#so I might end up changing her design a bit

[gigi-does-art]

STARS’ best duo ^w^

[okultraoldmanyaoi]

that one swap gloomwood au i mentioned

[burgojo]

27 CLUB. GETO / M!READER / GOJO

summary. satoru's crushing on suguru but finds out he's got a boyfriend! you are, however, equally dreamy, and if satoru was capable of such introspection, he might realise he has a type...

wc. 9.7k

tags. smut | dom top reader, switch bottom geto, sub bottom gojo; established geto/reader. non-sorcerer + rock/metal musician reader, reader is described as a big guy. skinny gojo supremacy, geto with piercings. somno, riding, doggystyle, exhibitionism, dub-con, degradation/praise, daddy kink (once; r. receiving), humiliation, gojo's a crybaby, edging, frotting, choking, overstimulation, gojo gets passed between reader + geto for a bit

"You brought me to a dive bar? Lame."

Suguru's brow twitches, but he says nothing – outwardly. "You were the one begging me to let you come with. Pick a side."

"I'm on the side of good music. I don't want to hear screeching kids out past their bedtimes."

"You think that's the sort of thing I listen to?"

"I mean," Satoru waves a hand in Suguru's general direction, eyeing his choice of clothes, "your outfit has so many holes in it. You could pass as a rebellious delinquent. Like one of them gyarus."

"I do not—" Suguru inhales, shaking his head; leave it to Satoru to think fishnets and cropped shirts count as clothes full of holes. His bangs sway over his eyes; for the first time in perhaps forever, his hair is loose. Satoru can't take his eyes off it when it shines blue-black under the street's neon lights. "I'm not falling for that again. Now, stop dragging your feet. We're here."

They halt in front of a big, dark block of cement. Its windows are blacked out with curtains, and years' worth of posters pasted to the walls overlap, flaking and peeling until only the fuzzy back sliver of the paper remains. The dates on the posters keep changing – the oldest one is from 1998. The ones on top are advertising weeks in the future, up to a month, and the shitty photo-editing reeks of their garage-band histories and amateurish natures.

One of the posters catches Satoru's attention. A young, attractive woman with dark hair and very few clothes on smoulders at him.

With a question on the tip of his tongue, Suguru approaches his side and follows his gaze questioningly. The eye-roll he gives is so quick it's almost pre-emptive. With a hand draped in black and silver jewellery, he grabs the back of Satoru's collar and hauls him away, almost lifting him clean off his feet. "Goodness, Satoru... Have some decency for once in your life."

"Hey! I thought you'd appreciate me taking an interest in your hobbies. And be gentle with that! It's designer!"

Suguru only lets go at the bottom of the stairs, where the evening light abruptly dims and every surface becomes twenty per cent stickier. Satoru grimaces at the palm of his hand, having caught himself against the wall when Suguru tossed him into the dingy basement like a sack of potatoes.

"This place is a real trash heap," he complains – or shouts, rather. The bass in the music rattles his bones like maracas. The place is less like a bar and more like a club. His sunglasses slip down his nose from the vibrations alone, and he pushes them up with a disapproving sniff. "Why couldn't we stay above ground? There seemed to be a perfectly okay bar up on the roof. Looked real nice and moody, too – good for dates."

"Because up there, they have to actually believe your ID," he says in a tone that adds the 'stupid' at the end for him. Without waiting for a response, Suguru pushes his hands into his pockets and leads the way into the bar. He waltzes up to the bartender, who seems to be between patrons. She dries a rocks glass in her hands. Her head bobs loosely to the beat of the live music.

He lifts two fingers. "Beer, please. Whatever's cheapest."

Satoru makes a noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not for you. Geez, Satoru, the world doesn't always revolve around you," he sighs exaggeratedly and flicks his bangs out of his eyes to meet Satoru's gaze. He smirks. "You want something to drink?" He points at the tiny backboard propped up beside him on the countertop, detailing a range of drinks and their prices. "Here are their non-alcoholics. If it won't make you sick, I recommend the raspberry float."

"Then I'll get that." Satoru leans against the bar in the space between Suguru's stool and the next. He shifts, trying to appear natural, and he places his other hand in the pocket of his jacket. He really doesn't need it in this cramped bar – not with the number of people crowding around, driving up the heat.

At the other end of the room, a large group stands at the base of a raised stage. The trio upon it complete sturdy rock covers of popular songs on the radio. They make for exciting listening, though their sound isn't what Satoru usually goes for.

Suguru flags down the bartender for Satoru's bright pink sugar abomination, and she drops off his two beers with a nod. Satoru doesn't have the time to wonder about them further before Suguru turns to him with a wry smirk.

"Sit down, greenie. You look like an idiot."

"And you don't?" he retorts, but hops up on a stool anyway. He prods the glistening mug of beer closest to him, inspecting the amber liquid within, and lifts his eyes.

What surprises him is that Suguru isn't looking at him – or at his drinks, either. Isn't one of the first rules of going to a bar ensuring one's drinks are always within sight?

He tilts his head, a light crease marring his brow. "Suguru? What're you looking at? Pay attention to me. I'm bored."

"I'm looking for someone," he replies coolly, scanning the crowds near the stage. With a sigh and a slump of the shoulders, he glances over at Satoru with a small smile, resting his elbow on the bar. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted. I haven't come here in a while, you see."

Satoru doesn't see – which is ironic – and wants to ask. But asking means he'll look his way, and that means Satoru won't be able to admire Suguru's pretty feline features for as long as he'd like. He'd get all embarrassed about it and growl at him.

Propping his chin on his knuckles, Satoru traces each curve and plane of Suguru's features with his eyes, committing every line to memory. Suguru won't always be this young, and the dim neon lighting is so nice on his skin, cutting deep shadows across the soft fantasy of his face.

Purple and green. Fitting, for a place called the Viper Lounge.

"Satoru. Your drink is here."

With a blink, he straightens up, and the pretty bartender lady shoots a knowing wink his way. The tall pink drink almost glows under the lights, and the float bobs with the tiny streams of fizzing soda bubbles that rise to the top.

Smiling to himself, Suguru glances back at the stage as Satoru's unyielding attention averts to the bartender, bothering her for a matching pink drink umbrella. The room is painted black, like a secret born to the night, and the stage matches the paint job. It makes its users seem to float several feet off the ground.

He taps his cheek with a soft sigh, fiddling with his brow piercing. His hair catches on it sometimes, but that's the price he must pay.

He watches Satoru absently. Where were you? Had your schedule changed in the weeks he'd been busy?

Then, with the faint echo of the microphone, an all-too familiar voice:

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

The leap from silence into rapid metal is violent. The drums beat lifeblood through veins. Steel shreds the guitar. Bass peels flesh from bone and snaps it back together.

Suguru's reverie shatters like glass.

There you are. Tall with confidence, clad in leather and denim. Your hair's shorter than he last remembers, but wilder, already-damp strands of hair sticking to your temples as if fresh from a romp in the sheets. Jewellery glints under the moody stage lights, and it's hypnotic, the way you charge up the crowd with your voice and your guitar. The amp by your feet is beat-up and worn, having played stepping stool to leather boots too many times, but it explodes with sound. Your sound.

You've got a quartet for a band, all faces made familiar through his connections with you. His heart flutters at the memory of your arm slung around his waist, pulling him into your side as you laugh at something your drummer said.

Satoru's head tilts as Suguru slides off the seat and grabs the two beers. "Suguru? Hey! Where are you going?"

It's too loud to hear him, what with the singing and the screaming and the heavy thump-thump-thump of drunken dancers jumping around. Suguru weaves through the crowd of crying fans – mostly girls; your bassist is your only female member – and it's easy to recognise him, his physical training and broad body letting him part the drunken gaggle just by walking forward and keeping balance.

He reaches the front of the crowd and lifts his face to you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes are endless in the shadowy room, and the way he raises the mug of beer feels like the hand of the devil. His tongue toys with his snakebite piercings, the soft pink of it peeking past his lips like a taunt.

During the lull of the song's vocals, you crouch down, avoiding the stares and grabbing hands of dozens of fans. You grip the beer – Suguru's smile widens – and rise to your feet. The rim's already at your lips, and rapid bob of your Adam's apple as you swallow invokes a wave of screams and a chant of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" that fills the bar.

Droplets run down your throat and soak into the collar of your shirt. Your skin glistens. Sweat dampens your throat and the furrow of your brow.

As the melody builds to a crescendo, you slam down the empty mug and launch into the song's chorus, the rough metal gravel of your voice sending more than one fan into hysterics.

Suguru watches the way your fingers fly over the guitar neck with impossible ease, smiling into his beer at the memories of those same fingers wrapped around his neck, his hips, his—

An arm falls over his shoulders. "Suguru! Don't run off like that again! Where you go, I go."

He glances over his shoulder. Satoru's almost shouting in his ear, and some ways behind him, he spots at the bar the empty glass with the pink umbrella balanced recklessly on the rim.

"Sorry," he shouts back, a sheepish, apologetic grin on his lips. "Got carried away. Did you like your drink?"

"Yeah," he says above the noise. "C'mon, hard to talk here! Let's find a booth."

Satoru slips in on one side, and Suguru takes the other. The deep red leather of the seats feels decadent in the low lighting, the same way velvet and jewels go together. Satoru peers over his glasses at Suguru with a shit-eating grin.

"Not gonna lie to you," he begins. "I'm pretty sure that normie over there was eyeing you up like a piece of candy."

There's a twang to his words, and Suguru smiles behind his glass of beer, leaning in and peering at Satoru closely. Nearly imperceptibly, Satoru leans away.

He straightens. "Are you jealous?" he says, almost in disbelief. "No way."

A pause.

"What?" he laughs, waving a hand as if to disperse the very thought from the air. "Jealous? Me? Of him? Don't make me laugh, Suguru. I'm way cooler! And better-looking."

"I'm not sure," Suguru hums, sparing a glance at the fans trying their damndest to touch the singer's steel-capped boots. "For starters, he drinks well."

"Don't say 'for starters' like you're about to dive into a list of compliments." Satoru pouts, crossing his arms. "Is he the person you were looking for earlier?"

"Mmh. He's got a good voice, doesn't he?"

"He sounds like he smokes three packs a day. But you don't care what I think, do you? You've already made up your mind."

Suguru chuckles, vanishing about half of his drink in two gulps. It's rather impressive. "That sound is raw talent and cultivated skill. You sound like you hate him."

"Nah, you're just trying too hard for a guy in some no-name garage band. Did you see his clothes?" He peers over his glasses at his friend. "They're western brands. Not cheap here. He's a total poser."

"But he looks good in them, right?"

"Eh. So-so."

"I bought them for him."

"I mean, they fit well on him. And they match the whole 'rockerboy' thing, but that's more because of you than him."

He hides his grin behind his beer, sipping on what remains to nurse it until your gig ends. Satoru's too predictable.

—

Later, Suguru ventures into the staff lounge with Satoru on his heels. Pleasantly warm with alcohol, he finds you alone by the couch, one boot kicked up on the footstool and an arm thrown over your eyes. Your chest rises and falls slowly with your breaths, and Suguru quietly slips around the furniture to take a seat next to you. He grasps your forearm and lowers it.

Satoru stares.

You're handsome. He gets it now.

One eye cracks open. Your hazy eyes pass over Satoru as if he's not even there – how annoying – and land on Suguru. Your gaze brightens and you sit up, lowering your boots to the ground.

"Oh, it's you!"

Your voice is surprisingly mellow, low and smooth like caramel. Despite your neutral affect – and the fact that you're not even addressing him – Satoru's cheeks warm.

"It's me." Suguru's voice is soft.

You gaze at him a while longer, the pause filled with your bright, contradicting smile. Then you grunt and sit forward with your elbows on your knees, your leather jacket creaking quietly. "My favourite man. What can I do you for?"

"You're too sweet, YN," he says, a flicker of shyness crossing his features. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Your brow furrows and you sigh, glancing aside. "I know, I'm sorry, doll. It's been difficult trying to adjust to my new job – just been dead tired all the time. Anyway – what is this, an interrogation? You gonna introduce me to your buddy or what?"

You cock your head up at Satoru, who stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets. With Suguru to your side and the corner of the room on the other, you have nowhere to go.

Suguru spares a glance at his friend. "Satoru, sit down." He turns back to you. "He wanted to come and I couldn't stop him. Just ignore him. I wanted to talk to you."

"Sure. What about?"

He places a hand on your knee. His nails are painted black. "I really wanna stay at your place."

If Satoru wasn't watching closely, he would've missed the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. He has to commend you – you smother it quickly.

"Tonight?"

"Mhm." He shuffles closer to you. His fingers twitch as he glances down at your hand, as if he has to suppress the urge to take it in his own. "Thought we could catch up a bit – braid each other's hair, do our nails, the whole nine yards."

You blink. "That's... awfully forward of you. You usually dance around these things until I finally figure it out."

His lips twitch up. "I can be direct when I want to be."

"Oh, so you just enjoy riling me up."

"I like what comes after."

Suguru's head tilts slightly, and your faces are an inch apart. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"Of course you can stay, Suguru," you murmur, your expression softening. "I'm glad you came here."

"Even though I'm breaking the rules?"

"My whole shtick is being counter-culture. That includes disobeying rules when they're stupid."

"When they're stupid," he echoes. He smiles, his dimples losing him his tough-guy persona. He bumps your shoulder with his, tucking his loose hair behind his ear. "Are you staying here for any reason?"

You shake your head. "Been paid and everything. I'm just abusing the couch for an air-conditioned nap. The others are going clubbing in a few hours if you want to meet up with 'em and say hi."

"Did you want to go?"

"Nah. I had a killer headache last night and don't want it coming back. Mostly, I planned to bake something."

Satoru can't hold it in any longer. "You bake?"

Two sets of eyes swivel to him where he stands by the fridge, checking out its contents.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to Suguru and stretch, resting an arm over the backrest behind his shoulders. A classic, almost dorky move, and one you do all the time, but Suguru's heart still flutters. "Who is this guy, by the way? Why's he wearing sunglasses inside? You're not cool, dude."

"I have sensitive eyes," he declares, pointing overhead at the bright, artificial white lights. "Name's Satoru."

You raise a brow. "I think you've been mentioned once. Last name?"

"Need-to-know basis."

You narrow your eyes at him.

Suguru interrupts the staring contest, shoving himself into your line of sight. "You said you had a headache. Are you okay?"

You drop the glare and smile at Suguru, squeezing his shoulder. "Mm, don't worry about it, baby. Nothing a few painkillers can't solve."

He lifts a hand to your face, tracing the shape of your cheek with his knuckles. His touch is so light it almost tickles. "If you say so. Don't forget to sleep more. It's not good for your skin."

You offer a fond smile. While swiping a few chocolates from the bowl on the table, Satoru notices how Suguru leans into your touch and how he presses his side into yours as much as he can, thighs and shoulders brushing. He didn't know he was... that sort of person.

Rather vacantly, Satoru thinks he should be more upset right now. After all, he's been pining after Suguru for the past year, and now he finds out that Suguru's got some normie with tight leather pants falling into his bed? He was planning on confessing after Suguru's birthday, but he supposes he should trash that plan.

Fuck. Awkward.

"Hey, Satoru." Suguru's soft voice draws him out of his thoughts. "YN wants to try a new recipe. Wanna come with?"

"You're gonna be my guinea pigs," you agree. Your heavy gaze rakes Satoru's body, and he suppresses a warm shiver. "Or my little white mouse."

Satoru tries to ignore his blush. He straightens, pocketing another chocolate. "You don't care about inviting a stranger to your house?"

"Any friend of Suguru's is a friend of mine." You stand and stretch with a pleased groan that feels far too intimate. "I don't have shit worth stealing, anyway, unless you count my banged-up guitar. It's, like, twenty years old."

"Not old enough to be vintage, too young to be seriously desirable." Suguru sighs, slumping against your side dramatically as you pass through the door together. "Story of my life."

"Ew. Don't joke about that." You glance past Suguru – Satoru's eyes, you notice past the glasses, are an unexpected shade of cornflower blue. "Hey, Baby Blues. How'd you two meet?"

"Hm? Oh, high school."

"Ah, you two are the same age?"

"Same class and everything," Suguru says as you wander towards your car, the keys jingling in your pocket as you try to find the correct one by touch alone. There's a shadow of a guitar case in the back of the car. "Can't get rid of him anymore."

"That just means you always have someone to shout you a drink or two." You pull open the door for Suguru and draw a vaguely round shape in the air with a finger. "Karma's a circle."

"Yeah? And where are you in that circle?"

Swiftly, you shut the door and turn to Satoru, nodding your head in the direction of the car. "Hop in, Blue! You'll be glad you came when you try my tiramisu."

—

Some time later, Satoru finds himself on your soft leather couch, nursing a very flushed Suguru on his left and a less-flushed you on his right. You cackle at his attempts to take the game controller off Suguru, and when Suguru gets touchier in order to body-block him, you can tell from his flustered expression that he doesn't really know how to deal with it when you're right there.

"I'm fine," Suguru sighs, batting Satoru's hands off. He leans in further, trying to push him back, when he persists. "Satoru, you're blocking my view with your big head! It's your fault if I die."

You own a PS2 with a pretty neat collection of games. Suguru is doing less than well with Metal Gear Solid 3.

"Let me have a turn," Satoru pleads, pouting when Suguru expertly weaves the controller away from him. He's had years of practice with it. "I'm so good at stealth games! Lemme try, I wanna go—"

"Just say you wanna impress YN. It's less desperate, man."

Satoru's jaw snaps shut with an audible click. His eyes are so blue that Suguru can see the shine of them behind his almost-opaque glasses.

Suguru smirks and shifts on the couch, tossing his legs over Satoru's lap victoriously. He settles comfortably among the pillows and returns his attention to the television.

"W-What?" he stutters. Did he hear that right? Was he drunk on the tiramisu's brandy?

"It's okay," Suguru says, sneaking past a guard successfully. He smiles victoriously, lip piercings glinting in the light. "I wouldn't mind sharing if it was you. Have you seen the size of him? I can't eat all that by myself."

You chuckle, one arm slung over the back of the couch. In your other hand is a brandy glass, the dark amber alcohol you used in the tiramisu sparkling under the light as you gesture with the glass. "Dunno 'bout that last bit. You try pretty hard to."

"I don't like leaving my meals half-finished. I'm also generous to those less fortunate – Satoru's never dated anyone, you know? I wouldn't want him getting hurt by some selfish asshole because he doesn't know any better. That's why I think you'd be good for him."

The colour of Satoru's face rivals Suguru's. He rubs his cheeks, sinking into the couch. "Stop telling him my life story! You're making me sound really uncool. You're so wasted, Suguru – is this what you're like outside of school?"

"I'm not that far gone," Suguru groans, controller going limp in his hand. He reaches around Satoru to give it to you, which you accept – you immediately start blitzing through the in-game building, attention now completely elsewhere. He levels him with an unimpressed stare. "I could probably take you right now."

"You want to fight me in your boyfriend's apartment?" Satoru squawks. "He made food for you! Control yourself. Gosh..."

"'Control thine emotions'," he mocks. "I'm perfectly in control. You need to admit that you like my boyfriend."

"I don't." Panic drips from his voice.

"You totally do. It's cute – I've never seen you with a crush on anyone. A rich boy liking an underground rockstar? Embarrassing. I've read that manga before."

"No, I don't – I'm not a manga protag—" He cuts himself off, jabbing a finger into Suguru's chest. "I just have eyes, okay? I can tell when someone's, like, visually appealing. You're visually appealing. Doesn't mean I'm going goo-goo over you."

With a roll of his neck, Suguru leans in, propping his elbow on his shoulder. He levels his gaze at him, blinking slowly.

He sucks in a breath. He can smell his honey-scented shampoo. He's holding on by the skin of his teeth.

"A-And," Satoru continues, shifting in his seat. How incredibly unfortunate it is that he's sitting between you and Suguru. Why is that, anyway? Weren't you the ones dating? "You're being weird. Who the fuck talks about this? Like, seriously."

"YN and I talk like this all the time. You're just a prude." He sticks out his tongue, and the flash of a silver piercing studded into his tongue leaves Satoru breathless and shocked. He scrambles forward, reaching towards him, and pinches Suguru's jaw with one hand.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaims, brows furrowing. Memories of the previous conversation are all but gone.

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, glancing aside. He'd almost forgotten how strong Satoru can be. "What's what?"

"That." He shifts his grip, forcing Suguru's lips to part. His tongue flicks against his front teeth, and the little silver ball catches the light.

"A pierthing," he replies, muffled. He lets Satoru, alarmed at their sudden closeness, pull away first with a scandalised blush. Suguru rubs his cheeks and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, showing it off with a glint in his dark eyes.

Satoru stares. How is his tongue so long?

"Cool, right? I wanted to match YN's look. It makes us look ten times better than the next couple."

He blinks himself out of his daze. "Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as you'd think. I had to get used to talking with it, though – I was lisping like crazy while it healed. I was thinking of getting a septum piercing to balance it out – or just more on the ears."

"You never tell me anything." He pouts. "How'd I never notice it...?"

"You think I don't tell you things? Fine. How about this?" Suguru shuffles forward and drapes an arm over Satoru's shoulders. He offers a lazy smirk and cups a hand by Satoru's ear. "It makes guys feel great."

His heartbeat pounds in his skull. He swears Suguru glances down at his lips – but that could be his woozy double vision. His hair looks so soft...

"Done," you announce, setting the controller in Satoru's lap – he picks it up hastily before Suguru can nab it. He huffs and crosses his arms, empty-handed. "Your turn, Blue. I wanna see some slick action, or we both get to watch Suguru struggle with holding people up."

"I am not that bad!" he snaps. "The controller buttons are sticky."

"A bad workman blames his tools," Satoru says automatically.

He immediately begins to argue.

Hm. You can see why Suguru's so endeared with the white-haired man, especially when he takes off his glasses to blink his huge, glossy blue eyes up at him. He's pouting, Suguru's waving his arms around, and you're certain you've got enough room in your bed for three.

—

In the darkness of your bedroom, you're slowly dragged from the depths of sleep by a weight above you. Your brow furrows, a little grumble falling from your lips, as hands trail down the sides of your face and play with your hair.

"YN."

You release a soft breath.

"YN. Wake up."

Your eyes crack open, and you find yourself frowning up at Suguru's shadowy figure. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you notice that he's not wearing any pants.

He shifts on your lap, face inches from yours. His long hair is swept over his shoulder, slightly messy with sleep. His eyes, however, are perfectly awake, staring down at you with an animal hunger.

"Hey, you," he whispers fondly, barely a breath. He lowers his body over yours even further until your chests press together. You wrap a lazy arm around his waist. "Need you, baby."

