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bunny-lily · 5 months ago

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Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through your phone, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

The sun is warm today.

It coats the exposed stretches of skin on your arms and legs in a cozy, yellow glow. Shadows from the leaves dancing on the branches of the tree behind you cast across your face, splotches of blueish-gray that provide a hint of coolness on your relaxed posture.

The sky is your favorite shade of teal, with fluffy, white clouds spread across it far and wide, forming funny shapes and animals that only you can discern. There’s a bunny-looking one that you’ve been following for a while now, watching as it extends its legs while bounding lazily across the eonic, untold cyan. You’ve named it Marshmallow for its resemblance to those bird-shaped, sugar-coated treats.

Which doesn’t really make sense, but you don’t care all that much. It makes sense to you.

So far, the story you’ve created about Marshmallow is simplistic, but it’s giving you something to do. Marshmallow is frollicking in a massive meadow, running around between tall stalks of indigo grass and snowy flowers. She’s celebrating her freedom after escaping the maws of a vicious wolf, bouncing back and forth in joy as she claims the sky as her home, where no wolf can catch and eat her so long as the sun shines through the heavens.

There, she is safe to chirp and thump her little feet and fly as much as she desires, no longer fearing being trapped in the muzzle of a hungry beast.

In the far distance, you can see a smear of dark gray hugging the horizon. It’s not close enough for you to fathom how big it is, but you can tell by the streaks underneath it that it’s raining over there. The flowers will be happy, you think. Fresh water to help their roots spread and their petals bloom.

You like days like this, where it’s quiet and calm. Birds spring from the electricity cables spanning down the length of the street, a bug occasionally buzzes past you, and the air smells sweet.

Your legs swing back and forth lazily over the short, cement-brick wall in front of your house. The light stone is brisk under your palms, a comfort in the burn of summer. You’ve already had a crisp icy-pop earlier, but now you’re uncertain if you should have saved it, as the temperature has gone up quite high.

It’s peaceful out here, but, confessedly, incredibly boring.

Yet, you savor it all the same. Anything is better than being in there, where your heart rarely has a chance to settle, always tapping on your veins to keep them active and roaring with blood laced too heavily with poisonous adrenaline. It’s nice to have an opportunity to rest and relax, a rare moment of serenity, even if you do feel a little lonely.

Glass shatters somewhere behind you. Skin meets skin.

You wince.

The world grows a little more dim. The bunny splits in half.

Tranquility can only last for so long under the richly fragrant blooms of the Callery pear hiding you from the sight of those within the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!?”

You stand up slowly, your fingers already growing jittery as you brush off the dirt and prickling twigs that dug imprints into the backs of your thighs. The heat no longer bothers you.

“Can’t you do anything right!? Can’t even get me a fuckin’ beer! You’re useless!”

“I’m–”

They left the kitchen window open again, the mesh serving to let air in while keeping insects out. It does nil to block sound.

“This is the one fuckin’ time I get a goddamn break from supporting this fuckin’ family, and this is how you repay me? By droppin’ my goddamn bottle of beer?”

You’re scared. You don’t know why you are, he always gets like this. He’s always yelling.

You think you’re used to it by now, you try to tell yourself that you are, but your heart still pounds uneasily in your chest. It feels like there’s ice in your veins, prickling and spreading frostbite in tiny kitten nips. It spreads to your stomach, growing heavy and sinking lower and lower, steel through honey.

You hate being scared. It makes you feel sick. You wish you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“I’m out there, breakin’ my back every damned day for you and that stupid brat–” you flinch, “workin’ my hands to the bones, and all I want is a drink to wind down after a long day of work.” It’s midday on a Saturday. He woke up an hour ago. “I ask my lovely, darlin’, sweet little wife to get me a beer, and what does she do?”

You think you can hear a woman mumbling something, but it’s hard to make out over the man’s screams.

He bangs his fist on the laminated kitchen counter, by the sink. Metal utensils stored to dry clink against each other from the force. “Answer me, woman!”

“You…bumped…accident–”

“Speak up!”

“Y-You bumped into–”

“Oh, so, now you’re goin’ off and blamin’ me?”

A sob. “It was an accident.”

“It’s always a fuckin’ accident with ya, ain’t it? Always forgettin’ shit, always lazy, always so clumsy. All you women are incompetent. Can’t even get me a damn drink without wastin’ my hard earned money. The money that supports your livelihood, by the way.”

There’s a hiccuping sound, followed by another bang on the counter.

“Now you’re throwin’ hysterics! You ungrateful whore, fuckin’ manipulative bitch, usin’ crocodile tears. I’ve been so kind, so patient, so lenient with you,” you tried to count the bruises he left on her one time, but you lost track after thirteen. “But, you’re just so fuckin’ spoiled, yeah? Damn hag. It’s ‘cause of me you get to sit your pretty ass at home all the time and do nothin’ all damn day while I’m out there, breakin’ myself for a useless bitch of a wife.”

Your nails dig into the tree’s bark for support. A white petal twists and ebbs as it falls from a flower above, landing on your shoulder.

She’s silent beyond short gasps of air and phlegmy sniffles. A stifled choke here and there.

“Don’t ignore me, bitch,” he hisses, then groans in defeat, as if he is choosing to surrender and indulge her. “Agh, it’s pointless, you’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand. You damn women are always so fuckin’–”

He says a word that makes you cringe horribly.

The heavy stomping of boots follows his tantrum, then there’s complete stillness. You wait outside for a long time, hesitating. You want to go to the woman, to comfort her despite your young age and inherent naivety.

You startle out of your skin when you hear the screechy garage door open and hare around the bulking trunk of the tree to hide behind it. Your back presses into the rough material, breaths barely filling your lungs before they’re pushed out again. Your skin crawls at the subdued sounds of the man’s mad ramblings, too indistinct for you to make out.

His tone tells you enough. It tells you he’s angry, and that he’s saying a lot of bad words that you’re not allowed to say.

Bad words hurt people, baby.

As hidden as you can manage to be, you peer around the calleryana, grimacing at the loud, metallic thump of his car door slamming shut. You watch as the contraption, old with time and lack of maintenance – ‘It’s vintage,’ he slurs, bragging about the red machine like a proud father that treats it better than he treats his own teeth. Better than he treats you. – coughs and rattles down the short length of the driveway.

It turns along the curb, twisting ‘til its nose faces your direction. You jolt back out of sight.

You’ve always despised the sound it makes, the horrid noise passing by you and growing quieter as the car chugs down the gray asphalt. Like a dying goat. Or, cats yowling as they tear into each other in the dead of night. Jarring and uncomfortable, instilling a sense of dread in you.

You wait for a long time like this, staring blankly at the end of the street, holding your breath. You wait for the car to reappear at the turn, to come back no sooner than it had gone. You wait for him to loop the neighborhood.

If he’s in the same mood, or worse, who knows what could happen. Maybe, he’ll have the courage to pull the trigger and end it all with a swift right hook this time.

Minutes or hours later, the street remains empty, and you exhale the breath you’ve been holding, allowing yourself to cautiously hope he won’t return for a while.

Itchy imprints are left on your palms, the backs of your arms, and upper back as you peel away from the tree and sneak across the yard to the rear of the house. Even though he’s not here anymore, you still walk on your tip-toes and avoid stepping on sticks or leaves.

The backdoor is open. It leads into the living room, with the kitchen doorway on your right. From this angle, you can see the fridge and sink. The cup holding the clean utensils has been knocked over.

You walk forward and turn left, instead. You stick to the walls, where the wooden floor doesn’t creak as loudly, and make your way to the bathroom. The light flickers on, struggling for a few seconds. Its orange illumination is dim and makes you nauseous.

You pull out the stool from the cupboard under the sink and pop it flat, then climb on top to reach the mirrored cabinet above the faucet. It’s a singular, fluid action; a habit, muscle memory honed over time.

You pry open the semi-shiny, scratched panel and dig around through the mess of products inside. You push aside aftershave, old tubes of half-used creams, rusted safety razors, and bottles of miscellaneous concoctions that intrigue and scare you in equal measure.

You collect the needed items, stacking a stocky, dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, knock-off antibiotic gel, and bandages into your arms. It’s not as heavy or hard as it used to be, and you don’t forget anything after so much practice.

Hopping off the stool, you shuffle your way to the kitchen.

From the doorway, you can see the woman sitting on one of the dining chairs, partially facing you. Her face is in her hands. Her shoulders tremble with mute weeping. There’s green glass and something wet spilled across the floor.

You’re careful to mind your step and veer around it.

If she’s aware of your presence, she doesn’t react, and says nothing. She doesn’t lift her head as you wriggle your gathered spoils onto the table, diligent in making sure none fall off. She doesn’t make any noise as you pull out a chair beside her and hoist yourself onto it. She’s eidolic as you sort the items around into a neat order for easy access.

She only responds when you reach a small hand forward and curl it around her wrist. Your fingers barely reach halfway.

“Mama.”

Her movements are lethargic, tired. She lowers her hands sluggishly and looks up at you, but she has that far-away glaze over her eyes. She’s staring at your face, but her mind is a million miles away, unseeing.

You learned it was useless to try and bring her back to earth when she’s drifted so far off. So, you don’t bother attempting. Not anymore.

There are a couple cuts on her face, one stretching diagonally under her left eye, and one curving from the right side of her chin to partially underneath it. A bruise is swelling along her temple, and an old ring of claw marks adorns her throat like a necklace. Dried tear tracks mar her visage, eyelids puffy and scleras red. He was forgiving this time.

She lets you guide her palms down to rest on her lap. Her muscles don’t twitch as you dampen a pad with hydrogen peroxide and delicately begin dabbing it on the wounds to clean them. The blood, no longer beading and trickling, fizzles under the influence of the solution. You take care to not get any loose fibers caught in the new injuries.

It was nice of him to leave the ones that are still healing alone. He isn’t always this kind.

You’re too focused on your work to notice when your mother comes back to herself. The fog over her irises lifts, replaced with a glassy sheen, but no tears remain to fall.

She looks a lot like you, just older, and fatigued. Faint scars linger and taint her sullen expression. Her eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow. Your eyes are the same color, as is your hair. Your upper lip follows the same curve hers does.

The only difference is your age, what you’ve been through.

Your bruises, along your limbs, weren’t caused by him.

You stopped asking questions a long time ago, too. Around the same time she stopped physically showing any sort of pain or discomfort she might experience from you taking care of her. You smear a thin layer of the gel over the cuts, capping the tube.

As you’re reaching for the bandages, she suddenly grasps your wrists, spooking you.

“Promise me, baby,” she urges you frantically, voice low. Like she’s afraid he’ll hear her, even though he isn’t home anymore. “Promise me you’ll never let a man tie you down.”

You gaze at her – at the shallow cuts on the side of her chin and under her eye, the rapidly swelling bruise on her jaw, the spot forming on her temple – and nod once. It’s not a difficult choice. Hell, you don’t have to think about it to agree.

