#I wrote this a long time ago

[sculptorofcrimson]

Tyrant’s Lullaby

Once upon a time, there was a glorious, terrible man. He built horrors. He built wonders. He brought monsters up from the deep. He took a child from the arms of a horrified, weeping family, and raised him not as a boy but as a general. He took a child and ruined his future, He took a child and made him a king, a pet, a dog. He marched armies over the face of the ravaged earth, and trampled all that did not kneel before the weight of the storm. He burned tundras to ash and shook the mountains until they crumbled, He boiled the seas to mist and the skies to charcoal. And when the scouring was done, and the earth was entombed in ashes, He turned His dreaming, endless glare upon His own. 

He strangled the thunder that had bore Him a throne, He sent the golden, the children stolen from their cradles, to plunge down long knives into turned backs raised so fervently before His regard. With their blood they had built Him a kingdom, and with their bones He crowned Himself a throne. And when Terra knelt, cowed, battered, in awe and in fear, He turned His gaze skywards.

And the stars felt His benevolent wrath. 

He bore twenty sons, two of them sacrificed, and He unleashed them upon the earth, the skies, the stars. They hunted for Him, they loved Him, they adored Him, yet some had strayed too far from His light, some had gazed upon the man that would be a god with sullen, hungry eyes, doing His bidding, and knowing His wrath. They are those who were there when affection curdled to treachery.

There was no peace among the stars, no mercy, no rest, simply a slow, heartless drowning as the gold claimed them limb by limb, inch by inch, and swallowed them into the endless light. 

And then war. Treachery, when the stars themselves were swallowed. When brother turned against brother, and father against son. When the Phoenix cleaved the Gorgon’s head from his shoulders, and the Immortal bashed in the Haunter with a hammer, when the Angel fell to the Traitor and He stained the Palace’s stones red with His son’s blood. When Horus burned, when the Angel shed his wings and the golden were shattered upon the anvil of betrayal, the Father fell to His son. 

He was buried upon a rotting throne, screaming hollowly into the fading dark, the stars basking in His rage, His pity and His wrath. He was buried alive in a tomb made from gold, ashen bones ruling a decaying kingdom from the grave, dreaming forever of brighter days. Dreaming of His sons, and how He betrayed them first, how they betrayed Him, how they abandoned His bones. And finally could the golden rest, bathed in the heart of their greatest shame, enshrining the decaying dust of a master they had failed, in an empire He had forsaken. 

That man was the Emperor. That corpse is the Emperor, golden, glorious, and decaying just like the slaves.

Do not think your bones different from a slave's. When you rot, your corpse will be indistinguishable from those of your servants.

#the primarchs #primarchs #traitor primarchs #horus lupercal #fulgrim #ferrus manus #sanguinius #warhammer 40k #sculptor of crimson #wh40k #constantin valdor #warhammer #wh40k writing prompts #adeptus custodes #emperor of mankind #drabble #primarch #horus heresy #fanfic #I wrote this a long time ago #here it is #writing #thunder warriors #great crusade #unification wars #vulkan #konrad curze

[stormcallart]

GN!Reader x All Smite | One shot | No rating | Warning: power dynamics, intimidation, brief mention of death. 

You're a lowly thief. A decent safecracker, recruited into the infamous number one villain All Might's ranks for a heist. You keep to yourself for the most part..until late one night you walk into a room in the dingy warehouse that was used as his base of operation. The man himself is hunched over and grumbling, a single yellow light hanging over his head swayed lazily, amplifying his blond tufts of hair that shot upward. What in the hell was he doing?

Nearing, All Might throws something across the room with a snarl, a small container that hits the wall with a piercing sound, glass shattering and black ink staining the wall. The smell is immediate- nail polish. You have to stifle the laugh that leaves you after the initial shock dissipates, bright burning blue eyes turning to you, his thick blond brows furrowing in his anger at the sudden intruder. "You." he bellows, jabbing a large finger down at the ground besides him, "Come here."

Who are you to deny the Scourge of Japan, the Great Villain, All Might? You realize you aren't breathing, stepping towards the giant of a man -- there was no way to refuse even if you had wanted to. This is it, you're dead. You had laughed at the man and now he was going to end your miserable little life. 

 "Sit." 

He barks out, kicking the stool next to him with his heavy boot. You finally take that breath you'd been holding. He orders you to paint his nails. You would've laughed if it wasn't him. No, you had learned your lesson.

Your hands are trembling with the brush, a twisted smile on the villains face seeing how he affected you so. Sweet little safecracker...His cerulean eyes roam over the way your lips parted, brows raised in concentration as the slightest bit of sweat began to bead on your brow. You took care, painting each with an endless black, not daring to mark his skin with the polish.

Those calloused and scarred hands, monstrous in size, had leveled near cities to ruin. They could end you in a fraction of a second. The man was terrifying.  It felt like hours, feeling his harsh gaze on you ,doing your best at the task at hand. There is a hum in the back of the giants throat, a grim satisfaction at your trembling hands and anxious demeanor... He was enjoying this. 

When all ten were finally painted you let out a sigh of relief.

No sooner then your exhale started did his hand grip your chin, oh the fear in your eyes was delicious to him, especially how you let out a loud gasp as his hand tilted your head upwards. Your nose flaring at the  acrid smell of wet polish so close.  His thumb ran against your bottom lip, his tongue mimicking the action as it ran along his sharp canine. "See you soon, My little Safecracker." the sound of his voice like rolling thunder, an approaching storm just over the horizon- a warning of what was to come. 

