#man i love writing romance. i get so into it

[chaifootsteps]

one of the more troubling things about hazbin’s poor writing is that it implies some really awful things about the morality of sex workers and addicts. Like angel dust’s wiki can talk up and down about his mob past all he wants but Heaven, Charlie, Vaggie, and every other character spends their time addressing his drug issue and trying to get him sober, not having him confront the bad behavior that stems from it. He’s not in hell for being a criminal, he’s in hell for being a drug user, we can infer this bc we are continually told that getting clean is not just essential to his progress, but it’s what’ll fix him and make him a changed man. And in terms of heaven, Lute spells it out during the court scene, a great deal of Heaven believes that “crack whores” aren’t fit to be in heaven but neither Charlie nor the larger narrative challenges the premise of that argument, never suggests that he’s in hell for a different reason, and just. Runs with that insanely flawed and prejudiced logic, instead deciding to ‘fix’ Angel by making him sober and giving him a love interest to romance bc promiscuity is bad I guess. Like that’s implying some really horrible things about addiction and sexuality, and while Angel is clearly suffering from being a drug user and hyper sexuality , those things aren’t inherently wrong and chalking his moral failings up to “he’s a crackhead” is such a spit in the face to anyone who’s suffered from addiction

And don't forget, being sober is apparently so integral to Angel's salvation that Husk -- two episodes after saying he accepted Angel as the coked up "loser" he was -- viciously tore him down for being in the mere vicinity of a party drug without agreeing to take it. A spit in the face is exactly what it is.

[hestzhyen]

An Extremely Subjective HakuHiro Romantic Trope Breakdown

Greetings, void. This arc is rough and the brainworms won't let me write my own hurt/comfort fan fiction- they demand half-baked analysis instead of lovemaking. So have the closest thing that passes for fluff from yours truly.

In essence, this is just a list of the explicitly romantic tropes I love applying to HakuHiro with varying degrees of gushing ship babble as justification. Some are definitely skewed hard towards headcanon but there's always at least a tenuous connection to something that's demonstrated in the work itself. Proceed if this kind of brain rot sounds like your jam! Otherwise just please let me die from cringe in peace.

Battle Couple

Offense and support working in perfect harmony.

So this is just one of my personal favourites, but Chihiro and Hakuri definitely have strong vibes for this trope. They fought together in an absolutely stunning display of mutual trust and understanding in the Rakuzaichi Arc. Seriously, these guys pulled off some truly spine-tingly good moves to take down Kyora despite Hakuri only just awakening to his powers the very same day.

They demonstrated this again in the train fight protecting Uruha- Hakuri and Chihiro only need the bare minimum of communication between them to fight in style. I look forward to more chances for them to show off their teamwork! If they end up fighting back-to-back in canon I'll probably just straight up ascend to fudanshi heaven on the spot. I LOVE BATTLE COUPLES.

Love at First Sight/Rescue Romance

"This is the kind of man I need in my life."

Love at First Sight is pretty self-explanatory: person A sees person B and immediately falls head over heels. It's easy to slap that on Hakuri in his introduction chapter- he's only missing an invitation to get to know each other over some coffee when they finally meet up, really. Unless asking someone to help you kill your family is the Kagurabachi universe's equivalent...?

As for Rescue Romance, it's another very simple scenario: person A is saved by person B, which causes them to fall in love. Chihiro saves Hakuri with the other random people at the site of Sojo's massacre attempt, and Hakuri... yeah. You get it.

I think there's a better trope to associate to this later on in the list, but Love at First Sight and Rescue Romance are still apt and very funny tropes to apply towards Hakuri's first impression of Chihiro. The way he waxed poetic over the mystery samurai who saved and inspired him had me in stitches. Seriously, my oldest notes on Hakuri from that chapter are mostly just laughing about him being really passionate about Chihiro for someone who's not intended to be a love interest! Go get 'im, Hakuri. He needs you in his life just as much as you need him in yours.

Mindlink Mates

Don't need to hear each other at all if you just "get" them.

This is something I like to apply as a Fanon concept based on what happens in canon. Hakuri and Chihiro aren't literally linked mind-to-mind via telepathy, but both of them have a deep understanding of what the other's thinking and feeling at any given moment. I really like the concept that they understand everything about each other on an instinctual level. It's mostly fueled by the Aun concepts that have been associated to them, which I'll get into during a later section. But yeah. Hakuri and Chihiro being borderline telepathic in how they can sense the other's status. That's crack cocaine to me and it's not too far removed from canon so I'm running with it.

I also really like the idea of their strong emotions and desires bouncing off of and amplifying each other's, but I don't know if there's a specific trope for that, so it gets placed here at the end of this tangentially related section. Also not something far removed from canon given how they both fuel each other's self-destructive savior tendencies because they feel the same way!

Moe Couplet

They're so cuuuuuuuuuuuuuute

A Moe Couplet is essentially a pair of characters that enhance each other's cute traits. Separate, they are perfectly fine individuals with their own appeal. Together, they are adorable and capable of some tooth-rottingly sweet moments. This trope isn't typically associated with romantic duos in stuff aimed at general audiences, but it's common in BL as the basis for "fluff" works and wholesome pairings.

This is probably the biggest stretch to apply towards canon on the list, honestly. We haven't seen that much moe moe action from Hakuri and Chihiro- they're kind of busy fighting for their lives or hurting themselves to save others most of the time. But the few moments we get send me straight into cuteness agression-induced brain rot every time I think of them.

Most of this trope label for HakuHiro comes from little details. Like Chihiro often being shown reassuring Hakuri, and Hakuri getting some of the sweetest smiles out of him in return. Hakuri brings out Chihiro's soft side when Char's not around to do so and Chihiro helps Hakuri be his absolute silliest. These guys are are so good to each other! They melt the ice around my cold, dead heart into a slurry of hnnngh and incoherent shipper screeching.

What's it actually based on though? Well, I thought I was just doing normal delusional fudanshi things by thinking Hakuri is extra cute when he's around Chihiro and vice versa. But then Hokazono-sensei threw me a bone in an interview by saying he intended for Hakuri to "bring out Chihiro's personality and add some cuteness". And I. Just. I exploded into confetti on the spot. MOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

One True Love

This ship is not merely an OTP to me, if you haven't noticed.

Note: "ai" is not inherently romantic despite it being the end-goal of pretty much every romance novel out there. It's for deep, profound affection felt for someone- friends, family, even pets. It's rare and not commonly said aloud outside of the climax of a love story is all!

This is mostly tied to Hakuri's experience with love growing up and how he can find out what 愛 [ai, purest and deepest love], really means.

Hakuri probably has no fucking clue what love of any kind is really supposed to look or feel like, much less the ultimate form of it. His father threw ai around as something to manipulate his children into serving the family tradition. Soya used it as an excuse to torture him. This was deliberately done to contrast with the love that Chihiro knew growing up- true ai between father and son, which was ripped away from him in a cruel way.

So let Chihiro teach Hakuri, and Hakuri provide in return. They're already each other's perfect partners anyway so just put a romantic spin on it!

Hakuri finding unconditional love he doesn't fear in Chihiro and Chihiro finding the same in Hakuri once more. Neither of them ever needing to fall in love again because they slot together so perfectly to fill the gaps in each other's hearts. Oh I'm gonna die...

Opposites Attract

If not meant to be canon, why colour coded as opposite compliments? :thonk:

This is the trope that activates a primitive part of my brain that overrides all thoughts with eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee noises when it comes to HakuHiro. Hakuri and Chihiro are true opposites that are perfectly balanced to contrast and compliment each other, resulting in a duo greater than the sum of it's parts.

Hokazono-sensei made his intentions about Hakuri and Chihiro extremely clear by going so far as to colour code them for us. This is the protagonist and his foil/deuteragonist guy who is Important as Fuck. The level of detail in designing and writing them reads like he took this trope extremely seriously and said "let's save the Hero + Lancer coding for Hiyuki instead". 'Cause as much as I love her, Hiyuki's got nothing on Hakuri when it comes to this trope. Her thing is closer to being the same person as Chihiro with the opposite frame of mind and mode of expression- it's Hakuri and Chihiro who are the true manifestation of Opposites Attract down to the tiniest details. I'm ready to die on this hill so come at me and put me out of my misery.

I mean just look at these guys:

Chihiro: black and red, stoic, reserved, serious and polite, slim and straight profile.

Hakuri: white and blue, emotive, outgoing, silly and casual, loose and boxy profile.

They invert the same ways under pressure; Chihiro stresses and falters while Hakuri focuses and buckles down. Their fucking backstories are in on it too: they both lost their father's love but under distinctly opposite circumstances. Even the love they received was contrasted since Kunishige was a perfectly wholesome dad while Kyoura used love in an abusively manipulative way! And that laid the foundation for the premise of the Rakuzaichi arc- Hakuri wants to destroy his family's legacy while Chihiro still wants to do right by his. It would take a whole 'nother post to list everything between them because every single detail about one is carefully crafted to be present in the other in order to complete their characters. It's absolutely insane and it's what really sold me on the ship.

The level of care put into writing Hakuri and Chihiro as opposites who complete each other is out of this fucking world. I'll feel sorry for whatever girl gets assigned to be a mandatory heterosexual love interest for either of them because there's just no way to compete when two people are written to be so thoroughly intertwined with each other.

(To clarify just in case: I don't think Chiyuki is a bad ship. I'm not trying to trash it and say HakuHiro's better or more legitimate somehow. I just have an issue with shounen romance in general because the girls don't get nearly as much narrative effort to make them compelling companions to the MC compared to the "best friends" and Kagurabachi is doing nothing new in that regard so far. Hokazono-sensei can actually make a bigger impact by refusing to tease Chihiro and Hiyuki at all instead of going down the tired old path of obligated sub-par heterosexual ship tease/romance IMO.)

The Power of Love

Nice Heroic Second Wind you got after thinking about Chihiro there, Hakuri.

So this is definitely skewed towards pure delusion on my part, but that's what we're all here for anyway. Power of Friendship? Never heard of it.

Basically, person A uses their love for person B to power up and overcome the hardship they're facing. In this case, I'm interpreting Hakuri's tendency to think of Chihiro when he's in dire straits as romantic!

Hakuri comes in clutch a lot and his feelings abut Chihiro are the reason he can do it. The memory of his samurai refusing to yield gives Hakuri the strength to keep standing and finally put Soya down in chapter 36. He does it again in a sadder way in Chapter 58 when he thinks of Chihiro and musters the last of his strength to summon him too late to save Uruha. I have no doubt that he'll have more of these moments as the series goes on, too. Chihiro is kind of hope incarnate to Hakuri.

Chihiro's drawn strength from his feelings for Hakuri too, but not in a pinch kind of way like the Power of Love trope typically implies. I'm just waiting for the day when it's his turn to use memories of Hakuri to keep standing (never gonna happen)!

Ship Tease

Putting this here for lack of a better term, but there's a running gag about Hakuri and Chihiro's relationship that's been escalating in intensity since the early parts of the Rakuzaichi arc. It only comes across in bits and pieces in English compared to Japanese, sadly, but I'll do my best to explain it.

Basically, I'm interpreting the jokes about Hakuri acting like a dog as deliberate ship tease for the lols from the author.

"Paw. Shake. Good boy."

It starts in chapter 28 with Hakuri dropping everything he's doing to run over to Chihiro when his name is called. It's really cute and funny and not something that can get lost in translation- Chihiro calls, and Hakuri comes. Just like a loyal dog to it's master.

It's set aside for a while until the Sword Bearer Assassination Arc starts up and Hiyuki drops this banger during the trial in chapter 46:

"But where he [Hakuri] stands is a big pain in the butt. He's not the one calling the shots." - official TL

Of note is the term Hiyuki used to say that Chihiro's the one in charge: 舵取り [kajitori]. The normal meaning for it is "steering a boat" or "helmsman" with the secondary being leader/director, so it's not like the English TL messed up. Same meaning different wording. What's lost is the subtext: 舵取り as Hiyuki's using it can also imply that Chihiro's in charge of Hakuri like the owner of a dangerous guard dog would be lmao. Hakuri kind of earned that jab after threatening to leave her in the storehouse to die if she hurt Chihiro, though.

And then there's this completely unnecessary scene from Ch. 50...

"Who's this? This little squirt smells like Chihiro, but he's not Chihiro."- official TL

The TL again isn't bad here but it really downplays just how fucking weird Samura is (which downgrades the rocket propellant to mere ship fuel). Samura's phrasing about Hakuri smelling like Chihiro was so batshit insane in Japanese that fellow JP shippers felt compelled to reach out to the rest of us in English to let us know, which is almost completely unheard of.

Basically, Samura wasn't saying that Hakuri merely smelled like Chihiro. He actually said that Hakuri was wearing Chihiro's scent, completely enveloped in it to the point of smelling identical to him. A native JP reader (in the link above) said that in their interpretation, the word "まとって [matotte]" isn't really used for friends, but more for lovers, family members, or dogs and their owners in the sense that being so physically close all the time causes their scents to rub off on each other.