All you’ve ever known about love is that it does nothing but hurt those who experience it.

All you’ve ever known about love was taught to you by fists and shouts.

All you’ve ever known about love was that it would break you, like it broke her, if you let yourself fall to it.

Wordlessly, you swear you’ll never end up like your mother.

Audibly, you seal the vow.

“I promise, mama.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

It’s cold outside.

The sun hid behind the wide expanse of ashen-gray clouds that painted the sky a new color, one of mottled Nile lily and argent. You could make out shallow waves and hills in the skyline, but not much else, the world washed in desaturated periwinkle.

It made for a great environment for pondering.

Months had already gone by since you made your vast move to this quaint little stead, all in the blink of an eye. It was nice; peaceful. The routine you'd built up kept where no other had before, and instead of boredom and mundanity, or the anxiety that came with getting too comfortable, you were enjoying yourself.

You were content.

In the mornings, you'd eat breakfast with Satoru and oftentimes Suguru, then continue the well-proceeding renovations on your house. In the afternoons you'd work at Granny’s shop, and your nights were free. Usually you'd either go to the park for a while, hang out with your friends, or go straight to either Suguru’s or Satoru's house.

Geto-mama and Geto-papa took a particular liking to you and enjoyed having you over. You learned very quickly where Suguru got his spice tolerance from, the pair of parents being worse than him in overusing various pepper seasonings.

His parents were also ridiculously tall, especially his mother, who stood toe-to-toe with Suguru himself. He was the spitting image of her.

You underestimated how much Geto-mama liked plants until she sat your pretty ass on the armchair in her living room, threw a blanket over your legs, and proceeded to whip out decades’ worth of knowledge on all kinds of husbandry.

Which, actually, was very entertaining and engaging, with plenty of hands-on activities. You were now the proud mother of a cardboard egg carton full of itty bitty forget-me-nots.

When she told you that she was a kindergarten teacher, it all added up.

She was a blast to listen to, every conversation with her energetic and fun. You had a great time everytime you hung out with each other, leading you to frequently exchange flower and vegetation pictures with her over text. She had some shockingly hilarious husbandry memes, and you’d never seen Suguru come close to pouting before he learned you texted with his mom more than you did him.

Sure, it was barely a downward twitch of his lips, but he looked so much like a wounded puppy that you had to fix the situation ASAP.

Which meant texting his mother in secret.

His father was vastly different from his mother. The silent type who didn’t speak much, spending most of his free time sitting on the couch, filling out crossword or sudoku puzzles featured in the weekly newspaper.

You chalked him up to be the type to emotionally close himself off, until you saw him embracing his wife while she cooked, face buried against the crook of her neck while she rambled his ear off about anything and everything.

You picked up on how he followed her around soon after that, always trailing after her around the house, lamb and shepherd.

They shared more similarities than you initially caught. He was a teacher, too – a professor of ethics at the nearby college, specifically. Though he wasn’t talkative, he made for fascinating and thought-provoking conversation when he was in the mood to chat.

Suguru was a lot like his dad, you concluded, based on careful examination of the way they interacted with others and the world around them. They were both the wordless protector types, speaking more in gentle touches, subtle expressions, and words of affirmation than with open, boisterous actions. They were observant and highly aware of the emotions of others, and acted well on them.

Which is to say, they could both read you like a book. They knew when you were thirsty or hungry before you did. You weren’t as close to Geto-papa, but despite his quiet nature, he made it clear to you that you could go to him for anything.

Unlike them, Satoru was nothing like his dad.

You met Gojo-sama once, and wanted to keep it at only once if you could help it.

He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything, quite the opposite. He was polite, courteous, and respectful.

Problem was, he scared the absolute bejeezus out of you.

He carried this constant aura of authority with him everywhere he went, stern and straightforward to a fault. Where Ijichi was a trembling mess in front of Satoru, he went ramrod straight when in Gojo Saichi’s presence. He turned himself into a statue, and you couldn’t discern if it was from fear or great reverence, because Gojo-sama was quite kind to him, all things considered.

You were still spooked by the man, though, and preferred to avoid him. Lucky for you, he more-or-less lived in a town a few hours away, far enough to need to take the train, as he was busy working.

The only person you’d seen him cower before was Granny, as she apparently also knew him since he was younger. Whatever that woman was built of, you wanted it.

One day, sometime in late summer, you broke the golden rule of avoiding the park on Thursday nights and very quickly found out why Aoi and her boyfriend fucked there. They went at it like rabid animals – hell, you thought they were animals at first. Then, you saw a bit more ass than you were bargaining for and bolted out of the park, swearing to avoid the bushes they had chosen to desecrate at all costs.

You had come to know most of the more commonly seen townsfolk by name now, but that was about it. You were still introverted, after all. Everyone outside your group was an acquaintance, generally. You knew some people better than others, whether by intention (Granny, Shoko, Utahime) while others not so much (Aoi's boyfriend’s ass), but that was fine.

You sighed softly as you watched lilliputian snowflakes drift past the window of Granny’s shop, your chin propped up on your palm. They stirred and danced, waltzing with one another, then came to rest on the ground.

It wasn’t cold enough for them to stick – winter in this part of Japan was fairly mild – but it was alluring nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you stopped everything to just…observe. You hardly had enough time to settle and let your lungs fully fill to admire the scenery anywhere else you went. A shame and a waste, you knew that. Some of the places you drifted to were revered for their natural beauty, or hypnotic architecture, or lively communities.

You’d be lying if you said you went to them with the first two in mind. Mainly, you drifted towards densely packed locations. The more people, the more sounds, the less you were able to hear your own thoughts. Clubs, dating apps, friend groups full of names you would never remember, nothing worked.

Being unable to think left you feeling like your sanity was being torn apart by ragged, filthy nails. It made you want to rip into your own skull to wrench out the obnoxious fucking buzzing. At first, you thought there wasn’t enough noise, that the rattling was a result of there being too much room in your cranium that let things clatter about.

Living above subs and stumbling your way into various parties, drinking your weight in liquor until you couldn’t think at all, making out with someone knowing that you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than light petting, nothing sufficed.

It’s possible you moving to such an isolated valley wasn’t such a difficult thing to believe. Something, something, insanity.

The passage of time seemed nonexistent here. When you arrived, you were slipping into summer, battling the hellish heat under the AC at Suguru’s house blowing on full blast, prancing in the river with Satoru, and now it was snowing. It felt like only yesterday, or at most before yesterday, you had arrived.

The memory of your first night on a floor you couldn’t believe you actually slept on in hindsight was so distant, yet merely a few hours back on the clock of your mind.

Intrusive thoughts – the same that told you to stab your hand, jump off a cliff, fantasize about your worst fears and subsequently having panic attacks because of it – persisted. Hard habits to kick, but they were significantly quieter nowadays. Further spaced out, too.

The voice of the demon clinging to your cervical spine, the one that urged you to run like your feet were on hot coals, had all but gone mute. Sometimes you got the thought, but it was more reflex than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, you found where you were supposed to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Granny’s calm voice roused you from your reverie, drawing your attention to her.

Like you, she peered at the slow-falling flakes, following the twirls and spirals they made when a mild breeze caught them. If you had to name the expression she wore, it would be reminiscence. You’d think that, after living here for as long as she did, one would be used to the sight of the year’s first snow. Impassive, even, or perhaps irked by the omen it brought, but the childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes told you otherwise.

You sensed you would never truly get used to it, either.

“Yeah,” you matched her tone, returning your fixation to beyond the window. “I’ve seen snow before, but never really…”

Granny easily picked up on what you didn’t voice. “It’s quite magical.”

You nodded faintly, unbothered by the countertop digging into your elbow.

The day was uneventful for the most part.

Geto-mama had stopped by earlier in the day to pass you a plate of mini lemon tarts, which you idly nibbled on while reading. She had taken to using you as a test subject for her experimental baked treats, and (to your massive relief, since you lived in constant fear of Satoru and Ijichi and their calamitous baking skills) she made amazing snacks, and taught you when she had the time to.

Everyone else was busy either completing preparations for the forecasted snowfall, promised to last the week, or they’re already bundled up at home, staving off the frost from within.

Which meant it was slow-going at the shop, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It gave you time to catch up on the new manga series you’d picked up from the shelf of the store after becoming curious about it. It was an odd story, something about a boy whose body was doused in a fire that could never extinguish, but it kept your mind busy.

The tale under your hand was…difficult to stomach. Not for any massive horror or emotional reasons, no. Rather, it was so painfully cringy that you had to periodically stop and take a breath to steady yourself.

The plot was rather good, an interesting concept for a world that would make for a fantastic anime, but the author really enjoyed causing his readers physical pain from the dialogue. It made for fantastic taunting material, though, and Satoru and you enjoyed ripping into the characters.

It amazed you that this author apparently had a popular manga in both Japan and the States that was released only a couple years after this one, because wow. It was bad.

The dainty chime of the bell drew your attention away from your manga in time to see Suguru ducking under the door frame, giant that he was, a furoshiki-clad object in hand. A quick skim over the shop had his sights landing on you, locating his target. His eyes creased into slim lunes, the corners of his lips digging into the plush of his cheeks as he approached you.

You stepped out from behind the counter and oof-ed when his free arm encompassed you and tugged you into his hoodie-covered chest.

He placed the side of his face against the top of your head and rubbed it endearingly. You never chalked him up to be the type for physical affection when you first met, but here you were, practically getting scented by a territorial feline.

“Hey, you,” he lilted, withdrawing after far too much time passed for the embrace to be considered a normal greeting between friends. His palm stayed in contact with your figure, gliding across the curve of your waist as he was pulling back, seemingly reluctant to part. It raised goosebumps on your nape and along the lengths of your arms.

“Hey, Suguru,” you welcomed, your lips subconsciously tilting upwards. Your heart filled your chest with a warmth akin to the heat the hot chai he frequently made for you. “What brings you here?”

“Brought you lunch,” he explained as he set the object down on the register counter. A succulent scent wafted towards you, forcing you to restrain your stomach in a chokehold around its neck like a crazed mutt. Decorum and politeness were vital in the presence of royalty.

You crooned, grinning wider at him. “Aww, Sugu, you didn’t have to do that.”

He merely shook his head, tucking his hands into the center pocket of his hoodie. “It’s no problem. You mentioned you never tried somen or nikujaga, so I figured I’d make you some.”

His kindness and thoughtfulness had you swooning, so much so that you had faith even the biting chill of the world outside the temperate shop wouldn’t dare bother you.

“I’m serious, Suguru, you’re too nice to me,” you pouted playfully, to which he shook his head in disagreement.

