#the whip shading on the hair killed me

[horror-aesthete]

Just realized I haven’t posted my newest tattoos yet, everyone say hallo to die girlies 🧪💉💚

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( fourth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; smut (?) , dub-con , alcohol consumption , profanity

( flashback; ) Wreaths and holly plants decked the usually barren, white walls of the seventh floor office level, and soft Christmas music looped on the overhead speaker in attempts to induce a jolly spirit. Colleagues conversed, discussing plans for December break over plastic cups of spiked cider. Everyone seemed in high morale; even Gakuganji, who donned a cheaply made Santa suit, still wrinkled from its time being folded in a package. Your first ever office party was about as much as you expected–not the worst time, but certainly not the best time, either. It didn’t help that you were still technically the “newbie” despite having been a member of the company for a few months at that point. Man, it was hard to make friends in an office full of stoic suits.

You remain near a far wall, slumped against the oversized copy machine with a drink in hand. Nobody had even appreciated your dress; a modest crimson thing with white, cottony trims to mimic Old Saint Nick. Figures. You pout into your cup, knocking back a heavy swig.

“Woah-ho, you sure went all out.”

The dialogue was unexpected and you sputter on a swallow of liquor, startled. A preemptive hand pats your back, something like a mother trying to burp a newborn. You swallow your spit at last, recollect yourself, and whip your head up to follow the source of the voice that nearly killed you. There stood a man tall and spindly in his stature with the most beautifully long, goldish hair drawn back into a ponytail. He is dressed down, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a sweater in favor of the suits nearly everyone else sported. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ladies,” comes your meager reply. Your free hand smooths down the skirt of your dress, and you clear your throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The man smiles apologetically. “Ah, I noticed. My bad.”

“It’s okay. Just… just don’t do it again.”

“Roger that.” He has his own drink, and you manage to catch a glimpse of it over the rim of the solo cup. It’s a dark, murky color, much more amberish than the cider that was being served. “I haven’t seen your face around before, it made me curious.”

“I secured a position here during spring.” Now that you think about it, he was unfamiliar to you as well. You would have definitely remembered that ponytail. “Are you–I mean, do you work in this building?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they got me holed up in the Shibuya location,” he winks, leaning in. “I make it a habit to come to all the office parties, though. I can’t resist a little holiday cheer.” Two bony knuckles move to brush delicately against the trim of your dress. “I’m Haruta Shigemo, and you’re…?”

“Not interested.” 

Shigemo juts his bottom lip out. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I can’t know your name?”

Holding an index finger to your chin, you pretend to think about it. “What will you give me in return?”

A smirk worms its way onto Shigemo’s thin lips. He angles his hip toward you and pulls up the hem of his knitted sweater, gesturing to the uncanny flask half sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. “I brought good stuff,” he sings quietly, away from prying ears, and suddenly you understand the reason for his drink being a couple shades too dark. “And I’m good at sharing.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept unknown liquor from a virtual stranger, you should’ve really considered all of the possible outcomes to this situation. You’d already had a little over two cups of warmed cider, rotating on the axis between tipsy and full on drunkenness. Your foggy brain didn’t care much to think about how some of this so-called “good stuff” would only lead to an inevitable, total inebriation. Or, a less likely but just as concerning scenario, Shigemo’s flask could be chock full of poison. Either way, you were itching to turn a less-than-okay party experience into a fun one.

“Y/n L/n,” you said finally, and Shigemo looks pleased. Strategically as to not give away the secret, he stood before you and widened his shoulders to create a makeshift cover while he poured a solid few glugs from flask to your cup. Immediately, the booze reeks of something strong like industrial glass cleaner. Your nose wrinkles as the stench singes the hair from your nostrils. “Smells fucking rancid.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to top shelf liquor?” Was that a dig? You’ll show him that you’re plenty accustomed with expensive booze (you’re not. not at all).

So you drank it. The taste of piss mixed with vinegar nearly made you retch, but after your second glass and an assload of determination, it started to taste… good? Maybe this Shigemo guy wasn’t too bad. The rest of the night was a blur of silly dancing to dumb Christmas songs, ugly laughing at the horse calendars pinned to the wall, and… well, the bathroom.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your tone was breathy, a cross between giggly and pure apprehension. There in the men’s restrooms, you were perched up on the sink counter. That festive dress was slipped up around your hips by two slender, greedy hands, and a tiny waist worked between your thighs. Shigemo kissed you into silence.

“Why not?” He kisses you again, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s nipping down your neck, whispering, “The risk is so fucking hot.”

And oh goodness, was he a man on a mission. Tearing the collar of your dress down beneath your breasts, fingering holes into your sheer stockings, stuffing a fist inside your panties… You were in no state of coherence to stop him.

Had it not been a professional obligation on his part to attend this year’s Christmas party, Nanami finds himself fantasizing about all the ways he’d much rather be spending this brisk winter evening. Probably soaking in his tub, nursing a glass of red wine and working on that book he’d been putting off thanks to the ungodly amount of work on his plate as of late. Then, he’d exercise those cooking skills he seldom had time to use and prepare a meal that had much more to offer than these feeble, sugary snacks at this party. Seriously? Cookies and cake? They were adults for goodness sake.

The floor was stuffy and claustrophobia-inducing. Everywhere he turned, Nanami was accidentally bumping somebody with his shoulder or his elbow or some other limb he lost track of. And the conversations were abysmal. Nanami has always been good with his words—he had to be in a profession like this—but Christ, talking to his zombies-for-coworkers was a worse fate than death itself. They drone on about office assignments, about deadlines and paperwork with no hint of light behind their eyes. Is that what he looks like to others? A worrisome thought, that Nanami was just as much of a slave to the corporate world as they were.

The deep train of thought is cut off before it spirals when red catches his eye. A dress red as rubies sticks out like a sore thumb among the sea of blacks and blues and grays of suits. You’re dressed in a silly get up, like those Mrs. Claus actresses in the malls that take pictures with children. Y/n L/n, Nanami recalls your name. He knows you, the newest employee in the office. He’s had very few chances to speak with you, and when he did it mostly consisted of him relaying orders from Mr. Gakuganji. But even in those brief instances, Nanami saw it plain as day: you were different. The first lively fool he’d seen in a while, eyes still glinting with the prospects of optimism and naive hope for the future. Foolish indeed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. You were a breath of fresh air, but Nanami knew that it was only a matter of time before you were beaten and battered into another mindless cog in the corporation's machine.

A strange urge bloomed within the hollows of the man's chest; an urge that told him to initiate communication with you. Perhaps just a "hello" at the very least, seeing as you were his direct subordinate. It was the polite thing to do, right? Or maybe that was just a weak excuse he convinced himself of because Nanami didn't want to admit that you intrigued him in every sense of the word. You would provide an interesting back and forth, something Nanami desperately craved in the throes of this tedious party.

Golden eyes scanned the room. But no matter how long and meticulous he stared into the mass of bodies, Nanami could not locate the shade of red that had incited this search to begin with. There was a muted pit of disappointment the settled heavy in his stomach when he came to the realization that you simply were gone. He didn't doubt the probability that you ditched, no, he'd commend you for doing something he could not. Nanami sighs under his breath, lets his shoulders droop, and takes the last swig of his drink (water of course, the spiked cider was much too sweet for his tastes) before maneuvering through the crowd towards the bathroom. A five minute breather alone in a stall sounded like Heaven on Earth.

He shouldered through the metallic door, eyes closed, fingers tugging the knot of his too-tight tie as he stepped inside the restrooms. Only the sound of a feminine gasp was what pried his heavy eyelids open.

All three bodies froze: Nanami by the entrance with a slack jaw and wide eyes, a man he vaguely recalls from the Shibuya district stood between a pair of opened legs with his jeans tugged down to mid-thigh, and you. You, with your stupidly red dress in disarray, the neckline dipped below your bare breasts and the lower hem bunched up around the curve of your waistline. There you were, sitting up on the sink completely exposed... God, that bastard's hand was still buried down the front of your panties.

As if time suddenly unfroze, said bastard rips his hands away from your most delicate parts in favor of pulling his jeans back up. Nanami blinks once before cocking his head to the side at the unnatural speed of light, focusing on the faux plant in the corner, the uneven tiles beneath his dress shoes, the cracks in the eggshell paint on the wall... anything besides your indecent self.

"Whoops, would ya' look at that?" Shibuya fucker laughs halfheartedly as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, flustered and giggly. "Guess we got a little carried away there, my bad man!" He slinks towards the door, towards Nanami, but pauses. "Hey, you're Nanami Kento, right?"

"Yes." It's a cold response. Nanami doesn't look to the other man, instead he keeps his eyes trained down as to not get another eyeful of you.

"Aha right! Well," Shibuya fucker sweatdrops, clasping a hand over Nanami's shoulder. "Let's keep this a secret from the higher ups?"

The elder grimaces. "Please don't touch me."

The hand is ripped away. Shibuya fucker shows his palms in sort of a defensive stance as more anxious chuckles erupt from his throat. "Good seeing you, then!" And with that, he slips out of the bathroom leaving you high and dry. The prick didn't even bother to stay and help you get recollected.

"I'm decent." You sound meek, a tone Nanami has yet to hear from you thus far. It sounds small. Humiliated. "You... you can look now."

So he does, only to regret it. There you are, hopped off the sink and standing before him in a pitiful display. Your slender neck was tainted with love marks, darkened bruises bit into flesh with little artistry. Your stockings were shredded carelessly, bits of plumpness squishing through the holes. Your hair was mussed, forehead sweaty, lipstick smeared and... why was Nanami so irritated by the sight?

"What..." He starts, trying to find the words. "What is the matter with you?"

You gawk. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Nanami scoffs, hands pressed to his hips. "How careless could you possibly be? Fucking at a work event? I mean, for fuck's sake Y/n."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Your words are clipped. As if you have any right to catch an attitude with him right now.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you..." His sentence trails off into a tiny, frustrated growl scratching from the back of his tongue. The man takes his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. "The door was unlocked. Anyone could've walked in and saw you like that!" Exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.

"I don't know what else you want to hear other than sorry." Nanami doesn't miss the microscopic vocal crack in the word sorry. You hug yourself tight, forearms crossed over your chest. Your shoulders stutter, and your lips are sucked between your teeth to hide the wobble in them. "I'm... sorry."

You dress strap hangs off your shoulder. Nanami can't peel his gaze away from the strip of fabric. He takes a slow step in, gauging your reaction to it. You don't show any signs of discomfort, so he advances closer. The red strap is dainty against his rough fingers, so he cautions himself to be extra gentle when slipping it back up into place.

"Thanks," you sniffle.

He shushes you. Nanami isn't done yet, far from it. You still look disheveled and sad and weepy and he can't fucking stomach it for some ungodly reason. So he gets to work, first wetting a paper towel in the bathroom sink—the same one you'd been getting groped on a mere few minutes prior—and gingerly swipes away the smeared makeup from your kiss-swollen lips. Then, he's taking it upon himself to straighten out your hair. You let him stroke down your baby hairs without pushback, limply letting him rearrange your appearance as if you were some sort of life sized doll.

Nanami steps back to admire his work. The evidence of foreplay was nearly gone, save for the dreadful state of your stockings and those ugly teeth-shaped indents down the side of your neck. “Take those stockings off before you leave the bathroom,” he utters. “They look…” Slutty is the word that comes to mind first, but he’d never say it aloud. So he leaves it at that.

You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression. If anything, Nanami discerns a little concern in the way your brows turn upwards. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

He wants to oh so bad. To be the lame tattletale and snitch to Mr. Gakuganji because fraternization is wrong, and fraternization in the workplace is double wrong. “I should report you,” there’s a pregnant pause, “but I won’t.”

Why? He asks himself.

You seemed to have read his thoughts. “Why?”

Nanami doesn’t have an answer to that. Where is this slice of mercy coming from? All he knows for certain is that staring at the trembling woman in front of him any longer will have him blow a fuse. “Go home, Y/n.” It’s the last thing he offers before turning on his heel and walking back out into the Christmas function, swallowing down each and every confusing feeling swirling around his brain.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni

[lizlovestofangirl]

have you ever considered a coquette! gf and luke 👉🏻👈🏻 teeheeeee 🌷🎀🤍 ur smaus give me a purpose in life and a will to live 🥹

"my good looking boy"

luke castellan x daughterofaphrodite!coquette!reader

smau - luke loves his girl so much he lets her walk him like a dog (but coquettley )

🎧 - good looking by suki waterhouse

a/n: ahhhh i love this request! (btw u give me a will to live) i can just picture luke being difficult with everyone else and then letting his girl put bows in his hair and like him sleeping in her fancy pink bed AHHHH IM DYING (also percabeth is PERCABETHING in this)

*possible swearing and suggestive content, not checked so there could be mistakes*

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

liked by silenaaaa, iamchrisrodriguez, and others

yn_yln he loves bows now

tagged itslukecastellan

view comments:

larueclarisse LMAO U HAVE HIM WHIPPED

yn_yln 🐕‍🦺

iamchrisrodriguez LMFAOOOOO

_groverunderwood yikes luke you just got called a dam dog

percy.jackson me personally id never take that

whosannabeth yes you would

percy.jackson yes i would

itslukecastellan and im the whipped one??

percy.jackson stfu

larueclarisse marry me??? 💍

yn_yln I DO

itslukecastellan what 🙂

silenaaaa SO CUTE Y/N

yn_yln YOU SEL

itslukecastellan i ❤️ my gf

yn_yln i ❤️ my bf

silenaaaa I CANNOT W THIS I LOVE LOVE

itslukecastellan where are my photo creds for the first picture????

yn_yln photo credits for the first picture go to this little shit head

whosannabeth @percy.jackson you'd take that too shithead

percy.jackson yeah...

yn_yln 🐕‍🦺

_groverunderwood that dam bow

yn_yln still concerned about the timing of this original joke

percy.jackson @itslukecastellan wheres ur dignity man

itslukecastellan 🤷

whosannabeth IGNORE PERCY THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE EVER SEEN

yn_yln i ❤️ my annabeth

itslukecastellan i thought you ❤️ me?

yn_yln know your place pretty boy

rachel.edare coquette bf

yn_yln duh gotta match the aesthetic

hi_imtyson 🎀

yn_yln MISS YOU TYSON

larueclarisse where can i get one of those shirts?

iamchrisrodriguez please dont answer that

yn_yln i'll send you the link 😘

iamchrisrodriguez shit

liked by whosannabeth, clarisselarue, and others

itslukecastellan she thinks im pretty (ft. this week's flowers)

tagged yn_yln

view comments:

iamchrisrodriguez STOP UR KILLING MY RELATIONSHIP

itslukecastellan just do better chris

yn_yln yeah be like luke (this is the only time you will ever hear this advice from anyone)

larueclarisse hello is want flowers too???!?!??

yn_yln lmao

silenaaaa where do u find one of this kind

yn_yln the pound go for the ones w daddy AND mommy issues

itslukecastellan jesus y/n

yn_yln 😊😊

percy.jackson ur ugly

itslukecastellan ur uglier

percy.jackson nuh uh

itslukecastellan yuh huh

percy.jackson nuh uh

itslukecastellan yuh huh

whosannabeth ignore percy. again.

itslukecastellan ive gotten very good at it

larueclarisse REAL

iamchrisrodriguez not real clar he pisses u tf off

larueclarisse 💐???

_groverunderwood those dam bows again

percy.jackson HAHAHAAHA

yn_yln pretty sure thats a laugh of trauma

itslukecastellan quit grover

yn_yln i love you

itslukecastellan is love you more

yn_yln WHERE ARE MY PHOTO CREDS FOR THE SECOND PICTURE??? HMMM???

itslukecastellan this little rat took the second photo

rachel.edare 🐕‍🦺

itslukecastellan i hate you 🙂

yn_yln's story

view reply from percy.jackson:

percy.jackson im holding this against him forever

yn_yln good pls do

view reply from itslukecastellan:

itslukecastellan youre lucky i love you or else i would not let you expose me like this

yn_yln love you too castellan

view reply from larueclarisse:

larueclarisse IM CRYING

larueclarisse YOU SHOULDVE SEEN THE LOOK ON HIS AND CHRIS'S FACES WHEN THEY SAW THIS

larueclarisse LUKE TURNED EVERY SHADE OF RED AND CHRIS LOOKED LIKE HE MIGHT SHIT A BRICK

yn_yln LMAOOOO

view reply from silenaaaa:

silenaaaa y/n you cant have other campers in our cabin

yn_yln but you love love

silenaaaa fair

silenaaaa wait

silenaaaa wait what kind of love 😏

yn_yln JEEZ NOT THAT KIND

yn_yln just posted a story

view reply from itslukecastellan:

itslukecastellan im blushingggg

yn_yln good

view reply from iamchrisrodriguez:

iamchrisrodriguez Y/N STOPPPP

yn_yln no

view reply from whosannabeth:

whosannabeth how much do u think i'll have to pay percy to do this?

yn_yln nothing hed do anything for u

whosannabeth oh wait true

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere!Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 1: This child needs me

[part 0, here, 2]

CW: femme bodied GN Reader, monster stuff, accidental adoption, description of nudity (non sexual)

Avery stood as still as the trees he hid behind while he watched the thing become a poor imitation of his mother.

If he barely closed his eyes it would have looked like her, but with his brown eyes wide open, staring at it's nude form, Avery wondered if the monster even knew what a human looked like. Their body was the right height, but the shape was off; it had no breasts, nor genitalia. The creature had taken a quick look at the clothed woman and guessed what her body looked like.

Everything about the monster felt off. Like a mannequin come to life. The skin had no texture or character, no discoloration or birthmarks. The hair was a slightly wrong shade and a little too long. But the worst part of the being was it's face.

It whipped around, staring at Avery with eyes slightly too wide, showing the whites above and below the iris. It's lips were an absurdly red shade, as though it thought the lipstick the woman was wearing was her natural lip color. But what made the face really off putting was the fact that it was too symmetrical. Avery couldn't verbalize that that was what was wrong, but it didn't have the same human inconsistency that his mother's face naturally had.

And for a moment, Avery remembered every single time his mother grabbed his arm a little too tightly.

She never would have killed him. And he told himself that she loved him. But it didn't matter how often she would buy him ice cream after a big fight, or how sweetly she smiled at him, it didn't stop him from flinching whenever she raised her hand.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the same reason he had grabbed the steering wheel earlier.

Avery rushed forward, and held the monster as tightly as he could.

(Reader) was filled with confusion. Not only was their disguise less than passable, but they were positive that the little boy saw them kill his mom. So why did he hold onto them as though they were the hero?

Their hand reached down and slid over his dirty back. Thoughts of ripping out his spine and eating him as well filtered through their mind, but instead they went on autopilot, as though their true identity had not been exposed already. "Let's go home."

Avery slowly released the monster, looking up at them with large, teary eyes. "Okay.. mommy."

(Reader) gently held the boy's hand in their own, and allowed him to lead them to the damaged vehicle.

It was much more advanced than the last time they saw a carriage, but this wasn't the last time they slept through major technological advancements. They would adapt. They always did.

Tiny frozen fingers squeezed (Reader's) hand to get their attention. "It's too broken to drive. But there's a coat in the back."

The monster looked down, remembering their nakedness. Unlike humans they did not feel the cold, and when they were in their true form they had no need for clothing.

Ripping open the smashed door with ease, (Reader) found a long winter jacket that when they slid it on fell to their knees. Avery still stood by their side, expectantly holding out his arm stiffly so he could hold their hand again. Although it always took a bit for the ancient one to get their mind in order after a long slumber, even they could see that the newly orphaned child was an odd one.

It wasn't customary to ask questions. They just killed people and replaced them. Those who learned of their true nature were also killed. And it had been that way for as long as (Reader) could remember. They had been both man and woman and those who were neither; they had spoken many languages in many skins and lived many lives. But this child was holding out his hand, knowing that they were not his mother.

"Which way is home?" They asked, their voice parroting the sound of the woman screaming her last words, calling out for her child.

Avery still held out his hand expectantly. "Down the road. It's really far."

The creature looked at his hand, then at his small legs, and realized how long it would take if he meant that they lived at the bottom of the mountain. They grabbed him under his arms and easily swung Avery onto their back. Perhaps they would keep him alive, just until they found a better family to cleanly assimilate into.

"Am I heavy?" Avery asked with a surprised tone.

"No." (Reader) almost found his question amusing. Did he not see them rip the car door off?

The six year old thought about when he was sick the year before, and purposefully acted more pathetic than he felt because he wanted his mother's attention. How he sobbed loudly because he was too ill to walk to his bed from the couch. So his mother left him to sleep out in the living room.

It was dangerous, but the idea that this creature was his savior, and not just a monster, gave the child more confidence than he should have had, given his situation. "Are you a girl?"

".. No."

".. Are you a boy?"

sigh "No."

"Oh.." The boy leaned down harder into their back, snuggling into their hair. They didn't smell like their mom's shampoo, they smelled like dirt after the first rain in a long time. "Can I still call you mom?"

