#How To Increase Your Height In Just One Week Eye-Opening Tips

[macabr3-barbi3]

a request, a need, a plea even:

shotgun kiss with human!alastor

ANON I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX SINCE MAY 😭 I PROMISE I NEVER FORGOT ABOUT YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY

The air is cold when you step outside the diner, fingers trembling and goosebumps erupting along your arms. You had claimed it was for a smoke break, but really you just needed to get out of the building for a moment- the loud, boisterous group that had taken up residence at one of your tables had been grating on your nerves all night, and you knew they weren’t going to tip well, so you just needed a break. You had forgotten your cigarettes at home, and your fingers itch to actually hold one between them, but you would take whatever reprieve you could get. 

Gravel crunches nearby, and you turn to see a man step into the alleyway behind the diner with you. Tall, lean muscles and a mop of dark, curly hair, you greet Alastor with a smile as you always did. He gives you a wave, soft and timid as he approaches, like you haven’t had weeks of time to get to know one another on your smoke breaks during work; you from the diner, him from the broadcast station across the alley.

You make polite conversation for the better part of your break, talking about his most recent shows and the reporting that he had been doing on the serial killer in New Orleans a couple towns over. As always, the air is amicable and comfortable between the two of you while he smokes down towards the butt of his cigarette. It was always nice to spend time with him- he was polite, charming, and handsome as the Devil himself. Who could blame a gal for falling a little bit in love?

Your coworker steps out and lets you know that your table had skipped out without paying, shooting a wink your way when she notices Alastor with you, and the need for a nicotine hit increases tenfold; you’re ashamed to admit to fluttering your lashes coyly at him. “Alastor, you mind if I bum one of those off you?” You ask him demurely, gesturing to the cigarette he holds as he brings it to his lips and to the light.

“Ah, haven’t you learned to keep your own on hand after all this time? I’m afraid this is my last one, my dear,” he says, and your heart sinks while you watch him blow rings into the cool air of the night. “Don’t look so put out,” he chuckles, stepping closer and wrapping a hand around your waist- the shock of it prevents you from putting up any real fight against it, relishing in the warmth that greets you when he pulls you into his chest. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t share.” He takes another strong suck of the cigarette and leans down into your personal space, hand coming up from your waist to coax your lips open with his thumb before he slides it into your hair.

He cranes his neck to meet at your height, lips just barely brushing yours before he’s exhaling smoke into your mouth; you inhale greedily, the sweet buzz of the nicotine mixing with something spicy and dark, so unmistakably Alastor that it makes your head swim. He’d never been so forward before, had never even asked you out to a bar or to dance before, and here he was pressing your lips together like it was second nature to share the air in one another’s lungs. It burns in your veins in the best way possible.

The motion is repeated, over and over with the ash of the cigarette dropping down over his fingers as he puffs and breathed them into you. Your own hands come up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt, like without it you might simply drop to the floor. He doesn’t seem to mind the way your lashes flutter every time he backs off for normal oxygen once again, his own eyes half-lidded and dilated with every pass that the smoke takes between the two of you.

His tongue flicks against yours as he pulls away the final time; the cigarette has burned down to the end, and his usual smile is back in place. “How was that?” Alastor asks softly, using the hand that had parted your lips to cup your cheek, gazing down at you in the dim glow of the streetlight. “You think that was enough of a hit?”

“I- I think I might need another,” you manage to breathe out, and he laughs low and dark, the remnants of the cigarette dropping to the ground where he grinds it in with his heel as he holds you close to him and leans in for a proper, smokeless kiss.

[fredshufflepuff]

hiii can i request fred enemies to lovers with short hufflepuff reader where he just tease her endlessly abt her height and usually the reader ignores it but overtime it just becomes one of her biggest insecurities. other students began to bully the reader for the same reason and she just feel so unfair that they are doing that for something she cannot control. she became extremely quiet and avoid large crowd overall and fred noticed that. he saw what the other students are doing and saying abt the reader and got angry at them. he confronts reader and apologizes for everything he had done and tells her that she was perfect in her own way. sorry if it’s so long and detailed or confusing 😅 thank uuu i love your blog smmm

out of my control || f.w ✧˖*°࿐

summary: fred makes fun of your height relentlessly but doesn’t realize how it’s slowly breaking you.

a/n: did i not know how to head it? yes. are you going to bully me for it? NO >:(

warnings: enemies to lovers, fem!reader, language, teasing, draco being a bully >:/, asshole fred

word count: 1,982

“hey shortstack” a familiar voice taunted, the feeling of a sudden presence forming behind you.

you were on your tip toes trying to grab a potions book for your upcoming exam, obviously failing since it was placed on the second highest shelf.

you could’ve used your wand to wisk it down, but last time you did that you almost made the entire bookshelf come down.

which only peeved off madam pince into threatening you with a weeks worth of detention.

“what do you want, fred?” you asked, turning around and facing the dick who never seems to leave you alone.

“nothing much” he shrugged, reaching over you and grabbing the book you had been trying to get, “just wanted to see you.”

“see me?” your eyebrows raised in confusion as your head titled to the side, your fingers coming up to grab the book but fred pulled away.

“wow, short and gullible?” he laughed, tossing the book to the top of the shelf before walking off, your face heating up as you scoffed at his comment.

“bastard...”

a week went by of freds teasing only increasing, the boy commenting on your height and how small you were whenever he could, which, was a lot.

you didn’t know why he picked on you so much. you never crossed him in any way—that you knew of.

but you also didn’t want to come off as sensitive.

fred didn’t necessarily bully you per say, but his jabs and comments about how you looked—especially on things you couldn’t control, really stung.

you were currently paired with fred for a potions assignment, snape choosing the partners before telling everyone to get started.

“get the cauldron” the boy said, waving his hand at you before plopping himself down in the chair, your eyes narrowing at him in annoyance.

“you know i can’t fucking reach the cauldrons” you snapped, going to sit but fred pulled your chair away.

“that’s why i told you to go get it, it’ll be funny seeing you make a fool of yourself” he snapped, turning away from you with your chair so you couldn’t sit.

“go fuck yourself” you mumbled, storming towards the shelves of cauldrons as students started to make their way back.

you stood in front of the intimidating shelf with a heart clenching feeling in your chest. fred was right, you were destined to embarrass yourself—and no way in hell would snape let you levitate one down.

you looked around the room for a stool you could use, a frown on your face when you didn’t see one.

your hands reached up as you raised to your toes, squinting your eyes and turning your head to the side as you tried to grab the cauldron.

your fingers gripped the cool material of the pot before slowly sliding it towards you, not knowing how close it was to the edge until it dropped.

dropped on you.

it fell heavy on your foot as you yelped loudly in pain, falling to the ground as your hands tried desperately to catch yourself.

“ms.y/l/n! detention for two weeks, are you out of your mind?!” snape barked, everyone’s eyes on yours including freds.

“i-i didn’t do it on purpos—”

“zip it! longbottom-” snape snapped, the boy jumping nervously as he stuttered out a small ‘yes sir?’

“-bring her to madam pomfrey, come straight back when you’re done.”

you spent only an hour in the infirmary, pomfrey claiming you had sprained your foot, but broke your big toe in the process.

pomfrey wanted to keep you overnight, but you insisted on finishing your classes—or at least going back to rest in your dorm.

she gave you crutches and sent you on your way, reminding you that you were welcomed back to the infirmary if you changed your mind.

“crutches? really, tiny pants?”

“tiny pants?” you scoffed, adjusting your book bag that was threatening to fall, “really? how creative.”

“y’know, i was going to help you with your bag, but i think i’ll just watch you struggle” he said, making you scoff as you rolled your eyes.

“like i needed your help.”

just as those words left your mouth, your bag dropped to the ground with a thud.

you groaned mentally to yourself as you stared at the bag, fred laughing his ass off as you tried asking him to pick it up.

you felt stupid asking, but you were tired and your toe was in pain, you just wanted to get to your dorm.

“see you later, short stack.”

you countered up a quick levitation spell, struggling to cast it since you were balancing on one arm, the other leaning on your crutch.

when you finally did grab it, you hobbled your way to the hufflepuff common room while mumbling profanity’s under your breath—mostly cursing out fred for not helping and instead calling you names.

over the next few days your toe fully healed, madam pomfrey giving you a nasty but effective potion to help heal your bone quicker.

“take these three vials after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. start tomorrow morning” pomfrey said, handing you the tiny clear bottles as you nodded in response.

“thank you, i really appreciate it.”

you made your way out of the infirmary and back to your dorm, slipping past the students that hurried past you for today’s quidditch game, slytherin vs gryffindor.

“hey, short stack!” a familiar and irritating voice called, your legs moving faster as you sped walk down the corridor.

the footsteps got closer as you soon felt a heavy arm fall onto your shoulder, a small grunt leaving your lips as you shoved the boy away.

“oooh, snappy now are we?”

“fuck off.”

fred only laughed at your words, tossing his clean sweep back and forth as he followed you to the dorms.

“coming to the game?”

“no” you grumbled, praying to merlin the annoying red head would just leave you alone.

