#this is at its bones a fluffy AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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WHERE YOU LEAD ME, I’LL FOLLOW ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; opening up is difficult, even under the comfort of a starry sky, seated thigh-to-thigh with your childhood friend. fortunately, suguru knows you like the back of his hand.

word count; 10k (dont even look at me i got carried away ok….)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers (eventually. probably.), hurt/comfort (mostly comfort tbh), fluffy overall!!, reader is silly and suguru is down horrendous, written with a no curses au in mind, i’m madly in love with suguru geto and it shows

a/n; nothing goes harder than sugu w/ the childhood friends trope i fear. the angst potential, the fluff potential….. the slow burn of it all……….. anyways can u tell i miss him :’3

time goes by so very quickly.

as you look up at the starry sky, the thought envelops you like a fuzzy tidal wave; heavy, suffocating, entirely unavoidable. these days, sinking beneath its weight is all you seem to do.

a sigh flows from your parted lips. soft and quiet, somewhat resigned. the midnight air tastes cold and crispy on your tongue, turning into a flurry of vapour as you breathe it out again, watching it dissipate into the summer night. beyond the boundary of your vision, stars burn in tandem. all you can see is the darkness of the cosmos, pupils dilating as you take in the immensity of the world, the little flickers of starlight that glimmer in that all-encompassing veil of black — blooming out across the galaxy.

the moon is beautiful, tonight.

a big blob of reflected sunlight, smiling down at you so very tenderly, so gorgeous that it makes your heart ache. shining with a hazy kind of brightness, soothing like the lilt of a mother’s voice.

and there’s a comfort, in the familiarity of the sight. because the moon is always, always there. always shining down on you, always when you need it most, even when it’s carved into a crescent or hidden by a blur of clouds. a view that never ever seems to change, no matter how many years go by.

what a lovely thing to be.

another second lost, as you gaze into the nothingness of space. time keeps passing you by, never stopping — seconds turning into minutes, minutes turning into months. that incessant moving of the hands of the clock; tick, tock, tick, tock. over and over again.

and, really, it’s a little bit scary. you think you might be terrified of time. you’re so afraid, afraid of being left behind, afraid that the world will turn its back on you and then walk away. afraid that everyone and everything will change shape before you know it.

but even in this always-changing, turbulent mess of a life —

one thing remains the same.

”ah. there you are.”

(that voice.)

honeyed and smooth, but still rough around the edges. just a little husky. deep and familiar, etched into your brain; even if you were to forget everything else, you’re sure you’d still remember it. that familiar, familiar voice. it sounds like moonlit nights, and sunkissed kitchens.

it sounds like coming home.

a turn of your head. it’s a subconscious reaction, as natural as the beating of your own heart, memorized down to the very marrow of your bones — muscle memory, to seek him out after hearing the low timbre of his voice. you do it as if it’s the only thing worth hearing.

and suguru is smiling, when your eyes meet his. that gentle upward tug of his lips, small yet sincere. the one that always puts your mind at ease.

a warmth settles in your chest, at the sight of him. hair down, cascading over his shoulders and back, a little messy; as black as the night sky. a stark contrast to the white of his shirt, old, oversized, with some indie band on the front.

his eyes glimmer like little pockets of stardust in the darkness of the night. cutting through the haze, into your very soul.

”… damn,” you click your tongue, faux pout playing at your lips. ”how’d you know i’d be up here?”

suguru shrugs. ”lucky guess,” he lies.

of course i knew, he thinks. finding you is his specialty. always has been. like that one time he found you hiding under a table at your twelfth birthday party, or the time he found you crying in the woods when you got lost on your school field trip.

finding you comes easy, to suguru. almost like he’s always seeking you out, subconsciously or otherwise, always paying attention to your movements. you go south, and he follows. you go north, and he’s already waiting up ahead.

he’s worried. just a bit, is what he tells himself, but truthfully it’s more than that. because tonight was supposed to be for you. for the both of you, a celebration of your shared graduation — but before he knew it, you had slipped away. seizing the opportunity as soon as people grew too sleepy to notice.

(sadly for you, no amount of fatigue could ever distract him from the lack of your presence.)

you look small, suguru thinks, curled up with your knees to your chest. sitting all alone up on the roof of his home, a place you’d always go to on nights when you couldn’t sleep. together, sharing whispered secrets and hushed laughter until the sun began to rise again.

back then, it felt like the two of you were the only ones awake in the whole world.

(the safest world he’s ever known.)

the distance between you grows narrower, as suguru makes his way over to you — and it always does, at the end of the day. no matter how much time you spend apart, that uncomfortable distance always, always ends up broached. one of you always moves closer. as if it’s unavoidable, two planets spinning around each other’s orbit.

suguru plops down right next to you, crossing his legs and leaning back. his knee bumps against the side of your shoe, and his shoulder grazes yours. it’s natural, as natural as the glow of the moon, this closeness between you. it reminds you of the gentle lapping of ocean waves at your bare ankles; on mellow summer days, comforting and familiar. a warmth that never goes away.

a brief inhale, and your heartbeat settles into a tender rhythm again. the scent that always lingers on suguru’s skin drifts throughout the air, mingling with your own — it can be hard to distinguish between the two, with how often you end up wearing each other’s clothes, but you could never mistake it for anything else. cedarwood and earl gray, with a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. enveloping every single one of your senses, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

leaning just a little closer to him, subconsciously, you let a fond exhale slip from your lips. barely audible. and suguru mimics it.

”of course i knew,” he whispers, voice gone soft. ”i know you.”

(your chest tightens. it doesn’t go away.)

another tiny breath flows into the air, as you gaze up at the stars in wonder. ”… yeah.”

the silence between you is a comfortable one. always has been. a little fickle, always shattered by one of you before long — usually you, though suguru isn’t much better.

but this time, he stays silent.

he’s waiting. you know he is, because he always does. he’s waiting, waiting for you to break the silence first. waiting for you to say something, tell him what’s wrong, explain why you’re up here instead of celebrating with the others. waiting for you to explain why your eyes have looked so tired, this past week.

(you’d like to ask him the same thing. he’s an idiot if he thinks a little makeup is enough to hide those dark circles from you.)

suguru is nothing if not patient. so he waits, unbothered by the silence. admiring the stars, and the flicker of their light. a vague worry simmers in his chest, however, and he can’t stop himself from glancing down at you every now and then.

an insatiable yearning to soothe you gnaws at his heart — but he can’t, not unless you let him.

a sigh drops from your lips, suddenly. deep and heavy, like a rock thrown into the depths of a lake. the silence breaks.

”hey, suguru.”

the man in question doesn’t speak, only emitting an inquisitive hum. he doesn’t look at you, either; a form of respect. knowing you’ll find it easier to get whatever’s bugging you off your chest without him scrutinizing you.

the pads of your fingers tap at the tiles of the roof. an absentminded habit, as you inhale a bit of the midnight air. it tastes like summer. ”do you remember how we first met?”

suguru glances at you, a surprised glint in his eyes. he can’t help himself — unable to resist the temptation of seeing your face, drinking in your expression.

then he chuckles.

”haha.. are you feeling sentimental?” he teases, a lighthearted sense of amusement in his voice. bubbling up like seafoam. ”did you come out here just to brood?”

the corners of his lips quirk up when he hears you huff, hugging your legs closer to your chest with a furrow of your brow. cheek squished against your kneecap as you meet his gaze.

”c’mon,” you whine, pouting childishly in a way you know will make him give in. ”just indulge me a little…”

suguru smiles. it’s soft around the edges, smoothed over with an unmistakable fondness — and he does indulge you. he always does. ”of course i do,” he assures you.

the silence that settles between your words is tender. a mutual understanding, of sorts.

of course i remember. how could i not?

”you broke into my backyard.”

a sigh. heavy and sharp, as it tumbles from your lips, and suguru has to bite back a grin. his eyes shine with something teasing, in the dark, when you shoot a glare his way.

”okay, first of all —” you begin, ”i didn’t break into anything. i climbed over the fence. peacefully.”

suguru raises a brow. ”that literally doesn’t matter? it’s still trespassing.”

”i was seven years old!”

”some criminals start young.”

another harmless little huff, as you halfheartedly try to sound annoyed. it doesn’t work. in an attempt to hide your growing smile, you tuck your face into your knees. ”whatever.”

then your gaze shifts. towards that expanding starry sky, the vibrant flicker of the moon, like a moth to a flame. helpless to its charms. it looks like a giant sponge cake, the kind you and suguru used to make when that was the only recipe you knew — you’d eat from the batter, and he’d scold you. then he’d do it too, when your back was turned.

a smile settles on your lips. in every star, you find a new memory; and the fuzzy nostalgia that engulfs you makes your heart feel bare. ”i just wanted to pet your cat,” you recall, softly.

suguru nods. gazing down at you, basking in the expression on your face — peaceful and relaxed, a little more yourself. so effortlessly pretty, bathed in moonlight. ”yeah. i remember.”

he allows the memory to sweep him away, for a second or two. recalling the sight of you, all those years ago, an unfamiliar child in his backyard. it was like you had just fallen out of the sky. quiet and meek, but looking at his cat with an excited glimmer in your eyes.

”you just pointed to her and expected me to understand,” he continues. a grin blooms on his face, hopelessly endeared. ”you were shy back then.”

a raise of your eyebrow. ”um? i’m still shy?”

suguru gives you a look. he doesn’t have to say anything — it’s written all over his face. the classic suguru look, the kind where you can tell he’s itching to say oh, really now? the kind where he tries to look judgemental, but never quite manages to hide the amusement in his eyes.

a small giggle leaves your lips, and suguru smiles, once more. so helpless in the face of your joy.

”then we watched movies at my place.”

you hum. ”it was fun.”

”yeah.”

another bout of silence. soft, terribly precious. the air is chilly, but not enough to make you shiver; a mild summer night, pleasant on your skin and light on your heart. a gentle breeze tousles your hair. in the distance, you hear cicadas buzzing — a familiar sound. unchanging.

(if only everything else could stay the same, too.)

”do you remember what movie it was?”

a lazy smile plays at suguru’s lips, when he angles his face to look at you. one eyebrow raised. ”is there a point to this, or —?”

”i just wanna reminisce.”

suguru pauses. your eyes trail across the view that stretches out before you, from the moon to the distant city lights, as you fidget absentmindedly with the strings of your hoodie. he thinks to himself that you look a little lost. gaze forgotten, within the depths of that endless night sky.

no more teasing, he decides, tactfully. instead, he opts to answer your question; softly, as if he could hurt you if he raised even a single octave of his voice. ”whisper of the heart,” is all he says.

a hum, as you nod. decisively. ”the best one.”

suguru turns his head away, and mutters something under his breath. but you can still hear him — and you know he wants you to.

”spirited away is the best one…”

out of the corner of your eye, you shoot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. he bites back a soft bout of laughter, teeth sinking into his lip gently, not enough to sting.

”you’re so basic,” you grin.

”you just want to feel quirky,” suguru shoots back, instantaneous. ”and you only like it because of seiji.”

”you only like spirited away because of haku!”

suguru closes his eyes, and leans back a little, crossing his arms in a childish fashion — and you know he only does it to make you laugh. ”i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

”oh please,” you scoff. ”you really think i don’t remember your queer awakening?”

”hm? what was that?” feigning confusion, he puts a hand to his ear. but there’s a mirth in his eyes, impossible to miss. ”you’re gonna have to come closer, i can’t hear you from here.”

another unimpressed look. you exhale, something in between a huff and a chuckle. ”if i get any closer i’ll be in your lap, dumbass.”

suguru bites his cheek, softly. gulping down the words that almost slip off his tongue.

(i wouldn’t mind.)

”sorry, say that again?”

a little push meets his shoulder, as you roll your eyes. ”yeah, yeah. whatever.”

the banter dies down, as fast as it appeared. then a smile breaks out across your faces, in tandem, the atmosphere shifting into something more sincere — and doesn’t it always, when you’re watching the starry sky with the one you love most?

when suguru continues, his voice has taken on that softer tone, again. the one he only ever really uses around you. ”i liked thinking of us as them,” he admits. ”me as haku, and you as chihiro.”

a soft blink. then your smile grows, sweet like syrup. ”.. hehe. that’s funny,” you cross your legs. palms flat against the roof, knee leaning comfortably against suguru’s. ”i always thought of us as seiji and shizuku.”

there’s something faraway, in your eyes. something suguru can’t look away from.

tentatively, his fingers dig into the skin of his palms, and he speaks. absentminded, a little uncertain.

”… they get married at the end, don’t they?”

a pause. then your gaze snaps over to suguru’s, suddenly mischievous — and he regrets opening his mouth.

”oh?” you purr, almost beaming. inching closer, like a predator sizing up their prey. ”oh shit? are you about to propose, mister geto?”

”i’m just stating facts,” he quips, hands raised in defense. desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint crawling up his neck, obscured by the darkness of the night.

”incorrect facts,” you grin. if you notice the blush on his face, you don’t say anything. ”they get engaged. not married. big difference.”

suguru huffs. it’s small, as he tries to keep himself from smiling. the beating of his heart is faint, a tender rhythm, stirred by every move you make. he pushes the words he yearns to say back down his throat.

(i wouldn’t mind that, either.)

again, silence blooms. curling around the space between you. it feels nice, just to be like this; just you, and your very best friend, under the soft lighting of the moon. as if you’re the only ones who exist, in an otherwise empty universe — devoid of space and time. like the night could just stop, and stretch on forever.

there’s an unspoken question in the air, though. one suguru is still waiting for you to answer. one you refuse to answer properly, until he does the same.

you’ve both noticed, of course. even if no one else has, neither of you could ever miss it. suguru has noticed the turmoil in your eyes, and you’ve noticed the fatigue under his. those little signs of stress, as everything around you keeps spinning on; as the future grows closer, with every passing day.

(it’s overwhelming, you both muse.)

— and finally, you’ve had enough.

”suguru,” you call out, and his gaze finds yours instantly. ”have they been stressing you out, lately?”

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering softly. a little sleepy. they.

then he smiles. maybe a bit weak, but still as sincere as always — resigned to the fact that he really can’t hide anything from you, after all.

(of course you’d notice it. he was stupid to think you wouldn’t.)

a hum, as he breathes in the air and then exhales it all. trying to formulate the words inside his head, turn the feelings into syllables. and you’re patient. silent, as you admire the way moonlight caresses his skin.

”i’ll manage.” is what he finally says, and your lips curl down into a frown. ”they’ve just been getting on my case, again. you know how they are.”

suguru closes his eyes, and you inch closer to him. barely, by a hair, just to let him know you’re still listening. that you’re waiting for him to continue.

it’s tough, for him. opening up, being vulnerable.

but he knows you won’t do it unless he does, too. so he takes that leap, despite the insistent voice in his head urging him to just keep it to himself.

”it’s just… all these expectations, you know?” he meets your eyes, a little sheepish. downplaying his troubles so smoothly, as if you wouldn’t notice. ”i’m used to it by now, but sometimes i guess it still gets to me.”

you hum, and he continues.

”i feel like i have to be… solid,” he decides on. ”put-together. responsible, and mature.” a sigh, as he wrings his hands together. ”and that’s fine — but it’s like they have everything planned out. like everyone does. how i should act, where i should go…”

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, so focused on verbalizing his thoughts that he barely notices your fingers curling around his. but he still squeezes them, lightly. as naturally as breathing.

”it’s like my future’s already set in stone. and i’m just expected to follow it,” he looks up at the moon. ”which is also fine. i already know what i want to do. but somehow, all of it just feels so…”

he pauses. unsure of how to put it.

”… suffocating?” you finish for him.

there’s a second in which suguru can do nothing but breathe. as if frozen, stuck in motion, caught off guard by how deeply your minds are intertwined.

— what a wonderful thing, to have someone pluck the words you’re afraid to say from the back of your throat.

a smile blooms on his face, and a gratitude shines in his eyes. almost overflowing.

(you’ve always been the only one who ever seems to understand.)

”yeah,” he sighs, relieved. and suddenly his chest feels a lot lighter. odd, how just the tilt of your voice when you say a certain word can chase that discomforting sensation away.

”don’t listen to them,” you say, assuredly, so softly it’s like you’re coaxing him into believing you. it works. ”they don’t matter.”

suguru chuckles, rueful. ”they’re my parents.”

”so? they aren’t you.” you nudge his side with your elbow. ”they have no say in how you live your life. you don’t need to live up to all those expectations, you know.”

a soft little breath leaves your lips, and suguru wonders how you seem to always soothe his heart so easily. ”you just need to be suguru,” you mumble, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ”that’s all.”

a moment passes. suguru parts his lips, closing them again when no sound comes out. and then finally, he speaks.

”… yeah,” he muses. ”maybe.”

”definitely,” you huff. ”trust your best friend. i know best.”

”careful,” he teases, tilting his head lazily to meet your gaze. ”you’re starting to sound like them.” the smile on his face only grows when you gape at him, wholly offended, as if you can’t believe what he just said.

”wha — suguru…” you whine, sleepy, clinging to the sleeve of his shirt. digging your nails into the fabric and tugging on it childishly. ”don’t say that. i’m nothing like them!”

a giggle pushes past his lips. ”sorry, sorry,” he soothes, ruffling your hair with his palm. rough hands, big and warm, that always seem to find their way to your skin. ”i’m just kidding. thank you. really.”

the smile that he gives you glows brighter than the moon. he squeezes your hand, softly — a silent i love you. eyes closed, formed into little crescents, and when he speaks he sounds so painfully sincere.

”i think i’ll be fine as long as i have you,” he says. it comes out sounding something like a prayer.

the words make your eyes soften. melting into a mellow hue, so full of affection that you can almost taste it on your tongue.