It's not a normal term used to describe smelling like someone in the first place. When Samura meets younger Chihiro in the flashback and says he "reeks of Rokuhira", he uses the typical word for "smell/scent" (香り [kaori]) in Japanese. So for some reason we just had to know that Hakuri smelled like Chihiro in the way dog or a lover would, huh... so much so that Samura thought he actually was Chihiro... (I can't get over this, it sends my sides into orbit every fucking time).

So yeah. That's some top-tier ship tease if I do say so myself. What that dog doin'? What did they get up to on the train before meeting with Uruha? That's for us to decide!

Soulmates

It's not exactly hard to see that Hakuri and Chihiro have a bit more going on between them than standard friendship or brotherhood, even for a shounen series. Even some dudebros acknowledged this before the fandom gave over to homophobic trash anyway.

It all stems from Hakuri invoking one of the most potent romantic tropes there is as soon as they meet:

"That day, a samurai lit my helpless existence on fire."

Jesus Christ Hakuri, that's some passion!

I think "soulmates" trope is the most fitting description of what's going on between them from the very first time they meet. I'll even go so far to say that it actually has a pretty damn good case for being canon in a platonic sense!

For the uninitiated (like I was), the soulmates trope is invoked when two characters feel a strong and immediate connection upon first meeting each other. It can be one-sided or even completely rejected by both at the start, but they will always find their way to each other since they are fated to be. The whole world falls into kilter when they get together even if they were perfectly functional people on their own before. HakuHiro is this trope to a fucking T in my mind. Absolutely flawless execution, 10/10 no notes.

Hakuri's part is obvious- he sees Chihiro and decides he must have this amazing person in his life no matter what. He feels the pull of destiny and answers the call with an overabundance of enthusiasm.

Chihiro's part is more subtle. He does the one-sided rejection thing at the start by running away, but fate pulls them together via circumstance and he takes Hakuri back with him. And somehow, for some reason, Hakuri is the first person he opens up about his genuine feelings to in a surprisingly raw way:

"If I don't do something, and a sacred blade takes the lives of innocent people... I wouldn't be able to bear that..."

He met the guy minutes ago, tried to run away from him, then decided to bear his heart to him in the elevator. Chihiro's a natural stoic who doesn't show much of what he's feeling and generally keeps thoughts like this to himself. But Hakuri brings out this softer, more vulnerable side to him that no other character has before. Then as the arc progresses, Chihiro comes to rely on Hakuri more and more until it's crazy to think that he ever ran away in the first place. It's like they were always meant to find and save each other.

I'm not looking too hard at this with shipping goggles strapped to my face. We get confirmation that this is what's going on with them via The Word of God Himself:

From the Volume 4 description: 一方、兄からの愛と暴力によって地に伏した伯理。今際の際に脳裏を過ったのは、ある少女との日々だった。極限の中、二人の少年の魂が呼応する。

"Meanwhile, Hakuri is struck down by his brother's love and violence. On the brink of death, he remembers the days he spent with a certain girl. In the midst of this extreme tension, the souls of both boys resonate with each other."

The last sentence is basically more total harmony/Aun imagery for Hakuri and Chihiro. 呼 (ko) means to call and 応 (ou) means to respond. Together, 呼応 means to act in concert. So Hakuri and Chihiro's souls call out and respond to each other in perfect sync when they're in dire straits. It's canon!

If that's not enough, then there's also the Aun imagery. It was left out of the EN Chapter 38 colour page as usual (never gonna forgive the EN version for removing the text), but basically the author used deliberate religious imagery to tell us that Chihiro and Hakuri have an inherently harmonious relationship. A and Un, in perfect sync- whatever one starts, the other will finish. The beginning and end of all things. A perfect pair.

They demonstrate this lethal effectiveness by working in tandem during the storehouse fight, with Chihiro only needing to yell Hakuri's name for Hakuri to perfectly interpret everything he's thinking and execute on it flawlessly. It's absolutely insane stuff even if we disregard Hakuri only woke up to his power less than an hour ago in-universe isn't it?! And they repeated the stunt the next day while protecting Uruha, so it wasn't just a one-off for a cool moment. It's core to their dynamic for their souls to resonate in total harmony!

And just to top it off, we got a funny little gag of Chihiro and Hakuri passing out and waking up at the same time side-by-side after the auction, totally in sync.

All of this within a week of meeting each other.

Some actual romantic soulmate couples don't get this much effort put into coding their relationship, just saying. I also don't think people would be so quick to jump on the sibling interpretation after Shiba's "What are ya, twins?" joke if Hakuri and Chihiro were a heterosexual ship option, just sayin'.

Unknowingly in Love

No sad pictures of dead Kunishige in this post!

This is another one that's far closer to fanon than canon. It banks on the fact that both of them grew up isolated and, quite frankly, probably poorly socialized compared to the rest of the world.

Chihiro lived with just his dad in a remote mountain home and only occasionally visited the town nearby with Shiba. No friends, no school even. Hakuri lived on the secluded Sazanami estate surrounded by his family and saw some of the outside world, but likely only the criminal elements of it. Plus there's the whole growing up only knowing love as something abusive and manipulative thing; even his parent's marriage was strongly implied to be arranged and joyless. Neither of these guys have anything decent in their personal lives to reference from!

So in my mind, while Hakuri and Chihiro have certainly heard of romantic love and thought about it themselves, they wouldn't really have an idea of what it feels or looks like to them. Couple that with being each other's first friends ever and you've got some extremely potent fluff (or angst) about them being unaware that what they're feeling isn't platonic.

You Are Worth Hell

I will follow you into the dark.

And to round things off, one of my favourite romance tropes ever! But it's not canon at all- YET.

You see, Hakuri and Chihiro are constantly pulling each other forward. When one stumbles, the other's there with a helping hand. But what happens when one descends into hell like Chihiro says he's doing this very arc? Will the other try to throw them a lifeline and hope for the best?

Nay! The other will stay by their side out of love.

This trope can veer too close to toxic situationship scenarios for comfort, it's true. Characters staying to "save" someone or letting themself get dragged down at their own expense is not healthy at all. But the core sentiment of this trope is that anything is bearable if you're with the one you love. The emphasis isn't on the mutual suffering but rather the comfort of being together despite it all.

My personal interpretation of the relationship between Hakuri and Chihiro is that one was born in hell (Hakuri) and the other has condemned himself to it (Chihiro). Hakuri's trying to rise up while Chihiro has consigned himself to sink further into the darkness. They met at at a crossroads on their respective journeys and are walking together for a while. And when Chihiro takes a turn to keep going further down, I think Hakuri will stop him from going too far. Hakuri will be the light in the gloom until the mission's over. Then they'll figure out if they can make it back up or not. And if they can't? Well, he was already at rock bottom before Chihiro came into his life. It's worth it to stay in hell at his side and face everything together.

So I think this can apply very well to HakuHiro as the current arc progresses. Hakuri choosing to stay as a partner to provide support rather than trying to save Chihiro at his own expense would be huge character growth for him. And Chihiro accepting Hakuri's gesture would be growth for him too- he doesn't have to do this alone. There's no truly Bad End for their stories if they are walking side-by-side to face the hardships together until the end.

That's it. If you got through all this, thanks. Yap at me about tropes I missed! I love hearing the myriad ways other people interpret this ship. Unless you think fixed left-right boring seme/uke stereotype ChiHaku is the only valid interpretation, in which case we can never be friends. Sorry not sorry.

[bambi-kinos]

Why do people perceive John's love for Paul as unrequited? I confess that I fail to grasp this perspective. Paul is absolutely infatuated with John in every sense of the word. The difference between him and John, as Paul himself has stated, is that John voices his feelings out loud, while Paul excels at self-preservation; he knows how to navigate the rules of society while also enjoying the thrill of breaking them.

For the same reasons why Hanya Yanagihara wrote her eye wateringly boring novel "A Little Life." In "A Little Life" Yanagihara writes a Stephanie Meyer-esque novel about boys being turned gay via SA perpetuated by adult men and how they eventually grow up and become super rich and also they all have vague disabilities that cause a lot of pain but never get full definition because defining them would be inconvenient to the narrative. (Disabilities are debilitating and Yanagihara wanted to write about Sad Boys Who Were Turned Gay By Child Rape But Also They Are Rich And Go On Globe Trotting Vacations Everywhere All The Time While Being Depressed.) The point of "A Little Life" is not to tell a Sad Gay Man Story about the fallout from CSA, it is to depict a sexually exploitive miseryfest that uses disability as a way to pad the word count and add a layer of fancy fondant to the masturbatory and self indulgent text that makes it look more interesting than it is.

I bring this up because I think the phenomenon are related. There has never been a good justification for why Paul is magically indifferent or blind to John being a gay simp especially when you have so many examples of Paul being a gay simp for John in return. BUT it does make for an even sadder and more exploitive miseryfest where a Sad Gay Man died Forever Alone because he was so in love with a Happy Heterosexual Man who could never Return His Love and that is what a lot of people want. That's the only reason the narrative has any steam IMO.

It's just trying to make a sad story and make it even worse: more sad, more tragic, more gay, etc. If John and Paul were mutually attracted and in love with each other than that means they may have had stretches where they were happy together and that's unacceptable to a certain kind of mind. Because the point is the emotional and sexual gratification of seeing a Sad Gay Man Suffering, not to respect the Sad Gay Man and his story and the events and decisions that lead to his predicament. If Paul reciprocates John's love then the John and Paul love story turns into a mundane tale about a first marriage that started out happy but didn't work out because the two spouses grew apart over time. The point of "A Little Life" is the same, there's nothing genuine or cathartic about the Sad Gay Men or the Sad Painful Disabilities, they only exist so the author can circlejerk with her readers about how enlightened and noble they are. Needing the misery becomes all consuming to the point that entire rest of the story, the three dimensional nature of it, gets destroyed and swept under the rug. It's too real and some people just don't want to engage with that.

There's a mundanity to McLennon. Yes there was all sorts of stuff happening but at the end of the day they were just another couple trying to muddle through life together. The soulmate-ness of it all didn't save them when push came to shove. There wasn't a clear path forward for them to make up and get back together even as friends. This is much harder to bear for some people because it shows how the simple act of living your life can carry you away from the person who loves you most. John and Paul found each other but they still drifted apart eventually and stopped wanting to be together. The romance novel didn't end with "happily ever after." The fact that it was so relatable and downright boring is something a lot of people don't want to know or hear about. How can they jerk off to it? It's not miserable or indulgent enough.

Reducing their dynamic to Sad Gay Man Who Is Forever Alone and his Evil Oblivious Heterosexual Partner Who is Blind To His Yearning flattens it, makes it two dimensional, and thus makes it a lot easier to cope with and masturbate to, emotionally and sexually. And look there may be some people who genuinely believe this and don't type that narrative out with one hand, but they're outliers and outliers get discarded.

[pinkpastels113]

romance is not dead (if you keep it just yours)

also on ao3

a/n:

for @mcrololo and @shikariix <33 did i listen to paris by taylor swift and enchanted on repeat the entire time while writing this?? maybe... also thanks for the idea/encouragement to write this based on this tumblr post @pyresrpgear!! hope you like this as well :))

People often forget that you can find romance in the most mundane of things, that love exists in the most simplest of gestures.

Chloe was getting some water at the fountain in the common area of Beca’s music label when one of these moments happened.

“Shoot your shot!”

Chloe turns at the sound of the man’s voice behind her. It belonged to one of Beca’s coworkers and she can just make out him slipping behind the wall of the opening to the common area with a subtle wink before her attention lands on Beca, her wife, walking towards her, her own water bottle in tow.

Chloe grins, as she always does when in the same vicinity as the love of her life. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Beca chuckles, nervously, and lifts a hand to rub it at the nape of her neck as if working up the courage to pop the following question:

“You’re really cute. Wanna go out with me?”

Her dark blue eyes are downcast, just like that time eight years ago when they were both in their twenties in university, high on the serotonin and adrenaline of yet another win with their Bellas, after a group hug, when Beca had also asked her out with the same expression, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth and a hopeful lift to her eyebrows. 

Chloe’s heart leaps in her chest in the exact same way back then, too, now, like she had been waiting forever for that feeling, that confirmation, that Beca liked her back in that all consuming, I-might-be-sick overwhelming way that Chloe had felt towards her best friend ever since she’d joined their silly little acapella group. 

(Even though Chloe considers herself a romantic– she had been reading romance novels ever since middle school, after all– she feels like Beca might just secretly be a bigger one.)

She sets aside her water cup, reaches forward and repeats the gesture with Beca’s, in favor of taking both of Beca’s hands in hers. Beca’s fingers were cold, so she threads them together and squeezes to breathe some warmth into them. 

“Yes. Of course I would love to go out with you.”

Beca’s face lit up, like a dang near Christmas tree, and her lips quirk into a huge relieved smile just like they did when Chloe had first said yes all those years ago as well. (Pft, as if Chloe could say no.) She returns Chloe’s squeeze. 

“Cool beans.”