“awh what a shame, i was hoping on seeing my favorite cheerleader there,” his words were laced with sarcasm, the boy poking at your face as you shoved him once again.

he wanted a reaction,that’s what fred always wanted.

but you didn’t give him one, instead you went straight to your common room and up to your dorm, fred soon getting bored and heading off to his game.

you didn’t remember much from that night, just falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

you trudged your way to the main hall with your book bag tossed lazily over your shoulder, today being a free day for students to catch up on missing work and assignments.

you were planning on grabbing something small for breakfast before heading to the library to catch up on some studying.

you were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice you had ran straight into another student, your legs stumbling back as they cursed at you.

“watch it, first year!” draco malfoy scolded at you, your eyebrows furrowing together as your mouth fell open.

“i-i’m not a first year, i’m in the same year as you—”

“she’s just short” crabbe snickered, the blonde next to him chuckling as he eyed you up and down—which, made you extremely uncomfortable.

“stay out of my way, or you’ll get trampled” he said, his words sharp as they practically dug into your skin.

trampled? was he being serious?

“better yet, stay out of everyone’s way.”

later that day you stayed locked away in your dorm, deciding to just study there and snack on the treats you bought earlier on in the week.

you thought it was just fred that felt that way towards you, but apparently it wasn’t.

were you really that much of a burden to people?

you stayed locked away in your dorm till almost night fall. your eyes were burning from staring at the same wooden desk and book you had brought with you, along with your stomach rumbling since you hadn’t eaten much that day.

you decided to head back down to the main hall to grab some dinner and then come back up, wanting to make the trip as quick as possible.

but of course, knowing your luck, that didn’t happen.

you were walking down the ‘somewhat’ empty corridor when your eyes landed on fred, the red head smirking as he saw you which only made your stomach churn.

you tried turning around to take another path, but ran face first into someone who had been walking behind you.

“it’s the short hufflepuff again” the voice cackled, shoving you to the ground as your body hit the concrete with a thud, a low groan falling from your lips as your head started to spin.

“i said stay out of my way or you’ll get trampled, and guess what, i was true to my word” malfoy sneered, his friends laughing at his comment as your face reddened with embarrassment.

tears were pricking your eyes and your chest was heaving up and down, you felt so small compared to everyone else, you felt so tiny and defenseless.

“you want to see trampled, malfoy?” a voice boomed from behind you, your head snapping to the side as you watched fred approaching you from behind.

you felt intimidated by him, the way his body loomed over yours made you feel sick, especially with how he’s been treating you.

“ah, weasley! come to see the show?”

“there is no show, unless you prefer your goons here to see you receive a black eye” he said calmly, the blonde narrowing his eyes at the boy before shoving past everyone, crabbe and goyle running after him.

fred turned to see if you were okay, his eyes softening as he watched tears roll down your face.

“are you oka-”

“okay?! am i o-okay?” you asked, picking yourself up and violently rubbing your tears away, “no i’m not fred! malfoy was never the problem, it was always you!”

“but i-”

“you what?!” you spat, “you were just joking?”

“y/n, i never meant to hurt you” he mumbled, his face heating up as guilt formed in his stomach. he’s been a dick to you all this time and has just now realized what his words were really doing.

“then what was your intention?” you asked.

“i-i just” he didn’t know what to say, there was only one thing to say, “i’m sorry.”

“s-sorry?”

“sorry for picking on you every day for something you can’t control, sorry for making you struggle when you clearly needed help” he spewed out, not even stopping to think as the words he’s been meaning to say fell from his mouth, “i think you’re absolutely perfect the way you are, and i realize now how much of a jerk i was—how much i was hurting you.”

“how can you make fun of something i can’t control and then come to me saying i’m perfect the way i am? are you out of your mind?!” you asked, voice holding annoyance but mostly hurt—what was fred trying to get at?

“i just thought- it’s stupid i know but, i just thought teasing you would be easier than admitting my feelings.”

“f-feelings?”

“for you” he says, voice only just above a whisper as he let his words sink into you. he has feelings for you?

“but i understand if you don’t feel the same, i was rotten to you. i wouldn’t even help you pick up your bag when you were in crutches! i was just so blinded by my own stupidity to actually man up and do something-”

you cut fred off by pulling him into a kiss, his rambling coming to a stop as he melted into your touch. you had to stand on your tip toes to reach him, but fred helped by leaning over and cupping your face.

“i think your height is adorable” he mumbled against your lips, a blush taking over your face as you pulled him back into the kiss.

“just shut up and kiss me.”

fred weasley tag list 🏷 @90smalfoy @astoria-malfcy @whipped-for-the-weasley-twins @ang9lic @malfoysbiitch @Harrypotter_Whore @aetheralist @miraclesoflove @amourtentiaa @myloveforluna @bellatrixscurls @an2402lths @marrymetheonott @skaratjung @wh0re4blaise @dreamxnotxfound @fjorelaant @pinkandblueblurbs

[palbabor-writes]

Impetuous

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT/18+only, cunnilingus, switching, bratting, face-riding, Satoru being Satoru, so he’s chatty & in general the worst  

Words: 12,815

“Knock it off,” you huff, doing your best to ignore how your breasts press against the flat planes of his chest. Then his fingers are under your chin, gently tipping your head up and leaning so close that his lips are inches from your own. 

“But what if I don’t want to?” he teases, his voice falling into a lower, hushed pitch before he relaxes his hold, letting you slip from his hands.

Notes: this thing has been languishing in my drafts since like, January. because it was my first step away from BNHA i’ve sorta over analyzed it & edited it, likely to death. but anyway, without further ado, here is my first venture into the JJK fandom! thank you for edits & suggestions: @albinoburrito, @kugutsuu​, @kogo​ & everyone else that i’ve forced to look at this thing. love you all sm & ty for putting up with me!

& it’s gojo because of course it fucking is. 

Impetuous im·pet·u·ous /imˈpeCH(o͞o)əs/ adjective done quickly

“I hate to be a harbinger of bad news, and I can understand your frustration, but that’s what they asked me to do. Doesn’t matter what continent we’re on, elders are elders. Honestly, I’m a little shocked that this teaching pathway is even an option for him.” Although you speak softly, your voice seems to carry more in these close meeting rooms, clattering off the tatami mats and gleaming leather couches.   

Yaga massages the bridge of his nose and adjusts his dark sunglasses before lifting his eyes to yours. “I understand, but I still feel that he would be an asset to our school. As long as his motivations remain pure, that’s all I can ask for, at present.”

“Pure or not,” you continue, lacing your fingers as you cross one leg over the other. “It’s vital to see how he handles himself on these missions. What if he has a student with him? I’ve never seen his fighting style, but I’ve heard he can be reckless. How can he foster confidence and proper growth if he’s not measured on the basics? There’s the additional worry of taking him off of the higher ranked missions. Or, if you elect to keep sending him on them, can he handle both? Can he teach and still be a successful sorcerer and asset?”

“He’ll be expected to do both. He knows this,” Yaga sighs, reaching for his lukewarm cup of tea. “While he’s not known for his conventionality, I don’t think that will interfere with his teaching. As I said, some recent events at the school have helped to illuminate the importance of managing the coming generation. Satoru is confident, and I believe that will translate well to any future students. He’s already taken on some responsibility with young Fushiguro and the boy is doing well under his instruction.”

“Fushiguro?” you ponder. Your school administration and the head elders had given you a list of names, people who represented the top families among Japan’s sorcerers, but you don’t remember seeing a name like Fushiguro among the others.

“He’s related to the Zen’in family,” Yaga explains, spreading his vast hands open as he replaces his tea cup against the low table that rests between the two of you. “So, if I’m understanding correctly, your superiors in America have sent you to Japan to collect a series of reports. One is on the influence of curses and how our alumni comport themselves in the field. The other is the analysis of our teaching styles and to, how did you put it, ‘further diversify your own teaching abilities as a jujutsu educator.’ And, as if that wasn’t possibly enough, to observe our newest teaching candidate, Satoru Gojo.” 

“In a nutshell,” you confirm, a smile quirking the edge of your lips. “We’ve got some missions lined up, right?”

“Yes. You will enter the field with Satoru and one other returning alumna, Shoko Ieiri. She’s finished her medical degree and will join our research facilities in the coming weeks.”

“Oh! She’s the one who can use the reverse healing technique! I’ve heard of her.”

“Yes. She was in Satoru’s class. I realize your report is the main aim that you have here, but I would ask that you keep an open mind. While your report is of value to our school, it will not affect my decision on the matter.”

You lean against the stiff cushions of the couch and cock your head at Yaga’s impassive expression. “Of course,” you assure him, noting that nothing in his outward appearance shifts as you give him the response he was waiting for. “Should be an interesting week, at the very least.”

“Oh,” Yaga replies, finally cracking a less than reassuring grin. “Satoru will make sure of that.”

“Hey! (L/N)-san! The next report is up and they’re sending a manager for us, hurry up! Stop scribbling things in that little notebook. What are you writing anyway? Is it some kinda biography? Oooh! Is it on me? Is that why you keep looking at me? It is, isn’t it? Ahh, now I’m gonna feel self-conscious.”

You snap your notepad closed and slip it into your hip pouch, stepping toward the two fellow members of your team. “It’s just routine notes and you don’t need to call me (L/N)-san. I realize it’s likely force of habit, but please, just call me (Y/N).”

“Ahhh! We’re already on a first name basis! I’m blushing. I’ve never had a girl be this forward with me!” Satoru sighs, clapping his hands against his cheeks and leaning over you. “You’re so bold!”