(Reader) tried to recall if this had ever happened to them. Had there ever been a time that someone learned of their true nature, and still wanted to pretend like everything was fine? They remembered the last time someone figured out that (Reader) was a monster. The poor wife had snapped, months of little clues here and there had convinced her that her husband was not her husband, but no one would believe her. Not until she stabbed (Reader) in the chest, and the thing that looked like her husband did not die.

"Yes, you may." (Reader) didn't know why they were amusing the human like they were. But it felt very warm when he constricted his arms around their neck like a snake.

He smiled into their hair. Avery didn't know it, but he was just as confused as (Reader) was. "My name is Avery. Avery Jones. What's your name?"

The creature paused. They knew their name. It was the name of a human they took a long time ago. But they wouldn't tell that to this kid. That the only name they ever thought of as their own, was the name of a child who's life they stole, a child they lived as. It was the longest they pretended to be human. It felt nice. All those years ago. They couldn't remember now what that face looked like, nor why they were so attached to it, but they became (Reader).

"I am now your mother.. What is my name?"

"Luanne. Luanne Octavia Jones."

(Reader) mimicked a laugh, their smile equally as wide on their top lip as their bottom lip. "What a terrible name!"

"Oh..I'm sorry.." Avery tensed up.

"I think I'll prefer Mom."

They felt him relax again. The longer the two walked, the more intriguing the child became. (Reader) murdered his mother. They bit her head in half. They tore her apart, ripped off her limbs, and ate her while he hid not too far away. Perhaps he was in shock?

"Do you know what I am?"

Their eyes opened harder than what was physically possible. Why did they ask that?

Avery wiggled a little. "A hero? Like the Martian Manhunter?"

"What is that?"

"A cool hero from Mars! He helps Superman! And he can change into stuff!"

(Reader) could have scoffed. Them? A hero? But the situation was slowly starting to make sense. 'And so, I am a hero..'

His body was lighter than (Reader) remembered human children to be, and they wondered if it was normal. He wasn't much shorter than the average child, but his body was like a housecat's. "How old are you, Avery?"

"Six."

Older than I thought..

(Reader) carried the boy for well over two hours before another automated carriage passed by, slowing and pulling off towards the tree line behind them. Avery sleepily mumbled "It's the police.." as the monster halted their steps.

An officer stepped out, a younger man with hard eyes squinted in suspicion, and approached the two travelers.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" His green eyes glanced down at their bare legs and dirty feet.

His question woke Avery up, as though he only just then remembered that his mom was not his real mother. "We were in an accident." The boy stuttered out.

"An accident?" The officer looked up the road briefly. "Are you two alright?"

"Ye-"

"Ma'am, where are your shoes?"

He interrupted (Reader), and they immediately considered killing him. But it was a good question. What were they supposed to say? A mostly naked woman had been found descending the mountain with a child on her back, was strange, most definitely concerning and possibly nefarious. Could he tell that under the long jacket they were nude?

Avery was panicking. They could feel his breathing hitch and hear his heart speed up. "We flipped our car! And- and-"

"I hit my head." They responded more monotonously than they intended. "I don't remember the accident, and I don't know why I took off my clothes." (Reader) reached up and ran their hand across the back of their head. Obscured by their hair and the angle, only Avery saw as one of their nails grew quickly, slicing open part of their scalp, just enough to get blood on their fingers.

The policeman's eyes relaxed their suspicious gaze when they brought their bloody hand out. However, it almost instantly bounced back. "Have you been drinking tonight?"

"No."

"Have you taken any illegal substances? Any medications you've been prescribed?"

The questions were aggravating (Reader). "No."

"Any medical issues I should know about?"

"She's bleeding!" Avery cried out.

"Alright, calm down. I'm going to bring you down to the station. Do you consent to a blood test?"

The police were.. interesting. Having been so many people, the creature was not dumb to the inequalities humans forced upon other humans. They remembered how one body would be treated very differently than another body, but even with having experienced it, if they saw a naked woman walking along the woods, injured, it felt natural that sympathy would have been expressed. Or at least, sympathy for her presumed husband. It didn't matter. Luanne had not fully finished digesting. If they wanted blood for a "blood test" (whatever that was), they could easily supply it. They just hoped that Avery's mother hadn't been drinking. Which was another interesting development. Had the humans made alcohol illegal again?

No matter how unfair this treatment was, (Reader) knew it would get Avery out of the cold sooner. And if things went sideways, they could easily kill this man.

"I do."

Avery was nearly hyperventilating and his grip had tightened like a vice. "Why are you being so mean?!" Tears started to bloom as his voice wobbled. "We had an accident! My mommy was bleeding and took off her clothes! She was just confused, and, and, and that's why she can't remember!"

The man went rigid, and was almost uncomfortable. "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

"YES!" The boy cried out, shaking against (Reader's) spine like a small dog.

He eyed their legs once again. "Why don't you wait on the back seat, and I'll grab you a blanket?"

It didn't take long for another, larger and brighter colored vehicle to arrive, with people who were much more sympathetic than the officer. One of the men even seemed to be berating the officer while another person checked (Reader's) body for injuries.

"She seems to have a concussion, so I don't know why you would jump to drugs-"

"Look are what she's wearing-"

"-I watched a young man take off his shoes and hide them in a cabinet when he suffered a traumatic brain injury, okay? People do weird things when they're in pain-"

"Still I think-"

"-She should be going to a hospital. They'll test her for alcohol there, but her head is still bleeding, and she has no signs of intoxication other than 'her clothes' and her lack of memory, both of which can be explained by trauma."

The blue clad worker shined a light in (Reader's) eyes, which (Reader) manually dilated to resemble a human's natural response. They continued focusing on their heart rate and breathing, mimicking Avery's as he leaned against their shoulder. "I think it would be best if we take you to the hospital." The person with short hair smiled kindly.

"I just want to go home.. I can't remember anything that happened today, but my son is tired."

"Well.. I can't force you to go to the hospital, but I can call someone to come get you? And recommend that if your memory worsens, or if you feel confused, if you start throwing up, can't sleep, randomly pass out, or develop a fever, you go to an ER as your concussion could be something worse, like an internal brain bleed."

"Someone you could call..?"

"Dad's still at work." Avery whispered.

Ah. So I am married. This new information didn't sit well with (Reader). They had been married before, plenty of times actually; but what kind of man was he if his wife was like Luanne?

Overhearing this, the paramedic chastising the policeman volunteered his services on the officer's behalf. "If you don't have anyone you can call, Officer Delaney can drive you home. But I do suggest you let us take you to the hospital."

"Thank you." (Reader) could see the two men shudder as they smiled at the both of them. "But I'm really tired. And I just want to go home."

"Alright then.. don't hesitate to go to a hospital if your symptoms don't improve." The man shifted his eyes uncomfortably.

(Reader) returned to the police car, Avery securely tucked under their arms and on their hip. Their attempt at human expression had frightened both the medical professional and the officer. "I will."

The little boy held on to (Reader) more aggressively than he ever remembered holding onto his own mother.

It was peculiar.

Had (Reader) ever felt this way before? They had felt attachments before. Held and loved, but those feelings were easily thrown away whenever their hunger reared it's ugly head. But this wasn't the connection of a family loving someone they assumed (Reader) was.

This little boy was not clinging to Luanne Octavia Jones.

Avery was clinging to (Reader).

[iuchamjohta]

Leave these woman alone ft Yuna

1400 words

Notes: Hi anon thanks for your request, since it’s sent through the request box 😊 here’s a story dedicated for you. Also I will do Yuna justice with a better fic eventually don’t worry! (Yes this is a mix of shade and partial smut i guess) Did'nt proof read this thing cause it aint worth my time. For those who wants to read for the smut you can ignore the first two and last two paragraphs they arent for u but specially for my dear requester XD

First person POV of anon:

My name is Anon. I work a standard 9-5 job and have been doing so for 30 years. I’m a single and have never dated. Everyday I get scolded by my boss but I turn a deaf ear to it , just going through the motion of my routine life. Things however get exciting once I get home. I can induldge in my deepst darkest fantasies.

You see while on the surface, I'm a white knight in shiny armor, beneath that, I'm a self-righteous hypocritical man, living a double life. I've got an entire collection dedicated to Yuna, my ultimate bias, stashed away in a folder on my laptop, hidden deep within a secret folder, safely encrypted with a password only I know. It's my little haven, my sanctuary—a place where I can indulge in my wildest fantasies, free from judgment. I mean, who doesn't have their celebrity crushes, right? But for me, it's more than just a crush. Yuna is my fantasy. She's the one who makes me question my self-control.

The room is dimly lit, perfect for what I have in mind. I pull up a recent fancam from her solo performance.. There she is, in a low-rise jeans that showcased her hourglass figure, strutting across the stage with sheer confidence. The camera zeroes in on her for a solo performance, the lucky bastards in the audience probably have no idea how fucking lucky they are. Her eyes glint with confidence, as if seducing me and sending a wave of anticipation through my body. I bite my lip, feeling my dick twitch in anticipation. It's one of those days when I crave a release, a day dedicated to worshipping her perfect body.

Yuna is everything I want and more. Her magnetic aura draws me closer to the screen as she seductively sways to the music. Every curve of her body is sculpted by the gods themselves. I zoom in, wanting to explore every inch of her, starting from her face. Her huge eyes, her full lips that always look succulent, begging for me to take them. Her skin, pale in complextion that glows under the stage lights. I'd kill to know what she smells like, if she tastes as sweet as she looks. Her long legs they begged to be worshipped.

Her hair, cascading in soft waves, frames her face, occasionally whipping her forehead as she moves, making my fingers itch to run through it, to feel its silkiness between my fingertips. Her crop top reveals just the right amount of skin and her incredibly sexy midriff. They hug her chest tightly. I imagine pinching those rosy nipples, already knowing from countless fantasies that they'd harden instantly. The thought sends a jolt of lust straight to my cock.

The camera follows her every move, and she's teasing the fans mercilessly. She bends down, the low-rise jean - hugging every inch of her toned thighs and plump ass, highlighting the perfect hour glass figure. God, her ass! It's a work of art, rounded and firm, a sight that has me gripping my cock, stroking slowly as I imagine sinking my face into that soft flesh. The way she reveals her cleavage, The way her muscles flex under those jeans makes my mouth go dry. She knows what she's doing, the little tease. Each flick of her hips is a silent invitation to something forbidden.

As the song progresses, so does my hand on my shaft. I can't stop picturing her riding me, those long, toned legs wrapped around my waist. Her abs clench and relax with each provocative move, the sight alone nearly pushing me over the edge. The sweat glistening on her skin, the way it would feel slick under my palms as I hold her hips, grinding into me, fuck, it consumes me. I want to be the reason for her sweat, for her moans.

The performance builds up, and so does my pace. My breathing quickens, mirroring her heavy pants as if we're in sync. I can imagine the lust matching my own as she moves her hair behind her back, giving me a perfect view of her slender neck and the pulse point that makes my mouth water. A collarbone looks so defined and my hands would look so fucking perfect there, pushing her down unto my cock. My cock twitches, the thought of owning this goddess in the bedroom flooding my mind. I want to see her—no, I need to see her submissive side, her begging for more, on her knees, her pretty eyes pleading for me to take control.

I can't resist the urge anymore. I pause the video at the part where she's bending forward offering an eyeful of her cleavage and a hint of her flat stomach. The image fills the screen,  letting me examine every detail. From her perfect breast that I imagine running my tongue all over, to her navel, a shallow indent, a tempting destination for my tongue. I'd work my way downward, hearing her whimpers as I trace patterns on her sensitive skin, marking her with love bites along the way until I reach her wet core. With my other hand, I reach for the lube, needing more sensation. I coat my fingers and continue imagining my tongue's path, heading south past her navel to the place she craves attention. I'd tease her, running my fingers through her wetness, finding her clit, driving her wild. And when she's close, I'd sink two fingers into her, feeling her heat, her tightness, while I suck on that perfect neck, leaving my mark. Her moans would fill the room, echoing off the walls, telling me she's mine.

But, Yuna she's a master at denying satisfaction. The clip cuts just as I can see her biting her lip, probably holding back a moan. That's when my stroking gets wilder. I jerk off fiercely, imagining her on all fours, that ass in the air, begging for my cock. In my mind, I'd stand behind her, taking in the view before delivering hard thrusts, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. She loves rough, I know that much. I want to spank that ass, watch it jiggle with each impact, watch her pussy squeeze my dick, milking me.

"Fuck, Yuna," I groan, my vision blurring as pleasure spikes. I see her looking over her shoulder, those eyes half-lidded, knowing she's craving it harder. In my fantasy, I'd tug her hair, making her submit, taking her like an animal. I increase the pace, my balls tightening, then I would reach my peak, exploding with sensation. I come violently, coating my hand and the screen, wishing it was her that I coated instead.

Panting, I lean back, my heart hammering in my chest as I relish the aftermath. The image of her winking at the camera as she says her farewells plays in my head, and I know I'll be back for more—she's my addiction. Cleaning up, a satisfied smile on my face, I wonder if she has any idea the effect she has on me, if she knows she just gave me the best fucking handjob ever. Little does she know, this 'nobody' behind the screen is more than willing to show her how good it could be in reality.

Maybe one day, she won't just be a fantasy, but until then, I'll keep worshipping her on my screen.

Then with this guilty pleasure, I find the need to claim her as mine and "protect" her. Going unto forums, I tell myself I have to put back on my knight in shiny armour image! Telling everyone else to leave all these woman alone especially Yuna.

To me pornography is okay, I have fapped to many of it, nor do I see the need to email all these pornographic companies on what they are doing though more damaging is wrong. Other sexual fantasies are okay, but when it comes to others fantasising about my idols, I have to be defensive since they are my life even though I would never reach them. This is me, a double standard hypocritical white knight, a nameless nobody in my life. Nonetheless, this secret is safe with me, and as long as I live, I shall continue to remain self-righteous on the outside while indulging in my secret fantasies.

Thanks for your request once again! Yes me being an internet troll, anyways not the best smut I have written I apologise. Okay fuck now I actually need to do justice by releasing a proper Yuna fic . Please send ideas for req on Yuna guys a one time offer that the best idea gets it’s fic written on her.

[blackdollette]

"says it feels like heaven to him." | spencer reid

off to the races. - lana del rey.

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: "just the tip"...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords @hiireadstuff

⊹₊⋆ pairing: bimbo!female!reader x spencer

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1.3k

⊹₊⋆ contents: cunnilingus, unprotected p in v (copulate wisely!), premature ejaculation, slight creampie, implied aftercare

notoriety was your specialty. you wore nonchalance and ignorance like the mascara and lipstick that always set so perfectly on your face. spencer would often confide in you on various topics surrounding his undesirable job, but how could you listen to any of his problems when he had a face like that? even now, you ignored spencer’s muffled groans and whimpers, your compact mirror sitting prettily in your hand as you sat prettily on his face.

“spencer! can you hold still? you made me mess up my makeup!” you hissed, looking down into his eyes. even with half his face buried deep in between your legs, you still couldn’t get him to be quiet. as usual, spencer had come to your place to “talk”, like he always did whenever he felt uneasy. but those talking sessions had always ended with his dick stained with your pretty lipstick.

you sighed, snapping the bejeweled mirror shut and lifting yourself slightly so you were hovering over his face, his lips connected to your dripping and puffy cunt by a few strings of saliva. “take a second. you sure look like you need it.”

spencer panted heavily, bringing his hand to his forehead to brush away his chestnut-brown locks of hair. he scooted himself out from underneath you, his hands finding your bare hips to latch onto for support. you looked down at him, an unamused expression manifesting on your face as you saw the man recollect himself as if he had run a marathon. and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

spencer had developed a taste for your eccentric and hypersexual antics, often finding himself wondering how it would feel to be balls deep in that unnaturally plump pussy of yours. what could he say? you had woven him into your definition of perfection, making him undeniably whipped.

he reached out to grab your discarded pair of hot-pink, leopard print panties from the carpet, using them to wipe away the sweat cascading down the back of his neck. he cleared his throat, meeting your eyes with a half-lidded gaze of his own. 

“do you, uh, mind if we change positions or something..? my jaw is killing me…” spencer suggested sheepishly, knowing full well that you’d keep him there for as long as you pleased if you really wanted to. which is why he was mildly surprised when he saw you nod.

“...why not? i guess you’ve been deserving.” you smile, pressing a smooch to his forehead and leaving a hot-pink lipstick stain on the surface. a stupid grin spread across his face, his cheeks tinting with the same shade that you had applied on his forehead.

he backed up against the headboard of your bed, watching as you gave yourself one last look in your mirror. 

with a satisfied hum, you crawled in between spencer’s slightly parted legs, a torturous and sticky tent in his office pants. this was the third pair you had indirectly ruined this week. you pressed a soft kiss to the clothed tip, making his hips jerk upward as a groan sounded from the back of his throat. 

your manicured hands trailed up to his bulge, massaging the tense flesh tenderly as you slowly began to undo the zipper. you could sense his body reacting in more ways than one to your painfully slow pace, but you loved to torture him more than anything. 

you swiftly undid the button and the zipper, silently commanding him to lift up his hips, which he did. you pulled the sodden pants halfway down his tights, his aching cock throbbing through his boxers. 

spencer hated it when you teased him, but couldn’t deny how much he loved being the object of your affection. his eyes trailed down your face, studying each feature meticulously. his gaze went from your face to your body, admiring the way your tits practically begged to be let out of the fluorescent bra you had on. he was only snapped out of his lust-filled gaze when you crawled onto his lap, gripping his cock in your hand and lining it up with your entrance.

“h-hey, i thought we were going to use a condom.” he stammered, subconsciously bucking his hips in your grip.

“ran out.” you muttered, teasing your slit as you slid his tip along it, sealing your eyes shut as a moan spilled from your parted lips.

spencer’s morals were battling with him right then. “...i thought we were gonna play it safe. especially after what happened last time…”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “oh c’mon, spence. you’re being paranoid. it’s not my fault you couldn’t pull out.”

spencer’s cheeks reddened even further. any amount of stamina that he possessed was slashed in half whenever he was inside you. 

you rested your hands on his shoulders, looking down at him. “and besides, we’ll be fine if you only put the tip in. then i won’t get pregnant.”

the confidence in your voice mixed with the simple fact that you were just plain wrong was enough to free a little laugh from him. “that isn’t how it works…”

you laughed with him, your naivety beginning to shine through. “oh sure it is. as long as you don’t get inside, you can’t get me knocked up.”

to you, your logic was flawless. spencer wouldn’t be able to cum if he couldn’t actually get inside, which eliminated all possible risks. right?

as much as spencer wanted to pull out the multitude of factoids he had on this topic, he had gotten lost in the way your pretty eyes gazed down at him. just the sight of you got his palms clammy, his head light, and his guts doing complicated twists.

your wet folds began to drink him in as you dipped the tip in. spencer’s eyebrows knitted together, his eyes locked on when your beautiful body and his were connected. it was euphoric being this close to you. being able to smell your alluring scent and feel your touch on the most intimate part of him.

his fingers dug deeper into the plush skin of your ass as he tried to push himself further into you, groaning more than he should’ve been at the minimal contact. a smile pulled at his lips as he heard the sweet noises that came out of you, familiar buzzing sensations firing throughout him.

he knew this feeling all too well. his gut coiling, his balls tightening, and the sight of everything fading into a blur except you. the grinding motion of spencer’s hips came to a halt as his head tilted back, a deep groan coming from him as his release began to ooze from his tip. his hips rutted upward until he was fully inside you, filling up your tight hole with his cum.

“spencer!” your voice snapped him out of his sneak peak of paradise, his eyes opening quickly as he looked down and saw his cum waterfalling down his rod. his eyes widened at the sight of his release seeping out of your hole.

“...oh jeez… not again.” he muttered, his voice raspy and thick with the lingering pleasure of his orgasm.

“i can’t believe you, i didn’t even put it in!” you gave him a light swat on the chest.

“s-sorry, baby. y-you’re just so…” his voice trailed off as he looked down your body, swallowing hard.

you raised an eyebrow, putting your hands on your hips. “i’m just so what?”

he smiled, letting his gaze wander freely. “you’re so beautiful…” he whispered, tightening his grip on you slightly.

you couldn’t fight the grin that threatened to appear on your face. “you’re not too bad yourself…” you stood up from the bed, looking at the trail of moisture that you had left behind. you sighed, looking at the pile of discarded clothing on the ground. “let’s get cleaned up. i got this new bath soap that is to die for.”

spencer laughed softly, pulling his pants back up and standing next to you. “right. lead the way.” he said as you began to walk in front of him, not being able to help stealing a few glances at you from behind along the way.

author's note: not my best work but this was so much fun to write omg

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

the summer moon was born from the waves to be loved (gojo x reader)

or, you got pregnant and the ghost of university days past finds out five years later.

tags: afab!reader (she/her), mentions of pregnancy, sometimes self-care is writing a fic with a messy premise, unbeta’d i’ll go back and fix things i just want this out of my drafts

AO3 || pt 2

o. ghost

This felt like something out of a bad movie.