"Suguru," you whisper back, only just now noticing the state of your boxers. They're slick and sticky, and you know for certain not all of it is because of you. "How long have you been at this?"

"Five, ten minutes. I don't know. I got impatient." He ghosts his lips over yours, tucking his hair over his ear before he cups your face. "Need you so bad. Need you right now."

"Fuck, seriously?" you huff, shifting slightly so you can rest back on an elbow. "Damn nymphomaniac..."

A body beside you rolls over. You freeze.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was here. Satoru had been insistent on taking the couch, but Suguru's large brown eyes and sweet words had worn him down. When you chimed in to express your agreement with your boyfriend, he'd broken fully, and accepted.

"I've already prepped myself," Suguru breathes, pressing his bare cock against the front of your boxers. He rolls his hips slowly, kissing you equally torturously. "Please, baby? Needa come so bad."

His words are slurring. Usually so put-together, Suguru grinds against your growing bulge with a soft whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his cockhead catches on the cloth.

He's going to be the death of you.

You place your hands on his waist, lifting him just enough to reach your waistband and free yourself from your boxers. Suguru sighs shakily and tucks the band below your balls, batting away your hand to be able to hold it himself. You roll your eyes at his attitude but allow him to admire your cock. He nibbles on his lower lip as he rakes its length with his heavy gaze.

"You're already hard," he teases under his breath, closing his fist around it and stroking it from tip to base and back again in one rough motion. You jump slightly, a hiss slipping out between your teeth. Suguru silences you with a hot kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he strokes you and swallows your sounds.

He shifts cautiously on his knees, mindful of Satoru's still body next to him, and opens his hand to slot his cock against yours. He purrs as he tugs them both, head falling against your shoulder as he rocks back and forth atop your lap.

"So good," he whispers into your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck. You can feel him tremble – with excitement, with exertion. His breaths are shaky as he quickens his fist, rutting against you.

He's dripping. Your shared arousal slicks up your cocks, and Suguru's wet palm squelches quietly with every stroke. He shudders out a soft moan, nails digging into the pillow beneath your head.

"Is this what you wanted?" you growl under your breath, hands pressing firmly against his waist and forcing him to grind harder into your cock. His hips stutter. "Fuckin' whore, doing this when your best friend's a foot away from you..."

He swallows a moan as you dig your thumb into his leaky slit. "Y-Yes – yes, I wanted this. 'M sorry for being such a slut," he whines softly, his thick thighs tensing atop yours. His cock jumps as Satoru shifts in his sleep. "Oh, fuuuck..."

You chuckle breathlessly as Suguru leans into you, his slick fist squelching louder as he grinds more desperately into you. You hold your hand in place, formed into a loose circle, and allow Suguru to fuck into it as his tip catches on the ridge of your glans with every thrust.

"G-Gonna come," he whispers against your jawline, free hand tangling in your hair. His little moans feel so much louder right by your ear, and your heart races whenever it pitches that much higher. "Ohh, god..."

"Yeah," you pant, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. You press your palm against his shoulder – his heart pounds through his back. "That's right, dollface. Don't hold back. I wanna see my pretty slut come for me, alright? Wanna have your come all over me."

His rushed, shallow little humps rock the mattress dangerously. You grip the shelf of his hips in warning, slowing him down. He whimpers like an injured animal, pleading.

Swallowing roughly, you wrap one hand around his cock and use the other to grip his plush ass beneath his oversized t-shirt, your fingers digging into the soft skin. He gasps softly and presses into your touch, humming gratefully as you jerk him off, your thumb swiping over his swollen tip.

With an arch of his spine, his arms tightening around you, he comes, his pants and sighs soft and breathy against your skin. He presses his hips against yours, coating your cock and stomach with spurts of hot come.

Your head falls back against the pillow, an exhale escaping your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Suguru collapses on top of you, hips still jerking intermittently, and you can feel his sticky pleasure dripping down your sides in rivulets. Fuck.

Suguru tucks his head under your chin, dragging a thumb down your side and smearing his pearly release over your warm skin. Your stomach tenses under his touch and he smiles, tongue running over his piercings.

"I want yours inside me," he declares, leaving no room for argument. "Don't waste it."

"Waste it?" you breathe. "Waste it for what? You want kids or something?"

His lashes flutter as his gaze lifts to yours, dark and smoky. "Something like that."

He picks himself up and positions himself upright on your lap, shifting on his knees to better balance his weight. He glances at Satoru's curled body and mop of messy white hair, almost glowing in the darkness. Heat swirls in his stomach as he notices how tightly Satoru's gripping his pillow. A wicked grin tugs at his lips.

Suguru grinds his ass against your cock, one hand reaching back to rub the tip and press it against his fluttering hole. He lets the tip catch against his rim, throwing his head backwards and scattering long locks of hair in a cascade down his back. His hole clenches around nothing.

"Feels like you're about to burst," he teases softly, continuing to rub against the shaft. "Your balls are so heavy, too... Please let me have your come, daddy. I want it all inside me."

"Dirty little thing. If you can stay quiet, I'll let you have it," you mutter, bending one knee to give him some support. He grips it, lifting his hips, and slowly sinks down on your thick cock, hole clenching and fluttering around you at the stretch.

"I can, I promise." He exhales shakily, expression twisted with pleasure and pain. "Fuck."

"Take it easy," you murmur, eyes flashing with concern.

He chuckles, breathy. "What if I said I liked it?"

"I'd call you a whore."

"And I'll prove it." With a sharp inhale, his hole swallows the rest of your cock in a single gulp. His thighs quiver, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. His cock throbs, hot against his skin.

"Holy shit," you exhale, eyes wide as he trembles around your dick, his long hair flowing over his shoulders as he stares down at the join of your bodies, fascinated by his own capacity. You can feel every pulse of his heartbeat, every ripple of his silken insides. He's tight as a vice, gripping your cock, and he moans softly as a spurt of precome makes the fit a little easier.

He grins, eyes dazed but focussed solely on you. He moans when you wrap your fingers around his cock, wet and hot, and begins to rock his hips, fucking into your grasp.

"Hard already," you note in an almost condescending tone of voice, twisting your fist and making him suck in a sharp breath. "You're such a pervert, aren't you, Suguru? Touching your boyfriend when he's sleeping, riding him where your best friend could wake up and see how shameful you are... I bet you'd fuckin' come if he watched you like this."

A hand shoots up to muffle his cry. Your cock nudges his prostate and he presses into it, but you keep shifting your damn hips to avoid knocking into it directly.

He's helpless. Why did you know him so well? Why was he cursed to suffer at the hands of a sadist?

"Quiet," you whisper warningly, grip tightening on his hips and forcing him to keep moving. You experiment with a few upward thrusts, meeting his bounces halfway with meaty smacks that feel far too loud in the silence of the room.

"I can't keep quiet if you're fucking my brains out," he hisses, but his aggression melts away the moment you crush his prostate head-on. Briefly, his eyes roll back to show their whites, and he shudders out a broken, muffled moan.

You pat the side of his ass, making him flinch at the sound. "Relax," you huff offhandedly, "I'm not even doing all that much. You're just too much of a slut to notice the difference – a cock inside you, and all your thoughts fly right out the window. You're so pretty, doll. Stop thinking so hard."

"Asshole," he grunts, but doesn't stop bouncing. He throws his head back. "Ohh, fuck me, your cock is so damn good..."

"That's right, baby. Just like that," you groan, his tight slick hole dragging with every lift of his hips. His pace grows unsteady, messy, a creamy white ring forming around the base of your shaft. You quicken your strokes, matching Suguru's shallow bounces, and he gasps your name, cock spurting precome that you smear over his shaft to make the glide easier – filthier.

"Fuck me," he curses, his voice growing dangerously whiny. "Why are you holding back? Just come! Come inside, please, I-I'm so close, wanna come with you—"

You thrust into him roughly and squeeze his cock. He chokes out a sharp gasp, far too loud, as thick come paints his insides white. He spills into your hand, his creamy release running over your knuckles and down his swollen, pulsing shaft. He grips your shoulders, nails digging into your skin, and his sides tighten as his movements slow, each bounce long and slow as he grinds down as deep as possible.

His muscles loosen as he pants, slumping down on top of you as he dips his tongue between your lips. You groan lazily as his piercing bumps your teeth and rolls against your tongue. You squeeze his hip, smoothing your palm over the generous curve of his ass. Your lips smack softly and he shivers, his cock giving one more valiant throb.

In the corner of his vision – the peripherals of his senses – Satoru twitches.

Suguru sits up immediately, to your confusion.

"Baby?"

He hushes you, not sparing you a glance. His gaze bores into his friend's back.

"Satoru?" he whispers.

Like clockwork, he stiffens.

A grin tugs at Suguru's lips. You stare up at him, propped up on an elbow. You don't have his sorcery-enhanced sensitivities – you don't notice that the white-haired figure next to you is breathing harder than usual, or that he's shifting far too much for sleep.

"Satoru," he hums, soft and coaxing. "I know you're awake."

Your heart drops like a stone. Suguru, however, smiles wider.

"Not moving won't do anything, you know."

Then—

Slowly, he sits up. His hair is more of a mess than it usually is. His oversized white shirt has risen slightly and shows off a sliver of pale skin.

Suguru is going to kill him. He's sure of it. His voice is soft and dangerous.

"How long were you awake?"

His head feels foggy, still reeling from shock. "Uh..."

Suguru lifts a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling with a little titter. He points down at Satoru. "Long enough, I'd wager."

He looks down. His face explodes with heat.

The hard-on strains at the front of his shorts. A dark spot mars the cloth where his tip would be.

Shit. Fuck. He'd borrowed your clothes – so had Suguru – and here he was, soiling them with his envy and desperation. He was such a freak.

"I-I can explain," he stammers, and you can't help admiring the way he seems to swim in your clothes. The elastic in the shorts had to be pulled as tight as possible for it to stay up without help, and even then, they sat teasingly low, showing off his delicate hipbones whenever he stretched.

Smirking, Suguru gradually lifts his hips, eyes fluttering as he pulls off of your cock. Satoru's ocean eyes widen at the sight of it resting on your stomach.

"No need," he says evenly. Satoru doesn't need his Six Eyes to catch the drop of pearly liquid rolling down the inside of his thigh as he leans over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. It douses the room in a faint golden glow. He bites back a whine as Suguru continues, as if nothing's wrong. "Come here, Satoru."

When he extends his hand, it's like salvation. Satoru stares at his kind, open palm.

He takes it. Suguru's slender fingers wrap around his, tugging him closer. He coaxes him nearer, the way one would with a frightened animal.

You're looking at him. You're both looking at him. Something sick and twisted in him likes it.

"Do you want us?" Suguru says softly. "Or have I read you wrong?"

Satoru swallows around the dry lump in his throat. His lips part. "I... I thought you wouldn't like me that way."

"Oh, Satoru," Suguru croons, lifting a hand to brush his white bangs out of his eyes. "Always so perceptive about everything but yourself."

Satoru's eyes dart away and amongst his jittering nerves, he latches onto the steadiness of your gaze, trained on him. He flushes when you smirk, your bare upper body displayed like a piece of art beneath his stare.

"Who do you want first?" you ask, and Suguru presses himself into your side. You level your gazes at him, and he stutters out some nonsense before falling quiet, pinned beneath your attention. "Suguru's already prepped, if you swing that way."

Suguru rolls his eyes at your choice of words, though he smiles fondly. "Surely he wants you, rockerboy. You're new – a novelty."

"And you're something familiar in an unfamiliar situation. Why wouldn't he choose you?"

"Can't I have both?" Satoru says quietly, though he blanches when your shared attention turns to him. "U-Uh, I mean—"

Suguru turns to you thoughtfully. "Hm?"

Your eyes glitter. "Hm."

—

"That's it, sugar," you chuckle, sliding a warm palm up Satoru's side to wrap around his throat. He gasps as you grip his jaw, forcing his lips to part, and maybe you're stronger than he'd like to admit – one hand on his shoulder, one around his throat, and that's all you need to lift him plain off the bed. His fingers scrabble at the sheets, barely brushing, and in his desperation, he grips your waist. The position only has him arching even further, your cock slamming into his bruised and sensitive prostate.

"Ah, ah, ah," he moans, eyes fluttering and silvery hair sticking to his damp temples. "Ah – Suguru, d-don't watch...!"

You wrench his head up, forcing a cry from his throat. You click your tongue, shaking your head. "Tsk tsk tsk. Look at him. Look, Satoru."

He mewls and obeys despite the hot shame and arousal crawling around his guts. The way you say his name makes him dizzy – not soft and purring like Suguru, not reverential or tense like other sorcerers. To you, he's just a brat, and you're firm with him in a way that nobody else has ever been. Not cruel – just firm.

When Satoru lifts his watery gaze to Suguru, he finds him staring down at the length swinging between his legs. His hole clenches as his thighs attempt to close – to hide himself away. You hiss in pleasure, knocking his knees apart with your own.

"Fuck," you rasp, stroking his lean hip and admiring the way bruises bloom red on his pale skin. "Look him in the eye, Satoru. You wanna make him come, right? We're doing this for Suguru. Don't be so selfish that you forget who you're serving."

"S-Sorry," he hiccups, shakily arching his back and exposing his bare, leaking cock, deep red with want. His gasps and moans are loud, echoing off the walls, almost drowning out the sound of your thighs smacking his ass. "Ah—! S-Slow down, I – nngh!"

Satoru's cock throbs painfully. The cockring you'd placed on him strangles his base, and his heartbeat pulses in his dick. He wants to come really bad.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Suguru's foot nudges his pulsating cock, pressing roughly against it. A teasing smile plays at his lips and he hums as Satoru chases the friction with a miserable, choked noise, whimpering when you drag him back towards you.

"I-I – it feels—" He can't think straight, head spinning like he's been slammed against concrete one too many times. His breath snags on the thick air as your fingers dig into his jaw. Your dick punches the breath from his lungs, dragging the painful pleasure up from deep in his belly. He sniffles softly, hazy eyes welling with crystal tears. "Ahn – Suguru," he sobs, so weak and pathetic even to his own ears that it makes his cock swell within its cage, its tip drooling incessantly.

How cute – begging his best friend for help. As if he'd listen.

"Don't slow down," whispers Suguru, voice like silk. "He can take it. He's the strongest."

That means nothing to you, but Satoru's gut clenches violently. Humiliation curls around his thoughts, burning the fringes of his mind with an electrifying shame.

Suguru slinks forward, sliding his thigh between yours in the mess of legs. His touch flutters over Satoru's warm cheeks and he presses close. You slow your pace to a snail's crawl, dragging against and kissing Satoru's swollen gummy prostate.

"I can't," Satoru whimpers, weak in your hold. He leans into Suguru's gentler touch. "I can't do it. I can't. It's too much."

"No, it's not. Don't be silly," Suguru hums, taking his cock in his hand and making Satoru sob and jerk. He aligns it with his, rutting against it lazily. God, he's got another fucking piercing right beneath the glans of his dick – it catches, smooth and hard, on the ridge of Satoru's tip. His bright eyes lose their focus and his hips twitch. "I'm not letting you go until I think you're done. Just try not to pass out, okay?"

"He won't. He's a good bitch – barely needs any training. He takes me like a fuckin' champ." Your cock punches into his guts and he squeals, his cries high and melodic even as he falls limp in your hands, his fingers scrabbling at your hips and thighs. Suguru moans at the contact, his fist wrapped around both his and Satoru's lengths. "F-Fuck – you're both so damn pretty like this."

Satoru gasps as Suguru smiles and leans over his shoulder to kiss you. Pressed between your bodies, Satoru can hear every wet smack and soft moan of your kisses right in his ear. His cock throbs violently, leaking a constant stream of pre.

Suguru's hands rest on his hips, gently guiding him back and forth between your cock and his. His cock is warm and velvety, and Satoru whimpers as Suguru presses further into him to kiss you deeper with a pleased sigh. Your grip tightens on Satoru's jaw, pulling him into your chest, and he mewls, squeaky little moans falling from his lips as your cock fills him up over and over again, fucking him like he made you angry.

"S-Suguru—!" He can't get the rest of his sentence out before two thick fingers shove into his mouth. His yelp melts into a moan as they press down on his tongue, silencing him.

"Hot," Suguru observes, parting from you to catch his breath and watch the way his friend sucks and drools on your fingers, his cerulean eyes dazed and glossy. "Kiss me again."

You oblige, twisting your hand in his long, loose hair and pulling him towards you. His lips are warm and plush, and his breath hitches as your tongue rolls across his, flicking the silver piercing there. You pull back for air but he doesn't let you, yanking you back in and tracing the length of your tongue with a debauched moan.

Satoru can hear it all. He can't watch – no, not with your firm grip on his jaw – but not being able to see makes everything ten times worse. He feels like a toy, his high withheld and his sight limited. For all his gifts, he still has to fucking turn to see things, and he wishes really, really badly that he knew what it looks like.

He can imagine it clearly. Your faces flushed, your hair mussed. Suguru's delicate features relaxed into a wanton expression, his piercings glinting in the low light as his tongue twists with yours. Your brow furrowed, your lips swollen, as you suck on his tongue.

Desperately, with tears in his eyes, he slobbers around your fingers, gripping your wrist in both hands. Saliva runs down your knuckles and Satoru chokes as you push your fingers deeper, sliding over his tongue possessively. He adapts quickly, muffled moans high and needy as your cock slams into his guts.

He swears you can't be a non-sorcerer. How else could you ruin him so easily? How else are you tracking every little twitch that gives away his most sensitive places? How else are you still going?

You've backed off now, instead staring at Satoru and the way his lips close around your fingers like they're a cock. Suguru, equally mesmerised, licks his lips.

As if you're one being, you remove your fingers from Satoru's slick mouth, and Suguru cups his face and kisses him.

Kisses him.

Kisses him.

He can't think. His body moves on instinct, his teeth clashing with Suguru's in a messy and uncoordinated manner, but he is kind, and he coaxes control from him to teach him how to kiss. Blue eyes made even bluer with the red ringing his lashline, Satoru moans and scratches at Suguru's shoulders, cock throbbing as the ring bites into his raw shaft. Suguru's fingers brush against his tight, aching balls and he blubbers like he's going to die.

"Please," he manages to choke out, gasping and jerking as Suguru scrapes his nails down his dark red length. "P-Please..."

He doesn't even know what he's begging for. More? Less? For Suguru to stop looking at him as if he'd hung the stars? He's a sinful, degenerate mess, he knows it – far from the perfect and powerful sorcerer the world expects. The Gojo clan heir, ruined on something so obscene and mortal as a big, thick cock.

You turn his face towards you, watching the tears fall over the flushed apples of his cheeks. He's so pale that every little touch burns him with lust, and his embarrassment spreads from his cheeks to his chest and down his shoulder blades.

You press your lips against his and he whimpers, a hand shooting up to grip your hair. He kisses back, moaning as you swipe your tongue over his lower lip, and the slick sounds of your lips smacking makes his walls flutter and clench around you.

He's clumsy, but eager. He whines like a puppy, bouncing on your cock, and leans into your touch when your hand smooths over his stomach, shiny and slick with his pre. He pants into your mouth. You swallow his moans.

Firm and swift, Suguru snatches Satoru's chin and pulls his face towards his. He makes an ugly sound as Suguru wraps his hand back around their cocks, forming a loose hole for them to fuck into – Suguru's release is thick and creamy, and it feels filthy when he smears it over both their cocks.

He came! He came, he realises joyfully, relief and arousal flooding his veins in equal parts – he came because of him! Satoru melts into the kiss, lips slick and parted as they pant and moan, sharing hot breaths between them. The air is muggy. Suguru licks into his mouth, hardly human, and tears stream down Satoru's cheeks, his brain so mushy he can't tell your limbs from Suguru's, or his own from the bedsheets.

Barely letting him breathe, you grab Satoru's face and stick your tongue down his throat. He hiccups, eyes rolling back as you grind into his ass and come with a grunt in hot, thick spurts. His toes curl and his lips pout pathetically, chasing yours when you pull back to check on Suguru. He whines and tugs your hair to make you turn those pretty eyes back to him again, your warmth spilling into him and making him yours. You allow it, your tongue running over the slick nubs of his teeth.

Suguru scrapes his canines over Satoru's pale throat, only marred by his blush. That won't do. He drags his pierced tongue down his jugular and across his Adam's apple, made more pronounced by the angle of his neck – Satoru sobs into your mouth, chest heaving as he grips Suguru's hair and feels the sting of hickeys bitten into his fair skin.

Through his tears and dizzy pleasure, he's given back to Suguru, who coos at him and kisses him sweetly – no tongue this time, just their swollen lips moulded together as if they belong right there and nowhere else. He twitches as your teeth sink into his shoulder, decorating his other side with love bites. He's never gonna be able to hide them all.

Passed around like a cigarette, like a whore, Satoru barely realises it when Suguru slips off the cockring – with some difficulty, as his cock, stomach, and thighs are so wet with pre that it makes everything feel like a damn waterslide. The moment it scrapes over his swollen tip, he's crying out and tensing, sobbing as heavy spurts of sticky come spray Suguru's stomach and thighs.

He tries to say their names – because they're so kind, so good to him, he has to say thank you and be grateful because they could've left him there all by himself – but the first syllables of their names devolve into relieved, babbling moans. Suguru strokes his hair, holding him close, as you help him ride out his bliss, your pace gradually slowing as he twitches and jolts in your hands.

As his high peters out, he slumps into Suguru's arms, whining shakily as you pull out with a slick pop. He clenches around nothing, his hole gaping and abused, and clutches Suguru like a lifeline.

You hum, pressing a thumb against Satoru's dark puffy hole and pulling gently. Feebly, it clamps around nothing, and a dribble of thick white come leaks out, joining the mess between his legs.

Man, those legs. He could be a model with a body like that. Despite being taller, Satoru's slimmer than Suguru, and he feels tiny and fragile in your palms, shuddering and trembling. You squeeze his slim thighs, watching his fair skin dimple under your touch like marble, and his muscles twitch, unsure whether to pull away or press into you. He decides on the latter, moaning softly when you grab his ass appreciatively.

"Such a darling," Suguru hums, voice light and adoring as he brushes the tears from Satoru's warm red cheeks with his thumb. "You did well, Satoru."

Giggling dreamily, he nibbles on his lower lip, pushing his cheek against Suguru's shoulder. He reaches blindly behind him, and when he finds your hand, he pulls you in behind him, forcing your arm to wrap around his little waist. He purrs, perfectly pleased now that he's squished between two big, warm bodies. "Yeah...?"

Suguru nods, his long hair falling over Satoru's shoulder too. "Yeah."