“Ugh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. “Liar, and stop that. I’m still the senior sorcerer in this party. I–”

“But you’re just a grade 1,” he interrupts, bracing his hands on his hips and exaggerating his stance, moving his face close to yours. As he looms ever nearer, you raise your chin and hold your ground. This invasion of personal space is a tactic he loves to use. 

At first, you’d figured he was just another one of those guys who weren’t aware how intimidating their sheer height and presence came off to others. However, as the days wore on, you noticed his intentional maneuvering. He would press at Shoko too, but she was better at ignoring him, so he soon turned his full attention to you.

“Yeah, I might only be a grade 1, but they have given me the command on all of our missions. It’s my job to file the reports, a task that you, as the technical ‘junior party’, aren’t trusted to do.”

“You’re so right! That’s a tremendous responsibility. How do you stand under all that pressure (Y/N)! The role of the pencil pusher is such a big job. I should act right! Or I’ll never be a real jujutsu sorcerer! God, look at this Shoko, we need to get our shit together! At this rate, we’ll never be able to file our own reports!”

“Now, now,” you tut, raising a finger in front of your face, forcing him to take a subconscious step backwards. “Watch what you say, after all, you’re wanting to become a teacher. So some part of the masochism of endless paperwork must appeal to you.” 

Satoru’s smooth lips raise into a broad smirk and pulls away, arching his arms behind his pale head. “Hmm, I’ll give you that one (Y/N). Mainly because of your choice of wording. Masochism. What a word for it. And why’d you have to say it so straight faced? Oh, that reminds me, what time is our next mission at?”

“Uh, why did masochism remind you of that?” you pause, lifting your wrist so you can check the time on your watch. “I think it’s in two hours, give or take traffic.”

“Hmm, and it’s in the Chiba district?”

“Yeah, that’s in Tokyo, right?”

“It is,” Shoko chimes in, twirling a lock of her long brown hair between two of her fingers. Her low voice reminds you, and you turn to face her. “Speaking of names, I never asked, would you prefer Shoko or Ieiri?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she replies, lifting her tawny eyes to yours, catching some of the bright sunlight as it fades into the deep circles under her eyelids. The contrast makes her skin look even more pallid. “First name, last name, whatever is easier.”

“Shoko okay with you then?”

“Sure,” she nods, the ghost of a smile lifting her lips. 

“Oi!” Satoru interrupts, slinging an arm over Shoko’s shoulder and fixing you with a pointed look. Or you assume he is, it’s hard to tell where he’s looking because of those white strips of cloth that obscure his eyes. “You know what’s in Chiba, don’t you?”

You blink at him, unsure if this is another one of his aimless questions or something genuine. “No. Should I?”

“You’re a tourist and you really don’t know what’s in–”

“We’ve already been over this Satoru; I am not a tourist,” you protest. “I’m here on official business from my administration to–”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, special, ‘top secret’ assignment or not, you’re still basically a tourist because it’s your first time to Japan. You’re honestly telling me you didn’t look up anything before you arrived?”

“Um,” you waver, eyes narrowing at the cheerful leer that’s drifting over Satoru’s angular features. “I looked up some basic things. I know about the Shinjuku and Roppongi districts. Oh, and Harajuku, that’s a big one too.”

“Mmhm, very good, my little tourist, but do you know what’s in the Chiba district?”

“Don’t call me that and stop screwing around Satoru. If this has nothing to do with the mission, then I’m not interested. I could care less what’s in the district–”

“Might just be rumors, but I’ve been hearing about an increase in cursed activity. Especially around that theme park. I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he looks upward, pearlescent hair tumbling behind his wrappings. “I guess it’s not surprising that it’s a hot spot, what with all the people who are always checking it out. It’s pretty famous.” 

Tch. He’s not gonna tell you. 

You suck your teeth and twist your hand back to your hip pouch, digging for your phone. As you peer over the search results you can hear him rambling on about the notoriety of the unnamed place but as soon as you hit the second result, your head whips back up. 

There’s no way. 

Of course you’d heard of it, you’d even thought about it when the higher ups asked you to take on the assignment to Japan, but never, not in a million years, would you have figured that you’d have a chance to go. Not on this trip.

“Are you serious?” you breathe, blinking up at his smug face. Satoru doesn’t answer, just pops one hand under his chin and gives you a shit-eating grin. You look back at your phone and bite your lip, doing your best to contain your budding excitement, double checking the map for the district.

If he’s not pulling some kind of elaborate joke, it looks like Tokyo Disneyland is the location of your next mission.

“What… what the fuck is this, some kinda elaborate joke??” 

The gates to the amusement park are warped, and the paint is peeling; one side looks like it’s about to melt off of the frame, all twisted metal and faded rust. Just past the gates you can see what looks like an old merry-go-round, complete with lions, tigers, bears and several sets of horses. At the tip-top of the ride rest a star, and atop that star is a wraith like curse. It spindles around the flecks of gold and cool bronze, baring its teeth at the three of you and sputtering a long line of broken speech as it twists and turns. 

“Huh, still looks about the same. This place was enormous when I was a kid. Now it’s a trendy spot for ghost hunters and thrill seekers! I think five or six people died here last year.” Satoru grins, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strides forward. In seconds, he’s beside the curse on the merry-go-round, silencing chittering of its inane dialogue, letting an eerie quiet seep over the rest of the abandoned grounds.

“So stupid. I cannot believe I let him make me think we were going to Disneyland. You know what he’s like, Shoko! Why didn’t you tell me? He–”

“I honestly don’t listen to him. No idea he was making you think this was Tokyo Disney,” Shoko interrupts, already following the path Satoru took, tucking her brown hair behind her neck with a loose hair tie. “But since we’re here, could you lower the curtain and take care of those level 2 curses on the ticket booth?”

You let out a long sigh and toss her a quick affirmative, reciting the familiar incantation, watching as the darkening shield slopes its way down from the skies, sheltering the three of you within its haze.

The first set of curses are easy enough and you swiftly take care of them, unleashing your cursed technique and splicing them into faded dust. How ridiculous, you think, opening the door to the booth and dodging an ill timed lunge from a sneakier curse who was hiding inside. Satoru honestly had you thinking that you’d be going to the Disneyland theme park. On the way over, he’d even told you about the layout of the park and what potential curses might be lurking about. 

What a jerk. 

Still, you muse, turning toward another shrieking hulk of a curse that’s lumbering toward you, it’s impressive he’d led you on so easily. You make a mental note to get back at him later, for now you need to clear this area and focus on the task at hand. 

“I cannot believe that you led me on like that!” you pout, knocking back a small swig of beer.

“Pfft,” Satoru chuckles, wagging one long finger at you. “Didn’t ever say it was gonna be Disneyland, did I? You came to that conclusion all on your own.”

“Oh please! Making me look up what ‘famous tourist spots are in Chiba’ and then nodding each time I said I was excited to see some of the rides on the way over.”

“You could have really been into haunted carnivals. How was I supposed to know?”

“Ass,” you snap playfully, sticking your tongue out at his pleased smile. 

After the mission and spotting your peeved expression, Satoru had insisted that you let him take the two of you out for a drink. According to Shoko, the bar in this neighborhood was highly rated and had some of the best specials in the entire district. 

The place was packed; but somehow Shoko had secured three seats up at the bar top, ushering you to sit between her and Satoru, informing you there must always be a three foot buffer between her and ‘that loser’. The bartender seemed to know her and, before you could pull yourself into the worn leather seat, three foaming lagers were passed across the rough surface of the bar top, one for each of you. 

“Thanks,” you’d murmured, cupping your hands around the glass. On your right, Satoru pushed his lager toward you, raising two fingers at the distracted barkeep as he chatted with Shoko. “What’s wrong? Don’t like beer?” you’d asked, bemused by his disgruntled expression. 

“Nah,” he’d confirmed, wagging his digits a little faster, chin lifting as he let out a huffed exhale. “Messes with my eyes. I want something to eat, though. Hey! Shoko! Stop flirting with him and ask if they have anything sweet! Shokooo! Don’t ignore me!”

Shoko made a show of rolling her eyes but, a few minutes later, a plate of piping hot fried sweet buns appeared and he’d swiftly grabbed up one, popping it in his mouth and smacking it hungrily. You’d turned to ask Shoko what they were, but by the time you’d twisted back to Satoru over half of the cakes were gone. 

“Damn, you inhaled them,” you’d exhaled, a little shocked he could scarf them down that quickly.

“Well, they’re not bad and hit the spot, for now,” he’d grinned. “Want one?”

“I’m good. You might bite my finger if I get too close… mistake it for one of the buns…”

“Awe, what’s wrong? Think you wouldn’t taste good?”

“Yikes,” you laugh and Satoru hums, clearly pleased with your genuine mirth.

Shoko, who was soon engrossed in conversation with a few of the other patrons to the left of her, kept ordering rounds for the both of you. To keep up, you diligently sipped at each fresh beer, careful to keep abreast of the thrum of the alcohol with several responsible swigs of water. Satoru seemed content with his small order of sweets and peppered you with questions about life in America. He asked about what grade year you taught, the ins and outs of curses within the states and how you liked Japan. He kept things lively and made a point to throw in a few lighthearted jokes at you, beaming each time you laughed at his barbs. 