And it may be cheesy, and corny, and just a tad bit dumb especially since both of their matching wedding rings are digging into their skins, but it still made Chloe’s day. She already knew that nothing would wipe that dopey grin off her face for the next twenty four hours, and she’s completely satisfied with that fact.

When they got home later that day, after dinner and they’re cuddling on the couch with the heater on and a movie playing in the background, Chloe talks about it, mentioning the shoot your shot comment.

“Was he new or something? What was that about?”

Beca snorts, burying her face into the crook of Chloe’s neck where her breath ghosts over Chloe’s collarbones, “Nah. I told him that I was about to ask out the hottie at the fountain and he’s simply encouraging me. He knows that we’re married, Chlo. Just cheering me on like the dork that he is.”

“Like the dork that you are, you mean,” Chloe corrects, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Beca’s forehead. She finds the whole thing incredibly cute, even though it was small and mundane.

Who says romance is dead just because you’re married? It survives even past death, unlike those classic vows for marriage.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters): Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Story Synopsis: 

R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas, is well known as a charming playboy. The latest in his line of ‘loved em and left em’ behavior? Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself. A common sense pulls them in opposite directions – friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. In this industry, dreams can make or break you – but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime?

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson deals with being denied access to his heart's desire and flashes back to the start of their romance while Imani wrestles with her feelings present day. Warnings: Smut (18+), toxic relationship, possessiveness, profanity, usage of the n-word (if you're white and read it, you owe us $20), manual stimulation (fingering, okay?), dick size mention, dirty talk -- if we missed anything, let us know! Word Count: 5.3k Divider Template: @cafekitsune Notes: The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

There will be alternating POVs between our leads.

CHAPTER TWO: Someone to Love

he was blocked. jameson watched his repeated texts and calls go unanswered. the texts said delivered but never read. this was when he was supposed to decide if he was going to stick around for another round of bullshit with her. flashes of the night before came to mind...and he knew the answer was 'yes'. she was ignoring the fuck out of him but he knew imani loved him. she may be able to live without him...but she loved him. maybe that would be enough. "yo, are you listening to me?"

jameson blinked at his best friend, giving the man a blank stare. ellington dupree had been his friend and writing partner for damn near a decade. their connection was instant. where jameson was blessed with a wealthy and well-known mother, ellington had gotten it out the mud. he was a man that knew music inside out all his life. he had a work ethic that jameson envied. it was why he only produced music with ej -- they balanced each other out. where he allowed muse to take over, ej controlled the music. he didn't let it control him. even now, they were supposed to be working on a track from his new album but jameson couldn't seem to find his focus. all he did was wait for imani to call him back.

"yeah, i heard you." "then what i say?"

he gave ellington a glare before rising from his spot on the couch. "something about the horns." ellington tsked, kicking back in his chair before shaking his head. "i said that shit ten minutes ago, nigga. we on a whole nother track. what's up with you?"

jameson didn't answer -- instead he redirected his attention to his phone, texting imani again as he exited his friend's home studio. he heard ej calling his name but descended the stairs anyway.

he watched as another text went through and the message popped up delivered. jameson rolled his eyes, tossing his phone onto the couch as he stared at the ceiling with his hands on his hips. this girl was going drive him crazy.

"are you insane?" "i'm not in the mood right now, e." "yeah, no shit. but you need to get in the mood for something other than imani. YOU wanted to release this album at the top of the year. YOU said you were ready so they've already started promoting the shit."

he lifted his head to deny that he was stressing over imani but the realization hit him hard. "how the fuck you know i was texting mani?" jameson watched as ej rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable on the couch. "how the fuck wouldn't i know? you always get tense and weird over her. it's been a while since she had you fucked up like this though. what happened?"

jameson sighed, closing his eyes to avoid the look on his friend's face when he confessed the truth. he sat down opposite ej and leaned back onto the cushions.

"we fucked." "bullshit." "it's true." "WHEN?!" "last week." "i thought she was dating...what's that nigga name? the football nigga!" "they broke up two months ago." "how the fuck you know that?" jameson gave ej a look and avoided the obvious answer. "oh, you are insane." "it was random. we didn't plan that shit." "she probably didn't." "and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" "fuck it sound like?"

his eyes opened as he frowned at ej. if anyone had seen how bad it could get between he and imani, it was ej. "i didn't go over there to have sex, man. i just...i wanted to see her. i've missed her all this time. i just couldn't take that shit anymore."

a flash of sympathy crossed his best friend's face but it disappeared within a moment. "don't do this, jamie. don't. you can't walk down this road with imani again."

ej was probably right, jameson knew that. but he also knew that he wasn't walking away from her again. he glanced over at the phone that he abandoned, willing it to ring or beep or something. anything to let him know she gave a shit. "can't help it." he murmured to his best friend. "i want her."

this was the biggest night of his life...and he found that he didn't care. his gaze was stuck on a woman who had walked past him. none of this shit really mattered anymore. he wanted to know her. he had a tony award. he had two grammys already. he was nominated for another three that night but as he leaned over in his seat to watch her saunter down the rest of the aisle, jameson found himself smiling for entirely different reasons.

"i want her." he said bluntly. only ej acknowledged him. he said 'huh?' but his gaze followed her the same way jameson's had. 'ohhhh' was all he uttered, giving a laugh.

she had her back to them so he had no idea who the hell she was but he had the urge to. four awards from his own and he wasn't watching the stage. he wasn't talking to his collaborators or friends to the right of him. he was watching her. a couple of people rose to let her into her seat and jameson found himself doing the same. he stood to his feet, adjusting his tux's jacket as he made his way towards her.

ej called his name but he didn't respond. this was more important. he got to the aisle and dropped to his haunches, learning forward to catch her eye. he recognized her then. imani. there were people next to her who peered over at him in confusion but jameson's smile was only for her. 

"excuse me." he said softly, bracing his hands against the seat next to him. she looked at him, eyebrow quirked at his audacity to interrupt her conversation. "hi. i just...i'm sorry. i just wanted to come tell you something you already know. you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen in my life."

if she recognized him or was impressed by his attention, it didn't show on her face. jameson watched her give a little laugh and haughtily respond. "thank you." she said. "how many other women have you used that on tonight?"

"none." he replied honestly. "i saw you and next thing i know, i'm over here practically on my knees to talk to you." jameson ignored the woman next to imani clearing her throat. it was a public conversation but he carried it on as if they were the only two in the room. free from a relationship that had lost it's fire, jameson hadn't been looking for anybody. he wanted to invest in his career again and after two hit albums -- it was time for something new. money, cars, clothes, and women had been his life since he was eighteen and old enough to spread the thighs of any and every woman in hollywood. he'd been over it. but this was important. getting this girl felt like it'd be life changing.

he leaned forward, offering the woman his hand. "i'm jameson." he surprised himself by giving his full name. often, he introduced himself as james. nobody actually in his life called him jameson but his mother. he had the urge to hear his name from her lips. "i know who you are, ms. imani st. cirie. future best new artist winner." her eyes lit up at the fact that he had recognized her. she hadn't topped the charts yet but he knew it was a matter of time. her music was raw. real. she touched people and he knew her time was coming.

when she took his hand, he brushed his thumb against the back of her fingertips. the people they had their hands stretched across didn't matter. hell, he had forgotten other people could hear them when she responded. "nice to meet you jameson." she said. "you can call me ms. st. cirie. your face looks so familiar. i just can't put my finger on it."

jameson laughed out loud -- loud enough that people on the aisle in front of them turned to identify the sound. he'd been famous from birth. paparazzi shots of him hanging off his mother's hip had been tagged in people magazine. pictures of them at the park. his high school yearbook had been blasted across myspace and twitter. and when he started making music himself? well, he became a teen heartthrob at 19. he didn't believe her but he liked that she didn't fall over him. "that's strange." he replied with a shrug, slowly grinning at her. "but since you can't remember, maybe this is your chance to get to know me...personally. i'll be honest, ms. st. cirie -- i'm dying to get to know you."

her gaze roamed his face but her lips curved into a smile. "and why should i do that?"

"i heard i'm a good time." "and this is where the line of women come in, yes?" "we're not talking about other women. we're talking about you and me, ms. st. cirie."

imani gave her friend a look and the friend automatically rose, shifting down a seat. her gaze came back to him and she nodded her head, wordlessly giving him approval to sit next to her. jameson rose from his position at the end of the aisle, ignoring the ache in his calves and thighs. he'd been squatting for so long but hadn't noticed it. all he saw was the fact that he was making strides towards what he wanted.

"you don't feel this thing between us?" he asked her curiously. somehow, he had sat without losing contact with her for longer than a few seconds. he switched the positioning, holding her hand in his right. she tsked, yanking her hand from his grasp and shook her head. "i don't feel anything. i just think you're funny."

jameson leaned towards her, keeping his voice low enough so that it would take others effort to eavesdrop on their conversation. "i could tell you shit you already know. that you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen. that i want you so bad i don't really know what to do with myself. would that help? i want you. and from the way you look at me, i think you want me too. so what are we going to do about it?"

"that was a good line, jameson." "i'm not giving you lines. i'm trying to get you where you need to be." "need to be?" "definitely." "you so fucking cocky." "i got reason to be. ms. st. cirie...will you go out with me?" "you don't give up, do you?" "no. not easily."

he could tell that she liked that. despite giving him a hell of a lot of attitude, her fingers fidgeted nervously on her lap. she either liked him or didn't know how to say no. jameson reached for her hand again, gently stilling her fingertips. she didn't seem alarmed or afraid then. she relaxed before meeting his gaze.

"no pressure. i think you're beautiful. i admire your mind. your music. your talent. give me one chance to show you that." determined to not miss out on the good thing sitting right next to him, jameson did his best to show her he was serious...but he took a risk and lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her thumb -- the first contact between them that wasn't totally innocent.

his gaze flickered up to hers and he knew he had her. she went soft, leaning in as if she were going to let him kiss her -- but she remembered where they were. "And the Grammy for Best R&B Performance goes to...U Don't Have to Call! James Lucas!"

jameson didn't move from his seat. he didn't take his eyes off her. imani looked between him and the stage, expecting him to go up but he didn't. this was more important. eventually, ej got up. his best friend gave the speech that jameson likely would have given but he didn't hear the words. imani leaned closer so he could near her, whispering "okay. one date." against his ear.

jameson smiled, turning his head to offer imani a kiss. not even twenty minutes after meeting and he was going for it. he had always been an ambitious man. just as he hoped, she took him up on the offer. she leaned in and their lips met. it was brief but served as the spark that ignited their obsession with each other.

it took two whole weeks for their schedules to line up. photoshoots, interviews, and a sudden trip to new york had kept him from what he really wanted. anticipation had been a bitch but they filled the time in between with texts and phone calls. he had discovered that imani was both smart and funny. she could make him burst out laughing over the smallest thing. she seemed to be a good person and that appealed to him. he seemed to really be into this girl. so much so that he browsed her instagram, constantly looking for things she liked. what flowers she enjoyed. people she liked having conversation with. knowing little things about her had spiraled into wanting to know everything about her. he was down so bad that ej had been disgusted when he walked into studio in the middle of the night and caught him giggling on the phone with her like a teenager.

finally, they got to see each other again. standing alone in the vastness of the getty museum, he and imani kept their fingertips intertwined. the only sounds were the soft echo of their footsteps on polished floors. The museum had been closed for the night, but the director had made an exception just for them — a private tour. No crowds, no distractions. Just the two of them and all the art they'd agreed to pretend they were paying attention to. jameson's kept straying to her. everything about her was mesmerizing. the way her hair fell into her eyes, the cute little way she'd snuggled into him when he hugged her when he met her outside. the sweet way she swung their hands as they walked. he was gone over this girl and didn't know what to do about it.

“so,” she said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone, “you go to museums all the time or is this just to impress me?”

he glanced around, his eyes glinting with amusement. “it's all for you. you got me stalking your instagram to see what you like. i saw you went to several museums around the world so..." he shrugged, looking at her to see she was surprised at what he'd said. “but what do you like?” she asked him. jameson laughed. "you." he answered easily enough.

she fell silent again as they continued on. the views of los angeles almost as magnificent as the art. they entered a gallery that seemed to be a study in light and shadow, with large, dramatic sculptures. he was comfortable even in the silence with her. felt like they were the only people in the world, the art surrounding them like a secret they were sharing, just the two of them.

“i think i like you too.” imani said softly. her tone didn't hold the same teasing as before. she was serious. jameson dipped his head to get a good look at her and stopped walking to face her. "why do you sound so sad when you say that?"

"because i don't know if i can trust you." imani said softly. jameson couldn't promise to be the picture of fidelity. he'd cheated once before in a relationship but that didn't seem to be the best thing to say to a woman you wanted to be with. "you can trust how i feel about you. i swear -- i have never felt like this in my life. you got me kicking my feet and twirling my hair and shit, girl. i got it bad." she gave him a short laugh, shaking her head, but he was pleased to see her smile again. "you gave me a chance for a date now give me a chance to show you that i want to be your man."