“No such thing,” he replied, leaning back against the wall behind the counter. He jerked his chin towards the bento box. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, you untied the cloth and pulled it away, further unveiling the mouthwatering scent. The container was still hot as you scooted it off the cloth that you folded neatly, then frowned minutely.

“You didn’t bring a box for yourself?” You asked, worry etched into your brow.

He smiled at you. “I ate earlier, don’t worry.”

“Such a good man, dear,” Granny reappeared, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Your parents raised you well.”

“Thanks, Granny,” he said, keeping an eye on you to make sure you ate. His concern was assuaged when you began feasting contentedly, his shoulders loosening. “How’s the shop?”

The old woman waved her hand loosely. “Just fine. Not many have come in today. Oh, but your mother did.”

He nodded. “She told me she wanted to stop by and drop something off before she went to work.”

“Tarts!” You covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your words and pointed at the plate of half-eaten snacks next to you. “Sho yummy.”

“Ah, her lemon tarts? Those are pretty good.” He approved. “Don’t let Satoru know she gave you those.”

“How is Yoriko doing?” Your sorta-grandmother asked, since the topic was brought up.

“Mom is alright,” Suguru answered. “She’s fussing over the snow, as if it doesn’t snow every year.”

She complained indignantly. “She’s just like her mother, that one. Always worried about the smallest things. Your father is a terrible enabler.”

He snorted. “You think he’s any better? They enable each other, it’s an echo chamber.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Missing the forest for the trees,” she mumbled, then reached out and patted your head. “You can leave for the day after you finish eating.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really? But, it’s so early.”

“It’s alright, there won’t be much work to do today. You should go enjoy it.”

You were prepared to argue further, but were halted by the hard glare she gave you. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Granny.”

“Good girl,” she patted you one more time for good measure. “Eat up, now.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased.

“I am,” she deadpanned.

You balked at her.

A laugh rumbled in Suguru’s chest, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Can you believe this? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He cocked his head towards you. “She’s just being kind enough to let me steal you away.”

You grumbled as you stuffed more food into your mouth. “Unbelievable. The absolute gall of you people, passing me back and forth like a football.”

He and Granny exchanged light conversation, talking about his folks’ plans for their farm in the coming spring, once the cold season passes, while you nibble away until the box is empty and you’re stuffed.

“Thank you for the food, Sugu,” you sighed in satisfaction and slid off your stool, stretching your arms above your head.

“You’re very welcome. I hope you liked it,” he spoke as he gathered the bento back into its furoshiki.

You chuffed. “You kidding? Your cooking is always amazing.”

The elder jabbed your ribs painfully with her elbow, making you wheeze. Unperturbed, she cupped a hand around her mouth to mutter to you. “He likes you.”

“Granny, please,” you rubbed the spot she impacted.

Your further objections were cut off when you found a scarf tossed over your shoulders, the fabric being looped around them a couple times to properly cover your neck and the lower half of your face. The culprit of the surprise attack stood in front of you, now sans his own scarf, as he was diligently securing it in place on you.

“Suguru,” you crinkled your nose at him as he tucked the ends of the fabric into the collar of your sweater. You didn’t fight him on it, but you did feel perhaps a teensy bit child-like with the way he cosseted you.

He merely smiled, cupping your cheek when he finished. “Indulge me.”

Granny gave you a knowing glance from your side.

You freed your chin to stick your tongue out at her before you were stuffed straight back into the scarf. It smelled like Suguru, like tea and spice and him, and you instinctively nuzzled further into the thick material.

“My place?” He moved a section of your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t bother you.

You acquiesced easily, offering to take the bento and furoshiki, to which he declined. You waved goodbye to the weird lady who kept looking between you and your friend while waggling her eyebrows as you stepped out of the shop. You had no idea who she was. What a strange person.

Cough.

The bite of winter nibbled anywhere your clothes didn’t cover as you met the outside world. Baby snowflakes began to gather and melt in your tresses, and you shuddered as a slight draft skittered past your legs.

His fingers easily slipped into the gaps between yours, palms pressed together as he tucked both of your hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

That was the thing about Suguru – he knew what you needed without having to exchange words. He was nothing if not perceptive and observant, a caretaker at heart. Likening him to a guardian angel would’ve been an understatement, in your opinion.

It unsettled you at first, the way he would do something for you, whether or not you said something. You were nervous he could read your mind, but extensive testing (consisting of you saying random gibberish in your head) proved he couldn’t. He was simply good at guessing what you were thinking, and was spectacular at planning ahead.

Your thumb rubbed idle circles into the back of his hand, grazing over the prominent knuckles and thick veins there.

You admired his hands a lot, everything about them. Their size, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, their strength. You liked that, regardless of the feats he was capable of pulling off with those hands, he was always attentive and dovish in the way he treated you.

You enjoyed watching him tear apart old cabinets the same way you enjoyed watching him leaf through a book. Those hands, the ones that dexterously tore out prickly weeds bare, were the same that affixed the fabric keeping your neck protected from the elements in place. Capable of destruction and creation in the same stroke.

The bones of his wrist were a particular draw to you, you couldn’t help but stare at them whenever the chance presented itself – you swear it’s not in a creepy way. Like a hand fetish, but not sexual. Was that a thing?

Ugh, this was just digging your grave deeper. You had to shift your thought process a hint to the left.

What else could he do with them? You’d bet easy money he’d be killer at knitting if he ever asked his dad to teach him. He had a good sense of textiles, knowing the texture of something before touching it, if he had to at all.

A flake dropped onto the round of your cheek and you flinched, rubbing at your face with your free hand. As much as you loved winter, you were looking forward to getting to Suguru’s place to get the sprouting wetness out of your hair. You adored snow, but you’d rather snuggle up under a blanket and relax with him.

You craned your head back, taking in the expanse of ash, stretched from mountaintop to mountaintop.

The crests were sugar dusted, fluffy powder so delicate, you could sink through it effortlessly. Icing glazed down in streaks, brooks and streams frosted by a thin layer atop them. If the town river had a thick sheet of ice over it, you could try to convince your friends to go ice skating with you.

Satoru would be the easiest to convince, Suguru would be the hardest, and Shoko and Utahime would be somewhere in the middle.

Never having experienced nature to this degree, as you hadn’t given yourself the chance to in years past, you pined for a taste of all of it. Hiking in autumn, swimming in summer, sunbathing in spring…you doubted the snow would be dense enough to ski on, and the mountains were too short and steep, but ice skating was well within the realm of possibility.

Whatever season it was, you were determined to be part of it, and to take it with you.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours, hm?” Suguru eased you from your daydreaming.

You angled your head so you could see him and still fantasize about flying above the frigid clouds. “Suguru, are you any good at painting?”

His head tilted to the side, woefully reminiscent of a curious puppy. “Painting? I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of turning one of the walls in my house into a simple mural.”

“What kind?”

You ran your tongue over your back teeth in consideration. “I haven’t decided yet. Nature-esque would be nice, vines and stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “We can look at some inspiration together later, if you’d like.”

You grinned brightly. “Absolutely!”

He reciprocated the smile and reached for his door, making you realize you’d arrived. He hiked the furoshiki up to his forearm and curled his fingers around the knob, twisting it and pushing inwards. In seconds, you went from the crisp sting of wintertide to the protection of his home, shielded from the snow and chill.

The scent of the food he made earlier permeated the residence, undertoned by a layer of sandalwood and agarwood incense.

While you were wriggling off your shoes, Suguru was undoing your scarf, pulling it off with smooth movements to hang it over the coat rack. His hands took your face into them, large thumbs rubbing over the swaths of plushness under your eyes to thaw them out.

“I’ll make you some chai,” he said, sharp, russet irises darting across your features. “Wanna sit in the kitchen while I do that?”

You nodded, fleetingly nuzzling into his hold to warm the tip of your nose. He obliged you, only releasing you when you were satisfied with the pleasant buzz tingling over your skin. He motioned for you to go ahead while he pulled off his hoodie and put his shoes away.

The walls of his home had become calming to you over time, the path to his kitchen now one you could follow automatically. You’d even gotten your own designated spot at the breakfast table in his kitchen. Sure, it was a two-seater, so it wasn’t saying much, but it gave you that happy, fluffy feeling anyway.

You slid into your seat as he came in, his hands busy with coiling his long, obsidian locks up into a messy bun that he pinned into place with a claw clip. He was always careful with his hair, taking measures to ensure its condition remained pristine and luscious. You admired and spited him for it; the former for his dedication, and the latter for inflicting you with the constant desire to play with the silk strands like a honeymoon lover.

Suguru was structured and organized in everything he did, preparing chai not excluded. Your jaw rested on the curve of your palm, your focus placed on him as he moved around the room with practiced dexterity.

If you were honest, this was one of your favorite things to do.

Sitting in silence while observing Suguru do his thing lured you into a drowsy sort of state. Not sleepy, but definitely cushy and snug, an invisible blanket laid over your back, weighted and heated.

He taught you how to make it – rather simple, once you know – but his tasted better than anything you could ever make. You could’ve been biased, but you wholeheartedly believed he made the absolute best chai.

A mug was slid over the tabletop to you, mouthwatering steam rising from it. You peered down at the milky-brown liquid with hearts in your eyes, hands grasping the ceramic without hesitation. Suguru enjoyed drawing cute things on the surface of the drinks he made, and used a shallow bowl of milk foam and a toothpick to painstakingly doodle a pudgy bear for you to gulp down.

“Thank you, Suguwu,” you crowed happily, almost feeling too bad for the bear to drink him.

Almost.

“You’re very welcome,” his hand settled on your nape as you lifted the edge of the mug to your lips, gently blowing on the tea, then taking a sip. “How is it?”

You purred. “So good,” you praised him. “Your chai is incredible.”

He chuckled and positioned his index and thumb an inch or so above your hairline. He pressed down, and you stiffened as a sharp spike of pain went through your temple – then you were melting with a satisfied sigh, sliding back into the chair. You had no idea how he knew where to poke and prod to have you turning into putty, but it left you feeling squishy and content, thus you had no complaints.

“Very good, I’m glad,” he said, accepting your compliments, both spoken and silent. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Put the mug in the dishwasher when you’re done, please.”

You nodded and murmured in acknowledgement, relaxing with a dopey smile as you sipped at your chai.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you’d gained a sort of philosophical appreciation for things like this. Stopping to smell the roses, feeling the snow on your lashes, tasting vanilla and black tea and cinnamon under your tongue, the things you hadn’t bothered to treasure, you now made sure to.

After a few minutes of slouching and drinking lazily, you sat back up and pulled out your phone, unlocking it to occupy your mind.

Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through some social media app, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, slipping into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.”

Unamused would be a good way to describe your mood. You weren’t very fond of weddings; they were loud, busy, and grossly romantic. Sure, the idea was nice on paper, but spending half a day (or, more often, far more) watching two people slobber over each other in a socially acceptable version of PDA always made you feel gross and invasive, like seeing something you weren’t meant to.

