing to Malcolm and only him.

Malcolm…

“…why don’t I show Tommy to your table?” Thea’s voice brought you crashing back to reality and your head snapped in her direction, confusion momentarily crossing your face as you watched her wrap an arm around Tommy’s, “I’m so bored.” Your sister mumbled, silently pleading for you to not argue – obviously unaware of where your mind had just wandered to.

“Thea,” you began, not too sure of what you were going to say after

Malcolm saved you by stepping in, his gaze locked on his son as he said, “Make sure you congratulate Moira and Mr. Steele.”

Tommy nodded, throwing a smirk in your direction as he let Thea drag him away neither giving you or Malcolm a chance to say anything differently.

Turning back to the guests waiting in line (and not allowing Malcolm a chance to speak right away), you greeted a few more before saying softly, “It wouldn’t have hurt her to stay put. Even a little longer. People can’t let her just…do whatever she wants when she wants.” On one hand, you were purposefully picking a fight in hopes that he would go away, and on the other, you were talking to him about something you had (in private) discussed with him a dozen times already so to avoid the man standing next to you from saying anything that might fluster and distract you further.

Malcolm, being Malcolm, just laughed and greeted guests alongside you, “Pick your battles. Thea is a child, let her have fun before she has to enter the world of adulthood and endless responsibility.”

“She’s not too far away from being an adult, Malcolm.” Your teen sister was spiraling like Oliver had. It just worried you because Oliver’s acting out could have had some serious consequences (they DID if you consider Sara Lance getting on the Gambit – and eventually dying – as a consequence of Oliver’s unchecked, poor behavior), and so could Thea’s if it continued to escalate. “She needs structure and…”

Malcolm placed a hand to your lower back as he leaned closer, cutting off your sentence to say, “You are not her mother, Y/n.”

“Neither is Moira at this point.” It hurt to admit, but it was the truth. Moira acted more like a friend than a parent when it came to Thea. She had since your father and Oliver had died. And you understood why Moira was like that. Thea was her last reminder of Robert so of course she didn’t want to risk hurting the bond she had with your sister, but there came a time when enough was enough.

And, unfortunately, your step-mother refused to listen to you no matter how often you brought it up to her.

Thankfully, for now, Malcolm didn’t press the conversation further.

Soon enough, you had finished greeting the rest of the guests and let Malcolm lead you to your table, frowning when you realized the Merlyn father-son duo had been placed at the same table as you and Thea.

“Wait…” you frowned, looking at Malcolm for a second before looking at the name card in the center of the table.

Malcolm and Thomas Merlyn

Y/n and Thea Queen

With the last two of six names belonging to Thea’s friends (who were currently too busy staring half in love in Tommy’s direction).

Deciding to rescue your dead-brother’s friend from teenage hormones, you were quick to rearrange the seating with Tommy safely placed between his father and Thea. At the least, it was sure to save you from a headache and Tommy (should he get wasted as he normally did at such events) from any possible legal trouble.

Placing a hand to Malcolm’s shoulder as you sat down, you murmured, “Either you had something to do with this – somehow – or my dear stepmother is attempting to prove herself right about there being something between us.”

Malcolm slipped his hand under the table and placed it to your knee as the both of you looked toward the table Moira and Walter were seated at, talking away to one another. “We both know I didn’t.” he smirked, returning his gaze to you after a moment, “If I did, however, it would be so I could do something like this.”

Once again in the course of your affair, you found yourself caught off guard by the boldness Malcolm showed as he let his hand slide from your knee, up your leg, and under your dress – his fingers digging greedily into your inner thigh.

Luckily, you were able to mask your gasp of surprise at his touch with a breathless laugh.

Throwing a look at the others at the table to make sure they hadn’t noticed anything, you steadied yourself before attempting to say anything. “If anyone notices where your hand is, our secret is out.”

Your lips barely moved, but you knew he heard you by the way he leaned toward you to respond, his breath hitting warmly off your cheek, “That’s what makes our game so fun,”

“Malcolm.” You warned, throwing him a pointed look of frustration, “I’m not playing games.”

Not only was this far from how you would want your family, friends, and associates to find out about your affair, but you couldn’t continue to treat you and Malcolm as just the two of you having fun.

You had allowed yourself (stupidly) to grow far too many feelings for him to try and act like it was a game, like things weren’t serious for you. Like it didn’t take everything you had not to admit your feelings to him and just…beg him to love you back.

“Please, not here.” You finally added, your breath nearly catching in your throat as you spoke.

Malcolm’s blue eyes watched you for several long moments before he was pulling his hand away and getting to his feet, moving his body away from you just enough so you couldn’t grab his arm without others noticing and drawing attention to yourself.

“Excuse me,” he smiled at Tommy, Thea, and Thea’s friends before looking back at you, “Miss Queen, we’ll speak later.” And he just walked away, heading for the bar, and away from you as you watched after him, your head and heart screaming for you to go after him.

You were thankful that he hadn’t gone any further, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been too snappy.