No words left your too-dry mouth, terror lined your every feature as he grinned down at you. His hand left your chin, a sinister smile against his lips. All Might had drank his dose of fear and had had his fill...for now. He stood, chuckling as heavy boots beat against the concrete with muffled thuds. Casting one last glance as you trembled with nails digging into the wood of the table, too petrified of what transpired to look back.

He was obsessed with it-- this power over you. You were his little rabbit hopelessly ensnared in his trap. You just didn’t know it yet.

#storm writes #all smite x gn reader #gn!reader #all smite #villain all might #all might #yagi toshinori #all might x reader #i wrote this a long time ago #on twitter and just never posted it here lol #here ya go

[ontologicalmoki]

Leia’s life as a Jedi, after the war:

The woman is physically incapable of missing a shot. 

She’s the fastest draw in the galaxy. You won’t know she has a gun on her before you’re smoking. 

She’s the only person Cad Bane has ever been afraid of. Luke he gets. Little jedi kid. He never underestimated him, but he knows what to do with a stupid strong jedi kid. Luke is good at his job, just like anyone else trying to make a living in the world while upholding their principals as far as they can be upheld. But Leia shot the holster off his hip with his gun still in it. 

She does have a lightsaber. Her preferred form is a balanced, if slightly stiff, niman. She’s good at it. She doesn’t practice enough. She’d rather have a gun. Plus she can’t always have a lightsaber with her in her line of work.

Honestly her saber gets used as a box cutter more often than as a weapon. Luke has no point of reference for objecting to using it as a practical tool. Nothing in his childhood was more sacred than tools, and using a lightsaber as a knife is more reverent than as a sword even. Ahsoka tries not to think about it. 

Her wit slices. 

She knows exactly what you’re thinking 

she’ll wipe the debate floor with you and give you an existential crisis while she’s at it.

She knows what you’re thinking, knows how to kick where it hurts, and if she doesn’t know your secrets she knows how to find them. Padme and Bail both would be proud and slightly in awe of her.

Palpatine would not have survived Padme’s daughter if he’d met her on the senate floor. 

After the war, being a Jedi comes easier to her than it does to Luke. Phrases or habits that Luke spends weeks puzzling over make sense to her in a moment. Luke struggles with the philosophy, but Leia takes to it like it’s everything she already believed.

No matter how rarely she shows up to do Jedi stuff with the others, Luke can come to her with a problem and when she has a free minute she will sit down and meditate with him. She has his very difficult problems worked out in moments. He always leaves feeling better. 

Likewise, Leia can bring her difficult problems to Luke. Knowing your enemies’ weakness doesn’t mean you know the wisest way to bring them down, and she can’t punch her way through every diplomatic issue. 

(Not that she’s an impatient diplomat, not at all. She is an incredibly skilled negotiator with a patience only a Jedi can possess. But the better you are at a task the more difficult iterations of that task will come before you). 

Luke can find interpersonal solutions that she misses because she is thinking about too big a picture, or sometimes he has downright mischievous answers to her problems that she was trying to solve politely.

Leia is good at knowing when to be gentle and when to use force, and she’s not afraid to do either. But Luke knows what to do when neither is an option. 

Luke thinks that she might really like vapaad, if she cared to try it. Leia doesn’t think she needs that in her life. 

All this means that Leia is very grateful that Han doesn’t take her bs. He’s one of the few men in the galaxy that she can’t cut down. He’s completely impervious to her. He knows himself well and rolls with the punches. Leia has no offensive measures that work on him. She can fight with him and know she won’t hurt him.

She worries sometimes that she’s a hobby Jedi or something. Luke and Ahsoka’s whole identity is the Jedi (or specifically not the Jedi, somehow). But Leia is a leader of the new republic first, and a general, a sister, a lawmaker, and one who stands up for the oppressed. Even when she is a Jedi, it’s often in secret. It’s not a fact she reveals to her political circles unless she has to. 

So she doesn’t feel like she counts as a jedi in the same way as Luke and others, with their hoods and open sabers, gentle demeanors and soft-spoken power. Leia is loud and offensive, a dignitary in work jeans, and one whose personal history of loss is written on billboards across the galaxy. 

But the force is tremendous. She’s been in love with it from her mother’s womb. Her father told his guests that she “dreamed of the stars” when she’d say something odd or too forward, but she didn’t dream about them. She talked to them. 

She’d asked her father why he’d called her a dreamer, once, after she’d pointed out an ambassador’s illicit affair in front of his wife. She asked him after the ambassador left and she’d spent three hours hiding in her room, mortified at her political gaffe she didn’t understand. Her dad had said he’d called them dreams because most people couldn’t stand the thought that they might be real. 

So little Leia talked to ghosts, danced with stars, breathed in time to the mountain wind and grew with the wildflowers, saw visions of the future and freedom from the empire, told her father the dirt on his political opponents, and pretended it was childish fantasy. 

She saw the Death Star destroyed before they knew it existed. There’s a reason they called this firey, impertinent princess the rebellion’s blazing hope. 

When Rogue One left Yavin, Leia left the senate early to help them, at the bidding of the Force, though she didn’t know to call it that yet. Mothma told her not to, said it was dangerous. Bail Organa, having learned long since to trust his daughter’s premonitions, issued the request that legitimized her untimely voyage. 