And envious, to some extent, but you preferred to not dwell on that.

“Take Suguru,” you suggested.

Satoru’s nose wrinkled like you waved something expired under his nostrils. “That old hag? No way, he’d kill all my game.”

You scoffed. “And I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tipped further toward you. “You are the game.”

“Very flattering,” you returned to your phone and tea. “Today I learned that I’m a game.”

He made an affronted noise and curled over you to stare into your eyes, making sure you had no choice but to stare back. “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, bunny, it’ll be fun!”

You set your cheekbone against your knuckles. “What’s in it for me?”

The Gojo heir puffed up his chest, going full peacock. “A date with me, of course.”

A tempting offer on its own, but not enough. “And…?”

“And,” he continued, “I’ll treat you to anything you like, just name it.”

You deliberated on what sort of ridiculous thing you could ask for that could get him to back off, partially because you really didn’t want to go to a wedding, and partially because you were curious about what the great Gojo Satoru could and couldn’t achieve.

What could you ask of him? You knew money was of no concern for him, in terms of anything your brain could come up with. You weren’t about to ask him to buy you a whole ass estate, no, you were thinking more in the realm of something purposelessly expensive but practical.

You weren’t a big fan of jewelry, hardly wearing the stuff. You’d had enough of world travel as it stood, so a flight to Spain or France or whatever was out of the question.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips unbidden. Plush, pink, parted with anticipation.

A kiss.

You caught the cringe that bubbled up the column of your spine by a hair. What ugly hell did that intrusive thought crawl up from?

Mentally picturing slapping yourself with a sad, wet newspaper and calling yourself a bad pooch, you jumped on the next thing you could come up with.

“Make soap with me,” you said.

Ah, finally, a good idea. You could use some decent soap to scrub your brain wrinkles free of filth.

He frowned. “Soap?”

“Yeah, like one of those soap-making kits. I’ve wanted to try one of those since I was a kid,” you clarified.

“Done,” he agreed with a serious bob of the head. “What else?”

You blinked. What else?

As greedy as you could be at times, you already felt bad asking for the soap kit. You didn’t like people spending money on you, even if it was on Satoru’s tab. You knew his wallet ran deep, you were afraid to know how deep, but your point remained.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek.

You really didn’t want to go to the wedding, but you did kind of get his hopes up with that soap kit ask…

It’d be a good idea to know who you were up against.

“Whose wedding is it?” You queried

His reply brought you a vast amount of satisfaction. “Aoi’s and her fiancé’s.”

Ohohoho, this you had to see. The bush-sex-freaks getting married?

Alright, worth it. “Fine, I’ll go–”

“As my date,” he insisted, not letting you finish.

You half-groaned, the sound ribbing more than anything else. “I’ll go to the wedding as your date. Happy, now?”

He cheered as if he’d won the lottery and pressed a giant kiss to your cheek, rubbing his nose vigorously against it for good measure. “Yippee! I knew you’d agree!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the up-quirk at the corners of your lips. “I swear to God, if you’re just using me to get numbers from girls–”

“I’m not,” he sneered, following you as you got up, gulped down the rest of your chai, and set the mug away into the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t dare do that, not when I already have the number of the girl I like.”

Something under your ribs twinged. The girl he…likes?

Whatever the odd pinch of discomfort was, you shoved it aside, refusing to address it. “Trying to get her attention by making her jealous of me, then?”

Duckling to mama, he continued to trail after you out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “Nope.”

You made a ‘hrm’ noise. “So, you’re the one who’s jealous and you’re trying to get back at her?”

“Nada.”

You gave up rather easily. “I got nothin’,” you declared, stepping into the living room.

“Don’t you get it? You’re– oh, hey, Suguru,” Satoru cut himself off to greet Suguru, who was reclined in the armchair, freshly showered and casually reading a book. “Didn’t know you were here.”

The nox-haired man halted mid-paragraph and slowly dragged his gaze upwards. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, further adding to that skeptical mom look he had going on. “You didn’t know I’d be in my own house? Yet you figured she would be?” He spoke incredulously and gestured towards you.

Satoru shrugged and dropped himself onto the floor in front of the T.V., tugging open the doors of the cabinet it stood on to withdraw a game controller. “Was lookin’ for her. She wasn’t at my place, since I just left it, and wasn’t at the shop. Next logical place: here.”

“What about the park?”

“In the fuck ass middle of winter?” He jeered. “I’m a himbo, but I’m not stupid.”

“Wow, he’s self-aware,” you commented dryly, climbing onto the couch and nestling into the corner closest to Suguru, tugging at the blanket on the back of it to drape it across your lap. “He did find me here.”

“Touché,” he conceded. “What’d he want from you?”

You used the armrest as a support for your back and tapped open your phone, searching for something to read. “Oh, just an invita–”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s commanding tone clipped through your words. “Play Smash with me!”

“No.”

The cotton ball sulked. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh. “Satoru, we played Smash just this morning for, like, two hours.”

Gojo’s lour deepened. “Not even if I added ghost peppers on top of the sugar?”

Geto’s upper lip curled. “Gross.”

You set one foot on the floor, keeping your other leg positioned on the couch, and used the coffee table to lean as far forward as you could to pat the absurdly fluffy mop of white Gojo called hair. “I’ll play it with you later, how’s that?”

If fireworks were a person, they’d be Satoru. Dark one moment, then lighting up the sky the next. “Okay! Wanna watch me play GTA, then?”

“Sure,” you assented, entertained by how his giddiness reminded you of a child opening presents on Christmas.

He got into the zone, navigating through the menus with a grace that told you he’d done this countless times. Watching another person play a game could be tranquilizing in its own right; you could turn your brain off and peep the horrors of him crashing a helicopter head first into a street in the middle of Los Santos.

His manic tittering as he created the most heinous looking vehicle further added to the domestic atmosphere of Geto’s home.

You retrieved your phone at some point to scroll through it, then stopped when you saw a post of a girl showing off her fairy braid. You chewed on your lip, thinking, then dropped your device once you made your choice.

“Suguwu.”

“Mm?”

“Lemme braid your hair,” you demanded, making grabby hands at him.

You couldn’t make a fairy braid as pretty as that, but you could sure as hell make a stellar normal braid.

He took one glance up from his book to you, then he was standing up from his arm chair to sit in front of you at the foot of the couch, already engaged with the words beneath his fingers again.

Satoru gaped, distracted from his game.

“Wh– you never let anyone touch your hair! Not even me!”

The noiret flipped the page as you carefully undid his bun, clasping the clip to the neck of your shirt. “That’s because you’d do unspeakable damage to my hair if I ever let you. Besides, nobody else knows how to treat hair well.”

A blue eye twitched. “Oh, yeah? And she does?”

Suguru opened his mouth to quip back, only to let out the most scandalous groan you’d ever heard when your nails scraped lightly across his scalp.

Sweet disciples of Jesus H. Christ, what was that sound?

He reclined into your touch, book promptly forgotten on his lap as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“How long did it take you to find a routine?” You asked him, hoping to distract yourself before your imagination took off with the noise now permanently ingrained on your brain. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Trial and error,” he said with a rasp. “My mom has the same hair as me, so I learned from her. You?”

You combed your fingers through his silken locks with a delicate touch, moving slowly so as to not catch and tear any potential knots. Whenever you found one, you carefully untangled it before proceeding. “Trial and error for me, too. My life changed when I discovered leave-in.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Suguru mumbled.

You burst into giggles, your laughter fueled by Satoru’s baffled expression. In two seconds flat, he had dropped the controller and was directly in your face, brows set with determination.

“Braid my hair, too!”

You snorted horrendously and angled your face away out of embarrassment, Suguru’s chuckle making you laugh harder. “S-Satoru,” you heaved. “Your hair is too short to braid.”

“Don’t care!” He grasped your hand and planted it firmly atop his head, his demands made clear. “Do it anyway!”

“Okay– okay!” You panted, willing the rest of your chortling away. “Let me do Suguru’s hair first, then yours.”

Subdued, he sat on his knees on the couch cushion next to yours, and though he didn’t prod, he very much continued to reside in your personal space. His wide eyes were fixated on your hands as they worked sedulously to curve and twist Suguru’s hair into an elegant braid, intrigued with every shift and swoop.

You were no professional, but you were beaming with pride at the end. Using the claw you’d removed earlier, you folded the braid into itself, then pinned it into place, satisfied.

“There, all done,” you announced.

Geto peeled his droopy eyes open, but made no move to stand and go back to his seat, fully content to stay where he was. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

Satoru threw himself over your lap, face down as he shoved one arm under and the other over the thigh pillowing his head and hugged it in a hold bordering on a death grip. “My turn!”

His poor parents.

Dealing with an adult Satoru was already hassle enough, considering his impatience and penchant for pestering the living hell out of you to get what he wanted. Kid-sized Satoru was probably eons worse, if the anecdotes from others were anything to go on.

You spoiled him, anyway.

Your fingers carded through his hair, eliciting a loud purr. Given the significantly shorter length of his hair, you elected to transform isolated sections into micro braids. They held themselves together nicely, the rhythmic and repetitive motions lulling both you and Satoru into amicable quiet, disturbed only by the occasional scratch of pages sliding against each other as Suguru returned to his book.

It took you some time to figure out that Satoru had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even, cheek squished against the plush of your thigh. He was turned towards you, allowing you to inspect his features closely.

He really was beautiful.

In gaps of time like this, where he wasn’t bouncing off the walls with energy, you could pick apart the details that made him who he was.

His brows and lashes were the same shade of gardenia as his locks. Thick petals protected those whirlpools residing beneath, hiding the blue of a moonstone’s shine. His lips formed a natural pout, a tad glossy in the middle, dark magenta lining the inside.

He had freckles, you discovered. They were faint, virtually invisible unless you were this near to him, but they were there. They dusted across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving him an extra boost to that boyish charm of his you had become partial to.

He really was handsome, blessed by the heavens, made in their image.

Your susutake-eyed friend gained your attention with low-toned words, pulling you away from your veneration. “I’m guessing it was about the wedding?”

You took a few seconds to recall what he was talking about, the reason Satoru was looking for you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna be my plus-one?” Suguru inquisitioned.

You exhaled, drawn out and defeated as you laced your digits through the mane of the boy napping on your lap. “Satoru already coerced me into being his plus-one.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be my plus-one, too.”

Your brow knitted. “How so?”

Topaz locked onto you. “Simply by being my plus-one. We’ll all go together.”

Satoru stirred as you mulled over it, your motions pausing in fear that you woke him. But, he merely repositioned, his lanky arms moving to encase your waist so he could press his face against your stomach, then he sank back down into deep sleep.

Your heart fluttered, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes.

A bird, downy and young, burrowed into the nest behind the defensive embrace of your ribs, and chirped shyly. A fragile thing, one that cautiously set foot into a desolate and hollow place, hoping to fill it with feathers and, perhaps, an emotion akin to devotion.