“So, what you’re saying is there’s no one in America quite like me?” he teases, stretching his long arms dramatically before leaning closer to you.

“Stop that! You’re gonna hit someone,” you grin, trying to shove at his side, watching as your hand freezes in midair, held off by his limitless technique. “Seriously? You’ve still got that on?”

“Mmhm,” Satoru intones. “24/7, 365!”

“You would,” you try to jostle him again, bemused by the fraying and shimmering sliver of infinity that rests between the two of you.

“It’s a tremendous strain on my brain, you know,” he bemoans, dropping his head and fixing a long frown over his lips.

“You deserve it.”

“Ack!” Satoru cries out, clutching at his heart. “Wow! No sympathy! You really gonna treat me like this? My senpai?”

“May I remind you - Tokyo Disneyland,” you intone, glaring at his haggard expression. 

“WOW. You’re never gonna let that go, huh?” Satoru cracks a face, arching his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, letting a high pitched, cracked voice leech from his lips. “Ahhh, that damned man! He deprived me of my dreams! The chance to see Tokyo Disneyland, one last time!”

“What is that? Me? But… old?”

“Pretty good, right?”

“No.”

“Well, I think it was uncanny!” he crows, nodding.

“What in your warped mind makes you think I’ll sound anything like that when I’m old?” you ask, pushing your empty beer pint forward as you purse your lips. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so excited over the idea of a theme park,” he ponders, tapping a bent index finger against his smooth chin. “Don’t you guys have them in the states? The Disney parks, I mean.”

“We do, we have two. But, since you made me think we were coming to Tokyo Disneyland, I looked up some rides,” you snatch your phone from the counter, scrolling through a few photos before you land on the right one. “Ah! Here it is! Look at this! See?” you chirp, pushing the gleaming screen of your phone toward him.

“Uh. What am I looking at?”

“It’s the Tower of Terror!”

“Which is… ummm… a ride?”

“Yeah? And look at it! It’s upside down! I don’t think the one in America does that,” your finger reaches toward your phone and you blow up the closest image, tapping at the bright colors. Satoru laughs and waves a hand up, attracting the bartender once more and gesturing for another beer for you. “Imma get you another drink, you’re fun like this, plus, you’re just too cute with that little smile.”

You miss his last comment, wholly focused on finding another set of images. “Oh my God! Look! During Halloween they have a night parade in front of it! And… ahhh! Satoru! There’s a green ghost at the top! It’s almost like that curse we saw tonight at the carnival!” 

His long fingers snatch up your bright device, and he yanks it away from your wide eyes. “Ok, that’s enough of that. I’m worried you might end up cursing me for not taking you.”

You give him a sour look and vainly try to grab your phone back, fingers unable to pass through his unseen barrier. “What? No fair! I still don’t understand how you can always have this up!”

“Practice,” he taunts, shaking his head at your determination and wandering touch, chuckling each time you bounce off of his cursed technique. “On another note,” he begins as your new lager is placed in front of you. “What’s in that report that you’re working on?”

You decide to ignore the fact that he’s still holding your phone and cautiously sip past the foam of your fresh beer, peering up at him, studying the lines of his white cloth. It doesn’t tell you much, so you look at his lips instead. They’re pale, but they’re held in a serious line, so you carefully construct your response. “What makes you think I have a report?”

“Why else would you be here?” Satoru counters, rapping his nails against the warped wood of the bar top. “I know you met with Yaga and you’re too cautious and overpowered to be sent on missions with Shoko and me. So you must be here for something else.”

“Officially,” you concede, “I’m here to observe the teaching techniques and skills of the alumni of your school. I’m sure this will come as no shock, but curses are getting more powerful, both here and overseas, and we’re doing our best to keep ahead of those changes. I’m supposed to pick up what tricks I can and bring them back home, to see how we can implement it.”

“Reasonable,” he allows, spreading his fingers before coiling them under his palms again. “But that’s not everything, is it?”

No, you think it’s not. 

You lower your beer and look over at him. He’s braced himself against the bar and his head is dipped so his chin is almost against his breastbone. He doesn’t exactly look dejected, but you can see that he’s thinking deeply and something about that openness makes your heart squeeze. He looks a bit like a kicked puppy. 

Ugh, he’s not a bad guy. He’s funny, and he knows what he’s doing, plus he has the confidence to get where he needs to go. In all honesty, he wouldn’t make a terrible teacher. Maybe not the best, but he certainly wouldn’t be the worst. 

“I–there… there’s some concern you’d be too divided - that it’s not practical to have you teach and go on missions. I also don’t think your own elders trust you much.”

“Ah-ha!” Satoru beams, springing upward and pointing two finger guns at you. “You are here to look in on me! Knew it!”

You can’t help but laugh at him. “Fine, fine, you got me. Let’s get this over with, huh? So we can get back to talking about things other than work, I liked that. What’s the most direct thing I can ask? Hmm, oh! I’ll start with something easy–Why do you want to teach?”

“That’s easy?” he whines, head falling again. 

“It’s straightforward,” you bargain, propping your chin on your fist, looking him over. 

“Sure, let’s pretend that’s not a deceptively loaded question! Alright, well, it’s the best way to change things.”

“Change things?”

“Yup. Like you mentioned, lately curses have become more powerful and lately it feels like I’m the only one who’s being sent on these high-level missions. Frankly, it’s stupid to rely on just me that much, you know? That’s not practical, or even realistic. So, to my mind, it’s vital I throw my support behind some of these up-and-coming kids. You know, foster the next generation and all that. I want reliable allies in the field and to have that, I’ve gotta make sure they’re taught right. Give them everything I know, make them better than me, stronger than me.” 

You’re quiet for a long breath, eyes wide, fingers frozen around your glass, which was midway to your lips. “Damn,” you smile, letting the word hang. “You know, that was actually a pretty good answer.”

Satoru clicks his tongue and curls his lips in a grimace. “Don’t sound so surprised.” 

“I mean,” you chuckle and look up at him, eyes bright. “Well, your attitude doesn’t always inspire confidence.” 

“Ahhhhhh,” he groans, thumping his covered forehead against the bar. “Such a low blow! Bartender! Another round for me!”

“Please,” you sigh, finally taking a sip of your beer. “Do not call your sweet buns ‘another round.’” He grins at you and leans across the bar top, shifting his weight toward your bent arm. The pressure of his shoulder is warm and you nudge at him a little, playfully. He tuts at you but continues to stare ahead, a faint smile teasing the edge of his lips. 

As the bartender slides the requested plate of sweets down, you suddenly realize that you’re touching him. Your eyes widen and you slowly turn your head toward his. He’s not looking at you, content with chewing on his sweet bread, but he’s still braced against you. It’s like all of your senses are finely tuned to that one spot of faint friction between the two of you. You can feel the lines of his muscled arm as he shifts and you involuntarily gulp, doing your best to ignore the abrupt thudding of your heart. 

He said he always kept it up, didn’t he? Something about 24/7 and all the days of the year, so why is he…

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice startles you and you instinctively slide closer to Satoru, arm dragging against his shoulder as you try to right yourself again. “I’m gonna go win this drinking contest these guys have started. You two sticking around for a bit?”

“Uh,” you begin, but Satoru cuts you off, draping an arm over the back of your chair. “Yeah, we’ll be here. What are the stakes?”

“Not sure. But the pot is likely against me, if you’re in a betting mood.”

“Sure, I’ll put 20,000 yen on you.”

“Is…” you start, but Shoko is already walking off, one arm pumped into the air as she shoulders her way to the long table that’s filled with five or six others, all of them holding a full pint glass of beer between their hands. You turn back to Satoru and let out a long breath. “Is that safe?”

“Huh?” he asks, face close to yours. You can smell his cologne from here and the heady scent of him and crisp patchouli fills your senses. “I mean Shoko, will she be ok?” you elaborate, eyes studying the space where his own would be, silently hoping that he’ll pull down the barrier that covers half of him from your curious gaze. 

“Ah,” he nods sagely, leaning back a little to look out at where Shoko is sitting, quietly waiting for the start of the game with her full beer. “She’s got a ridiculously high tolerance. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s part of her cursed technique. She’ll be fine.”

“True, she likely knows the limits of the human body better than anyone else. But… I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so… excited?” you muse, sitting against your chair and running into the flat palm of Satoru’s hand. For a moment, you debate shifting away, but he’s not really doing anything, just letting the tips of his fingers rest against the curve of your spine, tapping a disjointed rhythm as he watches the start of the contest, that all too familiar smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“She used to be a little more laid back, you know?” he replies, leaning a little harder into your side as he lowers his voice, keeping close to your ear so you can hear him. “She always looks so tired now and her whole outlook has changed, but I suppose four years of med school will do that to you. Although, I did hear that she cheated her way out.”

“No!” you gasp, eyebrows lifted in shock. Satoru laughs, and for once, you’re not thinking it might be at your expense. “Yeah! Just the word on the street. But I wouldn’t put it past her. Shoko’s always done her best to avoid things, namely confrontation or extra work, so it makes sense she’d jet outta med school as fast as she could too.”

“That’s crazy and frankly, terrifying.”

“Riiight?” he shivers, lips raising in an exaggerated wince. “But that’s our Shoko. I’ve got a feeling she’ll do well at the school and I’m grateful I’ll have time to work with her again. It’s been way too long…” Satoru trails off and you can feel his hand slip up your back, fingers ghosting over your shoulder blades.