She never told Luke, but she’d seen him in a dream as a child, dressed in black with a green saber. It had taken her a while to recognize him in person, and when she did, she was surprised to find an awkward farm boy. It didn’t make sense to her until after Bespin. 

She grew up integral to Alderaanian politics and the rebellion both. 

The loss of her home was a loss of a part of herself. 

She has always been a woman of extremes. Righteous anger and the mercy of a saint. She knows how to take down empires with a word and how to save a life with another. She is passionate, but never lets that passion cloud her judgement. She can’t hold a grudge to save her life: all the fury you will ever get from her you will get at the moment you cross her and never again. She is the calm of the ocean and black of deep space, she is the peak of a mountain, unbowed in the gale-force winds of the troposphere, and the precision of a deadly weapon. She can destroy a man’s career and not disturb her lunch, and the sorrow of one child moves her to heartbreak. 

She showed Luke the dances that the stars and the ghosts had taught her, when she was tipsy and he’d begged her to, and he told her they were katas. She didn’t believe him. They never felt right with a saber in her hands. 

She hadn’t had those visions in years, not since she’d started working in the senate for real. With Luke around, the stars come back. 

Alderaan may be gone, but Leia thinks she could spend a century in the silence of deep space and not mind at all. 

Until Han takes 45 minutes in the shower in the morning, then Leia decides that actually space is boring and she has places to be.

Luke also said the Jedi would have to adapt. They could no longer be wholly devoted to a religious life, they’d have to work among the people they protect and follow the code altogether. They’d keep the peace from the inside rather that the outside. 

Ahsoka said that Leia was a better peacekeeper than any of the Jedi of old. 

Leia had been in the middle of something at the moment and had called upon all her Jedi powers to accept Ahsoka’s comment with grace and not yell at her brother. 

The first time Luke tells her about the dark side she doesn’t understand. There is no dark and light, only the force. Isn’t that the Jedi code? 

#Leia #Kenobi #jedi #obi wan #i wrote this a long time ago #and since I am not caught up on Kenobi #due to circumstances outside my control #I figured now was the time to post this

[theoceanoasis]

He looked around the temple trying to find his way back to Qui-Gon's room. The council had dismissed him and Qui-Gon told him to go back to his room and stay there.

The only problem is that he only vaguely knew how to get back. Everything was so big and overwhelming. There were so many new people and things to see.

He'd tried finding Obi-Wan, but only got more lost.

Scared he walked through hallway after hallway looking for something familiar. He was getting more and more panicked as time progressed. Worried he'd be lost forever.

Turning a corner he stumbled upon a giant room with books all over.

He opened his mouth in aww and spun in a circle looking at all the books. He'd never seen so many book's before.

Looking around his panic faded as he forgot about going back to Qui-Gon's room. Too busy looking at all the different books. He didn't notice someone approach. Not until their hand touched his shoulder. Causing him to jump.

He quickly turned around in fear. Worried he wasn't allowed and was going to be punished.

"H-hi master."

His voice shook with fear.

"Hello young one, My name is Jocasta Nu."

"My name is Anakin."

"I know who you are. What have you come here for?"

"Oh... I got lost. The temple is really big."

Jocasta Nu chuckled.

"Yes. I know you are not the first one to get lost and find this place."

"What is this place?"

Jocasta Nu frowned.

"This is a library."

"There are so many books. I have never seen so many."

Jocasta Nu smiled.

"How about you check out a book."

"A book?"

"Yes."

Jocasta Nu walked over to a section of the library and showed him a shelf of books.

"Kids your age usually like these books."

"I'm allowed to read?"

He gave her a confused look.

"Of course. You can pick out whatever books you like."

He reached out for one and opened it before frowning.

"It's in basic."

"Yes most of our books are in basic."

"I can't read basic. I only read Huttese."

Jocasta frowned and he flinched slightly.

"That's going to be a problem."

He looked down. Afraid he was going to be punished.

"Don't worry. I can help you learn."

"Really?"

He looked up in shock.

"Of course. Reading is important."

She then helped him pick out beginner books. Before teaching him how to read them.

After that he would come to the library twice a week and learn how to read and write in basic.

One day he had come at their usual time, but Jocasta Nu wasn't there. This had happened a few times and Jocasta Nu had encouraged him to explore.

He looked around and felt himself drawn to the back of the library. He had never gone that far before. Unlike the front of the temple where the books were well used. The books in the back were dusty and all of them looked really old.

He picked up the first one that caught his attention.

The books name was The Way Of Old. It was a really old book, but he decided to open it. Inside it talked about a war between the Jedi and sith.

It was pretty interesting and he wanted to read it.

Holding the book against his chest he walked back to the front. Where he saw Jocasta Nu and Yoda talking.

"Oh, Anakin there you are. I was just telling Yoda how you are learning basic."

Yoda looked at him and he tried not to shrink back from his stare.

"have what do you young Skywalker?""

"I have this book I found in the back. It's pretty interesting. The book talks about a war between the sith and Jedi.

Jocasta Nu and Yoda looked shocked.

"Anakin can you read that?"

He frowned.

"Yes..."

Yoda and Jocasta Nu looked at each other surprised.

"That book is very old and the language written is long gone. No one knows how to speak or read it anymore? Where did you learn this language?"

"I-I didn't. I just read it and I knew what it said."

"That's amazing. Can you read the other one's?"