It’d need compassionate hands to hold it, to nurture it, let it rise and spread its wings wide until they could sprout from your shoulder blades to return what was once lost.

You had to allow it to do so, though. You had to be the one cradling it to where you were most vulnerable, let it seep strength from your pounding heart, but you recognized that your warmth alone wouldn’t be sufficient. You had to let others in, let their hands clasp around yours, let them share the fires of their souls with you.

In the past, such an idea was inconceivable. The nest had been empty for endless years for a reason, unsuitable for any kind of life, especially a docile and infant type.

You weren’t in the past anymore.

You were terrified to give anyone entry to the darkness that painted the walls of your ribcage, sapping all light that deigned to creep in, but…

How you longed to feel the sun on your skin, to feel the moon crowning you.

It didn’t have to be everybody, no. It could be just them, the celestial bodies you cowered from yet coveted.

Just Satoru and Suguru.

“Sure,” you decreed. “Why not?”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You twisted side-to-side in front of the mirror, examining yourself, dissecting every part of you.

You were standing on the rug in your room – your actual room, the one in your house, rather than Satoru’s. After months upon months of hard work, you were finally able to say you’d accomplished your goal of fixing it up to be properly habitable.

And, yes, you’d stolen the rug from ‘your’ room back at his place to bring here.

One thing you didn’t consider about living alone after having so long to get used to living with Satoru was how lonely it could be, so the fluffy piece watered that feeling down.

After you’d made the move here, he insisted the room in his home was permanently yours, and that you’d always be welcome there. Well, more accurately, he begged you to stay. While you were too enticed by the idea of having your own house and being able to live in it, you frequently slept at his anyway. It was hard to beat the repose that came with the familiarity of his estate, and knowing he was close by.

But, the benefit of having a solo-abode was that he couldn’t pester the living hell out of you while you got ready for Aoi’s wedding.

Your makeup was flawless, as it should have been, given how long you’d been slaving away on it. You didn’t do your makeup often, so you were plenty chuffed with how it turned out. It only took two-and-a-half hours, too!

…You were smart to start early.

The thin chain around your throat complemented the neckline of the dress Suguru and Satoru gifted you beautifully, glimmering like the sparkling dots decorating the profile of the fabric.

Breathable fabric followed the shape of your body, powdered with microscopic, iridescent glitters that fluctuated with every movement you made, catching the light zealously. Satoru had snuck it in with the soap kit, shutting down each of your attempts to reject the gift.

Suguru had chosen the style, while Satoru selected the color. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t suit you.

It was perfectly tailored to you, flattering and enhancing in all the best ways.

You wouldn’t admit to anyone that you spent ten minutes running your hands over your tits, waist, and hips after putting it on. You looked good. Like, good good, the kind of pop and spunk and beauty that you’d swoon over in a hit music video.

You had a pair of sandals that were miraculously a match, which meant you could not only turn down Satoru’s offer to get you a new pair, but you didn’t have to worry about wearing beaten up sneakers, either. There was no way in hell you were letting that man buy another thing for you. He wouldn’t tell you how much the dress cost him, no matter how many times you banged on his chest and demanded answers, so anything more was out of the question.

He relented after bickering back and forth, giving you the relief to dress up without guilt.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As you finished fawning over yourself, there was a knock at your front door. Your heart rate spiked and you giggled, giving yourself a second to cool off, lest you looked too eager. No man liked that, you’d been told.

You skipped across your house, pausing to admire the accent wall in the living room. Suguru had painted a fairly simple nature scene on it of tree silhouettes encasing a mountain background, and it’d become your absolute favorite thing. You knew he was good with his hands, and you were elated with the results.

Giddy, you popped open the door, where you found the men of the hour awaiting you.

Oh, hell.

They looked like kings in those tuxedos of theirs, fit for royalty. They were already striking, you wholeheartedly believed they couldn’t possibly clean up any better. Boy, were you wrong.

Suguru’s gorgeous mane was interwoven into a plait that rested over his shoulder, dotted with baby’s breath flowers in resemblance to constellations, courtesy of Geto-mama. Satoru’s tresses were swept back, looking minimally less disheveled. You really couldn’t ask much from his hair, it did what it liked, when it liked.

“Oh, my god,” you said. “I wanna see you in suits.”

Suguru laughed, deep and rumbling, orbs glinting with mischief. “Next wedding, princess.”

“Look at you!” Satoru whistled, checking you out blatantly. “Damn, you look hot as fuck. That dress is perfect on you. Who picked it out for you?” He teased, sapphires glimmering. “I wanna get a drink with him sometime.”

Suguru snorted. “You don’t even drink, Satoru.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a drink with the handsome fella who dressed our girl up so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “You look fantastic, too, Satoru. Both of you! Seriously, you’re killing it! You’re gonna steal all the attention from the groom.”

“So long as your attention is on me, I don’t care,” he winked, taking your hand to ghost a kiss over your knuckles. Heat rushed through your being, adding to the blush you applied earlier.

Suguru bent over, pressing his own to the spot right in front of your ear. “You look beautiful, angel,” he murmured. Pulling away, the two of them presented corsages – one in blue and white, the other in lilac and black.

You placed a hand to your chest, taken aback and flattered. You picked up on how their corsages matched the flowers they had respectively pinned to their breast pockets.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you snickered and offered out both arms for them to take and adorn.

They were coordinated as always, neither wrist bare for longer than the other.

“They’re gorgeous,” you doted. “Thank you.”

Suguru’s palm slid up your forearm, digits pressing so tenderly into your skin, spawning chills under his touch. “Only right for someone as ravishing as yourself.”

You blushed, relishing in the praise. It was alright to indulge sometimes, you considered it a treat for finishing your home renovation. The opportunity was there to let loose and wash away all your worries, you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Coming from you,” you blew him a jesting kiss, which he pretended to catch. “Cheesy.”

“Let’s go already!” Satoru butted in, hooking his arm with yours.

Suguru extended his for you to take, continuing to be the polite and proper of the two. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” You declared. For once, you were excited to attend a wedding.

So long as it was with them, you’d go anywhere.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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velvet-vox · 7 months ago

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The complete and utter alienation of Tai Lung: Part 1

First thing first: I am not a Tai Lung defender so consider this an unbiased post.

So, Kung Fu Panda color theory is pretty much well known across all of the fandom, and it's obvious even from an outside perspective.

Po and the heroes are yellow/gold

Then Lord Shen's red

Kai's and Oogway's green

And finally Tai Lung colour is blue

(Also Chameleon is also yellow but this ain't about her).

And this is the one I want to touch upon in this post.

You see this graphic?

These are the three primary colours /yellow, cyan and magenta/ that come together to form the main secondary colours /blue, red, green/.

If you are in the fandom, or you just simply pay attention, you'll also know that:

Tai Lung's backstory has ties with Shifu.

Lord Shen's backstory has ties with Po.

General Kai's backstory has ties with Oogway.

But Kai backstory doesn't just simply have ties to Oogway like we were simply led to believe at large, but it also has ties with Po, because of his ties with the panda village and its effect on Oogway's reformation.

And with that, as you might have noticed, both Kai and Shen have, according to the chart, the colour yellow as a part of their secondary colour scheme.

With Shen in particular it goes a step further in that Po has red as a complimentary colour to yellow in some scenes.

Shen is also the least isolated of the villains (mental state doesn't count); always surrounded by his goons who he's going to use to conquer China and the Soothsayer, Shen is only truly alone at the end of the movie on the boat scene where he's just been defeated.

And Kai, despite the fact that he doesn't have goons that can bounce off his dialogue, is also never truly alone whenever we see him; he was a warlord leader of a huge army, he now has a jade zombie army and he often speaks to the Oogway amulet and narrates him whatever is happening, and, like Shen, he only becomes alone during his death scene.

They do tend to isolate themselves from others of their own volition...... but Tai Lung?

He has absolutely nothing. Nobody. Never had.

Returning to the colour wheel, his main colour is blue and he has ties with Shifu's backstory who, after the first movie, loses relevance for the rest of the movies. And blue itself is a pretty alien colour in the entire series (extended material included), it doesn't have any ties with yellow, much like Tai Lung doesn't have any personal ties with Po despite being in opposition, and Tai Lung itself doesn't interact much with the setting besides being a looming threat.

And it all ties back to his isolation and how it probably tied back to his turn to the dark side.

From the glimpses that we see of his childhood, Tai Lung doesn't interact with anyone else aside from Shifu and possibly Oogway, and I'm pretty confident in saying that he probably lived a sheltered life in the Jade palace. A childhood like that can inflict serious damage on a person's mental health in the long run as you don't have anyone who you can confront your experiences with, and it clearly carried on into adulthood, better explaining his fit of rage after being denied the dragon scroll.

Sadly, his loneliness carried on for the 20 years that he spent in jail. And after he escapes, he tries to claim back the dragon scroll by himself since he doesn't have an army or ways to gain allies, so he just carries on with nobody to support him and then he dies of a lonely, gruesome death that reflects on the way he lived.

The franchise itself then continues to portray Tai Lung less as a character and more as a figure of power in Po's journey, completely and utterly dehumanising him in every possible and conceivable way.

Ok, I must admit, maybe I gained a brand new appreciation for Tai Lung while writing this.

Next Part>>>>

#kung fu panda #kung fu panda 2 #kung fu panda 3 #kung fu panda 4 #color theory #kung fu panda po #kung fu panda shifu #kung fu panda oogway #kung fu panda tai lung #kung fu panda lord shen #kung fu panda kai #kung fu panda soothsayer #character analysis #essay #kfp #villain

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candyistoosweet · 17 days ago

Text

Olivia Becker Henderson

(Please click for a better quality)

Full Birth Name:

Olivia Becker Henderson

Mostly used name:

Olivia, The girl with red tears

Species:

Vengeful spirit // Ghost

Age:

Locked in 9

Birth Date:

1950 October 1th

Death Date:

1959 October 31th

Cause of Death:

Strangled to death & Choked

Gender:

Cis-woman, hertrosexual. She/Her

Height:

133cm (4'4)

Weight:

21kg (46.3lb)

Appearance:

She has bright red, wavy hair that barely reaches her shoulders. Her skin is completely white and pale, making her look almost lifeless, with no freckles unlike most red-haired people. Her eyes are a dark olive color, and red blood flows from both her eyes, her neck, and her lower body.

She wears light cyan pajama-style dress with dark green accents along the neckline, on her slippers, and on the large bow in her hair. Blood stains cover the outfit, giving her an eerie, zombie-like appearance.

She also always carries her comfort bunny doll, 'Toffy.' Toffy is a light yellow bunny with blood stains on it, a ripped-off right leg with cotton spilling out, and a missing button eye on the right side.