He wasn’t angry, or he didn’t seem to be, and he had never gone too far in crowded, public spaces…you could have trusted him to remain playful but also to keep his usual discretion.

And then you began to wonder if he wanted to get caught but wasn’t sure whether to admit it or not. To be fair, you always made a fuss about people finding out. Maybe he took that as you never wanting to tell anyone. Ever.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. That he would want to get caught.

Letting out a shaky breath, you grabbed your glass of champagne and lifted it to your lips. As you did, you locked eyes with Moira who was looking at you like she definitely knew something.

Shit.

**

Once the dancing began, you wasted no time in accepting partners. You loved to dance and didn’t bother to keep yourself in check or to wisely choose who your next dance partner was. It was a wedding, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything that would disgrace your step-mother and her new husband.

And so, you didn’t bother (or think) to turn Tommy down when he appeared beside you at the end of a slow song.

“May I?” he teased, already grabbing your hip and pulling you into his arms

Placing your hands to his shoulders, you teased just as another slow song started up, “Are you sure you want to leave your fan club?”

Tommy cringed at the mention of Thea and her friends who had watched him all night, following him everywhere and asking him a million questions about college parties, fast cars, and anything else they thought he was interested in (and that’s all you knew about before you started dancing). “I am pretty sure Thea dared one of them to follow me into the bathroom.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, playfully concerned about your sister doing that knowing Tommy was only playing around.

“And what about you?” Tommy questioned as the two of you moved around in a slow circle, not truly trying to dance “My dad hasn’t stopped looking at you since your first dance. And I noticed the tenseness between you two before that. What’s going on between the two of you?”

His words froze you to the spot, your eyes wide as you tried to think of something to respond with.

Tommy wasn’t upset, but he wasn’t being playful anymore either. You knew him well enough to read the emotions on his face. Tommy was curious and…worried, maybe?

“My father hasn’t shown attention to another woman since my mother, as far as I know. And suddenly he’s…he’s different when he’s with you, Y/n. I don’t…I don’t know how, exactly, but he is.”

“Tommy,” you croaked, shaking your head to try and get him to stop talking. “Malcolm and I are…friends.”

Panic. Absolute panic was in your chest as you tried to defend yourself and Malcolm, to hide your secret from his only child.

Tommy laughed, almost as if he could sense the internal conflict within you, “Y/n, I’m not stupid and my eyes work just fine.”

The memory of a month earlier, at Malcolm’s, when he had spoken in some foreign language and how he had looked at you so gently came rushing to the front of your mind. Is that what Tommy was referring to? Is that the “different” Tommy had seen in his father?

Licking your suddenly dry lips, you forced yourself to meet Tommy’s gaze as you whispered, “Your father and I are…close friends. That’s all.” You stepped back from him, needing to put space between the two of you as soon as possible, “I’m sorry Tommy. Please don’t be upset but I…I can’t…it’s complicated.”

As quickly as you could, you left the dance floor and headed away from the reception, off to a more secluded area away from prying eyes.

Your hands were sweaty, and your heart was racing.

It wasn’t in panic, however.

For a moment you had been excited about someone knowing about you and Malcolm. Finally, you would have had someone you could confide in.

Then you considered others knowing and that, undoubtedly, they would have bombarded you with questions and wanting to know everything about your affair.

But at least you wouldn’t have had to be so secretive anymore.

So caught up in your desire to tell someone, you had nearly told Tommy until you caught yourself, realizing you didn’t want to cause problems for Tommy if Malcolm didn’t want him to know or if Malcolm wanted to be the one to tell him.

You were certain that a moment longer and you would have told Tommy, disregarding how Malcolm may have felt about it.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear anyone approaching until a hand was on your arm and Moira was standing in front of you – a look of concern and a little hint of suspicion on her face.

“Mom,” you were quick to, forcing a smile

“Are you alright? I saw you with Tommy. Did something happen?”

You appreciated how worried she sounded, but you saw the look in her eyes that she always had when she was trying to be sneaky and pry information from people, waving a hand about to try and make it seem like everything was fine, you said “What? No. Tommy didn’t do anything. I just got dizzy and…and needed some fresh air.”

Humming, Moira looked you over and then asked, refusing to let it go, “And the other Merlyn? Has he done anything?”

Gotcha. So obvious.

You wondered how long she had been waiting to ask you that?

Deciding to play dumb, you laughed and shook your head, “Malcolm? Of course not. I’ve hardly seen him today except for what little time we were both at the table at the beginning of the reception.”

“Honey,” Moira clicked her tongue with a small shake of her head, and you knew the look she had given you earlier hadn’t been you misreading her expression, “If there is anything between you and Malcolm, it needs to end. He’s far from the right guy for you.” She placed a hand to your arm, squeezing as if to comfort you.

“Mom,” It took some restraint to hold back any rude comments you had about Moira trying to tell you who to see romantically. You knew it was just you being defensive while Moira was just looking out for you (as she always had). “For the last time, I am not dating Malcolm Merlyn. We’re friends and close associates….”