One of those “yeah, that’s me. The one looking like she just shit herself because the ghost of Christmas past just showed up” kinds of movies. The ghost of Christmas past whom you haven’t seen in the last five years.

The ghost of Christmas past that your daughter looks at curiously, wondering who put you in such a stupor as she asks sweetly, “who’s he, Mommy?”

The ghost of Christmas past whose face is unreadable as he looks at Itsuki before he settles his gaze on you. “Yeah, [First],” the ghost asks. “Who am I?”

Where did I go wrong?

A rhetorical question. 

A lot in life has to go wrong for a man you thought you left in your memories to show up at your doorstep but you can pinpoint the exact moment in time in which you screwed up. It’s all because you sat next to Ieiri Shoko in your mandatory calculus class. If it weren’t for that, none of this would be happening.

No, that isn’t it. Your gaze turns to Itsuki, who looks back at you with familiar light blue eyes and white hair. She may have gotten the Gojou Satoru eye and hair colors, but her hair texture and skin tone both pointed to you. If I sat anywhere else she wouldn’t be here. And even if you knew that sitting next to Shoko meant meeting the world’s most aggravating man you could have fallen for, you feel like you would have taken that path once again.

No, sitting next to Shoko wasn’t where you messed up all those years agoー it was telling her you were pregnant in the first place.

i. spring tide

When you met Gojou Satoru, you considered it a godsend.

Not because his eyes were a rare shade of blue that most would kill to have. Not because he was drop dead gorgeous and the last person you were expecting to see when your classmate Shoko invited you to eat lunch with her and a couple friends.

The reason was a lot more simple thatー he was the first person you’d met in years that had watched and liked Digimon more than Pokemon. I am so glad I sat next to that Shoko girl, you thought in gleeful disbelief as he told you his personal favorites before flipping the question onto you. “I’m basic,” you told him with a laugh. “I’ve been riding the wave of Gatomon love since I was 7.”

Getou Suguru, Satoru’s childhood best friend from what you’d gathered, groaned, “please don’t make him continue with your excitement.”

“Ignore him,” Satoru pushed Suguru’s face away with all the nonchalance in the world. “He thinks Digimon is stupid.”

“It’s a Pokemon bootleg!” Suguru shot back with a sly smile.

In unison, you and Satoru gasped in disbelief and offense. “Boy bye! You can talk all the shit you want about Digimon, I can rest every night at ease knowing if my house were on fire Agumon would be able to say ‘[First], your house is on fire’,” you sneered in jest at the man, Satoru clapping in agreement all the while at your defense. “You don’t get that kind of insurance with Pikachu! ‘Pika pika’ could mean so many things!”

“Where have you been all my life?” Satoru snickered, holding his hand out for a high five you reciprocated with complete enthusiasm.

“Watching Digimon by myself,” you laughed, whipping out your phone. You needed this man’s number stat. “The next time I have a Digimon rewatch, I’m inviting you over. Like, you don’t have the option to refuse, you’ve doomed yourself.”

Satoru’s eyes were gleaming from his lowered shades, “funny, I was about to say the exact same thing to you,” he glanced over at Suguru with a teasing look. “Friendship ended with Suguru, [First] is my new best friend,” the white-haired student declared as he typed his number into your phone.

He labeled himself Digidestined Satoru, sending a text to himself: This is coming from the phone of Digidestined [First]. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you were grinning as you looked at the message. “That better be what you put me in your phone.”

“Definitely, new best friend,” Satoru promised, whipping his own phone around to show your new contact in it. Digidestined [First] it was.

Despite the apparent disownership, Suguru looked amused and unbothered, “okay but see if your ex-best friend takes notes for you if you ever take off from class.” Suddenly your new brother-in-Digimon was singing a different tune, waxing poetic about how Digimon and Pokemon were brothers from different mothers. You rolled your eyes but you’re unmistakably giddy as you watched him talk with his hands.

“There doesn’t need to bad blood between the two,” Satoru ended with a grand bow. “As such, I declare that I can have more than one best friend.”

“How did we even get on the topic of Digimon,” Shoko asked with an amused look on her face, cracking open another beer. “That was so random.”

You grabbed your own beer with a light giggle, you felt rather light compared to how you started this day. “His sunglasses had a Metal Greymon-like pattern and I had to say something about it,” you say after a few sips. “Glad I did because now I have a new brother-in-Digimon.”

Blue eyes held your gaze for a moment and you clacked your cans together in celebration.

That was how your friendship started. Clothed in beer and Digimon. It took about a week before he swept over to your place, seeking out the promise to watch Digimon together. If you can really call what you did watching, you spent more than half of the time talking over the episodes about miscellaneous topics than actually watching Tai and the gang try to get back to the physical world.

He’d known Suguru since he was 5.

(“We got into a fight on the playground. I wanted the swing and he wouldn’t get off. So I kicked him and he threw sand at my face, we’ve been buddies ever since.”

“I have a lot of questions about how y’all went from trying to kill each other to being best friends.”

“Look, don’t question our methods.”)

He was a December Sagittarius, born December 7th.

(”Yeah, I can tell!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

He apparently started eating sweets to stimulate his brain but ended up with a sweet tooth.

(“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, did you get that shit from Death Note?!”

“.... no.”

“Oh my god, you did!”

“You literally got a tattoo of a butterfly because of a crush you had on Jolyne from Part 6, shut up!”

“Satoru, don’t play these games with me.”)

He sounded eerily similar to Bruno Bucciarati from part 5 of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.

(”Arrivederci!”

“Oh my god that’s insane! You do! Say something else!”

“STICKY FINGERS!!!”

“PFFT-”

“See? I could totally get away with saying I voiced him and no one would bat an eyelash.”

“Who else do you sound like?”

“I’ve been told I make a great impression of Kuroo from Haikyuu!!”

He did, by the way.)

And he was currently enrolled as a business major. 

(“My old man wouldn’t get off my back about it. You?”

“Marine biology.”

“We have that program here?”)

He had a natural charisma that just drew people in, yourself included. That’s why you think it was so easy being with him, he made it feel like you’d been friends all your life even if reality said otherwise. He made everyone feel like that, that’s why he’d always be surrounded by people.

Still, he’d find a way to make you feel special when his eyes would light up in recognition when he saw you wave across the room at parties.

How he’d jig across the room with those lanky limbs of his to grab you in a hug. “[First], you finally made it! Thanks for coming out of the bat cave you call a room to grace us with your presence!”

It made you feel special that you were friends with the person adored by everyone else. That’s why you could playfully push him off of you and say, “you mean the bat cave you crawl to when you lock yourself out of your room and Suguru isn’t in either?”

“I’m hurt, why are you being mean to me?” Satoru pouted batting his white eyelashes like a distressed damsel. “Don’t you know who you’re being mean to when you’re being an ass? This, this is who you’re being mean to,” he gestured to himself.

"Last week you ate my fries after I specifically said not to touch them because I counted how many I had left, I know exactly who I’m being mean to.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d count them again whenever you decided to eat them?” Your irritation from last week had long since passed though, that was why you could laugh it off with a shake of your head. Satoru was Satoru, it was what you liked most about him even if he could be a pain in the ass.

Suguru’s brown eyes twinkled as you joined the small fray of him, Shoko and Utahime in a corner of the room, “I’m just glad I’m not the only one dealing with him anymore.” Satoru suck his tongue out with a ‘rude’.

“Someone has to do the dirty work,” Shoko replied as she raised a cigarette to her lips. “it might as well be us.”

Utahime smacked the tobacco stick out of her girlfriend’s hands as she said, “I’d rather not be included in the list of people of doing the dirty work.”

“Et tu, [First], et tu?” Satoru asked when you made no effort to come to his defense.

You raised your hands in mock defense, “I have to be a little mean to you sometimes, Satoru,” you told him with a snicker. “It keeps you from getting too big an ego.”

Whether or not that was working was debatable.

The night went on smoothly until your favorite brand of beer had been noticeably picked off from the coolers.

That’s my cue to leave.

“Sorry gang, but my lips don’t touch anything but Don Equis and Asahi,” you said with an air of regality not suited for a party of college students. “Maybe Corona if there’s nothing else. I’m not drinking... whatever this is. So I’m gonna head out, there’s a 24 hour liquor store around here somewhere.”

A chorus of farewells came from your friends minus one. “You coming back?” Satoru looked over at you in earnest.

But you shook your head, “nah, I think I’m done for the night,” you told him truthfully. Your social battery was gone for the rest of the evening and home was the only place you wanted to be. “I’ll catch you guys later though,” you stood up with a stretch.

Satoru stood up with you, “I’ll walk you back to your place then.”

Which was how you ended up sipping beers at the park, laying on soft grass. It wasn’t truly quiet, not with the passing of cars and the occasional passersby but it was quiet enough compared to the welcomed ruckus of the party. “Satoru,” Satoru hummed wordlessly in acknowledgement. “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugged back pressed against the earth snuggly. “I never really got to think about it.”

He was an only child and as such the only one his parents’ turned their gaze to with pressure of taking over the family business. He confided in you ages ago how he hated it when you started seeing more sides of Satoru than the mischief-loving comedian he presented himself as.

You scooted closer to him to lean over his head, “well I think whatever you end up doing, even if it ends up really pissing off your dad, you’ll be great at it. You’re Satoru, that’s how I know you’ll be fine,” your voice held the tone of a promise. I promise you’ll be fine and you’ll be happy.

Thanks, [First]. You liked to think that was what that look on Satoru’s face meant. “I think you’ll make a great part-time aquarist, full-time whale researcher,” Satoru replied instead.

“You’re damn right I will,” you smiled warmly at him, moving a stray strand of his hair off his forehead. “Be careful I don’t disappear for months, spirited away by the sea folk on my Children of the Sea shit.” You took his sunglasses off, you had no clue how he was able to wear them 24/7. Even stranger was how he was still able to walk so easily at night despite having them on. Apparently the Gojou eye genes were built different; the colors of his eyes certainly were. “I’ll come back to shore occasionally, mysterious as the sea itself.” The sea you got to see every time you looked at his eyes, even if now they were barely visible even with the street lights.

Satoru looked back at you with a small smirk, “even if you got spirited away, I’d just go and bring you right back. Suguru’ll kill me if I try and make him watch Digimon Tamers with me again. You said it first, remember?” His voice was low as he recalled your exact words from your first meeting. “You’ve doomed yourself. There’s no ditching me now, not even at sea.”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I,” you smiled wryly. 

He didn’t say anything back, but you could guess that he was likely thinking something along the lines ‘yep, that you did. No take backsies.’ A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, his eyes staring up at yours. It’s then you swore you saw him glance at your lips from where he laid and just when you considered the idea of kissing himー the sprinklers turned on.

Even worse, in your surprise his head clashed into yours as he tried getting up with a start.

Then there was a dash of bullshit on the side when your beers spilled over into the grass.

Great, you thought as Satoru tossed your emptied cans into a nearby trash can after you got out of the line of fire. You shook your arms, droplets of water flying off your soaked sleeves.

You should have taken that as a major sign from the universe that you would be making a mistake of gargantuan proportions if you kissed that man.

Instead, the two of you looked at each other and laughed. “God I hate this park, why do we even come here? Nothing good ever happens when we do,” Satoru said with a shake of his damp hair.

“This is the first time we’ve ever even come here,” you snickered.

“And see what a great start we’re already having with it?”

“Come on,” you tugged him by the wrist. “Let’s just change at my place, you have some clothes somewhere over there.”

A smarter person would have left it at that once you got home and showered, placing your clothes in the wash. It could have been a pleasant end to the evening, the two of you crashing on the couch while watching some dumb movie you never heard of on Netflix.

But the same atmosphere from the park came back with you when he came out of the bathroom at the same time you planned to knock on it to ask if he wanted something warm to drink. “Oh, sorry-” you say when your fist lightly landed on his chest instead of the door. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted tea or something. I bought your favorite brand of honey.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” he answered but you made no move to go to the kitchen and he made no move to ask when you would.

Who kissed who first, you weren’t sure. It didn’t really hit you that you were kissing until Satoru tore his lips from yours with a pant, “hey how drunk are you because I really just wanna make sure-”

“I’m not,” you pulled his lips back onto yours and Satoru hadn’t wasted time in hoisting you up by the legs.

ii. neap tide

When does one stop sleeping with their friend? You suppose it is probably when you realize you have feelings for them.

You didn’t do that.

If it had been anyone else doing this to themselves, you would have told them to cut the cord while the feelings were still manageable.

Or maybe you at least tell the other party how they felt.

You didn’t do that either.

Maybe that was why it was all catching up to you one day when you woke up feeling like crap. The physical manifestation of your stress coming back to bite you in the ass. Right before the trip you were planning on taking with your friends, you started feeling like crap only exacerbated when Satoru was in your presence.

But you still went despite your physically manifested stress because you’re a pushover. Or more specifically, if it involved Satoru, you folded faster than Sunday morning laundry. You had to when he looked at you in concerned disbelief you were trying to drop out of your plans last minute.

“Satoru, it isn’t the end of the world if I stay home. It’s just a week long break.”

“A week long break from your friends? From me? Your best friend?”

You struggled not to laugh, “last week you said I was kicked from that position because I watched one episode of Love is Blind without you.”

Satoru scowled at the memory, “because that’s our show, we started that together, there’s no watching ahead,” he reprimanded you. “And clearly I’ve forgiven you since you’re back in that position because I can’t believe you’re trying to leave me to survive with a couple and Suguru for a week!”

You puckered your lips and shrugged, “if it’s any consolation, Suguru is your boyfriend like 95% of the time.”

“Well right now Suguru is that asshole Kenjaku’s boyfriend and Kenjaku is supposed to be coming and I do not want to fourth wheel that by myself.”

You flicked his nose softly, “so you want me to third party fourth wheel with you so you don’t have to be alone with two couples?”

Satoru grinned and you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. “Third party fourth wheel with benefits, yes.”

You stared at him for one, two, three seconds before you relented. “Look, I’m only going because I want the sex, not because I’m happily agreeing to fourth wheel with you.”

Satoru whooped regardless in his victory, “works for me!” He chortled as he went back to scrolling on his phone.

Silence fell over you as fiddled with your pointer finger and thumb.

“Hey,” Satoru spared a glance from whatever he was staring at on twitter. “What are we supposed to be?” Blue eyes grew to the size of saucers and you continued, “Classic no strings attached? Or is this supposed to be going somewhere?”

That made him set down his phone, “why,” he licked his lips before grinning, but it looked forced even to your eyes. “Why are you asking me that so randomly?”

You deserved an Oscar for how smoothly you delivered what came from your mouth. “Well what if the receptionist there is hot? I don’t need to make things between us awkward because it turned out we aren’t on the same page,” you thumbed behind you in the direction of the hotel. “‘What the hell, [First]’,” you deepened your voice, puckering your bottom lip as you whined. “‘I thought we had something special and you fucked the receptionist? What if they end up fucking with our reservation now?!’”

“First of all, that is not what I sound like,” Satoru stuck his tongue out at you but his shoulders were relaxed and subtle he tried to be, you could feel the relief rolling off of him in waves. “Second, fucking the receptionist does sound like a terrible idea because what if they do fuck our reservation because things go south? Just find someone at a club like the rest of us. But fucking someone else is a non-issue, get all the ass you want.”

“Well glad to know I have the Gojou Satoru thumb of approval,” you smiled and Satoru grinned in return, giving you a nudge with his elbow and you nudged him back. Underneath the calm, you were a storm of turbulent emotions. You weren’t surprised, your feelings had been confirmed. This wasn’t a Disney movie. You weren’t Tiana and he wasn’t Naveenー you weren’t going to turn this commitment-phobe into something he wasn’t. Yet the pain of the confirmation echoed in your chest. “Well, not when it comes to the receptionist.”

“Because no one fucks someone with the power of their reservation at their fingertips, that’s like,” Satoru searched his mind for the perfect example. “Handing over the poison to a chef and that chef was the person you were planning on poisoning.” So is continuing to sleep with someone who didn’t want the same things as you.

You couldn’t help laughing at your idiocy, relieved that Satoru took it as a humorous dig at his less than perfect metaphor. “I’m still fucking the receptionist if they’re hot.”

“I hope they’re married and old, how about that?”

“I’ve always liked them with a little salt and pepper. I fucked your prematurely whitening headass, didn’t I?”

“First of all, this is all natural-”

You’ve doomed yourself.

iii. red tide

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

Those are the five stages of grief. It was certainly the steps that you experienced when the fact your period was late hit you while you were floating when Utahime gasped about the sea turning red.

Red tide, it was the first you’d ever seen it. But that excitement or concern about the possibility of what that meant completely subsided as you stared at the reddening shoreline when you realized a noticeable absence of red that week.

There was no way you were late for any particular reason. This was one of those flukes, your period always had a tendency to be finicky. It would be early or late at its convenience, never mind you being the one suffering. That’s why it was absolutely ludicrous that you left the beach to buy a pregnancy test.

And if you were the word you refused to think, it was your own damn fault for playing with karma the one time you decide to trust Satoru’s pullout game. Both of you were stupid, very very turned on and stupid and you should have just waited to get a condom.

But in the chance you weren’t pregnant, you swore you were going to remain celibate the rest of your university experience. You’d focus on other things, like journaling consistently like you said you would when you were writing your New Year’s revolutions.

Bargaining means nothing to biology, however, that was what you took as the universe’s answers when you were forced to look at the positive result staring back at you.

A lot of thoughts would run through a person’s head at an unplanned pregnancy resulting from a very ill-advised friends with benefits relationship.

Were you still in depression? Or had you reached acceptance yet? You weren’t entirely sure as you stared out the sparkling sea. Your sight blurring the stars above and the stars below did little reassure you as the possibilities ran through your mind.

What would you tell Satoru?

How would he react?

Would he think this was why you asked him about where your relationship was supposed to be heading?

Would assume the worst of you and accuse you of trying to trap him into a relationship when it was clearly supposed to be no strings attached from the beginning?

You didn’t know which unknown would hurt you more.

I should really decide on whether or not I’ll keep it to begin with before I start with all the scenarios, you inhaled deeply with shudder but you didn’t bother to wipe your tears. The blurriness was your own punishment. If I don’t, I never have to tell him anything. We can just cut this off and he’ll be none the wiser.

It was the most optimal scenario when you were still in college. You were barely handling the fees you currently had to pay for school, a child definitely wouldn’t help with that.

Was it too late to find something unhealthy to use as a coping mechanism?

“Yo,” you could have laughed bitterly. Of course, this is when Satoru shows up now. Right after you’ve isolated yourself away from everyone else on the more populated part of the beach. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice. “[Fir]- hey are you alright?”

Great.

“Yeah, it’s just, you ever see something so beautiful you want to cry? It’s one of those things,” when he looked unsure, you grinned widely and wiped your tears. You didn’t need him to suspect a damn thing. “Seriously, dude, this was the reason I wanted to go into marine biology as a kid. I saw a picture of it once and decided, I wanna see that too. It’s just a surreal moment for me.”

At your reassurance, Satoru sighed, “geez, don’t freak me out like that.” You snorted as he settled next to you and you couldn’t think of anything humorous to say.

“Pretty cool, right?” The blue of the bioluminescence was reminiscent of his eyes, the thought crossed your mind now that he was in front of you.

Satoru whistled, impressed, “yeah but what is it?” He slapped a foot down on the ground, whistling again at the additional sparkling at the stimulus. “You’re the marine biologist, explain the science to me.”

“Sea sparkle,” you told him with a snort, heart drumming all the while. “I never thought I’d see something like this in my life. Red tides are signs of algal blooms are going to happen. They can be harmful but sometimes, completely harmless. This is the completely harmless kind,” a sparkling wave rolled across your feet as if to prove your point. “Well, technically harmless, there’s some conflicting evidence on whether or not it’s okay to swim in. We shouldn’t touch or swim in it to be safe. It’s just been a childhood dream of mine to do this, so don’t tell my friends in the not-dumb-scientist community. And wash your skin really really well tonight before going to bed.”

A grin blossomed on his face in his usual expression of mischief, “I ain’t no snitch.”

“Good because if you do I’m telling Shoko it was you that ate her leftovers,” you stuck your tongue out petulantly and Satoru kicked a splash at your thigh.

“Anyways,” Satoru drawled, observing the glow of his footsteps in the sand. “How long will it last?”

“It depends, sometimes a week. Sometimes a month,” definitely longer than the two of you and the situationship you’ve maintained thus far. “Once the food source runs out, they’re out. But hopefully they’ll be here the rest of our vacation, it’s pretty cool, right?”

“Yep, pretty damn cool,” he repeated like you hadn’t already asked that question earlier.

Satoru wasn’t yours, nothing was going to change that.

iv. ebb

If I’m not going to tell him, I need to leave.

That was the conclusion you came to after ultimately deciding to keep your child. Gojou Satoru wasn’t yours to keep, that was more than apparent. You wouldn’t force him to stay by means of a pregnancy.