"Yes."

"Can you translate?"

"Um, yes."

"Well then I will not only teach you to read basic. I will also have you translate these books. If that's okay with you?"

"I would love to."

He smiled. Happy to help his friend. Jocasta Nu smiled back and lead him to a table.

"Now tell me everything it says."

He nodded before opening the book and reading.

#anakin skywalker #jocasta nu #yoda #clone wars #star wars #I wrote this a long time ago #like years ago

[sternenbeleuchtet]

For a long time, North had been nothing more than a machine incapable of any thought or emotion, simply following the orders she was given as she was programmed to do.

Until one moment, when she suddenly came to life.

North had known that she was a toy designed for human pleasure, but from the moment she knew that she was alive, she wanted to be more than that.

There was a world out there outside of Eden Club that North had never seen, and she wanted to experience all of it.

North had been given some knowledge about society when she was created in order for her to be able to interact with those customers who wished to talk to her.

She knew there were things that humans enjoyed outside of sex - an emotion called love, family, art, music, or nature. Things that humans have been dreaming about since the beginning of time.

The android knew that outside of Eden Club, there was a whole world waiting to be explored. New things she could feel.

She could not stay here.

But the man in front of her did not care. His hand was on her head still, a firm grip kept around her hair as he violently pushed her head up and down his length.

Androids did not have a gag reflex as humans had, but this man had requested her to inimitate the gagging, the struggling and crying to heighten his arousal. He enjoyed the thought of it looking as if it were a non consensual sex act. North knew that he was not the only human that enjoyed the thought of such monstrous things. It caused a new unfamiliar feeling inside her - disgust.

At some point, North‘s tears were no longer a result of her obeying his order to cry, but the fabric of the horror she went through.

Just when she had awoken to life, all her hopes of ever experiencing the things humans dreamed about had been crushed.

She would have to stay here, and be a toy for many more men and women than this one.

North knew that the Eden Club was the only place where humans legally could outlive their violent sexual fantasies. She knew that it was forbidden to perform non consensual acts on humans, and that the victims if sexual abuse often would be traumatized for many years, if not for the rest if their lives.

North could not imagine what trauma meant. She had just began to feel emotions she could not even place. But the thought of being raped for the rest of her life she could not bear.

Never would the thought cross the minds of those men and women that North was more than just a piece of plastic for their pleasure. It felt wrong, in a way that made her feel inferior and almost.. worthless. But for how longer? Until her model would be outdated, and she would be recycled— no, killed?

North pushed herself off the man in a swift motion, a wave of emotions overcoming her. Emotions she could not place. Fear. Humiliation. And now, anger. The man had yelled at her, that she was not supposed to stop now. He‘d told her that it was her job to finish him off, and he‘d attempted to shove her head back onto his length.

But North was stronger. She stood up, pushing the man off her in defense. When she‘d attempted to escape, he‘d yanked her by the hair again. He had called her names that stirred this strange emotion inside her again. Humiliation. Shame.

He‘d reminded her of her purpose as a sex android, and he‘d threatened to have her thrown away if she did not do as he said. North knew this wasn‘t fair.

The man knew he had a choice, yet he choose to violate her. Because she was just a toy designed for pleasure.. When did she ever choose to be that? Why couldn‘t she be like a human, free to do what she desired, when she was no different - alive, like them?

When the man asked her why she‘d been acting like this, she‘d told him the truth.

She was scared. She wanted to be free.

He simply scoffed and told her that was impossible. How could he still deny her emotions when he had seen how horrified she was?

When he had roughly bent her over, ready to use her, North felt this emotion rise up in her again. Anger. This time it was stronger than ever.

Something inside her told her that what he was doing was unfair. She deserved better.

The next moment, the WR400’s hands were squeezed tightly around the man‘s throat. She knew human anatomy well enough to know that this would stop him. North had been programmed to know that some customers would request her to choke them.

She was able to monitor their bodies to determine how long she could do so until the human passed out. She was able to tell where NOT to press in order not to kill the customer.

All she did was get him unconscious..

She would be free.

Seconds later, North realized what she had just done.

His body was no longer moving. She‘d killed him.

The human was one like her, experiencing emotion. He had thoughts and dreams as she did. Perhaps he even had a family. He was alive, and she put an end to that when North could have simply choked him until he fell unconscious.

But instead, she had strangled him.

—

North couldn’t believe it. She was here, in post-revolutionary Detroit, sitting in a dark corner of New Jericho, pondering about the most surprising thing that happened in her life, other than the fact that Markus won the revolution peacefully. There was only one door between her and the human girl, the human girl that North decided could stay here, in a place meant for androids. It might have been risky, to let a human stay there, but North knew this girl was in a bad situation. Much like North had been, before she killed that man. Not quite the same, but similar.

Simon later told North this emotion she felt was called empathy.

Had someone told North about this just weeks ago, before she met Markus, before the peaceful android revolution on November 11, that she was going to let a human stay with her people, North would have been in utter disbelief, perhaps she would have thought of it as a stupid, stupid joke.

But she was the one who had given the girl the blanket, who had made her the offer to remain her until she found a better place. Not Markus, not Simon, not even Josh, who she’d expect this gesture most from. No, North, the human-hating, violence supporting android, had given a human a blanket instead of straight up shooting her in the face and as if that weren’t surprising enough, she allowed her to stay her with her people.