“Stop that,” you scold, shaking him off with a quick jolt and twisting around to look at his roguish smirk. “What happened to always maintaining your barrier?”

“Awe” he groans, dunking his head against your shoulder with a thump. “Come on, I’ve gotta win you over somehow!”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, I mean, I want the job.”

“I’m gonna hit you,” you threaten, doing your best to keep your bubbling amusement contained. 

“Try it,” he taunts, lifting his head and keeping his face close. His nose is inches from yours and you can barely make out his sharp grin, but you can feel the drag and pull of his breath as it passes over you, leaving a lingering sweetness against your skin. Instantly, your hand lifts to him, fully intent on shoving him back, but you can’t move any closer, trapped by the sudden emergence of his infinity. 

“Ass,” you prickle, shaking your head at his antics. Another peal of laughter falls from his soft lips and you can’t help but smile back, caught up in his infectious joviality. “Tch. Don’t make me find more Tokyo Disney pictures.”

“You can’t,” he informs you, cocking his head at your confusion. “I still have your phone.”

“Hey! Give that back!” you gasp, snatching blindly at him. He shifts back into his seat and yanks your device out of his pocket, waggling it tauntingly in front of you. “Uh-uh! Gotta get past the barrier first!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Never said that I’d make this… oh! Shoko! How did it go? Win me something?”

You twist and spot Shoko’s dark head approaching the two of you. She pauses beside Satoru and flips a large stack of bills down on the bar top, a wide grin on her usually impassive face. “As expected, I won. Here’s your cut, Satoru. Don’t spend it all in one place or on another order of sweet buns, would you? Think you can do that for me?” 

She and Satoru bicker back and forth playfully as you unfold several of the notes, aimlessly organizing them on the countertop as their brisk conversation winds back down.

“So,” Shoko murmurs, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket and knocking one free from the carton. “You two gonna head out soon? I don’t really see a need to call one of the managers, the school’s close by and so is (Y/N)’s hotel.” 

“Yeah,” Satoru replies, finally passing your phone back as he collects the neatly stacked set of yen from you. “Figured, I’d see her back.”

“I can find it!” you protest, jamming your phone safely into your pouch once more.

“Sure,” he mocks, arching toward you as he braces an elbow against the bar. “You can barely speak Japanese and I know you can’t read much kanji, but sure thing, let’s let you loose in the city. See how far you make it before you’re calling one of us, hmm?”

“That’s not… I–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru waves his hand back and forth and turns back to Shoko. “I’ll let her finish her drink and then we’ll head out. See you tomorrow?”

Shoko nods at his question and, for a moment, you think you spy a knowing look pass between the two of them, but before you can call out to her, Shoko is already making her way toward the door.

“What was that?” you ask, eyes narrowed as Satoru looks down at you, white hair gleaming under the low lights. “What?” he asks innocently, propping his chin onto his open palm. “That look that the two of you just gave each other.”

“No idea what you’re talking about. You sure that beer didn’t hit you a little too hard?”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Despite it being late August, a cool breeze greets the two of you when you step out of the bar. “It’s so nice out,” you comment, readjusting your boots as you hop onto the sidewalk. 

“Mmhm,” he agrees, bracing his arms behind his head as you make your way down the street. “So did you decide what you’re gonna write in your report?”

You glance up at him and make sure he can see you rolling your eyes. “Back to trying to butter me up?”

“Never! Just asking. If you wanna say I’m crazy and can’t be trusted, that’s fine. I can think of a few others who’d agree with you.” 

“Oh? Who?”

“Most people,” he laughs, stepping a little nearer and bumping against you, shocking you with the actual weight and warmth of his body again. As you continue on, you lift your hand to his arm and press the pad of your finger against his sleeve. This time, nothing bars your way so you run the digit slowly along his arm, smiling when he shivers and bats you away. 

“Stop that! Someone’s gonna see and think you’re taking advantage of me!”

The laugh that explodes from your chest at that mental image makes you stop dead in your tracks, arms lacing around your shaking stomach. Satoru scoffs at your bent figure and leans down, shaking his head at your guffawing.

 “The… the… fact that you… think that anyone… would think that… I–” 

“You’re lucky your laugh is so cute,” he muses, bracing his arms over your bent back, playfully pinning you down as he crosses his forearms.

“Hey!” you protest, squirming under his hold. “Let me up!”

“Tell me what you’ve written about me!” he threatens, chuckling as you squirm under him.

“I only said that Satoru Gojo is an absolute monster and shouldn’t be trusted with anyone’s future,” you cry out, overly pantomiming your overwrought expressions, peeking up at him from under his laced arms.

“Oh? Just that? Well, you’re right. So, fair is fair!” Satoru replies, slipping off of you so fast that you nearly tumble to the hard concrete. Half a beat later, he’s back in front of you and lifting you back to your full height, fingers soothing over your arms as he tugs you toward him. “Would it kill you to toss in a bit of praise? Talk about my undeniable prowess and skill? Wax poetic about my stunning efficiency? You know, make them think that I’ve won you over with my charms. After all, you can’t resist me, can you?”

“Knock it off,” you huff, doing your best to ignore how your breasts press against the flat planes of his chest. Then his fingers are under your chin, gently tipping your head up and leaning so close that his lips are inches from your own. 

“But what if I don’t want to?” he teases, his voice falling into a lower, hushed pitch before he relaxes his hold, letting you slip from his hands.

A distant quake dashes up your spine, but it’s not from the chill in the air. “Uh, you sure you didn’t sneak some shots under the table? The way you’re pawing at me, you’d think you were the one in the drinking contest.”  

“Nah, I told you, I don’t drink. Messes with my eyes.” Satoru pats his index finger against his white wrappings for emphasis.

“Mmm, the six eyes, right? Powerful ability, from what little I’ve heard of it.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “It’s a rare technique. Wanna see?”

You’d walked on, but once the question leaves his lips your feet swivel back, as if they have a mind of their own. He’s standing where he was, hands dug into the pockets of his pants, a lazy smile resting on his lips. The moonlight makes his hair shine, and the gleam is bright against the darkness of the street. The glow makes him look taller, imposing. He’s quiet as he waits for your answer and you take advantage of the extra time to mull over the strange man in front of you. 

He’s enigmatic; a force to be reckoned with, for curses and fellow sorcerers alike and, like most jujutsu users, a little crazy. Even knowing all of this, there’s something about him that’s drawing you in. It’s like the pull of a magnet. It tugs at the forefront of your mind and makes you step closer, wanting to see if you can unravel the puzzle that’s Satoru Gojo. 

“Fine,” you hear yourself reply, crossing your arms, steadfastly watching for his next move. “Go on. Let me see what all the hype is about.”

He grins and that mischievous look makes your heart beat race against your breastbone as yet another quake slips up your back. “Ready?” he asks, right thumb hooking under the fabric that covers his eyes. You nod once and the pad of his finger starts that short, upward, pull. 

He’s slow, painfully slow, in his unveiling. 

The smooth angle of his upper cheek peeks out, and he’s careful to roll up the white cloth as he goes. Then, right as he hits the groove of his lower eye, he stops, a frown pulling over his lips. “Mmm, I don’t know…” he contemplates, holding his thumb under his wrappings. “What if I don’t live up to your expectations? Can’t let you down. Not when you’ve been so patient. I know you’ve been wanting to ask, I can see it in your face. Every time we’d start an exorcism you’d look at me, like you were waiting, watching to see if I’d finally take off the coverings.”

Did you? 

Does it matter?

Do you want it to matter?

Flabbergasted by his all too true accusations and entirely eaten up with curiosity, you march up to him and wrap your fingers around his raised wrist, not noticing that you’re actually touching him and completely unaware of the alluring smile he flashes when your hand coils around his. “Ugh, come on! For once in your life, stop being such a tease! You’re never fair, always so… so pompous and… and–”

You’d shoved his hand upward as you began your preamble but as soon as the tightly wrapped cloth passed over his right eye you feel your breath leave your tensed body. 

His eyelashes are pale, the same ashen color as his hair, but they contrast beautifully with the lone eye that peers down. Beautiful? No, it’s more than that. It’s… it’s…

Truthfully, it’s indescribable and unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

It’s blue; but it’s not an ordinary shade. No, the color seems to meld and shift before your shocked gaze, drifting from hue to hue as the color deepens and lightens. Clouds. It’s like clouds passing over a summer sky. The brightness of the cerulean ensnares you, and you can feel your mouth go dry as you stare up at him. 

His eyes are stunning, perfect, and irresistible, hauntingly so.

“So, what do you think?” Satoru asks, pulling his wrist from your grasp and snatching your limp hand in his, twining his long fingers between your own. His skin is warm and you need to say something, anything, but your mind is stuttering, lagging miles behind as you fall headfirst into the overwhelming pull of his presence. 

Finally, you unstick part of your tongue. 

“They’re… uh… I don’t… ha… God…” You shake your head roughly and the familiarity of that motion slips out of the trance he’s placed you under. As soon as you can think again, you jerk your hand from his and blindly walk down the darkened street. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and you can’t stop nibbling on your lower lip. 

It’s not… this isn’t how this is supposed to go, you think, trying vainly to get the shine of Satoru’s eyes out of your mind.