Moira was quick to interrupt, her voice coming off sharp with a clear sign of frustration. “I see the way you look at him, Y/n. I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

You sighed and opened your mouth to ask her to just stay out of your business when a threat cleared from behind you, stopping you before you could do something you would have absolutely regretted.

Moira’s gaze slipped over your shoulder and you watched the way she nodded and took a step away from you, “This family doesn’t need any more secrets, Y/n.” she advised with a smile, sad smile before she let go of your arm and walked away.

Her words were icy, and killed any excitement you had felt earlier about the possibility of people finding out about your affair.

“I couldn’t help but notice that my son upset you.”

You weren’t surprised that it was Malcolm who had interrupted you and Moira. Anyone else would have been sent away by Moira with a simple rejection. Still, the sound of his voice nearly surprised you as it filled the space between the two of you.

Turning to look at Malcolm, you shook your head and whispered, “Nothing happened. Tommy is a sweetheart.” You forced yourself to sound okay, to keep your emotions in check as you looked at him, doing your best to hold his gaze.

“Yes. He’s always been a charmer.” Malcolm’s gaze flickered over you as he moved closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants.

You laughed softly and said, “Moira knows. Or she thinks she knows. She warned me about you, said you’re not safe for me. That there are other, better options for me.” As you spoke, you rubbed a hand over your forehead – completely exhausted – which made it possible for you to ignore the look of annoyance that flickered briefly over Malcolm’s face.

Grabbing your hand, Malcolm tilted your head back and held you against him. The warmth of his body nearly had you tucking yourself against him, searching instinctively for the comfort of simply being in his arms.  “What options?” He was smirking, trying to come off as playful, but he was also clenching his jaw and his fingers were digging into your chin silently screaming that he was only acting amused.

“Tommy? One of my dance partners?” you shrugged and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it until he released your face, “Why? Are you jealous?” Any other time and you would have been teasing him, trying to push him buttons. Tonight, however, you were just cranky.

Malcolm didn’t respond with words, only wrapped his arms around you – holding you as close as possible with no hope of you getting away unless he allowed.

And although you wanted him to, you hated him a little bit for holding you like that. For making you feel comfortable and comforted without even really trying to do so.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, your face pressed into his chest as you breathed in his cologne and the natural smell of him. It was comforting enough to nearly pull tears from your eyes and almost had you breaking down in soft sobs of confusion – your emotions feeling like they were snow balling and were threating to just spill over.

“We’re done playing games.” Malcolm finally said after a few moments, pulling back and moving his hands to grip your shoulders.

“Malcolm,” you started to say, to remind him that he was the one who always treated your affair as “fun and games” and “no strings attached,” but was silenced by the man in front of you as he pressed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, his will power seemingly breaking and making it impossible for him to hold back any further.

He growled something in that unfamiliar language once more before he was speaking English again, “You’re mine. All mine. I don’t’ share. I thought I made that obvious.” No doubt, he was referring to you dancing and your/Moira’s comment about there being “possible others” you could be seeing.

“You did,” you murmured, feeling light and like you were dreaming. “Malcolm…what is going on?” It was usually you who had erratic mood swings and made rash decisions. The man in front of you was frazzled and so unlike the Malcolm you knew…

His jaw was set, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he held you to him. Every ounce of possessiveness he had was in his darkened blue eyes as he pulled back just enough to look down at you.

“You want this to be serious? Monogamous? No games? Fine.” Malcolm hissed, one hand slipping from your left shoulder to tangle in your hair at the back of your head, “But you’re mine. Entirely mine.”

There were no words to express your scrambled thoughts.

What he was proposing was…what he was offering was a relationship. The one thing you had been dreaming about for months. At least, what you had been dreaming about the last month.

“You…you would have us be public?” You managed, laughing in disbelief as you stared at him, wide eyed.

“Unless you want to take Moira’s advice and run.” Malcolm suggested it, but it was clear by his tone and the way he was holding himself that there was no way Malcolm would go without a fight.

“My step-mother doesn’t get to decide my life, Mr. Merlyn.” Was your immediate response before you had collected yourself enough to ask, “Are you sure about this?” in a softer tone, searching his face for any signs of regret or that he was saying all of this without truly thinking it through.

“I refuse to let you end up in another man’s arms, Y/n.”

“Oh? So you didn’t like my dancing then?” You teased, dryly

Malcolm tried to look annoyed but a chuckle slipped out in the end, “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I thought about your dancing.”

What he thought about my dance partners is more like it…

“You know,” You hummed, reaching up to grab the knot of his tie, ‘I don’t want you in anyone else’s arms either.”

Malcolm’s face softened near completely as he placed a kiss to your forehead, “There’s no need to worry about that.”

Somehow, you knew he would respond with that.

After all, Malcolm Merlyn didn’t really seem like the type to cheat anyway…

Grinning, you leaned up to steal (another) kiss from him, “Good.”

In the back of your head, you knew this decision asnt as easy as you and Malcolm were making it out to be.

But, for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment.

Do not fall in love with him!

Too late.

**

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