Ethnicity:

Born in Germany, but immigrated to America.

Place of Birth:

Berlin // Germany

Where is she?

She usually hides inside the family’s house, staying in her invisible form. She only reveals herself to the children her age or younger, appearing in their rooms to play with them. She mostly avoids the parents, especially the father, but when they catch her, her playful and harmless behavior shifts to a wicked and eerie presence. The setting is primarily in Los Angeles, America.

Notable features:

Blood flows down on her eyes, neck, and lower body, running down her legs. This causes her to leave bloodstains on the ground? but they disappear in a few minuites due to her ghostly form.

Her voice is high pitched, honeyed childlike, which makes her voice seems like a voice of girl character in disney shows. It lifts up people's feelings, but she can make her voice low and dead, which can stir a protective instinct in others.

She often floats around. Since she’s a ghost, it isn’t difficult for her, and she even claims it’s more comfortable.

Her face is usually emotionless. Whether she’s happy or sad, she doesn’t show her feelings on her face.

Personality:

Before her death -

Kind

Caring

Vurnerable

Obsessive

Lonely

Deeply sad, numb

Submissive

Talkative

Friendly

Clever

Giving

After her death -

Aggressive

Stubborn

Lonely

Extremely obsessive

Anxious

Clever

Intelligent

Capable of being friendly and nice to others who she's close with in a rare occasions

Very quiet

Attention seeker (Therefore, she usually enjoys appearing to the adults and scaring them.)

Low patience

Impulsive

Family Members:

Carl Becker - Olivia's dad (Dead)

Harley Becker - Olivia's mom (Dead)

Anton Becker - Oldest sibling (Dead)

Felix Becker - Second oldest sibling (Dead)

Sophia Becker - Third oldest sibling (Dead)

Joseph Becker - Last oldest sibling (Dead)

Henry Henderson - Stepfather (Killed)

Maria Henderson - Stepmother (Dead)

Weapons of Choices:

A small pocket knife hanging around her pajamas' waistband

Her ghost ability

Abilities:

Possession

Floating

Moving through an object

Invisibility

Mind reading

Psychokenisis

Methods of murder:

Possession is her main ability, which she uses to kill or harm anyone she targets. She essentially inhabits the victim’s body and steals their physical control, manipulating their movements to make it appear like a suicide or self-harm. This is her way of eliminating victims in the least suspicious manner. When she successfully kills her victims, their souls immediately shatter along with their corpses.

When she's overwhelmed by the urge to possess someone and play with their body, she resorts to using a pocket knife to stab them to death. Although it's a rare occurrence for her to kill this way, she'll do so if she's extremely angered or in a necessary situation.

Weaknesses:

Her physical strength isn’t very strong; it’s comparable to that of an average 9-year-old boy. While she may be stronger than children her age, a child's strength can’t match that of an adult.

She also has multiple mental illnesses, including OCD and PTSD, primarily related to feelings of being alone or neglected. Her mental state is quite vulnerable.

Likes:

Soft, fluffy fabric (Animal furs, minks, silks, blanket and pillows, etc.)

Being spoiled

Getting lots of attention

Affection

Friends (What mostly other children her aged would like)

Fairy tales

Toffy

Sweets, desserts

Playing games (Childish ones. As playing with dolls and toys, hide and seek, eye spy, etcs)

Singing

Revenging over someone hurted her

Hurting the parents who've caught her in their eye

Floating around

Animals

Chatting (Mostly means only with minors)

Dislikes:

Loud noises

Being left alone, lonely

Younger child than her (It scares her what if she gets cared more or be treated more precious and steal some attentions from her. But there can still be some exceptions.)

Anything that triggers her trauma

Adult men (She doesn't dislike ALL OF THEM, but it's true that she always feels small amount of disgust and wariness against them.)

Being isolated

Sticky things

Bugs

Too big foods (She loves eating, but too large foods to chew or swallow makes her feel sick and disgusted.)

Feisty behaviors

Bitter tastes (Coffee, some kinds of teas, etcs)

Catchphrase:

"May I join?"

Backstory:

Olivia Becker Henderson was the youngest child in the Becker family in Berlin, Germany. The family had five children, and Olivia grew up with them until she was about three. However, the household was abusive, and the children were neglected. As a result, Olivia grew up without a close bond with her parents, leading her to develop anxiety and obsessive behaviors at a young age.

After her parents were killed in a mysterious accident, Olivia and her four siblings were sent to a large orphanage connected to the church. There, she faced the discriminatory looks from the kids who were not orphans, feeling lonely in the orphanage due to the lack of affection from the teachers, just as she had in her previous home. The orphanage was filled with the noises of children, but those sounds were usually just the cries of young children desperately hoping to escape their abusive cages. Nonetheless, Olivia remained a cheerful child with a talkative personality, often chirping, "May I join?" whenever adults spoke to try to connect with them. Yet, all she heard in return was "Be quiet," "I'm busy," and other soft but lethal neglects. Many people there didn't care for her or the other orphans in a meaningful way, which continually triggered her trauma of being left behind.

After about two years, a man named Henry and his wife, Maria, decided to adopt Olivia on her fifth birthday in October. Unlike the windy, cold weather outside, Olivia's heart quickly bloomed like spring flowers in the warmth of their love. After she was sent to America with this couple, she began to grow up in a wealthy, caring household. For her adoption gift, she received a cute bunny plushie, which she named "Toffy." With no siblings around, she formed a very close bond with Toffy, treating her like a sister—washing with her, eating with her, and sharing all her feelings day after day. This affection grew bigger and bigger, resembling the bond that real sisters would have.

But happiness didn’t last forever. Her dad, Henry, and mom, Maria, suddenly divorced due to Henry’s gambling addiction. Maria left the household, and Olivia began to live only with Henry when she was seven. After two years, her normal life, which had shielded her from the discriminatory stares of her peers, came crashing down for reasons Olivia found unacceptable. However, Henry remained a responsive father who claimed to love his stepdaughter, so Olivia never doubted his words and tried not to feel sad about her mom leaving. She felt pressured to maintain her happy, confident life, just as she had for the past two years.

Even though Olivia was a strong kid, after the divorce, she felt extremely vulnerable and scared by her mother’s departure. She couldn’t help but internalize it as being thrown away and wasted, which triggered her trauma of neglect and lack of care. Her stepdad Henry exhibited similar symptoms, but his behavior stemmed from his gambling failures rather than sorrow over the divorce. This caused him to become increasingly stressed and harsh towards Olivia, a stark contrast to how he used to treat her. These conditions gradually led to a pattern of child abuse, including sexual assaults. With Henry’s wife gone, he had no other outlet for his lustful instincts, tragically directing them towards Olivia. She felt utterly betrayed and sank into a puddle of shame and deep disappointment.

After her ninth birthday, on Halloween, Olivia had one last fun experience before returning to her abusive, complicated home—no longer a sweet and caring household. When Henry grew irritated by her antics, a simple tussle escalated into a harsh scuffle. He brandished a small pocket knife to threaten Olivia, attempting to make her comply. In the struggle, she was cut by the knife, her voice growing louder and stronger in desperation. Ultimately, in a fit of rage, Henry strangled Olivia to death on her bed, leaving her lifeless.

But after a few days, Olivia rose from her cold, lifeless body to become a ghost, just as she appeared in life. She wasn’t happy about feeling conscious again, but was instead filled with rage and a desire for revenge against Henry. For those curious about what happened to her and Henry in the end, it was Olivia who laughed last. At least she achieved a form of a happy ending—except that she didn’t stop after getting her revenge on Henry and continued to haunt humans until now.

After Olivia transformed into a poor yet aggressive spirit, some say they can still hear the faint, childish whisper of a girl asking, "May I join?" echoing through the soundless, lightless home. The whisper becomes more vivid and pronounced as the anniversary of her death approaches. But don’t worry! She might give you some time to enjoy your last holiday moments, just as she once did...Don’t you think?

Theme song:

Dark Paradise - Lena Del Rey

Extra Art works:

(First design plannings)

Deathtime:

Lifetime-

TMI:

Olivia's zodiac sign is Scorpio.

Her favorite color is green / cyan just like how you can see in her dress design, and her favorate aeshetic is noble & cottage core.

She secretly enjoys collecting child's lost accessories on the ground such as a pink ribbon pin, hairbands, their comfort toys and everything. It brings her nostalgia and comfort. She uses them to redesign them and keep them as her own stuffs.

She even sometimes steals some toys in her victim child's room, whenever she feels jealous about the thing she wants.

Her eyes glow in the dark when her emotions are strong or intense. As it gets stronger, the more her eyes glow.

She's gifted with drawing & writing skills. Her hobbies are almost all what she's especially good at such as drawing, singing, and writings. She likes to create her imaginary characters in her head and express out their storyline when she's bored, or been slightly inspirated.

Her examples of being obsessive is quite simple. She just dossn't want someone who approuched to her to leave her. If the kid wants to go back to their parents instead of playing with her anymore, she'll get mad and hurt the kid. She becomes extremely self-centered when it comes to relationships, and this only makes her to get even more lonely and aggressive.

Not quite sure if it's surprising, but Olivia used to be very curious about what would happen after the death at her lifetime. This curiousity started since she was in the orphanage, and kept questioning the teachers, nuns and priest about what happens after the death.

Now that she knew what happened at least to her, she thinks being dead is something fun to do. She didn't know at first because of the overwhelmed thinking of revenging Henry, but as slowly she became more sane, she started to have a quite positive opinions towards death, which may seem relieving yet eerie at the same time.

Olivia's strength grows strongest at her birth date and death date. So this basically means that the October is the period she's the most active. Her ghost abilities gets harsher and stronger, which can inflict a bigger damage to the victims. But of course it all ends up dead either way.

Her favorite fairy tale is cutely Peter Pan. She's obsessed with the settings of neverland, never getting old. Especially considering Peter Pan's released period is 1950s, Olivia could easily encounter the movie/cartoon.

Her MBTI is INTP.

Her favorite dessert is cookie dough.

#roxie #candyistoosweet #fanart #creepypasta #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta oc #oc art #oc artwork #child creepypasta #sally williams #lily kennett #lifeless lucy #lazari swann #olivia henderson

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beautyinafruitfulworld · 2 days ago

Note

*There was a 12 year old girl walking around, the girl had messy brown hair that had bright cyan highlights and that faded into a cherry sorta color, she wore a bright purple and gray striped shirt, purple pants that seemed a bit small on the girl and she had scrapes on her feet, she also had a pretty big backpack that was dragging across the ground while the girl wore it that’s how big it was, anyone gonna talk to her? She seems lonely*

@the-plushie-friendships

Ralf and Clark, two seasoned mercenaries from the Ikari Warriors, stroll out of the local arcade, walking side by side and enjoying each other's company. The sound of Ralf's infectious laughter and Clark's deep, rumbling chuckles fill the air as they exchange jokes. Ralf's lighthearted humour contrasts perfectly with Clark's dry, dark wit. Their brotherly banter turns playful as Clark sarcastically teases Ralf about his stubbornness and rowdy tendencies, while Ralf pokes fun at Clark about his serious demeanour.