“Never answered my question,” Satoru coos beside you, his long legs quickly catching up with you. “What’s wrong? You like em’ a little too much?… Or…” 

“They… they’re kinda creepy,” you blurt out, fingers curling into your palms. 

“Creepy!” he gasps, hopping in front of you and lifting up both sides of his wrappings, granting you a peek of both eyes. You do your best to avoid looking at him head on, turning and weaving from him, but he dances closer each time you shift. Damn it. His animated performance makes you exhale a quiet chuckle, and he takes your amusement as a sign to continue, constantly placing himself in your way with a broad grin. 

“Stop!” you plead, openly laughing at his sudden burst of silliness. “Now you’re acting like a creep! Satoru! Don’t! Stop showing them to me! You’re losing all of your appeal! Isn’t part of your charm the mystery? Actually, that’s likely all of your charm. Come on, stop it, there’s a cop on that street corner, he’s gonna think you’re drunk and harassing me!”

“Whaaat!” Satoru gulps, whipping his head around to look at the tired policemen that’s leaning against a dim street lamp. “Oh no! The police! Quick (Y/N), before he spots us!” His long fingers snatch up your pliant wrist and he tugs you into a dark alleyway. 

“Hey! Where are you taking me? Officer!” you call out playfully as you balefully follow him, dragging your feet along the dusty ground. “He’s over here! Help!”

“Oi! Knock it off! You wanna get me arrested?”

“Oh please, there’s no way that guy is about to follow–”

“Shit! Shhh, he’s coming this way! Come on!” The sheer force of his grip yanks you forward and you stumble after him. He takes the corner of the next alleyway and the pair of you dash along the wet patches that litter the broken concrete. He’s moving at a tremendous speed, but his feet barely make a noise as he glides over the grimy ground and it takes everything you’ve got to just hold on and keep up.  

A few twists and turns later, you can finally see the bright lights of the busy street that your hotel is on and you feel a heavy exhale of relief leave your burning lungs. Satoru skids to a halt right before he tumbles onto the safety of the sidewalk that rests a few paces ahead and pulls you beside him, grinning down at you as you try to catch your breath. 

“I think we lost him!” he beams and you suck your teeth as you bend over, hands bracing themselves against your knees. “There…there’s no… he wasn’t actually chasing us. Even if he was, I doubt he can catch up now….” your voice trails off as you hear a distant shout from the alleyway and the thud of heavy boots. 

No. There’s no way you think dumbly as you stare into the darkness, eyes searching for movement. 

“See? I told you he was on to us. He’ll see us if he comes this way. What if… Oooh, lemme try something,” Satoru’s broad hands grab at you and he swiftly maneuvers you against the damp brick of the nearest building, careful not to scrape your back as he pushes you against the rust colored siding. “Just play along, I doubt he’ll notice. Don’t give me that look, it’s your fault he’s following us!”

“My fault? I didn’t… oh–”

His lips are sleeker than you’d imagined. 

That first, teasing kiss he gives you already has you lifting your head, following the beguiling smoothness of his mouth, silently asking him for another caress. When he leans down your hands bunch into the dark fabric of his uniform and you can feel his smile against your slackened lips. He doesn’t touch you; his fingers don’t wander to the back of your jaw or the dip of your skull, instead he opts to flatten his angles against your curves, pressing until you can’t feel anything but him. 

The next kiss he gives you has a little more bite behind it, literally. 

His sharp nose bumps your cheek and his teeth worry against the plush swell of your lower lip, sucking and nipping until you’re snatching for his shoulders, searching for some kind of leverage. His mouth parts and right when you think he’s about to deepen his strokes and teasing pecks, he leans back and cocks his head at your flustered expression. “I’ve always wanted to try that,” he tells you, bracing one of his arms above your head. “It looks so fun in the movies.”

That cop could be right behind him, could be waiting for you both to stop your ridiculous routine and face the harsh gleam of reality, but you don’t care, not right now. 

Your hands had fallen from him when he pulled back, and the absence of his warmth makes you desperate to touch him again. But, when you snatch at the corners of his dark jacket, you’re met with that damned barrier. 

“Really?” you bemoan, licking at your kiss slick lips, trying again. “You’re the worst, you know that? You let me get used to the idea of having access to you and then just cut it–mmmph…” 

With a faint shudder of space, his barrier is lowered once more and his lips are back against yours. This time, his hands join in and he cups his fingers behind your ears, tilting you up as he glides his soft touch over you until you’re groaning. 

“Could have just told me you wanted more…” he rumbles in between his caresses, fingers tracing over the line of your jaw, your neck, and the slope of your shoulders. It’s like he can’t decide where he wants to go and you love the momentary burst of indecisiveness that’s broken over him. 

More, apparently, entails you asking him to come up to your room. 

He’d laughed when you’d mentioned it, your lips swollen and glassy from his attentions, and you’d almost taken it back, peeved by his genuine amusement at the idea, but then he’d plucked you into his arms and smoothed any lingering doubts with another flurry of nips and kisses. 

“This gonna make it into your report?” he grins, yanking his high collared jacket off and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. “I should,” you barb, pulling the long band of your hip pouch off, letting it clatter to the ground as your fingers work up the buttons of your own uniform. “Let them think that you’re abusing your status.” 

“Tch, me? Abuse my power? Never. Hey, I think you’re supposed to go slower with that. Don’t just yank all of your clothes off. You know, take your time, tease me a little,” Satoru chuckles, jerking his chin toward your busy hands.

“Oh? Wanting a show?” you ask, threading the last button and spreading the heavy material apart, revealing the thin shirt that’s obscuring his view of your breasts and stomach. “Well, that’s too bad, because taking all this gear off is never fun, or sexy for that matter…”

“Not with that attitude,” he hums, stepping closer, peeling his skin tight undershirt off and revealing the sleek planes of his rippled muscles. Most sorcerers are fit; and many boast beefier sets of pectorals and curving arches of biceps and triceps, but there’s something about the streamlined leanness of Satoru that’s making your hands itch. He’s not far, you could reach out for him, slip your fingers over the dips and beveled lines of his abdomen and follow that tempting strip of white that winds down the front of his pants, but that makes this too easy and there’s nothing about Satoru that’s easy.

“Mmm, that’s a new look.” His voice is distant to your ears, but the satisfied note that’s vibrating through his words makes you snap your head up, fingernails scraping against your palms. “You look like you wanna eat me (Y/N)… or maybe, taste is a better adjective. Awe, what’s the matter? Worried I won’t let you?”

You run your tongue over your lips and lift one hand, holding it steady and crooking your index finger at his brazen expression, pleased to see that cheeky smile of his falters a little. “Do me a favor, come here and take off that blindfold.”

“Ah-ha, so bossy,” he growls, voice sinking into that sinfully lower octave as he raises his broad hands to the back of his wrappings, unwinding the fabric and slowly advancing toward you. He stops when the tips of his toes are inches from your own, bracing his palms toward his face, holding the last strip across his eyes. “Wanna do the honors? Or are you expecting me to do all the work tonight?”

“As if. Besides…” you snicker, pulling two fingers to the remains of his blindfold and peeling it down, watching as his hair falls forward, slowly divulging the top of his forehead, pale eyebrows and that shock of avid blue that’s already gazing down at you. “I think you like when I tell you what to do, don’t you?”

“Ahh, looks like she figured me out,” Satoru groans, letting the ivory bindings fall to the floor, his hands already reaching for your waist. He doesn’t give you an opportunity to study him, but they’ll be time for that later, you reason, arms lacing around his chorded neck. 

This kiss is hungrier and his tongue immediately dances along the seam of your lips, pressing until you give in. It’s an awkward angle, but he expertly adjusts himself to you, slotting a warm palm against the small of your back and raising the other to curl into your hair, lifting you until it’s perfect. 

He’s greedy, devouring every inch you give him with a ravenous edge, but when you suck on his lower lip, he slips into something that’s clearly a little more unhinged. 

Suddenly, he’s the one who’s bending forward, trying to get as close to you as he physically can, hunching until you can trace your fingertips over the sharpness of his jaw. His teeth clink against yours as he snatches you up, and you can feel the sharp bulge of his length, the hardness grinding down your hips and stomach as he yanks you nearer. It’s hard to breathe, but he’s refusing to let you budge, lips avariciously seeking and pulling, leaving you with nothing else but the sheer enormity of his touch.  

“Fuck,” he gasps, finally letting you fall from his grasp, heaving out a few unsteady breaths. “You’ve got way too much on. Why do you still have so much on?” He plucks at your shirt but stops when he frees the edge from your pants, cerulean eyes bright in the moonlight. “Take it off,” he heaves, forehead pressing against yours, lifting his fingers from you. “Take it off for me, please?” 

You nod, a little taken aback by his sudden desperation, and he watches closely as you yank the thin material up, blue eyes shining as you unveil yourself. When the shirt passes over your breasts, he gives you a distracted kiss to the temple before he pulls away, freeing you to pull it over your head and sighing happily when it finally hits the floor, leaving you partially bare. As soon as your arms lower, he’s back against you, hands cupping at your hips, jerking you forward. “Whoa,” you gasp, bracing your palms against his chest. “Slow down. Let me get the rest of this–”

“No, no, no, no,” he chants, fingers smoothing up your spine. “Stop, for a second… just… just gimme a minute. You feel so nice. Your skin, it’s… it’s so warm and so fucking smooth, ahhh. Ohh, yes. A few more seconds (Y/N), just let me… It’s been so long since I’ve touched someone like this. I kinda forgot what it felt like and I don’t wanna let go, not yet.”