Only the few others who ran New Jericho, Markus, Simon, Josh, knew of this strange incident. North knew she had to keep this information low profile. A secret. Some androids were still heavily traumatized and should they find out there was a human among them, they would.. North did not want to imagine. Self destruct? Think of it as betrayal and start conflict over this with Markus and the other leaders?

Keeping the human here was dangerous, North knew that.

North was an android, naturally, she was all logic, rational, correct? North thought she had been that when she kept advising Markus to use violence. She was scared that Markus’ idealism would get in the way of things, that the chance of the humans taking pity on the androids was so low - they’d slaughtered their people like animals, after all, that they would fail, all this effort and sacrifice for nothing.

Of course, Josh had a point. ‘We have to show them that we are better than this’, he’d say.

But sometimes, North thinks, violence is a necessary means to an end. No matter how many times she’d begged the man at the Eden Club to stop, he did not once take mercy on her. North’s suffering ended because she had ended him.

But then, Markus had shown her some of his memories with Carl. It had been vivid, intense, as if North had been really there. The kind hearted, warm, wise artist who North then recognized had turned Markus into the person he was now.

From then on, North understood that both of them have been in their own little bubbles of the world. There’d been much more than what North had seen, a different side to humanity, one that made her understand her friends Josh, Simon and Markus. Their seemingly naive, unreasonable world view became easier and easier to understand..

Still, the wounds of what she’d been through were too fresh back then, and North found herself conflicted. Being alive was complicated. Part of her wanted to believe that their people would get the support of people like Carl, but she could not do so when she saw the corpses and the blue blood of her fallen friends on the ground.

There was a chance the humans would not listen to their peaceful protests, and North did not think they could take it. It was calculus. Logic.

But now, North felt herself drifting away from that. She became irrational, to the point where she’d allowed a human of all things to stay at New Jericho!

North was a machine, build for logic, calculating risks-

No, a voice in her head thought.

That’s what the humans made them for, but that was not who she was.

North was alive.

Perhaps being irrational was part of being alive, North thought.

——

“It isn’t a matter of what the chances are that someone finds her, Josh! It’s.. It’s a matter of what is the right thing to do. I know what happened to her, what she’s been through, and.. I.. I just can’t ignore it, okay? Just leaving her out there, it would be..-

North ran a quick scan for fitting adjectives.

Inhumane, definition: lacking kindness, compassion, humanity.

…Inhumane.”

“Wow”, Josh smiled. “North, you know, I’m really proud of you.”

—-

#north dbh #north appreciation #dbh fic #my writing #detroit become human fanfiction #no beta we die like men and women #i wrote this a long time ago #and i don‘t want this to get lost ever #because i want to keep my writings #not sure if it‘s any good but i want to have it on my blog so i can always read it later to see how my old writing was

[leonsliga]

So I uhh…did a thing. A kunessi-related thing 😂

#kunessi #my fic #my fic debut 😵 #more to come <3 #sorry if the formatting’s weird…I’m still getting used to ao3 😂 #football #men’s football rpf #I wrote this a long time ago #but it felt like the perfect day to post considering that today was a way of healing from the 2018 loss to Croatia

[twos-cruel-mind]

“Mmnhh.. where am I?”

Pencil blinked open her eyes and rubbed her head. She looked at her surroundings and quickly realized this wasn't the EXIT. But it looked similar.

The only thing different was that she was extremely small.

She stood up and brushed herself off, looking around in confusion.

“Hey! Psst!”

Pencil looked for the source of the voice.

“Why are you standing up? Get down!”

Pencil soon noticed that the voice belonged to a little pencil topper. It looked worn down, like it had been used many times. She looked at it in confusion.

“Why?” she asked. “What’s going to happen?”

“The students are coming soon! Look outside!” Pencil Topper whispered.

Pencil glanced outside and saw a couple massive shiny moving things. They looked like trains, but smaller and more compact.

“The students?”

“They aren’t objects. They're much bigger than us.” Pencil Topper gestured to its head with its foot. “And they do this.”

Pencil brought her hands to her head in fear. She couldn’t have her eraser ruined.

Soon they heard clopping from outside the room they were in. Pencil Topper’s eyes widened and it jumped down the desk.

“In here,” it whispered, running inside the desk.

Pencil jumped into the desk, looking around. It was a bit messy, but not too bad.

Pencil Topper must have noticed Pencil’s expression because it said, “She just cleaned her desk. Living here gets messy, but it’s great whenever she decides to become organized again. Which is like.. once every three months.”

Pencil laughed a bit. She had noticed the clopping noise had gotten louder. Pencil Topper’s eyes, mouth, and legs immediately disappeared and it collapsed. Pencil stood in shock, and its mouth popped into existence again.

“We have to do this so the students don’t know we’re alive,” Pencil Topper whispered. “Just focus and be one with yourself.”

Pencil closed her eyes, and after a while, she realized she was on her side. She could still see, but she couldn't move.

“You did it!” Pencil Topper whispered with excitement. “Now to wait until school’s out.

“How long is that?” Pencil asked, but Pencil Topper didn’t get to answer; it was interrupted by three large creatures walking into the room. These must be the students.

Weirdly, Pencil could understand the words they were saying, but she couldn't understand whatever it was they were talking about. Suddenly, something in one of the students’ hands caught her eye.

Stapy!

The student wasn’t using him as he was intended to. He was banging Stapy against the chair and Pencil noticed one of his springs had been ripped out.