Eyelids half-closed and nose buried in Suguru's neck, Satoru follows easily as you lead them to lay down on the bed. When your arm loosens around his waist, however, his hand shoots out with startling speed and accuracy.

"W-Where are you going?"

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded afraid.

"Bathroom. Gotta get you two cleaned up before it gets gross," you reply gently. He has Suguru to ground him. That doesn't seem like enough, though, because his large blue eyes well up again and his lower lip trembles. His grip tightens around your wrist and you're surprised when it almost begins to hurt.

"Stay," he whispers, slender pale neck craned to look you in the eye. It's covered in bruises and bite marks.

"I'm not leaving," you chuckle, stroking his inner wrist with your thumb. "You're in my bedroom. Nowhere else for me to go."

He shakes his head, stubborn – they're both like that. "Don't care," he whimpers, tugging insistently. "Come back. Clean later."

"But you're the messiest one here, Satoru," you point out, amused, and you don't miss the way he shivers when you say his name. "Surely you don't want to stay that way?"

"Don't care," he repeats in a mumble. He hums as you obey his iron grip and return to the bed, lying down in front of him. He snuggles into your chest, sighing soft and content as Suguru shuffles closer behind him. He feels your arm join Suguru's, resting over his waist. The heavy weight of them combined and the radiating warmth from your chests fade his thoughts into pleasant nothingness.

"Suguru?" you murmur.

"Hm?" His chest rumbles delightfully against Satoru's back.

"I've got him. You can get washed up if you like."

"It's alright. He'll pull me back down, just like you. It doesn't feel bad – I sorta like it. I've been covered in worse, anyway."

You curse under your breath, arm shifting around Satoru. "Do I wanna know?"

"No."

You chuckle lightly, and your next words are soft and teasing. Suguru responds in kind. Satoru's eyes flutter closed, the rest of your quiet conversation becoming hazy background noise as it lulls him to sleep.

Surrounded by warmth – a very human warmth that Satoru's been chasing for years – he can't help curling up like a cat, breathing soft and even as your rumbling voices pass over his head. Yours is deeper than Suguru's smooth, easy cadence, something of your musical talents emerging in the depths of your voice. It makes it easy for his subconscious to follow – at least for a while, before they blend into one lilting track.

Dreams come easy to him. How could they not when this pretty fantasy of his has just come true, tucked in the arms of Suguru and his dreamboat of a boyfriend?

Well, it's like Suguru said: can't get rid of him. He's yours, now – no takesies backsies.

[scarapanna]

Man, developing an AU is such a fun but wild experience, could sum it up like this

Still planning out what story arc to start with for the storybook au blog but it shouldn't take too long on my own terms as I'm usually pretty slow when it comes to sorting things out, apologies

[more text regarding storytelling and the hk blog in tags]

[beefjumper]

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin (sarcastic). Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem (there isn't) and I have decided to contribute to that (because there's no such thing as too many elf Gems).

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

[thecoochiefairy]

slim pickens. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10.9K words. blackfempregnant!originalcharacter, toji fushiguro, husband!toji, countryboycoded!toji, snakewrangler!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, fingering, kissing, spanking, violence between characters, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this one is a heavy trigger warning, okay? i missed toji too, and just wanted to truly tie the loose ends to one of my favorite stories, the snake wrangler, so this would be pt 3 after lovesick. be warned, if that last tw might be uncomfortable for you, please don’t read! it’s cutesy for the most part, but tackles important subjects. hope y’all don’t mind more of the storytelling rather than smut. i love y’all.

visual.

A FIT OF GIGGLES CONTINUOUSLY BOUNCED OFF THE WALLS, THE SCENT OF RICE MILK HUGGING HER NOSE AS THE AROMA WAFTED FROM THE RUSTIC BATHTUB. It was similar to an oversized bucket, stainless steel as the clawfoot design curved at the top, Stoney’s name carved within the metal—her husband had designed it just for her. 

She couldn’t help to return the giggles of the child beneath her, the eight year old smiling as bubbles collected within her wet coils. 

“Mommy, I told you I could wash my own hair!”

She sighs, “I know, Sai. But mommy isn’t ready to be without you just yet, yeah? Give me a couple more months?” 

She blows a bubble into the girl's cheek, “Maybe even a few more years?” 

“I’ll always need you, Mommy— I’m just growing, like a plant—Like the flowers in our garden!”

Stoney hummed, a smile following after. She loved this little girl more than the stars combined within the earth. 

“Of course. You’re right, as always. C’mon, flower— Let’s get you cleaned up so you can finish your chores. Help mommy up, yeah?”

She huffs, a palm rising against the swell of her belly—the stretch marks painting across her skin remind her of the excitement she felt when finding out that she was pregnant for the second time—but being pregnant with twins? That was another story. 

“Thank you, pretty girl.”

Chores wasn’t the definition Stoney would use, as that was something kids didn’t necessarily enjoy doing. One year of being engaged, two years of being married changed her life. She didn’t expect to be living in her dream home so soon—A coquettish design, pointed at the top as bricks replaced the smooth walls that would’ve been on a modern house. And in the backyard—a farm, essentially. Two acres of land—Seven chickens, two pigs, and one cow. It was a domesticated life, as her husband always wanted to make her happy. 

Stoney learned against the fence, watching as Sai tossed grained corn onto the ground, flushed pecks sharply nibbling at the ground as the chickens ate their dinner. 

“You’ excited about your birthday, baby?”

Sai hums her nod in acknowledgment. But as her age increased, her curiosity might’ve peaked more than when she was only five. 

With that being said, her next question was hesitant. 

“Is Daddy gonna be at the party?”

Stoney’s eyebrows falter a bit. She pulls her hair behind her ear as she replies, “Of course, baby—um, why wouldn’t he be?”

Sai shrugs carelessly, “I know you two fight, Mommy.” 

She was definitely intuitive. Sai may have been just seven, but she was smarter than most. There were things that Stoney wanted to be able to explain once her baby girl got older—she wasn’t supposed to know any of that now. 

Not to mention, Sai’s words had reminded her of the text she’d received earlier that morning. 

Stoney gives a weak smile, “How about you go wash up and set up the dinner table, yeah?”

Sai’s eyes flickered up to her mom. She wondered for a moment if she’d made her mad, but when Stoney gave her that smile, she couldn’t help her own. 

“Yes, mommy. I’m hungry!”

With a sweet kiss on her momma’s belly, she walks towards the house, her small ponytail bobbing with every step. When the soft click of the back door closes, Stoney sighs.

Finding her way to the miniature barn behind the chicken coop, she presses her fingers into the maroon painted outhouse for the cow—her choice of color, complimenting the browns mixed within the red wood. 

Her eyes find him immediately—onyx tresses hidden beneath a backwards cap, his equally dark eyebrows furrowing as he continues leaning into scrubbing the animal's fur. Each muscle within his arm flexes— his olive skin coated in tattoos from the ankles to his neck. The deep cuts on the sides of the loose top show off the sculpt of his inked abdomen, serpent slithering on his arm each time he curved his bicep. 

She pulls the curl of her hair behind her ear, watching him for a while.

Her voice is soft as she then greets, “Mochi only sits in silence when you clean her. She must have a crush on you.”

He never stopped his hand from carefully scrubbing down the animal, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he chuckles. 

“She must,” his deep voice carries into the ceiling, “I told her ass I’m happily married.”

Her fingers absentmindedly trace to her stomach as she questions, “Did you have a client this morning? You left pretty early.”

“Yeah.” 

His gaze finally turns, Stoney’s figure standing in the doorway—the red sundress compliments her tatted brown skin and honey freckles, her dark hair shaping around her face that flushes from pregnancy—Her skin glowed under the light, pretty as she could be. 

“Job went quick as hell—somebody asked me to transfer a bearded dragon to the lab by the Zoo. How you’ doing, momma?”

That name—It always brought her a sense of comfort. Toji could be worrisome, constantly at her aid as she was carrying two of his children for eight months now, yet, she still tried to keep herself in the same loop she always had been—working a couple of days at the pottery shop, helping around the house, even venturing out to the backyard at times. He’d rather her sit on her feet all day, but Stoney had never been the type. He knew that. 

“I’m okay,” she says softly, “Was a bit nauseous after you left for work, but I’ve been trying those kale chips the doctor recommended—they’re gross,” she scrunches her nose. 

Here’s the thing—she’d now been with Toji for about three years, getting eloped instead of a wedding, spending their honeymoon in Prague as she’d always dreamed—he was willing to give her the world, but she’d come to learn a side of him that wasn’t always her favorite. He could be frustrating, stubborn, and set in his ways. When he felt a way about someone, there was no fixing it—and that person was her ex-husband. Any conversation about him didn't go well. 

“I wanted to come ask you something.”

He was silent as he listened to her, but his motions stopped—a brow raising on his expression. This behavior was almost always a precursor to something—disagreeable.

“What you’ need, baby?”

Okay, his eyes might’ve had her back down on what she really wanted to bring up. Her voice is sweet, “Come lift up my belly? Like they taught us in the Mommy and Me classes? It feels heavy, baby.”

His brows relaxed at her question. He chuckles as he reaches for a hand towel in the bucket of water next to him, patting his hand dry. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m comin’.” 

He comes around the cow, Stoney smiling at him with a warm greeting. She had her arms open, Toji cupping her soft cheek and pulling her into a rough kiss. He grunted— but as expected, their intimacy was cut short as Mochi moo’d impatiently.

“Okay, okay, Mochi. Relax, lemme’ show my woman some love.” 

Stoney giggles softly as she pecks the sharp of his jaw, turning to press her chest along his back as she guides his hands beneath her stomach. 

She softly rambles, “Been tryna’ find ways to get these stretch marks off my belly. They look hideous.” 

“Here you go, talkin’ yourself into a coma. You love sayin’ bullshit, huh?” 

His hands cup beneath her belly, “They’re beautiful.”

She can feel his full lips against the shell of her ear as he’s pressing his fingertips into the bottom of her swollen flesh, elevating the weight of it with him. The relief is instant, and she moans—low, long, just the way he likes.

“Oh—Toji,” she sighs sweetly, a squeal of his name following suit, “Thank you, baby.”

“Now you know I can’t handle all them’ sounds you’re makin’. Keep that shit up, I’ll have you bend you over this fuckin’ hay—“ 

She giggles again, laying her hands over his as she begins to softly rock from side to side. 

“Must you be nasty, Fushiguro? Can’t you just gimme’ love?” 

“I give your ass plenty of love, that’s why you’re in the state you’re in now.“

She shakes her head, accepting the kiss he gives the side of her throat. Toji falls deeper into the flush of her skin, Stoney raising her hand up, snaking it around to tug at his hair beneath the cap he wears. The rocking of their bodies continue, making her more comfortable to get on with the conversation she actually wanted to have. 

“Sai asked if Nathaniel was coming to her birthday party.”

He doesn’t still against her, but his grip on her belly becomes more weighted.

He pauses, before letting out his next question. 

“Is he?”

Stoney turns her head a bit to find his face, “He is her father, Fushiguro.”

“I know that.” 

That was all he said before he removed himself from Stoney’s back, her stomach falling. He reached for the bucket, preparing to return to his chore of cleaning Mochi once more. 

“That’s all you were tryna’ tell me?”

Stoney holds back her sigh, the absence of his body feeling a little cold as his energy now feels dismissive. Her arms crossed as she continued, “Well—he said he wants to pay for the whole thing, even after I told him that you were covering the cost of it. He insists that he’s her father, and should be responsible for her party.”

He doesn’t look at her, “You gonna’ let him do that?”

“I—“ 

Stoney does sigh, “I don’t know. He asked for all of us to go out to lunch tomorrow to discuss how everything’s gonna go—“

She sees his face, continuing anyways, “I think it might be good for the two of you to find some common ground.” 

“Yeah, you think we should braid each other’s hair too? Gossip?” 

“Fushiguro.”

“I’m good on’ that.”

“You’re good on’ that? That’s how we’re ending this discussion?”

“It was a discussion?” he finally turns to look at her.

Okay, Toji wasn’t a big fan of Nathaniel—it was clear as day. Meeting Stoney as he did, seeing the way he treated her after being divorced, it made him think of how he treated her when they were married—nothing good, he was sure. It made him angry, and he wasn’t trying to take himself to that point. 

“I’m not gonna’ be an ass, so like I said—I’m good off that.”

“Do you think I’m doing this for me? Or because I want to?” She frowns, “I’m doing it for that little girl who loves her father and thinks he’s a superhero—but she loves you too, Fushiguro. You’re just as important to her, and the both of you coming together would make her happy.”

He doesn’t say a word—because she’s right. His lack of understanding towards Nathaniel was more than his dislike for the man, and it was clear. But he loved Sai like she was his actual blood. 

“I heard you, Solaya.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Now I’m Solaya? So you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he shakes his head, “I haven’t even said ‘nothing. I’m listening.” 

She can feel this man like no other. Dealing with the tension between her ex-husband and new husband wasn’t always easy— But Toji was protective of his wife, and he wasn’t willing to deal with Nathaniel if he didn’t have to. 

Stoney lowers her arms, “Seeing him outside of drop offs and pickups doesn’t sound exciting to me either, okay? But Sai’s getting older and—“ 

She releases an exhale, “She said that she knows me and him fight, Fushiguro. And if being cordial with him will make her happy—then that’s okay with me.”

Toji’s jaw flexes. His brows furrowed as he looked at Stoney, his eyes boring into her. Sai was extremely perceptive, and to hear that she knew the relationship they carried with her father—that wasn’t good at all.

On the other hand, his wife’s selflessness could be frustrating—Stoney was always so—forgiving. It was the reason why her and Nathaniel stayed together as long as they did. But that wasn’t the point of this, the point was to come to a solution. 

So he settles for, “If we’re supposed to go to this lunch, what time is he comin’?”

That changes Stoney’s energy. She tries to hold her smile, her head tilting as her teeth dig into the plump of her lip, “So, you’ll go?” 

She kneels her face into the top of his back.

He rolls his shoulder, his hands moving to grab her front as she leaned into him. 

“If it’ll make you happy,” he mutters, “I’ll play nice, Momma. You know I’ll do anything for Sai.”

She pouts, giggling a bit as his palm finds the flesh of her ass, “What about me? The love of your life? The one bearing your children?”

He smacked, Stoney squeaking into his back at the unexpected contact. His hand smooths down her thigh, his thumb tracing circles into her skin as he murmurs, “The love of my life don’t’ need to ask for shit, I’ll do it regardless.”

She kneels her nose in the muscles that flex at the nape of his neck. “I love you, Daddy. You’re so sweet.”

He hums at her words—that name came from her lips like a sweet spell the moment she wanted to butter him up—and it worked. His fingers trace along her thigh, his grip pulling her even closer. 

“You tryna’ show me how much, huh? It’s a little while before dinner—“

“Nuh-uh, boy. You still have Mochi to finish washing, and Buttons and Bows need to eat!” She reminds him of the pigs, “You’re easily distracted, farmer.”

“You say easily distracted, I say motivated—if your ass didn’t distract me in the first place, I would’ve been done with Mochi hours ago.”

Stoney giggles once more before she releases him, “Can you come rub some more cocoa butter on my belly before dinner?”

“Anything to make you and the babies more comfortable, Momma. Go start up dinner before I make you the fuckin’ meal.” 

“You’re nasty! You gon’ watch me walk away?”

“Am I gonna watch you waddle away? I always do.”

“Oh wow—rude!” 

“I love you too.”

                                          𝓐ᥫ᭡ 

OF COURSE HE WAS LATE. 

The crease in her brow hadn’t left for the past hour, as her ex-husband was being a little too accurate—he was late, having the couple sitting within this restaurant with no food and only drinks on the table. 

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat, baby?” 

Stoney blinks—her eyes fall back on her husband, his legs spread as his attention is on a beer—he tried not to drink around her or Sai anymore, but he needed a distraction. 

She shakes her head, “I don’t think the little one’s took too well to breakfast this morning,” holding her belly with a soft frown.

Toji watches her with careful eyes, his thick brows furrowing as he looks at the pout on her face. He could tell by now that Stoney was nervous more than anything, and less that she was simply nauseated. 

Being on time never seemed to be high on Nathaniel’s list of priorities, at least not since he’d met Toji. He was always late—picking up Sai, dropping her off, recitals, important events—it had been three years, and nothing had changed. 

“Maybe some soup?” He offered.

“Don’t think I’m in the mood to throw up liquids,” she briefly glances over the menu, bringing her hand to his thigh as she apologizes, “I’m sorry—I don’t want you to be late to work.”

“I got employees, baby.” 

He turns over his hand, threading his large fingers with hers, “How are you feelin’?”

“Sai’s birthday is already a pretty difficult time,” she pressed her lips together, making a face with a smile, “But I’m fine. Just—glad to have you here with me.” 

Just as Stoney knew her husband, Toji knew his wife. Something felt—off in those words. 

She reaches for his ear, rubbing at it comfortingly as she dismisses, “What client do you have today?”

He was silent for a moment, wondering about her behavior—he didn’t want to push, as she wasn’t exactly the most open when it came to her past. Toji hums softly as she plays with his ear, his head tilting back to lean in closer. 

“Takin’ that bearded dragon from the lab back to the Zoo’s terrarium, then I gotta’ go visit an old employee—he wants me to bring this Boa over to his son’s apartment as a birthday gift—Easy ass money.”

Stoney’s nose scrunches, “ And you’re gonna put that demon in your truck?” 

Toji chuckles, “Momma, you say that like my truck ain’t already been full of reptiles. I’ve kept a Boa in the backseat plenty of times—you think this one is finally gonna take me out?”

She flicks his ear, “Fushiguro, don’t say that. I will actually vomit on you.” 

His laugh is low as he places a kiss on her knuckles, “I’m playing, you know that.” 

The moment she gives him the smallest smile, her attention is pulled at a familiar voice coming increasingly closer—he’s talking into the phone, bullshit consisting of some stocks he prepared to sell. No surprise there. 

Nathaniel had finally appeared. He never looked any different each time he came around, a button up suit covering his caramel skin, brown eyes empty, waves shining beneath the lights of every room he walked into—he was handsome, always had been—but his unattractive spirit took that all away. 

Their eyes flicker over the man as he continues talking into the phone, sitting across from them without a greeting. 

When he finally hangs up, this is the first thing he says, “A beer, huh? What’re we celebrating?” 

Toji being a man of no nonsense, he replies with, “You should greet my wife first and apologize for bein’ late.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes flicker over to Stoney as if he’d just noticed her.

“Hello, Stoney,” his eyes moved down to her stomach, “You look beautiful—Pregnancy suits you, even if it’s the second time around.” 

Toji’s eyes narrow. 

Stoney quickly squeezes his hand, dismissing the sailor language she knows her husband can spout, “You’re late, Nathaniel. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Nathaniel’s smile is easy, “Business calls. You were with me long enough to know all that—how far along are you?” 

She knew he had no intention of apologizing.

Her voice is gentle, “I’m almost nine months, but I’m not here to talk about my pregnancy—You wanted us to meet you here, so what did you want to talk about?”

“My daughter’s birthday party, of course,” he reaches for the wine glass on the table, “I insisted that I cover all of the charges, since I am her father.”

Father. 

He has an emphasis on it, flicking his gaze over to a leg bouncing Toji. 

Stoney’s voice is pensive, “I understand that. But before you called me to ask about plans, Toji had already planned to cover all costs. With him being her step father, I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“It’s my responsibility to handle anything that has to do with Sai, Stoney,” Nathaniel reminds, “Step-father is just a title. Don’t make him any different than just your new husband.” 

“You can both—“

“‘The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “I provide for her just as much as you do, if not more.” 

“Don’t get too offended, man. I’m not speaking on how much you provide for her—“

“You’re right. You can’t speak about that because you don’t know,” Toji cuts off. 

“Fushiguro—” 

“What?” 

 His voice is clipped, Stoney closing her mouth as she tries to avoid a potential argument between the two of them. Toji keeps going, “You want to celebrate Sai as her father, I’m not tryna’ that shit away from you,” his leg is still bouncing, Stoney’s eyes flickering towards the beer bottle he could potentially break in his hand, “I take her to school, take her to ballet—I’m there at her recitals, sitting at the edge of her bed if she’s sick. I’m there for her. So if we’re really here to talk, we need to be going half on this shit.”

“Half?” Nathaniel repeats, “For what?” 

“I think it would make the most sense, Nathan,” Stoney agrees, “You’re both trying to make sure she has the best celebration, I think what matters is what would make our daughter happy.”

Nathaniel’s gives a chuckle. 

“What is it that you planned for her?” 

Toji looks at Stoney, his mouth pressing into a thin line. 

“A party at the science museum—it’s her favorite subject. They do a kid’s birthday package, and I plan on renting out a couple of the main galleries for her,” Toji explains.

“And you think you can afford that by yourself?” 

Toji’s face is cold.

“Money ain’t shit for me. But that ain’t the point— I’m more than willing to split if it means you’re willing to actually spend time with your daughter. You think you can afford that, or should we be checking on your finances too?”

Nathaniel’s face drops. 

He looks to Stoney as he questions, “You gon’ let this nigga talk to me like that?” 

Stoney’s voice is still gentle, “He’s not talking to you in any type of way, Nathan—Okay? Can you calm down? Please?” 

Her face. It’s a face that Toji had never seen before, almost as if she was—scared?

“Baby,” Toji lowly calls, hand reaching beneath the chair to tug her closer, “You okay?”

When Stoney turns back to him, she relaxes her face a bit. Almost as if she didn’t mean for that expression to slip—Stoney slides her hand back into his as she brushes off, “I’m fine. Look—You both have an impact in Sai’s life. So you need to be able to come together simply for the sake of her, and going half on her party is a way to show some type of mutuality. Can we do that?”

She’s too good. Her heart is too big for her chest. Toji sees this, but as much as he loves her for who she is, Nathaniel’s a different story. 

“I’ll split for it. Shit was never a problem for me in the first place,” Toji finalizes. 

Nathaniel doesn’t say a word in response, which has Stoney clutching along her stomach, “Nathan?” 

“Yeah, we’ll split it.” 

Stoney let’s out an inaudible sigh of relief, but the moment quickly shifts as her ex-husband stands from the table, his harsh movements having the booth shake as he stomps off—it makes Stoney jump a bit, a heavy breath pushing from her lips the moment she hears the door of the restaurant slam behind him. Stoney’s lashes flutter as she blinks, feeling the warmth of tears glaring at her vision. 

“Hey, hey—momma, what’s wrong, huh?”

Toji’s already clutching her face, pulling her forehead against his—it makes Stoney awkwardly giggle, pulling herself back a bit as she wipes under her eyes, “I’m okay—I promise. Can we go home?” 