”everything will turn out fine,” you murmur, consoling him. still not letting go of his hand. ”you have your whole life ahead of you, you know.”

he chuckles. the sound would be sweet if it didn’t have that teasing tilt to it, the one that tells you his amusement is at your expense. ”now you’re starting to sound like my grandma,” he quips, as if itching for something to bicker about.

but you only pout, and let your fingers slip from his. the warmth that leaves you is so jarring that you’re almost tempted to take his hand into yours again — but you just frown at him. ”i can never win with you, huh?”

suguru shrugs. ”need to keep you humble,” he chirps, pulling at your cheek gently. a lazy grin on his lips. ”we don’t want that ego of yours to grow as big as satoru’s.”

trying to keep yourself from grinning with him, you slap his hand away, playfully. ”that would never happen.”

”uh-huh.”

you give him a look.

”my bad.”

a moment passes. gradually, you feel your heart beginning to melt — just a little, but enough to get your voice hopelessly soft on your tongue. the glimmer of the moon embraces every cell in your body, painting over your features with a certain kind of bleeding tenderness. it’s hard to stop it from seeping out.

”you know that i love you. right?” tumbles from your lips, breathed out into the sky, words too heavy to be held back. ”even if your parents give you trouble, and everyone else, too — i’m still on your side.”

”always,” you promise, devotedly earnest. meeting his gaze. and suguru can’t look away.

something flickers, in the depths of his eyes, like a shooting star. something delightful.

he doesn’t quite know what to say. but he nods; almost meek, in a way, and it makes your chest ache. suguru’s always been the type to keep his troubles to himself, content with never letting anyone see into his heart — even if he’d like them to deep down.

if you can be there for him, even just for a night, then that’s more than enough.

he lets the silence linger for a while longer, soft breathing and the rustling of grass filling the space where your words would be. then he looks at you with newfound determination, suddenly, eyes shining in a way you don’t recognize.

”— and you know that i love you, too.”

a moment passes.

an affirmative hum buzzes in your throat, and you give him the ghost of a nod, shying away from his deep gaze. hoping to escape the intimacy of the question. but he doesn’t let you, stare so heavy that you have no choice but to meet his eyes again, after he nudges your hand with his.

the words that fall from his lips surprise you. something akin to a pout plays on his lips, but it’s more serious than that — he looks dejected.

”… do you, though?” he pushes, a troubled frown on his lips. ”do you know that i love you? just as much as you love me?”

at your stunned silence, suguru sighs, bringing a hand up to smooth over the crease between his brows. ”sometimes i worry that you don’t,” he admits. ”you always think too much. but i don’t want you to ever have to worry about that.”

his voice is firm, when he continues. ”i don’t want you to ever second-guess my love for you,” he declares, and you cower a little under the intensity of his gaze. playing with your fingers instead of looking at him. ”— so i want your answer.”

when his hand finds its way to your face, you stiffen, just barely. but it’s soft, the way he cups your jaw; the warmth of his palm smoothing over your skin. gentle, as he forces you to meet his eyes, tilting your chin up slightly. a bold move, even though physical contact is no stranger in your dynamic. you feel your heart pick up in speed.

”do you know that i love you?” he asks, and it sounds almost pleading. you can only find it in you to stare.

suguru’s eyes are filled with something, something you’d like to call love. and they’re looking deep into yours, almost as if coaxing you into drowning in their hue. mesmerizing. ridiculously pretty. if you stare into them for too long, you fear that you might never be able to look away.

but they’re sweet, and warm. painted over with worried hue, something very kind. familiar. the same eyes that have soothed you for as long as you can remember.

in your flustered state, you can do nothing but blink dumbly — gaze darting from his eyes, to his forehead, to the sky, to his lips.

he can tell the eye contact makes you nervous, but some part of him won’t allow you to squirm away. this is important. he needs to know that you know. he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep at night, otherwise.

finally, you squeak out an affirmative yes. and that’s all it takes for him to relax; in one smooth motion, his hand leaves your skin, a relief having bloomed in his eyes.

”okay. that’s good,” he exhales.

swallowing down a gulp, your gaze drifts away from the boy to your left. suguru is terrifying, really — doing stuff like that out of nowhere. you check your pulsepoint, discreetly, just to make sure your heart is still beating.

”alright, then,” he suddenly proclaims, breaking the fleeting silence. ”your turn.”

a blink. your eyelashes flutter in confusion, as you gaze up at him, a question painted on your features. suguru glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

”you’ve been stressed, lately,” he remarks. stating the obvious so you don’t have to. with a soft gaze, eyes that shimmer with understanding. ”i can tell, you know?”

(yeah. he always can, can’t he?)

”… uh,” you croak. clearing your throat and attempting to gather your thoughts, hoping the words will find their way to your lips. ”well. i dunno, really...”

suguru emits a low, affirmative noise, not looking at you. opening up like this makes you feel so uncomfortable. but it’s suguru. you trust him. and you know he won’t let you get away from this, either; he’ll stay up all night if he has to. just waiting for you to put your faith in him.

a sigh leaves your lips, finally, and it comes out sounding just a tad exhausted. ”i… guess i’ve just been thinking, lately.”

and, really, it’s an understatement. thinking is all you’ve been doing, for these past few weeks. thinking of this, and of that. the past and the future. him and you.

suguru hums. an unspoken encouragement.

”everything is just so…” you move your hands, haphazardly, hoping they’ll make the words easier to say. but nothing comes to you. everything is all jumbled up, inside your mind, and it’s just —

”overwhelming,” you finish. the word falls off your tongue like a tidal wave. ”everything passes by so quickly, and…” you bite your lip. ”i feel like i can’t catch up. i can’t visualize the future at all, and that’s…”

(it’s scary.)

”— it just makes me feel confused.”

suguru waits. patient, attentive, making sure you get all the words out before he speaks. as grounding as the moon, as warm as the sun.

when you don’t elaborate further, avoiding his gaze, he opts to finally soothe you.

”that’s understandable,” he chimes, voice buzzing with care. ”you don’t have to think about the future right now. living in the present is enough,” a breeze drifts by, tousling his black hair. ”.. it’s for the best, really.”

a smile. it’s a little sad, as you wring your hands together. ”i know,” is all you can say. because you do. it just doesn’t change anything.

the sensation of your nails scraping against the tiles of the roof is discomforting, but you don’t stop. when you part your lips, your voice comes out tiny. barely above a whisper.

”i’m so afraid of change.”

suguru looks at you. his gaze softens, impeccably.

”everything keeps changing. all the time,” you bite into the flesh of your cheek, harshly. ”i hate it.”

”that’s understandable, too,” suguru soothes. tentative, as his hand goes to rest on your head, smoothing down your hair gently. ”change is unavoidable. but you get better at dealing with it.”

”mm, i know.”

”and some things stay the same, too.”

you glance up at him, and his eyes crinkle. there’s something unspeakable in them, something that’s always been there. light and heavy, all at once. something a little bit too wonderful for words.

suguru smiles. almost a little shy, as he looks into your eyes. ”like you and me.”

…

a deep love unfurls in your chest, warming you up from the inside out. fuzzy and tingly. but with it comes a deep sadness, bittersweet, that you can’t chase away no matter how hard you try; like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, no matter how many times you try to scrape it off against the concrete.

like you and me.

(he doesn’t know that’s what scares you the most. the thought of that one thing changing, while you just stand there, helpless to stop it.)

”yeah,” you breathe. a wounded little breath.

suguru notices it, despite your vague attempts to act like nothing’s wrong. he notices the fear in your voice, the uncertainty. and once again, he gets the impression that you look a little lost. like you aren’t sure where to plant your feet.

it bothers him. an itch he wants to scratch away. but before he can get to the bottom of it, you begin to speak, once more.

”with you, it’s like…” a breath flows from your lips, as you try to find the words. but this time, they come to you with relative ease. ”if i could do my life over again, and make everything turn out different… then i’d still always keep you.”

silence. you continue, suddenly a little embarrassed at the honesty in your tone. but it’s too late to back out now.

”and even if everything else changes, if i could pick just one single thing to keep — then it’d be you, too.” the smile on your face is small, a little sheepish. “that’s how it is, so…”

you trail off. not sure what else to say. suguru isn’t, either; he feels just a little bit stunned, in the face of your sincerity. yet he parts his lips, softly, words making themselves manifest before his mind can even begin to catch up.

”i don’t think i’ve ever told you this,” he begins, not entirely sure where the words will take him. blinking up at the sky, entranced, whilst you look at him quizzically. ”you always call me your guardian angel, right?”

the question makes your lips curl up. it’s a habit of yours, one that’s become almost muscle memory. you don’t remember how it started, but it’s in everything suguru does; from the way he can always tell when you’re feeling overwhelmed, to the way he never fails to bring you a coffee right before your exam starts.

suguru is always looking out for you, even when you’re apart. like a guardian angel. yours.

you nod. ”because you are.”

suguru smiles, breathing out a fond chuckle, and then shakes his head. ”it’s the opposite.”

you turn to the man beside you, and he’s already looking at you. with his pretty, soothing brown eyes, the barely visible dark circles beneath them. his gaze is warm and fond, grateful in a way that makes your chest squeeze tight. you melt a little, under its weight.

”you’re my guardian angel,” he says, sickeningly sweet. ”always have been. even back then.”

inhaling the mild air, suguru lets his eyes flutter shut. the taste reminds him of the summer vacations you used to have as kids, when you would ride your bikes to the nearest river and play all day. stopping by any ice cream stand you found on the way there; you always took a bite out of his without asking, and he always tried to get angry at you. but he never could.

on your way back home, the sky was always dark. a soothing blue hue, stars glittering in the distance, while the moon looked close enough to touch. a night just like this one. you’d walk, together, talking about everything and nothing — sometimes he’d carry you on his back. not once did he drop you.

a breath, deep and drawn out as he exhales, basking in memories you aren’t privy to. a saccharine smile painted on his lips.

”without you…” he muses, voice a little breathless. fond, and somewhat helpless. but he’s smiling. ”i don’t really know what i’d do, to be honest.”

a moment passes.

”it’s the same for me,” you echo, words escaping your throat before you even get the chance to realize their weight. gaze stuck to the stars, as always. ”i can’t imagine life without you.”

suguru doesn’t speak, afraid that his heart may crawl out his throat if he does. the honeyed smile on his face says more than words ever could, anyway.

a small bout of laughter leaves your lips. sudden, sad, dripping with longing. it surprises you, catches you off guard — like something within you just overflowed.

“you know what my biggest fantasy was?” you grin, ruefully. maybe just a little manic. ”i used to think about it all the time, when we were kids.”

suguru looks at you in silence, but there’s a confusion in the way he tilts his head.

there seems to be a knot of some kind, stuck in the very bottom of your chest. something that makes it hard to speak. ”i’d get on a train, and just kinda… leave,” you breathe, hoping it’ll unclog your throat. it doesn’t. ”you know? to somewhere far, far away.”

and suddenly, the world grows just a little blurred. suguru can see it, in your eyes — you’re someplace else now. gaze trained on something he can’t see. there’s an amused touch to your voice, but also something rather pitiful. a childish wish that never came to fruition.

there’s regret, there, suguru thinks; something close to pain.

”maybe, like… a small port town,” you continue, closing your eyes. “with a cute little café close by, or whatever… somewhere you can see the sea.”

another breath. you pretend it tastes like salt, like an ocean breeze. then you swallow the lump in your throat, and whisper. ”with you.”

when you finally muster up the courage to meet suguru’s eyes, they shine with nothing but pure understanding. he doesn’t say anything, but he understands. he’s always been like that. not a single word is needed for him to ground you, the way a rock always meets the bottom when it’s thrown into the depths of a lake.

suguru’s comfort is as natural to you as the gravity that keeps the stars up in the sky.

the voice you’ve grown so used to hearing reaches your ears again, and it’s a low sound, a little raspy. but soft. achingly so, enough that you could almost miss it if you weren’t always so aware of every word that falls from his lips.

suguru looks up at the moon, in tandem with you, and lets the ghost of a smile show. ”… you know what my biggest fantasy was?”

his gaze is sincere, a little forlorn; hopelessly softened, as you meet his eyes. they’re painted over with something sweet, and something that looks just a little bit like regret.

a tilt of your head beckons him to continue, and the corners of his lips curl up further.

”running away with you,” he breathes. ”anywhere at all. wherever you wanted to go, i’d follow.”

for a moment or two, all you can do is stare.

you feel your lips part, but no sound comes out, nothing at all. suguru’s hair sways with the breeze, softly, and the light of the moon makes him look somewhat ethereal. like he could disappear if you blinked.

the silence that blooms in the space between your words is fragile. precious, if a little overwhelming, as it stretches out before you — growing heavier with every passing second. so tender that it makes you feel sick to your stomach, as if the sound of the wind whistling could shatter it into pieces.

(your heart aches, aches, aches.)

a weak laugh bubbles up from within your throat, something raw and tender hidden behind a veil of faux amusement. something vulnerable you're trying to cover up, like the glassiness of your eyes.

like a memory that never got to happen.

”what, so you’re saying we could’ve been by the seaside by now…?” you groan, forehead slumping against your knees with a bonk. ”what the hell, dude…”

suguru lets out a chuckle, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm and looking down at you with a smile on his face. one that reaches his eyes, glimmering with something akin to starlight.

”we can still go there,” he consoles you, reaching over to tousle your hair with a palpable softness. ”to the seaside, i mean. i’ll take you.”

for a while, you don’t say anything. a pout plays at your lips, as you attempt to get your emotions under control.

then you lean back, to lie down flat on the roof. the movement is so sudden that it stings a little when the back of your head meets the tiles, and you wince — a soft but exasperated murmur of careful comes from the boy on your left.

your elbows go to cushion your head, as you take in the immenseness of the sky. ”alright, then,” you hum. ”take me there sometime soon.”

suguru blinks. then his lips curl up. ”got it,” he chirps. mentally mapping out a nice spot, trying to remember the timetables at your local train station.

(next week, maybe. a picnic by the sea. he’ll make those sandwiches that you like.)

then he follows your lead, and goes to lie down on his back. right by your side, so close he can smell the fading scent of your shampoo, curled up right next to you. breathing out a sigh as he takes in the night sky in all its glory.

there’s something tender, in the air. something that doesn’t need words. a kind of comfortable silence that you’ve learned to treasure, whenever suguru is with you.

so you simply stare at the dark veil over the city, in tandem with him — a pitch-black blanket sewn with stardust.

everything expands, before your very eyes; an infinite cosmos, with all the light you could ever want. the stars blink down at you, as if saying hello, mapping out the galaxy. you try to find the constellations you’re familiar with, the ones suguru have taught you about in the past, but nothing really comes to you.

it’s nice, though. just staring at the stars in wonder.

an exhale, as you breathe in, and then out. you part your lips to whisper, breaking the sleepy silence.

”the stars are so pretty….”

suguru hums, the sound buzzing right by your ear. a soothing summer lullaby, that only you get to hear. ”yeah,” he whispers back.

a moment passes.

then you both part your lips to speak; smoothly, in a fashion that would be embarrassing if you didn’t feel so terribly safe in each other’s company. simultaneous, as the sentence tumbles from your throats.

”and so are you.”

silence. the seconds stretch on, and on. everything goes quiet.

you’re the first one to burst into laughter — deep, the kind that comes from the very bottom of your stomach. almost wheezing, as you try to catch your breath, arms snug around your shaking body. suguru follows close behind, trying to contain his laughter, but you can hear his little chuckles clear as day.

”eww, what the fuck?” you grin, shifting to lie on your side so you can get a good look at his face. ”you’re so corny!”

suguru snorts. ”i heard you say it too, dumbass.”

a little giggle flows from your lips, and you slump against his shoulder, still trying to control your breathing. suguru curls an arms around your midriff, bringing you closer. muscle memory, to make it more comfortable for you.

”haah…..”

the smile on your face shines brighter than the stars, suguru thinks, looking at you with a bleeding kind of fondness. as if you’re the only thing worth looking at.

”i hope things stay like this forever.”

the light of the moon shines down on the roof, bouncing off the white of your teeth. your canines shine in the dark as you grin, youthful — but there’s a sadness in your eyes, now. one that suguru will never fail to notice.

(one he’ll always yearn to smooth away, the same way his thumb always goes to wipe at any stray eyelashes on your skin, or crumbs at the corner of your mouth. muscle memory.)

”they will,” he assures you, reaching over to find your hand. enveloping it in his bigger one, cradling it, linking your fingers together and squeezing them softly. ”i’ll make sure that they do.”

a chuckle leaves your lips, but suguru thinks it sounds a little meek. like you still don’t believe him.

”i mean it,” he reiterates. more serious this time.

”i know,” you grin. ”but, i mean —”

a moment passes, and then your grin falters. ”you can’t promise that, though.” the expression on your face seems sort of pained, now, troubled by something. ”maybe we’ll move away from each other, or just drift apart, or —”

”that would never happen to us —”

”maybe you’ll meet someone.”