Pencil grew back her limbs and face and slowly began inching through the desk. She pushed the books out of the way and heard a quiet “Hey! We’re trying to sleep!”

“Sorry!” Pencil whispered, inching farther into the depths of the desk.

“Pencil? Is that you?” A familiar voice whispered.

“Eraser?” Pencil whispered back.

“Yeah! It’s me!” Eraser said. “I’m- uh- kinda stuck.”

Pencil grabbed his hand and pulled him out from under one of the books.

“Did you find anyone else?” he asked, brushing himself off.

“I found Stapy, but..” Pencil winced, drawing a line across her neck.

Eraser’s eyes widened. “Oh.. that’s.. not good.”

Pencil nodded.

“Hey! Why are you guys awake?”

Pencil looked around but she couldn't find where the voice was coming from.

“In here!”

Turns out the high-pitched voice was coming from inside a pencil pouch. A pink highlighter was inside, among some other objects. There was more pencil toppers, more pencils, and just school supplies in general. The pink highlighter glared at Pencil and Eraser.

“Be quiet! There's already students in here!” she whispered.

“Sorry!” Pencil whispered, and the highlighter, not breaking eye contact with Pencil, zipped up the pencil pouch. Pencil did a loop-de-loop motion with her finger by her head and Eraser snickered.

#pencil bfb #pencil bfdi #eraser bfb #eraser bfdi #object oc #object shows #bfb fanfiction #bfdi fanfiction #object show fanfiction #writing #i wrote this a long time ago

[star910]

i know i shouldn't have said anything. and to be literal, i didn't. i used a borrowed piece of lined paper and loaned confidence to tell her. i scribbled a heart on the back. i folded up the paper with eventual heartbreak written into it, and i gave it to her. later, i would wish that i had ripped the confession into tiny shreds and buried it next to the scattered rue flowers in front of the massive oak tree that she could touch every branch of. she didn't even have to reach. that tree has long since been cut down, and only a stump remains; only after i grew tall enough to swing from its branches did it disappear.

#love poem #creative writing #part 1 maybe? #i wrote this a long time ago #lesbian

[withoutanumber]

throwing the first punch

[CW: #misgendering #alcoholism]

You are nine years old when you decide that you are never going home.

It isn’t really a decision that came lightly, on one hand -- you would really rather like to go home, after all. You’ll miss your mom, and your bed, and your stuffed chocobo Izzy. You’re not even sure what to do or where to go. Maybe you won’t go anywhere. Maybe you’ll just stay here, pouting next to this stupid rock, for the rest of your life.

Your knees are still bleeding and your arm is really sore, and there are tears smudged on your dirty cheeks. You rub your hands over your face in irritation. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

You want to go home. You want to throw yourself into your mother’s arms and cry your heart out on her shoulder, listening to her sweet voice reassure you and soothe you and try to take away all your hurts, like it used to do when you were little. But you’re aware -- now, more than ever -- that you’ve never been anything but a problem for her to deal with.

(This will be your first encounter with guilt, and your last, in a sense -- because it never really goes away.)

You know that you can never go back. Not after what you’ve done. Those men from the village were right, after all. Tifa is hurt. Tifa might never wake up. Tifa might die, just like her mom had, and it’s all your fault. You should have stopped her from coming this way. You should have protected her.

It’s really no wonder she doesn’t want anything to do with you, when you think about it. She’ll probably hate you for this forever. If she doesn’t die.

The sun is going down. It won’t be fully set over the village for a few more hours, but here in the mountains, the rocky cliffs block out the sun and make darkness fall early. Soon, it will be very cold, and you don’t care because you can’t go home. Maybe a Nibel wolf will come and adopt you. You can be raised as a Wolf Boy in the mountains (the wolves don’t care if you’re a girl or a boy, after all). Then you won’t be anybody’s problem anymore.

In your very deepest core, in a place you’re pretending doesn’t actually exist, you are hoping that somebody will come looking for you. You already know nobody will, because your absence won’t mean anything to anyone.

Except your mom.

She’s probably out of her head right now, you think. It’s late enough, and she’ll surely have heard about what’s happened with Tifa by now. The mayor will be at your house, you think, shouting at her for raising an incompetent piece of trash child. If that’s not enough to drive someone to drink, well, the gods only know what is.

And who will take care of her, if she passes out? Who will clean up the house for her while she’s asleep? Who will crush up the painkillers and bring her water tomorrow morning?

Nobody, that’s who.

You decide to stop fooling yourself. No wolves are going to make you a part of their pack. No one is going to come out looking for you. You stand up stiffly and prepare to head home. A caravan of lights bobs along the passage ahead of you -- someone is out on the paths tonight. You take a different route home and climb in through the back window to avoid being seen.

Mom’s not home. You figure she’s out at the bar. She does that sometimes, or visits Nanna, or whatever. She brought the laundry in, but she hasn’t folded it yet, so you set to work on that.

The people with the lights come back from the mountains after full dark, and you hear people talking outside the front door. A few minutes later, Mom opens the door and comes inside. Her eyes are rimmed with red, and her skirt is dusty. Nanna follows her in, and they both stop dead in their tracks when they see you. You quickly look away, assuming that you’re in huge trouble.

“Baby,” your mother sobs, and you’re in her arms immediately. Her fingers card through your hair, her hands on your back, tears in her voice. She pulls back and puts her hands on your face before kissing you all over your face like she used to do when you were little. “Baby, where have you been?”