She wraps her arms along his neck, burying herself within his larger frame—she’s shaking. 

Toji’s eyebrows lower as he’s pressing his lips against her forehead, his large hands tracing up her back, “Of course we can.” 

His voice is soft, “C’mon—I’ll pick up some ingredients to make them’ lil’ popsicles you like.”

“The raspberry ones?” she nearly gasps, which makes him chuckle. 

“Anything you want. You eatin’ for three now.”

He leans down to kiss at her belly, Stoney tugging at his hair as she sighs, “Let’s have like four more after this.” 

That’s when Toji halts his movement.

“Four?”

“So you hate me? Okay.”

“Woman.” 

Here was the thing—two days had gone by, and Toji couldn’t keep his mind off the discussion that happened nearly forty-eight hours ago. He knew that her ex-husband could be childish, but he couldn’t stop thinking about their specific interactions, wondering how much he missed when she talked to Nathaniel by herself, or when he wasn’t there to protect her. He always tried to stay in his place as her husband, but this was his woman.

His mind still wandered as he slid another box closer to the front door, planning to pick it up and take it onto his truck—he was currently helping Serena move out of her apartment and into her new home, Stoney and Sai currently out shopping for her birthday outfit.

“I appreciate this, brother-in-law. But I told your ass to bring that cute employee of yours—I wanted his number!” 

She holds a glass of wine, watching as he effortlessly moves the boxes by himself.

Toji chuckles, his shirt sticking to his sweat, “He’s married—got two kids and a pregnant wife, remember?” 

She sighs, “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

Serena takes a long sip of her wine, “How’s my sister doing?”

Toji hums, carrying another box, “She’s good. She seems a little exhausted lately—I keep telling her to stay in the house, but you know how that goes. Still accepting bookings at the shop, trying to put together Sai’s birthday alone—you know she had me and that dumbass ex-husband of hers play nice, huh?” 

“Yeah, well—Stoney’s been that way since she was younger,” Serena’s eyes lowered, “She’s always been the one to put her needs on the back burner for everyone else—that’s why you gotta get on her ass sometimes.” 

Serena takes another sip, “And I’m not saying it to go against you or nothing—but that man has been in her life since she was a young girl. It almost makes me wish she didn’t have a kid with him, but Sai is the only blessing to come out of that relationship.” 

Toji’s eyebrows lower as he listens. It makes Serena ask, “You’ve never asked her to go in depth about that part of her life, have you?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, the air a bit tense. It was true. Toji knew whatever his wife told him, but he often got nothing when wanting to know everything about her past relationship.

“She doesn’t like talking about it.” 

Serena makes a sound, finishing off her wine before she answers, “Stoney’s more dependent than she tries to admit, which includes accepting comfort from those who love her. Her and Nathan’s relationship—it wasn’t good, you know? It hurt me to see my sister going through what she did.” 

Toji’s stopped moving now, watching Serena as her expression falls. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure—yeah?” 

“Nathaniel—He never put hands on her, did he?” 

Serena’s eyes flicker to him, her lashes batting a bit. 

She doesn’t answer. 

Toji’s blood grew cold at her silence, “Serena—“ 

“Don’t ask me to get in the middle of my sister’s relationship with you.” 

She wasn’t looking at him, but her tone had risen a bit. A warning. 

“Just keep being good to her. That’s all I want, Toji.” 

“Serena.”

And right on cue, her phone rings. She presses the phone to her ear as she leaves him with, “Finish up carrying those boxes so we can go—yeah? I’m tired as hell—would you excuse me?” 

And with that, she closes the door behind herself to the bathroom. 

Toji had never been an easily angered man. He prided himself on his ability to remain calm and collected, especially for the sake of his family. But this was different.

He’d found a new conversation to fixate over, the scowl on his face stuck for the next couple of days—he wanted to bring it up to his wife, but not only had Stoney been driving herself crazy with party planning, she’d also had been dealing with early on contractions, and although the doctor said that was entirely normal in pregnancy—it didn’t make it any less painful. 

Stoney laid sideways along the bed, her fingers clutching at the duvet as she released deep breaths, eyes scrunching as she continuously squeezed the ball between her thighs as some type of relief—it didn’t seem to be helping.  

“They talked about this peanut ball in class, this shit isn’t even—agh, helping,” she huffs.

“Just focus on breathing, Momma,” he murmurs, “You’re doin’ so good, I know it hurts.”

Toji’s large hand held her waist, digging into her hips, which made her release the smallest moans. His face is close to hers, watching as sweat beaded along her forehead. 

Stoney turns her head towards the crook of his bicep, huffing along his skin, "These are pretty strong for Braxton hicks."

She makes a whimper, clutching his wrist as she squeezes the ball between her thighs. He knew it must’ve been feeling intense now.

“Did you feed Mochi?” Her eyes squeeze shut, panting, “And everybody else?”

“I told you don’t worry about that,” he mutters, his hand tracing to the nape of her neck, his fingers massaging the base of her spine.

“But I did. I watered the garden, too,” he hums, a bit amused at her mothering, even in the state that she’s in, “You just breathe, baby. You want me to get the hot pack?”

“It broke this morning,” she whimpers again, “Forgot to tell you.”

She squeezes the ball tighter beneath her thighs, “Should I try another position? This isn’t helping.” 

Stoney presses her knees into the sheets, leaning her upper half against the ball now—she’s rotating forward every few seconds, arching her back up with heavy breaths. It does something—not much, but the low moan she releases tells otherwise. 

Toji’s hands trace along her hips, his head lowering to press an open mouth kiss along the small of her back where her shirt rises.

She releases another whimper—she’d always been sensitive even when she wasn’t pregnant. His deep voice carries, “How’ that feel, baby? Talk to me.” 

When she feels his palms continuously grinding into her sides, her eyes nearly roll as she feels him rocking her back and forth himself—the pressure he puts on her body is like no other, and she softly whines, “That feels sooo good.”

He chuckles at her reaction, his lips trailing along her side before he murmurs, “You sound pretty, baby.” 

He loves it when she’s vocal, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t tempted to do more—not to mention, the feminine pheromones releasing from her constantly had his dick throbbing, but he was far more worried about her comfort than his own. He missed her like hell, though.

She keeps her hands touching the opposite end of the ball, moving her body with the rotation of it as she questions, “How’s Serena doing? I told her I’d come by to see the house since she works on Sai’s birthday—I hope she isn’t upset with me.”

His fingers dip beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing against the soft swell of her belly as he presses another kiss to the side of her stomach. 

“She’s good. Didn’t have that much stuff to move in anyways,” he pauses, “I don’t think she’s mad. But she said if you ask her how much you owe for making Sai’s cake one more time? She will get upset.”

Stoney shakes her head, “She keeps tryna say that she doesn’t need me to pay her—you know I’d never do that. It’s her business, you know? Being related doesn’t matter to me.”

“That’s what I said,” Toji mutters, “Even after I talked to her about it, she still wants to do it for free,” he chuckles, “Your sister’s a stubborn one—just like you. I can see how you’re related.”

“She’s so irritating.”

As Toji watches her— he wonders if he should bring up the conversation between him and Serena. He’d been worried about this for the past couple of days, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold it in any longer.

“Baby,” his voice is low, “You don’t regret being with me, do you? Feel like we moved too fast on getting married, having kids—anything?”

Stoney halts her exercise. She turns towards him, holding her belly with a soft huff as she frowns, “What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m the first man you’ve been with since him—And I want you to be comfortable in talking to me about anything—including your past relationship. That’s all. You know I’m always here to listen, right?”

She releases a soft exhale at his words, feeling a sense of tension rush over her body. 

“Not now, baby.”

“Stoney, I’m tryna’ be patient—“ 

“Fushiguro, I don’t want to do this right now. Okay? I have these painful—“

“I’ll keep massaging. I’m your husband, Stoney. I need you to talk to me—Shit is becoming frustrating as hell,” he admits, a small harshness to his voice. 

That’s when Stoney raises an eyebrow, “Or what, Toji? You’re gonna leave me if I don’t tell you every single thing about my past relationship?”

Toji frowns, “Don’t say shit like that, Solaya. I would never leave you.” 

His words have her eyes flick up to him—she can now see the scowl on his face, and a part of her feels bad. She just didn’t want to drudge up the past.

“I just—I can’t,” she admits, her voice soft. 

She pulls him closer, feeling her hands under his black tee, her fingers warm against the flesh of his abdomen, “I’m sorry.” 

He could feel that it was a genuine apology. Toji’s voice drops as his hand traces to her wrist, his lips brushing the soft of her forehead, “You never have to apologize for not being ready,” he mutters, “But I can’t help you if you don’t let me, alright?” 

He lowers himself, his lips meeting hers, not wanting to upset her. Toji keeps his voice soft, “How about you get more comfortable? Let me put on your favorite show, and I’ll start dinner,” he kisses her again, “You’re hungry, yeah?”

She could see how patient this man was with her. It made her feel guilty. Her fingers brush at his tattooed bicep, nodding as she reminds, “You know you’re my heart, right? You know that?”

“‘Course I do,” he mumbles, “And you’re my world—shit is no different.”

And in that moment—Stoney feels a nudge. She gasps, “Baby—they’re fighting again!” 

She yanks his hand, pressing it along the swell of her stomach, “They like hearing you talk to them.”

 He leans forward, his cheek pressing against her belly as he murmurs, “Quit all that playing around in your momma’s stomach. No wonder she has cramps and shit—“ 

“Language, Fushiguro.” 

At that moment, the door bursts open to their bedroom—Sai greets them with three popsicles in her hand, “I got everybody a treat!” 

Stoney smiles, “Hi, baby. That’s sweet—you came in at the perfect time, you wanna come feel mommy's belly?”

Sai’s face lit up. Her brown eyes flicker to Toji, scurrying over and climbing onto his lap as she presses her hands to her mother’s stomach, “Are they fighting?” 

“Yeah,” Toji hums, “They’ been bullying your momma all day. Told ‘em they gotta chill—but you know they don’t listen. Think you can help me out with that?”

Sai nods, “I’m their big sister—they’ll have to listen to me,” she pats along Stoney’s stomach, “Hey, stop being mean to mommy!” 

Toji watches the way her face changes as she feels a kick, and Stoney makes a soft sound. 

“Woah!” Sai giggles, “That was a hard one!” 

“I think you might’ve made them angrier,” Stoney playfully pouts, “Mission failed, big sister! The court grants tickles as punishment!” 

A fit of giggles fills the room as Toji playfully picks up Sai, throwing her onto the bed as he tickles her sides.

These were the moments that mattered. 

Their good energy lasted up until the day of Sai’s ninth birthday. It was perfect—the sun was shining brightly against the blue sky, the wind blew

cool air to lessen the heat of the sun, and miniature bodies scattered the marble flooring of the science museum—giggles bounced along the walls, doe eyes currently preparing to go to the next exhibit—they’d already seen the butterflies greenhouse, seen the stars within the planetarium—now, all the children waited excitedly in line for the terrarium, where Toji would be able to give them a small show of the reptiles. 

Seeing the smile on her daughter’s face as her friends gathered around her, it couldn’t have made Stoney any happier. Sai giggled as she swung the frill of her green tutu left and right, showing off the outfit that her mother had made for her. She was happy. 

Stoney leaned against her husband— blood orange bandeau top rubbing against his leather jacket, the material showing off the beauty of her belly—her hips and ass had grown tenfold with her pregnancy, matching skirt flowing down to her woven sandals. 

“The girls are loving this,” she stands on her toes to kiss at his jaw, “I’ve never seen Sai so happy.”

“She deserves it.” 

His fingers dip along the sides of his wife’s waist, making sure her body stays close, “I think I might’ve had just as much fun as she did today—but you should’ve let me bring Lily.”

Stoney shakes her head, “Hell no, you keep that tennis python where she belongs—in her cage!”

“You mean ball python?” 

“That too!”

Toji chuckles, “Chill. You’re gonna go into labor doing all that.” 

Stoney rolls her eyes, pulling her attention back towards the front of the museum—Here was the small issue of the day—Nathaniel was nowhere to be found.

“Did Sai tell you where she wanted to go eat?” she distracts herself, tugging at her husband's jacket.

“That pizzeria by our house—that’ll give us time to mentally prepare for six little girls in our house,” he chuckles, “I’m gonna cry just thinking about it.”

Stoney gives a weak smile at his words, too distracted to laugh. That’s when she hears the little girls cheer, an employee of the museum beginning to unlock the doors to the terrarium. 

She turns, “How about you head in and start the show? I’ll call the pizzeria, yeah?”

His brows furrow, “You sure you don’t want me to do it before I go in there?”

“I got it, baby. No worries.”

“You’d tell me if something else was wrong, right?”

“Mhm.”

Toji’s frown deepens, “Stoney—“

“Go, Fushiguro. I’m fine.” 

“Did I tell you how pretty you are?”

Stoney rolls her eyes, laughing softly as she feels his palms circling around her hips, finding the weight of her ass to squeeze. She hums, “This is the thousandth time today, I think. Can you stop being so worrisome, grandpa?”

“You have jokes,” he chuckles, “That’s cool. Imma’ show you old, later.” 

Stoney giggles as he lifts her body a bit, pecking her lips in repetitions. At the moment Sai’s name is called, Stoney gives her husband a playful push, “I love you, dork. Go be a kid in there.” 

She watches as he walks backwards, his smile genuine, “I love you,” he calls, giving her a small wave before he turns to head towards the exhibit of the show.

Making her way into the next hallway, she feels a bit winded—She felt bad for her daughter, and she feels helpless at the fact that Nathaniel promised he’d show up to her birthday, but was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse? The money he promised was never given to her, and to keep Toji from breaking her ex-husbands neck, she took the small profit she’d made from SAI’S, playing it off for Nathaniel’s money. She actually hadn’t heard from him since the lunch they had. 

She’s dialing, dialing, and nothing. She could feel the heat starting to rise off of her body. Nathaniel was a lot of things, had done a lot of things—but this took the cake. Going awol and not showing up for a time that mattered the most—she was pissed. 

But nothing pissed her off more as she held the phone to her ear, watching as a familiar frame turned the corner into the quiet hallway—there he was, Nathaniel, in that goddamn suit. He wasn’t in a rush, and he was of course—on the phone.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now, Nathaniel. You just can’t be.”

“Hold on, I’m putting you on hold—“ he lowers his phone, his eyes flickering back over his ex-wife, “What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? The problem is that you’re three hours late to your daughter’s party that’s damn near over—where the fuck have you been, Nathaniel?”

“I got held up. I was going to meet you at the restaurant—Why are you nagging? I’m here, aren’t I?” 

He then holds a finger up as he raises the phone back to his ear, “I’m back, yeah.”

Stoney’s blood was boiling. 

“Did you forget you were supposed to go half with my husband on’ this party, Nathan?”

“Half,” he chuckles, making Stoney’s brows furrow with irritation, “I was going to pay for everything—but I had to pay off my divorce lawyers—your new nigga said money ain’t shit to him, right? What’s the problem?”

Stoney had to completely dismiss that this man was on his second divorce, “What don’t you understand? It’s not about the money. It was an effort to show how much you care about your child, to show me that you actually want to be in her life!”

“What do I have to prove to you?”

Stoney blinks, “What?”

“You’re even more stupid than you’ve ever been if you think I care about proving myself to you?”

His voice is cold, “I don’t have to take care of Sai. But I do,” he reminds, “I’ve been trying to do the right thing because I don’t need your ass taking me to court. I’m not doing this for you, or him— yet, you’re still finding something to bitch about. Can’t you ever say thank you?” 

Stoney’s eyes widened. She’s disgusted, completely and utterly disgusted. To hear this man talking to her like this—she wasn’t surprised, but she still couldn’t fathom it. She’s in disbelief, and the fact that he was acting this way with their daughter in the next room—it had her seeing red.

“You’ve lost your mind. Thank you? Thank you?” Stoney’s voice raises, “I have been nothing but civil with you since the divorce, putting everything personal aside for my daughter,” she holds her stomach, trying to keep herself calm.

“I’ve always wanted you in Sai’s life, no matter what happened between us, no matter what you did to me—but you failed her. Again. Eight years, and you’re still a selfish fucking idiot.”  

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Stoney,” Nathaniel snarls, “That husband of yours ain’t here to protect you.”

“Fuck you!” she fires off, “I don’t need anyone to protect me! I learned that when the man I loved threw me to the side— said things to hurt me, left me!” She can feel her vision blurring, “All because he wasn’t the man he wanted to be!”��

Hearing herself say those words out loud, they hurt more.

Nathaniel’s eyes narrow, and Stoney jumps at the sudden bang of his palm against the wall— right beside her head.

“You’re not some fuckin’ victim,” Nathaniel mutters, his voice low, face hovering hers closely—Stoney can feel the heat of his breath against her skin, “You should’ve been a better wife. Instead, you fucked a mover and tried to replace him with me.”

Stoney could admit something to herself—years of trauma with this man, and she still couldn’t shake the fear that rushed through her body when he got like this. Being pregnant and alone in this hallway didn’t make it better. Her body shudders as she holds her belly, tears hot as they drop from her eyes, “You don’t scare me, Nathaniel.”

The thing is, he knows that he does. He gives a dark chuckle, Stoney unable to react quick enough as his palm latches onto her throat, squeezing so hard that the bottom of her face instantly throbs—Stoney whimpers, gripping onto his wrist to attempt at pulling him away, “You’re hurting me, Nathan—“

“You should be lucky that I haven’t killed your ass yet,” he mutters, “Imagine what that man would think of you if he knew how you really were? A manipulating, lying, whore.” 

His grip on her tightens, and Stoney could barely breathe anymore—Nathaniel’s large frame has her small body held against him, and her hands can’t get a good grip along his arm to pull him away. She thinks about her daughter, the last ten years of her life, Toji. 

But everything changes in that second.

Nathaniel turns, but not before the harsh punch of a fist cracks against his jaw. His body is thrown back against the wall, stumbling before he falls—a body is already atop of him, swinging, pummeling his face in. She could hear his bones breaking. 

Stoney’s already latching onto the back of his jacket, “Fushiguro—stop!” 

There’s blood everywhere—along the halls, the marble floor of the museum, even the front of his white shirt. Nathaniel can’t stop the man on top of him, his face barely recognizable any longer— Stoney cries as she begs for her husband to stop, pleads for him—her arms are wrapped around his waist as she tugs his shirt, “Toji, please! You’re gonna kill him!” 

But Nathaniel’s already unconscious, the hits halting as Toji’s blood covered body towers over him. His shoulders rise and fall quickly with every huff, his teeth clenched, eyes wild and dark with hatred—security from the museum nearly rips him in half as they tug him onto the wall, already attempting to put him him cuffs—Stoney grips at the front of his shirt, shielding him as she whimpers, “Calm down, baby. Please.” 

To make matters worse—the group of girls are flowing into the hall, curious at the noises they hear. Stoney’s deepest fears come to life— her child stares at the scene in front of her.

“Mommy? What’s going on?” 

She sees the blood, “What happened to Da—“

“It’s fine, baby. Can you let the tour guide take you guys back into the butterfly greenhouse?” her voice is urgent, wiping her tears as she keeps her face away from her daughter,  “Please?” 

Sai’s eyes are wide with shock, her birthday dress that pretty green, her feet covered in a pair of sparkly white sandals—she’s staring straight at her step father drenched in blood, eyes flickering to her unconscious father in fear.

“Mommy? Mommy,” her bottom lip trembles when she asks the question, “Is that—“ 

“Go inside of the butterflies, Sai.” 

Stoney can’t even look behind herself as an employee escorts the children out the hallway. Toji hadn’t said anything in the past five minutes, having the energy of a monster. He tugs out of the security holding him back, snapping, “Get the fuck off me. I’m good.” 

Security questions, “What happened?” 

“I was—arguing with my ex-husband and he—“ 

Stoney didn’t even have enough time to really come to terms with what he did. Her mind flashes back to memories of the past, and she can’t stop her body from shaking. 

“He attacked me,” she admits, the tears rushing down her face, “I’m so sorry this happened at your establishment—my husband was just defending me—“ she throws her hands over her face, crying as she can’t finish her words.

“He did more than that,” Toji’s words snapped, “He threatened to kill her—I heard him. He threatened to kill my fuckin’ wife.”  

“We’ll have to call the police, ma’am—You’ll need to explain to them what happened.” 

“Please don’t,” she begs, “I—“

“It has to be called in, ma’am. We’ll need to review the cameras and have you file a report. This was a physical assault.” 

Hearing those words, everything sinks into Stoney right in that moment. She sniffles as she nods, allowing the employees to call the police. Everything moves quickly after—they put Nathaniel within an EMT, Stoney explaining the entire conversation from the moment they began arguing to the moment he put hands on her. The police offered Stoney the option to press charges, to which she immediately said no, and that might’ve caused a tension between her and Toji.

The next hour felt unreal—Stoney was able to call all of the girl's parents and explain the situation, hoping this wouldn’t ruin Sai’s sleepover. She was thankful enough that everyone was empathetic of the situation, allowing all the girls to stay as a distraction for her daughter. All the girls rounded up in her Princess themed bedroom, giggles and yells consuming over the silence of the other part of the house. 

But Stoney couldn’t help it—the moment the door closes to their bedroom, her voice cracks as she whimpers, “Why would you do that?”

Toji hadn’t said anything since the incident—he’d been silently seething, trying to keep it all in. Even when he was questioned, he’d give short, clipped answers.

“Why would I do what?” 

“You could’ve killed him, Fushiguro. You could’ve gone to jail! You put yourself in jeopardy—my daughter in danger!”

“HE COULD’VE KILLED YOU, SOLAYA!” 

His voice nearly rumbles the entire house—scaring the shit out of Stoney. 

“Do you think for a second that he would’ve gotten off of you if I hadn’t come? I should’ve fuckin’ killed him.” 

“Stop,” she whimpers, “We—we can go to court about this, Toji. We can—“ 

He cuts her off, “You should’ve pressed charges. You’re gonna let him walk after what he did to you—after what he said? Allow him to still see your daughter? I’ll be fuckin’ damned. From what I saw today—that wasn’t the first time he’d put his hands on you, Solaya! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stoney feels her chest tighten, crying as she covers her face with her hands, “Stop yelling at me.” 

She can still feel the way her legs shake, not being able to control it—and he notices, he always does, “Baby—calm down, you’re shaking. I’m not angry with you.”

“Yes you are,” she trembles, her hands nearly vibrating against her face, “Y—you hate me…”

“Stoney.” 