…

”a nice guy, or girl…” a sigh, as you run a hand through your hair. ”and then you’ll… i dunno. get married, i guess. and then eventually you’ll have kids, and buy a house, and —”

a pause. in a smaller voice, you continue. almost childlike. ”you’ll leave me behind.”

suguru bites back a scoff. it takes concentrated effort. he turns to look at you, but you won’t meet his gaze, and a frown finds its way to his lips. ”… do you honestly think that’s what i want?”

another moment passes you by. more seconds lost, never to return. ”… isn’t it?”

suguru sighs, a little exasperated. maybe just a little hurt, too. ”marriage and kids aside…” he mutters, burning holes into your skin with his steadfast gaze. determined, self-assured. the tilt of his voice leaves no room for doubt. ”there’s only one person i love.”

resisting the temptation to keep your eyes away from him becomes nearly impossible — so you let your gaze trail over, and take him in. in all his glory, silky black hair framing his face, a soft look painted over his features. looking at you as if you matter, as if nothing matters except for you.

and again, something breaks out across the scope of his iris, a shooting star you don’t know what to do with. he looks so hopelessly sincere.

for a second, all you can do is stare.

then you nod, solemnly. ”satoru, right?” you hum. ”you’re gonna break my heart if you keep bringing him up when we’re together, sugu.”

you don’t need to see his face to know that he’s giving you that unimpressed look, again. the suguru look. he rolls his eyes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

”i love him too, but that’s different,” he huffs.

”how so?” you prod, eyes crinkling. but there’s something a little meek about the question. he notices it, of course, because what doesn’t suguru notice?

something soft curls around his features, and a hum buzzes in his throat. a heavy tenderness bleeds into his voice. ”i wouldn’t die for satoru,” he says, simply.

a moment passes.

”… you totally would.”

”huh?” suguru blinks. ”no, of course not. are you insane?”

”suguru,” you sigh. ”you are literally the most self-sacrificial bitch i’ve ever met —”

”well, obviously i’d take a bullet or two, but —”

”what do you mean obviously —”

”— you’re the only person i’d die for.”

suguru is smiling, now. amused, sincere. almost on the verge of laughter, the sweet and soft kind that always turns your heart into a puddle. his eyes almost seem to glimmer, in the night, and it’s all you can see for a while. as you try to gather your thoughts, get the right words out.

”… always so dramatic,” you murmur, at last, a little gruff. his smile grows. you shift a little more, lying on your side to face him with a serious expression. ”don’t tell satoru that, okay? he already has it out for me. at this rate he’ll kill me and steal you away.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, deep and fond. you continue, a frown tugging at your lips. ”… and i wouldn’t want you to die for me, anyway.”

suguru lets a giggle slip, a bit too sleepy to hold it back. ”mm, i know. but if it ever came down to it, then i still would.” he shifts, too, lying on his side to face you properly.

”to me,” he exhales, and he’s so close you can smell the mint off his breath — ”as long as you’re by my side, i can make it through absolutely anything.”

the smile on his face is boyish. all teeth and crow’s feet, blooming in the light of the moon, a flower just for you. it’s perfect, you think. you don’t want a single day to pass without you seeing it.

”me too,” you mumble, linking your pinkies together. a silent promise. ”so don’t die. ever.”

suguru’s eyes soften.

then he hums, absentmindedly. ”… well. i mean,” he clicks his tongue. ”eventually i will. that’s not really something i have a say in.”

a roll of your eyes. ”alright, smartass,” you scoff, and suguru’s eyes crinkle with humour. ”just don’t die before i do, then.”

a hand comes to touch your skin. and it’s sudden, warm, but you don’t flinch away. suguru smooths over your cheek with the back of his hand, seemingly unable to stop himself. soothing, as he exhales a soft breath.

”… i think i’d prefer that to the alternative, honestly,” he admits.

you furrow your brows, softly. a part of you wants to protest, to call him a selfish prick — for even thinking the thought of leaving you behind without a best friend.

but something in you knows he won’t budge, on this one.

(it’s childish, in a way. stubborn, for him to take a joking conversation so seriously. but suguru doesn’t think he could even jokingly suggest that he’d survive without you.)

”seriously, though,” his voice takes on a firmer tone. ”i wouldn’t leave you behind like that. it’s us we’re talking about. you and me.”

he says the words like they’re undeniable — because they are. there is no him without you. that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

suguru stops to think. do you not feel the same? there’s still a crease between your brows, a sign of worry that’s impossible to dismiss. he can’t help but wonder just how long you’ve been thinking about this; how many nights have you spent sleepless, thinking of the future? of the possibility that it entails your parting?

(the thought makes him feel a little bit nauseous.)

”are you afraid that we’ll grow apart?” he asks, into the haze of the summer night. it resounds in the air around you, softly spoken, gentle but coaxing. almost pleading you to open up to him.

and it’s a stupid question, really.

of course you are. it’s the only thought that really scares you.

time moves so, so fast — always leaving you behind. who’s to say that suguru won’t do the same? that he won’t be taken away from you, swept away by that flow? into the future, while you stay glued to the past — stuck on the roof of your childhood, while he moves on to better things?

the night sky is infinite. sometimes, on nights that are a little too long, when your mind has grown a little too muddled, you think of suguru as a star in that sky. blinking down at you, while you can do nothing but watch. hopelessly out of reach.

gaze trailing down to rest on suguru’s collarbone, you swallow the lump in your throat. a little too vulnerable to feel comfortable with looking into his eyes, afraid of what you’ll see in them.

but he’s patient. waiting, always waiting, for you to catch up. for as long as it takes.

”… of course i am,” you mutter, at last. a weak little thing. farther down the street, a car swooshes by, drowning the sound — but suguru still hears it clear as day. ”i mean, it’s just…”

a meek intake of breath. you blink, desperate to chase away the glassiness forming in your eyes. trying to grasp control over your wavering voice. ”even if you say that we won’t… it’s not like there’s any guarantee. you can’t know for sure.”

suguru wants to stop you, right there. wants to ensure you that he does know, that it’s the only thing he’ll ever know for sure. just that one fact; you and him. never one without the other.

wherever you’d go, he’d follow — that’s how it’s always been. that’s all he’ll ever need.

but he knows you. knows you better than he knows himself. and he knows that he needs to let you speak freely, without interruption, until you’ve gotten every last worry off your chest.

so he settles for simply looking at you, curled up and biting his lip to stop himself from speaking. wishing he could smooth away the moisture in your eyes, already — but the tears need to fall first. he knows it’ll make you feel better.

”i love you,” you whisper, and suguru’s heart claws its way up his throat. ”i love you, and i want to be with you forever — but…” a shaky inhale. ”but i can’t get rid of that fear. the idea of losing you… i just can’t deal with it.”

”don’t you think i feel exactly the same?” he cuts in, softly.

a beat. you glance up at his face, for a split second, and then back down to his collarbone. a little fragile, curling into yourself as if hiding. ”i don’t know,” you sigh.

(suguru’s heart breaks.)

”i know that you love me too, and all. and i trust you. but…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. ”you already have your future planned out, and everything. maybe i just… don’t have a place in it.”

suguru scoffs, unable to bite back the sound any longer. it’s soft, but frustrated. ”there’ll always be a place for you in my future,” he vows. ”i wouldn’t accept anything less.”

you cower a little, under the warmth of his gaze. sweet, but stern. so distinctly suguru that it makes you falter.

”besides,” he clicks his tongue. ”i don’t need to follow the future that’s been planned out for me. i just need to be suguru.” a warm smile. ”right?”

at the sound of your own words, a light flush blooms on your skin. but for once, suguru isn’t teasing you.

”and you just need to be you,” he continues, arm still wrapped around your midriff. trailing up slowly, so that his hand can smooth over the back of your head. ”that’s all.”

”as long as both of us do that — we’ll always be together.” he looks into your eyes, and you think you spot a constellation inside his iris. ”won’t we?”

another moment of silence, the familiar comfort that settles between you. there’s no pressure to continue — but you do so, anyway. muddled mind still spinning, worried about this and that, despite suguru’s soothing words.

a part of you can’t put your faith in that kind of future. one where the two of you are together, that you could envision so clearly when you were younger — when him and you was all that you knew for certain. it’s not as simple as it was back then.

(but another part of you desperately yearns for him to prove you wrong.)

”… but,” you mumble, shaky. ”what if it’s not that easy?” a chuckle pushes past your lips, humourless. ”i mean, you can’t possibly… always stay by my side, you know?”

there’s something childish, in the way you say it. like you’re still kids, and you’re whining for him not to leave you behind. selfish, in a way.

what right do you have to chain him to you?

suguru emits a hum. his eyelids flutter shut, for a few seconds — and then he opens them again.

”… alright,” he drawls. ”let’s make a promise, then.”

confused, you glance up at him. he just smiles — responsible, dependable. your very best friend.

”have i ever broken a promise i made to you?” he asks, and you pause.

”… no,” you answer, hesitant. voice still a tad meek, a little helpless.

(and it’s true. not once has he broken one. when suguru makes a promise, he keeps it. you’ve always, always admired that about him.)

”right?” he grins, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. admiring your moon-lit features. ”so let’s do it.”

a frown tugs at your lips. furrowing your brows at him, your voice flows out, uncertain. ”promise… what, exactly?”

the moon glows, big and bright. hanging in the sky, a beacon of light, the same as it’s always been. suguru thinks you look radiant, under its illumination — even though you’re nervous, and a little teary eyed. just a single glance at your expression is enough to make his heartbeat soften.

you look like what home feels like.

he could never bear to let that go, to let you go. his very best friend; the one thing in his past he has no qualms about. the one thing in his future worth hanging onto, cherishing fully. no matter what.

suguru parts his lips, smiling. he links your hands together. ”keep being you,” he implores, steadfast. ”and stay by my side.”

a moment passes.

something crumbles, inside your chest. unable to break away from his gaze, all you can do is fall deeper into the hue of his eyes, crinkling softly — in the same way they always have. he squeezes your palm in his, tightly. a silent promise not to let you go.

— and then you realize something. the same realization that always comes to you, at the end of the day.

the man in front of you is just the same as the boy you met, all those years ago. the same boy who saw you climb over his fence, and let you pet his cat, and watched whisper of the heart with you even though he wanted to start with ponyo instead.

the same boy, always the same boy, no matter how much time passes. even though he’s all grown up now, features more defined. voice deeper and huskier. hands larger, with rougher skin.

he’s changed, just like you have — but he’s still just suguru. just that cool, sweet boy. a dorky guy who never, ever lets you fall too far behind.

a tremendous softness seeps through your veins. a kind of love, old and matured, carefully nurtured. the blinks you indulge in are slow, and your eyes shine with tears. it’s overwhelming, seeing him so up close, but you still can’t look away. he’s so beautiful it hurts.

”suguru…” is all you can sniffle, meekly.

your best friend is still smiling, fondly. wrapped up in you, as close as he can be. a familiar warmth, like a big fuzzy blanket draped over your shoulders; smelling of cedarwood and earl gray, and just a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. tailor-made just for you.

suguru never breaks his promises.

”but… you can’t,” you croak out, gasping as if searching for air. ”you don’t know if —”

”i do,” he cuts you off, gently. ”i do know.”

a breathless inhale of air, as you grasp tighter onto his nimble fingers. you feel meek, lost. not sure where to put your hands, or what to believe. ”how?” you ask, terribly fragile.

suguru takes a deep breath. oxygen enters his lungs, exiting as he breathes out. a soft flicker of life. his thumb goes to wipe away the stray tear that trickles down your cheek, his touch delicate. and then comes his response.

”— because i need you the way i need air.”

and, really, it’s a sappy thing to say. a little pretentious. he’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the soft flicker of the moon, the intimacy of the moment. he simply couldn’t bear not to tell you the truth — even if you end up bringing it up tomorrow, just to tease him. he can deal with a little embarrassment, every once in a while. just for you.

fortunately for him, no thoughts of teasing run through your mind. maybe if you were in a better headspace, a little less of a wreck, you could muster the will to make fun of him a little. who do you think you are, shakespeare? i knew i shouldn’t have lent you that copy of romeo and juliet. — something light and amused, just to distract him from the rapid beating of your heart.

but right now…

all you can do is take a deep breath. and you think you understand what he means, when that breath of life courses through your lungs.

”i’ll never leave you behind,” he continues, words so very self-assured that it leaves you reeling. rubbing comforting circles into the skin of your palm, without thinking. muscle memory. ”can you trust me on that?”

connected to his gaze, you stumble for something to say. anything.

but then he smiles, again. that familiar, familiar smile. as soothing as a mother’s caress. and only one single word makes it past your lips.

”… okay.”

you do trust him. more than anyone else in the world. so you take that leap, no matter how frightening it is —

and the world narrows down to just the two of you.

just you, and him, in this one single moment. illuminated by the light of the moon, lying side by side and looking into each other’s eyes, on a roof you always find yourselves at one way or another. laughing and sharing secrets until the sun begins to rise; a silent promise that needs no words.

(the promise of tomorrow. a summer that never quite seems to end.)

suguru cups your cheek. his touch buzzes with warmth, trickling down his wrist and through his veins — and you melt into his palm, eyes fluttering shut instinctively. the sight makes the corners of his lips curl up, hopelessly.

leaning close, he plants a kiss on your cheek. delicate, tender; his lips against your skin, a silent whisper of i love you. fervent, full of devotion. of a love that’s as steady as the sea.

”i’ll always, always be by your side,” suguru repeats, like a mantra. hoping you’ll feel his conviction through the whisper. ”you’ll always have me to fall back on. i promise.”

a little smile breaks out across your lips, meek and teary. as fragile as a sheet of glass, but still persisting in the dead of night. your voice wavers, as you raise your pinkie, right in front of his stupidly pretty face.

”pinkie promise?”

it’s a childish gesture. something to lighten the mood a little, make it all easier to chew. you expect him to roll his eyes, or raise an eyebrow, or tease you a bit. but he doesn’t.

instead, suguru raises his own pinkie, and curls it around yours. then he smiles. sweet and boyish, painted over with a rosy, tender nostalgia.

”— pinkie promise.”

and you believe him.

you believe him, because suguru has a way of making you do so, even when he has no idea what the hell he’s talking about. with that confident tilt of his voice, that makes it sound like he has all the answers in the universe — that flicker of genuine faith, in every word that falls from his lips, that tells you he truly does believe in them.

you believe him, because suguru is the only person in the world who’s never once broken a promise he made to you. not a single time. and some part of you suspects that if he ever did, he really would be okay with you cutting his pinkie off. a little frightening, the depths of his devotion. the pure loyalty that courses through his veins.

so you believe him.

you believe him because he’s suguru. and, just like you can't exist without him, he can't exist without you. never one without the other.

on instinct, you inch a little closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him extra tight. face hidden away in the crook of his neck, just like you used to do when you were kids. he’s bigger now, harder to properly embrace — but still so very, very warm.

and he squeezes you back, just as tight. comforting and grounding, and so, so secure. tugging you closer, like he needs to have you near to properly breathe. like he needs to feel that you’re there to relax, melting into the hug with a soft sigh. relieved, that you’re still with him. relieved at the promise that you always will be.

wherever you go, he’ll follow. to the roof of his home, to the seaside, to the ends of the earth. the same way every star in the sky orbits around the center of the galaxy, endlessly, before burning out into the night.

the smell of cedarwood and earl gray floods your senses, filling your lungs as you nuzzle into his neck. he’s warm, and soft, and your very best friend.

you close your eyes. indulging in his body heat, every familiar sensation that’s been etched into your bones for as long as you can remember. and you can tell he’s doing the same — breathing you in, arms resting securely around your back, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

and maybe it’s true, after all. maybe suguru really does need you, just as much as you need him.

and maybe that’s all you really need to know.

the moon rests in the sky. smiling down at you, unchanging. a living proof that some things really do stay the same.

— you hug suguru tighter, and decide that his presence is proof enough.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto suguru x you #geto hurt/comfort #geto angst #geto x reader #geto x you

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interesting-interludes · 1 year ago

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the comforts of creatures (6)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→ pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→ genre: supernatural!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→ word count: 4k

→ summary: you share a meal with your rescuers.

→ trigger/content warnings: PTSD (nightmares/flashbacks, mistrust), mentions of torture + forced sensory/sleep deprivation

→ a/n: a little comfort before more hurt

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part 6: the first breakfast

The last thing you want to do is sleep. Bad things always happen when you fall asleep.

You remember all the times you were strapped to the chair, headphones taped onto your ears, blindfold blocking out every bit of light, completely devoid of all outside stimuli. They would keep you there for hours, waiting until your head lolled or your body sagged, any indication that you weren’t wide awake.

Then came the electricity, flowing through your veins like liquid fire, shocking you awake. Again and again and again, until the mere thought of sleep made a jolt run through your body.

All the times they drugged your food, sinking you into a deep state of unconsciousness, then waking up with whip marks and bruises that felt bone-deep.

Then there was the nightmares. Unspeakable nightmares.

No, you can’t sleep. You don’t care how safe this place may seem, you still can’t let yourself slip.

You sit there in that massive bed for what feels like hours, feeling the strange sensation of a cushioned mattress and soft sheets. To feel warm and comfortable is still completely foreign to you.

You don’t dare lie down or rest your head on the plush pillows in case you fall asleep. Or worse, someone sees and punishes you for being on a bed and not on the floor where you belong.

The men here don’t seem bothered by it, but something deep in your mind tells you it’s all a lie. They’re only pretending to be so kind, so generous. It will all come crashing down soon enough.

So you shuffled off the bed and pressed your back to the wall, wrapping your arms around your legs with your knees tucked under your chin.

The strange feeling in your chest is back, and you don’t like it.

You watch as the moonlight seeps through the curtains and crawls across the walls, shifting with the changing hours. All throughout the night, the feeling in your chest blooms and dulls, like a pulsing radar that senses something random and unknown.

This whole thing is so strange. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do yet. Stay or leave, run or linger. There’s no guarantee that you’ll find someplace as accommodating as this one. There’s also no guarantee that the men here are exactly what they seem to be.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyeing the smooth cool linen you were just surrounded by.

They didn’t show any sign that they were bothered by you using their bed, dirtying their sheets with your non-human skin. But you still don’t want to risk it.

Sleep tugs at your resolve, it makes your eyelids flutter and your mouth hang open. You have to fight it off, rapidly blinking your eyes back open and straitening your posture so you don’t go limp.