"my man? you moving kind of fast, ain't you?" "hell yeah. i'm trying to lock you down before a billionaire prince pull up on you out of nowhere." "you can't compete with a billionaire?" "absolutely not. i can't buy you a private island." "then what good are you?" "i can sing. i'm good looking. i give good dick. which reason work for you?"

"boy, bye!" imani pulled away, laughing abruptly as she waved him off. jameson followed closely, not wanting her to go too far from him. "where you going?" he asked her, holding on to her hand. imani snorted, pointing at the art across the room. "over there because you playing!" jameson's laughter echoed through the space and joined hers as she tried to shake him off. "nahhhh. come play with me over here."

her smile deepened, a challenge flickering in her eyes. "i'll play with you later." jameson stepped closer to her, pulling her close. "i'ma hold you to that." even in heels, she stood a few inches shorter than he was. he couldn't get over how fucking beautiful she was. pretty ass dark brown eyes. pretty ass nose that lead down to full, gorgeous lips. he couldn't even think about her body. he liked everything about this girl and acting like he didn't wasn't possible.

his hand moved to the small of her back, fingertips splayed as he kept her body against his. "you hungry?" imani nodded her head, her hands braced against his shoulders. jameson moved them side to side, swaying even though there was no music playing. "i got you. let me take care of you."

they ate dinner in the museum, specially made by a private chef --totally surrounded by art. jameson was pleased to see that she was excited. he was just as giddy. imani sat on his lap as they traded stories about work, their inspirations, and what they each wanted out of a relationship. they found they had several things in common -- big things and little things. family relationships, foods, even their favorite Disney movie. it was all the same. jameson wasn't the type to believe in love at first sight but he really did start to wonder if god put this woman in his life for a reason.

they left holding hands. he let her slide into his benz, intent on driving her home to complete an evening of being the perfect gentleman. the drive to her malibu home was filled with jokes, conversation, and singing along to songs on the radio. the tension between them remained but it was joined by comfort. they were truly starting to understand each other.

by the time they arrived to her place, he had made up his mind. he was going to give it all he had. he liked imani st. cirie -- and hopefully, she liked him too.

the warmth of the car enveloped them as jameson slid to a stop in front of her home. the chemistry between them made saying goodbye difficult. he didn't want to say goodnight to her. jameson turned the car off, attempting to gather his thoughts. he didn't want the last thing he said to her to be stupid. when he turned to say something -- he found imani was already staring.

it was like they moved at the same time. he unbuckled his seatbelt and before he could say a word, she had done the same. the world outside faded away as he damn near crowded her in the passenger seat. he could feel her heart race, each beat echoing in his head. he leaned in, their lips meeting briefly, before he heard her panting.

the kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if they were both savoring the sweetness of their new attraction. But soon, it deepened—hunger replaced hesitation. their lips moved in a rhythm that felt both familiar and foreign, pulling them deeper into each other's orbit.

imani moaned as his tongue found hers and jameson couldn't believe how good it sounded. he placed his hand against her thigh, grasping tightly as if he could pull her any closer. the middle console kept them further apart than he wanted them to be. when her hand came down and pulled his fingers higher up her thigh, jameson didn't hesitate.

her hands framed his face, thumb gently brushing his cheek as they kissed. his hand moved further up her thigh, brushing against the silk fabric of her dress. when the pad of his thumb brushed against her panties, she gasped.

it felt like an eternity before she caught her breath and gave him a quick moan. with expertise, jameson swept her underwear aside and pressed his thumb between her folds. she was already wet and made it easy for him to wedge his finger into her. imani's lips parted in surprise when he pressed against her. jameson took the opportunity to bite her lower lip -- brushing his tongue against it as her thighs tightened around his hand.

"i can't make you moan like that again if you don't keep your legs open. let me in." he whispered when he released her lip, pleased when imani immediately opened her legs for him. she reached down and pulled her dress higher, hips rising from the seat as she did so. he caught a flash of the thongs she wore as she pressed her ass to his leather seats.

they were both breathless, not taking the time to go inside her house or even move to the back seat. imani reached for him again, pulling his head across the space and kissing him deeply as jameson's hand went right back between her legs. she whimpered and moaned as he played with her clit -- teasing them both by thumbing and then circling the sensitive spot. by the time she was whining against his mouth, his dick was hard.

to his surprise, imani reached across the seat and placed her hand in his lap. the surprise spurred his fingers forward. his index and middle finger were soaking in her wetness as his thumb tapped her clit. imani's head fell back as he hissed, breaking the kiss to shake his head. "let me focus on you."

mani didn't pull her hand away. instead, she grasped his dick -- squeezing gently as her hips rocked onto his fingers. they slid in and out effortlessly. jameson twisted and delved deeply, pulling a variety of noises from the back of imani's throat. "she talkin' to me, mani." he prompted her. she groaned, riding his hand as quickly as she could. "you hear her? i bet i can make her talk some more."

the squelching and squishing echoed through the car. his palm and other fingers were soaked as the wetness ran down his hand. imani nodded her head, breath catching in her throat as he twisted his fingers and looked for that spot -- that one spot that he knew would have her screeching within the confines of his car. when he found it, she froze -- her whole body slumping back against the seat. "yes! y-yeah. just like that." she cried. jameson followed her, watching her face as he picked up the pace. he spread her juices across her clit with his thumb. when she shut her legs around his hand again, he used his free hand to grasp her thigh. "don't run from it. let me have it."

there he was, leaning over the center console, doing his best to make her cum less than an hour after their first date had ended. he kissed her lips gently, moaning with her as she shuddered. "i--i'm--cum" she whispered, words escaping her as she struggled to give him just three. "i know, baby. i feel it. let go. i got you."

jameson nodded, licking his tongue against her quivering lips. she opened her mouth for more and he sucked her tongue into his mouth, kissing her deeply as imani came around his fingers. she squeezed him tightly but he didn't stop. those two fingers kept thrusting, thumb kept flicking at her clit until she squirmed out of his grasp. her hand moving from his lap to grasp at his wrist. he was hard as fuck, eight and a half inches practically throbbing in his boxer briefs as he tried not to nut on himself.

he forced himself to slow down then -- pleased when she whimpered and asked for more kisses. jameson supplied them happily, stroking her insides with his fingers to calm her down. when she was sated and humming happily against his mouth, he pulled his hand back. they watched each other for a moment -- imani blinked at him as he licked his fingers clean.

jameson's gaze swept down her body as if he wanted to remember her just like that -- legs open, panties pushed aside, pussy wet and satisfied from his efforts. once his hand was 'clean', jameson reached over again and righted her clothing. imani still hadn't said a word. even when he opened his door to get out of the car. when he opened her door, he offered her his hand -- the same one he'd used to get her off.

imani took it and exited the car. she didn't seem to be in a daze anymore. "this was...a wonderful date." she told him softly. "i wonder what you'll come up with next time." before jameson could say a word, she pressed her hand to his chest and lifted her head to give him a kiss. he accepted it happily, greedily even. they stood like that for a moment, kissing on the sidewalk. his arms wrapped around her waist, fingertips finding their way to that delicious ass. jameson squeezed briefly and imani broke the kiss. "call me." she told him with a smirk before walking away.

he didn't know if she smirked because she could feel how hard his dick was when she kissed him or if she knew that he was going to call her as soon as he got in the car. either way -- he was pretty sure that this girl was going to be the death of him.

her best friend sat across the room, sketching designs for her portfolio. if she wasn't so distracted, she would have noticed imani scrolling through her texts. she had unblocked jameson and found a flurry of text messages.

how are you? i miss you. can we talk? baby, i think we need sit down and talk this shit out. i love you, imani. i'm not fighting it anymore. please call me

how is it that he made her want to forgive him? it was like when they were talking or when he was in front of her -- she forgot the horrible shit he had done. she forgot the affair, she forgot the way he confessed. she forgot the way he only seemed to give his all when he felt like she was moving on from him. she hated the way he infiltrated her mind when she was with someone new. it seemed like she was doomed to keep falling for jameson -- and the thought scared her.

"just do it. you know you want to."

imani's gaze shot up from the phone to see genie peering over at her from her drawing table. despite being gorgeous enough to be a model, genie adesanya preferred to design the clothes. her curls were pinned to the top of her head and the glasses she wore were circular -- making her eyes appear even larger and more adorable.

she was southern by birth but her father was a lakers legend. a jersey-hanging-in-the-rafters-at-staples-center kind of legend. everybody loved genie. even jameson. she and he had practically been raised together when his mother and her father spent a few years dating but ultimately decided to remain friends. as close as they were, once imani stepped onto the scene -- she and genie became best friends. she took her side over jameson's. always. despite being total opposites persona wise, nobody understood imani better than genie did.

"he's blocked so i do not want to do anything." imani retorted, wrinkling her nose at her friend. she didn't bother to deny that they weren't talking about jameson.

genie got up from her drawing desk, smiling at imani as she made her way across the room and bounced down onto her friend's lap. imani quickly shoved her off with a snort and the two ended up slap boxing each other. "don't lie to me, girl!" genie yelled at her, avoiding imani's hands as she rolled off the couch and onto the floor. "you've been moping and sighing around here all week. you hiding from him?"

of course she was. jameson knew where genie lived but imani hoped that if he approached her there, genie wouldn't let them sneak off together. she was sick of falling into the same pattern with him. fight, break up, fuck, fall in love again. wash, rinse, and repeat. "i'm tired of this shit with him, genie." imani admitted, sighing softly.

genie sat up and pat her hand against imani's. "i know. but...the heart wants what it wants, mani. i'm not saying you should listen to me. i'm bad at love. I've made so many mistakes. but i can see what you really want. i know you. it's why i know jameson has lived in your head rent free for years, girl. and you live in his. i'm not saying you gotta trust him immediately. just -- just text him back. maybe it's a mistake but what if it isn't? what if y'all get it right this time?"

a true romantic at heart, imani admired genie's belief in love. she just wasn't sure she trusted it. she remained silent as genie gave her time to process. she returned to her drawing table, picking up the pencil and finishing her sketches in silence.

imani fiddled with her phone for a moment before groaning out loud. if this man broke her heart again, she was going to fucking kill him.

[ imani ] : what are you doing next week? [ blockdt unless horny ] : nothing. you want me? [ imani ] : i guess we can talk then. [ blockdt unless horny ] : why wait until then? wya? i can come there. [ imani ] : i'm at genie's but don't come here. [ blockdt unless horny ] : why not? [ imani ] : i need a minute, jamie. i didn't expect this and i don't know if this is the right decision for me. [ blockdt unless horny ] : i understand. i do. but baby, you and me have something. i fucked it up before but i'm not gonna fuck it again. i can't lose it twice. [ imani ] : we can talk about it next week. [ blockdt unless horny ] : okay. what day? [ imani ] : Thursday. i'll be back from Italy then. [ jamie ] : i already miss you. [ imani ] : i'll miss you too 🙄 [ jamie ] : lmfao i'll take that. i'ma do right this time, mani. i swear on my life. [ imani ] : we'll see. [ jamie ] : yes, we will. i try not to make mistakes but when i do, i only make them once. i'll be the man you deserve. i promise. [ imani ] : i really want to believe you [ jamie ] : we can start there, baby. that's a start.

[manitole]

Emmrich x Rook = Ideas for Fanfic

 (This is going to be a REALLY long post)

Context: I’m an awkward millennial that doesn’t know Tumblr very well. I apologize in advance if this post is weird and not perfect, I’m still learning. My activities on this platform are mostly resharing awesome post on my page. Since the last few weeks, I must admit that the communities here around my tags are incredible, positive, academic and just kind of healing my heart. For this reason, I feel comfortable trying to be a little more invested. Introduction to the main theme: I’m really happy to see that I’m far from being the only one to be obsessed and hyperfocused on Emmrich Volkarin, especially his romance with Rook. His personality is different from my typical fictional crushes: this fact had opened new possibilities about scenarios in my imagination. The main theme: I love to write, but I have a thesis to finish. Plus, I’ve already started two fanfictions and I’m not close to be done with those two stories. Since I’m lacking time, experience in fanfiction, knowledge in the DA universe and expertise in the English language (I’m a native French speaker), I must conclude that writing a fanfic Emmrich X Rook would not be the best idea right now. I would LOVE to share some of my ideas if it can inspire some people out there:

A – Too much rigidity versus chaotic (Mortal): I would LOVE to see a fanfic which addresses the mountain struggles of Rook and Emmrich living together after the story of the game. This man has been alone for a long time. We don’t know if he already lived with someone else during a long period of time. Emmrich likes to have his books ‘’pristine’’. I’m also guessing he has a strict routine regarding mealtime. I see Rook being kind of chaotic, as letting their underwear lying around where they needed to remove them (around a bed, coffin, or on the dinning table after some sexy time… why not). I could also see Rook inviting old friends for a late dinner, at the last minute, while Emmrich is already in his night gown, ready to sleep. Anyway, I would LOVE to see character’s development around those struggles: Emmrich learning to be a little more flexible while Rook is learning to be a little less disorganized.