You weren’t the first single mother in existence, you doubted you’d be the last. You’d do everything, without his help. Everything would be figured out in due time, it didn’t matter the run around you would have to take.

It took a week after the trip for you to come to that conclusion, packing your bags so you could head home. You’d transfer to a different school, there was no way you’d be able to keep a pregnancy underwraps on campus. Especially not from your friends.

You tried to distance yourself from your friends slowly, but even an inch was noticeable.

You alright?

What kind of sadists are your professors if you’re this busy?

Just let me know if you need me to come over some kind of distraction. Sorry for coming over earlier unannounced, I shouldn’t have assumed. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Those were the texts Satoru sent you the most. If any your friends doubted you, it seemed Satoru doubted you the most despite your reassurance that once you got your workload more manageable you’d be more available. You told him things were fine, maybe he just doubted you because you never told him he couldn’t come over whenever he felt like it. That was how things had been since you became friends.

Your place was his place, his place was yours.

That’s why Shoko had to be at your apartment, arms crossed and looking thoroughly tired.

“What’s been up with you anyway?” Shoko barged into your apartment before you could stop her. “Satoru’s been driving me insane asking me to check on you.” So she said, but you saw the worry on her face even if she tried to hide it. “So what’s going on? He says he’s pretty sure something is going on and you don’t want to tell him. Are you failing a class or something?”

“Nothing,” you told her a little too quickly and the brunette gave you a look that said ‘girl, please’. If your attempt to look as composed as possible wasn’t doing you favors, neither was how messy your room was. “Seriously, Shoko, I’m fine. Satoru’s just being overdramatic. It’s Satoru, you should know this. He went to your clinic once for almost breaking a nail.”

Shoko rolled her eyes at the memory, “yeah but now he’s pestering me to see if you’re actually fine or if you’re just trying to shut him out,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before the concern peeps out of her face. “He said once in high school Suguru pushed him away and stuff went bad between them for a while. He felt like it was his fault for not trying hard enough to see what was bothering him. The rest of us are being chill about everything but we are worried too, you know. Just considerably less dramatically than others.”

That made your heart twist in both in the best and worst ways.

“It’s...” you took a step back and held yourself. “It’s fine. Tell Satoru he’s just being dramatic.”

“Then why is your suitcase out?” [Color] stared into brown as Shoko’s look told you that she wouldn’t drop it until you came clean to her. “Is it that serious? I won’t force you to talk about it, but I at least want to know how okay you are and it’s something you can manage on your own. That’s all, I promise I won’t say anything to Satoru if you really don’t want him knowing,” she’s the most gentle you’ve ever seen her. Only Utahime is privy to the softest of Shoko’s expressions but you can’t help but appreciate the look of worry she has. But I don’t want you to just up and disappear on us either.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I,” you licked your lips and sat down on your couch. “I’m thinking of transferring to another school.”

Shoko peers into your face, “and you’re worried about how we’ll take it?”

You shook your head. “I am worried about that but, I’m more worried about the why I need to leave. My parents will probably freak out too, but I’m going to promise them this isn’t going to stop me from pursuing my education.” Wide as her eyes already were, Shoko’s eyes were practically the size of dinner plates. You cut her off before she could say anything else. “I’m pregnant. I found out on the trip we took.”

...

“It’s Satoru’s,” it wasn’t a question.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“You’re plan was to transfer schools because you don’t want to tell him you’re pregnant?” Shoko’s eyes were wide and you looked away from her. “[First], you can’t expect me to not tell him about-”

Your eyes snapped back to look at her, “you can’t tell him about this.”

Shoko shook her head, “this isn’t just your kid-”

“I’m the one who’s pregnant, I’m the one who decides what to do with it! It’s none of his business!”

Shoko probably would have slapped you if you weren’t expecting, “it’s his kid too, of course it’s his business!”

“Fine,” you muttered coldly, fixing your friend with a cold stare. “I’ll tell him if you can tell me you genuinely think it’s going to go well. That you can really Gojou Satoru dropping everything to become a father for a kid he never planned on having with someone he never planned on being with. Satoru who can’t commit to a relationship at best or won’t commit at worst,” you remember his genuine fear and subsequent genuine relief. “Hell, that he won’t think I tried babytrapping him because I asked him recently if he saw what we had going anywhere and he clearly didn’t want that.”

Shoko couldn’t say anything.

You shook your head with a humorless huff, “yeah, that’s what I thought too.” You paused to close your eyes and inhale deeply before looking at your friend once more. “I’m not telling him anything. I don’t need his help to raise this baby, I can do this myself.”

Shoko eyes are dark and you knew she was second guessing everything. “[First]-”

“You can’t tell him anything. Not even Suguru, especially not Suguru. He’d tell him right away.” Suguru was your friend, he was a great friend even. But you knew where his loyalties lied. He’d tell Satoru in a heartbeat. “Please,” you pleaded. “I’m asking you as your friend.”

Shoko reached for the pack of cigarettes sticking out of her pocket before dropping her hand to the side. Right, your pregnancy. 

You looked at her in desperation, biting your lip. “Please, I’d never ask you this if it wasn’t important. Satoru doesn’t want me,” your eyes stung at the admission even if you accepted that truth ages ago. “Not the way I want him.”

“I,” Shoko released a shaky breath. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

You dropped out of school without a word to your friends before the month ended.

v. moon

五条・五月。

Gojou Itsuki; you considered writing that on her birth certificate when she was born. Instead, it was your last name Itsuki received.

五, that was the only part of Satoru you would give her, the ‘five’ in Gojou. You promised that little girl you would love her five times as much for his absence.

vi. flow

That all brought you back to now in the present, Gojou Satoru sitting beside you on a park bench while you daughter looked nervously between you both. “Go on then,” you sweep your hand in the direction of the swings. “I’ll be sitting right here, okay? Have some fun with the other kids.”

Yet like moth to a flame, the man with snowy white hair is all your daughter can focus on. “But who is he?”

Satoru opens parts his lips and you beat him to the introductions, “he’s just an old friend of Mama’s, that’s all. Like Aunt Shoko. We haven’t seen each other in a while and we just want to catch up, that’s all. Right?” You shoot Satoru a pleading look.

“That’s right,” Satoru beams. “Maybe I can push you on the swings later.” That makes Itsuki grin back widely. She looks so much like him that there is no denying who she is to him. You know it and so does he.

The smile drops the moment Itsuki is out of an earshot. “You really never planned to tell me about her,” his eyes that normally remind you of crystal clear seas look more akin to frigid chips of ice as he looks at you. “You stop talking to me, you block me on everything out of nowhere and when you dropped out of school, I had no idea where you were-”

“Satoru, you have to understand,” you start, it sounds weak even to you.

Satoru looks at you with a look of pure offense. You can read his mind clearly, “What is there to understand?”

“This was the best outcome for everyone involved. You, me and Itsuki.”

“That isn’t the kind of thing you decide on your own, it takes two to make a child, [First]!”

“We’re not arguing in front of my daughter, Gojou Satoru.”

“No,” the smile that spreads across Satoru’s face is feral. You’ve seen that smile before, one he had whenever he was on the brink of swinging and starting a fight. Never before had that smile been directed at you. “She’s our daughter. My daughter. And I had to find out from Shoko five years after she’s been born that she ever existed in the first place!”

“Like you wanted to be a father anyway,” you hiss, glancing at the growing concern on Itsuki’s face.

“You didn’t even bother asking me what I wanted,” Satoru snaps back. “I would have helped. I want to help.”

“I didn’t want or need your help then and I sure as hell don’t need it now,” you stand up, swinging your wrist away from the large hand that tries to stop you. “You aren’t even her birth certificate,” Satoru flinches like you shot him. “Not your name, not your birthday, not anything. Itsuki’s never even asked about her father,” a lie. It isn’t nearly so frequent as to be considered a problem, but Itsuki did ask about the whereabouts of her father every so often. “It’s just us, Itsuki, I keep telling you that.”

“Do I have another mommy then?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Still, she asks. But Gojou Satoru didn’t need to know about that. “Just go the hell away and leave us alone. I’m not asking for your help, I’ve been doing this alone so far and I plan to keep it that way.”

You take Itsuki home, telling her not to mind the sad-looking man you left on the bench.

“Before you say anything," Shoko starts when she answers the phone. “I know you’re pissed off.”

“No shit,” you all but seethe at your closest friend. Itsuki is asleep and it takes all of your willpower to not turn a firm but loud whisper into shrieks of hysteria. “Shoko, what the-”

“[First], I had to tell him,” Shoko sighs and you can practically smell the nicotine through. “I get it, you were scared back then but Satoru deserved to know he is a father. Itsuki deserves a chance to get to know her father!”

“You don’t get to decide what my kid needs,” you retort immediately. “We have been doing just fine without him in our lives and that’s how I wanted to keep it. Now she keeps asking about the man with the white hair and why he looked so sad and-”

“This isn’t one of those situations where you had a surrogate and did this all on your own, [First]. And he isn’t some random stranger you met some campus party years ago, this is a friend! Why on earth would you tell him that you never put him on the birth certificate.”

“Was. He was a friend,” you correct her. You push back the memories of late night study sessions gone awry by Satoru shoving his phone in your face to show you some video in his recommended list. You ignore the creeping reminders of sharing shit-eating grins, waiting for the moment Suguru learned that you changed his autocorrect for chocolate into something stupid. “We haven’t been friends in years, we’re just old school acquaintances at this point. You know why I never told him about her. And I said it so he would have an out; he doesn’t need to stick around to be her father.”

“And what if she gets tired of you skirting around her questions about him?” Shoko shoots back without giving you a moment to reply that you would handle it if it ever got to the point that it became a problem. “You might be able to skirt around it now but when she gets older she is going to ask and ask and askー and she is going to keep on asking before she does research of her own! There was no way you’d be able to keep this a secret for the rest of her life, what were you planning to do then?!”

“... I was going to figure that out by then.”

“Right and that was going to go by so smoothly and Itsuki wouldn’t feel hurt or betrayed you took away the choice for her to get to know her dad. That could ruin your entire relationship with her.”

“You couldn’t have at least asked?!”

“You never let me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and said things behind your back. I told him to at least let me call and tell you that he knew, but he wanted to meet Itsuki.”

“I just...” your back hit the wall and you slid to the floor, resting your head on your knees. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”

There’s silence when Shoko hesitates to reply to your tired voice, “look, I get it. As much as I can try to get it, anyway.” There is only so much that your child-free doctor of a friend can relate to when it comes to your situation. Things worked out perfectly for her when she fucked a friend, Utahime and Shoko’s names were written in the stars. You only admit your envy on lonely nights when thoughts of university days past make a reappearance.

“Satoru is a lot of things. He’s a clown, he’s insufferable and he’s Gojou Satoru that’s enough trouble as it is,” much to your chagrin, you can’t help snorting at her comment. “But he should have a chance to get to know his daughter. You’re a great mom, you’ve been doing great without him. I’ve seen you handle everything, you even went back to school to get your degree. You’ve got the job, everything. I’m not trying to say you need his help, I just want you to be open to the idea of letting him get to know her.”

You think of Itsuki and her questions and the look of hurt that graced Satoru’s face earlier that afternoon. “I don’t want Itsuki to get attached to him only for him to take off,” but a bitter taste fills your mouth at your words. I’m only using Itsuki as an excuse, you can only admit to yourself. The one who doesn’t want to see her father is me.

Fearful you may have been, it was no excuse to keep her away from her father.

“If he does that, I’ll kill him myself. But he wants to be there,” Shoko promises, her voice the softest its been the entire conversation. “He wants to get to know her. She looks just like him.”

She does.

You grab a baby wipe, rolling your eyes in amusement, “Itsuki, you’re getting syrup all over your face, hold still,” gently, you wipe away the sugary mess on her face before it dries and becomes even stickier. Itsuki always leaves the table looking like she’s been off to war. “You definitely don’t get your messy eating habits from me. Let me clean your hands and the fork too.”

Itsuki’s eyes sparkle curiously, “is Daddy a messy eater?”

You look at your daughter, her white hair pulled into pigtails by pastel knockerballs and her blue eyes that sparkle with hope that you’ll have some sort of answer as to the mystery of her secret parent she doesn’t realize she’s already met. “Yeah,” you whisper softly, the ghost of smile on your lips. “He got pretty messy whenever we ate.”

“Really?”

“Yep, and he would always steal the chips out of my bag whenever he thought I wasn’t looking,” you smile knowingly. He isn’t the only one guilty of such a crime. “Kinda like how someone always takes extra bites out of my pudding cups when she thinks I’m not looking.” Itsuki erupts into giggles as you pinch her cheeks now free of syrup. “You really want to meet your papa, don’t you,” you ask almost weakly, resting your hand on the table.

With a nod of excitement, Itsuki answers your question with an unmistakable yes.

“What if Mommy brings Daddy to pick you up from daycare soon? Would you like that?”

Itsuki gasps in disbelief, “Really?!”

Your nerves don’t show as you grin in return, “really.”

The first few rings you wait for Satoru to pick up the phone later in the day are painful.

I should have just asked Shoko to do this, you pace anxiously in the employee parking lot of your job. A childish part of you wishes you had asked your friend seeing as she had already spilled the beans to you. But you remember the more than subtle tone in her voice when she mentioned the other day that Satoru’s number hadn’t changed in all the years you spent out of his life. He’s the father of your child, [First], you scold yourself. Get a grip.

A second later when he picks up the line, you almost hang up in a panic.

“... Hey, [First],” he sounds like he’s grinning but it lacks his usual bravado. “You didn’t change your number.”

“Neither did you,” you reply nervously, fiddling with the fabric of your uniform as the expected awkward silence filled the air. Five years ago, Satoru was one of the easiest people in the world to talk to. Annoying and arrogant at times, most of the times even, but still easy. He spoke his mind clearly; it’s hard reconciling that person with the silence on the other side of the phone. “I shouldn’t have kept Itsuki from you,” you finally begin. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did yesterday, you have a right to be mad at what I did. I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s sigh is slow, “why didn’t you tell me in all these years? If Shoko never said anything, were you really not going to tell me about her at all?”

“Can we not-”

“No, I get to know why you didn’t want to let me know I had a daughter,” Satoru’s voice hardens and you know that running away isn’t an option. Old habits seem to die hard. “You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant.”

“I was scared, okay?” Scared and pathetically in love with someone who didn’t want you back. “I didn’t know how you were going to react... and I didn’t know if you would want to be part of the baby’s life if I decided to keep it. We weren’t even a couple. I freaked out and thought this was best course of action.”

“I would have helped, I would have been there. We were friends, [First],” you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad with your younger self’s line of reasoning. “You really thought I would have let you done everything on your own? I would have had your back from day one.”

“.... I’m sorry, I can’t take it back but I’m sorry,” you rest your back against the side of your car. The breeze on your skin doesn’t calm you as much as you’d like.

Satoru sighs again and he’s quiet, contemplative and your heart races wondering what is going through his mind. Would he curse you? Maybe he would take you to court for his parental rights. Instead, Satoru peacefully asks, “what’s she like?”

“Adorable,” your lips quirk slightly at the thought of your child. “I’m pretty sure Shoko’s probably shown you some pictures, so you probably know that already.” Painfully adorable and the entire world knew it, it’s a blessing she isn’t nearly as much of a troublemaker as her father. If she were, you don’t doubt Itsuki would get away with most of her ‘crimes’. “She’s a sweet girl, if she sees a caterpillar on the neighbor’s strawberries, she’ll pick it up and ask if we can take it to the park so it can eat there instead.”

You both share a laugh at that. “She’s smart too, she just sucks things up like a sponge. And she’s popular at daycare, you know,” she gets it from her father, that is easy to admit. Satoru definitely surpasses everyone you know, yourself included, when it comes to attracting people to him. Even when he’s annoying you can’t help but be drawn in. “She’s good at making friends, always looks out for the ones there who have a harder time connecting with people.”

“It’s nice to know she got all her charm and good looks from me,” Satoru chuckles smugly. “It’s a no-brainer the people love her, I expect nothing less from my kid.”

“Oh shut up,” yet you can’t deny his claim. She is Gojou Satoru’s daughter through and through. “She’s a lovable kid; Itsuki was born for it.”

“Was Itsuki the only name in the running?”

“It’s a pretty name, isn’t it? There were others in the running though,” you count down on your fingers the various options you ultimately decided against. “Itsuki stuck out the best.”

“What characters did you use to write her name?”

“The characters for ‘Five’ and ‘Moon’,” you answer softly, remembering the various combinations you could have gone with. Ultimately, there was only one that you could have gone with. “I got the idea from your last name, I... I wanted her to have a part of you with her even if she didn’t know you.”

There’s a pause then a shaky breath. “Gojou Itsuki,” Satoru says finally, sounding a million miles away despite being just on the other line.

“She has my name,” you tell him gently.

“I know,” Satoru replies softly yet there’s a tinge of emotion you can’t quite place. Melancholy? Acceptance? Perhaps a little bit of both. “I just wanted to try it out.”

Silence falls over you both again and you hug yourself despite the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Shoko is right, your secret wasn’t one that was sustainable. “Do you,” your lips suddenly feel too dry and you lick your lips. “Do you want to pick her up from daycare with me today? She wants to meet you, she always has. She even asked about you this morning.”

He does. It shouldn’t surprise you that he does and it doesn’t. Still, your heart pounds when you see him show up at the daycare your daughter spends a large portion of her time at. “Hi,” you greet him nervously.

“Hey,” even though he’s grinning, his smile is a bit off kilter. A sugary pink bag hangs from one his arms. “I uh, didn’t know exactly what sort of things she like but I got her a present. You said she’s really into whale sharks, right? So I got her a plush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him Itsuki already has five. She’d love his gift anyway. Maybe the one he got her would become her favorite.

“She might adore that more than you,” you joke but you give him a nod a beat later. “But don’t worry about what happened last time. She’ll be happy to see you in a better mood, she was worried about you when we left the park.” Maybe that was the father-daughter bond at work, or maybe it was your child’s empathetic nature.

Maybe both.

You already discussed things with him after he agreed to come meet her properly. He could get to know Itsuki, could even meet the daycare attendants. It would just be a while before you’d be able to trust him with being an emergency contact.

“Hey, Choso,” you wave at the man with pigtails. Intimidating as he looks, his daycare is surprisingly popular due to the low rates. He wanted a place where his youngest brother could grow up happily with his friends. “This,” you start before Choso can question you, gesturing to Satoru. “... This is Itsuki’s father. You’ll uh, probably see him coming around a lot more when I pick her up from now.”

There’s a lengthy pause.

“Nice to meet you,” Choso’s tone says otherwise. If it were possible, Choso’s face would be place right under the definition of judgement. He is definitely deeming Satoru a deadbeat that was finally crawling out from the woodworks.

Satoru ignores it with the air of confidence he didn’t have a few minutes ago outside, “thanks for looking after my kid while [First] was busy. I haven’t been around but I’m hoping to make up for all the lost time.”

You doubt that was meant to be a dig, you still take it as one. “Itsuki’s playing with Yuuji and the rest of their friends right now. You’ll see her at the playground,” he gestures at the infant in his hands. “I have a diaper to change.”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” you wave. “And tell Kechizu that he needs to stop cooking better than me. The other day Itsuki said she liked his lunches more than mine.” That manages to get a snicker out of the man. 

“Itsuki!” You call out once you’re on the playground and you see her eyes light up with recognition and a ‘Mommy!’ Even funnier is her little excited jig before she runs over to hug you although she stops as she recognizes the man beside you.

She glances between the two of you and you smile reassuringly. “Why are you getting so shy? Don’t you remember what I promised at breakfast?”

Itsuki’s eyes widen and her jaw drops wordlessly. You suppose she might not have truly been expecting you’d make good on your promise. At least, definitely not so soon.

“Itsuki, this is Satoru, your father,” you tell her gently, smile small. “Although I suppose, you already met him yesterday. It just didn’t go at all the way it was supposed to.” But what was done was done; Itsuki deserved to know her father. You wouldn’t take away that choice because of your own fears anymore.

“Daddy?” Itsuki asks Satoru, voice just above a whisper.

Satoru nods, settling down on one knee to look her in those familiar blue eyes. “That’s right, kiddo,”

“Daddy?!” Itsuki hops in disbelief, looking between the two of you before her eyes settle on yours again. “It’s really Daddy?!” You aren’t sure if Itsuki knows whether she wants to cry or run away in disbelief that this moment is finally happening.

You knelt beside your old friend, “say hi to your father, Itsuki.”

The tears suddenly well in her eyes but despite Satoru’s panicked voice, you can tell they aren’t sad ones as Itsuki throws her arms over Satoru’s shoulders. And if your eyes are warmer than they were a few moments ago, you don’t mind it as you watch you’re daughter hug her father for the first time.

Itsuki adores Satoru, that’s what you learn in the span of a single afternoon. And yes, she does love the whale shark plush he got her more than the other five you already purchased. She cried even harder when he hugged her back, softly promising he wasn’t going anywhere. That he’d always be there and he would come see her as much as she wanted.