Toji’s eyes soften, and he huffs as he takes a few steps towards her—he cups her cheeks, pressing their foreheads together, a gentle move that he hadn’t given her within the last couple of hours. Her body tenses at the touch, and he instantly pulls back.

“I’m sorry,” he grunts, “I’m not angry with you, and I’d never hate you, momma. I just—How can I protect you? How can I make things better if you don’t even trust me?” 

“I do trust you,” she sniffles, “I do—“

They hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Mommy?”  

The small voice interrupts the two, Stoney wiping her face and turning herself away from her daughter's entrance into the room. 

“My friends asked if they could see the farm—is that okay?” 

“Of course, baby. I—“ she takes a deep breath, “How about Toji grabs those popsicles from the freezer for your friends to eat downstairs—Can I talk to you about something?”

Sai smiles, and nods. Her eyes then flicker across her mother’s body—the reddened skin along her neck, the way she’s trembling. 

“Okay.” 

Sai watches as Toji leaves, “I’ll be back up to get you in a little bit, pretty girl.” 

When the door shuts, silence is back to consuming the room. The nine year old’s voice is soft as she approaches Stoney’s side, “Mommy,” her fingers trace her mother’s neck, “Who tried to hurt you?” 

Stoney’s soft breath halts when she feels her daughter’s fingers tracing the same spot Nathaniel’s hand had been pressing only moments ago. But she couldn’t keep doing what she’d done for the last couple of years—shielding her daughter from the truth of her father. 

“Your father did this,” she admits, wiping under her eyes, “I’m—I’m so sorry I haven’t been honest with you, baby girl.”

Sai blinks up at her mom’s words. Her father? Her superhero?

Her hand reaches for Stoney’s belly, as if trying to comfort her. 

“Is it my fault?”

“No, baby. It will never be your fault. It—“

She exhales, “It’s nobody’s fault but his.”

“Why’s he so mean to you?” 

The question haunts Stoney. 

Her voice is weak, “I don’t know, baby. I don’t.” 

That’s enough for Sai. She nods, her hand tracing along Stoney’s belly. She doesn’t want to see her mother upset, “Okay. Then we just won’t see him anymore?”

She didn’t expect her to say anything close to those

words. 

Stoney frowns, “That’s what you want?”

There’s no expression on the nine year old’s face as she confirms, “He hurt you, Mommy—That’s what I want.” 

Stoney wasn’t expecting that, but in the way her daughter was staring at her, she didn’t think she was changing her mind—But right now, there was a sleepover to enjoy, and this was too much for a child to carry.

“How about we um—talk about this tomorrow, huh? Mochi needs to eat, and I know the girls will just love giving her apples,” Stoney giggles, pressing her index finger against her daughters nose, “I hope you enjoyed your birthday today, LoveBug. You mean the world to me.”

Sai finally smiles, “I had the best day,” she hums, “You’re the best Mommy ever.” 

The warmth that Stoney felt in her chest, the love she felt from her daughter was like no other. She squeezes her into a hug, allowing her to run out the room at the call of her friends downstairs.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep for four hours. Her mind wandered—her relationships, her strengths, her weaknesses, her child, her upcoming children—could she handle all the new things within her life?

It was nearly midnight, and Toji had run himself mad dealing with little girls. He was able to get them all settled for bed, making his way back upstairs to find the bedroom in complete darkness. The box fan masked the silence, Toji able to hear the soft intakes of Stoney’s breath. 

She feels the dip of the bed, softly adjusting her body with an exhale. He’s sitting along the edge, rubbing his palm along the arch of her foot beneath the duvet. 

“Did the girls make you cry?”

Toji chuckles, “Almost. One of them said they were gonna steal my kneecaps if I didn’t make ‘em a snack before bed.” 

He can hear her soft giggle, keeping his palm moving along her foot. His voice is low,  “How are you feelin’, baby?”

She gives herself time to think on that question. Her face tucks more into the pillow as she softly replies, “I’m okay. I um—I just wanted to say thank you for keeping me together in all this.”

He rubs along the arch of her foot, “I’ll always keep it together for you. You and the kids,” he means that.

A beat of silence. 

“I want to talk to you,” he grunts, “About today—“

“Sai’s birthday was something that was always really important to me, you know? I—“ 

She doesn’t expect herself to admit this—to admit any of this. 

“I um—it was actually a year before I’d met you—Sai’s fifth birthday, and she was so excited to be having her first sleepover. Me and Nathaniel weren’t on the best of terms as I’d told him I wanted a divorce—but we were trying to keep up appearances for the sake of our daughter. We had the smallest disagreement—and it just—it happened so fast—I didn’t even feel the moment he hit me.” 

Stoney could feel Toji tense, but he doesn’t stop rubbing her feet. He listens.

“I was so scared. I was too afraid to say anything because it was our daughter’s birthday—so I just smiled and pretended like everything was okay. Sai was too focused on showing off her room to notice that my face was bruised—and as long as she was happy, I was okay. That’s all that mattered to me. I figured that it was a mistake, that it wouldn’t happen again—It just didn’t feel important to tell you, because I thought I was fine.” 

She feels herself becoming emotional, swallowing down the heavy lump in her throat. Her voice is returning to shakiness, “I’m just—I’m so sorry that I never told you, Fushiguro.”

“Baby.” 

He can feel the heat of her body rising, he knows the tears within her eyes. This woman hurts, and it angers him to see the pain she’s been put through. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he mumbles, “Understand that I’d never hurt you, and I’d kill for you,” he grunts, “I love you. So goddamn much. Can I hold you, baby? Can I touch you?”

Stoney releases an unsteady breath, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needed.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer than she ever had before. Her face is within his neck, shoulders slumping as she sobs, releasing everything she’d ever been holding in. 

This was a woman that had been holding her pain in for years, and now, she’s letting it all out—a weight had lifted off her shoulders. His large palms caress her back, her hair, pulling her as close as he possibly can. He loved her. 

She does it without thinking—Stoney’s lips lift to his mouth as she kisses him within the darkness—It’s warm, passionate, digging her fingers into the dark tresses of his hair—she needs him.

 His body looms over hers, breath hitching the moment his mouth equally finds every part of her skin—her lips, her throat, her shoulders. He’s everywhere. 

Toji’s grunting, already pinning her ankles against the headboard, hovering himself above her body to keep him from putting his weight against her stomach. Similar to her—he can’t wait, he needs her even more. He tugs his bulge from beneath the material of his sweats, Stoney whimpering as he slaps his tip against the slick of her folds. 

The sound of Stoney’s gasp trembles within his ear, digging her nails within his back as he sinks inside—her legs shudder, face burying into his neck as she softly whines, “Toji…” 

Toji groans when her voice gives in his ear, his large palms traveling beneath her body, cupping the arch of her back as much as he possibly can—she fits into his hand perfectly. 

His hips are already grinding into her—Stoney can feel him sucking along her collarbone, that rough hand tugging on the back of her neck, “I’m impatient, baby. Need you to open up for me. C’mon.” 

He’s holding onto her legs, her ankles, pinning her down, and she’s squirming beneath him, “Baby, I’m gonna be too loud—“ He cuts her off with a harsh spank against her ass, Stoney turning her face within the pillow, mewling into it to mask the sound.

“You gotta’ let me take care of you, baby. “ 

She hears him, and her body thrums in pleasure. 

The way he says that, and the way his eyes glare down at her—it makes her thighs throb even more. 

“I know what you want.” 

His voice was low. 

“Come make my dick creamy, it’ll look so pretty after you’re done with it.” 

His words make Stoney’s breath hitch—it sounded crazy, but he knew allowing her to pleasure herself on top of him was all she needed. All she wanted. 

His tongue drags along her neck, her head kneeling up as she whimpers a breathless, “Fushiguro—”

“You know that’s all you gotta do, baby.” 

Another spank.

“Just come bounce for a little.” 

She pouts within the darkness. Toji could get away with murder, his words proved that every time. The balls of her feet laid against the plush of their king sized bed, fingers along his chest as his arms are stretched atop the pillows—Stoney’s going, bouncing her hips onto his dick, down to meet the glare of his face, her lips screwing into a frown as she whimpered defeatedly. 

“There you go, baby.“ 

He puts his larger hand on her lower back for support. Toji’s breath becomes slightly deeper, but his eyes stay on her face, admiring her through the moonlight casting in the window.

Stoney’s hands slide around the clench of his jaw. Her thighs are quivering, eyes rolling as she pouts deeper, “U—Ughn…” 

Her hair shadows the frame of her flushed face, head leaning into his body as she just. Kept. Going.

“Put all that noise on my mouth, baby. You know I like that shit.” 

She’s becoming more dazed as the seconds pass. But she listens, dragging her mouth up to reach his, centimeters apart as she breathily whines in the softest way.

She admits, “Love you, Fushiguro.“

“I love you.”

He kisses her. His mouth swipes her lower lip, taking her whole.

Stoney’s arms cradle along his shoulders and neck, eyes flickering to his hands that go back to the pillows beside him, never planning on moving themselves. He loved seeing her this way, barely having to touch Stoney in the process as she lost herself on top of him. 

She tried to cover it, but she exhaled another whine, one of her fingers slipping between her lips as she moved above him—her thighs clapped against his abdomen, the sticky cream of her arousal beginning to collect between their skin. She moans, “Fuck.” 

His eyes narrow. 

“Do you hear how good that sounds?” 

His abdomen slants from the way he lays beneath her body. The sculpt of his muscles, his tattooed frame—the sight makes it all the more worse—including the way he talks to her. 

Stoney nod, “It’ssoogood, baby.” 

He grunts, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” 

His large hands come down to her hips, where he begins to guide her. It’s rougher, lifting and tugging her down like she weighed nothing. Her hands find placement on his knees behind herself—curls draping as she knocks her head back, groaning, “Ohmygod, baby…”

She wraps her fingers around to find the nape of his neck, tugging him forward in a way that he sits up against the headboard—they’re both grinding to meet each other, breathless, panting—whimpers pull from the both of their lips, Toji unable to find a place for his hands to go— he’s dragging his fingers into the flesh of her back, circling and guiding her hips down, fucking her in a way that she feels him. 

Toji’s palms swipe along her hips, his large hand grabbing at her hair, tugging back gently. Stoney’s moans echo

within the large room. 

“It feels good, huh?” Toji grunts, “You hear me?”

Stoney’s head kneels back—her chest arching forward, a soft cry in her throat. 

“Ye—yeah, baby. I—I can hear you.”

She’s dipping her hips lower, taking a deep breath as she admits in a soft whine, “My stomach feels a lil’ heavy, baby…”

Toji groans at that—his fingers gently go along her jaw as he leans down, kissing her deep—it’s messy, and it’s hot. Stoney cries a whine into his mouth, his muscles flexing with each movement, his thrusts deep, hitting the spot within her pussy makes her body vibrate. 

“Let me hold you—“ he huffs, “C’mere, Momma.”

The discomfort decreases the moment he takes full control. She’s wet, folds gripping onto his tip each time his balls schluck in contract with her arousal. 

“T—Toji…I’m…” she gasps, “Sensitive, baby. I’m cumming,” she whimpers to him, shocked by the intense waves within her body already. 

“I know,” he grunts, “Cum, baby. Need to see how pretty your pussy looks after. Want it all, give it to me.”

Her fingers dip back into the nape of his hair, tugging him into burying his lips within her neck—she gasps as pleasure rips through her body, tears blinking within her vision as she quivers. She tucks her mouth within his shoulder, other hand clawing the skin of his back.

Toji moans when she buries her face in his shoulder, equal pleasure coursing through his body as he cums inside of her. Stoney’s body was warm against him, her fingers gripping at his hair—he felt her body spazzing, holding onto her in a way that made her feel safe—his tongue dips along the crook of her neck, his other hand caressing along her cheek. She’s panting, and it makes him press his nose against her cheek.

Her face is flushed, keeping her eyes hidden within his shoulder as she softly whispers, “…You think the girls are asleep?”

He hums, “They better be,” Toji grunts, a smirk on his face as he turns, his gaze flickering to her messy locks. 

His fingers comb them, Stoney pulling her head up so that their noses are pressed together. Her lashes flutter, and he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh,” she softly whimpers, “Think I might be getting those cramps again.”

“What do you need?” His voice is immediately concerned, his large palms cupping her cheeks to give her his warmth, “Wanna’ take a bath? Go back to sleep after?”

She nods, “Some warm water and that milk rice soap would be perfect. Will you come sit with me?” 

Before he could answer, a small voice carried on the other side of the door—it’s Sai’s, “Mommy! One of the girls threw up!”

Toji leans his head into Stoney’s, hearing her soft giggle as he smacks his lips, “After I go handle that.”

The moment he gets up, Stoney’s eyes follow him—tattoos, muscles, dark hair, frown and all—he was hers. 

She reaches up for his hand, tugging him a bit as she questions, “You know something?”

“What is it?” 

He’s already pulling his gray sweats on, not yet meeting her eye. 

Stoney’s fingers cup his jaw, pulling him back to meet her gaze. Her eyes twinkle, her voice soft, “That I love you.”

Toji stares at her for a moment, feeling the warmth of her fingers along his face—her eyes tell him the very same words. He smiles, his larger hand cupping hers. 

“I love you too, Solaya.”

“Promise?”

“More than Mochi loves apples, woman.”

Stoney giggles, “You must really love me.”

“Always, you know that shit.”

And he meant it. Always. 

[goddamnitmahtin]

Real Robins Can Fly

( a dc x dp prompt)

As a part of a charity event, Bruce holds a cosplay contest where contestants show off their cosplays, explain their processes and even show off a little if they have a talent of some sort that kind of fits the theme of the character.

Problem? Everyone he invited to be judges at the event are league members and they all had a case suddenly interfere so Bruce and his colleagues can’t show up. So he asks Dick to round up as many of his siblings as he can to be judges for this event. The lineup ends up being Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Damian. Duke was almost able to make it but he got caught up with work.

Dick was surprised that Damian even wanted to come considering he was drowning himself in studying for his finals. He was about to graduate high school and wanted to make sure his gpa was flawless. Nevertheless, he found a way to drag his youngest brother out of the library and into the judges panel.

The contest was fine. Most people dressed as local vigilantes or villains that were easy to recognize. There were some really good ones. There were a few that none of them recognized. A few only Tim recognized. Apparently they were from animes or something.

The day dragged on and on, all of them having to stop for breaks at different points. Dick needed to get up and walk around because sitting in one place for too long made his joints hurt. Jason had to leave to do breathing exercises when a really accurate second Robin cosplayer came through holding a crowbar of all things. Tim had to leave a few times to make phone calls as co CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Steph called the babysitter (Cass) a few times about her now 2 year old daughter. And Damian used every single one of those breaks to cram in more studying.

What nothing that day could have prepared them for was the last contestant. The 13 year old boy walked onto the stage with a huge smile in a perfect replica of Dick’s very first Robin suit. Down to the last detail everything was correct. Except that… it had been torn up and damaged in places and there were painted on bruises and wounds in the places missing fabric. Part of the mask was ripped off and being held in the boy’s hand. And the face underneath that broken mask looked just like Tim.

Tim: *after recovering faster than everyone else* Wow. What a suit! What’s your name and tell the process of creating your cosplay.

Danny: *smiles* I’m Danny! I’m 13 years old and I wanted to be Robin! Robin is my favorite vigilante because he’s an inspirational figure for younger people. I decided to design my outfit based on the very first Robin in his first ever suit that he was spotted in but I wanted to pay homage to all of the Robins so I changed it up a little bit. I studied the Robins from the past in photos and was able to come up with at least one thing from each.

Steph: I see. Could you show us these homages?

Danny: YES! *his eyes glowed green in excitement, catching Jason and Damian off guard* I designed the suit itself to look like the first Robin as he was the pioneer of the Robin title but I made the entire outfit from materials only used on the current Robin. As you can see the color scheme for the suit is more muted than the original as the current Robin uses shadows and corners more for attacks than the others did.

Damian: *smiles slightly*

Danny: I chose my wounds and distresses in the costume based on photos of the second and third Robins. They took more physical blows than the rest did. *pointing to each wound, pointing to one in the abdomen* This one is just a theory of mine but I think the third Robin might of at one point had a surgery around here from his fighting style. He would protect his abdomen from attack more.

Tim: …… I see.

Danny: And the fourth Robin was a deviation from the pattern because she was a girl that didn’t have the dark hair that all the others had. She wasn’t Robin for very long but her style and decision making were more unpredictable than the rest so if you just give me a second… *fidgets with his gloves for a moment* Whole watching her footage I noticed how her hair was accounted for in her fighting style without it ever getting into her way. *slides off his glove* So on my wrist I have a replica of the headband she used in her suit but smaller so it’s more of a bracelet.

Steph: *noticing how accurate it is* Oh- wow-

Jason: That’s really impressive Danny. Tell us a little bit more about how you actually created the suit. Your process.

Danny: Well the entire thing is made of an armored flex material that I made in my sister’s basement. I studied pictures of all of the Robin suits and noticed parts of the fabric that stood out and made my prototype from there. *smiles* I have a small sample for you guys to pass around! *hands Jason said sample*

Jason: Oh that’s really impressive-

Tim: You said you made it in your sister’s basement? How did your parents feel about it?

Danny: My parents are gone. It’s just me and Jazz. I spent all of my money on the materials to make this. I’m hoping to win because the prize money will be enough for her to buy a car so she can find a new job. And maybe with the rest I’ll finally be able to go to space camp this summer. I’ve always wanted to go! But we could never afford it.

Steph: *covers her gasp softly* Oh-

Damian: Did you have a talent you wanted to show off for us today?

Danny: YES! *pumps his fist excitedly*

Damian: Could you demonstrate that for us please?

Danny: Okay! *climbs up the light tower next to the stage and hangs from the metal bars like a proper gymnast before jumping off, flipping and grabbing frames and pieces of rigging to swing from, replicating old tricks Dick used to do as Robin that he learned in the circus before flipping down and landing nimbly in the center of the stage* Tadah!

Dick: *absolutely shook* Why did you- choose that as your talent?

Danny: Real robins can fly. So why can’t I?

After Danny leaves the stage, it takes a few minutes for them all to collect themselves from that. Especially Dick.

Steph: So that Danny kid is gonna win.

Tim: 100 percent. He was able to recreate the fabric we make our suits out of through pictures!

Jason: We better not tell Bruce or-

Damian: Too late. I already texted father. He’s drafting adoption papers as we speak.

Dick: *who was planning on doing that himself* Dammit!

Damian: I for one, am thrilled at the prospect that this Danny child will take up the Robin mantle when I leave for college.

Steph: Well real robins can fly so why shouldn’t he? *smiles*

Dick: Stephanie I’m literally going to cry.

[lov3notts]

Hii love! Congrats on 1k, I’m so excited for you!!!

I’d love to request prompt nine, and the line “i invited them over." "shut up, you did not."

And Theo as the crush one of the readers friend invited over? Sorry if that doesn’t make sense, sick brain from a cold 😭

Love you and your gorgeous brain! Congrats again!!!

1k celebration!!!; navigation

i hope you got better love<33

Pansy’s dorm is warm, low-lit with floating candles and a few cozy charms to make the night extra snug. You walk in balancing a tray of snacks and a blanket draped over your shoulder, already talking.

“Okay, I brought the chocolate frogs, the good popcorn, and—” You stop, brows furrowing as you scan the common room corner where Pansy’s set up the movie charm.

There’s a lot of food. More than two girls with average appetites and a late-night craving could possibly go through. Bowls of crisps, two kinds of fizzy drinks, licorice wands, sugar quill’s. You blink.

“Why did you get so much?” you ask, setting down the tray slowly.

Pansy is standing near the cushions, fidgeting with the hem of her top. “Okay, um,” she says, eyes darting toward the door and then back to you. “Don’t freak out. But…”

You already feel your stomach flip.

She gives a sheepish, almost guilty smile. “I invited them over.”

You freeze. Them. As in… the boys. As in—

“Theo?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Pansy just winces.

“Shut up. You did not” you whisper, heart picking up speed as you immediately look down at your pajama set. You hadn’t gone for the cute one. This one was comfortable—soft and oversized and entirely not designed for your soft Slytherin crush to see you in.

You dart to a mirror charm, fluffing your hair. “Pansy, I look—ugh, I should’ve changed.”

“You look adorable,” she says, smirking as she plops onto the floor. “Exactly the kind of girl a boy might want to sit next to during a movie.”

You shoot her a wide-eyed look, just as a knock sounds on the door.

Your stomach drops. You exchange a glance with Pansy, who just mouths, breathe.

When the door opens, in stroll Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo… and then Theodore.

He’s wearing a green crewneck, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and grey flannel pajama pants that somehow make your heart stutter. His hair’s a bit messier than usual, and his eyes land on you almost instantly.

“Hey,” he says, quieter than the others.

You smile. “Hey.”

Theo doesn’t say much more, but you catch the way his eyes flick to your hands—fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve—and how he looks away quickly, cheeks faintly pink.

The movie starts, everyone settling onto cushions and blankets on the floor. You end up on the far end of the pile, and somehow, through completely innocent and totally coincidental movement, Theo ends up next to you.

Pansy throws you a look from across the room. You ignore her.

You both watch quietly, occasionally commenting under your breath. You notice how his arm barely brushes yours when he reaches for a snack, how your knees bump and neither of you pull away.

At some point, the room quiets. Pansy, Enzo and Mattheo are whispering and laughing under a shared blanket. Draco’s fully asleep. Blaise is making fun of the characters on-screen to himself. And you… you’re fading.

Your head dips slightly. You try to stay awake, but the warmth, the dim light, the soft sounds—it’s too much. You blink slower and slower until…

Your head tilts, and you feel yourself settle lightly onto something warm and solid.

You blink half-awake and realize—Theo.

You lift your head instantly, panicking. “Sorry, sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

But then Theo shifts again, just barely, and lets his arm rest behind you. Not quite around you, but… there.

You glance up, uncertain.

His voice is soft. “If you’re tired… I don’t mind.”

You blink slowly, trying not to melt. “You sure?”

He smiles, warm and a little shy. “Yeah.”

So you settle. Gently. Carefully. You rest your head on his shoulder and—when he doesn’t move, doesn’t tense, doesn’t do anything but breathe quietly next to you—you let yourself relax.

He doesn't move for a long moment. Then you feel it—his cheek barely brushes your hair as he rests it lightly on your head.

You don’t say anything.

You just turn your hand over and let your fingers brush his.

He lets out a tiny breath of relief—and then links his fingers with yours.

At some point, you fall asleep.

The movie ends. The lights dim even further. The group begins to stir—stretching and yawning, whispering about heading back to their dorms.

“Oi,” Blaise whispers, nudging Draco, who’s already reaching for his phone to snap a picture.