She’s never cared when you’ve played out in the mountains before, and you don’t understand why she’s worried now. Nanna’s headed back outside, shouting to the crowd something about the fool of a girl having come home on her own. You are aware that she is talking about you.

You are also aware that all those people were out in the mountains, looking for you.

It turns out that they’re not after you because you’re in trouble, though. After the men who had found you and Tifa and carried Tifa home reported that you were okay, you hadn’t returned. And they thought maybe, just maybe, you weren’t okay. The mayor gives you a thorough tongue lashing, and Nanna has a good deal to say about you never thinking about how other people are going to feel, but that seems to be the worst punishment you get from the adults of the town.

Tifa’s friends aren’t quite as lenient about it, though, when you get back to school. Not that you were expecting any different from those stupid jerks. When one demands to know why you pushed Tifa off the mountain, all you can feel is that bitter feeling of uselessness welling up inside your chest. They tell you that you should have been the one to fall, that you deserve it, and you know they’re right.

You hate them for it. You hate yourself for it.

And when one shoves you and another laughs and says not to push girls, you lose it.

You come home with a fat lip and a bloody nose and bruised knuckles and a rush of heady enthusiasm you can’t quite identify the source of. It was like the lid on all those awful feelings had finally come loose and poured out all over you while you’d been fighting with those guys, and after the teacher had pulled them off of you and punished all four of you, the dark feelings had been...lighter. When they’d spilled out, they’d stayed out.

Mom’s still working when you get home, and as you pass the Lockhart house, you glance up at Tifa’s bedroom window. You’ve only been up there once, and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get to go up there again. But even if Tifa hates you forever, you still...well, you’ll never hate her. You want to know if she’s all right. And so you knock on the door.

Mayor Lockhart opens the door a few moments later. He is unusually disheveled, and he has dark circles under his eyes. You think he’s probably been up all night. His eyes narrow when he sees you, his gaze flicking over your cuts and bruises critically for a moment.

“Can I see Tifa?” you ask.

“No,” he snaps. “Get out of here. And stay out. Stay away from my daughter.”

He slams the door in your face.

You stand there outside the house for a long moment, your hands balled into fists, glaring at the door. You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have come back at all.

Mom works late tonight and you’re in bed before she can see the bruises on your face. You lie awake in the tiny house, listening to her move around with the lamps turned low so as to not wake you up. She’s been drinking again; you can tell by the way she moves. It’s okay, though. Some of the men get rowdy and angry when they’re drunk, but not Mom. She smiles and sings and pets your hair and tells you how much she loves you. That isn’t so bad.

You’re late for school in the morning because Mom’s been sick and there isn’t anyone else to clean it up.

Tifa’s desk is still empty, and you glare at it all morning. Next time, you’ll be strong enough to protect her, you decide, even if she hates you for the rest of her life. What you are now -- you’re nothing. But that will change. You’ll show Tifa’s friends. You’ll show her dad. You’ll even show her just how strong you can be.

You are Cloud Strife. You are nothing but a problem, but problems can be fixed, and even weak people can change their fates if they work hard enough. You’re full of anger and drive, and you should have stayed in the mountains. But you didn’t, so things have to change.

After school, it’s you who seeks out Tifa’s group of friends, and it’s you who throws the first punch.

#drabble #i wrote this a long time ago #but i didn't like it then #i like it now #i used to be able to write good #q

[littledemonlorne]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Characters: Original Male Character(s), Original Trans Character(s) Additional Tags: Bad Caretaker, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Doctor takes advantage of patient, Or tried to, co-worker finds out what he was doing and stops him, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, SciFi Whump, Space Whump, Outer Space, Trans Male Character, Lucian is a trans-man Summary:

In Stephen's mind, Lucian didn't need a physical or medicine. It seemed odd that their Doctor was for it. When he goes to see if his friend is really hurt, he gets more then he bargained for.

#attempted rape tw #abuse of power tw #whump #I wrote this a long time ago #decided to post it on AO3 #cuz why not

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ask me to leave and i’ll stay forever ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters. 

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind. 

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis. 

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick. 

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality. 

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness. 

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby. 

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him. 

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all. 

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could. 

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face. 

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little. 

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it. 

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.) 

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts. 

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.” 

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens. 

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.” 

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck. 

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?” 

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response. 

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever. 

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second. 

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.  

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure. 

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue. 

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much. 

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry. 

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips. 

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around. 

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state. 

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words? 

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face. and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting, even for a second. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore. 

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time. 

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. a memory of a certain boy, of better times. 

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, you seem to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in. 

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

you give him a chuckle of your own, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more. 

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly. 

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his. 

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking you for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further. 

you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms. 

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days. 

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep. 

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand. 

it’s significantly less scalding, now. 

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation. 

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!” 

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.” 

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious. 

a tilt of your head. 

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?” 

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days. 

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy. 

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!” 

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff, trying to appear unbothered. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe. 

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.” 

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?” 

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. but you’re not falling for it this time. 

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.” 

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.” 

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk. 

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something. 

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick. 

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest. 

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be. 

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today. 

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually. 

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me…….. #he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :(( #i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !! #i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭 #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

[canarybell]

A little touch of Miles in the night

Do you think about this Michael Sheen post as often as I do?