You can’t be asleep, you just can’t.

After the moonlight fades, you busy yourself inspecting the rest of the room, crawling on the ground so no one will hear you snooping around. Even the carpet is plush and pillowy. This place is so soft, it doesn’t make sense.

Almost the entirety of the room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows covered by gauzy curtains. The ceiling too has a large skylight that shows the dark sky above.

You can’t remember the last time you were in a room as open and airy as this one.

There’s the massive bed with all its fluffy pillows and plushies, like the giant stuffed bear and cute yellow duck tucked in the corner. Along the edges of the bed are some little tables with softy-lit lamps and candles.

There’s a simple fireplace against the opposite wall, surrounded by two large bookshelves. Overhead is a projector mounted to the ceiling, pointing to the blank wall directly across from it.

By the time you’re done inspecting the room’s every nook and cranny, the first few rays of pale sunlight are starting to peek through the clouds.

You crawl over to the closest window and gently draw back the curtain.

Morning mist drapes over the dense forest and rolling hills. The sky behind it is gray and cloudy, showcasing the chill of the outside air.

It’s then that you decide to stay here another day. You’d rather take your chances here for just a bit longer than venture out into that wilderness. Because by the looks of it, this place isn’t near any obvious civilization.

Curiosity stirs within you. Your hand hovers over the latch to the window, asking a silent question you’re not sure you want answered.

A flick of your fingers, and the latch comes undone without protest. The window slides open with ease, and a gust of fresh wind hits your face.

You aren’t locked in. You aren’t trapped.

The wind is sharp and refreshing. There’s the faint smell of pine, then a brisk slightly floral scent that makes the breath in your chest hitch slightly.

It’s a luxury you’ve dearly missed.

You stay there for a while, just breathing in the outside air, until a deep growl from your stomach makes you realize that you haven’t actually digested a proper meal in a long time.

Then the empty glass and pitcher of water on one of the side tables catches your eye. Another luxury you haven’t known for a long while: clean water.

You grab the glass and shakily fill it to the top, tipping your head back to down the entire thing in a few gulps. The thought that it might be spiked does cross your mind, but you figure that if they wanted to drug you they would’ve done it by now. So you drink until the dry ache in your throat has subsided.

The door is still open a crack. Holding your breath, you push it open a little more and peer through the gap.

The hallway is empty. You poke your head out, cautiously looking around before stepping out of the room.

You don’t know where you’re going, but there’s an appetizing smell tugging you in the direction of the grand staircase.

Slowly placing your foot on each wooden step to make the least amount of noise, you enter the living room. It’s empty too, and also lit up by morning light from the tall windows lining the walls.

The smell draws you into the kitchen, where Jin is standing over the sizzling stove.

He doesn’t turn around when you enter the room, but he knows you’re there. His heightened hearing picked up on your soft footfalls from upstairs.

“Good morning,” he says warmly.

It startles you a bit, shocked that he noticed let alone acknowledged you.

Jin gives you a smile over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his expression open and nonjudgmental as he waits for your answer.

You nod after a hesitant pause.

Jin’s chest lights up with pride at the fact that you’re starting to feel comfortable expressing your wants and needs.

You feel the shadow of it in your own chest, but to you it just feels like a strange dull ache. It’s confusing and slightly alarming, but you keep your face expressionless.

“Have a seat at the table if you want and I’ll get you something to eat,” he says, setting a large kettle on the stove and turning on the burner.

For a minute, you just stand there watching him, almost mesmerized. He has broad shoulders that add to his naturally commanding aura, but the way he moves is nothing but calm and steady. There’s a fluidity to everything he does, and a timeless grace that’s somehow just as firm as it is gentle. Maybe it’s because of his vampiric blood.

He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down, polished black dress shoes on his feet. His hair is neatly styled, bangs pushed back from his forehead.

There’s no denying that he’s a very attractive man.

The feeling in your chest starts to burn again, and you hurriedly make your way to the large dining table before he notices your discomfort.

You shift your attention to the details of your environment.

The table occupies the open space between the kitchen and living area, so you can easily see into both rooms. Dried herbs and hanging plants drape from the kitchen ceiling, along with the modern yet elegant light fixtures.

You almost can’t fathom the sheer size and quality of this house. You suppose seven men would need a lot of space, but you can’t help but wonder how they maintain it all.

Because something deep in your memory tells you that you came from humble beginnings. You don’t belong in a house like this.

The next second, a small bowl is being set down in font of you. A scoop of vanilla yogurt, fresh blueberries, a sprinkle of granola, and a drizzle of honey.

“Let’s start with this,” Jin says. “And if you can keep it down I’ll get you some else, okay?”

You nod, briefly meeting his eyes before looking down at the table again.

He steps back into the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle and release a swirling tower of steam into the air.

You bring a spoonful to your lips and swallow it down, pausing for a few minutes to see if it will crawl back up in a fit of nausea. After nothing bad happens, you quickly shovel the rest of it down. It’s sweet and juicy and smooth down your throat.

Footsteps sound from the hallway. The man called Yoongi enters the room, looking half-asleep. His dark hair is tousled, eyelids drooping as he waddles over to the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants. The clothes are so big they make the man seem small and even...cute. Despite the fact that he seemed so intimidating before.

Jin doesn’t look up at the sound of the younger man’s bare feet padding against the tile, but he does extend his arm to brush against Yoongi’s back as he walks past him.

“Go sit down, love. I’ll make the coffee,” Jin says, carefully spooning dark powder into a stovetop espresso pot.

The dark-haired man blinks sleepily, looking like he wants to protest, but he eventually stumbles over to the table and sinks down across from you.

Jin knows that Yoongi is probably still drained from the effort it took to break through the wards of the facility. A spell of that magnitude takes an immense amount of strength, especially for a single caster.

Under any other circumstances, Yoongi would’ve stayed in bed to rest, but he felt the same twinge in his heartstrings that Jin felt when you responded to his offer for food. He dragged himself out of bed to see how you were doing.

He doesn’t doubt that the others felt it too, they’ll probably be joining them any minute now.

Yoongi tries to give you a warm glance, but all your attention is directed down at the table.

By the time Jin sets the freshly packed espresso pot on the stove, you’ve practically licked the bowl clean.

He’s quick to notice, at your side the moment you set down your spoon.

“Ready for more?” he asks with another calming smile.

He thought of simply bringing you more food, but he didn’t want you to think that they expected you to finish everything they put in front of you. He wants you to know that you have choices here, and hopefully it will make you more comfortable expressing yourself.

You nod, and both Jin and Yoongi feel their chests swell.

Jin glides back into the kitchen to grab the still-sizzling pan and steaming kettle from the stove. He pours the boiling water into a large white teapot on the table, already prepped with tea bags, and slides the cooked meat onto a large tray.

It’s then that you notice that the table is set with enough plates, glasses, and mugs for eight people. There’s a pot of fresh rice in the center of the table, along with a platter of cut-up fruit and a plate stacked with some kind of fluffy pastry.

The next moment, two more sets of footsteps sound from the stairs. It’s the fair-haired man, Jimin, and the muscular one. Both of their faces are puffy, their eyes half-closed as they stagger down the stairs. Jimin’s form is dwarfed by an oversized hoodie, while the muscular one is wearing a white tank top and sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

Usually Jungkook would forgo the shirt and sometimes the pants, walking around the house in just his boxer-briefs. But then he remembered that even though you’ve seen his body thousands of times, you’re essentially a stranger to them now.

Jimin looks at you from under his hood with sleepy eyes, through the tufts of fluffy hair, and waves with a smile.

The chest-feeling is getting more distracting.

He sinks down beside Yoongi, who is sat directly across from you, and Jungkook moves to sit next to you on the other side of the table, but chickens out at the last second and sits in the chair one space over.

“Did you sleep well?” Jimin asks, tearing open one of the pastries and spreading jam onto the flaky layers.

A beat of silence passes before you realize that he’s talking to you.

Looking, they’re all looking at you. Lungs hitching, you fix your gaze on the wood of the table and clench your teeth.

You didn’t sleep at all, but you’re not about to tell them that.

You probably couldn’t get your voice to work if you wanted it to, so you sit in the awkward silence, praying that their eyes fall on anything but you.

“I slept pretty well. You, hyung?” Jimin replies to his own question nonchalantly, quick to dissolve the tension.

“Like a drunk rock,” the older man answers just as casually.

Jin glides back into the room, placing the now steaming espresso pot in front of Yoongi and adding more cooked meat to the tray in the center of the table.

“Like a tranquilized rock. I could hear you snoring from across the hall,” Jin quips before practically floating back to the kitchen. His steps barely even make noise as he walks.

They all know that Yoongi only snores when he’s in the deepest of sleeps. People of Yoongi’s kind don’t technically need sleep, but after the effort it took to break down those wards, he definitely needed it.

“I think it’s going to rain today,” Jungkook says as he plucks pieces of fruit from the platter and pops them in his mouth.

It’s a pretty obvious statement. It’s early spring, so it rains almost every day here. They can all see the dark clouds and brisk, cutting wind through the windows, but it’s an attempt at small talk. Because JK can hardly stand how uncomfortable you look. It makes him want to snatch you up and hide you in his room and smother you in all the affection you missed out on while you were gone.

But he knows he can’t, and it makes his heart sag as you shift uneasily in your seat, eyes downcast.

Because you can’t help but wonder how can they just sit there rattling off pleasantries when you’re a stranger in their beautiful house.

You’re an outsider, a charity case. You can’t even tell them your name, and they’ve let you invade their peace without so much as a unfriendly glance.

Just as a burning question starts to crawl up your throat, another set of footsteps enters the room.

Hoseok, the lean dark-haired man, shuffles to the table. His eyes are barely open and his lips are puffed up in a groggy pout.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice tinged deep and thick but still cheerful.

Jimin pulls him into the seat next to him, playfully ruffling his already messy hair.

Namjoon is right on his heels, sauntering into the room with his nose in his notebook. He’s already dressed in a gray suit, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, pen twirling in his right hand.

He takes a seat at the left end of the table, looking up to give you small smile. You would’ve missed it if his presence wasn’t so demanding of your attention.

“Lovely sight first thing in the morning,” his husky voice calls, and it seems to send warm sparks of...something throughout your chest cavity.

Jin appears again, coffee pot in hand, circling around the table and filling everyone’s mugs. He then takes a seat at the right end of the table, so him and Namjoon can survey the rest of them.

They’ve all started loading their plates, sweetening their coffee with milk and sugar and caramel drizzles.

Jin pours himself a cup of tea from the large white teapot, spooning an almost ridiculous amount of honey into the amber liquid. But the honey suits him. Warm-tinged, naturally sweet, heavy on your tongue. He seems to leave a trail of it wherever he goes, along with the tangy scent of citrus.

Namjoon looks up from his notebook, scanning the table.

“Where’s—” He’s answered a second later when the curly-haired man descends down the staircase. He looks just as sleepy as the rest of them. Well, maybe not Jin and Namjoon, but his eyes are dark-rimmed and his mouth is set in the same half-awake pout.

But all of that seems to flicker away in an instant when he catches sight of you. It’s like your face is a bucketful of ice water, chilling him into a strange sense of alertness.

He surveys the table, noticing that the only open seat is the one directly next to you.

You look away before you can see the realization play out on his face. Reading people isn’t exactly your expertise, but you can tell when someone looks at you with disdain. Of course you do, it’s all your scattered memory can recall. And you know that Taehyung doesn’t like you.

He ducks his head as he reluctantly sits down at the table, stiff in the limbs.

If the others notice, they don’t show it.

Jin is busy making a plate for you: seared meat on a bed of rice, a side of sliced fruit, and a pastry smothered in butter.

He places it in front of you with that same nonchalance. It says eat what you want, no one here is going to judge you.

It’s a little surprising how easily you believe him.

You hesitantly pick up the fork beside your plate, eyeing the others to see if they react negatively. None of them do, there’s only slightly curious and attentive expressions thrown your way.

They’re trying hard not to stare, trying hard not to look hopeful as you survey the food.

You poke at the meat, mouth watering at its savory aroma.

You bring a forkful to your mouth. Just chewing the protein makes you feel more full than you have in months.

The boys try to contain their joy when you start to eagerly eat mouthful after mouthful.

Jin and Namjoon exchange a near ecstatic glance across the table. The others look at each other too, endeavoring to suppress their excitement.

You don't know it, but this is a significant moment. Breakfast has always been important to all of you. Jin and Namjoon leave for work early in the morning. The rest of them are freelancers, but they wake up early so you can all eat together at least once a day, in case Jin and Joon aren't home in time for dinner.

This is the first time you've all been together to share a meal like this since your disappearance.

A comfortable hush falls over the room as everyone eats and sips at their coffee, with the occasional comment or question tossed into the air.

You barely hear it, too focused on the food. It's all so luxurious, the well-seasoned meat, the fresh fruit. You can't remember, no matter how hard you try, the last time you had a meal like this.

Your mind starts to clear once your plate is licked clean, and thank heavens it seems to be staying down.

The men, they're talking about the weather. Here you are, a stranger, a nuisance, at their table. And they're talking about the weather, treating you like you're one of them, when everything inside is screaming that you are anything but.

The slam of silverware, and everyone looks up in slight shock. It's only after a few seconds that you realize it was you who made the noise.

Everyone's eyes on you, but you don't care. The questions itch too bad.

"What now?" you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts.

They all look at each other.

"What do you mean, love?" Jin replies, his expression calm.

You scan each of their faces, trying to answer the indefinable question floating in your mind. They're all looking at you with something heavy and strange in their eyes.

"What happens now?" you say, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

"Well, you're still getting used to things. I'd say the next step is a brain scan, to see if there's any more damage, and maybe if we can recover some of your memories," Jin answers.

You want to ask how he knew that you were missing your memories, but Yoongi interrupts the thought.

"Today we can show you around the house, maybe you can meet the pets if you'd like," he says.

They'd kept the animals separate from you, knowing that they'd all rush to jump all over you after your absence, especially the dogs.

You look down at the table.

"What other questions do you have?" Jin asks kindly.

You can still feel their eyes on you, but your gaze is fixed down at your empty plate.

"Why were you there?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

A pause, and you look up to find a mixture of confusion and hesitation on their faces.

"At the facility. Why were you there?"

You remember them busting down the walls, mowing down guards, Jin cradling you in his arms like you were a long lost lover.

"The F&F has a reputation for taking atypical prisoners. We were hoping to rescue them," Namjoon says. It's not a lie, they did free all the other atypicals in the building, but he left out the fact that they were there looking for you.

"Why?" you ask. There's a heavy sensation in your chest.

"Because the F&F deserves to rot in hell for what they've done," Taehyung blurts out before he can help it. Jungkook puts a hand on shoulder, a gentle warning not to scare you.

Namjoon sighs when confusion clouds your features.

"Because we look out for people like us," he says.

You don't know what to say to that. A moment of silence falls upon the room.

"Well," Jin says, wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin and getting up out of his seat. "I think it's high time we show you around."

326 notes · View notes

seramilla · 4 months ago

Note

Fluffy/angsty Chaggily idea for the Emily in Hell AU: Emily mostly adjusting well to her transformation but still feeling a little self-conscious about it sometimes, but Charlie and Vaggie are good girlfriends about it.

A little twist on this, because there wasn't quite enough angst. For @tanema123 and @xellas-the-wanderer, and for dealing with the crisis mode I've been in for months.

Before Sera fell, Emily spent plenty of time feeling sorry for herself.

She had every right to. Forced bodily changes and broken bones aside, Emily had been literally thrust out of the only home she'd ever known. That sense of security and safety in Heaven, by Sera's side, stolen from her in the time it takes to inhale a breath. It had been more than the young angel could handle.

Everything she'd ever thought to be true about Heaven -- about goodness, and holiness, and glory, and eternal love -- had been snuffed out forever by a single brash decision from the elders.

She'd spent days in Charlie and Vaggie's bedroom at the hotel, bones and body healing and getting used to her new form. (Or had it been weeks? She couldn't recall at this point).

The once happy, boisterous Seraphim of Joy, reduced to a puddle of blankets, random animal limbs, and wings curled up on the oversized mattress in the fetal position. Charlie wanted to stay with her, and comfort her, but she and Vaggie had official hotel business to run. Their patrons needed them. Life didn't pause for anyone, and that went doubly for the princess of Hell.

Keekee stayed at Emily's side at all times, providing her some companionship and comfort when her girlfriends couldn't. Charlie and Vaggie checked in on her often (mostly Vaggie), every hour on the hour, bringing her food and water, just making sure she was safe and had her basic needs met.They did their best to make her feel cared for. So that she didn't…wouldn't try to do anything stupid.

Emily wouldn't. She couldn't. She loved them too much. Even if she didn't love herself anymore. She ate, and drank, and bathed, and tried to maintain appearance as some semblance of a person. For them. Even if she didn't feel like one.

But often, she succumbed to the grief, and there was nothing more to be done than to hide from the world.

One afternoon, Vaggie slips into her and Charlie's bedroom, silently and gracefully, a tray of sandwiches and water balanced precariously in one hand as she opens the door. The room is dark, curtains drawn tight, and only a small sliver of red, hellish sky seeps in past the heavy fabric. That telltale lump of blankets on the bed known as Emily barely stirs.

"Hey, Em," Vaggie says barely above a whisper. "You missed breakfast today. Are you hungry? I brought you a snack."

The only response from the little Seraphim is a slight shifting of fabric, a back-and-forth movement of the material that looks like Emily is shaking her head "no". Her blueish-silver lion's tale peaks out from under the covers, the tufts of fur at the end all fluffed up. Her tail flipflops across the bed animatedly, like an annoyed cat's. Vaggie does her absolute darnedest not to make any sound in response at all.