As they draw closer to the nearest park, they notice a 12-year-old girl walking around alone without adult supervision. They stop walking and freeze, wondering why she's by herself and what's with that massive backpack. Clark exchanges a stoic glance with Ralf, knowing what he's going to do next, and his brother-in-arms looks at him with a mix of confidence and slight concern.

"Don't worry, bro. I've got this," Ralf tells Clark, flashing him a reassuring smile before striding over to the young girl.

Clark sits down on the nearest bench, keeping a watchful eye on Ralf to make sure he doesn't make any impulsive decisions.

#iron eclipse au #ralf jones #clark still

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sakkiichi · 1 year ago

Text

BABY BLUE.

“Tell me you will live through this and I will die for you.”

You can imagine any of your favorite characters for this, but I was specifically thinking of Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Kaeya x fem! reader.

genre/cw: very soft spice, angst to comfort, fluff, some slight aftercare.

word count: 1.4 k.

To someone I cherish, this is for you. If you ever see it, I hope it brings you some semblance of comfort on nights that feel lonely. Even if I’m asleep, I’m on the other side of the screen, dearest 🩵

The rain falls.

Your palm rests against the cold window glass, drops splattered on the other side.

Raindrops.

Looking up at them, you could feel like flying to the grey heavens; you always liked the weather better when it was gloomy.

Shades of light blue seem contained in the still free falling rain, before it shatters against the dull concrete.

You could relate to that, one amongst millions, forgotten afterwards.

Only so many loved to splash in muddy puddles, after all.

With a sigh, you pull away from the blurry glass, the imprint of your hand outlined against the indigo hues of the approaching night.

Is that all the world will have to remember you by?

Are you really that… ephemeral? Impermanent?

Unimportant? Is the word that lodges into your heart, freezing it, each beat painting in dark blue your lips that used to smile, the fingers that used to caress him, so lovingly.

Wrapping your soft blue blanket around your form, you step towards your room’s balcony, the curtains an eerie muted cyan in the dim light. Knuckles white, you pull the crystal doors open, frigid rain almost piercing when it touches your skin.

And yet, it feels peaceful, it feels good.

Perhaps you just missed hurting in ways that were not emotional, and maybe the cold drops in the night provided that.

“I knew you’d be here.” A familiar voice pulls you out of your daze.

Startled, you turn around. Your hands tremble around you, your rumpled up blanket falling off your shoulder, your yellow sweater akin to a blue sun, the water splatters over it, storm clouds. Your hair is plastered against your face, its vibrant shade, ashen in the faint moonlight through decaying skies.

Sighing, his hand wraps softly around yours.

Warm. Loving.

Not his usual chill; not his dominant or fearing for you hold; not his usual teasing; not his trembling hold in twilights when he begged you to please not go.

Permanent. Grounding.

Your lover pulls you into him, under the awning, freezing cobalt bleeding into smaller sapphires when it hits the canvas.

He doesn’t care how you’re dampening his clothes, his hair, arctic hues spreading like watercolors to his core.

Carefully, he guides you inside, the warmth of your room welcome to your shivering form.

The wet blanket is lifted from you, hung on a low chair before the balcony’s doors, the dripping water pooling in a mirrored image of the half concealed moon.

Your partner’s arms hook under your legs, cradling you close, walking towards the bed.

He lays down by your side, svelte hands slipping your ochre sweater off of you. His hands caress your hips, the skin right above your black pants, and the skin under, when slightly calloused fingers slip beneath the turquoise silk of your underwear.

His own shirt meets the same fate as your discarded sweater, both yours and his trousers following after.

Scarred hands travel up and down your sides, his gem-like eyes reflected in your dilated pupils.

Tears shine like colorless emeralds in your lash line.

You want him. You need him. So bad.

But do you deserve him?

As if he was the only one privy to your thoughts, your lover’s hand laces with yours.

His gaze is comfortably piercing, completely set on your pretty face.

A gentle squeeze, before his hand slips delicately under your sports bra, unclasping it, alice blue fabric slipping off your frame.

“Beautiful.” He breathes, his stare dilating, his hands fondling with your breasts, gently pinching your nipples. He relishes in the little moans you let out.

Even if he never liked to see you cry, you were still perfect with teal eyeshadow running down your cheeks.

“My love…” you utter, a choked out sound. You want him to go on, but you want him to find better than you too.

And yet, he doesn’t think there’s anyone better, not here, not on any of the seven nations, not in another world.

“What is it, my bunny?” He whispers, kissing down your jawline, your neck, your collarbones.

You let out a shaky sigh.

“Are you sure? That I’m the one you want to do this with?” You ask, not meeting his gaze, head lowered.

“My dearest, look at me.” His tone is mellow when he takes your chin in between his fingers, gaze haloed in night and starlight, magnetized by you. “You’re the only one I want this with, the only one I’ll ever want. Do you understand?” The shadow of a smirk crosses his perfectly sculpted features when his lips brush the shell of your ear, feeling your frame shiver at his every touch.

All you can do is nod, throbbing and wetness starting to pool in your core, shades of pink and amber merging into the blue lighting of the night when his fingers brush your hipbone.

Skilled digits prod at your needy nub, thumb circling it, pearlescent juices leaking out of you.

You were always so perfect, and right now, you’re ethereal.

Reflected moonlight paints your skin azure, the city lights fiery against your hair, splayed out around the pillows.

Lips that have smiled, smirked, bitten and brought you endless pleasure envelop yours, his tongue swirling over the rosé of your parted mouth, asking for an entrance that was and would forever remain his.

His hardened tip teases your hole, as his arms wrap around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer, two colliding meteors, so bright, the sun would never need to rise again.

He enters you, in a melody of skin against skin and moans of yours and his name mingling in a million colors in the dark.

You can feel him. Deeply. Every vein and drag of his length spreading you out, taking you higher with every kiss of his tip on your sweet spot, to a vantage point from where you can see the skies end.

“I love you…” your boyfriend groans, pushing deeper inside you, one of his hands intertwining fingers with yours, the other, firm on your hip. “I love you, my darling… I’ll repeat it until you believe it… you feel so good, archons, you’re perfect.”

With one last forceful thrust, you feel your walls clamp around him, ribbons in a myriad of bright lights you only see after the nebula you and him create, painting your walls in every little detail that constitutes him and all the sheer adoration he holds for you.

Perhaps he once was a fallen god, now wandering in search of his own identity; or a broken angel, casting everyone in light, except for himself, donning a mask, kept in the shadows; maybe he is a crafted alchemist, still wondering about what it means to be alive; he could have been a silent scribe, caring more than his hardened stare let on, always peering from behind a book or another; at times you swore he was an artist, the architect that designed your very soul. Or maybe you’ve dreamed of him as a suave knight, his heart concealed behind a wall of spiky ice.

But what never changed is that his heart was always yours, in every version of the world, in every chapter of the story you still write, in the hours you dream away.

And so, you let go.

Liquid starlight coats him in your burning desire, as his nails dig into your skin, claw-like marks in his wake.

You’re a star, him, the moon, or the sun, that will forever orbit around the shine you don’t always see. Together, you meet the zenith of more than just entangled bodies, his lips descending upon yours once again tonight, feather-like this time.

With breaths mixed and labored, he pulls out, his arms not letting go, never letting go, for the gravity of you will forever tie him to your heart; even if his is hollow, icy, corrupted, or hard and gold, the threads of your sweetness are all he needs to feel alive.

Gently, your lover pulls the covers snug around you.

Summer sky blue, he sewed them himself. Or was it just his design? You can’t recall, but they are coated in him, his scent, his goodnight kisses.

Tender fingertips brush sweaty strands of hair away from your face. ‘So that I dream of you’, are his unspoken words, before his eyes close and his lips meet the tip of your nose.

In his arms, your lashes flutter closed too, in tandem with his.

Will you find wine and warm light on the other side? Lanterns to guide your night? Perhaps vast expanses of greenery with paths to find yourself and libraries to lose yourself in. Whatever the case, you hope for clear skies.

When dawn approaches, the baby blue of your now dry blanket matches the heart shaped rays expanding in the horizon.

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floyds-favorite-shrimp · 1 year ago

Text

A Watched Cauldron Never Boils

Deuce Spade x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,808

Fluffy!

TW: Getting hit in the head with a cauldron

*More under cut*

Bright Cyan eyes looked out from under navy blue hair as Deuce stared at the girl sitting a few tables away. Her dark hair hung in curtains around her face as she tilted her head to eat. Why hadn’t she come to eat with them? It’s not like she had never eaten with them before. Her hair fell back slightly as she looked up at the feline-esque being that sat in front of her at her table. Deuce could tell even from where he sat that she was rolling her eyes at something Grim said, a grin was etched upon the cat's face.

Dark eyes turned to look at him, and Deuce jumped slightly. He didn’t expect her to catch him staring so intensely at her. She smiled, and gave him a slight wave, which he returned with a nervous smile. He forced his eyes away from her and back to the people he was sharing a table with. As soon as his attention returned to them, he jumped in his seat once more. Three pairs of eyes were staring dreamily at him, all of them were resting their cheeks on their hands.

“What are you doing?” Deuce questioned looking between the three of them. They all stayed silent, staring at him unblinkingly. Deuce thought for a moment before hitting himself on the forehead. “Did I really look that stupid?”

“Kinda..”

“A bit…”

“Absolutely.”

The three responded simultaneously, lifting their heads and resuming the consumption of their lunch. Cater and Trey glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes, while Ace looked at Deuce, attempting to hide his laughter behind his sandwich.

“You still haven’t asked her out though.” Cater said, finally trusting himself enough to speak without laughing.

“What?!” Deuce said, entirely too loudly. He grimaced at himself, glancing around to see if anyone was looking at him. He chanced a glance at Yuu, ensuring that she wasn’t paying attention to his table before continuing the conversation. “Are you actually insane? I could never do that!”

“What do you mean?” Trey asked him, hanging his wrist lazily, raising his eyebrow at Deuce. “You understand that she’s the only girl at an all boys school, yes?”

“Of course I-”

“In other words,” Ace interrupted Deuce. “Someone’s gonna get to her eventually. We just want to make sure it’s you.”

Deuce felt his heart sink into his stomach. He knew that. Of course he did. But it was a truth he was trying to avoid. He wanted to pretend that he had all the time in the world. He wanted to pretend that she would always be available, always be waiting for him.

He shook his head. What a childish way to think. He scolded himself. She was… She was Yuu. Even if she weren’t the only girl at an all boys school, someone would certainly notice her. Ask her out. Steal her. She was kind, she was generous, smart, brave, she was beautiful, she was… Yuu.