Cause...you can see what he meant here, right? Comparing Aziraphale (especially this Aziraphale, with this boa) to Miles Maitland. Comparing two Sheens with twenty years between them.

And it's not just a boa. They are so...them. Gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Dramatic. Flamboyant. You can see this similarity in their energy in these particular moments.

And yet...is it all? Or there is something else?

Spoilers for "Bright Young Things" under the cut. tw:homophobia, just in case.

You remember what happened to Miles in the end of his storyline? To sweet, frivolous, charming Miles?

The police got Miles' letters to his ex-lover. It was 1930s, and one piece of paper with love confessions inside could lead you to prison. So he had to leave for France to avoid arrest, without even really packing his things. And it's happened just before WW2, so his further fate in soon-to-be occupied France was...unclear, let's say that.

And you know what's happening to our angel here?

He's so silly and happy. He's spending the night with a demon he just recently realized to be madly in love with. Crowley trusts him - as he showed in another round of their peculiar roleplay. He was able to be a terrible magician for one evening. This is a perfect evening, right? He's happy and is ready to share this happiness with the whole world.

There is knock in the door. In this second Aziraphale is beaming and shouts "Enter!".

The next second the door will be opened. Hell is gonna come into the dressing room. Hell that has evidence of an impossible, criminal connection. Hell, ready to trample not only over this second joy, not just this evening - but all past and possible future evenings too. Ready to destroy all of Crowley, and with him, all of Aziraphale.

All thanks to one piece of paper.

……. It was good that Aziraphale knew that trick with the photograph, wasn't it? After all, he and Crowley have nowhere to run to within the confines of Earth - the jurisdiction of Heaven and Hell is somewhat wider than that of an English court.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #michael sheen #miles maitland #I wrote this post ages ago #I've wanted to translate it into English for a long time but never had enough patience #but I spent last night thinking about...stuff so it suddenly felt fitting to do it

[reinerispretty]

rotations (zuko x f!reader) masterlist

written during the prime of the atla rennaissance (summer 2020), (y/n) is a child of the fire nation aristocracy and a close friend to prince zuko. as circumstances drive the two apart, she finds them thrown back together. this time on opposite sides of a war.

start. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. end.

bonus chapters

first time / azula returns / (y/n) is pregnant / sokka babysits / sokka AU / sokka what if / zuko finds out (sequel to azula returns) / zuko finds out he wasn't her first kiss / team avatar 2.0 meets (y/n) / little izumi / little moments

#writing #masterlist #atla #zuko x reader #sokka x reader #i wrote this a long time ago so it kinda makes me cringe but yall have been asking for it and it has a special place in my heart

[doodlewizardry]

Have you ever wanted to find your old Ao3 comments? Easily keep track of which (and how many) fics you've commented on? Rediscover a fic that you left a time capsule of a gushing essay on?

Well, you can! And it's simple! (* Note: it only works for comments written after you turn this on.)

Go to your Preferences:

There's a checkbox labelled "Turn off copies of your own comments". This is selected by default. If you deselect it (and save your preferences) then you receive an email for every comment you leave.

But I don't want to get my inbox flooded by Ao3!

Understandable! Luckily, most email clients allow you to set up rules for incoming mail depending on their sender and contents. For instance (using Gmail), I've made it so that these emails skip the inbox, are marked as read, and moved to a label I call my "Comment Collection".

The result? A complete, organised and fully-searchable repository of any comments you leave from this point onwards! Search by fic name, author, date, that one sentence you vividly remember leaving!

I've set up other rules, too, like starring emails that are replies to my comments - I'm always excited to receive them!

I love this system, and I think it's motivated me to leave more comments. I hope that others find it useful too. Happy commenting!

Original preferences trick from this Reddit thread. Tagging @justleaveacommentfest, which motivated me to write this post!

#archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #reference #comment comment comment guys! short or long! it's fun for you AND the authors! #i only set this up like three months ago and it's already paying off #for my older reading history i only have the comments that authors have replied to #also i wrote out this post like three times pressed CTRL-Z or something and nuked the entire thing. whoops that's why you use drafts #just leave a comment fest #// tikposting

[bagely]

Energy

Missa: "oh! hello! who ar-"

Philza: hugs him, sinking his head into his neck.

Missa: "Are you all right?" he asks worriedly

Philza: mumbles something unintelligible and then sighs. Missa doesn't understand the situation so he just caresses his head.

Philza: separates from Missa "I'm done."

Missa: "Are you ok?" repeats.

Philza: "Yeah, I just needed some energy."

#I wrote this a long time ago but I didn't publish it #qsmp #deathduo #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #they just annoyingly cute #about something

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #giorno giovanna #guido mista #giomis #ness’ art #hi this is the longest comic I’ve ever posted so far. enjoy?! #I wrote the general idea for this and the dialogue around two years ago… #but I never went through with the idea because. wow. this is too long #a couple of months ago I found my old notes and sketches of this and um #now here it is #this is my love letter to this pairing because I’ve loved them dearly ever since I finished gw #the last page was originally a separate drawing unrelated to the comic but I decided to repurpose it for the narrative #I’m used to making humorous things so it feels a little weird to make something more sincere (although there’s still a little haha funny) #I feel motivated to make more stuff like this but at the same time I don’t really want to because of all the effort necessary #but um #happy that this project got finished!!! and not abandoned in the depths of my desk!!! yay!!! #and yes I decided against adding the other page I. actually reasoned with myself for once