It's adorable. But Emily isn't ready to hear that yet.

"C'mon, Em," Vaggie says, putting the tray on the bedside table, and sitting on the side of the mattress next to her.

Vaggie touches Emily's tail lightly, so gently, barely playing with it between her fingers. It flits in her hand with a life of its own, and Vaggie strokes it affectionately. Vaggie is the only one who's been brave enough to touch Emily casually since she fell. She's the only one Emily will allow touching her right now.

Other than carrying Emily back to the hotel that first day, Charlie has barely been able to look at her, let alone touch Emily's new form. But that bond Emily and Vaggie had formed in Heaven for centuries is still there, and she doesn't shy away from touching Emily to comfort her, or help her bathe, or cuddle her at night, or perform any number of basic self-care tasks. It doesn't bother Vaggie. It doesn't gross her out. Emily can barely look at herself, so she lets Vaggie do most of the care-taking.

"C'mon, sweetie," Vaggie repeats, pulling up the edge of the blanket enough to get a view of Emily's butt. She's wearing one of Vaggie's T-shirts and a pair of Charlie's shorts, with duckies on them. They'd cut out a hole for Emily's new tail to fit through, so she's more comfortable.

"I don't want to," Emily pouts, her little hoofed feet pushing herself deeper underneath the covers. Vaggie can see a pair of dark, ocean-deep eyes staring back at her from the shadowy depths of the blankets. They blink at her slowly, like a frog. Vaggie thinks they are so pretty, in an ethereal, otherworldly way.

"Why not?" Vaggie asks.

"I just…I'm not hungry!"

Emily's stomach growls, loudly, like a lion in its den.

"That's a lie," Vaggie chuckles.

"Charlie hasn't been to see me today!"

That statement from Emily makes everything go quiet again. The fact that Charlie hasn't visited yet surprises even Vaggie. Normally, she and Charlie take turns; if one of them is more preoccupied, the other will pick up the slack. Charlie has been busy with her dad all morning, fussing and mussing about the hotel, but certainly, Vaggie thinks, she should have visited Emily at least once by now.

"She's been working this morning. I'm sure she'll come see you as soon as she's done." Vaggie's voice sounds uncertain and unconvincing, even to herself.

"No, she won't!" Emily stutters. Her voice is quaking and muffled now; she's obviously crying, face buried in her pillow, soaking the fabric with tears. "She hates me! Every time she comes, she can barely even look at me!"

"Sweetie, she doesn't hate you," Vaggie says, leaning over Emily to stroke her head (or what she thinks is her head) softly through several layers of blankets. She can feel the hard bump of one of Emily's horns, so the Seraphim's head is in the general vicinity of where her hand is, at any rate. "Charlie just feels guilty about everything. And when she feels guilty, she throws herself into her work. She doesn't mean anything by it. I promise."

"Then why doesn't she touch me, or kiss me, or...something?! All she does is apologize, and cry, and...and pity me! It makes me feel horrible! For causing you all so much pain! I wish I wasn't here anymore! I wish the elders had killed me instead of doing this! I'm a monster!"

Suddenly, there is a sharp sob from the doorway, and a crash of metal and ceramic clattering to the floor. Vaggie jerks her head around, and sees Charlie standing there, a tray of her own that she'd previously been carrying now in a heap upon the floor. The princess ignores the tea soaking into the floor, and the shattered teacups and pitcher. Her eyes are filled with tears, one hand over her mouth in shock, failing to hide a pained, exasperated expression on her face.

"Emily..." Charlie says. She's obviously overheard at least part of their conversation. Most certainly that last part, with the way she looks like she might collapse onto the floor, herself. The princess looks broken. Hurt, and miserable, barely holding it together. "Is...is that...what you really think of me? You think I hate you?"

Realizing Charlie's in the room, Emily scrambles under the sheets, desperately trying to free herself from the tangle of fabric trapping her limbs. Her head finally pops out of the blankets, hair askew and round ears twitching in irritation. She looks over at Charlie in disbelief, the princess' knees looking like they are about to buckle beneath her.

"Charlie! Wait! No, that's not--! I didn't mean that--!"

Emily barely has a chance to respond. Charlie sidesteps the mess she's made and is suddenly rushing to her beside, practically crawling on top of Emily in her desperation to get to her girlfriend. Emily's legs are still tangled in blankets, but Charlie grabs her around the neck, stopping the angel before she can even attempt an escape.

Not that Emily wants to go anywhere. Not now that Charlie is here, holding her fast to her chest, and sobbing into the fallen angel's hair as she frantically tries to make her stay in her arms...leaving this bed is suddenly the last thing on her mind.

"I'm sorry!" Charlie weeps, tears soaking into Emily's hair; her hot breath makes Emily's sensitive ears ache. She kisses Emily's moist cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Emily! I had no idea I was making you feel that way! Of course, I don't hate you! I love you! More than anything! I just wanted to give you your space, and I didn't know what to say, and I got carried away with work. I'm such an idiot. Please, don't leave!"

Charlie's grip is harsh against Emily's skin. Ever since her transformation, Emily's senses are heightened, and every little stimuli feels like so much. Everything is on overdrive all the time, including the way Charlie's claws dig into her back and shoulders, where her wings normally appear. Charlie's pleas and sobs are overwhelming, but Emily sits there, and she takes it. Because for the first time in days, Emily can feel the full force of Charlie's love all around her. She never wants to let it go.

"I'm sorry, too!" Emily cries out. She doesn't know why she's apologizing, but she can't seem to hold her emotions in anymore. She squeezes Charlie around the waist, and buries her face in the princess' suit jacket, being mindful of her horns and trying not to poke her girlfriend with them.

Emily succumbs to the emotional weight of it all. Her wings pop out, appearing in a flash of light, and flecks of gold from the transformation sparkle all around them. Blueish-silver and gold feathers wrap protectively around herself and Charlie, keeping the other woman close to her, afraid to ever let go of her again.

Charlie's hand strokes the feathers within reach, carefully and tenderly, and Emily basks at the light touch. Emily brings Charlie's other hand to rub against her cheek, soaking Charlie's palm with fresh tears. Charlie also takes the chance to touch one of Emily's small horns, wrapping her hand around it, and admiring it. It's smooth, like ivory under her fingers. It feels good to have it touched.

This is the first time Charlie's laid comforting hands on her in days, and she's doing it while Emily looks like this. The sheer force of that fact makes Emily want to cry all over again.

"Please don't apologize to me," Charlie sobs. "You needed me, and I closed myself off inside my own head. I love you, no matter what you look like. You'll always be beautiful to me, Emily! Please don't forget that."

"Okay. Okay! I won't."

Emily won't. Not anymore.

Being mindful of her wings, Emily rolls onto her side, pulling Charlie down to lie next to her. She's missed this. Missed her princess. Missed the type of attention that only Charlie can give. She kisses Charlie passionately, and Charlie kisses her back, and both women get lost in the moment. In themselves. Vaggie looks on affectionately.

Vaggie carefully scootches over to sit behind Charlie on the bed, laying her hand comfortingly on Charlie's head, stroking her blonde hair while the taller woman makes these adorable half-whimper/half-crying sounds into Emily's lips. Emily's still pretty emotional, too.

Vaggie chuckles. "You knuckleheads are so hopeless, you know that?"

Leave it to her girlfriends to cry while they're kissing each other, Vaggie thinks. They choose to ignore Vaggie's teasing, and go back to sucking one another's faces. Vaggie smiles, and leans down to kiss each of their exposed cheeks, in turn.

"Love you guys, too."

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #emily hazbin hotel #vaggie #chaggily #charlie's angels #ask #anon #keekee hazbin hotel #emily stays in hell au

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chocosnowflake0 · 1 year ago

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im sorry but is that narinder's cloak thing sown onto corrupted bishop! lamb's outfit?

i don't know if it's cause i have had an emotional morning but genuinely trying to hold back tears right now fuckkk, aAAaa the implicATioNsss, trying to piece the story through the design and every detail is just making me wanna cry moree why does lamb have so many cat skulls is it like an in memory/trying to keep nari's memory close or or i fhujfesihr

your art design is absolutely gorgeous op, wonderful work and as always your style is so pretty, dunno why i always love how you draw lamb's snout if that makes sense

it's very shapes/pos

hello anooon And yes! thats Nari's cream cloak, the upper part of it at least. Their cat's gone and now its time for the Lamb to keep going by themselves which... didnt go well btw. I mentioned somewhere in a post some weeks ago that the Lamb would be kinda lost without Narinder by their side and imma holdin' onto that idea. Fluffy soft thing rolling into madness once they noticed they (for some reason) are not able ot revive Nari 👀

THEYCRYHEREHEREANON /PATSPATSINTENSIFIES tysm, honey! <3 Here to gib y'all some furry floofy lamb to enjoy Also,,, sum au sketches ; )

The Fox here to give terrible advises -> corrupted Lamb starting a whole cat genocide campain thanks to him. the cats skulls are just victims trophies since skulls arent the type of bones needed for rituals -

/dissapears sorry if my english slipped somewhere, its rusty af

#cotl #cotl au #user post #myart #hotcocoasan #ASKKK

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birinboom · 1 year ago

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Post-Apocalyptic Shopkeep Bakugou

Shopkeep Bakugou, linguist reader Post-apocalyptic au, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mild swearing, fluffy ending 💌 1,205 words

This came from me being tired and skimming a prompt for another piece - coffee shop/bookstore au or dystopia au with Bakugou - and my eepy brain turning it into ‘dystopian bookstore Bakugou’. I ended up imagining less of a bookstore per se, and more of a shop from a dystopian/post-apocalyptic game where you’d buy weapon upgrades, treasure maps, etc from an older and incredibly tired Bakugou.

WARNING! This is quite a bit darker than what I usually write, it contains mentions of blood and death (the reader recalling seeing someone being shot).

Making the trek across the dried-up seabed was always a challenge, even as civilization slowly expanded, creeping closer and closer to the old shipwreck. You adjusted the piece of fabric you’d tied over your nose and mouth; the dust kicked up with every step was hazardous if inhaled. It would cut your lungs to shreds - or so you’d heard. You didn’t want to take any chances.

Finally you spotted the wreck, tucked into a dip in the ocean floor. As always, you took a short detour to marvel at the bones jutting from the ground close to the wreckage. You always liked to imagine that this giant creature was the one to take down the ship, tearing it to pieces before letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it died from its wounds? Maybe it had cut itself on the metal of the hull and bled to death? Or - much more likely - the creature was a victim of the ocean drying up, completely unrelated to the wreckage. You shrugged, reaching out to touch the sun-bleached bones. It didn’t matter what the truth was. You’d never find out anyway, and the idea of a battle between ship and sea monster was fun.

Moving on, you started the climb onto the shipwreck, careful to not cut yourself on the rusty metal. Your gaze crept up to the bow of the ship where the name had once been painted. It had bleached enough over the centuries that it was almost invisible, all you could read was ‘MS Ba--’ Maybe that was why he’d picked this place. Far enough from civilization that only serious buyers would make the trek. You had started to think of the wreckage as the ‘MS Bakugou.’ Another thing to amuse yourself with. And amusement was exactly why you’d come.

The air cooled around you as you moved deeper into the wreck. Finally, you reached your destination, a door with the words ‘stay the fuck away!’ painted on it. Ignoring the warning, you began spinning the handle, your labored breath almost drowning out the muted sounds of the latches clicking into place on the opposite side of the door. Then, you heaved the door open, instantly raising your hands as the door clanged against the wall.

A battle-hardened crimson gaze bore into you over the barrel of a shotgun. You stood still, knowing well that moving before he’d recognized you might cause him to pull the trigger. You’d seen it happen when some idiot decided to attempt to raid the wreck while you’d been present. His rattling breath still haunted your dreams.

“It’s just me,” you said softly.

“You again?” His voice had a tinge of irritation, but he lowered the gun.

You entered, carefully stepping over the tall threshold, lest you trip like you did on your very first visit.

“What do you want this time?” Bakugou’s voice was tired. You couldn’t remember when his tone had changed from the snark it’d had that first time; when the hard edge had appeared. But you supposed that it happened to everybody over time.

Placing your hands behind your back, you looked around the room, inspecting the shelves.

“You got anything new?”

Bakugou gestured behind him before he picked up an oiled cloth and a rusty handgun receiver. “Bought a couple of crates from a traveler yesterday. Haven’t had a chance to look at them properly yet.”

Slipping behind the counter, you crouched next to the crates, slowly searching through the contents. Despite how irritated Bakugou had sounded when you showed up, it was testament to his trust that he allowed you to be behind him. It had taken years of visits before he’d stopped watching you like a hawk, longer still for him to relax in your presence. Turning your head, you just watched him for a while, watched his broad, scarred shoulders move under his tattered, sleeveless shirt as he cleaned the rusty handgun, gaze focused on the weapon. His movements were fluid with decades of practice. Hypnotizing.

Bakugou spared you a glance. “Found anything?”

“Not yet,” you replied, eyes snapping back to the crates.

You heard a soft chuckle but chose to ignore it as your fingertips brushed over something papery. Digging your hands further into the crate, you pulled out a stack of books, their pages yellow with age.

“Bakugou, look at this!”

He turned, one eyebrow rising when he saw the stack in your hands.

“Heh, only a nerd like you would be so happy over books.”

“I’m a scholar, you old fart!” you retorted.

Bakugou bundled the oiled cloth in his fists, preparing to throw it at you as punishment. His hands sank when you took no notice of him, too busy looking through the books. He had to fight to keep the fond smile off his lips when you looked back up, your eyes shining with glee.

You held a book out to him. “Check this one out!”

Bakugou just looked at you for a moment. “You know I can’t read that old-ass language - what did you call it again, English? People like you pick up the most useless skills.”

You shrugged, looking back at the book. “It’s useful for treasure hunting. And you know my lock-picking skills are excellent.” Tapping the cover, you added, “It’s a book of fairy tales.”

“Keh, children’s drivel,” Bakugou replied. “Sounds like it’ll be right up your alley.”

Ignoring him, you moved on to the next book. “And this one… ‘maps of the contiguous United States.’ Okay, this one is useless.”

Looking through the rest of the books, you deemed everything but the book of fairy tales unworthy. Holding out the book again, you asked, “How much?”

Bakugou scoffed. “You can have it. Can’t sell that shit anyway. Might as well give it to someone who’ll enjoy it.”

You beamed at him. “I’ll read it to the kids at the village in your honor.”

He shrugged, returning to his gun-cleaning. “If you must.”

Settling on the lid of one of the crates, you spent a moment looking at the movement of his shoulders again.

“Why don’t you ever come to the village? It’s safe there, and I’m sure your fighting experience would be appreciated. You don’t have to live by yourself.”

Baugou stopped for a moment, just staring at his hands, fingers flexing. “I don’t get along with people,” he finally said.

“You get along with me…”

“You’re an exception.”

You looked at the book again, fighting to keep the heat from rising in your cheeks from the unexpected compliment. Looking over the faded cover picture of five mice dancing around a cat, you then opened the book to the first tale.

“Want me to read it to you? It’ll let me practice reading for the kids.”

He shrugged again. “If you want.”

You started reading, pausing on occasion to think of a good translation or to explain some archaic term. During one of these times, you noticed that Bakugou had stopped working. He was leaning on the counter, hands still, eyes soft and unfocused as he listened.

He frowned, his eyes slipping back into focus. “Why’d you stop?”

“Just thinking.”

You continued reading, a smile blooming on your lips.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks (on and off anon) are always greatly appreciated! If you like what you’ve read, please check out my other works. Love, Em 💖

Do not repost, redistribute, copy, modify, record, translate, or plagiarize my writing. If you see someone posting my writing claiming it as their own, or posting a narration of my writing, please let me know!

#love letters from em #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #post apocalyptic au #tw: blood #tw: death #mild swearing #bakugou #bakugo #katsuki #x reader #x you #drabble #drabbles

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larvasmoon · 1 month ago

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Starry Nights (2)- Queen of bones

Summary : Maven is an outcast, a clumsy Christmas elf, who lives high up in the North Pole's fir forest. She dwells in the shadow, shunned by all of her peers. Yet, when the Christmas preparations turn into a disaster, she has no choice but to partner up with her sworn enemy to save the factory: Santa's secretary, Astarion Ancunín. Pariting: Astarion/Original female character Rating: Explicit Content: Christmas AU, dark christmas tale, angst and fluff and smut, moody elf stuck in an endless party, Astarion as Santa's insufferable secretary, enemies to lovers

Read on Ao3

The night is ending, and Maven spent the entirety of it at the factory. It’s snowing outside, the snowflakes swirl and dance in the pink streaked sky, glittery and fluffy like the fairy floss they sometimes sell at the Christmas market. Her mother used to buy her one from time to time when she was little — a big cloud of rosy sugar that dissolved into a sticky mess when she bit into it, evanescent and cloying like the rest of the North Pole.

She’s hunched over an enchanted music box, a gift for a little girl called Nimiel. Her arms are awfully sore, but she’s stubborn and she won’t stop until she’s done casting her spells. It’s so early that the workshop is still shrouded in darkness, and the tendrils of green light pouring from Maven's fingers illuminate the entire room like some sort of magical lantern. The fire is burning in the hearth, colorful fairy lights twinkle in the obscurity, a few sconces are lit in the hallway, but none of those things shine brighter than Maven herself. She sings a lullaby to the comb and to the cylinder of the red lacquered box, willing it to remember it by heart so that the little girl can fall asleep while listening to it.

It’s taking her a lot longer than it usually would though; she would already be done if she wasn’t so distracted and so nervous.