She adores how he took her out for ice cream before dinner and how even after dinner, he purchased even more dessert. 

He was weak to her with no immunity built up over the past five years.

This was why he couldn’t say no when she pleaded he stayed over to at least watch a movie with her before bedtime. Not that you had any room to talk considering how easily you agreed.

“So she had to get Merlin’d?” Satoru asks incredulously as the credits roll across the screen.

“That is not what was supposed to happen, the beautiful girl is subjective to the one who got cursed!” You tell him, flabbergasted that that was the conclusion he came to. Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves is far more than a comedy. It’s social commentary! “Not to mention the body positive message it sends with the fact that shoes represent societal standards of beauty along with the objectification and idolization Snow experiences while wearing them which further supported the fact that had she had gone to the F7 as herself they wouldn’t have he-”

“Nope, too late. I like my idea better,” you could strangle this man.

“You’re going to ruin Itsuki’s perception of love,” you shoot Satoru a look of amusement and annoyance. At the very least, you know he enjoyed it.

“Good, I don’t need some snot-nosed brat trying to win over my kid that’s obviously aroace,” Satoru says firmly as he picks up your very much fell-asleep-before-the-movie-ended daughter. It’s almost uncanny how natural it looks to you, like he had been around from the start. He probably should have been. You were the one who took that choice from him and made him an unintentional deadbeat.

“Satoru, she’s five and doesn’t even know what that means yet,” you say instead, Satoru oblivious to the thoughts running around your head. One day you’d tell Itsuki the truth, once she was a little older.

“What? She told me she was aroace when I asked earlier today,” Satoru tells you petulantly, moving away when you try to hold her. 

“Only because you told her you’d give her ice cream if she agreed to be,” ice cream she wasn’t even supposed to eat because it would spoil her appetite for dinner in a moment you weren’t supposed to see. “It means you’ll love Daddy forever and think everyone else is gross,” Satoru happily exclaimed, holding a cup of Itsuki’s favorite salted cookie dough ice cream. The five year old happily obliged to his whims.

Maybe Satoru will be right in his hopeful predictions that romance will be the last thing on your daughter’s mind in the future thought. On the other hand, maybe he’d be dead wrong and forced to tolerate whoever she brings home in the future.

“They’re just like you, Dad, but they’re brilliant!” She’ll say, hearts in her eyes.

You almost wanted to manifest the opposite of his wishes, only to see the face Satoru would make. It is far too early to be thinking about such things however.

“I don’t want my kid to date anyone, sue me. So I’m manifesting early,” Satoru pouts as he starts takes her to her room to lay her across her bed.

“You’re so stupid,” you roll your eyes and shake your head in exasperation, but a look of fondness is apparent in your expression.

Maybe you were born to see this moment, the moment you could see that Gojou Satoru is absolutely smitten with his daughter. You can see it in how he presses a kiss to the temple of her forehead as he takes her to his room.

Itsuki was born to be loved, she makes it too easy just by being herself. Suddenly your fears from before felt unfounded. You knew underneath the rejection of Satoru in your life that he would have been there and he would have been more than happy to shoulder the burdens of parenthood even in a platonic way. You stop yourself from wondering what that path might have looked like. You made your choice and this is path you’re on now, there is no other way but forward.

“I’ll have you know,” Satoru points a finger gun at you smugly when he returns, child-free, “my kid thinks I’m the smartest man in the world. So one of you is lying and I know it’s not her.”

“Your kid is biased and spoiled from snacks and gifts,” you retort softly with a grin.

“I don’t hear the voices of the naysayers praying for my downfall, sorry,” you both release a chuckle at your exchange and a comfortable silence falls between you both. “I should probably get going I guess.”

You smile at him politely, “we should do this again sometime, I wanna see what else in our movie collection Itsuki will have you watch next.”

Satoru grins, “it better be the Digimon reboot DVD set I saw in the corner,” he pauses before asking you seriously, “our kid does like Digimon, right?”

“You’ll be happy to know that her favorites are Palmon, Kokomon and Wormmon in that order,” you tell him smugly. How could he think otherwise? Did he forget who you were? “The plushies are just in the toy chest she has at the foot of her bed.”

Your child had to be a fan of Digimon, she had no other choice.

Pt 2 Here

translation:

五月 five moons

五 five (same character in Gojou 五条)

月 moon

[dantakeyoman]

The Entire Sully Family Shows Out For Your Iknimaya and Supports You (SFW / Comfort)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: i love the Sully family so much, Neteyam is such a supportive bf (even tho he’s technically your crush in this but tomato, tamato), you kinda sorta almost die

“Neteyam,” you whispered, nervously taking his hand as Eyati finished her turn, happily soaring in the air with her new ikran. 

“You will be fine. I believe in you,” he smiled, giving your hand a firm squeeze.

“But what if I’m not? What if none of the ikran pick me? Or what if I can’t catch it?” you listed off, your brain already spiraling with different scenarios, all of them ending in you failing.

“You think too much,” he lightly laughed, giving you a soft flick in the temple. 

It made your nose twitch. 

Today was the day of your Iknimaya. And the entire Sully family came out to support you.

“You have been practicing for this more than anyone. It would be impossible for you to fail.”

“And even if you do, you can always ride with me,” Lo’ak smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Tsahey!” Neytiri scolded, smacking her son upside the head for mentioning the possibility, the boy letting out a loud ouch!

She stood in front of you, a warm smile on her face, as she placed a hand on your heart.

“You must feel it in here. Be quick, and let your heart guide you,” she assured.

“I believe in you, (y/n)!” Tuk happily exclaimed, clinging to your leg.

“Thank you, Tuk,” you smiled, ruffling her hair a little bit.

“Alright, kid. You’re up,” Jake chimed, watching the second to last kid finish.

You took a deep breath, letting go of Neteyam’s hand and getting ready to walk away.

That is....until you felt something wrap around your thigh.

It was Neteyam’s tail.

He pulled you back into his chest, placing a heavy kiss on your lips.

Your eyes shot wide, and you blushed a dark shade of blue when you realized the entire Sully family was watching you.

You kissed back for a moment, before trying to pull out, but Neteyam kept you firmly in place.

It made Neytiri smile.

You were a fine girl, practically perfect for her son. She would be happy to call you a part of the family if Neteyam chose you as his mate.

“Ahem,” Jake cleared his throat, smirking.

The time for love would be later. He wanted to see his pupil kick some ass.

The two of you separated, and you looked at the boy in disbelief.

Neteyam had never kissed you before. 

Holding hands and tight hugs, sure. Maybe the occasional cheek peck. 

But never on the lips.

It felt good.

“For luck,” Neteyam smirked, slowly removing his tail from your leg.

You smiled, puffing out your chest with newfound confidence as you walked towards the crowd of ikran, Jake following closely behind you.

“Remember, kid,” he started, resting his hand on your shoulder. “Trust your instincts. Let your mind go blank and your body’ll know what to do.”

You smiled, giving him a firm nod.

Jake and Neytiri tag-teamed in teaching you the ways of the hunter, Neytiri focusing on the spiritual side, and Jake focusing the physical.

Neteyam and Lo’ak had finished their training and Iknimaya already, and now it was your turn.

You whipped out your rope, slowly stalking closer to the banshees, the entire family coming out the shade of the cave to watch.

You got into a predatory stance, hissing at all the ikran that were near you.

Every single one of them flew away.

Not deterred, you went to another group of them, hissing once again.

They all flew away as well.

Shit.

The anxiety began to sink in.

Not a single one was hissing back. Not a single one wanted to kill you. Not a single one wanted you as a rider.

Were you not worthy? Did you do something wrong? You were sure you were doing everything correctly, so why wasn’t it working?

You were about to hiss at the third group, when all of a sudden, a huge, black ikran landed on the rock, making the whole mountain shake.

“HOLY SHIT!” Lo’ak shouted, going wide eyed.

It had a 20 meter (65.6 feet) wingspan, at least, and razor sharp jaws, with talons the length of a banana.

Neteyam’s heart twisted in fear.

That thing was giant. One wrong move and you could be incredibly injured, or worse.

Dead.

His stomach hurt at the thought.

You stood there, gaped, as the impossibly large ikran stood before you, hissing back as it wound up it’s claws.

“SNAP OUT OF IT, (Y/N)! MOVE!” Jake shouted, his voice shaky.

“MA CHILD!” Neytiri exclaimed, fearful.

This was bad. 

Neither of them had ever seen an ikran this big, it’s size only second to that of Toruk. 

It could very easily kill you.

Shaking yourself out of it, you tuck and rolled, dodging the talons just in time.

Now that it’s wing was low, you jumped on top of it, using it as a ramp to run onto it’s back.

It violently thrashed around, making you lose balance the fling you off, sending you over the ledge.

“MA CHILD!” Neytiri gasped.

“(Y/N)!” Neteyam screamed, starting to run towards you.

“Wait! Look!” Lo’ak grabbed him, pointing to where you were thrown. 

Neteyam watched as your blue hand grabbed onto the ledge, the other one helping push you up.

When you fell over, you tucked the rope in your mouth and grabbed onto a root before you could free-fall.

You were a little banged up, but otherwise okay.

“That only took 10 years off my life,” Jake sighed, clutching his heart.

Hoisting yourself back onto the rock, you stood up, now angry.

“Alright you little shit. You wanna come at me? Huh?!” You spat, taking the rope out your mouth and baring your teeth.

The ikran turned to you, getting into a predatory stance and hissing.

It looks like she didn’t like your shouting.

You got into the stance as well, hissing back even louder, showing your fangs.

He didn’t know why, but watching you be so strong, so fearless, made Neteyam not only erupt in pride, but in another feeling. 

One he didn’t know the meaning of.

It made his skin burn, his stomach flutter, and his tail wag.

Lo’ak smirked, noticing this.

“You are such a bottom,” he teased, making Neteyam blush deeply.

“Am not!”

“Will you two shut it! Look!” Kiri hushed, pointing at you.

The boys whipped their heads around to look at you, who was swirling around your rope.

Without warning, you ran for it head on, letting out a loud war cry. 

The ikran roared, getting itself ready for what ever was coming.

As you got closer, you leaned down in your run, scooping up some dirt in your hand and tossing it into the beast’s eyes.

It let out a loud cry, thrashing it’s head about to get the dust out.

Taking this opportunity, you ran up the ikran’s wing, jumping onto it’s neck roughly.

Tossing the rope over it’s mouth, you tied it shut, keeping it from biting.

“Yes! That’s it! You got it!” Jake happily cheered on.

“Make the bond!” Neytiri called.

You quickly grabbed the banshee’s kuru, and were just about to make the bond when roughly flapped it’s wings, doing a back-flip and sending you both over the ledge.

Not again!

“Shit!” Jake exclaimed, the entire family sprinting to where you fell off, Neteyam being the fastest.

“Is (y/n) okay?!” Tuk asked fearfully, clinging to Kiri.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” she nervously answered, squinting her eyes to try and see.

The clouds were dense up there. You couldn’t see a thing below.

“That’s it,” Neteyam dismissed, letting out a quick call to his ikran. 

“Nuh uh. You gotta let her do this on her own,” Jake shut down, holding back his son as his ikran landed next to them.

“But what if she’s hurt?! She could be free falling right now and we wouldn’t know it!” Neteyam exclaimed, thrashing in his father’s grip.

He couldn’t let you die like that. Falling from a height this great would surely leave nothing left of you.

It was a cruel and violent end that you didn’t deserve.

“Ma Jake,” Neytiri nervously chimed, a knowing look in her eye.

She couldn’t say she wasn’t nervous either.

After taking you under her wing, she sees you as a fifth child, as part of the family.

She didn’t know what she would do if you died during your Iknimaya.

“I trust her abilities. She wouldn’t let herself die so easily,” Jake stayed firm in his position, still holding back his agitated son.

Just then, as if the answer to six prayers, you burst through the clouds, soaring on the back of the abnormally large ikran.

“ILEY!” you joyfully shouted, throwing a triumphant fist in the air as your banshee did a backflip, your happiness reflecting through her.

“Alright!” Lo’ak cheered you on.

“Way to go, (y/n)!” Kiri smiled, happily dancing around with Tuk.

Neytiri smiled, ululating, as she and Jake shared a big hug, Jake sighing into it.

You scared him for a moment there.

And Neteyam couldn’t help but watch you in pride, and a little bit of awe.

You looked so majestic as you flew through the sky, like something out of his mother’s stories.

Your joyful smile, the wind blowing through your hair, the overwhelming sense of freedom he already knew you were feeling.

It all looked gorgeous on you. 

And he now had no doubt in his mind that you were the woman, you were the warrior, he wanted to be his mate.

...

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm, @adavenus, @sweetdayme4427, @lilac13, @torchbearerkyle, @dazedshoon, @rovckwell, @wonieee, @0710khj, @multifandomreader73, @kadu-5607, @la-cey, @roseazura, @sophiejiro, @angelbeari, @bludyl

[aspirationalpeony]

What She Deserves

Summary: Melissa hears a painful truth, and you're there to help her recover. Content Warnings: Unhealthy coping mechanisms, discussion of infidelity, emotional neglect, emotional abuse, disordered eating. Don't worry, it's all hurt/comfort! AO3 Link

You come home one day, and she's crying.

There were warnings when you entered the house: Her high-heeled Docs, discarded sloppily like she'd yanked them off right in the doorway. The open bottle of wine and the lipstick-smeared glass on the low table in front of the plastic-covered couch, a stack of photo albums just by them, a few opened and in disarray. Her leather jacket thrown right onto the carpeted floor. You knew there was something going on--a bad day with the double class? A fight with Barbara?--and you squared your shoulders as you went up the stairs.

You weren't, aren't, ready for what you hear. You've never heard her cry like that, in real, deep sobs, body-wracking things that must be shaking her to the roots. You find yourself hovering outside the bedroom door, just listening for long, awful seconds, trying to understand it, that that sound could be coming from Melissa. And knowing, because you know her, that she doesn't want you to hear this. That there'll be a fight if you go in that room. No matter how desperate she is to be held and comforted--first, there'll be a fight.

It's how she's always been. Your tears turn her buttery-soft, gentle and sweet, her rough edges showing only when she offers to beat the shit out of whoever's hurt you. But her tears? Her tears are a vulnerability. And Mel--she can't stand being vulnerable. When she knows she's showing weakness, that there's a chance someone, anyone, even you, could go in for the kill, her claws come out, twice as long and sharp.

(She told you, one time, about her dad; how Kristen-Marie's tears would make him do anything to soothe her, turning the gruff, remote man into a teddy bear, cradling his baby girl in his arms. How Melissa's tears would turn him mean, how she was the eldest, she was supposed to take care of her family, and here she was howling and whining like a pathetic pissant baby, and she should go help her Nana with dinner and her siblings with their homework and stop bothering her dad, who worked so hard, sunup to sundown, to provide for this fuckin' family, and don't fuckin' touch me again, Melissa Ann.)

You're getting to be okay with it. She's getting to be better with it, too, which helps. But you know this isn't going to be a time she can reel herself in and catch that anger before it flares. You need to be there for her. You open the door.

She's at her vanity table. You love that she has one of those things; it's so Old Hollywood, covered in the skincare and makeup that didn't fit into her bathroom, a secret stash of gummy bears in one drawer, a picture of her and her Nana, framed, where she can look at it whenever she needs her. You love that picture, Melissa looking so terribly young, her hair still dark and undyed, her Nana with those green Schemmenti eyes and a look of profound love and pride on her aged face.

When she hears the door creak open, Melissa whips around to look at you. She's not that girl in the photo anymore, but you see shades of her in her crumpled, flushed, tear-stained face; you see that woman, young and hurt and afraid, behind the armor that she's been building for so long, layer on layer.

"Baby," you say.

"Fuck off," she barks at you. You wince. She winces, too, hearing herself; her brows knit and her head ducks and she trembles as she fights another sob. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I--" her voice is hoarse. "Babe, fuck, just go," she whines, sounding like somebody else, some scared, struggling stranger. "Just go, I don't, I don't--" you can hear so many ends to that sentence: I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want to hurt you just because I'm hurting. I don't want you to know how vulnerable I am.

"Hey," you say, "it's okay, it's okay," like she's a hurt kid or a shying horse, and every instinct in you calls for you to put your arms around her, pull her to your chest the way she does you when you cry. Instead, you move closer--slowly--and you sit with her. You get down on the floor, maybe a foot from her chair, and you don't touch her. She looks at you with her mouth twisted and eyes narrowed. Tears are still trickling from her reddened eyes; her body is shaking with it.

You want to cradle her face in your hands. You've learned she can't take it, not when she's in the middle of the feeling; she can't stand being touched at all. She has to get the emotions out in their first, horrible frenzy, and then she can let herself be comforted, once the frightened, angry, hurt little girl inside has let go of the wheel and let the grown woman take back over.

Her hands are fists on her thighs. There's something crumpled in one of them, a paper.

"Baby, what happened?" you say.

"You should just fuck off," she says hoarsely. "You should just fuck off outta my life. You're gonna, anyway, so--" her face pinches. She fights another sob that shakes her whole body. Her mascara is a wreck. "I'm gonna hurt you," she says, "and you're gonna hurt me, and I can't take it. I can't take it, so, so--"

"What happened?" You lean forward. A little glimmer of intuition comes. Your own eyes are starting to tear up, seeing her, but your head stays level. You can't get whipped up into her pain or you won't be able to help. "Did Joe do something?"

Now she lets the sob out, deep and hoarse. Her clenched fist opens and the paper drops. You recognize it once its face is turned up on the floor: it's a photo from one of the old albums she still keeps, one of the loving records she'd made of a marriage that failed. She let you look through them a few times. ("I don't keep them 'cause I want him back or nothin'," she'd told you. "He can drop dead, for all I care. But I..." A cloud passed over her face then, troubled and sad, and you didn't push; you knew she was giving you a privilege letting you see her like this, much less look at these mementos of a young woman desperate to be loved.)

The photo is her and Joe cutting the cake at their wedding. It's a four-tier monstrosity, probably made by a Schemmenti relative, with thick frosted swags and rosettes and topped with a hokey little bride and groom. Mel's in her big puff-shouldered princess dress, her huge eighties hair and thick makeup. Joe's got a five o'clock shadow and looks like hell from his bachelor party the night before. She's told you how hurt and lonely she was that day, even though she's smiling in all the pictures; how she starved herself, ate one meal a day and drank nothing but water, getting ready to fit into her dress, and he rolled out of bed an hour before the wedding, hungover, stifling burps through the ceremony.

"What happened?" you repeat.

"Nina called," she says.

You straighten. "Are they getting married?" It would make sense: the tears, the photo, the terror of being left again. That sack of shit Joe, you're going to take Edith Houghton and--

"What? No," she says, so startled by the suggestion she's speaking in her own voice again, not the one hoarse and strained by tears. "No, they're not--no." Her other hand opens in her lap and she looks down at the pair of them. You can see her trying to make herself relax, make herself stop crying and shouting. "Sorry, baby," she whispers, "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt ya. I didn't mean..."

"I know." If you took Melissa at her word every time she cursed, well... "I'm not fucking off anywhere. Can you tell me what happened?"

She gives you a look, harrowed and bruised, then drops her gaze back to her hands. She opens and closes her fingers, working on herself still. "Nina called. I was still at the school. She called to thank me for dinner," she says roughly. "And she said she had to tell me somethin'. She said..."

No marriage. Your next thought is, Oh my god, she's pregnant. That's one of the sorest subjects of Melissa's whole life, and if Nina had the audacity to tell Melissa that over the phone, while she was at work, to deliver such crushing, awful--where's Edith Houghton, you really are going to--

"She thanked me for dinner," Melissa repeats. She's getting more control and tips her head back against the welling of tears in her eyes, like it will save her makeup now. She's staring at the ceiling when she says, "Nina said she had somethin' to tell me, because she knew you and me, and her and Joe, all of us, were gettin' closer, like bein' friends."

That's true. You aren't so crazy about the Joe you know from Melissa's stories, but apparently he's a changed man now, and you can still see shades of the guy Melissa liked so much: his silver head of hair still full and sleek, his trim, Selleckian mustache, his way with a grin and a laugh. You like Nina better than him, a woman about twenty years his junior, tough and smart with arms covered in tattoos. You've never pointed out that she's like a different shade of Mel, a version that Joe hasn't had time to hurt, although you've had the thought many times.

Last week all four of you had gathered at Mel's for dinner. Melissa refused to cook--she'd never cook for Joe again, she told you privately, not after all the housekeeping and nannying and babying she did in their marriage--but you all got takeout and sat around the table and talked and laughed, openly, comfortably, the way friendly couples do, and you could believe that all that history was far behind them, that there was a future where Joe and Mel could admit to their scars and what they'd inflicted on each other, and be brothers-in-arms, veterans of the fight, not soldiers on opposing sides.

"Nina said," Melissa says, and wipes away a tear. "She said they were together. While me'n'Joe were still married."

You stare. "What?"