Pansy hurries over, slaps Draco’s hand. “Don’t wake them up!”

“They’re cuddling” Mattheo whispers, grinning madly.

“I told you something was going to happen tonight,” Enzo mutters, way too smug.

There you are—sound asleep against Theo’s chest, his arms now fully around you, one hand resting against your waist. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head, and he’s dozing too, slow and peaceful, like he hasn’t had sleep this deep in weeks.

And in the dim, candlelight-soft glow of the room, Pansy pulls out her camera and takes a single quiet picture.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[ssa-dado]

Stale Cigarette(s)

Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: Deep talk instead of deep throat (pre-relationship mutual pining?) Hurt → comfort → hurt → final reminder that old dogs don’t change, they just find warmer corners to lie in Summary: You get dragged to a bar by your coupled-up friends and end up chain-smoking on a bench with your FBI crush. He offers you cigarettes untouched for exactly two years... so- um... what the hell happened two years ago? Warnings: age gap dynamics, smoking stale cigs, they're both a bit tipsy, objectification of the Hotchner body, grief (Haley mentioned), reader is not a reliable narrator! HOTCH SUCKS. HOTCH REALLY SUCKS. Word Count: 4.8k Dado's Corner: To all my readers named Haley: no you don’t. Not for a full 4.8k words, anyway. My deepest apologies. (Feel free to send hate mail. I deserve it.) Edit: if any of this sounded self-indulgent… that’s because it is. An ode to loneliness. Yours, always, Phi :3

masterlist

It’s not always the right historical era to go out with your two very not single friends.

You try. You make an appearance. You sip something overpriced and pretend to be fascinated by the structural integrity of the ice cube.

“My fiancé-” This man used to be called Matt until he got on one knee.

Not that you’re judging.

You’d absolutely pull the same shit if someone proposed to you. You’d probably milk it even more. Refer to them exclusively as “my betrothed” and update your mailing address to include your ring size. But the problem is-

It hasn’t happened.

You. As always.

“…the food was amazing…”

You smile. Take a sip. Your face performs basic social functions, trying to channel what middle-aged FBI speedo guy would do if he were politely enduring small talk at your place.

You are happy for your friend. Truly. (She’s your friend, for fuck’s sake. You should be happy.)

But sometimes happiness is… situational.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, you get blindsided by this sudden, lurching gut-punch of awareness of just how alone you really are.

Every empty seat next to you turns into a flashing neon sign that screams “STILL SINGLE LMAO, ENJOY DYING ALONE”

And then everything goes kind of foggy after that.

“…ever been there?” Not a question meant for you, obviously. (When are they ever?)

You kill time wondering what it might feel like to be someone who’s not just… a guest in this kind of life. To live in it full-time. With central heating.

“No, but Jonah took me to this really cute little-”

Cute little gentrified colonizer gastropub.

Ah, Jonah. The man. The myth. The boyfriend with the brilliant idea to bring his girl (your other friend) to an overpriced bar that looks like it was designed by a tech bro who hasn’t spoken to his mother in six years.

And tonight, instead of the usual dive you could actually afford, they decided this was the perfect friends night out venue.

You’ve never seen this many white men packed into one place outside of a church service. Or a David Fincher retrospective.

To be fair - Jonah does earn some credit.

The eavesdropping is phenomenal.

Behind you, someone is monologuing about astrophysics and the scientific inaccuracy of some Star Wars stuff.

You’re actually kind of into it - until he’s immediately shut down by a dude who goes, “Bro, A New Hope came out before you were even the fastest swimmer in the race. Oh- oh, wait… speaking of someone who’s swimming for real…”

“What about this pool guy?” your friend yanks your attention back, firing a perfectly accurate laser beam straight from the 1.40-carat rock on her finger (it’s cut so clean it reflects light directly into your retinas… ouch. It fucking hurts.) “I’ve heard from a certain someone…”

(Aka the woman sitting directly beside her-)

(Aka your other friend-)

(Aka the only one who actually knows the whole story because she’s the one you drive to swimming lessons every week since Jonah’s dick is allegedly 7.5 inches long but apparently can’t drive stick. Or park. Or show up on time. Or do anything but say “vroom” and hope for the best.)

“…Something you’d like to share about your new boy?”

(Ah. So this is what it takes to be included in the conversation - find a real, non-fictional man to thirst over. Got it. Message received.)

“Oh, definitely not a 'boy',” #PoolFriend adds, laughing.

“But you said-” (Mystery solved. Certain someone = swim friend. Wow. Shocking.) “Wait… is he a she?” (God, you wish.)

“No… it’s just that he’s… older?” you try not to sound defensive. (Defending your mighty little FBI princess is, of course, a sacred duty - but you’d rather not look that pathetic in front of the other feminists.)

“Sooooo old,” she beams. “Like, 60? You can see the forehead lines even when he’s resting his face.”

…Which is meant to be a dig, but actually makes you weirdly feral. You try to be diplomatic. You do. “He’s actually forty–”

“Oh- also, guess what?! He’s a dad too!”

Right. Great. Perfect.

Denied even the dignity of curating the lore drop on your old man, you make the emotionally mature decision to nurse your disappointment with alcohol.

You’re not getting drunk – it might soothe your soul, but one too many and you’ll be working your one day off just to pay the plumber who still hasn’t fixed the leak. So... fuck no.

Still, it’s funny how the tiniest buzz in your limbs, compounded by the fact that dinner was just…a whisper of carbs and a prayer, has evolved into such a deep, primal craving.

You want a cigarette.

One. Just one.

A menthol, preferably.

You’d trade your last serotonin molecule. You’d set fire to your own moral compass for a single drag.

But no. Life (your friends), in its eternal comedy, has placed you (without warning) here: in a… *drumroll* cop bar.

“Jonah said this is where the forces of order” (cops) “usually hang out. What if you find your FBI dilf here?!?”

First of all, that man is definitely not here, slumming it with the masses. He’s at home, swaddled in his sacred cocoon, reading a 700-page book on the macroeconomic collapse of the 1970s and calling it a wild night by page 26.

Second of all, you didn’t catch what she said next because your brain automatically dissociates in spaces that reek of both beer and casual misogyny disguised as patriotism.

Anyway: cop bar.

Which makes the mission of bumming a cig both ten times more illegal… and ten times more boring.

Like - sorry - when did smoking become lame?

When did it stop being for artists, rebels, and hot French women who cry in alleyways, and become the property of fascists puffing cigars the size of traffic cones?

(One comically large cigar to overcompensate for their undersized... moral compass. Among other things.)

Can’t they leave one thing alone? Just one? No. Of course not. They’ve colonized tobacco too.

You don’t even bother looking up from the sad little bench you parked your ass on the second you escaped.

Just sit there sulking, already familiar with the sound: the front door creaking open on hinges that haven’t seen oil since the Clinton administration (fascists don’t believe in lube - it’s too homosexual), and that cheap-ass bell above the frame, probably bulk-ordered from a themed decor warehouse trying to Irish-wash this bar into charm.

(It’s all performative heritage, anyway. Just so a white dude with a colonial guilt complex can feel like his ancestors survived the potato famine, instead of, you know… causing it.)

(Not that he could find Ireland on a globe if it came with a magnifying glass and a voiceover.)

Anyway, the bell rings, it’s time to strike again, “Do you have a cigar-”

“Hello to you too…” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Hello to you too, Aaron Hotchner. So much for your bedtime tea and lights out by 10. No. Of course he had to be here. Now. Tonight. And of course he’s caught you mid-junkie act.

Stunning. Absolutely divine timing.

“Um- hi- so- I was kidding-”

“Hold on,” he says, already turning on his heel. No urgency. Just casually blessing you with a full high-definition shot of the jeans he clearly chose for tonight’s FBI Besties Night Out.

Jeans that almost, miraculously, give him an ass.

Almost.

(It’s more myth than meat. You know there’s nothing back there except air and possibly unprocessed ambition. [Maybe a little guilt in there too. {Or maybe he just padded}])

(You don’t care. You’re willing to suspend disbelief.)

He makes a beeline for his Serious Government-Issue Black Vehicle™, opens the passenger door, grabs something, shuts it again, and strolls back - front view this time (superior).

That something? Your desired little cancer sticks.

The universe provides.

“Shit, you a smoker?”

“If I were, don’t you think I’d keep them in my own pocket?” he says, topping it off with a little cherry on top (a sigh) that tells you he’s already regretting his detour, as he takes out his lighter.

One that’s clearly been used. A lot. The kind of wear no casual user puts on a Bic.

Unless Aaron’s got a Yankee Candle addiction (doubtful), that thing’s been through it.

“Look…” he starts. (Ah. So he noticed you noticing.) “I used to smoke a lot back when I was…” he fumbles - clearly seconds away from saying your age before veering off, cowardly, at the last second.

Loser.

“I quit when Jack - my son,” he adds, as if you haven’t already bookmarked his LinkedIn, archived Facebook, and the BAU team photo from 2009. Still, you nod, all “ohh” and innocent, so you don’t blow your cover. “-was born. I wouldn’t have been setting a good example. And it was bad for his health.”

“Yours too,” you murmur.

“Sure…” he musters the guts to chuckle. Tipsy? Maybe. Maybe just… soft. “Fuck that shit.”

(Definetely not soft.)

Except he’s full of it. Because if he’s so retired, why does he even have the pack in the first place?

You glance at it. Then down. (Not that down. Okay, a little.) The contradiction is right there in his hands. (And, arguably, in his jeans. But focus.)

Aaron goes all starey and confused, like he’s trying to telepathically summon a reaction from you. Maybe expecting you to scold him for swearing like a big boy. Maybe waiting for you to drop something coy like Wow, I’m sooo impressed, sir. Either way, he’s clearly starving for commentary.

So, in true martyr fashion, he opens the box.

Red Marlboros. Lame-ass classics. Of course. (You mentally pin that detail to your Bullying Vision Board.)

Only one cigarette is missing. Wait - no. Two.

Because he slides one out, tucks it between his lips, and just like that, your primal urge to bully him gets temporarily eclipsed by your even more feral desire to suck that exact cigarette out of his mouth.

“So much for being a quitter… aren’t you training for, like… some sports thing right now? You sure any of this is good for you?”

The cigarette bobs between his lips, his chin tilting just enough to let him peer down at you through half-lidded eyes - drawing a perfect little cardiogram of your heart rate spiking into cardiac arrest as he asks, “And how do you know I’m training for something?

Um...

By his tits.

Specifically: the ones bursting at the seams between the third and fourth button of his denim shirt, testing the tensile limits of ready-to-wear denim.

This is what happens when a man dives headfirst into some unsupervised fitness spiral and forgets to monitor his pec-to-fabric ratio.

Volume expansion was clearly not accounted for - or maybe it was, and this is all part of the plan. (Tactical slutwear.)

Because through that tiny, blasphemous gap in fabric: chest hair. An irresponsible amount of pale pec flesh. And a single freckle positioned so seductively you’d happily trade your liver, your birthright, and three months of overpriced therapy just to tongue it.

“Educated guess.” You’ve been caught - whatever. Still. Bless his midlife crisis. Unironically* the best decision he’s ever made.

…You’re joking, of course.

*Ironically. Yes.

Because all you get as a reply is one boyish little shake of the head instead of some broody retort in his usual Middle English.

He’s showing off.

Lighting up while you’re still empty-handed, selfishly enjoying the moral high ground and the taste of the butt of a cig.

Right hand cupped against the wind like a practiced sinner, flicks the lighter, flame kisses the filter.

He inhales slowly. Cheeks go hollow. Lashes dip low. Lungs greedily taking in what, by all laws of karmic justice, should’ve been your hit.

He leans back the tiniest bit, exhales with a sound that could be a sigh, a groan, a spell - and sends a perfectly petty swirl of smoke drifting up into the night sky…

And directly into your face.

“Are you gonna let me steal one of those or are you just getting off on making me watch?”

He squints. Takes another drag. Blows the smoke directly past your cheek. “Bought these exactly two years ago. I’m just making sure you’re not inhaling mold or… God knows what else.” (Why is God always the third wheel in your conversations?) “…You could try being grateful instead of giving me lip.”

You bite down the urge to say something about lip (or head, being medically accurate). “But I never asked you to do that… I just asked for a fucking cigarette. Let me inhale mold in peace.”

Anyway. Because you’re nothing if not polite - and not in the mood to witness a grown man get misty-eyed outside a bar at whatever-the-fuck o’clock - you sigh, lift your hand toward him, and slap on the biggest, fakest smile in your arsenal. “Please.”

The federal martyr mutters something - probably just for himself - about your relentless display of patheticism, but you’re too busy delightedly accepting a lone cancer stick as it emerges from the raven-haired 40-inch emotional support wig he calls knuckle hair.

“It’s a bit stale. Tastes like shit, honestly - just a heads up,” and drops onto the far end of the bench, manspreading just enough to make it clear that his long-ass legs now own every inch of that square meter.

The lighter gets passed to you wordlessly.

His fingers do not.

They linger - just behind your shoulders, just beyond plausible deniability.

Not touching (God forbid), but drifting into your orbit with the kind of casual inertia that feels anything but. One breath away from contact. From consequence.

Convenient, really - how something can feel so deliberate while technically doing absolutely nothing at all.

Just like how he jolts from his relaxed pose the second he hears you cursing the wind for cockblocking your nicotine hit. No hesitation. His hand curls in around yours, close enough to shield the flame - but closer still for the effect.

And you smell it.

Tonka bean.

Supposed to be subtle. Barely a base note.

But here, up close and concentrated and radiating off his pulse point, it turns narcotic. Sickly sweet and warm and grounded by something woodsy. It spins your head more than the nicotine ever could.

The lighter sparks.

And so do you.

His beautiful eyes.

The fire warms them into the richest hazel - gold spun through molasses - eyes that cast shadows so sharp they immortalise him into myth. Cheekbones all angles and darkness. Jaw tight, like he’s holding back the next thought from spilling out.

You’d kiss him. You would. Kiss his face, kiss his mouth, kiss that stupid expensive smell off his pulse point, kiss the glow from his lashes-

If only your own lips weren’t already wrapped around a filter. (If only you weren’t a monumental fucking coward.)

You hate that his gaze does this to you. That it tastes metallic on your skin, sharp and mineral and weirdly sour-

Just like the cigarette.

Especially when he finally breaks it, glancing down at the concrete like the tension might drain there, too.

“Man, this is barely hitting,” you wheeze - blaming the stale stick, of course, not yourself. Never yourself. Always safer to fault an inanimate object than admit you’re the common denominator of all of your problems.

“Told you,” Aaron gloats, flicking ash off the edge, all giddy because #HeWasRight. “It’s old and fucked. You’ve gotta wait it out. If you’re lucky, the nicotine kicks in and it just sucks slightly less... not as good as a fresh one but - this is all I’ve got.” (…Right. He’s so totally referring to the cigarettes.)

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. This is better than nothing,” you mumble, dragging again. “Anything that helps me forget this waste of a Friday.”

Which is a lie, obviously. Because sitting on a sad bench chain-poisoning yourself with a middle-aged… (oof) cop… is easily the best part of it.

Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

God forbid he ever clocks the fact that all your chances with him are already in the gutter because of how openly, stupidly rueful you’ve been acting.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s his fault.

Maybe he’s pulling some sick, gravitational field of pitifulness out of you just by existing.

Just by making you feel more at ease than your actual friends do - friends who drag you out to overpriced bars and call it “catching up” but barely ask a single question.

Maybe it’s because he actually listens. Doesn’t rush to fill silence. Doesn’t take and take and take.

And that’s all it takes.

One line of smoke down your throat, and the floodgates swing open. Words start tumbling out like it’s a compulsion. Like he’s the first pair of ears that hasn’t immediately gone looking for someone shinier.

“Let me guess… you’re one of those people who only smoke when they fuck something up? What happened? Divorce?”

Aaron tuts (man?!), “Close… though I’m not sure you’re in any position to judge - seeing as you only seem to smoke when someone else fucks up.”

How ironic.

If you were ever stupid enough to end up together and he managed to fuck things up (which he would) you’d both be right back here, smoke in your lungs, hands shaking, pretending it’s not about each other.

Hopeless. You’d never work. You’d ruin each other on principle.

Maybe it’s the cigarette. Maybe sharing something as self-destructive as this creates a kind of camaraderie. You’re both shaving off a few years of your lives, like the ads promise, so it only feels fair to share the minutes too.

So as ash falls onto the concrete, he learns a few things about you. That this was your friends’ idea. That it was supposed to be “a fun night out.” That you didn’t really want to come. And somehow - God knows how - maybe it’s his Catholic guilt boiling in his bloodstream over dying in sin - but he finally says,

“You didn’t really look like you were part of the conversation.”

You nearly drop the cigarette.

He was kind of right. The nicotine takes a while to hit - but maybe it’s more the hit of being noticed.

By him, no less.

(A man.)

(With a tit out.)

Suddenly, the whole thing feels archaic - like you’ve time-traveled back to the era when women weren’t allowed to vote, but still hoped the town’s handsomest soldier might remember what color dress they wore at the spring fair.

Or when tampons were taxed as luxury items. (Wait a second...)

What a world.

What progress.

Progress also means he admits he recognized you… by the back of your head.

He’d been sitting behind you. Of course you hadn’t seen him. But he’d seen you. Not your face. Just your outline. Your posture. Your absence. And still - he knew it was you.

Which should make you feel triumphant. Gloaty, even.

FBI DILF has your silhouette burned into the folds of his premature memory loss? That’s deranged. That’s power. You should weaponize it.

Feels… bittersweet.

Because it wasn’t the presence of your face that triggered recognition. It was the lack of it. The gap. The space you take up when no one else is looking. And somehow… he looked anyway.

Fucking hell.

You need to stop smoking Aaron’s cigarettes.

They don’t just burn your throat - they peel you open, down to the bone. Turn your lungs to pulp and your brain to mushy existential soup. This is not you.

Or maybe this is you. Maybe this is the real you. The needy one. The one who just wants someone to see her.

And worse - he does. He might. And maybe that’s what makes him dangerous.

Maybe he sees things about you that you haven’t even admitted to yourself yet.

Or maybe he’s just like every other man who ever looked at you and called you a friend. Right after unzipping his pants.

Stale cigarettes, overpriced alcohol, and unsolicited introspection. The worst threesome of all.

“It just fucking sucks, man,” you mutter. You’re not blaming yourself. Plato probably said something similar while chain-smoking scrolls or whatever. “Like, I know love is fake. I know it. But even if it’s childish - rooted in all that patriarchal storybook bullshit - I still feel like I deserve the kind of love they read to me about as a kid.”

“Oh, no,” Aaron softens his voice. “I disagree with that first part.” Of course you do, old man. “I don’t think love is fake, maybe the forever part is what’s unrealistic. The happy ending…” (What’s wrong with him???) “The happily ever after, that’s the myth. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for wanting something that lasts.”

…Something real. Something that doesn’t flake like ash in the wind.

You can smell the incoming boomer sermon from a mile away - and yep, here it comes. “I just don’t understand this fear men seem to have now about settling down. Is it fear of choosing? Dating apps make everyone feel disposable. Like if you commit, you might miss out on someone better. So you never do. Or maybe it’s something worse. Fear of feeling. Of loving.”

Shit.

How exactly are you supposed to explain to Aaron Hotchner that he just accidentally summed up your entire Notes app without sounding like you’re about to snap into a spoken word piece about modern loneliness?

"Easy to say when you’ve only got a few years left and don’t want to die alone." You’re not being mean. You’re just out of emotional vocabulary. That was the cleanest sentence you could manage with the filter still burning between your fingers.

He taps his cigarette against the bench. Smoke curls out of his smirk. “Funny - I was just about to say you don't sound like a horrible person.”

You snort. “See? You’re not that different from all the other dickheads out there.”

"Maybe, but that doesn’t make you unworthy of being loved .” (Pause. Beat. Murder.) “And - frankly - you underestimate how many masochists would find your tendency to call people out when they’re being dickheads… oddly endearing."

“Masochists? Really?!”

“Miss, you called me a dickhead… heavily implied, yes, but still,” he chuckles, “Masochists aside - I’m serious. I hope you know that.”

“Well… thank you then.”

“Anytime.” Said like it doesn’t cost him anything to be generous for three seconds. Must be nice.

You’re not naïve.

This (whatever this is) this rhythm of trading barbs and pretending not to notice how good it feels to be seen? It’ll end with the cigarette. That’s the expiration date.

Once the last drag’s done, so is the spell. Back to real life, back to no obligation to talk. Back to being strangers again.

So maybe that’s why it slips out.

“I think what gets to me the most is... I just want someone to actually listen. Like, really listen. Not out of pity, not out of politeness. Not because it’s their fucking turn to play therapist. Just… because they want to. Because they care enough to. I want to be helped. I want to be seen. And it sucks. It sucks that no one ever really does. It sucks not knowing if that someone… exists. Ever feel that kind of lonely?”

“I understand what you mean. If it helps… loneliness might be the most universal condition there is. It’s paradoxical - everyone feels it, but no one wants to admit it. You grow up being told people are essential. That you need connection to be whole. But the truth is… most of the time, it’s just you. You think your own thoughts. You carry your own weight. The rest… they’re- complimentary. Temporary. Additions. They matter, but they’re not the foundation.” (Man… that’s depressing.) “Or at least, that’s what I’ve always believed.”

“And you’re fine with that?! Not having anyone who can help you make sense of… everything?” You shake your head, baffled. “I don’t even know how you function.”

He breathes in deep, doesn’t look at you when he answers. “I compartmentalize. I separate myself from the problem and keep going. If I let myself really sit with it… I wouldn’t be useful to the people who need me more.”

Hero complex. Exhibit A.

“You’re telling me you never talk to anyone about your feelings?” you ask. “Like… not even one friend? Not even one of your little apocalypse buddies you save the world with?”

“We’re colleagues, not friends.” (So he’s basically admitting he has no friends… isn’t he?) “And for the record, I am opening up to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Dude…” This man. This man is the emotional equivalent of a locked filing cabinet at the bottom of the ocean. And you want him. Disgusting. “Despite some of the stuff you’ve told me being… like… genuinely borderline horrible, and you’re so lucky I didn’t deck you-”

He smirks. “You could’ve. I probably deserved it.”

You glance over. He’s chuckling to himself now, the corners of his mouth tugged upward just slightly, cheeks flushed, probably from the scotch finally catching up with him.

“Aside from calling me a dickhead, of course…” he adds.

You fumble. Damn it. “I was trying to say - despite that - your words did help. A little.” Smug little upturn of his mouth. You want to slap it off him. For real this time. “Not like… made-everything-better kind of help. More like - didn’t make me feel worse. Which is basically the same thing, right?”