It’s completely irrational, Maven knows she’s safe between the walls of the factory — as safe as she can be in a place owned by a man like Klaus, at least. It’s just that… That bad feeling simply won’t go away. She’s convinced that something horrible is about to happen, every fiber of her body screams at her to run and flee.

Her hands are clammy, and her heart hammers in her chest. She jumps when a log cracks in the fireplace, and she gasps when a pile of snow falls from the roof with a thump.

You’re anxious, she tells herself as she hums a soft tune, a lot of strange things happened yesterday, you have every reason to be a bit on the edge. Just take a deep breath and focus on your work!

But it’s no use, her mind keeps drifting away from the task at hand. It conjures images of Astarion — impossibly beautiful in the chaos of the grand hall, unnervingly sensual when he laid down on one of the workshop’s armchair. It plagues her with dark visions of the creature she encountered in the forest, of its tall horns and mad glare.

And Maven’s hand trembles as she molds and sculpts a little ballerina out of the halo of her palm, pinching the seams of her large and elegant tutu between her thumb and index.

“It tickles,” the danseuse grumbles, already spinning on herself, held by no string and no golden pole, “Let go of me miss, I need to dance, it hurts if I don’t!”

She hops out of her hand and lands above the green velvet that lines the inside of the box, outstretched in a graceful arabesque. Maven contemplates her work for a little while, fascinated by the movements of the ballet dancer, by the beauty of her arched back and pointed feet. The gift is so well crafted, the music so delightfully whimsical, that she slowly falls asleep. She’s already dreaming of a long walk on the snowy paths of the forest when a noise startles her.

Someone or something is walking about the room; a few hushed whispers echo in the silence from time to time. Before she knows it, Maven is already up on her feet again, a candle in one of her hands and a small knife in the other.

“Who’s there?”

A little sneer, and a stool clatters on the other side of the atelier.

“You don’t scare me,” she lies, gripping the blade, “Show yourself!”

Everything is still once again, and there’s a few minutes of horrible silence. Maven anxiously waits for the moment the intruder will decide to pounce on her, for the moment she’ll have to make use of this deadly weapon.

But none of that transpires, instead something even more terrifying happens.

The clock above the door stops ticking. Outside the window, the valley suddenly looks like a painting. The snowflakes have stopped falling from the sky, eerily suspended in the cold air. In the fireplace, the flames have also stopped their undulating dance, frozen in time. And in the trees, the Christmas lights have stopped flickering, stuck in a new and foreign arrangement of bright colors.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Maven sees a small horned silhouette stepping out of its hide. She gasps and turns with a hiss, both of her hands clamped around the handle of her knife.

The creature’s face is obscured, cast in the shadow by the bright light of the fire burning behind it, but she already knows it’s an imp — the kind that lives on the other side of the hill, right behind her house. The Christmas elves call that place the Black Woods; for beyond them sits the wide and dangerous realm of Klaus’ oldest enemy: Lord Krampus, the malevolent.

The old man has always strictly forbidden his elves to venture past the limits of the enchanted forest for that reason, but Maven broke that law more than once in the past.

Santa’s blessings do not reach that part of the North Pole, and all sorts of creatures hide amongst the thick fir trees. She has seen them with her own eyes countless times; boggarts, satyres, brownies, banshees and trolls lurk in that dark undergrowth. Maven used to play with the hobgoblins and the pucks down in the dim lit groves when she was young, trading a few candy canes for a handful of rare gemstones. She wasn’t afraid of them then, and she still isn’t.

No, what still terrifies her is the memory of the day she was found out by one of the guards near the limits of the enchanted forest, hand in hand with a little brownie. The scar on her cheek is an ugly and painful reminder of it.

“Mistress,” the imp says, ever so softly, “Lay down your blade, I won’t do you any harm.”

“Why are you here then?” she rasps, frantically looking outside the window to see if one Santa’s sentinels is near. “And how did you manage to get inside of the factory? They’ll kill you if they find you, you know… Actually, they might kill us both.”

The imp slowly steps closer, raising his hands in surrender.

“Mistress Maven,” he breathes, and something about the way he says her name is awfully familiar, “It’s me. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten—”

Two golden eyes, not unlike her own, rise to look at her. Maven stares down into them, and all of a sudden she’s ten again, racing down the path of the dark forest to outfast one of her little playmates.

“ Mistress Maven! It’s not fair, your legs are much longer than mine and you said we can’t use magic!”

“I’ll beat you one day, spells or not! I swear it on the pointy horns of my lord and master Krampus!”

Amongst all the friends she had in the Black Woods, one was especially dear to her. A little devil that she loved like a brother, and that in turn, loved her like a sister. It’s the closest thing to a family she’s ever had after the death of her mother, but after the incident, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the rocky banks of the river…To their river.

And when she lost that love, she pretended that she was doing it for his own good. She convinced herself that her presence would only put him in danger, that he’d be better off without her — Maven, the curse, the child who only brings misfortune to those who dare to care about her.

“Your eyes are beautiful, Mistress, don’t let the others tell you otherwise! They are bright and wide like those of a wolf, the true king of the cold forests of the north.”

“Rufus?”

Sometimes, an entire world lives in a name.

She says ‘Rufus’ and parts of her that she has long kept locked away break free of their chains. The hopeful Maven, the rebellious Maven, the Maven who still knows how to laugh: they all come rushing back like a child running into the arms of her mother.

Maybe everything isn’t lost, afterall? Maybe life is still worth fighting for, if Rufus is part of it again?

“It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” He bows low, little tail flicking in the air. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

Maven’s only answer is a choked and strangled sigh, as she falls to her knees and takes him in her arms. At first, Rufus doesn’t move at all, tense and rigid in her embrace. Right when she’s about to step away though, the imp holds her back, gripping the fabric of her jacket and sobbing in her hair.

“I missed you so terribly, I’m sorry I never came back to the forest.”

“There is no need to apologize,” he sniffs, hoarse and broken,“I know why you stopped coming down the hill, and I know who is to blame for all the time we’ve lost.”

Maven’s eyes drift toward the fire and its unmoving ambers; flashes and images fill the cracks of her fractured mind.

The face of the little brownie as she died.

Dark terrified eyes.

Blood staining the white snow.

The skin of her cheek burning and sizzling against the cold steel of a blade.

“Actually that’s why I’m here, mistress Maven,” Rufus continues, still all curled up in her lap like a big cat, “I did not come alone, there is someone else here who would like to talk to you.”

She has no time to ask any question before a tall shadow emerges from the corridor, gigantic pointy horns cutting into the wood of the ceiling’s joists as it bursts into the workshop. Maven trembles and lowers her eyes, both in reverence and in fear. All she sees are the creature’s large goat hooves stepping closer and closer, hitting the floor so hard that it shakes beneath her.

“Who are you?” she dares to ask, hopelessly clinging to Rufus for reassurance.

The voice that answers is surprisingly smooth and gentle. “You already know who I am, sweet child.”

“Lord Krampus—”

He chuckles, warmer than she’s ever heard Klaus laugh. “Oh there is no need for such formalities, please call me Krampus.”

She slowly tilts her head up, finally daring to look at him properly. It’s the same tall horns, the same rough and bumpy skin, the same piercing crimson eyes, as the monster she saw a few hours ago.

There is something inherently different about him this time, however.

A gentleness that seems entirely misplaced on his gruesome features; a softness she failed to see that morning.

“Have you come here to punish me?”

He scrunches his nose and furrows his brows, clearly displeased by her choice of words.

“I’m a teacher of lessons, not a master of punishments — punishment seems to be Santa’s speciality, not mine, as far as I can tell,” he huffs, his burning gaze lingering on her scar, “I come to children to guide them on the right path, not to hurt them.”

“But Santa kept talking about the evil kingdom—”

“True evil knows how to charm the world, how to appeal to the masses, my dear,” he says, and as he speaks, black smoke curls drapes around his frame and sparks of light dance around his face, his appearance slowly morphing into that of a beautiful elf. “True evil rarely has a set of rather sharp teeth and coarse black fur… No, true evil hides behind pretty lights, joyful carols, bright red uniforms and wide smiles.”

Long dark green curls fall on the back of his black cloak, and for a brief moment, Maven feels uncomfortable. It’s almost like staring into a mirror…. In this shape, Krampus looks like her — or rather, she looks like this Krampus, the one that has glowing amber eyes and pine green hair.

“I can look beautiful when I want to. I just feel more comfortable when all the world sees when it looks at me, is a monster,” he smiles, sharp and rakish, “It's one of the many differences between Klaus and me. I’m a beast, I’ll always be. I don’t care about power or prestige—"

“Why have you come then?” she finds herself asking, feeling like there’s more behind his words, an answer she longs to hear.

“Have you ever wondered why you have always felt compelled to tread down the path that leads to the Black Woods, or why all the Christmas elves are so wary of you?” he asks, kneeling down on the floor in front of her and the little imp.

He smells like crushed pine needles and the damp soil of the woods, like home, and Maven fights this feeling, tries to bury it deep in her heart.

Of course, I have, she sneers, eyes pricking with tears, I’ve spent my entire life thinking about those things, desperately looking for ways to fix what is wrong with me.

Krampus gently takes her face in his hands, and the things he says next feel like a dagger to the heart. “You’re the flesh of my flesh, and the blood of my blood, Maven.”

“Wait wait wait —Are you implying that —” she gasps, pushing him away and stumbling back into one of her coworkers’ workbench, “No, it’s not possible— I’m not — You’re not —”

“Filthy monster! Krampus Kin!” The children laugh and scream at her in her memory. She’ll never forget the countless days spent running home after school, trying to flee the crowd of little elves who liked to make fun of her clothes or throw little stones at her.

Why me? What have I done to deserve all of this? She still ponders, after all those years, always persuaded that the fault is hers, entirely hers…

Krampus and her bear an unsettling ressemblance — the kind that makes her question the things her mother said and the things that she omitted to say. Did she have secrets of her own? A crime so unforgivable that she took her secret to the grave? Maven doubts and questions, teetering on the edge of madness, clinging to the hope that her mother didn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t a creature as powerful as Krampus be able to assume whatever shape or form he desires? What if he created this one especially from her, an appearance specifically tailored to gain her trust and feed her all sorts of lies?

“I took a risk by coming here, and my little trick only works once,” Krampus sighs, turning around to look at the hour hand of the clock, still and unmoving, “As soon as time takes back its course, the magical wards placed around the factory will alert the guards of my presence.”

“Why?” she asks, speaking so low that she’s almost whispering, “Why would you go to such lengths?”

“Klaus knows that one of his elves is a child of mine. His secretary has been tasked to find the half-blood elf for years. The number on your wrist is a seal, a way for Klaus to keep the Christmas’ elves under his influence, to prevent them from having thoughts of their own. It never worked on you for… obvious reasons. It’s only a question of time before he finds out!”

Maven’s eyes widen; she stopped listening as soon as he talked about Santa’s secretary, about Astarion.

“I came back for you, to take you back to the woods, where you’ll be safe.”

Astarion. The entire time, all those days he came to see her down into the factory… He was only trying to collect proof, wasn’t he? He was only doing his job, and obeying Santa's orders.

See, I told you so, a jaded voice chuckles in her head, nobody cares about you, you’re just a pawn in his game, nothing more.

“I don’t believe you, stop lying to me,” she snaps, running a trembling hand through her hair,“If you are truly who you claim to be, where were you all this time? When all the elves of the North Pole mocked and abused me? Spit it out! What is it that you want for me? There must be something, a reason why you’re here!”

There’s always a reason; nobody truly wants to be with Maven. She is one unlovable creature…Rufus was right, she is like the big lone wolf that sometimes roams the Black Woods, with big sad eyes and a sharp jaw still covered in the blood of his last catch.

“This place has done a fine job of teaching you that love has to be earned, that only the good ones are worthy of affection, but this is unconditional, Maven. I’ve always watched ove —”

“Stop it— “ she cuts him off, sobbing and snarling like a wounded beast, “Stop saying that!”

How pitiful… She spent her whole life yearning for a love like this, but the day the universe finally hands it to her, she doesn’t know how to welcome it, how to believe it, or how to accept that she’s deserving of it.

“Mistress Maven,” Rufus says, grabbing her hand and desperately tugging on it, “Please, come with us.”

She looks at her friend, and a new terrible thought crosses her mind. He came here in the middle of the night, with Krampus himself— does Rufus serve him in the same way Astarion serves Santa?

“Rufus,” she breathes, new tears rolling down her scarred face, “Were you truly my friend, or were you only doing what was asked of you?”

The imp turns white as a sheet, the pout of his lips a silent confession of his guilt.

“I — I— At first, master asked me to protect you — But then I truly —” he stutters, pressing his face against the red fabric of breeches, “I promise, Mistress Maven.”

“I should have known…” she mutters, and Krampus says something again, words lost in the chaos of her mind.

At first, she doesn’t notice the growing pain in her skull, too upset to feel anything else but her heart breaking in two. She’s crying and the next second… She’s struck down by the pain, twisting and screaming on the floor, pulling her hair like a madwoman. Her body is changing, she can feel another pulse than her own beneath her skin, and magic coils tight around each of her limbs.

One final explosion of blinding pain, and she hears something growing out of her head, breaking and twisting her bones like clay in the deft hands of a sculptor.

“Help her, Rufus,” Krampus says in the distance while she heaves and retches on the floor, “There’s no time left, we must leave.”

A puddle of blood is spreading beneath her head, soft and red like the suit Astarion was wearing the night before. She reaches for her forehead, trying to see if there is anything left of her skull, but her fingers hit something hard and pointy. A bump or… A horn?

No, those are not horns, they are… antlers…soft little antlers picking from under her thick dark curls.

Rufus bends down, groaning as he tries to push her up on her feet, again and again.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams, the green halo of her magic enveloping her once more, “I won’t go with you! You’re no better than all the others.”

A flash of lightning in the warm atmosphere and Maven is alone in the workshop again, bloody and confused.

Above the door, the clock is ticking again, and some kind of alarm rings in the distance.

“Seize her!” The guards scream at each other as they march towards her, “Master Klaus is already on his way.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When Astarion arrives at the factory, Maven is tied up in a corner of the Christmas elves’ atelier, flanked by two bulky guards. She always looks a bit terrifying, but today she is a true vision of horror — covered in blood, cold golden eyes shimmering in the early hours of the morning, and… antlers? She didn’t have those before, did she?

There’s something different about her, and Astarion quickly realises that the ‘emergency’ that Gale was talking about in his missive isn’t just a small fire in one of the warehouses or any kind of silly plumbing problem. No, this disaster could actually ruin his carefully thought-out plan, goddamnit!

He has known about Maven’s evil lineage for quite some time now. When Klaus asked him to find the half-blood vermine all those months ago, he immediately thought of her. She was the perfect scapegoat and the obvious choice, but it was almost too good to be true… So Astarion kept looking through the endless crowd of Christmas elves, charming them into coming home with him, looking for signs of a family tie between them and the dark lord of the Black Woods.

His intention was never to hand the child over to Klaus though, he always thought he could find an ally in Krampus’ offspring. He would lure the fool with promises of power, paint a pretty picture of them sitting in Santa’s place in the big office of the factory — or convince them with a few caresses and languid kisses if the rest didn’t work.

But at the end of it, he’d be the only one to ascend, the only one to become the new master of this factory.

A new Santa for a new Christmas!

“Lord Krampus was here,” Gale whispers as he steps beside him in his ugly purple suit, “And Aelfric now has a set of horns…I think Santa has finally found the child he has been so afraid of for all those years.”

Astarion frowns, eyes drifting back towards Maven and the enchanted manacles around her wrists. “Indeed, he has. One less thing I’ll have to deal with, I suppose.”

Her head slowly turns towards him, her furious gaze quickly finding him in the crowd of elves gathered near the entrance of the atelier. Instead of the despair he is used to seeing in her amber eyes, Astarion only finds a quiet sort of fury. Anger suits her better, she looks quite beautiful like this — taller, coiffed with an intricate crown of bones, glorious and bloody like a queen riding into battle.

Well, not quite… That queen lost the battle before it even began, she’s a prisoner of war and who knows what Santa will do with her.

Astarion already knows the answer to that question though, he knows Klaus better than anyone in the factory. The old man is cruel and paranoid… Maven is a threat to his power, in more ways than one. He’ll either imprison her somewhere — or worst 'put an end to her sufferings,’ like the little reindeers who are born with a birth defect in the stables.

A chill of fear runs down his back. He needs her alive, she’s his only hope of overthrowing Klaus… If she dies, all is lost — they are all lost.

Behind him, the Christmas elves tremble in fear and in disgust, pointing fingers at Maven.

“Gods above, look at those antlers, I always knew she was a monster!”

“She has the eyes of a hungry beast, what a dreadful thing…”

“I can’t even look at her anymore, she terrifies me.”

The girl doesn’t lower her head, she stares down at them, unblinking and regal. If looks could kill, all the elves around him would have already drawn their last breath.

The commotion dies down when Klaus finally enters the factory, all clad in a thick white fur. His long silver hair is tied into a braid and his round cheeks are red. His two sled dogs, Azrhina and Wirinaris, growl at Astarion when he crosses the corridor and steps through the threshold of the workshop.

“My poor poor child,” he coos, affecting an air of worry, “What has Lord Krampus done to you?”

Maven smiles, sharp and menacing, and that is also new . Astarion can’t remember if he has already seen her laugh before.

“Oh please, spare me the pitch. Let’s not pretend that we don’t know what is going on here. Let’s skip to the part where you tell me what kind of fate I will suffer.”

A whisper of indignation rises through the crowd of obedient Christmas elves.