B – Feeling bored after saving the world (Mortal): Could be related with point A or not. I know that everyone has different opinions, but so far, I preferred Rook to also be a Mourn Watcher. It seems natural to think that after the end of the game, Emmrich, Rook and Manfred are going back to Neverra. I could see Emmrich going back to teaching. I could see both possibilities where he is satisfied with this (with Rook and Manfred in his life) VERSUS feeling bored after travelling so often for saving the world. I’m not sure what Rook would want to do with their life after the war. Could they even be able to stay at one place? I could see them needed to travel and leave Neverra for sometimes for fighting or geopolitical stuff. I could also see Rook being done with that kind of life and wanting a normal happy and almost boring routine. Let’s talk about marriage. We all know that Emmrich always thought he would get married someday. Would he be ready to marry Rook? If yes, does it mean that he has outcome the age gap problem (?). I don’t know about Rook since the character vary from person to person. They could want to wait for marriage. I see this possibility more in the Mortal route since I have NO idea how Lichdom works and if a Lich can marry someone…

Now. I must explain before going on with my next idea. I’m not a fan of any pronatalist outcome. I don’t think a couple should have children to be happy or have some news goals. I also love stories and fanfic that show childfree happy people. Having children is not and should not be seen as a normal progression of life. It’s a choice and it should be a free and informed joint decision. Childfree couples are NOT less interesting than parents. But I also can see the difference between real life and fiction, especially in a fantastic universe like DA. I think some fanfic that adds children into the story can be a good thing, especially if those are kind of REALISTIC (happy rainbow sunshine without any struggles at all) and talk about more than only the positive of parenthood. Now, we could argue about Manfred. For me, as a couple, Emmrich and Rook are already parental figures to Manfred. While it’s not a typical experience, there is still something there. Manfred doesn’t need to eat (nor to sleep?) but he can still burn some books by accident, requiring some ‘’parenting’’ from Emmrich or Rook.

C – Parenting: I could see the couple adopting a kid while the opportunity is there. I also think that Manfred would be an awesome big brother. Now, let’s talk about a Rook that could be pregnant (trigger for some people, so please go to point D if you don’t want to read about this idea or about parenting and or reproduction).

1 – Pregnancy (Mortal): I’ve been thinking A LOT about the last scene between Rook and Emmrich when they have sex in a coffin. I’m an artist geek but also a nerd scientific with a nursing degree. Both don’t always match well together. I don’t know a lot about contraception in fantastic universe, especially DA. I can’t stop myself thinking: did Emmrich and or Rook THOUGHT about this? One part of me think that Emmrich would not be the type of person to forget about any risk regarding that subject. It would seem easy for him to cast a charm for preventing a pregnancy? I don’t know. But on the other hand, the end of the world is happening, and him or Rook could not survive to the last battle. The party banter between Harding and Emmrich show that the necromancer can forget some things important when he is with Rook or just by being in a new relationship. So perhaps Emmrich didn't think about it. I could see Rook having sex without having that in mind at all, kind of like a YOLO attitude. They love Emmrich and they are like '' let’s have awesome lovemaking before perhaps dying or whatever''.

Nooooow. Let’s talk about that accidental pregnancy if we could agree that because of those circumstances, no one thought about contraception, because you know… ‘’ End of the world ‘’. Plus, while an accidental pregnancy could be the end of the world for some person, it could not be as horrible for others, like Emmrich and or Rook. So, the team beat Elgar’nan, Solas linked himself to the fade and all. The world is safe for now. It’s the time of celebration. Even after some rest, Rook doesn’t feel really good. They are kind of tired all the time but again, it’s normal since they have been on high adrenaline during the last few months (?). It could explain things. Them and Emmrich could think it is related to the fade or perhaps a curse. Eventually, I’m pretty sure Emmrich would realize the situation before Rook. He was able to spot that stiff wrist. He could see subtle difference regarding Rook. I could totally see his shocked face while understanding the situation. As for Rook, I could see them not thinking about that possibility because perhaps they weren’t having regular periods in the first place because of the hard activities while trying to save the world. Now, let’s ad point A and perhaps point B to this scenario. The couple is trying to live together in a new routine while also learning they are expecting a baby. I waaaaaant to read about that 52-53 years old necromancer realizing his partner is pregnant with his child. Everything is going too fast, and Harding could make snaky remarks on this. I want to read how Emmrich feel about this: He always wanted a family, and he already has Manfred and Rook, but having a child could be something positive to him for different reasons (legacy and pronatalist blabla). But because of his age, it could also be an experience kind of sad, realizing that he could not see his kid grow as much as he would love to. The reaction of Rook about all of this could be really different since again, Rook vary for each player. I would love to see some struggles (perhaps with a big fight?) with a pregnant Rook who still wants to fight and live their ''normal'' life and an overprotective Emmrich (with only good intentions) kind of overwhelming. I could also see Emmrich taking his retirement from teaching sooner than expected, since he wants to spend as much time as possible with his children. I also think he could be the main parent, as the most ‘’maternal’’, kind of overprotective, again.

I see Emmrich having a girl. I’m not sure why, but it flows better in my imagination. It would make a lot of sense if this girl had the name of a flower or a plant, and her middle name could be Emmrich's mother. With Rook and Emmrich as parents, this little girl would become a badass woman with high self-esteem, taking bullshit from no one. She would LOVE her big brother, and Manfred would also LOVE her. I like to think he will learn faster while being a brother figure. I really see the young girl saying to everyone she has a big brother called Manfred without ever explaining that he is actually a spirit in the body of a skeleton. I could see everyone kind of shocked while meeting Manfred for the first time without that context.

Plus: Vorgoth must be one of the godparents, please. And the family should eventually adopt a pig.

Bonus: a time jump where Emmrich is dying, more than satisfied with his life, and all of his family is around him. I don't mind crying.

2 – Lich route (kind of a silly idea): This idea is kind of a joke. I don’t know how Lichdom works, but I’m pretty sure that once you are a Lich, you are sterile? Now… An accidental pregnancy could happen if Emmrich and Rook had sex BEFORE Emmrich became a Lich. I think it would be really hard on him to outlive not only Rook but also his children and perhaps his grandchildren. I could only see this as possible and not heartbreaking if Rook and Emmrich have a kid who is also a mage and would eventually also become a Lich. I could totally see an awkward family tradition that goes on generation after generation where each child gifted with magic MUST become a Lich before they are 60 years old or something. Imagine: you are like 25-year-old mage and Lichdom don’t appeal to you at all, nor does necromancy. Your sibling doesn't have magic so all the expectations are ON you (and that sibling is, of course, jealous of you).  One of your parents is getting close to becoming a Lich, and the ceremony is approaching. You have a grandparent and a lot of great-grandparents who are also Liches, and the festivity dinners are always awkward. Your family is like famously known in Nevarra but from the inside, you just feel weird. Eventually, you take your courage to break this tradition, coming out to your parents, and they tell you: “You are too young to decide this yet. Your great-grandmother thought the same thing at your age. You will change your mind.” To prove your point, you decide to join the Grey Wardens (or any action making it impossible for you to become a Lich), and half of your family is MAD and saying, “Omg, your great-great-great-great-grandfather is SO disappointed in you.” Done. I just find this possibility really funny.

D – Age gap: I would also like lots of scenes where Rook reacts the opposite of expected regarding the age gap between Emmrich and them (this post as an example). I could see Emmrich being a little annoyed sometimes when people talk to him about this subject, but I would love a Rook who doesn’t seem to understand the problem and just reacts possessively, as if the people talking about it are just jealous. That would also reassure Emmrich (I think).

E – Cute little scenes: I want to read about Emmrich and Rook snuggling on the couch in front of a fire, while Emmrich reads aloud a book about some academic stuff. I also would love a scene where Emmrich gives a powerful massage to Rook (since he knows anatomy so well…).

This is it. Thank you very much for reading. Now that all of this is out of my system, I can go back in peace to my boring thesis. If you already know some fanfics with one of those subjects, please tell me. I’m trying to check on AO3 often, but I don’t always have the time.

[radioisntdead]

Grunkle…. Ford…. Dinner date……………

HAPPY [slightly belated] BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST MOONY! I HOPE YOU HAD A WONDERFUL DAY, YOU CAN LEGALLY DATE FORD NOW [please don't] OR GET ARRESTED AND I'M SORRY THIS WAS DELAYED! LOVE YOU!

Dinner date at Greasy's

Ford x reader

Song used

First date Headcanons + established relationship songfic drabble

Warnings: This is my first time writing for Ford so please forgive any OOC-ness

Well aren't you a lucky duckling! You got a date with one of the most desired old men in gravity falls!

Thank his grandniece Mabel for pushing him to ask you out because now the two of you were on a date! There weren't many fine dining restaurants in gravity falls and the ones that were around Stan had gotten himself, and by extension Ford, banned from them!

Dude's last uh, romantic?? Obsessive??Relationship didn't really end well, but you weren't a triangle with one eye so hopefully things will go well!

Since this is your first date, He got coached on what to do by Mabel and likely has an earpiece where the twins are watching him, giving advice and judging him.

He pulled out the chair for you to sit in, very demure, very mindful, very gentlemanly, very Mabel approved.

I imagine the two of you bond over the oddities of gravity falls, Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons or science-y stuff

He'd tell you about his adventures with his brother on the Stano'war, I imagine he's the type to have pictures of his family in his wallet so dude just whips out pictures of Dipper and Mabel like "These are my grandniece and nephew,''

I imagine you share a dessert with him, one plate two spoons, very romantic!

You were giddy, legs kicking softly back and forth underneath the table as you stared at your boyfriend reading his menu, trying to figure out what he wanted.

Moon, a hole of light

Through the big top tent up high

Here before and after me

Shinin' down on me

Stanford Pines, the handsomest man in town, in your opinion anyway, and you were just so lucky to have him all to yourself, you had been with him for awhile now, you remember when he first asked you out,

He was shoved in front of you by his grandniece, Mabel, with flowers in his hand he finally asked you out on a date to greasy's diner!

And here you were nearly a year or so later back at the diner.

Moon, tell me if I could

Send up my heart to you?

So, when I die, which I must do

Could it shine down here with you?

You laid your head in your hand as you watched him, you were like a lovesick newlywed despite not being married to the man, not yet at least.

'Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love mine, mine, mine

Eventually Lazy Susan came by to take your orders, you loved his voice as he spoke, you loved the way his eyes crinkled, you loved the crack in his glasses that you wondered why he hasn't replaced them yet, you loved the way he wore a trench coat over a sweater no matter the weather, you loved the way he was outdated on modern technology like a silly old man.

Nothing in the world belongs to me

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

Once Susan had taken away the menus he set his hand on the table in which you immediately decided to interlace your hand with his, holding it as you waited for your food to arrive.

It was like something out of a cheesy movie.

My baby here on Earth

Showed me what my heart was worth

Ford was lucky to have you, Wonderful, intelligent, beautiful you!

He never thought he'd have someone like you, he never had the best experiences with romance wether that be getting rejected by a girl at prom several decades ago or a weird toxic situationship with a yellow triangle.

But now he had you! You were healthy for him, the two of you were healthy for each other, you didn't mind when he rambled on about whatever, whether that be Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons or his sciencey inventions, his adventures through the dimensions or even just his day.

And he was the same way, oh how he could listen to your lovely voice for hours upon hours, like music, it didn't matter what you spoke about, whether it was just about your day, whether you were complaining about something, anything really he adored listening to you, he loved the little spark in your eyes when you talk about something you really like.

So, when it comes to be my turn

Could you shine it down here for her?

He loved watching you as you do whatever hobbies you did, he thrived in the times where he'd do his work in one side of the room and you were on the other side doing just anything, just silently enjoying each other's company.

Was that extremely cheesy of him to think? Most definitely but a little bit of cheesey-ness never hurt anybody, unless you were lactose intolerant.

'Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love mine, mine, mine

Soon Susan returned with your meals, placing them in front of the two of you, you let go of his hand to begin digging into your meal, Ford frowned at the lack of hand holding for a moment before going to dig into his own meal, He would never admit that he was a little touch starved, yearning for touch, hugs or handholding were his personal favorites.

But he was a grown man, he could wait until the two of you returned home to wrap you in a warm embrace.

Nothing in the world belongs to me

But my love, mine, all mine

For now He'd enjoy your date, admiring you as you admired him like the lovesick fools the two of you were, He was glad to have you, and you were glad to have him.

Nothing in the world is mine for free

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed my first gravity falls fic, wish Moony a happy birthday and as always thank you for tunin' on in, I hope you all have a wonderful night!

[sleepy-fiction]

Please Madame!

Weeping Clown x Fem!Reader

syn: Pegging Weeping Clown like it's his last day on earth.

tags: pegging, dom!reader, sub!weepy, pure fucking + a lil sprinkle of romance, no plot, barely beta read

a/n: I've always loved this man since release. And his voice was so nice to hear... i finished the story and was like aw thats so sad- OK time to write him getting pegged. one day I'll have to tell my partner about this account uhh... uhhhh erre uhhmmm

"F-fuu- Agh! Madam," Weepy cries his prosthetic fingers gripping the sheets, his face beat red beneath half wipped face paint, a color matching his blushed ass. He was bent down on his knees on the bed, ass perked, perfectly in line with your strap as you pegged him.