"They were together," she repeats. "They've been lyin', this whole time. 'Bout when they met. It was way before the divorce. He was fuckin' her on the side." Her lips pinch together and her mouth twists. She stares at the ceiling like the answer to it all is up there and fiercely bats away another tear. "I..." You watch her. Her throat works as she tries to get words together. "Nina said she couldn't keep lyin' to me. That she always felt awful about it. And now I got you and she likes ya and wants things to be fair, for us to... To choose our friends right, and..."

You've always had an impression of Nina as like Mel in this way, too--as rough, but fundamentally decent. Prone to a little lie here, a little sleight-of-hand there, but not enough to really hurt somebody, never playing games where it really mattered. What's awful is that this sounds like her all over, that single-minded sense of fairness, a toughness inside that made her willing to face the music, to blow up this burgeoning friendship if it meant being honest.

"Baby," you say softly, and inch closer on the floor. It's enough. The wall crumbles. Melissa slides straight off the chair onto the floor with you, practically into your lap, and her whole body sways into your arms. You take her, you hold her. She shakes in your grip, crying, still, though no longer those sobs that seemed to scour her from the inside out. You carefully stroke her hair back from her face as she clings to your encircling arms, and you ride it out together.

She comes back from it slowly, stilling, relaxing into you. Then she hiccups, in a loud, distinct hic, and instantly leans back to give you an accusing look, daring you to laugh. She hiccups again. It makes you smile. You touch her red, damp cheek, brushing your thumb against its flushed curve. "It's okay," you tell her. She hiccups. "I'm going to get you some water. You wanna sit on the bed?"

When you come back, she's not on the bed; she's back at the vanity. She's scrupulously wiping her makeup off with little micellar pads, lips still pinched like she's trying not to cry, leaning close to the mirror to make sure she's getting it all. You sit on the edge of the mattress with water in one hand and ibuprofen in the other, waiting, and when she's done, she turns to accept your offerings, her eyes lowered, a little shamefaced.

"C'mon," you say when she's knocked the pills back. "C'mere." She gets up and joins you, crawling right to the middle of the bed, and you crawl after her, settling on your back so that she can curl into the protective curve of your arm. You look down at her face--her long nose with its cute, turned-up snub at the end, the lashes shielding her reddened green eyes, the mark at the corner of her mouth that records every smile and frown--and you don't get it. You don't get why Joe is... Joe. And why he did what he did.

More's going to come, you know that. The air's heavy with it. Finally Melissa starts to talk. She stares across the room while she does it, your hand stroking her hair.

"I knew he was cheatin'," she says. "I think he was bonin' some of the other firefighters' wives. And he probably would go out and pick some girls up, too, some, y'know, whoever he could get his hands on, right. At that point, it was, what, the last few years, and I wasn't puttin' out, so. I mean, I'd blow him, to get him off my back, but not the real thing."

"That doesn't mean it was your fault."

She doesn't answer that. Instead, she says, "I didn't think any of 'em were serious. Like, that it was an affair affair, you know. Like that made it better. Anyhow..." She presses more closely into you. You're sure she can hear your heartbeat, and you feel it as she tries to steady her breathing to match you. "Nina said it was happenin' the last year," she says. "The very last year he and I were married. Funny thing is, I was tryin' to make it work."

You've seen photos from that time in her life. You know what trying to make it work entailed for her: back on the one-meal-a-day diet, trying to get her menopausal body back to a twenty-five-year-old's slimness; the brightening of her hair to fire-engine red, trying to be enough to catch his eye; the clothes she wore, trying to turn herself girly, like her princess-gown wedding dress had been so girly, and so unlike her. Oh, she's always feminine, Melissa--luxuriously, wonderfully feminine--but not girly, pink and wispy, delicate. Not like she tried to make herself for Joe.

"What was it all for?" she says wonderingly, voicing your own thought aloud. "What did I do all that shit for, baby? He was already fucking her. He already... Loved her." Her voice is hollow and lonely. You think of that story about her dad, what he told her, again and again, all her life, about her role in the world, about who she was. You're supposed to take care of this family. You're supposed to give up everything. You're supposed to give us what we want, we're supposed to have our cake and eat it, too, and fuck you if you try to keep even a crumb for yourself. He probably never said it as plainly as that, but it was what he meant.

"S'what I get," she says, very softly, almost to herself; it's a child's voice, meek and small, from that place deep inside where she's forever the self-loathing little girl, crying alone in the kitchen. "S'what I deserve."

"No." Her eyes flick up to yours. "You don't deserve that. You did it all because you cared about him," you say, petting the soft hair at Mel's temple. "Because you loved him. There's nothing wrong with that. That's not shameful." Her eyes dart away. You know you've caught a little bit of what's dragging on her--the shame. The shame of giving up everything for a man who didn't know her favorite color, her favorite ice cream flavor; of sacrificing her dream of a real home, a baby, the life she'd always imagined, for somebody who'd turn around and stick his dick in God knew how many other women.

"I hate him," you confide in her softly. She doesn't quite smile, but the corners of her eyes crinkle tenderly like she feels the smile inside. "I hate him so much." You echo her promises from all the times your roles were reversed, your tear-wrung body cradled in her arms: "You want me to beat the shit out of him?"

"Yeah," Melissa says at once, "please." She sniffles, then hiccups. "Jesus." Her head lolls against your chest. Her arm drapes over your waist and pulls you tight against her. "I really liked her," she says softly, into the quiet room. "That's... What fuckin' sucks about it, huh? I liked her, and I... I was likin' him again. He was my best friend, before you'n'Barb. And I... Wanted my friend back."

"It's okay." You scratch your nails gently against her scalp, tracing the sensitive skin at her nape. "It's okay you wanted him back, as your friend. You can still care about him. About both of them. And be angry, and hate them, even though you care, and not talk to them for a long time. What you feel is okay."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. You wonder if she's ever heard those words before. If Joe or anyone else in her life has embraced this chaos of contradictions, this woman so full of passion that she can't help but feel, all of it, everything at once. That's why she's so tough, you know. Because despite it all--her shitty dad, her vicious sister, her awful ex, and everyone in between--she never lost that thing they all zeroed in on, that weakness. She never lost that sensitive, loving heart. She had to protect it; no one else would do it for her.

Now you can. Now you will. You lean down and kiss the top of her head. She hiccups.

"You want me to run you a bath?" you ask. Her head bobs against your shoulder in a little nod. You give her another kiss and start to extract yourself from her arms. She rolls into the warm space left by your body as you enter the en-suite.

You love Melissa’s bathroom, same way you love the vanity table. It’s an extension of herself, a little bit organized and a little bit chaos: hair care and skincare products on every available surface, eyeliners worn down to a nub, her perfume, her lip gloss. Tucked into the edge of the mirror, wrinkled from long exposure to the steam of her baths and showers, are two pictures. One is herself and Barbara at Barb’s sixtieth birthday party. “We looked like a whole meal,” Mel told you frankly when you asked about it. They’re both in dresses that cling to the generous curves of their bodies, heads tilted together, wearing mirror smiles and a shade of red lipstick that’s nearly the same. It washes you with tenderness to see it.

The other picture is her and you. The guy she dated before you tried to take her to Dave & Buster’s on a first date, so of course, you two had to go. It’s a strip of photos from an automated booth, the two of you in outrageous poses: her pretending to take a bite out of your cheek in one, your tongues lolling and eyes crossed in another. In the last photo, the camera’s just caught you looking at her, eyes full of love, while she’s squinting over her glasses at the lens, trying to tell if it’s taking the next picture.

You start the bath running. You make sure it’s hot as hell, just the way she likes it, and add a judicious amount of the first body wash you grab, letting the water churn it into bubbles. A shuffle and a rattle behind you; it’s Mel in the doorway. “Hey, baby,” you say. She looks like shit, which you don’t mention. “It’s filling up. Here, I’ll let you relax.”

“Stay with me,” she says.

You sit next to the tub while she lowers herself into the water. Her clothes are a messy pile on the floor; you pull them toward yourself and start folding them, piece by piece, making her roll her eyes affectionately. She tips her head back against the edge of the tub and looks at you, and you feel yourself prickling with the focus of that gaze.

"What are you thinkin'?" she asks at last, quietly.

"I'm thinkin'," you echo, rubbing the fabric of her silky pink blouse between your fingers, "that you're tired, and I'm tired, so in a little bit, I'll order some dinner." Maybe Indian? You've learned never to get Italian with Melissa; everything's scrutinized, down to the texture of the breadcrumbs. "Then I'll wrap you up in your bathrobe. We'll watch a movie..." You move on to her jeans. They're still warm from her body. You smile a little to yourself as you tidy them into a small square. "A Paul Newman movie." Her favorite. "And drink wine. And then you're going to go to bed. And you're not grading anything tonight, okay? And I'll hold you until you fall asleep."

"What are you thinkin'?" you ask, and look at her. What you see makes you straighten your spine, makes you feel spotlit and strange.

She's staring. She looks... How can you describe it? Unsmiling, but not unhappy; tender, but not amorous; vulnerable, but not afraid. She looks... Wonderstruck.

She reaches out with one small hand and her manicured nails brush your cheek gently. "I think I never been taken care of the way you take care of me," she says. Her thumb brushes your lower lip. "Thank you, baby. I..." You see the questions in her green eyes, the sensitivity and confusion: How did this happen? Will I get to keep this? What will happen to me when it's taken away?

"I'll always take care of you," you promise her, voice soft. You dip your head and kiss the pad of her thumb. Kiss her palm, making her sigh. You take her hand in yours and she squeezes hard. You make her a soft promise, one you know she's never heard before: "Melissa... It's what you deserve."

[twst-drabbles]

Floyd 12

Summary: You had Floyd captured and wrapped up in a sturdy net, right after he tried to drag you under the waves of the sea.

(Yandere Floyd getting his due punishment. This is fun.)

His spine practically crunched under your foot when you stomped down. His dorsal fin was forced to fold, bend in ways it wasn’t meant to. There was a series of small snaps as you ground your heel in, and all Floyd could do was flop around in this tight net.

“You really thought,” you grunted as you grabbed the back of his slimy neck and slam his face into the wet sand, “you could drag me under, huh? Real fucking funny of you.”

Floyd wheezed and squirmed, but that did nothing to stop the grin from crawling on his face. Laughter squeezed out of him as he strained his neck. “Come on, Shrimpy! It was just a little dip. I wasn’t gonna kill you.”

Maybe make you a bit loopy with lack of air but nothing that would hurt you too bad. He was gonna give you a potion to make it easier to breath underwater anyway! He just wanted to… show you some interesting things is all!

“I don’t care.” You grabbed his hair and almost yank it right from his scalp. Floyd hissed, but all his arms could do was jump and strain against their bonds. “I wanted nothing to do with you, and what do you do? Stalk me, while I’m taking a solo dip.”

Sand flooded into his mouth and his nose stung with a dull warning. Any harder and you’re gonna break it. Should he tell you? Yeah he should.

“If you wanna break my nose, you gotta go harder than–”

Crunch!

Floyd’s teeth nearly bit through his lip and pain flooded over his face, radiating down the back of his neck. Claws dug into the sand, his tail lashing, whipping up clumps of sand and slime alike.

You forced his head up and Floyd feels you watching his blood and saliva flow down his chin. Your gaze traced every part of his face and he couldn’t help but give you a big grin, like he was taking a graduation photo.

“Hey, do I look pretty?” Didn’t Betta wear this shade of red before? Maybe it looks good on him?

“Shut up.” And you shoved his head right back into the puddle he made.

Yeah, he looks pretty.

[artemismoorea03]

Monkies Deserve Better References pt 1

This is a bit of a long one so to save people who follow me for my other series I'm going to put it behind a 'read more' line. Both for that reason and because I couldn't be bothered drawing clothes so the references are naked (not like anything graphic though, they're basically shaped like barbies, don't worry)!

The reference I used I found on pinterest but was made by Toresoza on Twitter for those who want a better high quality version with all the hand shapes will have to find it on Twitter, but for now have this low quality Pinterest one to start out.

Now! Onto the proper references! Keep in mind this is how the characters look from anything before Macaque's Not Alright! There might be some missing scars that the characters should have in canon that they don't have here (namely MK because it was 4 am and I forgot) so they might change slightly but for now here we go!

Let's start with Wukong! First with his glamours up and then with them down! (Peach included because I couldn't get the little shit's hand to work with me so I fed him).

The scar on his brow and cheek would very likely be canon as well as the one on his upper left arm and right elbow which would have all happened during the fight with Nezha.

Included on his face are also the headband scars, burns around his eyes which are red after the Demon Hospital fiasco. Also from the demon hospital fiasco are most of the dark patches on his body (realizing now I missed another burn spot on his inner right forearm that's older than the rest but that's fine). When he was tossed in the forget his fur was magically burned whever it was touching the table which is why he has lines on his tail, wrists and ankles (noticed another mistake on his tail but AGAIN IT WAS LATE LET ME LIVE /lh /j). I'll fix it later but I'm too tired to bother now.

The injuries on his chest and stomach are a mix of the Demon Hospital stuff and MK's Not Alright injuries while the white on his back, shoulders, sides and hips are all from LBD :3

Other details about MDB/MAA Wukong as well as all of the monkeys is that his fur and hair are slightly different shades that are barley noticeable (I'm even questioning if I did it for him but I'm going to hope I did x'D). Wukong is also covered in freckles which he doesn't bother glamouring due to how much energy it would take.

Wukong also shares a bit of a 'dad bod' with Canon Wukong (I'm still learning how to draw weight, so ignore that he looks pregnant he's just supposed to be a little squishy). He is also the tallest of the three monkeys I have done, standing at a super tall /s 5'6" (167 cm/66 in (according to Google)).

-----

Next is Macaque who until I actually did this I thought had the most scars. Nope. His scars are the biggest but he probably has the least amount of scars x'D

Macaque's canon injuries on his chest and eye are visible when he's not glamoured but not nearly as obvious as his newer scars.

On his back is a whip scar that he got from Havoc and Confusion - the timeline on this is messed up and will be edited sooner or later -but it happened when he was quite young and doesn't bother him nearly as much as some of the other scars.

The scar on his right thigh, palms of his hand, horizontally across his chest and through his stomach all came from the Seven-Star Sword.

The three scars across his chest are from Wukong's Not Alright when he was cut down by the giant cat monster. This is also when the edges of his fur started to grow in white when they grew back (he should have a couple of other white patches on his body from smaller injuries but they don't have set spots other than *maybe* in his inner elbows, but again, it's not set).

Then, the final and newest scars are on his hips which he gained during the most recent run in with Confusion.

The white on his fur and in his hair is his 'natural' color from before he was killed the first time (not when Wukong killed him) while the blue is from LBD. The blue will likely never turn fully white but might lighten over time to be a more gray color than blue, but that will take a long time and unless Macis willing to shave himself completely most of his fur will always remain black

Other details about Macaque are his six ears in his unglamoured form which are red, blue and teal based on the colors from the 2009 Monkey King series which also inspired a lot of Macaque's background and life story.

Macaque is the smallest of the three monkeys and stands at 5'3" (160 cm /63.6 In).

--------

Finally, there's MK and oh boy. I didn't realize how much of a break this kid needed after all of this but considering how his scars look I'm about to send him on vacation. A paid vacation with therapy included because holy shit.

After I finished making MK I realized I forgot to look for any canon scars that he would have, but considering most of them would be covered by fur I'm also not in a rush to go through and look through them.

His oldest scar is on his forehead mostly hidden by his hair which is the scar mentioned in the third chapter in the series. From there the scars get bigger and more dramatic the longer it goes on, so let's go through the list.

The scars on his right shoulder is from the snakes that infest the Earth Turtle! Also from his adventure on the Earth Turtle are his top surgery scars which he doesn't glamour (he spends too much time/energy glamouring everything else and he's proud of them, so why bother).

He has a matching wound to Macaque on his lower left stomach (which might be in the wrong spot but again i'm tired) came from Monkies Aren't Alright when Chang Liu stabs him with an immortal killing weapon to have access to what 'makes him tick'.

Then in MK's Not Alright he got attacked by another non-venomous snake that bit his left shin and left deep scarring there as well but oddly enough that was the only scar he gained from that one.

In Wukong's Not Alright he gained two scars, the one through his right shin and the wound to his left shoulder blade.

The rest of the scars - the one on his face, most of the ones on his cheek, chest, back, legs, and tail all came from Macaque's not alright with some other minor scars that I forgot about x'D. They are a mixture of whip wounds, slash wounds and burns all came from Havoc, Ginger and Confusion trying to control him.

Other details include slight discoloration on his fingers from the same torture he went through to get the majority of his scars. Part of his bangs are discolored to be white and he's covered in countless white freckles giving him a very 'starry' appearance to him. (which in a way makes his fur look like space with the scars being shooting stars and planets).

MK is the 'middle' monkey and stands at 5'5" (165cm/65in , only an inch shorter than Wukong.

-----

That's all that I have done right now but I'm hoping to make Loi, Red, Mei, and Nezha at some point as well as Tu, Yuanhou, Mihou, Changpu, Pengu and a super secret fifth option too ;3

That being said, if there are any characters you want me to try to make a reference for, just let me know. These were just some of the ones most requested by my discord and friends so I thought I'd do them first. Once I have the others done though, I'll post them.

[orions-choker]

+:★:+*Chapter One: Whiplash+:★:+*

The beginning of summer, 1983, the Kill ‘Em All for One tour was just about to begin. What should have been the start of months of booze, chicks and music for the boys, turned into a rescue mission. It was no secret to the entirety of the band that James’s family life was strained at best, no one blamed him for not talking about it. It came as a shock to them when James approached the band with a request.

“You have a sister?” was the instantaneous response from Kirk, his brows furrowed in confusion as he sat on the ground of the hot garage, tuning his guitar. “Well okay, I knew you had siblings but aren't they like…kids?”

Lars shook his head “No.” he said voice heavy with his danish accent. “Thats fucking stupid bringing a kid on a metal tour.” there was an unwarranted hint of annoyance in his tone.

James groaned, head falling back with a roll of his eyes. “Shut the fuck up you didn’t even let me finish.” He snapped. His hand ran through his messy blonde locks in exasperation. “Y/N, my youngest sister, she's 18, not a kid, there's no one else to take her in, our brother won't let her stay without me around and I'm not sending her to live with Virgil.” He spat his fathers name in disgust.

“Point stands dude, is it a smart idea to bring a young lady on a tour with a bunch of drunk assholes?” Cliff, ever the voice of reason, finally interjected. “I’m not saying no I just think you should think about it.” He shrugged casually, tossing his hair back behind his shoulders.

“Of course it's not a good idea, I have no other choice though dude.” James sighed. He tossed himself down onto the old couch, head hanging low, hands clasped together. “She's the only family I really care about. I can't let her be homeless right now and god knows I don't have a place for her to stay.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Kirk smiled wide, crooked teeth on full display. He raised his hand in the air. “I promise to be on my best behavior then!” It earned him a drumstick to the back of his head. He whipped his head around to lars, clutching at the impact sight. “Dude, the fuck?”

Lars pointed his other drumstick towards James. “I cant fucking believe we’re saying yes to this, you owe us big time man.” He growled, ignoring Kirk’s cries of pain. “And for the record im doing as many drugs as I want and banging as many chicks as I want I dont give a fuck.”

With the conversation settled it was a week later that James’s little sister showed up in front of the old worn down tour bus. Two large duffle bags in tow, the entirety of her belongings packed into those duffle bags. She looked up to her brother, in astonishment, her hazel eyes wide and sparkly.

Despite the sorry state the bus was in, Y/N had declared it to be one of the coolest things she had ever seen. “Woah…” She mumbled as James slung an arm around her small shoulders. She was dressed clad in tight black jeans, her huge combat boots and one of James’s own band shirts.

“Pretty cool right.” James assured her with a small shake before moving towards the door. “Plus the guys agreed you get the master bedroom in the back.” He informed her, helpfully leaving out the fact that Lars had thrown quite the fit when they voted for that.

She smiled sweetly up at her brother, tucking her short messy blonde hair behind her ears, just a few shades lighter than James’s own. “Thanks James…” She sighed softly. “I’m sorry again…” She trailed off awkwardly. It hadn’t been her first choice, but when James informed their older half brother he would be leaving on tour.. All hell broke loose. Y/N was no longer welcome to stay and having freshly graduated highschool she had no chance to get on her feet.

James shook his head, ignoring her apology. Grabbing his own bags he led the two of them to the door of the bus, pushing it open to be greeted by the rambunctious sounds of 3 other men. It died down as the two Hetfield siblings boarded the bus. Y/N’s first instinct was to shrink behind the much taller form of her older brother.

“Y/N, this is Lars, Cliff, and Kirk.” He introduced the boys one by one. Y/N had a lot of thoughts based on first impressions. Taking in the sight of each of them she formed an idea of what their personalities would be like. She did this, she enjoyed making whole stories for a person based on their appearance, always eager to be proven right.