He smiles. Pretentious asshole. You need to stay strong - not linger on it, not let it do things to your insides.

So you pivot. Hard.

“Sometimes it helps, you know? Getting a fresh pair of eyes on your mess. You just have to - I don’t know - admit you’re a loser, peel off a couple layers of that bulletproof manhood you’ve wrapped yourself in, and actually say what you’re feeling. To someone. Out loud. With words.”

He looks at you. He’s supposed to take another drag, but he doesn’t. Just watches. Still. Quiet.

“Yeah, I know. Wild concept.” You shake your head, let yourself soften - just a little. Just for him. Maybe he’s worth it. “But if you don’t do that, no one’s ever gonna get it. Not really. People can’t read your mind, Aaron. They’re not gonna understand unless you tell them. And even then, it’s a gamble. But it’s the only shot you’ve got.”

“You always make it sound so easy, Hales.”

“That’s… not my name.”

“What?” *The Bluetooth device is ready to pair.* You can hear the connection click in his skull. “Oh – God - I’m so sorry.” *The Bluetooth device is connected successfully.* “I didn’t- didn’t mean- I’m sorry, you just… you sounded exactly like her.”

You don’t know who he means. Not for sure. You have a guess, of course. Everyone has a guess when a man like him says “her” with that look in his eye.

But you’re too annoyed to admit it. Too annoyed and – maybe - just a little dizzy. From the cigarette. From the him of it all. From the ache in your chest that shouldn’t be there, not really.

Because the one fucking time someone actually seems to listen to you, to hear you, it’s not even really you they’re hearing.

It’s her. It was always her.

You were just close enough in shape and tone and timing to wake the shadow of someone else.

“It’s just that… it’s been two years today.”  Oh, mysterious boy. From what?! From what?

You want to yell. You want to pull his stupid loose shirt tighter so it stops falling open every time he leans forward and says emotionally damaging things.

“Actually…” he gives a watery little laugh, and you hate how beautiful it is, how it lands soft and splintering right in your chest.

“It’s been two years since I bought these too,” he says, pulling out the same battered pack of Marlboros. Same lame-ass, fermented cigarettes from his glove compartment. Same pack with only one missing - until tonight. The same ones he offered you.

 The same ones he last smoked two years ago.

“…And two years since my wife’s funeral.”

The filter tastes rancid.

You know the situation is deeply, apocalyptically fucked when not only does he casually drop a circumstantial bomb to imply she’s dead - because actually saying the words would clearly cost him something vital - but he also slips. Calls her his wife.

Not ex-wife.

(You may or may not have stalked him so thoroughly that you accidentally uncovered his signed divorce papers on a weird, half-archived subpage of her attorney’s old website. Whoopsies.)

So it’s not just the grief. It’s the grief plus the guilt plus the very subtle, very devastating slip that he maybe never stopped thinking of her as his wife.

Even after.

Even now.

Which would be a perfect cue to walk away. To protect yourself. To not indulge whatever haunted cathedral of unresolved feelings he’s got going on behind those wet lashes.

You should leave.

You should definitely leave.

…But he’s so hot when he cries.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @donttrustlove ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kiwriteswords ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @msfreedom ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @purechaosss ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

[anthurak]

"I'd like to hear him out..."

(credit to @phuezo for the awesome art XD)

So here’s a fun little AU concept for the past couple months since Mastermind aired and people started throwing around ‘What if Charlie (or Lucifer) was at Blitzo’s trial?’ ideas:

What if Vaggie didn’t (entirely) lose her wings to Lute’s attack? Meaning that Charlie actually KNOWS that Vaggie is an angel from the beginning. And leading to Vaggie not hiding her identity by pretending to be a sinner and instead be generally open about her past as an angel and exorcist. Which I think could have some rather interesting ripple effects.

Now I realize it might be a bit headscratching how ‘Vaggie doesn’t lose her wings’ leads to ‘Charlie (and Vaggie) showing up at Blitzo’s trial’, but hear me out.

First off, I think the ‘How’ of this divergence is actually pretty easy to imagine; instead of ripping her wings off, Lute decides to inflict a different kind of sadistic torture on Vaggie. Terribly maiming her wings to prevent her from flying, but still leaving her wings to make it clear just what she is. Basically, Lute and Adam fully expect Vaggie to be torn apart by vengeful demons.

But in true dramatically ironic fashion, Vaggie is NOT found by the ‘evil, terrible demons’ that Lute and Adam (and even Vaggie herself) were expecting, but by Charlie Morningstar. And I think we can all agree that Vaggie happening to have a pair of angel wings would NOT meaningfully change Charlie’s reaction to finding her in the slightest.*

Charlie still basically falls for Vaggie at first sight, takes her in and patches her up and gives her a home. And in this version, after it becomes clear that Vaggie’s wings aren’t healing, Charlie also calls in a favor from Uncle Ozzie to design some cool cybernetics/prosthetics to give Vaggie full wing-functionality back. And after a while, Charlie and Vaggie fall in love and start dating just like they did in canon, possibly even sooner/stronger given that Vaggie doesn’t have the specter of hiding who she is from Charlie hanging over her in this version.

And this is where we get to one of those interesting ripple-effects of this change.

Because I think it is VERY likely (as in, I imagine we’ll actually see this come up in the actual show) that Charlie’s belief in sinner-redemption and drive to help sinners in large part came from Vaggie. Specifically in that Charlie believed that Vaggie was a sinner. As in, Charlie falling in love with someone who she thought was a sinner was a MAJOR factor in Charlie believing that sinners could be redeemed and general drive to help them.

Now obviously I’m not suggesting that Vaggie was the only reason or that Charlie wouldn’t care about the sinners otherwise. At the same time, I think it’s a bit ridiculous to assume that Charlie believing the woman she loves was a sinner all that time wasn’t a major contributor to her motivation in ‘making a hotel to redeem sinners’. Or that Charlie knowing Vaggie WASN’T a sinner from the beginning couldn’t put her on a different path…

Basically, this version of events with Charlie falling in love with ‘Vaggie the fallen angel/former exorcist’ instead of ‘Vaggie the human sinner’ ends up rippling out to lead Charlie to focus not on the problems of the human sinners, but rather the problems faced by the hellborn demons.

Say for example; because Charlie knows that Vaggie is an angel, and thus almost certainly NOT bound to the Pride Ring, the pair end up taking a few trips/dates to see the other rings. Particularly given that Vaggie already know Asmodeus.

But in the process of these trips, Charlie starts noticing many of the issues faced by the hellborn demons. Many of which she doesn’t remember from back when her father was running things…

Basically this ties into another theory I’ve had since Mastermind that a lot of the societal issues we see in Helluva Boss are the result of, or at least have been heavily exacerbated by, Lucifer’s long ABSENCE from ruling thanks to his centuries-long depressed isolation. Something that I think Mastermind pretty heavily hints at given everything we see from Satan in that episode. And that at some point, Hazbin Hotel is going to show Charlie having to DEAL with many of these issues as part of her arc of growing into a leader and future ruler of Hell.

And in this version of events, instead of being drawn to wanting to help the human sinners, Charlie is drawn to wanting to help the hellborn demons. Basically, since her father clearly isn’t doing his job, perhaps SHE should step up and try doing it instead?

And of course, Vaggie is right at her side through ALL of this. In fact, she may even be a bit more gung-ho about it, given that it probably feels to her a bit more feasible than ‘redeeming sinners’.

This all leads to Charlie pushing herself not so much into ‘replacing’ her father outright as ‘ruler’ of Hell, but rather starting to assume a kind of regency position. Not full-on ‘ruling’ (yet), but still starting to assume some of the roles and duties that her father has been neglecting for a couple hundred years.

And the fun thing is that nobody is really able to stop Charlie from doing any of this. After all, she IS the princess and heir apparent of the Morningstars, meaning she is well within her rights to assume a number of roles of her father. Particularly as Charlie makes it very clear that she is not trying to outright supplant her father, but is simply assuming duties that he’s been neglecting. To the point of keeping the title of ‘Princess’, or maybe ‘Princess Regent’.

Sure, some/most/all of the Goetia/other nobility might not like a lot of the ideas and goals Charlie is talking about, such as ‘Maybe the Imps, Hellhounds, etc AREN’T actually lesser and born to serve the nobility and shouldn’t be treated as such’, but there also isn’t really anything they can do to STOP her or remove her from her new position. After all, the only one with the authority truly above Charlie’s is Lucifer himself.**

And the nobles who do make a scene and/or pitch a hissy fit about Charlie’s ‘radical ideas’ tend to find themselves at the business-end of her girlfriend’s spear, sword or divinely-mailed fist. Really, in this situation Vaggie is a pretty big fucking deal all on her own, being a fallen angel and all. Certainly NOBODY is going to be judging Charlie on her choice of romantic partner. Well, maybe some sinners might judge her for dating a former exorcist, but any Hellborn demons, even the Goetia? No fucking way. Really, people would probably be making comments on how Charlie is taking after her mother.

Heck, even in the short time since Charlie started this endeavor, Vaggie’s probably earned her own title or two. ‘Blade of the Morningstar’? ‘Wings of the Princess’?

Of course it’s also worth noting that there are still some pretty hard limits to what Charlie can accomplish in terms of fixing/reforming the issues of hellish society, at least in the short term. She can’t just snap her fingers and fix classism or completely wipe out the Goetia’s authority (or the Goetia themselves). Particularly as Charlie doesn’t have the ultimate overriding authority of her father. Realistically, Charlie’s authority as Princess/Regent only just supersedes that of any of the Sins, and while that might put her above effectively ANY other one person in Hell, it also doesn’t give her absolute ‘do anything I want’ authority either. Not to mention that this is still Charlie we’re talking about, who in this timeline is still only JUST getting use to throwing her authorial weight around.

But at the same time, again there really isn’t anything anyone can do to fully STOP Charlie from doing anything either. Meaning that in the short time since assuming her new role as regent, say about a year or two, Charlie has already started making small but noticeable changes and ripples to Hell’s society.

Which brings us to this new version of Mastermind, with Charlie and Vaggie making a surprise appearance at Blitzo’s trial and Charlie actually wanting to hear the imp out. This leads to a number of other fun changes including but not limited to:

Charlie invoking both ‘Princess Regent Authority’ and ‘Favorite Niece Privileges’ to get all of the Sins voting on her side to hear Blitzo out and override literally all of the Goetia royalty.

Andy-the-not-actually-a-sister-fucker pitching a hissy fit over this and getting choke-slammed and almost speared by Vaggie.

Blitzo still finding a way to fuck up this golden opportunity by running his mouth. Because this is still Blitzo we’re talking about, and giving him a chance to talk is ALSO giving him a chance to dig himself into a deeper hole.

Stolas choosing the exact worst (and funniest) moment to dramatically burst in with his big, dramatic ‘sacrifice myself for the man I love via song number’ gambit, which actually only makes things worse/wackier when Charlie starts asking pertinent questions.

Andy pitching more hissy fits as his plans continue to unravel and getting repeatedly chokeslammed and/or kicked in the dick by Vaggie.

Striker getting dragged back in when it becomes clear there are a LOT of holes in his story, only to constantly flip-flop on his story because he can’t figure out which authority figure(s) he should be selling-out-to/kissing-up-to in order to save his own skin.

Charlie, Vaggie and even Satan becoming ever more flabbergasted as it becomes clear that the suspect (Blitzo), prosecution (Andre), defense (Stolas) and witness (Striker) in this trial are in fact ALL complete fucking idiots.

--

*Admittedly I do have one other possible change in mind to help reinforce this: rather than a sinner child, Vaggie actually spares an imp kid, or perhaps a sinner child and their imp kid best friend. Which leads to the imp kid actually leading Charlie to the injured Vaggie and also telling her that this angel actually helped them and got hurt doing so.*** Which again serves to reinforce just how wrong Adam and Lute and much of heaven are about demons.

** And if you’re going to ask ‘Why doesn’t Charlie just go to her dad directly and get him to do his job?’, remember that Charlie had to be practically dragged kicking and screaming by her girlfriend into calling up Lucifer for help in Hazbin. I think it’s pretty clear that pre-Hazbin, if Charlie can get what she’s after without getting her dad involved, she is ABSOLUTELY going to do it.

*** Also this hypothetical imp kid doesn’t actually show up again and DOES in fact have a living family, meaning that NO, Charlie and Vaggie DON’T ADOPT THEM. Because I KNOW that is exactly what some of you started thinking when I mentioned an unattended child in relative proximity to our heroines.

--

And of course, once again HUGE thanks to @phuezo for the awesome art of Charlie and Vaggie XD

[wooltoesocks]

Shirahama Kamome interview at Desucon 2025, Finland

had the honour of attending her live drawing/interview last weekend, it was an absolute blast and i still cant really quite believe i got to see that. didnt win an autograph ticket, but what i did do was take notes from the panel, so if anyone's interested to read, here they are <3

feel free to share, but please credit :)

[] means stuff the panelists have said, () is me rambling

text version/ALT under the cut since it's a lot

14.6.2025 Desucon

guest of honour's program: Kamome Shirahama and the magic of drawing

disclaimer: might contain mistakes even tho i've tried to be as accurate to my notes and memory as possible <3

on the table she was going to be drawing at there were the usual 2 brushbugs wearing qifrey and olruggio's hats, but also a hattifatten

*a picture of shirahama's two brushbugs, wearing olruggio's and qifrey's hats, and a hattifatten on a table (from tongariofficial's twitter)*

the program schedule hadnt included a live drawing, so i dont know if that was going to be a surprise for us of if it was a last minute decision. shirahama said "unfortunately the hat is in the way of seeing", since she had the iguin mask on the entire time. since we had a lot of time, she would be drawing coco and qifrey. (i initially took this to mean she could draw them both since she had time but my friend interpreted it as being "BECAUSE we have time she will be drawing" so idk. she had a cool ring, which looked like it could hold ink or smth.

[did you read manga growing up and what were your favorite manga and mangaka as a kid?]

- like all kids she read manga, but also liked novels and movies

- her favorite were x-men and star was comics- she read manga that was maybe targeted to an older audience

[did you always draw as a kid?] (didnt write down this question but i think it was smth like that)

- according to her parents yes, and also she's drawn since she herself can remember

[when did drawing become your job?]

-she studied design (? and smth else idk i accidentally wrote design in english and finnish lmao) in university, and alongside that she got small jobs to draw atuff for for example teaching materials and games, and realised you could actually make a job out of drawing.

[what did you learn alongside your studies?]

- she had graphics as her major, but was also interested in accessibility design and something else (i think this had smth to do with the environment, maybe environmental design? but i had just written "something")

[how did you end up a mangaka?]

- self published manga drawings, and at some point a publisher reached out to her like hey do you wanna come draw for us

[what kind of material do you like to draw with?]

- the sketch she does with a pencil, and then the actual drawing with an inkpen- corona has chabged stuff a bit because you have to take into account how much can you meet with your assistants, so more of the drawing is done digitally nowadays

- she prefers drawing on paper, but for example if a design is going into a game (=onto a screen) she will draw it digitally to fit

- she's also been challenging herself recently by drawing more stuff digitally

[do you draw all the details in the sketch, or just at the inking part?]

- the pencil marks distract the drawing process, so she will add the details in the inking part

- "you are going to see it yourself with this"

[where have you taken influence from to your drawing style?]

- fantasy, rpg, europe (i think i meant western here??)

- okay so i had written "role-playing-game-styled" but idk what that rly means lol

- the style of wood carvings is medieval[your works have been published in maby magazines, is there a difference between magazines what kind of manga you draw?] (i think that meant her drawing style depending on magazine not the manga's story)

- it's not really the magazine that changes stuff, the drawing style changes depending on the story

- witch hat atelier is story-book-like

- style will accommodate what suits a game the best

[where does the style come from for each story?]

- no (???? what he fuck did i mean by this im sure it made sense in the moment)

- if it's a digital media, she will draw with a computer, a japanese story she will use a brush, and for a western story she will use harder pencils

[do you change your style depending on the target audience?] (more in the ways of a country a person is from, for example western/japanese)

- she will draw what will be enjoyable regardless of the target group/audience

[does your style change depending on the age group of your audience?]

- it's more in the language then, so the dialogue's difficulty changes

[where did you get the idea for enidewi?] (this just read "enidewi idea?")

- she likes european gothic angels and devils and wanted to write about them. there are a lot of things she likes in enidewi- she likes to tell stories with girls in them

(no idea what the actual question was, i just write "enidewi memories?")

- it's about 2 girls on trips and they get into shenanigans

- she has travelled a lot so she pulled stuff from her own experiences/stuff related to her own experiences

- she does hope that she hasnt been as much of a difficulty as those 2

[when did you get the idea for witch hat atelier?]

- she was thinking of it while drawing enidewi

- the idea has been with her for surprisingly long, 6 years before publishing

[were you imagining the story or the worldbuilding then?]

- no plot, but the setting, world and themes

[was the drawing part of magic in the story since the beginning?]

- it's been in the story since very early on

- there are some people who are incredibly talented at drawing in our world, but everyone can draw at least a certain amount, so she wanted a world where the magic is in everyone's reach so to say

[how did you design such an intricate magic system?]

- first she wanted a simple system that even a child could copy but wanted there to be some logic to add extra effects

[what is your favorite symbol?]

- the one coco uses a lot, meaning sylph shoes

[i think we would all want a spell to fly with our shoes]

- shirahama would want a spell to easy stiff shoulders (she was i think showing a v bad posture drawing position lol)

[too bad those are forbidden]

(no idea about the question here lol i missed it bc i was explaining the previous laughing to someone, she also had to read the question again from a paper she had so hell yea me too)

- the fears of how to get better at drawing

- there would be a feeling of relatability

[so the series has the "good guys" wearing a pointy brimless cap and the "bad guys" a brimmed cap, so a different philosophy means a different cap. where did you get the idea/why is it like this?]

- she was vaguely pointing at her iguin hat and doing the muscle flex pose like woo

- she cant say, and it will be revealed as the series progresses (she had her hands clasped at her chest i had written that down soecifically)

- wait with excitement for the upcoming chapters (i THINK she meant like any future chapter but tbh i for a sec thought the translator said NEXT chapter but dont get ur hopes up. ANYWAY WHAT THE FUCK)

(smth about the desig of characters again was distracted by the whole thing before)

- she think it's fun to make the character designs, it's it's becoming hard because there are so many characters

- she will sometimes go to her artist friends with a character idea like hey this is what this character is like what would they look like

[all the fans here would probbaly go crazy for a finland inspired outfit, what would it be like?]

- well it would be warm at least

[furhat]

[does qifrey's hat tell something about his character?]

- it's a modified version of his hat as Beldaruit's apprentice so not really

[how has it been like creating the rules within the world?]

- it's been fun thinking of the fashion styles and clothes (literally the note says "fashion styles and clothes fun so nice to make <nonsense> that was fun" so idk take of that what u will. the nonsense might have been "work" but i honestly dunno)

[what has been difficult to get to fit?]

- she says the weaknesses and holes are hard to work into the system so that it's noticable that things are wrong but not too much into either direction

- bring to light something about the differences in people ("bring forward motivation into that different people kinda" what. anyway not sure what i meant here, also not sure if this is still to the same question but i didnt at least write a question in this part so idk)

- she thinks a lot (about what, idk i think there was a question here too i missed about maybe magic?), magic is a technology that tries to make human lives easier

[do you intend to raise awareness of real life problems?]

- partially, and that magic is a positive depiction too so that might inspire to fix the real life problems[inspiration for witch hat during the creation of the series?]

- during middleschool/high school/university she liked lord of rings movies, and peter jackson films (idk if it was like she liked those during that time and they still inspire her or like was this just not answering the question but anyway)

[are there any spcific details inspired by other serieses?]

- ghibli, the idea of nausicae (? not sure about this but like those were mentioned)

[witch hat atelier is peculiar/unique with it's use of art deco. do the page compositions come to your mind as they will be or are they modified as you work?] (notes said to the first line just "wha unique, art deco" so i think that's what it meant?)

- there are both instances, some will be completed like they first came into mind, and others get elements and other stuff added while drawing[how does it feel getting recognition outside of japan too?]

- she is very happy about that, that people enjoy and read her stuff and she is very honoured overall, and it's nice that that's the case also in other countries

[reading pictures is pretty universal, is it kind of like the manga's magic that it's for everyone?]

- she said it's kinda of funny with japanese because kanji are pictograms so they are also pictures in a way

[so your series has an official spin-off called witch hat atelier kitchen. where did the idea for that come from?] (a lot of thumbs up from shirahama at the mention of kitchen yay)

- she was approached by the publishing like oh hey we have this idea to draw a witch hat food series is that okay with you[are you how deep in the creation process of kitchen, or is it just sato's work?]

- sato creates it, sometimes they might workshop some world related stuff, for example the names of vegetables, and how to connect kitchen with the main series more

[do you have a favorite character or do you love them all equally?] (she was looking between the translator and the audience and reaching for the brushbugs like tadaa kinda)

- brushbug is easy to draw so that's why, and especially drawn with a brush

[there's also a very cute hattivatti]

- she had bought it immediately after arriving to finland

[hattifattener are probably the closest finland has to a brushbug]

- "yeah that's how it is"

[you have worked with marvel, DC and star wars. how did this start?]

- she liked american comics and attended cons in the usa too, and showed some sketches for a producer/editor (idk the word but like someone in the industry)

[have you gotten to draw any of your favorite characters?]

- her first crush was wolverine

- she also like batman a lot

- she at least hasnt had the opportunity to draw them together in a work

- she draws a lot of female characters for her work usually too

[what's the process for cover art, do you get precise instructions or do you have more free hands with the design?]

- she gets mostly free reign, and does something to suit the character

- sometimes there will be instructions/asks to include something, for example if the story takes place in japan to put fitting elements there

[is there much of a difference working with foreign works compared to japanese ones?]

- not really, most differences depend on the work itself

[how much time do you get to making a cover?]

- she's been busy lately (👀👀👀) but usually the deadlines arent super specific, she will usually make one a month

[you worked in character design for the star wars: visions -series. how was the experience?]

- on top of all, the series is an animation, it was nice to get to work with other people

- also amazing to get to see her designs come to life

*a sneeze*

[do you have to take into account that the characters will be animated when making the design?]

- there wasnt as much creative freedom since star wars is a established franchise so a lot of the design elements already exist

- okay so i didnt hear if she said "you didnt have to simplify the designs" since it's animated or that "you did have to simplify the designs" so like uhhhh sorry for not being able to answer that :( i feel like it mighta been "you didnt really have to simplify" but oh well

[do you draw witch hat characters from a reference at the beginning until you memorize the design, or does the design change along the story?]