Deuce took a deep breath, stealing another not-so-subtle glance at the lone girl. At some point she had taken out a book, and was engrossed within the print as Grim curled up and napped on the table. She subconsciously bit her lower lip, apparently not knowing what exactly that expression does to him.

“I wouldn’t even know… how…” He muttered, stammering off at the end of his sentence.

“No need to worry.” Cater said, resting his hand on Deuce’s shoulder. “We can make this a totally Magicammable date!”

“A- wait- I didn’t- I CANNOT-”

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Trey said, leaning back in his chair. “We can take care of everything for you.”

Needless to say, Deuce was worried about all the things.

***************************

“Deuce, what are you doing?” Ace asked with wide eyes, walking into their Heartslabyul dorm where Deuce lay on his bed.

“Just chillin’?” Deuce responded, clearly confused by Ace’s frantic tone.

“Didn’t Cater tell you what today is?” Ace asked him, rummaging through Deuce’s dresser and pulling out different articles of clothing and throwing them at Deuce.

“No? Why? Did I miss an emergency tea party?” Deuce asked, now sitting up in bed, holding one of the shirts Ace had thrown at him. Grim walked into the dorm after Ace, looking around. “Why is Grim here?”

“Because I bribed him with ten cans of tuna to spend the night here instead of Ramshackle.” Ace said, clearly exasperated with his bright eyed friend.

“I don’t understand.” Deuce said, shaking his head. “Why does he need to stay here-”

The door to their dorm slammed open, and in walked a panting Cater. As soon as he was through the door, he rested his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. Ace paused in his mission to find Deuce the perfect outfit to simply stare at Cater with his hands on his hips.

I… Know.” Cater gasped out. “Riddle… I couldn’t… Roses…” His green eyes were filled with sincerity as he panted out his excuse.

“Well, nothing to be done now.” Ace said, “But since you’re here, dress Deuce. You’re better at that than I am. I’ll run and get everything else ready. We can still save this.” His scarlet eyes were filled with determination as him and Cater gave each other a slight nod.

“I’m still not really sure what’s going on.” Deuce grumbled, his voice low. Grim looked up at him in confusion.

“I thought you had a date with my Henchhuman.” Grim said, crossing his paws over his chest. “That’s why I was gettin’ kicked out. Not that I mind.” He shrugged. “Can’t feel the wind in this dorm.”

“If you don’t mind, then why did I have to give you so much tuna?!” Ace exclaimed, glaring at the blue eyed gremlin-like creature.

“Well, why not get as much from you as I can?” Grim questioned, shrugging once more before walking over and sitting on Deuce’s bed with him.

Deuce’s jaw was hanging low, his mouth wide open. His eyes were unfocused, a look of dawning comprehension slowly colored his features. After a moment, his eyes focused on Ace and he spoke, his voice hoarse.

“What.. did you do?”

********

Yuu sat, curled up on the rickety couch in the common area of Ramshackle dorm. She was wrapped up in a blanket, scrolling Magicam on her phone. Ace had come by earlier, and stolen Grim for some reason that he refused to tell her. All she knew was that Grim had been bragging about some kind of feast.

“If they were going to dinner, they could’ve invited me.” She muttered quietly, her stomach rumbling as she sighed. What did they even have in the kitchen to eat? And it was too late to go to the cafeteria. She curled up tighter as a gust of wind blew, creating a draft in the already chilly dorm. She shivered, forcing herself to uncurl so that she could stand up, making her way to the kitchen.

She was certain there wasn’t anything to eat. Grim was constantly eating so he almost never left even a crumb of the snacks that the headmage actually provided them weekly. The next batch came in two days. It was usually a miracle if there was anything left by day three. Yuu sighed, putting some water in a kettle, she could at least make herself some tea to warm up.

She leaned up against the counter, watching the kettle as the water warmed up.

“A watched cauldron never boils.” She whispered, smiling slightly to herself as the world ‘cauldron’ brought a certain blue haired first year to mind. The kindest and most honest man she had ever met, in either world. “Maybe staying in Twisted Wonderland wouldn’t be so bad if… If I could stay with him.” She sighed.

A soft sound brought her from her thoughts. She shook her head lightly, looking around for the source of the noise. It had almost sounded like a knock. Was someone at the door? Or maybe the ghosts were messing around upstairs. She turned her attention back to the kettle, her mind wandering once more to the cauldron-throwing guy that always gave her butterflies.

Knock Knock Knock

There was no mistaking it this time. Someone was definitely at the door. She furrowed her brows in confusion, but left her position by the stove to answer. Her t-shirt gave her little protection from the cold air that forced its way in through the rickety walls of the old dorm. She crossed her arms, rubbing her hands over them to try and fight off the chill as much as she could. She wrapped her hand around the cold doorknob, opening the door to the night air.

She was immediately met with a bright gaze, and her confusion only grew. Was this like Bloody Mary? Say his name three times and he’ll appear? Did she even actually say his name? She lowered her eyes, noticing the bag that he was carrying with him, before raising her stare once more to meet his own.

“Deuce? What’s up?” She asked, taking a step back so he could walk in. The sooner she could close the door the better.

“Honestly, I’m not so sure.” Deuce said, shaking his head. He definitely did not feel like he was given adequate time to adjust to the situation before being dropped off on her front step. “Uh,” He shook his head. He needed to remember the last minute advice Cater had given him. Be the good guy. That’s kinda your schtick.

Deuce thought for a moment about what exactly that meant. “Ace mentioned that he was going to hang out with Grim for the night. So I figured you might be lonely.” He said, giving her a smile that, in her opinion, deserved an award.

“That was sweet of you.” Yuu responded, forcing herself not to get lost in his purity. “But.. I’m afraid you’ll probably hate it here.” She gave him a forced smile. “It’s cold and boring.”

“I brought games!” Deuce said, holding out his bag to her. “I figured we could play for a few hours.. Maybe?” He finished his sentence uncertainly. He started talking without thinking, but maybe that was her way of saying that she didn’t want him there.

“Are you sure?” She asked him, her eyes wide with what appeared to be hope. “I’d really like that.” She said, feeling her heart thump just a little faster than normal. “The water should be hot now. I’ll go make us some tea!”

The two of them sat on the couch, each sipping their mug of hot tea as they sat side by side, under the same blanket. Deuce took one of the games out of his bag, setting it up on the table in front of them, feeling Yuu’s stare on him. His cheeks were warming up as he tried to ignore her watching him set up the game.

“Are you ready to play?” He asked her, smiling gently when she nodded with quite a bit of enthusiasm.

They played round after round, neither gaining enough ground to consider themselves ahead. They were both excelling at the game, subconsciously leaning in closer together as they continued to try to best each other. Yuu made her move, looking down at the board.

“I… I think I win.” She said, the corners of her mouth slowly turning up in a smile. Deuce’s eyes were wide, and they stared back up at each other simultaneously. Neither of them had noticed until that moment how close they had gotten, the tips of their noses almost touched as they met each other's gaze and both of them stopped breathing for just a moment.

“I, um.” Deuce started to say, his brain slowing to a halt. Neither backed away, but neither got any closer either. “I’d… really like to kiss you..” He muttered out. It wasn’t until Yuu’s eyes widened that he realized what he had said. His own eyes widened in surprise as his brain started to finally catch up on the situation. A few seconds too late, in his opinion.

“Oh, no.” Deuce said, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m so-”

“You can.” Yuu said quietly, causing Deuce to stop speaking. He thought for a moment he might have misheard her. But the fact that she still hadn’t backed away, and she was looking at him expectantly convinced him that he had heard her perfectly fine. His shoulders relaxed as they stared at each other. Her lips were slightly parted. Were they always so pink? And they looked so soft too.

Deuce slowly reached up, taking her chin in his hand and tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. Her cheeks were a bright shade of pink now, and her lips were just as soft as they looked.

“Are you sure?” He asked her.

Yuu was almost positive he could hear her heart beating. She almost didn’t hear what he said over the sound of it roaring in her ears. The pressure of his thumb resting against her lip was weirdly enticing to her. Like she wanted to just take it into her mouth and-

Yuu blinked a few times, her cheeks getting even warmer as she allowed her thoughts to stray somewhere else for a moment. Her silence was starting to give Deuce anxiety. Was she going to say no?

But instead, she nodded. She didn’t trust her voice at this moment. Deuce moved his thumb out of the way before slowly, achingly slowly, tilting his head closer to hers as their lips finally connected. They moved together slowly, but perfectly in sync, as if they had been kissing each other for years. Deuce moved one of his hands to the back of her head, deepening the kiss further. Yuu placed her hands on his upper arms, a small noise of surprise left her throat only to be immediately swallowed by Deuce. He felt much more muscular than she had expected. She sat up on her knees in an attempt to get even closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist in response as he teased her closed lips with the tip of his tongue.

Yuu parted her lips slightly, but Deuce didn’t even give her a moment before shoving his tongue into her mouth. He rubbed his against hers, adjusting his grip on her to hold her even tighter. His fingers threaded themselves through her hair, refusing to let her go. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and stayed there for most of the night…

************

“So Deuce didn’t come back to the dorm at all last night?” Cater asked Ace, snickering.

“Nope. I have no idea what happened. She might have killed him for all I know.” Ace answered him, shrugging.

“Or…” Cater said suggestively, resting his cheek on his palm. Ace looked at him for a moment, his brows furrowed together.

“I… I have to know.” Ace muttered. Trey, who had been listening to the two’s conversation, sighed. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also curious. The three looked at each other, before all standing up at the same time.

“Be quiet. You can hear everything through these stupid walls.” Ace muttered to the other two as they crept around outside of Ramshackle dorm. Cater had stepped on a twig, which produced a loud ‘crack’. “This window here should look into the common area.”

The three crowded the window, looking in at the scene.

Yuu had her eyes peaked open. Her head was resting on Deuce’s chest. He was lying on his back with one arm behind his head and the other wrapped around her. She was so comfortable, and warm. She saw two heads of bright red hair outside the window, and she sighed. She felt Deuce move beneath her, and she subtly tapped him on his chest. She heard him grunt as he started to wake up.

“Just a heads up,” Yuu muttered to him. She heard a soft ‘Hm?’ from him. “Your friends are being creepy.” She said, nuzzling her cheek against him. He moved his arm from behind his head, peaking his eye open just enough to see the three nosey guys looking through the window, as if the clear glass didn’t work both ways. Deuce stretched out his arm in their direction.

“I summon thee, Cauldron.” He said with all of the energy he could muster after thirty seconds of consciousness. The screeches he heard from outside, followed by the loud ‘thud’ told him that it accomplished what he needed it to. He smiled to himself, now wrapping both of his arms around the woman in his arms. Maybe, for just a little while longer, they could stay in their own little world.

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