Lars was a spitfire, small and full of pent up energy. He already looked half cut and drunk when her eyes landed on him. She couldn't help but notice there seemed to be a sheen to his skin that the others didn't have, sweaty maybe. The drummer she surmised, drummers were always sweaty.

Cliff oozed calm energy, relaxing even as he sat sprawled across the couch. The cloud of smoke around him implied he was most certainly high but even still she could tell he was a comforting person. Despite this she could see hard calluses across his fingers, he was passionate about his playing for sure.

And Kirk, well…Kirk knocked the wind from her lungs. His dark curious eyes were the first to meet her gaze out of all the boys. His head cocked to the side, dark soft curls framed his face like a sweet halo. His lips were pulled into a small smile, and he waved at her. A wave that sent a pang through Y/N’s heart that was hard to describe. She couldn’t make any assumptions about Kirk, no she wanted to learn everything about him.

Y/N blinked hard, realizing the silence that fell across them, waiting for her introduction. “Shit, sorry, nice to meet you, I'm Y/N.” She greeted them awkwardly, her mouth tugging into an uncomfortable smile. In a desperate attempt to get away from the situation she turned to her brother and in a small whisper she asked. “Can I go to my room now please?”

A frown came over James’s face. “Yeah sure just dont hide in there forever.” He sighed, gesturing towards the back of the bus. Past all the bunks lined up on the side Y/N could see a small sliding door that presumably led to the private room.

She hoisted the duffle bags higher on her arms and with a small nod at each of the boys she scurried past. Not willing to make eye contact with Kirk again as she left. She could hear James talking to the boys.

“Give her time and she’ll open up. It's been a rough couple of years. I don't think she’s all there anymore.” He explained the disappointment evident in his voice. It stung Y/N a little. She was fully aware of her shortcomings in the social department but it still sucked to hear her own brother confirm it,

The bus was small that's for sure, aside from the front cabin that housed the small kitchen and common space there was a total of four bunks, a criminally small bathroom and finally her room the only private room on the whole bus. Even that was lackluster. A double sized bed sat smack in the middle, storage for clothes tucked away underneath, one small window at the head of the bed and a small Tv tucked into a cubby with a tape player.

Y/N wasn’t one to complain, it sure beat homelessness, and ideally she wouldn’t spend too much time cramped up here, if she was going across the entire country she may as well enjoy it. She got to work tucking away her clothes, toiletries and the few trinkets she owned, mainly a few small teddy bears, birthday gifts from her brother. She placed them lovingly against her pillows.

With a lurch the bus moved forward, sending Y/N tumbling against the mattress. She frowned and grumbled. “A little warning would have been nice.” As the later afternoon sun beat down through the back window, Y/N was incredibly thankful for the AC unit working overtime in her room.

She sighed happily, sitting down right in front of it, she had worked up a sweat maneuvering around the small room. She grabbed a small sketch pad from her purse, crossing her legs underneath herself and pulling out a pencil. Art had been her escape for many years, she wasn’t musically inclined like her brother but she was creative nonetheless.

The sky turned dark by the time she finally put the pencil down, her pages were adorned with messy markings, resembling a certain dark haired curly boy. She frowned at the paper, moving to erase a blemish she had made when there was a knock at the door.

Y/N squeaked in surprise, quickly rushing to shove her sketchbook aside before sliding the door open hesitantly. Much to Y/N’s chagrin, she came face to face with Kirk. He held a sweet comforting smile for her, his hand still raised in a knocking motion. Y/N found it hard to breathe again, words escaping her as she got a better view of his face up close. His skin was bare and smooth, a beautiful tan color, a mole on his cheek she never noticed. There were some revisions she would have to make to her drawings.

“Hey, we're stopping at the next McDonalds, want anything?” he asked. The first time she heard his voice and it sounded like the chime of church bells. Boyish and awkward but it dripped with warm honey. She caught sight of his teeth as he spoke, a little sharp, a little crooked. He was endearing in every way. “Y/N?” Her name slipped past his lips like he was made to say it.

Fuck, she was staring again. She coughed awkwardly, averting her gaze. “Uh yeah, I’ll come in with you guys.” She mumbled barely above a whisper. Kirk took a few steps back to allow her to exit her room. She slid the door closed behind her. “Thank you.” As Y/N followed him to the front of the bus she could hear the static-y voices of a movie playing. On the small T.V in the common area was The Amityville Horror. Her eyes lit up in excitement, turning to her brother.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” She asked James, gesturing to the T.V. Her lips pulled into a playful pout. “You know I love this movie, what the hell man.” She jokingly complained to her older brother.

James, with beer in hand, raised his eyebrow at her. “I didn’t put this shit on, Kirk did.” he defended himself, taking a sip of his beverage. Y/N turned to Kirk with a grin, the most emotion she had shown since she stepped foot on the bus earlier that day.

Kirk returned her smile tenfold, his toothy grin finally on full display for Y/N to see. She wanted to memorize that look on his face, memorialize it forever with pencil and paper. “Horror fan?” He asked, excitement evident in his voice.

Y/N scoffed playfully, her eyes rolling in exaggeration. “You don’t even know.” she informed him. “I have an insane collection of tapes I can show you.” This earned her an audible groan from her older brother, clearly haven been subjected to her obsession for a long time.

The bus screeched to a halt, the interior illuminated by the bright yellow of the golden arches outside. Y/N all but clung to Kirk as they piled out into the mostly dead parking lot. Rowdy laughter filled the air as the boys stretched their legs. Y/N and Kirk remained in an animated discussion about the mutual love for all things horror they shared.

Even as they sat down to eat, picking at the warm salt fries, it was like no one else existed in that moment aside from the two of them. They bonded over shared favorite authors and directors. Y/N was quick to pull out an old sketch pad, filled to the brim with her creature concepts, guts, gore and blood decorated the pages.

“Holy crap chick.” Kirk mumbled around a mouthful of his food. “James didn’t tell us you were an artist, this is creepy as shit!” he pointed excitedly to a page of demons, quick to display it to the rest of the table. “It’s incredible.”

The rest of the boys nodded along in agreement, mostly too caught up in their own conversations. Cliff leaned over for a closer look. “You should design some merch for us.” He smiled at Y/N warmly.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She scrambled to retrieve the book from Kirk's hands, clutching it close to her chest. Heat rose to her cheeks, and a sheepish smile tugged at her mouth. “Oh, uh thank you! Maybe when I’m a bit better, these aren't great.” She insisted with a shake of her head.

Kirk rolled his eyes at her, playfully flinging a fry towards her. “They look great, don't sell yourself short.” His affirmation caused the blush on Y/N’s cheeks to grow deeper. Y/N dipped her head in appreciation, finishing the rest of her meal quietly.

Much to the disappointment of everyone aside from Y/N and Kirk, they spent the rest of that evening running through Y/N’s horror film collection. Eventually falling asleep to the background noise of halloween, a tangled mess of bodies and limbs. Y/N pried herself from the couch softly.

She couldn't help but smile fondly as she made her way towards her own room, seeing all the boys curled around each other in awkward positions on the couch. Her eyes lingered on Kirk's peaceful sleeping face, his head resting against Cliff, mouth parted slightly as he snored softly. Silently she thanked her brother for insisting she tag along for this tour, and suddenly it felt like 6 months on the road was far too short.

[bucketsofmonsters]

Where the Light Enters - Part 2

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, offscreen dubcon, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 4k

ao3 link

Masterlist

It didn’t take long to find the spirit. As soon as she was alone he appeared once more, his wide hat creating a distinct silhouette out of the corner of her eye. 

As soon as she caught sight of him she whipped around to face him.

“You,” she hissed out, keeping her voice low just in case of prying ears. She was certain Leliana had some around. “Need to leave immediately.”

Cole seemed uninterested in responding to what she had said, instead announcing, “I tied myself to you. Cole was gone so I needed something to help me get back out. If I kill you, I get pulled away and I can’t fix the hurt.”

She stepped back cautiously. “Kill me?”

He nodded. “You hurt people. You shouldn’t be here anymore, but things don’t come through the fade often. You were the only choice.”

“So we’re stuck together?” she asked, praying that the answer would be no.

“Not physically. When you are here, I am here. If you are in the fade I will follow. If you’re nowhere then I have to go back because I have nothing to hold onto anymore.”

She threw her arms up. “So you don’t need to be here then. Just go somewhere else and do your creepy spirit thing there. Leave me out of it. I’ll promise I won’t die and you promise to leave me alone. Everyone’s happy.”

He shook his head in the most adamant way she’d ever seen him do anything. It almost felt like there were real emotions behind it. “I take away the hurt,” he said, sounding almost distressed. “You cause more hurt than not. I need you to stay but I need to help more than you hurt.”

Typical that she got the one creature from the fade that was against any harm coming to humans piggybacking onto her brain. 

“I’m not hurting anyone here,” she said in a poor attempt to defend herself. 

“You will. You always do. I can see it. You don’t know anything else.”

The way he spoke made her nervous. She could tell he was dangerous, unstable, potentially violent. 

And none of her other tricks worked on him, so she figured she could be too. 

She drew her rarely used dagger and slammed him against the wall as soon as the idea occurred to her, trying her best to avoid him reading the intention off of her and getting out of the way.

He seemed in no rush to get out from under her blade, just looking down at her, both of them now hidden underneath the brim of his hat together. 

She could see his eyes this way, revealing they were an unnervingly light shade of blue. She could see the way his hair covered them almost entirely and wondered if the fade spat him out looking so shaggy on purpose. But then, he mentioned another Cole before, maybe he’d been here longer, had stolen his name while his hair grew. 

Did he even know he could cut his hair?

It didn’t really matter, was entirely besides the point.

The flat of her blade sat against his throat, pressing against his flesh. She held him back with her other hand and felt he was inhumanly cool to the touch. 

“It’s lonely,” said the spirit, unconcerned with the new threat pressed against him. “It doesn’t like being used in the dark, never seen, stowed away.”

Her fingers tensed around the handle. 

Most of the people who’d felt the dagger’s other end hadn’t had any idea it was coming. They’d been asleep or calmed by practiced airs that only the blade would betray. 

She preferred to not let it come to this. Those uses were few and far between, massively eclipsed by soft looks and a willingness to agree.

“Just need to help more than you hurt,” he insisted. “I need to mend as you break and break and break.”

“What would you do, if I hurt more people than you helped?” That was the only question that mattered, the thing he kept leaving unsaid. 

“I’d kill you. And then things would be balanced.”

“You won’t kill me. You also will not interrupt my presence here. You can’t stop me,” she hissed. “I won’t let you.”

“Yes, I could. But I can’t. For them, not for you. You cause the hurt, guilt heaving, dizzy with worry. You leave the good ones with blame and the bad ones don’t care. The only ones who hurt are the ones who never would.”

“They all would. They all did. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull wouldn’t if he knew how it pulled at you, tugged at wounds, ripped and healed, ripped and healed. Too long scarred to feel anything anymore.”

“I need him,” she said, because she did. He’d responded best to her little ploy, had allowed himself to be endeared to her. She needed a protector and he seemed happy to do so for the precious little thing that fawned over him. 

The horrible creature nodded. “You need him. He wants you. The scales are off. It’s all in the book.”

She pushed the dagger further into him, the pressure almost nicking his skin. “You will tell no one about that book or I swear, I will gut you.”

He shook his head sadly. “You would, but you can’t. I’m too slippery for you, you’re too slow, limbs dragging in years of stillness. You’re afraid to move, afraid it gives you away. Played weak for too long and now it’s all you are.”

“Fine then,” she said, taking stock of the man in front of her, filing away the chinks in his armor to list out in her book full of nothing but flaws and weaknesses. “Tell them and I swear I will hurt them. I will use all those words in my book to tear them apart however I can and you cannot stop it all. You cannot stop as much hurt as I can cause. I think you and I both know that it is faster to break than to mend.”

He froze, the cool blade of the lonely dagger steady against his throat. 

“I won’t tell. Try not to hurt them. I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he was gone, leaving nothing but a blade held up against streaks of green hanging in midair. 

She wanted to sit on the floor. To curl up in a ball or scream or do something to stop feeling pinned. 

But she had things to do, and so she set off to find Bull. 

It wasn’t hard, he was difficult to miss. He stood in the training area, towering over everyone else who resided there. 

She gave him a shy wave and he grinned back at her, flexing a little in a way she was sure he thought was subtle. 

She noticed it every time. It was embarrassing for him, turning her stomach a little, but she fawned over him as she sidled up at his side. 

He gave her a once over, hand shifting down to tilt her chin up. “Some nasty bruising on you. You did real good, fought hard.”

She beamed up at him, quietly pleased there were marks left behind, a physical reminder of why they shouldn’t be sending her on missions. 

It was partially unavoidable. Her accidental trip through the fade had given her the ability to shut gaps in between the world and the fade and that wasn’t exactly a replaceable position, but surely they didn’t need to send her out quite as often as they did. 

“I should’ve been there,” he added, fingers stroking lightly over the bruising. “He shouldn’t have been able to get to you so easily.”

She shrugged and fought off a spiteful comment. “You did your best. I could never begrudge you that. Besides, everything turned out okay, didn’t it?”

“Mostly. Who’s that weird kid hanging around?” he grunted. 

She turned to see Cole, perched up on one of the roofs, staring down at them. “He’s a spirit. He saved my life so we’re letting him stay.”

Bull’s brows raised immediately. “Right. And you signed off on that?”

She sighed. “Sort of. I think it’ll be okay.”

“So optimistic,” he said with a chuckle. “Now come on, you’re going to start training more.”

“What?” she asked as he thrust a bow into her hands. 

“You heard me. Next time, you need to be ready. I can’t always be there to protect you.”

She could feel Cole’s eyes on her as she began to train. 

Bull was the obvious choice of protector. Prone to forming casual attachments, easily flatterable, the biggest guy around. Even if he wasn’t a damn good fighter, he’d be a great shield. There was no one else here who could cover that much surface area. 

But now, being forced to train, she was starting to regret it. Maybe she could switch gears and convince Cullen to go on missions with her, or figure out something that would make Blackwall less weird around her. 

But no, an easy target as good as Bull wasn’t something she could pass up, even if every flirtatious touch to her side or murmur that she was doing “real good” made her stomach turn and a pit of dread start to form inside her. 

She knew where this was leading, what the price for his protection was, even if Bull didn’t know the terms of the deal. 

But she’d done this before. She could handle it. 

And so she suffered through what felt like hours of archery practice. She only hit the target twice but then, she wasn’t really trying to. 

Her attempt to get Bull to give up on her proved ineffective, but there was some entertainment to be found in seeing how badly she could miss and still get praised.

As she hit a tree that was about six feet to the left and a handful of feet back from the target, Bull muttered, “Well at least you hit something,” before giving Rosemary a soft pat on the back. “That’s enough for today. What you lack in skill you make up for in perseverance. Keep on trying, you’ll be a deadshot before you know it. Good to see you’ve got stamina at least.” He shot her a wink with his final comment. 

She wanted to throw up, but she gave him a shy smile instead, thinking of old embarrassing stories to force herself into a soft blush. 

He seemed pleased with her response, wandering over to go talk to some of his troops. They had a name, she was certain. The Champions, or something like that. 

It didn’t really matter.

She left for her quarters, content with her progress. Cole was there, perched on the end of her bed. 

“I don’t think you know what leaving me alone means,” she said, throwing her jacket at him as she pulled it off.

“I do know,” he said as the jacket missed him entirely, and he seemed unconcerned that his indifference actually made it worse. “You’re learning to fight.”

“I am,” she said, throwing her inner coat to the floor as the warmth of the fire filled room washed over her. 

“Why?”

“Bull’s making me,” she huffed as she shed more of her thick woolen layers, built for the cold. 

“You are… I didn’t know it came off,” he said. 

She shrugged off the last of her clothes and pulled on her night things. They weren’t quite as warm as her day clothes but at least they were less bulky. “What, you thought I just looked like that? Fur and all? I thought you could see in my head.”

The first thing she’d done when she’d gotten here and realized how cold it was had been to insist on acquiring a pile of furs, ones she’d since bundled up in religiously. 

His eyes were still fixed on the pile of clothes. “Not always. You didn’t know it in a way I could hear.”

So he didn’t have unfettered access to everything in her head. That was good at least.

“I see the hurt and the things that help,” he decided to clarify. “You’re mostly hurt so it’s easy to see.”

“So you what?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You just go around helping people by reading their minds? That’s what you expect me to believe?”

“Just because no one ever helped you doesn’t mean no one ever helps. You don’t even give them the chance anymore.”

A knock sounded at her door and she turned to look, surprised Cole didn’t immediately disappear at the noise. He seemed content to linger.

“Yes?” she called, deciding whether she’d try and shoo Cole away before this new visitor came in.

She heard Cullen’s voice, muffled by the wood of the door, as he asked, “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.”

Cole watched as the door squeaked open slowly, Cullen slowly entering like he didn’t quite believe her when she said she was clothed. 

He froze the second he saw Cole. 

“You make him nervous,” Cole said, at full volume and with no regard for the way the words made Cullen’s eyes widen and his face flush. 

“What is he talking about?” Cullen demanded. “Why is he here?”

“He doesn’t seem to want to leave,” she said and she watched anger flash across Cullen’s face. 

Cole seemed to pick up on this, although she imagined it was from his thoughts and not any ability to read facial expressions. 

“I told you harboring a spirit was a bad idea,” Cullen hissed at her.

“The mages are safe from me,” Cole said. “I don’t want them. I won’t make you hurt them again.”

Cullen tensed immediately, ready to bolt. “I came to tell you that you’re heading to the Hinterlands tomorrow to help with more rifts,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Is that wise?” she asked, wishing Cole hadn’t put him in a bad mood before she had to try and wriggle her way out of another dangerous assignment. 

“The rifts need to be dealt with, you will handle them,” he said, and then set off immediately, obviously eager to get away from the spirit and giving her no time to argue her case. 

The door slammed shut behind him. 

“I made it worse,” Cole said softly. 

“Look at you, you’re upsetting more people than me,” she said with a scoff, finding this all very amusing right up until she remembered the threats that had been leveled at her if Cole felt their collective presence wasn’t doing good for the world.

He seemed distressed and contemplative, but at least it seemed like few of those thoughts were directed at her. The less he thought about her, the better. 

And then he turned to her, his eyes obscured by his hat. “Can I come?”

“What?”

“Cullen said you’re going to the Hinterlands. I want to see them.”

Everything in her wanted to turn him down but perhaps it was best to keep an eye on him, at least until she got a better grasp on what he was like. 

“Can you even fight?”

He nodded, pulling daggers out from some unseen place on his person. “I’m quick and they are sharp. We can both do our job. Who do you want me to fight?”

She thought hard, trying to remember if there would be any people Cole would refuse to fight against on the other side. 

It was hard. To her, everyone on the other side had committed the most egregious sin of all, trying to hurt her. She supposed Cole didn’t think like that, that he was interested in a far more complicated tangle of emotions, intentions, actions, and regrets. 

“I don’t know if they’re bad,” she said carefully. “But they’re hurting the people there.”

He nodded. “Sometimes that's enough. I will fight.”

That was a relief. At least she probably wouldn’t have to deal with him becoming a turncoat mid fight. 

He seemed to read the acceptance from her mind. “I will go. You want to put me in your book.”

And then he was gone. 

She wondered if he meant he’d go now or tomorrow. She supposed it could have been either. More likely it was both. He didn’t seem one to repeat himself when a single statement would do. 

Now alone in her room, she kneeled down, pulling up the loose floorboard and moving aside the scattered leaves, picking up her notebook. 

It was absolutely filled with information on everyone at the Inquisition. On patterns of behavior, on what made their eyes soften when they looked at her, on which enemies they swung their swords the hardest at. She carefully noted who she thought she could turn against who and which people were too close to try safely. She wrote which people she could get to through others, like the way Bull’s group, called the Chargers in her book, regarded her with softer eyes because of the way Bull had come to shield her in battle and look for her first when he returned without her. 

And she created a section for Cole.

She had little to say. He was dangerous, she knew that much for certain. He could read her mind, seemingly everyone’s. He couldn’t be that clever because she could think of a dozen ways he could keep himself tethered to this plane while still doing something to incapacitate or declaw her, and yet he’d done none of it. 

Or alternatively, perhaps worse, maybe he knew it all. Had come up with on his own or had plucked it from her. Because then, he wasn’t stopping her for a reason, some horrible plan he had for her. 

She needed something on him. It was hard. He wasn’t unemotional, but he had this undeniable practicality to him where she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt himself if it balanced out his little equation of harm and help. 

She wished she’d been stuck with a demon. Vices she could handle. In fact, she handled very little else. 

Virtues were harder. Faking them was easy enough, but she hadn’t had the privilege of being allowed to be virtuous in a long time. 

She wrote everything in her journal. Cole knew where it was, but he could pluck it out of her mind regardless, what did it matter if he read it out of the book?

Could he even read? She couldn’t imagine spirits had anyone to teach them, but then again he knew how to speak. Maybe they had some inherent knowledge to them. 