His moans were high and raspy, loud and thrilled. He shivered with delight, as his aching, reddened cockhead leaked dribbles of slick. His cheeks were a bruised red as you squeezed and smacked them, each time earning a deliciously sweet whimper.

"Mmh, is it good, sir," you giggled, patronizing.

He squeaked out, "Ah! Ah-ang... Amazing!"

You raised your hand, crashing your palm down against his bruised ass cheek again, watching him jerk out. He cried, his voice shaking the walls of the manor room; you reached and grabbed chunks of his hair. "Guh! Aaa-aa," he trilled, arching viciously into your touch.

In this angle, you fucked him deeper, your fake cockhead rubbing against his spot and digging deep into his gut. "Oo-mm... Fuck. M-Madam," he moaned out long and drawed out, his eyes escaping to the back of his head as he squirted his second orgasm into the sheets.

You dropped his head seconds later, and it fell limply forward, through top of his head grazing the bed as he peered down. You took the opportunity to grab your black paddle, meeting the cold leather to his bruised ass. Weeping jumped in surpise, his head flinging up, while his cock twitched in anticipation. "Madam! A-Are you go-going to whip me... Again," he hushed out, pulling chunks of the bedsheets white-knuckle tight.

"Ooh, changed your mind," you teased, drawing circles into his skin with the leather.

"N-No! I would n-never," he gasped, his own shame and humiliation long fled his body. Before you could respond, he stuttered, "More please, I'll be g-good... I won't jerk away!"

Desire crawled down your body, burrowing itself deep to your already soaked cunny. A shudder leaves your lips as you sigh, "Good boy." A crack splits the air as you leave your first mark on him with the paddle, and Weeping calls out intensely, his back arching into you. His body shivered all over as you thrusted a medium pace and rose the paddle once more, cracking it down against his ass.

"Mad-aam," he cries, his voice breaking up into useless sounds, "oncemore-oncemorepleasepleaeeplea--" you crack a stronger hit against him again, and he sparks like fireworks. He shoots forward, launching his face into the sheets, jerking his perky ass off your dildo, leaving it puckering for purchase in the wind.

You grit in annoyance, "Weeping," scolding him with your displeased hush.

Still in a daze, he didn't notice between his drawn-out orgasm, not until you cracked him alert. "Aah!" He squealed.

"You pulled off me again. You naughty clown, I'll really punish you now," you spat.

"Madaam... I'm soorry I'll be good. I'll b-be good," he moaned. You couldn't see it, but on his sweaty sticky face was a dirty smile, a smile as he wiggled his ass in the air.

"There is no next time," You plugged his hole up quick, taking the paddle in your left hand and cracking it against his left cheek. You trusted intensely, paddling him to the beat of your thrusts. His voice spiked out, his back arching off the bed as he shot his head up, his hands shaking against the pressure.

Off his lips came senseless mumbo, as his hair stuck to his scarred face, a face that smeared paint into the sheets before, and left him but nothing but faintest to cover said scars. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm just then, just as his voice hit its limit and turned into a raspy, airy mess.

"A-Amazuh-- Madame," he cried with all his heart as he shot out milky sperm. Sperm that was liquid and slick, barely carrying any semen from all his prior ejaculations.

You slowed down, dropping the paddle and grinding your base against his ass, forcing it deep into his body. He perked, whole body spasming as he buried his head against the sheets. His pants were buttery, the sweat dripping down his body lustfully. This was a much needed cool down for him and for you.

"Madam," he whispered, peaking over his shoulder to gaze into your eyes.

"Yes, clown," you murmured, half listening while you squeezed his ass, panting softly.

"M-May, may we switch... Uh... Positions? I want to l-lay on my back... I don't think I-I can't hold myself up f... For longer," he takes a gulp in-between his words, his gorgeous red hair wet with sweat.

"Alright," you pulled out of him, causing his toes to curl, "You need water?"

He flipped onto his back, his cute wide eyes staring up at you so sweetly, so innocently, "No-mm... 'M okay for now. T-Thank you, mistress," he smiled. You almost felt bad for punishing him.

You grabbed a pillow from above, ordering him to raise his head and sliding it beneath him when he does. He smiles so kindly at you, his hands curled up against his heart. You sigh wistfully and place one last pillow to prop up his ass.

He suddenly squeaked.

You perked, "What?"

"M-My semen is cold against my back-! T-The... The whole spot beneath me is wet," he cried in his comfort, his eyebrows weaving in stress. You giggled, pinning him down and lining up with his hole.

You coo between lidded eyes, "Aw, I almost feel bad for you." He whimpers pitifully. You gaze into his eyes right as you plunge in, soaking up his every feature. That's also when you notice most of his face paint had been wiped off. It was a euphoric treat for you.

Watching as his mouth fell slack, the way his eyebrows knitted, his eyes disappearing behind the clouds. But also, noticing his scarred cheeks, the way the corners of his lip suffered worse scars. How his cleft revealed his flashy, pearly whites. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm again then too.

You gulped, not noticing how you still had been. Long enough for Weeping to wrap his arms around your shoulders, "Mistress," he hums raspy. The sound is quiet, gentle, and almost loving. It snaps you right out of the slow-motion replay.

You gulp, now aware of how your beating heart "Yes, Clown?"

He reaches and nuzzles his forehead and nose against your face, "'M ready now. I-I promise I can tuh... Take more," he whispers. Just as he says so, he leans back into the pillows, his red hair sprawling, a perfect match to his beat red cheeks, wistfully eyes, and caring smile. God. He was fucking beautiful.

You thrusted slow and deep, watching his face twist up in excitement. You gripped his hips tightly, swallowing back the feelings bubbling up. You knew you should have never let him turn around. God.

He cracks another moan, easing his head back, closing his eyes- completely succumbing to your will.

Fuck.

"Weeping," you pant, feeling passion heat in your veins, "your face paint rubbed off."

He gasps suddenly, "N-No! My--" but before he could cover himself with his hands, you slammed downwards, catching his wrist with both hands and leaning forward, your face inches apart. He squeaks and squirms, but you keep yourself there, stating deep into his eyes.

He has nowhere else to look but your intensity, no way to flee from your teasing yet perfect thrusts. His eyes flee behind his eyelids, succumbing once more, his jaw hanging open in his vulnerability. He felt so powerless it felt-- A warm shot of cum splattered against your belly, as you quickly looked down to see his weeping cock, spitting up on itself.

"Ooh, you like this, huh? You like how powerless you are? You like the Madam looking at your pretty face, huh," you teased.

"Yes- yes ma'am," he leans his head away, revealing his gorgeous, lean, pale neck.

He was so lean, tall, so slanky.

You swallowed thickly.

You pulled off his wrists, but he kept his arms there, and you sunk into his neck, nipping and biting down on the milky flesh. His moans rose, spiking, the vibrations striking through his body. You too felt the familar feeling of your pussy clenching, pleasure from purely watching and experiencing this with him, was drawing you near an orgasm.

You panted and grabbed his hips, burying your teeth in his neck for purchase as you thrusted faster and faster. Riding out his high, ans reaching your own euphoria, as he released his last moan, "Oh y-yes! Madame!!"

You came at the same time, dropping your tired body onto his larger, skinnier one, slowly pulling out of him. "G-God," you moaned, feeling how disgustingly ruined your panties had turned.

"Amazing-uh... Mmgh... Madame," he murmured, gently caressing your head.

This was bad.

You were falling for a one night stand.

You only needed to break steam off in this damn manor, not...

You peered up at him, watching him stare down at you so tenderly, "Madam," he hushed it as if he worshiped the name.

Ah.

You were in big trouble now.

[venerawrites]

I see Sasuke content I immediately follow🫡

I'm here to ask for childhood "friends" (more like frenemies) where they first met while he was still under Orochimaru (the reader being one of the many experiments Orochimaru just keeps for the sake of having but never actually uses so she's just hanging around the place without anywhere else to go).

The reader being the type that's not intimidated and likes to bother him, especially he's the only one around that's close to her age that's not batshit insane, in response to his snappy silly emo attitude? ofc growing up together in that place and some thoughts after they mature/like a time skip? if it takes a romantic turn or not it's up to you I'll like it either way :3 thanks a bunch! - a fellow Sasuke enthusiastic

author's note: that request is so sweet! I loved doing it and I hope you like it as well. I decided to do a friendly/platonic fluff since recently I wrote a lot of Sasuke romance, haha. Also, I saw "she" in the request, so I am rolling with a fem! reader. Thank you so much for sending your idea and I hope you enjoy! <3

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Go away."

Furrowing your brows, you tiptoed behind his seated figure, before setting your chin on his shoulder as you watched his rough fingers engraving kanjis on the blade of his sword. You studied the written symbols with interest, recognising the words "power", "revenge" and "justice". Due to the reflection of the candle next to you, you couldn't make the whole text of what he was writing, but what you saw was more than enough for you to form your opinion.

"You just made your weapon twice as uglier."

Sasuke sighed at your comment, closing his eyes as he tried to summon all the patience he had within. One could presume that he should be used to someone bothering him, given that during all the years he has been alive there has always been someone who tastes his patience.

First, there were the fangirls. Not dangerous, but really annoying and suffocating. Through the years the young Uchiha had to hide in the weirdest places, such as bushes, bins and even stacks of hays, just so he can avoid confrontation with them.

Then, there were Naruto and Sakura. Both of them equally bothersome and both of them people, who couldn't really avoid no matter how hard he tried. There has been more than one occasion during which he cursed the day he got paired with them in a team. To this day, he couldn't get rid of them, as they persistently followed him around despite him making it more than clear he does not want to go back to Konoha.

But him leaving did not bring him peace. Because now instead of the blonde idiot and the pink-haired weakling, he had to deal with Orochimaru and Karin breathing down his neck all the damn time. The girl did not bother him that much anymore - with time he learned to ignore her, zoning out every time she opened her mouth.

The snake-like ninja, however, was entirely different matter. Sasuke felt his eyes on the back of his head all the time, studying him, his movements, his behaviour. The Uchiha was nothing more than an experiment for him and he realised that. But he needed the power and the knowledge to defeat Itachi, and if having to deal with a creep was the price to p

"Honestly, who is going to read all that? Is your plan to bore your enemies to death or something?", your curious tone brought him back to reality and his fingers gently slapped yours as he saw the reaching for the blade. A small gasp left your lips and you retracted your hand, directing a small glare in his direction.

And then, on the top of the list of people who love to get in his space, was YOU.

You and him had an interesting... relationship. You were one of the many experiment subjects Orochimaru kept in the base after the conducting of his clinical trials. As part of the famous "Project 71" - a year long experiment during which the man tested the effects of different drugs on the system and the long-lasting results from daily usage. Many have lost their lives and while the snake-like ninja discontinued it years ago, he left the few remaining alive subjects inside the base.

Initially it was a mystery for Sasuke why you were chosen to be part of the experiment in the first place. You were not a ninja or a healer, you didn't seem to have any extraordinary knowledge or skills, and also came from a poor farming family from the outskirts of Suna.

"Do not underestimate the power of the ordinary civilians, especially the ones coming from the desert", said Orochimaru one day when he saw the young Uchiha watching you and the other subjects being examined by Kabuto, "They are capable of adapting to changes in a way even the most well-trained shinobi can't. Perhaps the strongest people are not forged by war of battles, but of the harshness of life itself."

His theory seemed to hold true. From all of the surviving subjects, the majority were ordinary people from Suna or nearby small villages. For 'people of science', like Orochimaru preferred to call himself and Kabuto, it was expected, yet exciting result. For Sasuke, however, it was another confirmation he needs to get out of here as soon as he reaches his full potential. And while he tried to stay away, it was YOU who found your way toward him.

The first time you saw him was the day of his arrival - a snobby and gloomy boy, who liked to produce noises of disapproval or disgust rather than use words to voice his feelings. Straight away you didn't like him - this place was full of freaks and a sad boy with a vendetta was no different in your list. However, the more time passed, the more you realised that his company is indeed not that bad.

For starters, he rarely talked. Sasuke liked to mind his own business and you could often see him going to train by himself or sneak out in the middle of the night. Where he was going, you didn't know. The one time you tried to follow him, you ended pressed against one of the cave's walls with his fingers tightly wrapped around your throat.

"If you value your life, stay away from me."

His words that night went through one ear and out of the other. Did you value a life in captivity, waking up every single day in fear if you are going to be experimented on again? Not really.

So despite your initial reluctance, the mystery around Sasuke Uchiha was drawing you like a moth to a flame. You knew his goal was to get stronger so he can kill his brother, but nothing else. Where were his friends? What was he planning to do after he killed Itachi Uchiha? Was he going to ever go back to Konoha?

You often voiced your thoughts and questions out loud, the majority of which he ignored. And while he didn't seem enthusiastic to engage in a conversation with you, he never turned you away, like he did to Karin or Kabuto, so you took this as a sign that you weren't entirely insufferable in his eyes. Probably sounded like a poor excuse, but in a place like this, being tolerated was the closest thing you could get to a 'friendship'.