His head is bowed and that hauntingly blue gaze is covered by his winced eyelids, but he can’t seem to stop moving. Even as he asks you to hold still, to let him touch you, feel you, he keeps shifting his weight and burrowing his brow into the dip of your shoulder. 

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nails scritching at the clasp of your bra. “Please? Lemme take it off. Come on. I know you wanna touch me too, I saw how you were looking at me a minute ago. You’re so fucking cute, I can’t… ahaha, fuck, I sound insane. Look, I’ll slow down, I promise, just gimme a little more of you.”

When he mischievously snaps the strap of your bra against your shoulder blade, you can’t help but laugh at his infectious exuberance. His head lifts from you and he turns his attention to your neck, soft lips sucking and nipping at you until you’re wriggling in his hold. “Alright, alright! Just step back, Satoru! I’ll take it off,” you placate, knocking him away and huffing at the long face he gives you in return. “Here,” your fingers unhook the two pronged clasp and the delicate lace slips from your shoulders, falling to the carpeted floor with a hush. “Okay, that’s everything on the top half. Now what are–Ah! Satoru!” 

He takes full advantage of his superior speed and before you can blurt out a proper retort, he’s against you. 

His teeth worry at your earlobe and he immediately hoists you upward, seizing the lush curve of your ass and pulling you into his powerful arms, urging your legs to wrap around his trim waist. When you shakily oblige, he cups one lean arm under you, but the other drags you forward, scraping your newly bared breasts and stiffened nipples against the planes of his powerful pectorals. When he walks, you jostle in his grasp and coil your fingers around his neck, smiling when he moans contentedly at your reliance on his firm hold. “Damn,” he grunts, cocking his head so he can lick a wet circle into your pulse. “You feel fucking good (Y/N). So damn smooth, how are you so soft? God, I want more, I wanna feel everything.”

The front of his shins hit the edge of your bed and he tumbles you down, a dark grin spreading over his face as he watches you stretch out teasingly. He plants a knee into the soft bedding and braces both arms beside your head, leering over you. 

For a long breath, both of you study each other, eyes whisking over gleaming skin and the curves of your faces. Without the added heft of that blindfold Satoru’s snowy hair hangs loosely over his face, straight tendrils clinging to his brow, making him look younger, mellower, and so very handsome. Opting to take advantage of this lull, you reach up and thread your fingers into the silken strands.

When you reach the edge of his temple, you scrape your nails against his scalp, grinning as he lets a heavy exhale fall between his lips, cerulean eyes falling to a pleased half mast. “You’re trying to distract me,” he accuses, gliding a wide palm up your side. You shake your head and keep twirling his hair across your fingertips, marveling at his own softness. “No. I just like your hair.”

“That’s a first,” he snorts, cupping a palm underneath one of your breasts and pulling his thumb over the swelling bud of your nipple. “Here I am, trying to feel you up, and you’re too distracted by my hair to appreciate it. How rude.”

“Shut up,” you gasp out, arching into his hand as he tweaks and plucks at your pebbled tip. “You’re lucky I’m even… mmm… letting you do this.”

“Please. It was your idea, remember?”

Satoru lowers one of his braced arms, letting his weight fall heavily to one side as he keeps his deepening ministrations up. Your fingers are still buried in his hair when he drops his lips to your breast. You feel the flick of his tongue first, and the light tap has you bowing your back, gasping out a faint cry as his rough appendage continues to swipe and twirl over your sensitive flesh. Instinctively, your hands tug at his pearlescent strands and he tilts his head up, fixing you with a lazy stare. “That’s better, looks like I just need to refocus you, huh?” he muses, his words half garbled as he sucks your plump breast into his mouth. He keeps flicking his tongue over you as he suckles, lapping and nipping until you’re writhing under him. 

Once he’s satisfied, his free hand lowers to your grinding hips, forcing you to lay flat against the bed, switching his attention to the neglected twin, sucking and pressing open mouthed bites to your damp, shaking skin. 

A tight heat is coiling in your core and your thighs rub against each other, trying to cool the sharp pricks of arousal that are coursing through you. As soon as your hands fall from his head, Satoru picks up his pace, licking his sloppy tongue under your breasts and nibbling his way down your quivering stomach. “You’re still wearing way too much,” he scolds, fingers toying with the gold clasp of your pants. 

“It’s… oh… difficult to take things off when you… ah–won’t let me move more than two feet from you.” You’d meant it to sound a little firmer, but his constant touch is wearing down your focus, distracting you with brilliant flashes of his luminescent blues and whites. 

“Awe, (Y/N),” he whines, popping his hand against your hip, long fingers digging into your swelled curves. “That’s not fair. I told you, I always have my barrier up. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve touched someone, anyone? I mean really touched them?”

“Daw,” you sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows and peering down at him. “You poor thing. The all powerful Satoru Gojo, too honed and practiced with his neutral technique that he can’t even hold anyone’s hand.” 

“Ha, such a jerk,” he laughs, exaggerating a wounded frown. “I bare my soul to you and this is how I’m treated?” 

“Stop being so dramatic,” you scoff, yanking your legs from under him and popping up on your knees, hands reaching for him, curling under his jaw and urging him upwards. His eyes lock onto yours and the grin that tweaks the corner of his lips gives you an idea. “You said you wanted to touch more of me, right?”

As you wait for your answer, you scoot backwards, making him follow you across the bed, finally luring all of his sprawling form onto the cool sheets. “Mmhm,” he grunts, doing his best to keep close, teasing fingers inches from your skin at all times, always ready to stroke and cup each time you pause. When you hit the headboard you stop, studying his features, admiring the growing hunger that’s screaming its way out of his wide eyes.  

“You ever eaten a girl out?”

The question hangs for half a second and you can see his pupils dilate, the black threatening to swallow up the sky streaked blue of his eyes. Then, right when you’re about to tease him for his gaping mouth and flushed cheeks, he’s bowling past you, splaying out against the mattress and pulling you on top of him. 

“Fuck, that’s by far the best thing I’ve heard all day. Hell, all month. I’ll likely go to my grave thinking about that question. Ouch! Stop squirming, you’re kneeing me in the ribs.” 

“I wouldn’t… Satoru! I can’t breathe if you hold me like that!” His arms are like cables, all tensed muscle and raw strength as he pins you against his heaving chest, lips kissing and nipping at any part of you he can reach.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, sucking a bruise into your arched collarbone. “Hurry up and take your pants off. And don’t say you can’t do it like this, you’re a grade 1 sorcerer, you can do anything you put your mind to.”

“Is that going to be part of your teaching regime?” you smart, bucking your hips up so you can unclasp and wiggle your pants down your legs.

“Oooh, you’re right, that sounds good. Damn, I gotta start writing this shit down. That way I can have a whole list of euphemisms. Can you imagine? Molding young minds and helping them to stand up to all the bullshit that those so-called elders make everyone suffer under. All those rules and regulations, the stupid ins and outs they make us all jump through–”

“Hmm,” your voice falls to a gentle hum as you snatch at his chin, stilling his chatter with a single finger against his lips. “That sounds ambitious, but why don’t we take things a little slower, give that mind of yours something else to focus on?”

“Oh?” Satoru smirks, arching an ashen eyebrow at you. “Then you better get up here, before I get distracted again.”

“Don’t you mean down?”

“Huh, down? Ah, I see where the confusion is. Nah, I want you to ride my tongue, baby, so hurry up.” His long arms help him jerk you upward, easily lifting and enticing you forward. That early impatience is peeking out once more, and he pops his head up, nostrils flaring as your uncovered cunt drifts nearer. “Ah, God, I bet you’re so fucking wet. I can smell you from here. Come on, grab onto the headboard and let me get to it.”

Your legs shake as you plant them beside his head and you do your best to steady your pounding heart, pulling a thin stream of air through your parted lips. As soon as you touch the wood of the headboard, he’s gripping your thighs so tightly you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises behind. The tip of his nose is the first thing you feel, and it’s so close to your pulsing clit that you inadvertently cant your hips forward. “Ooh, sensitive, are we?” he crows, nestling himself under you, his breath hot against your dampened folds and wet curls. 

The following slick slurp of his tongue and the slow pass of his lips make your head tip back. He’s surprisingly gentle, slowly licking his way along your labia, pulling and sucking as he goes, teasing closer to that tight bud that’s waiting, just a little bit higher. 

At first, you worry about crushing him, too caught up in the placement of your weight to fall into the haze his mouth is begging you to slip into. But then his lips latch onto you, careful to mouth in time with the thud of your clit, suckling and squeezing until you can’t help but grind down, earning yourself a sharp groan that reverberates against your trembling skin. Using the weight of the headboard as leverage, you roll your hips over him, shifting in time with his well-placed rhythm. 

He’s good, but even the great Satoru Gojo isn’t perfect, not all the time.

When he nips at you a little too hard you shift back, depriving him of your wet heat, loving the petulant sighs and moans he gives you when you do. “Ah, sorry. Gimme a little more time,” he bargains, fingers sinking into the voluptuous curve of your ass, tying to urge you back over his glistening lips. “I’ll do better, (Y/N). Besides, I want you to cum for me. You taste so fucking good and I want it, I want all of it. Hey! Don’t be like that! I said I’d do better. Come back here.”