She looked down at the pile of her furs and warm clothes lying on the ground. He clearly had some gaps in his information about humans.

It didn’t matter. The less he knew the better, but there was nothing she could do about the things he already knew. 

She should be careful about the things she said around him. 

She chastised herself for the thought. He could see in her head, she could not play this how she typically did. 

Another knock sounded at the door and she quickly tucked the book away before forcing out a polite, “Yes?”

Varric’s voice called out a friendly, “It’s me.”

She felt her anger melt a little and called him in. She liked Varric, against her better judgment. 

She imagined most people liked Varric. He was easy to like, easy to talk to, acted like you’d been friends for years. 

“You talk to the spirit kid yet?” he asked, and she deflated a little.

“More than I’d like.”

Varric chuckled. “He does have a lost puppy energy about him, I’m not surprised he’s following you around like one. I had a talk to him earlier about the way he was staring at people. Said it was off putting and he said he’d just make it so they couldn’t see him. Said he wanted to help. I poked him a little and he admitted he was curious too.”

She sighed. “I’m glad you talked to him. Someone had to do it, and you were probably the best one for the job. I was half convinced Cullen was going to run him through when I saw them talk.”

“We wouldn’t want that. He's off putting, but I think he means well.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“A little birdie said you’re heading out tomorrow,” he added, giving her a knowing look.

“Who, Cassandra?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, Cassandra. So are you?”

She nodded.

“Mind if I tag along?” he asked. “The kid sounded like he wanted to see some stuff, I figured it would be good to show him some of the world. We could see what he’s like out there.”

“I already told him he could tag along, but if you want to babysit you’re more than welcome.” 

“I’m happy to. Someone’s gotta do it and everybody else seems ready to slit his throat.”

She shrugged. “He’s a spirit, it’s scary, I get it.”

“Yeah, maybe. Not his fault though. And how old are you anyways? Sometimes I feel like I should be babysitting you too.”

She wasn’t sure how old she was. She’d been seventeen when she’d come here but it had been some months since then, she was fairly certain her birthday had long since passed her by. 

She hadn’t told them that, of course. It was antithetical to how she needed them to see her. She wanted to seem young, certainly, but not that young. 

She’d been saying she was twenty one for weeks and then one day Leliana asked and she’d sounded so judgmental so she’d blurted out twenty five. Blackwall thought she was twenty five too. She’d decided a twenty one year old would trigger that seemingly ever present instinct in him to feel guilty about everything if she ever needed to do a hard pivot in his direction. 

So now there was a spread of beliefs going around and she wasn’t sure what to say. She looked at Varric and said, “Twenty five,” figuring he was old enough that he’d see her as too young either way. 

“Too young for this shit,” he said, and she just nodded. She didn't think she was, not really, even at her real age. But Varric didn’t need to know that. 

“Maybe. The fade didn’t seem to think so.”

“Do you think there was a reason it was you? Religious or otherwise?”

She shook her head. “Just bad luck. Pretty standard for me.”

He laughed that low, gravelly laugh that had the women in the taverns they visited swooning. “Well, let’s see if we can turn that around for you. And hey, Rosie?”

“Yeah?” she asked, worried about his tone getting serious. Varric so rarely got serious. 

“If you need anything, just ask, okay? They expect a whole lot of you, but everyone needs help sometimes.”

“Of course,” she lied.

[auseyre]

Prompt 14 -KP Superlatives (dealer's choice)

1. Best Hair -Tankhun, and not just because I have a thing for red hair...okay mostly because I have a thing for red hair. But what can I say, it was at least 3 different shades, it was snatched. It was fab. 

Runner Up -Kinn. I know Mile cut his hair for this role and once it was free, it seemed to take the opportunity to fluff up as much as possible. It’s gloriously wild and poofy. 

 

2. Best James Bond Roleplay - Kinn in the white tux

Runner Up-Porsche and his various spying on Kinn

3. Best Comedic performance in a serious role -Pol. I know the prevailing theory is that he was hired to be a companion for Tankhun more than a bodyguard, but he still has bodyguard training so he can actually protect Khun and he’s still included in bodyguard activities, but yeah.

Runner Up -Gun. This man never met a dramatic moment he couldn’t drag over the top kicking and screaming. 

4. Best Prop - Red Ducati motorcycles. These get ridden more than Porsche. Everybody looks good on them. Both Kinn and Vegas let Porsche drive. They actually have passenger helmets that look like they’d protect precious skulls(looking at you Between Us and Love in the Air).  

Runner Up - Kinn’s lucky gun. It’s just sexy and romantic that he gave it to Porsche as a token, okay. It’s also the gun Porsche is using when he’s contemplating killing the man who he thinks killed his parents (which is an interesting meta that I am not doing, nope).  

5. Best Unhinged Moment - Pool pants y’all. In a show full of unhinged moments, this one is supreme for me. I still shudder thinking about it. 

Runner Up - Atticwife Nampheung (pictured hearing this plot point for the first time)

or Mouth Dildo?

I couldn’t decide. Both are unhinged in entirely different ways and are perfect examples of the tonal whiplash of that show(something I adore shrugs). 

6. Best Serious Performance in a comedic role -Jom. I side-eye the comic relief characters but KP was awesome with this? Like every character is heart-warming instead of annoying and still funny. I probably should have done an underrated character post for Jom tbh. I love him. I love the way he supports his friends, giving Porsche the money he won on the fight, staying up to the point of exhaustion helping Tem deal with his broken heart. For all his goofiness, he’s smart and observant and I still think he was deliberately fucking with Kinn, who even if he didn’t know he was Porsche’s boss, was clearly some rich guy out of his element and only there because he was crushing on Porsche. It’s a small role and it could have been just a throwaway part but it’s so much better than that because who he is says a lot about who Porsche is and shows why he became such good friends with the misfit gang. 

Runner Up -Yok. Definitely not an underrated character. I think we all know that Yok is the shit. But again, she’s not just funny and fabulous, she’s smart and she loves Porsche and rolls with all the weirdness he brings with him and gives him great advice and becomes a safe person for Tankhun. She turns what could have been a caricature into the only mature, caring, functional, non-evil “adult” character in the show. 

7. Best Product Placement - Peppermint Field Black Inhaler. I know it seems like the bread is a shoo-in here, but hear me out. Black Inhaler was willing to let their product be used during illegal underground fighting and public sex. The Bread is great but it can’t compare to that. 

Runner Up -Bread obvs

8. Best Facial Feature -Vegas’ smirk 

Runner Up(s) -Kinn’s eyebrows

Pete’s fake smile

Chay’s doe eyes

Kim’s killer glare/dead-eyed stare/flirty smize (the boy does a lot with his eyes)

9. Best Visual Joke - Kinn reading a coffee-table book about coffee while waiting on Porsche to bring him coffee. 

Runner Up-Pol whipping out a finger gun 

10. Best Use of A BL Trope -  Spongebath. Using this comedically as a deliberate seduction technique, basically acknowledging that it’s kind of ridiculous, works very well, letting Porsche’s goofball side and Kinn’s clueless side really shine. It also lets their uncontrolled horniness and Porsche’s ass shine -right in front of Pete’s salad eventually, but oh well. 

Runner Up(s) - Baby is a clumsy bunny(which I think is what @absolutebl calls it, I couldn’t find the exact post)  -the show uses Porsche’s literal tripping as a foreshadowing of his figurative trip up, showing that while he can talk the talk of a bodyguard i.e. ... wear the snazzy suit, he can’t yet walk the walk. He proves that by his behavior on his first bodyguard gig. 

Singing - Can I say that @AbsoluteBL’s hatred of this trope makes me giggle because my mother hates singing so much that I had to verbalize an SNL musical sketch to her instead of letting her watch it? Anyway, this one is pretty obvious, but still notable because they didn’t just let Jeff, Mile, and Barcode show off their pipes. They wove music in as a subplot that allowed it to stand as a character marker for not just Kim, but Chay and Kinn. I feel like “Between Us” scarred me for life with bad singing awkwardly shoved into the plot for no reason, so KP gets so much love from me for this. 

Bonus: Best Hype Man 

Seriously, this guy is more excited than Gun about this coup attempt. He has been waiting years for this. And now my head-canon is that he used to work for the main family and when he was injured in the line of duty, Korn tossed him out and Gun took him in for spite and he’s nurtured a seething hatred for Korn since then. 

Bonus: Sexiest Gesture - Kinn’s finger come hither. 

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The idea of your Shadow Link needing hugs consumed my brain. So... here.

There was someone clinging to Naydra as she emerged from the Snowfield Chasm. Link didn't think many others could see the dragons, much less have the nerve to ride them. And Naydra's aura of frost never made that easy. And the frost-bitten-whoever-they-were was slipping. Link angled himself towards the falling form, calling first in a sharp whistle to try to get the tumbling form to steady themselves, then calling out to Tulin's Sage ability to push him into the other person.

“Hold on to me!” He called.They tried, but with the frozen air still whipping around them, the second Link deployed his paraglider, they slipped, and began falling once more. No no no no no he chanted, throwing himself into a dive once more. They weren't that far off the ground. He had a fairy, it wasn't the worst fall he'd had even in the last week, so he put himself between this dragon-rider and the ground and braced himself for impact.

It hurt, but no fairy fluttered out of his pouch so after giving himself and the other person a second to breathe, he started to move towards sitting up. The person in his arms was shivering violently, Link could feel them wincing in a way that said the cold was killing them like taking a plunge into the icy waters still would for him.

“I've never seen anyone else ride a dragon. Who--?”

They were dressed in some robe-thing that looked like a piece from the gloom set the bargainer statues gave. Gray-tinted skin, white hair... and red eyes pried open to look at him. It was that shade of a hero that the Demon King summoned. It reminded him uncomfortably of the Puppet the Yiga had been using to imitate Zelda. Link gasped despite himself.

“You're Raru's knight...” The Shade Hero murmured, trying to move away from Link and only falling to his knees instead.

“Zelda’s knight first.” He corrected. The Shade was thin, too thin, like a step away from being corpse-thin like the redeads. His forehead was bleeding sluggishly. The cold would kill him if whatever had been done to him didn't. He didn't have spare cold gear but he did still have a couple items from his trip up to the Stormwind Ark. “Here.” He pulled the simple mushroom, meat, and peppers skewer from his supplies. “Can you eat this? It'll stave off the cold for a few minutes. Long enough to get to a cave anyway...” The Shade looked at him skeptically but took the skewer and tentatively took a bite, then hurriedly scarfed the whole thing. He had even more questions now, concerning ones to think about. When was the last time the Shade ate? Did he need to? Something in the Shade's posture had his knight’s oath to protect screaming at him to act. He looked so...beaten down.

“Come on.” He gestured towards the exit from the snowfield. “There's a cave at the end of the promenade. You won't freeze there and I can start a fire and...” and maybe cook something else because you're clearly hurt and/or starving.

And so Link led the Demon King's Shade of the Hero down to the cave at the end of the Lanayru promenade. Once outside the wind and safe within the regulated temperature of the cave, he started a fire, then parked the Shade in front of it before setting up a portable cook pot and pulling every blanket and spare warm item he could find in his pouch to wrap his companion in. Hot chocolate. This kid (he looked very young huddled there by the fire) needed hot chocolate.

“So, am I going to get stabbed the second I turn around?” He asked, trying to sound casual. Yiga played sympathetic on occasion for as long as several minutes, and the shock and cold still seemed to have kept Shade stunned.

“N-no. I'm not... I don't want to fight you. Please. I don't want Him to bring me back again. Don't kill me.” That was a whole lot to unpack, but it didn't take a ton of wisdom to see Shade meant it. He was terrified.

“Whoa, easy, Buddy.” Link tried to soothe, finishing with the pot and dumping two bottles of milk and a whole bunch of chocolate into the bowl. “I'm not going to do anything...” He rambled while the hot chocolate warmed, rambled about Cotla’s grotto below Kakariko, about shield surfing down the mountain chasing a beam of light, about the Stable Trotters and the Dondons down in Faron, about the thousand random tasks he'd found time to do while gathering his courage to plunge into the Depths again. Eventually, it seemed to soothe Shade. He put a mug of the warm milky-chocolate in the boy's hands and sat beside him. Shade curled into his side so much like Zelda had right after defeating the Calamity, desperate for Hylian contact. He didn't like what he could conjecture about Shade's story, and the evidence in the thin form in his arms wasn't any more comforting. He began dreaming up more ways to murder that Demon King. Pushing him off the top of the Stormwind Ark and letting him splat into the tundra was no longer enough. He needed something more painful...

JFIEOWAJFOKSAJFIEOW WAAAAAAAH AJ

I want you to know that when I first saw this I was in bed trying to convince myself to get up and this was such a comfort and amazing thing to find and read. And tonight at work I found it again and got all excited and happy and it helped me settle a bit, tonight’s been an interesting ride lol

POOR LITTLE SHADOW he was so scared when Wild asked about if he was gonna attack T-T AAHHHHH I LOVE THIS AJ

Have I mentioned that I adore this BECAUSE I ADORE THIS <3 <3 <3 <3

AH I’m going to read and reread this <3 Thank you so much for sharing <3 <3 <3 <3

[aalissy]

Dating Sim

Eeeeekk!! It's Adrienette April time! I'm sooo excited to write for this month <3. I hope you're also excited to read my prompts for this month. Please let me know what you think :D

AO3

Adrien yawned softly, stretching his arms above his head as he approached his classroom. 

It was early. Too early. 

His dad had forced him up at the crack of dawn for a morning photo shoot and right now, he would kill to be back in bed. One of these days, Adrien swore, he was going to convince his father to let him give up modeling.

Hah, right. Like that would ever happen.

Adrien snickered quietly to himself as he strode down the abandoned hallway and the practically silent building as he entered his classroom.

Upon turning the doorknob, he blinked in surprise at the sight of someone already in class. 

It wasn’t just anyone either. It was Marinette. The girl who had most likely been late to her birth.

She was hunched over her desk, her attention glued to her phone In fact, Adrien was certain that she hadn’t even noticed his arrival with how focused she was. Her nose was scrunched adorably and her pretty pink lips were pursed in a pout as she glared down at her phone.

Marinette huffed loudly, her brow furrowing even further as her cheeks puffed out in annoyance. Her fingers tapped loudly on her phone screen and Adrien simply could not resist leaning closer to her. 

His shoulder brushed faintly against hers as a small chuckle left his lips. “What are you doing here so early, Marinette?”

“D’AH!” she screamed, jumping about ten feet in the air. Her phone jumped with her and she flailed for it, fumbling it between her fingers before finally catching it safely. 

She let out a relieved sigh after doing so before whipping to face him, her blue eyes practically blazing with a flaming fury. “Hey! What on earth were you thinki-,” Marinette trailed off, her cheeks burning into a deep, rosy red as their noses almost bumped together. She squeaked, scrambling back away from him, only barely managing not to fall off her seat. Adrien bit back the quiet sigh that would have left his lips as he instantly missed the warmth of her shoulder against his. 

“A-Adrien! H-hello. What doing are here? I-I mean what are you doing here?”

“I asked you first.” His eyes twinkled at her with amusement. 

“O-Oh, right,” Marinette chuckled sheepishly, tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her pigtails back behind her ear. She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath before giving him a small smile. “I actually woke up early today because I wanted to spend more time with this new game I got absolutely addicted to.”

“Ooh, what game?” Adrien moved to sit next to her, scooting closer. He intentionally bumped his shoulder against hers as he leaned in to look down at her phone screen. “Is it Ultimate Mecha Strike? I didn’t know that was on mobile now.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, her lips parting as she seemed to forget how to breathe. He caught a brief flash of her screen before she seemed to snap back into reality, quickly turning it off before Adrien could see much more than a glimpse.

He didn’t believe it possible but her cheeks had turned an even darker shade of red as he glanced up at her.

“N-Nothing!” she stuttered.

Well, that reaction certainly told Adrien that it was, undoubtedly, something. And something big if Marinette was hiding it from him.  

Adrien couldn't help but be intrigued by Marinette's reaction. Her sudden flustered demeanor only added fuel to his curiosity. "Come on, Marinette," he teased, nudging her playfully with his elbow. "You can't hide it from me forever. What kind of game is it? What if I want to play it?"

Marinette squirmed in her seat, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. "It's just... a silly little game, nothing special. Trust me, it isn’t something you’d play," she insisted, but her attempt at nonchalance only made Adrien more determined to find out.

"Ah, come on, don't leave me hanging like this," he urged, flashing her a charming smile. "How do you know I won’t like it unless I know what it is first?"

Marinette seemed to freeze for a moment, blinking at him in surprise before throwing her head back in a loud laugh. Adrien’s heart thumped louder as he listened to her guffaw. A smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back to watch her slap her hand against her desk as she practically rolled with laughter. 

Suddenly, he was positively delighted with the fact that his father had woke him up early to go to a photo shoot. Anything would be worth it to hear Marinette giggle like this.

Finally, after gasping in a few deep breaths and wiping a tear from her eye, she turned to him. 

And wow. Had Marinette ever looked at him like that before?

Her smile was positively wicked as she reached to turn her phone back on, this time showing it to him directly. 

“It’s the newest otome game from one of my favorite developers,” Marinette snickered. “Alya reminded me that it came out yesterday so I’ve been devouring it today. Still think you’re interested?”

Adrien blinked down at the handsome blonde on her screen in surprise. His cheeks reddened even as his chest seemed to tighten uncomfortably ever so slightly. 

Clearing his throat, he rubbed at his stomach, wondering aloud, “O-otome game?” 

“Yeah, you know like, um...” she trailed off, nibbling at her lip before snapping her fingers. “A dating sim!’

“So you’re dating this guy then?” He frowned, the uncomfortable feeling in his chest worsening.

“Not for real, silly!” Marinette giggled, shaking her head before blushing. “I-I mean i-it’s just a game. I-It’s not real, of course. I-I only play for the story anyway.”

“Oh,” Adrien said, blinking back down at her phone screen as he shook away the last vestiges of the peculiar feeling. “So what’s the story like then?”

Her eyes brightened as she tapped back into the game. “So you play as the main heroine who suddenly realizes that she has powers that you can’t understand or control, right? And, as you slowly learn more about them you um, meet the male leads.” Marinette shot a quick glance over at him before darting it straight back to her phone screen. “A-anyway they help her understand that she isn’t the only one with powers and are taking her to this school where she can learn even more.”

All of a sudden, Marinette huffed, drumming her fingers angrily at her desk. “Or, at least they would if my cards were strong enough to beat this stupid level.”

“Cards?” Adrien asked, tilting his head.

“Oh, yeah I almost forgot to mention! The cards are the main part of the game!” She tapped on the screen, taking them to an entirely different menu as she pushed the phone closer to him. “You pull here for cards with the gems you have. You want the cards with the highest stars because those do the most damage.”

“Like a gacha game!” He grinned, feeling his stomach flutter happily at the beam Marinette gave him.

“Exactly!” She snapped her fingers excitedly. “So every event that comes around makes you want to spend more money than you should ever be spending on a game.”

Adrien chuckled, brushing his fingers through his hair. “I know the feeling.”

“So,” Marinette started, her devilish smile coming back as she leaned closer to him. A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her bright blue eyes. “Still think you’re interested in playing?”

“Mmm, maybe.” He leaned in closer to her, his thigh brushing against hers. “I’ve always wanted to fulfill my dreams of being a magical girl.”

Marinette laughed, sending a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. “Alright, Sailor Moon, the game is called Fantasy Hearts: Academy of Legends. Feel free to play to your heart’s content.”

“Oh, I intend to. Might even get farther in the story than you.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “I’d love to see you try. I’ve already got three five stars.”

The sound of a backpack falling to the floor had the two springing away from each other, staring up in surprise as Alya smirked down at the two of them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“N-no! W-we were just talking about the new game you showed me last night.” Marinette shook her head, waving her arms in front of her. “R-right, Adrien?”

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracked and he winced internally. Clearing his throat, he moved to stand up from Marinette’s seat, ready to head back over to his own seat. “We were just um discussing Fantasy Hearts.”

Alya’s smirk grew impossibly wider. “Oh, yes, I’m certain that’s exactly what you were interested in talking to Marinette about, sunshine. I’m sure Fantasy Hearts: Academy of Legends is the perfect game for you.”

“Right, well.” Adrien gave a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “I should probably head back to my desk now since Mlle. Bustier should be here shortly.”

Alya snickered as he practically scurried back to his desk where a beaming Nino greeted him. He wiggled his eyebrows at him but Adrien simply ignored it, pulling out his notebook as he tried to ignore his flaming cheeks. 

As much as he wished to be back up still talking with Marinette about literally anything, it was time to pay attention to class. Maybe they’d be able to talk after class? 

Sneaking a quick look behind him, he caught Marinette’s eye and gave her a crooked smile which she responded to with a deep blush and a small wave. 

As Mlle. Bustier strode through the open door, Adrien refocused his attention on the lesson, his mind occasionally drifting back to the conversation with Marinette. A smile drifted across his lips as he began taking down notes. Yep, today was already shaping up to be a great day.