And you desperately needed one. You needed human interactions without the fear the other person is holding a needle behind their back.

Surprisingly, even for himself, Sasuke also found solace in your presence. Even though you spoke a lot, you never crossed certain boundaries and you didn't pry into his past. Your chatter was mainly focused either on how bored you were or on trivial things, like the weather or Orochimaru's work. And while the young Uchiha rarely 'participated' in what was supposed to be a dialogue, there was a certain comfort in having someone around you who is not a ninja and keep things light. With you, he could allow himself to partially lower his guard and rest, away from the haunting thoughts of gaining power and getting his revenge.

"Anyway, I am bored", your voice brought him back to reality as you plopped yourself on his bed, while he continued engraving his sword.

"Not my problem."

A loud groaned escaped your lips as you laid back and started at the ceiling. Your eyes followed the few cracks which moved toward the wall, forming irregular patterns that reminded you of lighting bolts. Well, it seems even the protege Sasuke Uchiha is not special enough to get a proper place to sleep, which is not crumbling. Of course, his bedroom was way better and bigger than the tiny space you and all other experiments shared, but it was still surprising to see that great ninjas do not live in 'luxury' either.

There was a brief moment of silence during which Sasuke stopped working on his blade, before throwing a bored look your way.

"Why don't you go and bother someone else?"

You opened your eyes only so you can roll them at him, before letting out another groan. It was always the same thing with Sasuke - you would go and bug him, he would pretend he didn't like it and ask you to leave, but you both knew he didn't mean it so you wouldn't. It was a routine at this point, one which you were not sure if you could or even wanted to break.

"There is NO ONE else to bother", you say as a matter-of-factly, while lifting yourself on your elbows, "What are you writing anyway? Seems like a whole novel at this point."

Sasuke's hand paused and he closed his eyes, while taking a deep breath. He counted to five, before opening them again and focusing on his weapon again.

"It's not a novel and it's none of your business."

He heard the bed squeak under your weight before you flopped on your belly and rested your head on your palms, while facing his back.

"You are pretty boring for a friend, you know?", you hummed under your breath while kicking your feet back and forth in the air.

"We are not friends."

Instead of being insulted, his words made you grin.

"No need to be shy now", you chuckled, tilting your head, "We spend most of our time together, we talk... Well, I talk mainly. But you listen, so we are friends."

Sasuke finally stopped his works on his blade, only so he can turn toward you and look at you with a blank expression.

"We spend time together because you would not stop bothering me", he points out, before his eyes focused on your kicking legs falling back to the bed, "And do not get on my bed with your shoes on!"

You glanced at your feet, before turning your attention back to him and letting out a dramatic huff. Mumbling some incoherent things under your breath you reached for your sandals and untied the laces, before kicking them off your feet. Moving your gaze back to him, you raised a brow as if asking 'happy now?' to which he just let out a small 'hm' before turning his back toward you again.

"Do you want me to stop bothering you?"

Sasuke didn't acknowledge you or your question in any way, but at this point you knew him well enough to know the answer is 'no'. Even when he liked to act all grumpy and annoyed, you knew he didn't talk with anyone else in the base despite the attempts of other to strike a conversation to him. In a way that made you feel only special - sure, he was not super nice to you, but at least he never pushed you away or insulted you, like he did to everyone else.

Time passed and you stayed silent, feeling you may start to push his boundaries if you continued with your questioning. So you just laid there, humming a quiet tune under your breath, while your fingers gently followed the crinkles on his bedsheet. Finally, after what felt forever, Sasuke turned toward you and lifted the sword against his chest, his eyes carefully examining the result of his work. His dark eyes moved toward yours and he moved the weapon closer to you, so you can take a look yourself. You frowned, your attention dancing between his sword and his face, full with expectation. "What I am supposed to look at exactly?"

He scoffed, a sign he was starting to get annoyed, as he cleared his throat and pushed the blade closer to your face. You instinctively flinched back, confusion written all over your face. What was he expecting from you? A compliment? An approval? A commentary on his neat handwriting?

"Take it", he commanded impatiently and you did, your finger brushing against the words written on the metal. You could see the all of the words now, written from the tip all the way down to the hilt: "strength", "power", "persistence", "patience", "revenge" and finally "justice". Your thumb stopped on the last word, gently following each line of the word, before you abruptly pulled away and almost threw the sword back in his lap. His dark brow arched upwards as he caught it mid-air, his tongue clicking in annoyance.

"You could've handed it to me, instead of throwing it."

"Sorry", you muttered, yet there was no real regret in your tone. Sasuke continued to eye you with expectation and you met his dark gaze, determined not to cave under the pressure of his heavy silence. But the Uchiha had this invisible power about him, the one that made everyone else bow to his will, and after a few minutes you couldn't hold your ground anymore

"What?", you snapped, your patience wearing thin, "Do you want me to compliment your calligraphy skills?"

Sasuke clicked his tongue again, his eyes narrowing just the slightest as he continued to study your face. You were a smart woman - probably the smartest one here - despite not being a ninja. One of the things he always appreciated about you was the fact you often read his thoughts and feelings without the need for him to say them out loud. As someone who was not great with words, he often found this ability of yours comforting.

But now was not one of these moments.

Were you really not understanding what he wanted from you or were you just trying to mess with him?

"Do not play stupid! It doesn't suit you."

With these words he turned his back toward you again, before he started wiping the cold metal with a wet cloth. You stared at his back for a few seconds, before letting out a tired sigh.

"I just...", the words died in your throat, as you licked your lips while trying to formulate your thoughts in such a way so it doesn't offend him, "I don't really understand why you would do that to your weapon. We ALL know your whole existence is to find your brother and avenge your clan, and yada-yada-"

"They are not just random words", Sasuke interrupts you, his tone sharp. His glanced at you with the corners of his eyes and you immediately straightened up, not expecting him to take your words so seriously. Sure, he often gave grunts or eye-rolls as a response to your questions, but now something felt off. Almost, as if you somehow insulted him.

"Okay", you say slowly, moving toward the end of the bed, "What are they then?”

The Uchiha gently placed the weapon back on his desk, before turning fully toward you. His dark eyes bore into yours as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"They are reminders", he says slowly, his fist clenching and unclenching as he moved his attention to his hands, "Of who I am... Of what I am fighting for."

You couldn't help but let out a loud snort, making him immediately look back at you with narrowed eyes. He should've expected that. For all the time he knew you, you often showed interesting and, sometimes, inappropriate reactions during serious situations. Were you always like that or did the drugs Orochimaru has put in you in the past somehow altered your brain chemistry, he didn't know, but he found it both irritating and somehow intriguing.

"What's so funny?", he asked flatly, crossing his arms before his chest.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you tried to stifle your laugh before your cleared your throat. Was it a smart idea to laugh at the second most powerful ninja here, after Orochimaru? Probably not, especially when you did it to his face. But Sasuke was Sasuke and you could not always take him seriously.

Not when he was taking himself SO seriously all the damn time.

"Reminders? Why, are you afraid you may forget your life goal or something? I thought you knew what you wanted pretty well by now."

With a roll of his eyes, he lifted one hand and flicked you against your forehead. You immediately winced and rubbed the sore spot, but your expression softened as you saw the edges of his mouth twitching just the slightest upward. "Idiot."

Without saying anything more he turned around, continuing his work on cleaning his sword. Once his back was facing you, you allowed the small grin that you've been holding back stretch across your lips. You stood up from the bed, making a few steps toward his seated figure before resting your head on his right shoulder.

"If that is going to make you feel better", you started, your eyes focused on the work his hands were doing, "I think your handwriting is pretty. If I was a terrorist or whatever type of people you kill in your free time, I would totally feel honoured to be killed by such a beautiful sword with such inspirational words written on it and-"

Before you can finish, he flicked your forehead once again, before moving his shoulder back and forth to get you off him.

"You seriously need to find a new hobby", he stated, not even looking at you, "Other than annoying me."

A playful laugh left your lips and his expression softened. As you were thinking of a smart comeback, he reached forward the bottom drawer of his desk before getting a small bundle of books, tied together with a red string. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him hand them to you.

"What's this?", you asked unsure if you should take them or not.

"Books."

Sasuke turned his head to look at you while pushing the bundle closer to you.

"I can see that", you gave him a deadpan look, "But why are you giving them to me?"

Your question seemed to irritate him once again and he clicked his tongue, his head tilting to the side. You never seemed to stop asking questions, even when the answers were ovious.

"Because they are for you", he said before moving his eyes back to his desk. He felt your fingers brushing against his as you took the bundle from him, carefully untying the red string before you let out a small gasp.

In you hands were the first three tomes of "Handbook of the Trinket Maker". You saw one of the books in Kabuto's library once during one of your routine blood tests and the same evening you mentioned it to Sasuke, saying how you wished you could make something. As you were taken quite young by Orochimaru and the subjects here were not allowed access to the library room, you lacked both the knowledge and the skill of what is usually expected of someone your age. You learned a lot - sometimes by watching some of the ninjas train or going though Sasuke's notes - but it was not near as much as you wished to be.

But since that one time you have not mentioned it and you definitely did not expect for the Uchiha to remember and get you your own brand new books.

"Thank you... I..", you pressed the books against your chest, while looking down at him, "But why?"

Sasuke remained focused on his weapon, through his shoulders seemed more rigid than before.

"You said you wanted to learn. Hopefully it actually makes you find a new hobby", he grumbled under his breath, giving a last wipe of his blade, before putting it in its scabbard. You bit your tongue in order to hold back another smart comment, realising it must be way more awkward for him than for you. Sasuke Uchiha was not a man who did kind gestures and while his motivation did raise a question mark in your head, you decided not to question it.

With a soft smile, you landed a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it.

"Thank you", you said again, a warm feeling forming inside your chest. He hummed in response, before turning toward you and giving you one of his rare smirks.

"Just make sure you don't blow up the hideout", he said as he stood up, his body towering over yours. You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop the loud laugh leaving your mouth.

"No promises", you shrugged your shoulders as you started to walk backward toward the door. Once your hand was on the handle, your gave him one last look, your lips stretched in a grin.

"I will make sure to show you what I learned first thing tomorrow", you puffed your chest, the excitement of your new possessions and the opportunity to finally be able to do something buzzing inside your chest.

Sasuke only stared blankly at you, his usual stone faced mask back on.

"No need-"

"Yeah, yeah", it was your time to interrupt him now by waiving your hand in the air while you pushed the door open with your foot, "See you tomorrow, Sasuke! And don't forget... revenge, life, power... Uh... And whatever the rest of the words you need to remember are."

"Get out."

As you slipped out of the room, you gave him one last wink watching him shake his head at your antics. The door clicked shut and you hurried back to the subjects' room, your hands trembling with excitement that you finally had something yours. Something that can finally give your existence a meaning other than mindlessly walking around Orochimaru's base while waiting for the day he is going to get bored of you.

Once you were in the room, you hurried toward your bed before plopping on it and impatiently flipping open the first page. Your eyes immediately landed on detailed instructions and illustrations of various trinkets and even some weapons.

"Oh, I am totally going to blow this place up!"

cc artwork: Tobi Yong

[starry-bi-sky]

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground

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

Jason is gonna be sick.

Memories swirl in his head, laughter ringing like bells in his ears, and bring with it a torrid feeling of rising horror. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth; a rock sinking in his gut. The image of a woman and a smile made of stars burns behind his eyelids.

Danny.

He met a woman named Danny last month, with eyes blue and green like a watercolor gradient. She stopped him in the middle of the street, acting as if she knew him. Except Jason didn't know her, and his attempts to correct her only made her grow confused, only made her grow insistent.

That he was her Jason, her fiancé.

Jason had told her she was wrong, that she had the wrong guy. He'd gotten icy with her, had been rude as he told her he wasn't her damn fiancé. He left before she could say anything, left her clutching her hand where a ring sat.

Except she'd been right. He just hadn't remembered.

He's gonna be fucking sick.

A memory hits him vivid and hard like a gunshot wound. A bullet would feel better than this.

They're dancing in a kitchen somewhere -- their kitchen. They'd moved in together. Fuck, they'd moved in together. Somewhere on the outskirts of Amity Park, Danny's city in an apartment that wasn't too big or too small.

Music is playing from Danny's phone on the counter, Jason's tongue forms the words 'Across the Stars' before he can even recall the melody. It was Danny's favorite, he can't blame her, it's a beautifully sad song.

It's early morning; they're still in their pjs. Sunrise is spilling through the windows, putting the room in a wonderfully lazy glow. It's straight out of a romcom, it leaves him with the dredges of something ridiculously fond. Jason can't remember why they started dancing, but he can't take his eyes off her. She had some sort of health problem, he can't remember what, but he bets it will come to him.

The memory of Danny looks at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world, a smile on her face like it's the easiest thing to put there. She looks at him like she's madly in love. She is; they are. Jason's remembering it now, and it's hurting him.

It fades away with the music.