- she had made a few designs beforehand (i think this meant like of one character like a few versions)

[you also drew the comic adaptation for Star Wars: Visions. did you get strict rules for it of were you allowed to change stuff?]

- the story was completed so that wasnt changed- she kept the same visual spirit as in the animation

[is there a foreign work you would still like to get to work with?]

- a lot of eeeeeee pondering noices, she was holding her hand on her chin like when you think bout something

- she said it's a difficult question, but she would like to work with a tabletop rpg or boardgames (excited hand gestures)

[well im sure everyone here would at least love to play those]

- she mentioned she's done work with Pokemon cards and Fate/grand order

[there is a witch hat anime coming. what's your role in its production?] (excited hand gestures again)

- she says she checks the stuff the animators have done, and gives corrections if needed

- since the manga is black and white, she gived advice on the colourschemes, for example with what kind of coloring techniques the characters have access to and therefore what the clothes will look like

[is this the first time you've thought about the colours of some stuff?]

- there have been a lot, for example coco's dress in chapter 1

- she will ponder with the team what would work best

[how (much?) are you waiting for the anime?]

- "a lot, and also very excited that all of you will get to watch it"

[are there any serieses/games you like right now?]

- magus of the library (someone from the audience provided the english translation, the translator said "big wizard of the library" (in finnish). thumbs up from shirahama at that), it's very interesting

[well nice we're getting recommendations here]

[the world of witch hat atelier is rpg-styled, is there any videogame elements?] (something about videogames and witch hat world at least lol i kinda missed this bc of again the previous question)

- there's not really any video game elements, since there is no level ups or magic points

- more closer to fantasy literature

[you said you read manga before becoming a mangaka yourself. has making your own manga changed this hobby, are you tired of manga outside of work?] (many excited hand gestures again)

- she actually reads more manga now than as a kid- as a kid she didnt dare buy a lot if she didnt know the story that well (or like being way more cautious of what to buy), but now she feels like "she has permission" to read manga

- "oh it's part of the job i can buy and read manga"

[do you look back to your works and think a lot about what succeeded and could have been done better?]

- when she starts a new part in the series, she will read the previous one and think about what might have been left unexplained and try to broaden and explain the stuff later

[has the way you engage with and judge other people's manga changed after becoming a mangaka? do you think like "oh this could have been done differently" "oh this was really cool"?]

- she said she isnt "skipping school" when reading, she does look at novels too with new eyes now

[is it good to read others' fantasy works, or do you do it just because you like it?]

- she does keep up with what other people are writing, and says it's good to know what's going on so as not to write absolutely similar stuff

[oh it does look like the drawing is finished now.] (this was 12.17, the panel started at like 11, a few minutes over most likely)

- you could really see how she added the details with the ink pen and not with pencil (dont remember if this was shirahama or the panelists, but still so true and amazing to watch)

- "i erased the pencil marks out of the way"

- "thank you for having the patience to watch me draw"

[well this is going to turn into a thanking contest but i do think the pleasure is completely ours/thanks are completely on our side, thank you for drawing for us] (literally no thank YOU tetia core interaction)

[does anything come to mind that the finnish manga and anime -fans would be interested to hear that we havent realised to ask?]

- "thank you so much", she says it's nice to feel that people like the same stuff as she does, that even if we're from different countries that we are all fans of manga

[how has it been visiting finland for desucon?]

- she arrived a few days ago in helsinki, and the food and weather has been very good (this is hilarious she managed to come here on the 4 consecutive days when it's been sunny and so warm and not raining at all this whole year i feel like what. anyway glad she liked the food yayy)

- she still hasnt had time to properly visit desucon yet

when she left the stage she waved the hand of the brushbug that had oru's hat at the audience <3

[hurtspideyparker]

Emotional Support Intern Peter Parker

Tony and Peter finally arrive in the large room, polished leather Oxfords and stained-lace Converse making their way through the crowd of professionals. Tony has a hand on Peter's back guiding him, because no matter how many meetings, conferences, and office buildings they traverse together, Peter always manages to get lost the second Tony lets go. 

Thankfully Pepper is easy to spot, shaking hands with some blah blah from wee woo Industries. Her hair is the only splash of colour in the constant white black grey of everyone's pencil skirts and collared shirts. 

"Hi Ms. Potts!" Peter greets as soon as the woman turns and spots them. 

"Hi Peter—Tony. I told you to stop bringing the kid to these things. No offense Peter."

"None taken! You look lovely, did you get your hair done?"

Pepper's hair cascades over her shoulder in perfect curls, splayed out over her white button-up. 

"Yes actually, a trim and some highlights. I think she went shorter than I asked though, because I always get half an inch, and this does not look like half an inch."

Peter steps a bit closer and squints at the piece of copper hair she's holding out. 

"I think it's just because she curled it. You usually get it blow dried after."

"Hm. I think you're right actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "I'm so glad you guys are having such a great slumber party. C'mon kid I have to avoid that senator and he's starting to glance this way." He tries to head over to some tall plants that happen to be great blind spots. 

"Ah ah ah Tony! We are talking about this. I told you to stop dragging Peter to all of your work responsibilities. I'm sure he's bored to death with these meetings and work events."

"Pep, he's an intern, he's supposed to be bored and taken advantage of. Besides, if you take away my emotional support intern then I simply wouldn't show up! So."

"You aren't even paying him for his time!" Pepper says at the same time Peter mumbles "emotional support intern?"

"Um excuse me, that 3 million dollar suit he stuffs between his math homework and Go-Gurt begs to differ. And anyways, I pay him with experience. I brought him to that seminar in LA on Saturday, and he's following me to Tokyo for that week long conference in July. I highly doubt he's complaining," he squeezes the boy's shoulders, Peter looking up and beaming at him and Pepper. 

"I'm really fine with it Ms. Potts. Besides, the more of these things I go to the more lab time I get!" Peter pipes in.

Pepper glares at Tony. "Really, bribery?" 

"Okay well, if us grown adults don't want to be here how else am I supposed to get a 15 year old to talk about environmental reform to people who don't even believe in climate change." 

Pepper and Tony hold each other's stares.

"You mean he spoke to Mr. Ellis about the generator you designed for his carbon plant, and it didn't end with him calling us a pansy corporation and you calling him a decrepit geezer who's business is the only thing that's going to die quicker than he is?"

There's barely stiffled hope supressed under Pepper's professionalism. 

Tony smirks. "Yep, I think Mr. Ellis even smiled. The kid's got charm! Who knew."

Pepper glances at Peter in consideration. 

"Peter have you ever considered pursuing anything further in business? Engineering is great, but if you really want to be successful it's incredibly important to build interpersonal skills, leadership, and even current market and finance knowledge. I mean you might want to sell your designs one day, or start a company." 

"Oh, I haven't really-"

"You could shadow me! I mean interning with a CEO is a once in a lifetime opportunity, it would give you a glowing resume, and I know a lot more about this stuff than Tony. He didn't even perform his executive duties when he actually was the CEO."

Pepper has that gleam in her eyes, the one she gets when men call her sweetheart, or when Tony isn't even dressed for their reservation that started ten minutes ago. 

It means she's already had the argument in her head. 

Peter is still stuttering, flustered with this side of Pepper. Her business face isn't usually directed at him, and it's a far cry from the woman who sends him home with leftovers from dinner. 

"Wait wait wait, are you trying to steal my intern?" Tony asks incredulously. 

"If anyone even needs an intern Tony it would be me. I have to babysit you and the company, meanwhile you just need him to hand you wrenches. Competent help is hard to find these days and you're wasting his talents." 

"Um, excuse me, he's the only thing keeping me together. You already have your fancy day planner and Excel spreadsheets, I need him to get me out of the house. He's the only thing keeping me a responsible adult, if you take away my emotional support intern then I will not attend a single meeting for the rest of the quarter." 

"You are such a man child!"

"La la la la can't hear youuu," Tony says with his fingers in his ears.

"Um, guys, I think people are staring."

Peter tugs on the corner of Tony's sleeve to get him to unplug his ears, glancing nervously at the groups of people sending them judgemental stares. The three of them give a wave and pleasant smile, most of the crowd continuing to move along on the grey carpet at the sight of their unsettling synchronicity and false turn of the lips. 

Pepper speaks through her teeth, a grin still presented at passers-by. "Fine, you can keep him, but only because he's doing half my job for me. The only person you can emotionally regulate around and it's a teenager. I'm glad you finally found someone who can keep you entertained." 

"Love you too honey," Tony says while putting a hand on the small of her back and kissing her cheek. He sighs, looking around the room at all the government officials who think these tech companies are spying on them. 

Apparently a surveillance state is only cool when they do it to manipulate their incarceration numbers, rig elections and lobby votes, and not for data mining and targeted ads. 

"I say we hit the cheese and crackers, take an awkward amount of sips from those tiny water bottles, and then speak to some old ladies till we have to do our presentation."

"Sounds great Mr. Stark. Will you make sure they don't grab my face again? I smelled like old lady perfume at school and Flash started making fun of me for stealing people's grandmas."

Tony looks into Peter's eyes questioningly and finds nothing but sincerity and resignation in them. 

"Well. Not my fault your cheeks are so gosh darn cute. But I'll do my best," he wraps an arm around the shorter and starts heading through the room again. 

The weight is comforting. Peter used to get anxious at these events, but Tony never leaves his side and is always looking at him like he's the Michaelangelo in the center of every room. He became accustomed to being Mr. Stark's favourite part of the event. While that may not seem difficult, especially considering the droning lectures and snooty company, it always feels special making jokes about people's ridiculous work jargon, and comparing the staleness of crackers at conferences. 

"Emotional support intern huh?" he says smugly. 

Tony glances at him, but instead of scoffing or denying anything, he just speaks with honesty. "You and Pepper are the best, most important things to this company. And to me. I'm really glad you're here kid."

Peter doesn't know what to say. The words stick in his throat while Tony hands him a water bottle with the lid already cracked. 

Peter has super strength; It's completely unnecessary to open his bottle for him. He doesn't point this out. Tony will do it at the next meeting, just like he did at the last one, and Peter will never mention it.

[chow0w]

(Re)designing a winglet - part 7/7

Happy Wednesday, everyone! I can't believe we made it to the end of this series so soon! I think I'll keep going a little longer and add some Pantalan Wingmates to this winglet, as well as making a little more OC content since these guys have really grown on me.

Our last member of the original batch, Kori, thankfully has a number of different defining features and clues we can use in order to create a good redesign. For one, I really appreciate the spine shapes and expression of malice which perpetuate a very cold, almost sinister vibe to this character. Additionally, past me left the helpful notation that Kori falls under the trans umbrella, which I'd like to build off of by making them genderfluid.

So, here's the updated bust! I honestly don't really know how I feel about this design and might come back to it in the future, because I was having a really hard time capturing the same expression and ended up with a different-looking character when I didn't want to. I tried to exemplify the defining traits from my old drawing as much as possible, by including the curvy ears and making Kori's under-ear spines bigger than before. To carry on with this theme of sharp edges, I made her mouth a little more jagged and added some extra angle to his spines.

As for the fullbody and build, I started thinking a little more about Kori's character and decided it would be cool to expand on the 'fighter' trope a little bit more. Kori's build is light and small, as they were training to be an icewing solider but fought in a ranged battalion where speed and agility were valued over outright physical strength. The goal of these battalions would be to hit enemies from afar, targeting talons, limbs and throats to minimize a rival dragon's ability to use their weapons (breath or not.) Frost on the wings could also be used to stop enemies from flying, forcing them onto the ground where heavier troops might be waiting.

But of course, Kori ended up at jade mountain instead of in the army like she'd wanted. He won't share the exact details on why their plan changed, but the other icewings of JMA can't stop gossiping about a numerous collection of rather violent rumors. Given who else is in Kori's winglet, I don't think these rumors would bother anyone very much - aside from Startalon, who can't stop seeing his own murder in their eyes.

That's all for today! Thank you so much for checking in, and I'll see you very soon for the weekend's redesigns!

[skreebat]

The OUAW brain rot continues.

I love their designs! And I wanted to have a little fun figuring out how I want to draw them, with my own little tweaks and self indulgent details. :)

Originally, I only meant to draw Frost, to figure out what kind of body type I wanted to give him. Then I ended up drawing the whole part, partially as a reference to myself. Also got their canon heights on a chart and put them all together for fun and for reference. c:

Some design tweak notes under the cut, if anyone’s curious! These aren’t redesigns or whatever, I just had some ideas in mind while sketching them in a way that fits my art style.

Design notes copied directly from my server:

🔥Gid THICK BOY. He's not really a bodybuilder but he exercises and is very muscular. And he eats! A lot. So, thick boy. Scars from all the fighting. The wrists and ankles are because of his past.

I like giving his hair and beard a lot more fire. Body hair also glows fiery, it's just less bright.

🐊Kremy I figure he's the skinniest of the group after Torbek. Most of what I did is a happy medium between references of alligators, the official art, and just my art style. Mostly game him scale patterns, more alligator-like feet, and changed the tail a bit, but it's hard to tell from this angle. Not much body definition because he's a squishy magic user and a gator lol

🐯Frost Fit but not defined. Kinda thick-ish, since he's a tiger, so there's loser skin and thick layer of fur. Digitigrade because I say so.

☹️Torbek Not much changed, mostly gave him more tubes, gave him bald patches where they connect to his skin (and didn't make those are infected looking as I imagine tbh), made him fuzzier, and gave him bigger ears because I like em. Also you can't see it in this angle but I like giving him a small fuzzy tail.

🐾Gricko Fit arms, but he doesn't exercise, so he gets a bit of a tummy. Scars because of his interest in monsters, and his various accidents. Wilder hair. Freckles and moles because I say so. Decorated hair (including feathers from Hootsie!)

🍄Twig Not much really?? Went by her description, the plushie and an emote of her that exists. Made her chubbier because I wanna. Originally made her hair all curls…might go back to that. Also freckles because cute.

Do you have your own headcanons for details of what they look like? :)

-- [BTW I do commissions]

[malwaredykes]

well. here she is. miss Leigh Stasik.

trans woman. stubborn, incorrigible, eccentric. communist; she has leftist in-fighting with herself on the regular. a cannibal; she has no moral qualms about this, and its both a bit of a spiritual thing and a bit of a pragmatic thing. medic (not a doctor. no medical license). she knows for sure she had some kind of significant personality change from being shot in the head, but she doesn't remember what she was like exactly before it happened, it all became this kind of distant memory soup. shes originally from west new cali, but she grew very attached to the mojave. and has a lot of contempt for the ncr. She Will Serve Crack Before She Serves This Country. thank god the army discriminates against transsexuals etc. zero tolerance for the legion, obviously.

she firmly believes she is not nice, or kind, or compassionate, but instead her actions and her general sense of justice stem from her simply doing whats the most logical and objectively beneficial. it may be true to some extent, but she might also have a wee bit of ocd of the "i am a horrible person whos at all times like 2 seconds away from committing atrocities" variety.

shes a SCIENTIST. unofficially. she doesnt have a degree nor a chosen field of study. she makes her own hrt and other mysterious concoctions, including designer chems. which she claims she ingests injects etc not for recreational purposes, but to Enhance Her Powers And Possibilities. she reads old world books about psychology so she can manipulate people better. and makes weird contraptions and doohickeys while high. shes a HACKER of course and hacks terminals and systems for fun and just to see if she can.

her stats are out there due to implants and intense training, originally they were rather average. in-game she wears combat armor mk 2, but i see her having spruced it up like this. her main weapon is the ycs/186, the unique gauss rifle, but before that she used a modded plasma pistol. which she very much enjoyed the silly appearance of. because it was so small and with so much shit tacked on and she could just hold it in one hand like a mutated revolver like Hands up motherfucker bang bang bang lol. her melee weapon of choice is the machete gladius, but she's been training to be able to wield a thermic lance.

in my head the trajectory of her actions and the fate of the mojave that follows is different from what you can do with the game, because leigh could only go for The Secret Leftist Route Which Was Supposed To Be In The Game But We Were Robbed Of It.

boone was the first friend she made after leaving goodsprings and their relationship is particularly notable. they are Comrades, Siblings-In-Arms, Worsties (like besties but fucked up). theyve seen each other at their worst. they annoy each other on purpose. theyve had serious ideological clashes with each other and some ways in which boone perceives the world drive leigh absolutely nuts. they're ride or die for each other. theyre the kind of comfortable around each other where she'll be on the toilet and smoking a cig with the door open and talking to him, while he's naked sitting on the floor removing stitches from his leg. she's done surgery without anesthesia on him. he's projectile vomited blood on her from being poisoned by cazadores. she strongly encourages him to become a traitor to the ncr and to take part in the revolution and the formation of the new independent mojave alliance. somehow, it works on him in the end. shamefully they kinda like snuggling... boone bro come to bed man its nighty night man its beddy bye time.

shes in love with lily bowen. i havent decided yet whether she actually makes a move. but she thinks lily is sooooo dreamy. and shes right. if you dont think the enormous 203 year old blue mutant woman is dreamy thats your problem. outta her way

[auraisereigh]

"Healing hands"

Garrick Tavis x Chronicallly ill reader Request: "hi! would you write an angsty one shot with garrick tavis with reader who is injured: chronically ill ? thank you" wc: 1.2k word count ☆ no specific spoilers. - Talk about chronic illness, i used mine which i'm not entirely sure is an actual chronic illness but i thought that using my own struggle with it would give it more of an emotional side. innie minnie tiny bit suggestive, like one comment. Uses pronouns: she/her.

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

Today was one of the worse days. The knee, hip, and back pain were more painful than usual.

Most days, the ache is there, but it's not much of a pain anymore. I've gotten used to it. But some days… it’s worse—way worse. A pain that doesn't seem to end. A day where all you can do is push through because no medication or anything else can help it.

I'm working through my tasks. About a month ago, I started working in the forge to help Aretia. Making weapons, like swords, daggers, or arrows to help win the inevitable war that will come down upon us one day.

The job is hard work, but it pays off, and to me, that's worth every bit of pain.

Just today, it's reached a level where all I want to do is sit down. My knees tremble and ache. My hips feel the same, slightly better, but the pain is still noticeable. My back is killing me—the pain mostly in my lower back, but it reaches up to my ribs.

My hand reaches to a knot I feel by my ribs. The pain gets worse the longer I stand. I slowly try to massage the knot out of my body. It doesn’t work. It never does. The only thing that helps is sitting or laying down. Letting my body rest.

Garrick walks into the forge. He's still in his flight leathers, and a bag hangs on one of his shoulders.

Two days ago, he left for a patrol that would last a few days.

Our room suddenly felt empty. When he left, I usually spent all my time here.

He walks up to my workstation and drops the bag beside it. I had just been working on some alloy-tipped arrows. The idea came from one of the assembly members after an arrow killed a venin. Turns out, the shooter made the alloy-tipped arrows herself. Ever since, I've been working on the design on how to make them. An easy way, but also a way to make the arrows quickly.

“How are the arrows coming along?” He asks casually as he picks one up and twirls it in his fingers.

I look up to meet his eyes, my hand falls from my back. “Fifty down, fifty to go. Each one I make goes faster,” I say, pointing to the fifty arrows I’ve already finished.

I let out a deep sigh and sit down on my chair. The relief is instant. I let my legs hang. My hands instinctively go to my knees, massaging them slowly.

His gaze focuses on my hands, and his face now holds a hint of worry. “It's bad again, huh?” He walks around my workstation and crouches before me. His hands replace mine and he starts slowly massaging my knees. I lean back in my chair. “Yes,” I sigh. “It's never-ending today.”

“How long have you been up?” He asks with a hint of care. “Since my lunch break. So two hours. And before my break… five or six,” I reply honestly. There is no point in lying. He knows my hours, and he knows me.

He gives me that smile that shows he's frustrated but doesn’t want to take it out on me.

“Positive side is, I’m finished for the day,” I give him my sweet smile, and he lets out a chuckle in disbelief. “Of course you are,” he mutters.

He stands up and takes both of my hands to pull me up.

“Not all that bad. If my back cracks again, it might just light up,” I say sarcastically as I take my bag.

“Cheap nightlight,” he replies with just as much sarcasm.

♤

I lay on his bed. The sheets warm against my back. Soothing the aching more than the chair did.

I eye him as he changes out of his flight clothes and into something more comfortable.

“I swear I was thinking halfway through the day whether I should wrap my knees or not,” I speak as he takes his shirt off to change.

“Why didn’t you?” He asks with a frown. I shrug with a sheepish smile. “Forgot them,” I reply as if it’s the most normal thing to forget in my case. He shakes his head. “Of course you forgot.”

I give him a mocking look of betrayal. He laughs softly as he puts on some sweatpants. Lord, he looks so amazing in those. Those sweats hug him just right.

I let out a shudder. At this rate, I’ll start oogling him with anything he will ever wear.

I need to get up. I know I do. I need to get changed out of my work clothes and into something clean and comfortable. But my knees feel like they’re on fire. That standing up would result in me crumbling completely.

I eye the chair where I left my after-work clothes this morning. It's not far, but it's far enough that a small groan leaves my mouth.

Without a word, Garrick reaches over to the chair, walks three steps to me, and lays them next to me on the bed.

I bite the inside of my cheek. He shouldn’t have to do this. Look after me because I can’t stand on my legs. Yet he always does.

He reaches for the ends of the loose pants I’m wearing, slipping them off easily before throwing them aside. He takes hold of the dark grey sweats and puts them on me with practiced ease. It’s not the first time he’s had to do this.

The same happens to my shirt. He slips it off and replaces it with a looser, more comfortable one.

I let my head hang in my hands once he’s finished. Not only the exhaustion but also the frustration weighing me down.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His hand finds its way to my hair and tangles in it, gently massaging my scalp and I let my head rest against his stomach.

“I just want to sleep,” I mumble in reply. “Just want my body to stop hurting. Just want to rest.”

He continues to massage my scalp. The touch soothing and calming as my eyes finally shut.

“Lay down,” he breaks the silence. Ever so gently, he picks me up and lays me on my side of the bed. My entire body instantly relaxes. My mind almost shuts off immediately as my head meets the soft pillow. I let out a soft sigh of relief.

I feel the sheets surround me, their warmth surrounding me in a cocoon.

The bed dips slightly at the end. Garrick places a fleece under my back to support it. His hand rests on one of my knees.

This, right here, is what I needed all along. This is what I craved all day. And this is what I look forward to all day, every day.

Him. The care he gives. The comfort and safety I feel with him. Even with the pain, he makes everything a little bit more bearable and breathable.

And for that, I couldn’t be more grateful.

♤