Klaus laughs, loud and obnoxious, and Astarion can hear the anger in his cackle. He has learnt to recognize it over the year, for Santa never yells or gets mad — even when he punishes, he laughs.

“You have always been such a rebellious little elf, Maven. It is sad that it has come down to this though, I still had high hopes for you.”

She stirs a little, nervously swaying on her feet, and Astarion’s heart is in his throat.

Santa turns around, speaking to his Christmas elves in a joyous and festive tone. “We all know there is no cure for Krampus’ corruption, don’t we? Every creature that has been touched by him will die in atrocious suffering!”

Lies, Astarion seethes, clenching his fists by his sides, your propaganda grows tiresome, master Klaus.

Yet, behind him, all the others scream ‘yes’ in unison, spell-bound and blind to his petty tactics.

“I have no choice but to put you out of your misery, my child,” he says, smiling sweetly at Maven like he is not sentencing her to death, but rather offering her a warm cup of tea.

The guards grab her by the shoulders and force her to kneel on the wooden floor, already soiled with her blood. No elf has ever been killed before, and in spite of their repulsion for Maven, some of the factory’s employees gasp in horror and turn their backs on the scene.

“Lae’zel Of K’liir,” Klaus calls out, and the officer steps in front him, hand on the richly adorned hilt of her sword, “You will be the one to ease her pain.”

Maven doesn’t cry or beg, she sits still, staring up at her executioner with unwavering rage.

“You have a brave heart Aelfric, you stare death in the eyes without fear or regrets,” she says to the elf, unsheathing her blade, “I will give you a death worthy of a warrior.”

The gyth raises the sword in the air, and Astarion notices the way her hands tremble slightly. Is she hesitating? Doubting her master’s orders?

“No!” someone shouts in the assembly, and soon Shadowheart is standing beside him, the threat of magic shimmering at the tips of her fingers, “You’ll have to kill me first. I won’t let Maven be put down like a dog.”

“Me neither! I won’t sit silently while you kill one of my friends,” Karlach fumes, brandishing one of her heavy hammers, “I’ll fight an entire army if I have to.”

Halsin steps out of the crowd, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, a long knife in his hand.

“Let her go,” he growls at Klaus, more furious and menacing, as protective of Maven as he is of his reindeers, “I won’t say it twice.”

Santa laughs again, a little twinkling sound in which fear and fury collide.

“Oh please, calm down,” he chuckles, gently petting his vicious dogs by the fire, “Why does it matter —”

He doesn’t have to finish before Maven breaks free of her chains with a flick of her thin wrists, bending the iron like it’s made of glass. Her glowing hand shoots up, and she murmurs something that Astarion is too far to hear properly. Santa stands up, ready to bark an order, but a flash of light hits him so violently that for a moment Astarion thinks that the impact has turned him into dust. His joy is short lived though; Klaus was simply propelled against the farthest wall of the room, crashing into one of the glittery Christmas trees like a rag doll.

The cloud of light spreads its wings like a bird high up in the sky, nestling Halsin, Shadowheart, and Karlach in its warmth. The very foundations of the factory shake, every of the windows of the workshop shatters, and just like that, they’re all gone.

A trail of magnificent green rushes out into the snow, and Santa’s dogs race after it.

But it’s no use, they’re no fit for Maven’s magic.

Not strong enough to catch the Queen of bones.

Tag list: @roguishcat @karinamay @obsessedwhyyes @zozoparsnips

Don't hesitate to message me if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Happy holidays everyone <3

#bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female oc #astarion ancunin #astarion fic #astarion fanfiction #dark christmas tale #spooky christmas #christmas #christmas au #christmas fic

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adrift-in-thyme · 2 months ago

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Ooh congrats on the follower milestone trin!! For a fic request, how about something mixing your two AUs together? Fairy time and First? I don’t know how that would work but it might be fun XD

Or if you don’t want to do that, maybe two or three of your favorite Links goofing off together, with a dash of angst somehow?

-Sky Floor

Tysm Peggy!! I could’ve combined my AUs into something fluffy but what would be the fun in that? XD

CW for near-drowning, injury, and blood

————————————————————-

First dives in without a second thought.

The waters run deep, frigid like fractals of ice. Their deadly blue fills his vision. His lungs spasm madly in his chest, widening and constricting in time with the manic beat of his heart. Blood roars in his ears, pounds behind his eyes, drifts in delicate ribbons from the boy sinking mere feet below him.

He is drowning, drowning in waltzing curls of crimson and cerulean, drowning in cold.

It matters not.

Sky.

The name forms in his mind in a whisper, then, a scream. He is all that matters now.

The knight’s golden hair has turned silvery from the constricting caress of the depths. His limbs float out before him, his body curves behind.

First reaches, trying in vain to grasp the hand that drifts aimless and limp. Small bubbles burst from his lips. Knives of flame course down his throat. He kicks, hard, presses down further past the weight of gravity.

Still, Sky plummets.

Were he conscious, this would be a different tale. First would not feel the need to dive down, down, down through a wall of icy blue. The scale gifted to him by the Water Dragon would be more than enough to allow him time to breach the surface.

But the very hit that had propelled the Skyloftian into these waters, rendered him unconscious. The scale is little use to someone unable to swim.

Now, First’s thoughts do not center around the monsters screeching on the banks above or what may lay in wait for them within. Panic propels him forward, panic keeps him awake, alive.

Again, he surges forward. Darkness lines the edges of his sight now in lacey patterns. Nevertheless, he can see those pale fingers floating so near, so far. He can see the boy he loves as fiercely, as steadfastly, as he once loved Orville. The boy he must protect.

Golden Goddess…

The prayer pours forth, choked, desperate, from the very depths of his soul.

Hylia, help me!

He grasps and water twines in mocking play about his fingertips. He reaches and his shoulder shouts its protests. Frozen muscles constrict. Spears of ice pierce his bones. His vision is little else besides darkness now. His throat is so tight he can hardly swallow, certainly can’t drag in the air his lungs cry out for in innocent deception.

…flesh meets flesh.

First jolts. Consciousness sparks like lightning through his veins. Adrenaline sears through the murk of his mind. He slips, nearly loses his grip, grasps again, harder this time, holds on with as much force as his failing body will give.

He turns and kicks toward the surface.

The sun sends a gentle glow through the layers of deepening blue. First stares into the paltry slivers of it, drinks it in with the hunger of one long lost in the desert. His body yearns for it, craves it. It keeps him going when everything within screams that he give up.

Sky is heavy, a load weighed down by clothing soaked through, many layers meant for the chill of the skies, mail and weaponry. His muscles are numb and twitching by the time a hand shoots through the water toward him. Uncaring whether it belongs to friend or foe, First grabs it.

With a final kick of desperate ferocity and the strength of his savior, he breaches the surface at last.

His body connects with solid ground with a dull, sodden thud. For a moment, he can do nothing except cough. Hacking and harsh, his lungs force out the water clogging them so violently that he trembles. The wind whips past him, raising goose flesh on his arms. His clothes cling to him. One hand comes up to cover his mouth, the other remains in its death grip entertwined with Sky’s.

“First…”

He gasps a breath, starts coughing again. Everything burns.

“First…Link!”

First startles at the feel of a hand upon his back. Raising his head, he catches sight of Time’s face, his eye unnaturally bright in the midst of the waves of grey leaping across his vision.

“S-save him.” His voice hardly sounds like his own. The words are flames upon his scorched throat. But he forces them out anyway.

…only for Time to shake his head.

“Do you have a potion?”

First stares. “No.”

That one word is a death sentence more than his years of imprisonment ever were.

There is a battle of sorts going on in Time’s expression now. First lacks the strength to decipher the emotions struggling there. Anyway, it is over too quickly for him to even try.

“It’s alright.” The hero’s voice is as confident as a captain leading his brothers to victory, as vulnerable as a clay pot set upon a high shelf. “There is another way.”

Time’s hand leaves his back and its welcome warmth goes with it. First watches as he rises and turns away, still trying to breathe, still trying to comprehend something, anything besides fear.

“What…what do you mean?”

Time does not reply. Not with words, anyway. First supposes his next action is as good of an answer as any.

One moment, his familiar form stands tall against the sun, and the next he has disappeared in a mist of softly glimmering hues. In his place, is a small orb of red light.

“A fae.” First breathes rather than speaks it.

Time drifts in graceful circles above Sky, raining gentle showers of fairy dust upon him. First can only watch in wonder.

When Sky jolts upright, motionless chest now heaving as he chokes up water upon the thirsty ground, he hardly believes it. And yet, here he is, dragging in his first full breaths in heavens know how long. Here he is, setting eyes of brightest blue upon First, breathing his name.

He moves forward, falls. First is there just in time to stop him from hitting the ground.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, as the Skyloftian fists his fingers in his tunic. “You’re safe.”

Time drifts around them both once more, soothing aches the raging adrenaline had forced him to ignore. Then, he transforms again. Grand wings wave in one final hurrah before dissipating like the fog the hero seems a part of.

First looks up at him and feels he is seeing him truly for the first time. Such a secret among their group is not shocking. Nevertheless, many are kept even now for the sake of safety. He can only imagine what a sacrifice it is to release such knowledge to another, especially a newcomer such as he.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Then, after a pause, “I will never tell another soul. I give you my word.”

Time inclines his head. His lips quirk up just slightly at the edges and First wonders if, perhaps, he is seeing him in a different light as well.

Regardless, he is certain that as they kneel in the moist earth, with the hero they risked so much to save, there is much for them both to ponder. And much to be grateful for.

He holds the shivering Skyloftian tighter and breathes.

#fic requests #trin writes #linked universe #lu time #lu sky #lu first #first meets the chain au #angst #whump #near drowning #cw blood #cw injury #fairy time au

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chronicowboy · 2 years ago

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let's build this house (into a home, baby) | 25k

aka the dilf next door neighbours au

The day both Buck's tomatoes and chillies germinate is also the day the universe decides to give him a little nudge. He's sitting out in the backyard with a book on octopuses and a beer, soaking up the last of the day's sun as his attempt at Bobby's six cheese lasagne bakes in the oven, when Christopher pops up over the fence.

"Hey, buddy!" he calls out with a grin. "Did you know that octopuses actually is the correct plural form of octopus not octopi?"

"Cool." Chris smiles, but it fades just as soon as it appears. Buck dog-ears his page and sets his book down.

"Everything okay?" he asks carefully, crossing to the fence.

"Yeah, I'm just hungry." Christopher sighs. "Dad burnt dinner. Again."

Buck glances through his open back door to the dining table with three mismatched chairs, and bites his lip. He's got no excuse today, the evening sun leaving him lethargic but not exhausted, the hour reasonable.

"Hey, I've got an idea." Buck winks at Christopher. "Stay there, okay?"

Buck grabs his beer, book and folding chair, setting them just inside the entrance. He makes his way to the front door, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix his curls into something a little more presentable, and walks the few yards down their adjoined porch to Christopher's door. With a deep breath, he raises his hand and knocks.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and Buck's mouth goes dry at the sight that greets him. Buck was distantly aware that Christopher's dad was training to be a firefighter, distantly aware of the physique that comes with the job, but had been expecting, you know, a dad. Socks and sandals, cargo shorts, a Henley. This is most definitely not the image of Christopher's father he'd conjured in his mind because he's not just a dad, he's a downright DILF. Socked feet in sliders, sweats that leave little to the imagination, and, yes, a Henley—forest green and hugging the meaty curves of his biceps in a way that makes Buck feel a little feral with the urge to just bite. And then there's the guy's face. Fuck, its unholy, illegally attractive. Tan skin stretched smoothly over perfect bone structure, fluffy waves falling over his forehead and looking softer than anything Buck can imagine, lips plush and pink and inviting, a light dusting of stubble across his jaw that Buck desperately wants to feel—not fussed about where exactly he feels it.

As his eyes crawl back up to the man's face, he catches the guy's gaze dragging up his own body. He preens a little, something hot pulsing behind his sternum. When their eyes meet, Buck gets a little breathless. Christ, if the rest of him was divine, his eyes are transcendentally beautiful. Brown as Buck's perfect cup of coffee right in the middle of a non-stop shift and just as warm, brown as earth and with a gravitational pull all of their own, brown as chocolate and just as tempting. Buck thinks he could spend hours getting lost in those molten eyes, thinks he could curl up in those irises quite comfortable for the rest of his life, thinks those eyes could be the last thing he sees and he'd be happy.

"Buck!" Christopher's voice startles them out of their staring match, and Buck watches as the guy looks between them with a frown.

Fuck, maybe Chim was right. Maybe this is weird.

"You're Firefighter Buck?" The guy asks him, raising an eyebrow, and, oh God, his eyes are practically sparkling with amusement.

"Expecting something else?" Buck asks, holding his arms out in what is hopefully not an obvious request for the guy to look at his arms.

"Maybe someone a little shorter and more imaginary," he murmurs with a darting glance at Christopher.

"No, I can assure you I am very real."

"I can see that," he mutters to himself. Buck flushes and ducks his head to hide his pleased smile

taglist <3: @danielsousa @diazass @gracelcdomas @shortsighted-owl @juliaor @blazeturbo102 @i-spit-on-fire @alyxmastershipper @disasterpans @virtualstudent16 @hippolotamus @ebdaydreamer @scarcrossedbuck @buffaluff

#sami rambles #she's finally done the sexiest au i might have ever written #i adore this fic so much #hope u guys enjoy!!!#911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #buckley diaz family fic

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rontra · 5 months ago

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do you happen to have other comics or maybe even just writing you have compiled before? I think your failteacher au is one of the only things to make me genuinely cry reading (even if not intended) and i really like just how invested you made me in these character's journeys and its kind of ruining me

😭😭im honored my work had such an impact on you!! thank you for the kind words!!! hands u a tissue

im very much a Brainworms Creative so when i fixate on a project to the degree i have on failteacher comics i tend to make it the only thing i really work on. so its like yeaaa i do but im not updating those other things rnnn HBJRDMKSJB (SORRY TO THE READERS)

i dont have any persona stuff anywhere its my first rodeo. my pinned has an (ongoing, not yet finished) arknights au comic if you like my comics tho! you can tell its a bit older but its in full color (mostly). it does presume more familiarity with arknights and the specific characters involved than failteachers does with persona. BUT you get to see a doggirl with a phd lose her lucrative tech job and get dragged by her ex and im sure some of you would find that entertaining regardless of lore knowledge (her cute fluffy tail! her sullen demeanor! the way everyone hates her for her numerous ethics violations in the name of science!)

that pinned post also has a (ONGOING NOT YET FINISHED...) pirate au rwby fic that demands Comparatively little since it has to adapt the lore it's using to a very different setting (Big Boat.) and also it's about two women in their 40s who have never met in the actual show. my usual fare. repulsively slow slowburn but i did write an E rated spinoff that isnt canon or even about the main couple.........

(covers mouth in shame) i was actually like 14 pages deep in an adastra update when the failteacher train t-boned us. sorryyyy. but adastra has been thru lulls before... its resilient... 🫡

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leftoverbriocheloaf · 15 days ago

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Going to say number 4 for the fic snippit thing

(honeslty impressive how many wips you have)

Oooooh I'm v excited for this one in particular

Here's the snippet, and I'll post more about the au at the bottom!!

“Solved it!”

Edgar freezes, his train of thought entirely cut off as he turns to his competitor. He doesn't notice the files slip out of his hands, fluttering to the ground. That's… impossible. There was barely enough time to look at the clues individually, much less solve the case. He can't be telling the truth. A voice in the back of his mind urges Edgar to look back at the papers, to ignore the man who had to be lying and solve the case and win. But he finds himself frozen, his eyes glued to the detective standing only meters away.

“It was easy, really,” the man starts, shrugging. His shawl flutters with the movement, and his glasses reflect the harsh fluorescent lights beating down on them both. “It was supposed to be a suicide, but she messed up the steps. The killer, her boyfriend, found her dying in a suuuuper painful way, and he knew the only way to help her was to end her suffering. That’s why there wasn’t a struggle.”

The man gestures flippantly as he talks, pushing up his glasses every few movements, and Edgar can only watch in growing disbelief and horror as he talks about which files and what seemingly innocuous blood spatters led him to his decision. He sounds bored, as if he were doing them a favor by explaining his thought process. It makes Edgar's blood boil.

When the man ends his tirade, the room is silent. Edgar can’t help but think that he must be a performer; he weaves a story with the barest of threads and tells it like undeniable truth, leaving the audience hanging on to his every word.

“H– How?” Edgar is the first to speak, his mouth moving before his mind can figure out whether it wants the answer or not. It’s a quiet question, barely loud enough for even him to hear. Even still, the man turns to him with a self-satisfied grin.

“How?” he repeats, his smile wide as he opens his eyes, which are startlingly green even behind his glasses. “I’m the greatest detective in the world! It's obvious to someone like me.”

The man's gaze burns. Edgar feels it crawl under his skin, and he’s sure in that moment that even if he scratched down his very bones, it wouldn’t disappear. Shame spreads like a brand along his spine, creeping up his neck and burning behind his eyes. He bites his tongue to avoid embarrassing himself further, but a fiery pain lingers, dotting across his shoulder blades like pin pricks.

Vaguely, Edgar hears the judge stand, shock in his voice as he offers congratulations to–

“The first place winner, Ranpo Edogawa!”