But Jason's mind isn't done torturing him; the floodgates have been opened. Another memory quickly takes its place.

Jason's gonna be sick. There is a churning in his stomach.

Movie night. They're watching something on the small tv Danny's got in her living room. The two of them stuck under a blanket, Jason's head on Danny's chest, listening to her impossibly slow heartbeat as her fingers weave patterns through his hair.

They've done this plenty of times. A bowl of popcorn sitting on the floor by their feet, which are tangled up in each other, and movies of their choice playing on the screen.

Jason's got a hand under her shirt, idly tracing the raised Y-scar carved into her chest. Years old, she told him, given to her by her parents when they suspected her of being a ghost and wanted to cut her open.

("I can kill them for you." Jason told her, immediately, without thinking. He remembers being confused about why that threat came to him so easily, and why he knew on instinct that he could do it without blinking. Jason frightens himself a little by how willing he is to spill blood.)

(But Danny doesn't seem to mind. She laughs, something sad in her pretty blue-green eyes, "You'll have to get in line with my brothers and friends. They want to, too.")

(He blinks at her, he presses a kiss to her sternum, right where the valley of the 'y' met the stem. He feels a little less frightened. "Gladly.")

The memory itself isn't special, but it unlocks the rest of every movie night they've ever had. Sometimes the night ends with them falling asleep. Sometimes the night ends with lips and teeth; Danny's got fangs, and she's used them more than once.

He's fucked up. He's fucked up so bad.

Jason's seriously going to be ill.

--------

(He doesn't know what the memory is about. He just knows that Danny is laughing and sitting on his hips, the two of them in the grass at some park as she kisses his face like she's trying to leave freckles in her wake.)

("My darling." She croons, holding his jaw in her callused hands. Her hair curtains over them both. "My sun, my earth. My heart beating. My beautiful, handsome, Jason Todd.")

(She's being poetic, and Jason's face is burning in a blush that threatens to swallow him whole. He's grinning like a fool, his hands caught around her waist like fishhooks. "Aren't you supposed to say 'my moon', not 'my earth?'" He asks because if he listens to her any longer he'll combust.)

(Danny kisses him quick and leaves him wanting; leaves him chasing. She's smiling at him and his eyes lock onto her fangs. She could rip out his throat in one fell swoop, and he'd let her. "Maybe, but you're the earth because I'm the moon. I am inexplicably drawn to you, my love.")

(Jason becomes so quickly heart-full that, really, the only response he can give is to flip them around so he can kiss her into the dirt. And he's never really listened to Hozier, but he's starting to understand the man when he says; 'I could never define all that you are to me'.)

--------

("Oh, I've died once." Danny tells him in one hazy evening, sitting on the counter with whiskey in her hands. They've both had a little too much to drink, but Jason remembers this moment vivdly.)

(He turns to stare at her in horror. She smiles at him, dark and bittersweet. "I got back up.")

(He can't imagine dying, but it feels familiar to him. He closes the distance of the kitchen between them, brows furrowed. He puts his glass down, and cages her legs between his arms. "When? How?")

("I was fourteen. My parents lab; in their pursuit of science, they never really noticed if their children got caught in the collateral. It hurt." She says, and points to a scar he's always wondered about: an ugly mottled one, big, that goes through her stomach as if she'd been stabbed. Or impaled. Starburst burn scars litter her side, her legs, her palm. He's always wondered about them, but never asked.)

(Jason traces the scar on her stomach in mute horror, Danny's breath close to his ear. He listens to it like a dying man drinks water. "I don't remember being dead." She mumbles, taking a sip of her drink. "I just remember waking up.")

("They got you killed." He's never hated anyone more.)

(Danny remains silent, and when Jason looks up, her eyes are hollow like a corpse. "No," she murmurs, "it was my fault.")

(She doesn't bring it up in the morning, when they're both nursing hangovers. Jason admits, he's too afraid to bring it up.)

--------

(He proposes to her at the top of one of Amity Park's hills, beneath a sky full of stars and no moon to be seen. There's no cloud in the night sky, and the air is warm.)

(She says yes.)

--------

(They're dancing again, they like doing this. They do it often. Jason cooks; they dance; Danny tells him about anything and everything, and he soaks it up like a sponge.)

(They're talking about Star Wars this time, and Jason has never been more in love. Granted, he doesn't remember being in love before meeting Danny. He hopes there wasn't anyone he loved before this; he doesn't think he can love them anymore.)

("Broken Heart Syndrome is a very real thing!" Danny rants. They're listening to Across the Stars again, and he stops to lean them both against the counter. "And while it's rare to die from it, it can still happen! Especially if you have a weak heart, like mine.")

(Jason huffs, but finds it hard to argue. He's listened to her heartbeat. It beats worryingly slow, and if he cranes his ears and listens hard, he can hear the whooshing sound it makes.)

(She's assured him before that it's harmless, but he's not always convinced. He worries.)

("Well," he scoffs, placing his hands on her hips and rubbing circles into her skin with his thumbs. "It's a good thing I don't plan on breaking your heart anytime soon.")

--------

More memories fill up his head, like a room being flooded with water. Some of them mundane, some of them sweet, some of them steamed. But one thing stays certain; he deeply, gravely loves this woman.

And he fucked it up.

The memories all come at him at once, and a deep, pained groan rolls over him like a wave. Dick looks at him as he hunches over, he can feel eyes burning into him.

"I'm gonna be sick." He says aloud, yanking off his helmet as a choking heat of dread hits him like a hot flash. Damian takes a wary step away from him. "Oh, I'm gonna fucking vomit."

The little brat snarls at him; "Don't you dare." and takes an even further step back from him. Tim gets out his phone, and Jason has half a mind to try and kill him again. "There's a trashcan over there if you're going to."

"Please do." Tim says gleefully.

"I had a fiancé." Jason says, and it's really not something he wants to admit out loud to his.. uh, family. But it's more for himself; to confirm this dreadful, beautiful truth than to let them know. "Oh, I've screwed up."

He's got to find Danny, he needs to apologize. He needs to explain himself. He needs to find her yesterday.

--------

He finds her, he does. But he finds her buried six feet under, two weeks too late, with flowers growing at the foot of her grave. Jason feels like Orpheus standing at the foot of Eurydice's grave.

DP x DC prompt - Who gets amnesia twice?!

Danny and Amnesiac!Jason

Jason has an accident as Red Hood which causes which to suffer from amnesia - he ends up with Danny and the two build a life together

One day, Jason leaves for something and tells Danny that “he’ll be back soon.”

Coincidentally Jason regains his memories from before Danny (maybe he meets his family or a rogue or gets into another accident) - but regaining his old memories causes him to forget Danny due to the confusion

Jason resumes his life prior to Danny - and poor Danny is worried about his bf/fiance/husband and goes to look for him - maybe when he finds Jason, Jason doesn’t recognize him and acts coldly/suspicious towards him

So Danny decides to go live in the GZ semi-permanently for a while and fakes his current living identity’s death

Jason starts remembering Danny and goes to find his lover only to come across a grave

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

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

word count; 6.6k

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

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

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

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

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

”does it hurt?”

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

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he wins. he always wins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all of it for one person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sure you do.”

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

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but…

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru sits up a little straighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

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

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

”settle down, little knight.”

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

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

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

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no matter where he goes, you follow.

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

“come with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink.

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

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

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

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

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

his knight. his favourite knight.

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

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

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

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

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(he’s warm.)

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

“i missed this.”

…

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

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

“… me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

silence. and then, a chuckle.

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

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

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don't get it, though.”

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

a moment passes.

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

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

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

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

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

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

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

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

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

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

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

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

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

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

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

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

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

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

“i think i was born to meet you.”

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

[antigonesghosts]

What I loved about Cinderella's Castle is it is so entirely about Ella. We know starkid can handle a show with tons and tons of characters but I found it quite refreshing for it to be so wholly her story? I think it was a lovely choice for this show and man Bryce did such a perfect job of it, she is truly such a star

[brainrot-jikan]

im not the biggest alhaitham/kaveh shipper (because im a rare pair ho) but it seems to me that in alhaitham/kaveh getting-together fics tend to be... unequal.

the beautiful thing about alhaitham and kaveh is that they're both equally right and equally wrong and equally dicks about it. but the writers for alhaitham/kaveh much more frequently seem to give alhaitham the burden change (the burden of the character flaw) instead of kaveh.

in any good character arc, the main character has a fatal flaw or misconception, and by the end of that arc they have addressed that flaw in some definitive way. scrooge was a scrooge and learned that being that way was detrimental; merlin from finding nemo was overprotective to a fault and had to learn that he couldn't (and shouldn't) control everything and to let go; the wolf from little red riding hood learns that you should stop while you're ahead.

stories centering around romance tend to lean heavily on character arcs, which makes sense. and since romance generally requires two individuals to be vulnerable and open and emotional with each other, it makes double sense that alhaitham/kaveh authors zoom straight into alhaitham's lack of emotional vulnerability.

this bothers me.

in society, individuals are expected to experience and present emotions in a specific way. if someone dies, you cry. if someone smiles at you, you smile back. if you're at a party, you're supposed to be having fun. if you don't do these things, you're seen as impolite at best and a inhuman freak at worst. when these behaviors are frequent it's often viewed as emotional immaturity, or a lack of ability to feel at all. the inability or lack of willingness to conform to societies emotional expectations of you is seen as a flaw and a reason for exclusion.

alhaitham is canonically disliked and avoided for being the way he is. he prefers it this way, but that doesn't mean the people perpetuating this avoidance are in the right. they are the societal pressure to conform that alhaitham blows off. alhaitham could be the way he is for a lot of reasons: avoidant attachment style, trauma, following someone else's example (eg. his grandmother), or just his base personality. it doesn't MATTER. he is the way he is. kaveh having to accept that should be part of the story.

putting the burden of the fatal flaw on alhaitham, making the way alhaitham treats kaveh and the people around him the problem, feels invalidating. it implies heavily that alhaitham's way of interfacing with the world, alhaitham's very SELF, is incorrect. my suggestion is to flip a larger portion of that burden onto kaveh. kaveh 👏 character 👏 arcs 👏

some examples/recommendations:

- make kaveh project his insecurities onto other people but especially onto alhaitham; he's overly reliant on other people for his own self worth, and he perceives alhaitham's lack of positive feedback as a direct reflection of how alhaitham feels about him. but learns along the way that alhaitham doesn't hate him, kaveh's actual struggle is with hating himself and being unable to his own self as worthy of love. maybe throw in how you are responsible for your own recovery, other people can help but you can't rely on them to carry you through self actualization.

- or, kaveh tries to make alhaitham behave more like a "normal" person, to be more pleasant and emotive and forthcoming, and then realizes he's in the wrong for trying to make alhaitham into something he's not, possibly for all the wrong reasons (not because he likes alhaitham better like that, but bc society says that's healthier and a better/more conforming way to be)

- or you could go ahead make alhaitham's issues the main problem but they're too complicated to overcome in a short period of time, so kaveh has to accept alhaitham is doing his best in his own way and not push for unrealistic and unhealthy changes. he could alter his own behavior to give alhaitham space and time and a safe place to land.

that got sappy so it's past time for me to dip out. go forth and ship things; but maybe consider letting alhaitham be a rude stone-faced bastard if he wants to be.

[entomolog-t]

Stupid lowscale gt brainrot but like--

You know the "stranded on a planet with sexy 8ft-10ft tall alien men" monster "romance" trope???

Give me a story just like this but like humans are smaller because of higher gravity. Its nothing so severe that anything super off is noticeable at first. Similar body types, perhaps even the alien species is much more physically intimidating looking (especially if we're going to the ye old hunter gatherer/barbarian trope), maybe they notice that they feel really good on this planet, perhaps even they make the connection that they can jump a fair amount higher. To them its nothing crazy. Going from a 2ft vertical to a 4-5ft vertical is cool, but its nothing like the videos of walking on the moon.

The aliens however, notice something is off fairly quickly. With a language barrier there might be the need to physically pull someone out of harms way, try to direct them one way or the other etc... and humans?? Despite their size, they're *heavy.* Not as heavy as the aliens, but far too close for someone half their size. Watching the humans aid them in tasks is surprising, and they're quite impressively able to carry a fair amount.

Perhaps it takes a while for the humans to notice, and it comes as a shock. Be it something perhaps cute like playfighting, or something more severe like an actual physical altercation, it becomes apparent that the humans are leagues stronger than the aliens.

Some Local coffeshop employee Becky Smith of middle of nowhere USA is suddenly able to lift the equivalent of 800lbs and is now seen as some warrior class being and is just trying to live out her monster romance fantasy. Girly was looking for a fearsome warrior and somehow became it instead.

This is so silly and stupid but I love it and would PAY to read it.

[stenshale]

actually “the man Anders is honorbound to kill was his ex-lover in every playthrough, but if your player character is a woman, he doesn’t mention it because his writer wanted the player to be able to decide he’s heterosexual” is such a gross thing to say about your video game. Yeah he’s canonically bisexual but you can ignore that if you think it’s icky ^_^

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.