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

Basically this is a soulmate au where the first time you speak to your soulmate, an image (kind of like a tattoo?) is branded on some portion of your body. It can be an animal or just smth that resonates with them, like a flower or item. But Edgar thinks that the pain that comes with its formation (bc the image literally burns itself onto some people) is just a manifestation of his anger, so he deludes himself into thinking that if he kills Ranpo, it will stop hurting

(Really, the problem is that his hatred is so ingrained that his "brand" can't heal and become what it's supposed to be)

But this one is definitely going to be an angstier one, because I'm trying to write some more heavy fics to contrast a lot of my fluffier stuff (but tbh I always end up w fluffy stuff anyway so,,) but the crux of it is Edgar letting himself heal, even if its a VERY bumpy road

I love soulmate aus, and this is one I thought of randomly and HAD to write lmfao, and kudos to you if you read this far!! Ty for the ask @hemlocksweetcandy <3333

(and thank you aslkdjs I live in a WIP prison of my own making)

#bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #ranpoe #ao3 #fanfic #poe bsd #bungou gay dogs #edgar allan poe bsd #ranpo bsd #writeblr #my fics #soulmates #ty for the ask!!

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aylish91 · 1 year ago

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Your writing is fantastic! I'm always so excited to read anything you post. Congratulations on all the followers!

Would it be OK to ask for something Dream x Reader? Happy, sad, angsty, fluffy, whatever you feel inspired to write (I'm sorry, I know that's not a very helpful prompt ^^; )

Thank you so much and thank you for giving me the opportunity to write this self-indulgent piece!!! Though it kicked my anus at times, I enjoyed it! It has an alternate ending for a Royal Au that's not quite finished as well. I will reblog it with the addition as soon as it is completed.

For now, have a dream meeting our fair reader in an older Au! I feel as if Dream would like the nostalgia once in a while. 😉

~~~

To Meet Beneath the Old Apple Tree

Nestled into the woods outside of your village stood an old apple tree. It sat far enough from the road that others seldom visited but close enough one could walk without trouble. It had been there since you could remember, and though old, it stood tall, reliably bearing fruit throughout the years. Steadfast and reliable. But most importantly, it was your favorite place to spend your time.

From how the sun shone through the leaves, to the trickling of the nearby creek; It created a sense of calm and safety. It was the only place that brought you a semblance of peace.

You stared, contemplating the bountiful fruit above you. Birdsong echoed through the canopy but you remained still, thoughtful of your goal of gathering apples. They were ripe and in season, providing the sweetest of fruits for your endeavor.

If you could reach them.

It was a real conundrum. You had gathered as many of the low-hanging fruit as you could, but the rest were seemingly out of reach. Even standing on your toes, your fingers barely touched their bottoms. You couldn’t get enough of a hold to pull them down.

You huffed, wondering whether it was worth trying for more. You had enough to make something small, but the thought of leaving without a full basket gave you pause.

Apples were better before they fell to rot on the ground…

Making a decision, you settled on bringing a large rock over from the creek. It gave you the extra height you needed. Unfortunately, its nature and shape were not suited to the purpose for which it was being used. Though the apples were in reach, the rock wobbled dangerously beneath you. Undeterred, you carried on.

However, you did not anticipate a finely gloved hand brushing passed yours.

“Perhaps I may assist y—"

Your soul lept into your throat. You had not expected anyone to come this far down the path. The jolt it caused had the rock rolling and you tumbling back with a cry. Apples flew from your basket to litter the ground. Had it not been for the strong arms pulling you against a sturdy chest, you had no doubt you would have injured your ankle.

Through your heavy breaths, the concerned voice of your savior pulled at the back of your mind, their words not registering from the panic and apologies hanging on your lips. Scrambling to right yourself and turn, the subtle pressure along your arms escaped you.

“Oh my goodness! Forgive me! I didn’t realize...”

Your mind stalled. Finally looking up, you found yourself in awe. Golden eyelights and fine linen captivated you with their intricate designs. Despite the gentleman being of bone, his expressions were smooth, filled with a worry that radiated warmth you couldn’t comprehend. The soft chuckle as he spoke only served to instill your amazement.

“Please. It’s quite alright. No need for apologies. It is I who should be apologizing. I should have announced myself sooner.” Glancing towards the rock, his smile turned sheepish. “It was not my intention to startle you.”

The motion made your cheeks burn. You had not intended anyone seeing you foolishly teetering for apples, let alone someone of their standing. Adding to your shame, you only now realized he had been bracing your arms when his gloves gently slid over your sleeves. You didn’t know how to hold yourself. Opting for the customary politeness you were accustomed to, you did your best to ignore the lingering touch.

“You are too kind, My Lord. But if it wasn’t for my silliness, there would not have been a need to worry. But I do thank you for preventing my fall.”

His hands slid lower to grasp yours, lightly bringing one to his teeth. It made you painfully aware of his natural heat through the contact.

“My Lady, I would gladly catch you a thousand times if it got you to fall for me but once.”

You swear his eyelights brightened.

“M-my Lord!”

You didn’t think your face could become any hotter. You simply couldn’t find the words. You had known the man less than a few minutes and he was already sweeping you off your feet, physically and metaphorically. It turned you into a stuttering blushing mess as you desperately tried to calm yourself. It came with no surprise when he gave another chuckle, relinquishing his hold to step back and bow at the waist.

“My name is Dream. I do hope you can forgive me. I seem to keep getting ahead of myself. Something about this place…” His gaze wandered through the branches before he shook his head. “But I digress. Allow me to help you. It is the least I can do.”

…

Everything about the man in front of you was different. Strange, but charming and new.

With a great bit of deliberation and halfhearted denials to his pleas, you eventually relented to his help. Its oddity continued to perplex you. No one had ever taken the time before, and surely not as enthusiastically as Dream. His soft smile had remained as he knelt to gather fallen apples, offering small talk as you went. You couldn’t stop the smile his help in reaching more brought you. The longer you spent with him, the more relaxed and at ease you became.

You paid no mind when the basket filled and you both made your way to sit in the soft grass. The conversation was enjoyable, his company desired. You didn’t want it to end. He was as warm as the sun and just as interesting to speak with.

Unfortunately, all things must come to an end. Yours came in the form of a hurried skeleton monster dressed in white and black, hand gripping the hilt of a drawn sword as he called for your companion.

Dream, similarly, was quick to turn in answer.

“Cross! I was not expecting you. What…” For the first time, Dream’s features tightened into a well-hidden cringe. “Give me a moment. I will be with you shortly.”

Branches from the apple tree swayed above you, their fruit glinting in the light. You hated the look of regret Dream gave as he extended a hand to guide you. The way he avoided looking at you directly had your heart sinking.

“…It appears our time has come to an end. Though, I must confess. For what little moment we’ve shared, you have bewitched me body and soul. I have never known another that has captivated me so...” The gold of his eyelights finally met yours, hypnotic in the way their light swirled when your hands clasped one another’s. “It would do me a great honor if I could see you again.”

Something pulsed in your chest.

It felt like you could burst. You must have looked so strange with how wide your smile became. It wrinkled your eyes and made it harder to see.

“Of course! Please, I would like nothing more!” If there was any way you could see him again after this, you wanted to take it.

“Then so we shall. Right here? In a fortnight?”

The sun shone brighter through the trees, bringing with it a hope you thought you had long since forgotten. “I’ll be waiting.”

As quickly as he came, Dream left through the winding path, the strange knight following at his side. You were left dazed, watching long after they had vanished through the trees. Soul thrumming, phantom breath from his parting embrace pulled at the back of your mind.

… You would wait. Willingly and hopeful, you’d wait beneath the boughs of the old apple tree.

Dreamtale Aus GrandMaster

#emeraldhazeart #my writing #writing requests #undertale #undertale fanfiction #dreamtale #dream sans #dream x reader #x reader #Cross: why were you talking so funny?#Dream: Don't worry about it 😊#love at first sight... maybe?#no beta

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missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 21 days ago

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I Can Be Your Antidote Tonight (You Were Finished Universe)

Indie Rocker!Eddie Munson x POC!Indie Rocker!Reader “Sug” x Fuckboy!Steve Harrington

Early 2000s Indie Rockstar AU

Summary:

Sometimes you need a reminder that we’re all at least a little broken inside. Time is fleeting. We should be making the most of it living instead of just surviving.

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Feels, Notes of Fluffiness

Notes:

Just a reminder this is a universe where the reader is a singer. This little series is dirty and naughty but also very heavily inspired by music and will feature performances. Whether you can carry a tune or not, just know in this world you hit every note. That being said this fic is HEAVILY inspired by Disease- The Antidote Live by Lady Gaga. I do not own the rights to this song and any lyrics used will be bold. Please go listen to the song as it really does enhance the experience. Happy Reading Heathens.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Banner by @cafekitsune

Eddie and Steve have been working themselves to the bone. Leaving little time for anything else. D&D and the band are on pause due to Eddie's erratic schedule. Date nights are practically non-existent as your boyfriends have become like some type of work vampires. Dead to the world when not on the clock. As if the sun had just risen in the sky.

Now, you like to think that you’re an easy going partner. Low maintenance if you will. Life's a bitch and all that, so all you require is that when you're together they’re present and in the moment with you.

That's hard to do when they're barely here.

You feel the ghosts of their presence more than the warmth they used to fill this home with.

Their workload is taking its toll on more than just your love life. You can see the bags formed under their eyes. The hollowness that has crept back in and muddied the chocolate pools of brown that used to sparkle with joy. See, the thing with our demons is, they never quite go away. They sit and wait for the perfect moment to weasel their way back into our veins and wreak havoc on our souls once more.

Eddie's demons have always been loud. Attacking the soft fleshy bits when he's most vulnerable. He thinks you haven't heard the night terrors take control when he is deep in sleep.

Steve has to pop a pill just to be able to slow down his mind enough to sleep. A dangerous game of how many will it take tonight.

You feel helpless. Like you’re watching them slowly be poisoned behind the glass of an exhibit.

This disease needs to meet its end. If you've learned anything from your time on this little marble floating through space. Music is a powerful tool. A magic all its own.

You are going to need to call on that magic sooner rather than later.

Voice don't fail me now.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for getting the boys each a day and night off. I don’t know how you did it but, I am in your debt.”

“Don’t worry about it, really. Steve was starting to freak me out.” Robin replied.

“And Eddie looked like he was one minor mistake away from a car falling on him. It needed to be done.” Dustin added in.

“Hopefully after today things will get back to normal. Wish me luck.”

“Like you need it.” Robin scoffed. “Go fix those boys and dont get a hold of us until everyone is returned to normal.”

“Catch ya on the flip side.” Dustin calls out before you all hang up.

With a calming breath you head to the kitchen to start your plan while your boyfriends catch up on some much needed sleep.

As you plate the last pancake there is a soft knock on the door. Wiping your hands on your apron you rush over to open it. A smiling Argyle greets you. Arms laden with a keyboard piano and stand.

“I have brought the goods you requested. Be gentle with them.”

“Thank you Argyle. I know the rules. I work at the same store, remember? I’ll bring them back when I return to work in perfect condition. Promise.”

He just gives you that goofy smile of his and places the instrument on the couch for you to set up yourself. Letting himself out as you go to check the bacon cooking in the oven. It has just the right crispiness so you pull them out to cool down. Allowing you to get the keyboard in place in the living room.

Content with the placement you head back to the kitchen and begin setting two plates. Sneaking in bites for yourself along the way. Just as you are finished setting the table your alarm goes off on your phone. Throwing off the apron, you head down the hall to your bedroom.

The boys are still blissfully slumbering. You hate to wake them but you’ve let them sleep in long enough and you are eager to get through what you have planned.

Leaning over, you kiss Eddie’s head first then Steve. They stir but settle back in for more sleep. So then you kiss them on the mouth until they start to rouse and reciprocate.

“Rise and shine boys. I made us breakfast. Tables already set. Let’s get some food in ya and then I have something I want to show you both.”

Eddie’s stomach chooses that moment to start growling.

“No objections here, sweetface.”

“Can we stay in our sweats? I really don't feel like getting dressed today.” Steve yawns out.

“Clothing is as optional as you want.”

They quirk a brow in your direction as you saunter out the room.

“Hurry! Before the food gets cold.”

“What’s with the keyboard in the living room? That part of what you need to show us? You been working on a song without me, sweetcheeks?”

“It is part of that, yes. And how could I work on any music with you when you’ve barely been here and when you are, you're half dead?”

“Fair. Fair.” Eddie nods.

“Why don’t we put our dishes up and I can show what I’ve been working on okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Steve agrees.

Once everything is put away and the boys are seated on the sofa. You take your place at the keyboard and turn to them.

“Now. This is still rough. I haven't perfected the music yet but the lyrics are what’s most important. So please just sit back and listen. Any questions or comments save for the end okay?”

They look at each other and then nod their agreement.

With a steadying breath you close your eyes and begin.

There are no more tears to cry I heard you beggin' for life Runnin' out of medicine You're worse than you've ever been Screamin' for me, baby (Ah-ah) like you're gonna die (Ah-ah) poison on the inside I could be your antidote tonight (Ah-ah) screamin' for me, baby (Ah-ah) like you're gonna die (Ah-ah) poison on the inside I could be your antidote tonight I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease If you were a sinner, I could make you believe Lay you down like one, two, three Eyes roll back in ecstasy I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (cure) Cure your disease You're so tortured when you sleep Plagued with all your memories You reach out, and no one's there Like a god without a prayer Screamin' for me, baby…

You continue to let the emotion flow from my vocal chords as you lay yourself bare before them. Offering them a respite for their inner torment while you expose your own. You’re unaware of the tears leaking from your eyes until they choke you up as you sing your final notes.

Placing your hands in your lap, you turn towards your boyfriends. Unable to cast your tear stained eyes upon them just yet.

Like a broken spell, the fog weighing them down lifts. Finally able to see the evidence of your combined pain before them. Begging them to let you cure their afflictions.

Eddie reaches you first. Falling down on his knees. Tears in his eyes as he lifts your chin and presses his forehead to yours.

“Oh baby girl. I'm so sorry I let myself get lost again.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Maybe so, but it's still not fair to you.”

Steve moves to join him on his knees. Pulling your hand out of your lap and lacing his fingers with yours.

“I'm sorry too. I was just trying to get through to the other side where I could have my life and time back.”

“Just like I told Eddie. It's not your fault.”

“Don't make light of the situation to spare our feelings. We neglected you.” Steve corrects.

“Now let us make it up to you.” Eddie wipes a tear from your cheek. “We can be each other's antidote tonight.”

A small smile emerges at the glimpse of your Eddie finally breaking through.

“What was that one line? Lay you down like 1,2,3. Eyes roll back in ecstasy.” Steve adds.

“That sounds like the perfect place to start.”

It’s like some kind of switch has been flipped by your little musical intervention. Your once sullen and worn out men have seemingly vanished. Allowing for their more lively and sinful sides to resurface.

You don't quite remember how you ended up sprawled across the tossed covers of your shared bed, but right now you couldn’t care less. Not while their hands roam across your skin. Eddie's dexterous fingers tracing delicate patterns along your thighs that ignite a symphony of sensations from his well earned calluses.

Steve’s thick fingers dance across your collarbone and down your decolletage, before teasing circles around your areolas. Making your nipples tighten and stand at attention as they go ignored.

Every tender caress is a silent promise. Each specifically placed love bite, a mark of passion and desire.

It’s a slow dance of intimacy, you have yet to feel from them together before.

Has Eddie spent an entire morning worshiping your pussy? Yes. Devouring you whole, and draining every sweet drop he could from your honey pot until he had his fill. All without asking for anything in return. There was no need as the act alone of you coming undo from his talented tongue had him making a mess all his own hands free.

Steve enjoyed spoiling you in places you’d least expect it. Where the risk for exposure was high. His fingers buried deep in your cunt while you tried to have a conversation or order food. Making sure you soak his fingers before he finally removes them and finds a reason to lick them clean. Taking every chance he has to run them under his nose to get a fresh hit of your essence. Until he gets you underneath him where he could gaze into your eyes as he loses himself inside of you.

To be at the center of such love and devotion is slightly overwhelming. In the best of ways.

You are surrounded by their warmth. Right leg hitched over Eddie’s thigh for comfort as they take you at the same time. Eddie filling your pussy while Steve buries himself in your ass. The air is filled with quiet moans and soft pants. Echoing the rhythm of your hearts beating in staccato.

Time seems to dissolve around you. The late morning leaking into the afternoon consumed by the essence of your reconnection. A moment that feels almost magical.

Your reunion deepens. An exquisite harmony of trust and exploration as you renavigate the boundaries of pleasure together. Creating something new where intimacy reigns and every touch tells a story.

A sacred space that binds your souls together in a tapestry of desire and devotion.

You can feel yourself drawing closer to a powerful climax. One heat will pull you apart and reform you anew. You want to take your men along the ride with you. With a graze of your hand along Eddie’s jaw, you pull him in for a kiss. Dancing your tongue along his until your lungs ache for breath. Only to turn your head and pull Steve down to do the same.

As much as this seems to be all about you, you feel the need to remind them that they need each other too. So you bring Eddie’s head up to Steve’s and watch with rapt attention as they share a much needed kiss.

You can’t help but squirm at the display. Practically fucking yourself on the cocks still buried within you.

That gets their attention. Breaking the kiss they turn to you with devilish smiles. Eddie grips tightly to your thigh. As Steve slides his arm between your breasts and rests his hand around your throat.

With a glance to each other they begin to pick up their pace. Working your already primed muscles into overdrive. It’s not long before you’re coming apart around them. Voice unrecognizable as your overcome with pleasure.

Their rhythm becomes erratic. Groans of pleasure surround you as you feel the first splashes of warmth filling your insides. Setting you off once more as you milk them for all they are worth.

A slight sheen of sweat covers the three of you as you lie in the rumpled mess you made of your bed. Content smiles and labored breaths shared between you until Eddie opens his big mouth.

“You sure you're not some kind of Siren, baby girl? That alluring voice has the power to bring a man to his knees, determined to right his wrongs.”

#poc reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader #steddie smut

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