God, he’s such a brat. 

Every time you shift away he’s got another string of exasperated pleas ready, twitching his fingers and shaking his pale head at your impudence. “Less talking,” you moan, shivering as he delves his tongue into you, feeling his grin as your cunt squeezes around his intrusion. “Ok, ok,” he growls, using his brute strength to overpower your tensed legs. “Mmm, yes baby, ah–just relax, I’ll take care of you.”

Fuck, you think as you sink your fingers into his hair, spurring him on, this feels way too good.

When he captures your clit between his teeth and tweaks the tip of his tongue against you, you can’t help but fall to pieces. Your orgasm hits you like a battering ram, seizing hold of your muscles as it rolls through you and scattering a faint spark of spots across your vision. Satoru’s arms wrap around your blindly pistoning hips, helping you to sink closer, ravenously slurping and swallowing down each wave of arousal that hits his gluttonous lips. 

You’re still shaking when he pulls out from under you, flipping you bonelessly under him as his hands finally rid himself of his clearly tented and damp pants. Your eyes are just clearing when you catch sight of him, studiously following that trail of white curls to his impressive length. His cock is long, curving proudly toward his chiseled stomach and bubbling a clear string of pre-cum from the flushed tip. You do your best to sit up, but as soon as he catches sight of your movement, his broad palm is pressing you back. “Ah-ah,” he taunts, stroking a hand over his swollen cock and wiping the last of your slick from his face against his shoulder. “Keep still for me, ‘kay?’” 

His wide palms spread your legs apart, and he soothes his fingertips along your skin as he tugs a few heady groans from himself. “Fuck, you look so good. You’re so goddamn pretty. When you were sitting there at the bar and you looked so fucking happy I couldn’t take my eyes off you, you just looked so nice. Haven’t even known you a week, and I’m already obsessed with hearing that laugh of yours. You put some kinda spell on me, huh? That what this is?”

“Ugh, stop talking, Satoru,” you threaten, watching the steady ebb and flow of his clenched fist. His cock looks so smooth and you’re desperate to reach for it, to take hold of velvety flesh and see how long it would take for the world’s strongest sorcerer to be putty in your hands. 

He arches a pale brow at your blatant stare. “You want it?”

“I want you,” you correct, and the smile that breaks across his handsome face makes your heart squeeze. 

“Awe, how can I possibly say no to that?” he asks, gleefully lining himself up with your slit. Despite his early eagerness, he’s taking his time with this part, running the bulbous head of his cock over you, gathering up some of your gossamer strands, slicking himself with your dripping arousal. “Sorry,” he amends when he makes another pass along your folds. “It’s been awhile and I want to take it all in. I don’t wanna rush this.”

“It’s fine,” you smile, lifting your hands to pass them over his stomach, watching as his muscles ripple under your delicate touch. “Just don’t take too long or you’re not going to be on top for much longer.”

“That a threat or a promise, baby?” Satoru leers, finally slipping his tip past that first, tight ring of your entrance. Despite his bravado, his lips curl over his teeth and he lets out a low hiss as he sinks into you, inch by shallow inch. The pressure of his cock makes you arch, legs automatically wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. He bows his head and his ethereal gaze falls behind his shaking eyelids as he thrusts forward, edging himself along until he bottoms out within you. Fuck, you feel so full.

The stretch of him makes you shake and you’re grateful he’s taking his time when he stills, lips smacking distracted kisses over your heated cheeks and parted lips, giving you time to adjust to him, and he to you. After a few steadying breaths, his teeth bite at the hollow of your throat and he pulls his hips back, grinning as your hands grasp into the sheets, a sharp whine escaping you. He echoes your sentiment, letting a gasping string of curses tumble from his shaking lips as he ruts forward again, one hand gripping at your right leg, prying you from his waist and slinging the trembling limb over his shoulder.

This angle has him pressing against something wonderful and sharp, and you can’t help but gasp out his name as he starts to methodically ram into it, over and over. You can feel him swell at the sound of your pleading moans and you savor the feel of his cock throbbing against your tender walls. “More,” you shudder, fingers trying to hurry his steady hips as he diligently cants into you. 

“In a minute,” he grunts, biting at your pliant skin, arms coiling under your back. “This feels too fucking good. Let me just… ah… fuck…” 

He slows, moving at a pace that sets your teeth on edge, and you thrash under him. Although his cock is digging against that aching place that’s sending dots and stars across your eyes, it’s not enough pressure. Licking your lips, you worm one of your hands between the two of you and pinch and roll your fingers over your clit, easing some of the tingling bittersweetness that’s pulsing over you. 

“Alright, alright, point taken,” Satoru chuckles, releasing your leg from his tight grip and re-lacing it around his hips. “How do you want it, baby? You want it fast? Or do you want it hard? Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, peeking up at his enthralling cerulean, willingly ensnaring yourself in the intensity of his gaze. “I just want more of you.”

“Tch,” he hums, cupping a hand against your warm cheek. “Don’t say shit like that, I might end up falling for you.”

The laugh that echoes from your lips is swiftly cut off by a gasp as he abruptly ups the pace of his thrusts. He’s quick, but he’s still listening and watching for what you like. When you moan he’s right there with you, steadying his rhythm, and when you call out his name, he digs a little harder. 

It’s too much. It feels raw, like you’re scratching at a cut. Like there’s some itch that you just can’t reach. 

All of it, the feel of his meaty balls slapping against the sticky plushness of your ass, and those breathy moans makes your head spin. The intensity of the moment slips your fingers from your clit, but he makes up for their loss by grinding down each time he sinks into your cunt, scraping the hard edge of his pelvic bone against your throbbing bud. 

He’s good. Fuck.

You can feel the hazy slope of your orgasm approaching and you blindly arch up each time he careens downward, ensuring that he’s hitting right where you need him to. His movements start to hit a lull as he slips into his own fog of lingering pleasure, dipping his head to your neck and sighing contentedly when you kiss at his temple. But the tenderness of your touch must knock him out of his own whirring thoughts and he rewards you with another set of rapid fire thrusts, his lips pulling from your neck to seek out yours, kissing and nipping until you’re gasping for air. 

“Mmmm,” he moans, breath hot against your skin. “You feel so good and you’re getting so fucking tight. You gonna’ cum for me? One more time?”

You do your best to gulp out a reply, but the abrupt press of his calloused thumb against your clit makes you shake instead, a tingling rush of heady arousal racing its way up your spine. Smiling down at your awed expression, he lifts his fingers away and uncoils your legs from his waist, flinging them both over his broad shoulders, his knees settling forward as he continues to roughly thrusts his hips forward, driving you quivering body into the soft sheets. 

“You like that? Does it feel good? Does it? Fuck baby, I’m begging you, give it to me one more time. Can you do that for me? Can you cum for me? I want you to cum on my dick, ah, come on (Y/N), just once more, that’s all I’m asking. You can do it, can’t you?”

He’s rasping his questions against the shell of your ear, hands cupping at the side of your face, keeping you close as he races toward his own end, voice lifting into a frantic plea as he hurtles closer, desperate to feel your satisfaction rippling around him before he completely looses himself to the aching pleasure of your body. 

“I–” you choke out, arms lacing around his back, nails pressing half moons into his skin. He moans at the bite of your touch and tilts your hips upward, seeking more of you. 

That change is all it takes. 

The tip of his cock presses down, lifts, and then suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

“I’m… yes! Oh, fuck. Satoru, just like that. Don’t… don’t stop!” For once, he doesn’t tease. He just smiles, his face flushed, pale cheeks dusted a pleased pink and repeats the motion, careful to keep everything absolutely steady. The repeated push and pull, the warmth of your cunt, the feel of your skin, it’s making his cock throb and his heart race, but he’s determined to see you break. 

There. There it is. Fuck, you’re so pretty.

On an outward pull of his hips, your back arches and your thighs tense and he lets out a long growl, quickly breaking his fastidious rhythm and sinking back into you, gasping as you flutter around him. A new flush of wetness leaks out of your cunt and squelches between your pinned legs, dripping over the cleft of your ass.

He only lasts a few extra ruts, but the feel of him swelling and pulsing inside your tender pussy almost topples you over the edge again and you cling to him in the aftermath of his release, your heaving breasts catching against his flat pectorals. 

With a quick peck, he slowly lowers your legs and eases himself out of you, blue eyes widening at the sight of his softening hardness leaving your leaking pussy. “I don’t know which I like better,” he contemplates, leaning back on his haunches and slicking his index finger up the pooling dribble you’ve both left behind, spreading the spidery traces across his hand. “You wet and dripping for me or filled to the brim with my cum.” His lewd comment makes you huff out a low groan of exasperation and you roll off of the bed, shaking your head as you steady yourself and walk toward the bathroom. 

After a brisk rinse in the shower, you pad back into the darkened room, fully expecting to see an empty bed. You’re not sure why that’s your first thought, but something about Satoru doesn’t scream: I’m the kind of guy who likes post coitus cuddles. So the sight of him, bundled under your sheets, white hair poking just above the edge of the blankets, is a surprise.

“Oh,” you pause, dropping your towel on the floor as you openly gape at him. “You’re still here… I, well, I figured you’d take off.”

“Huh?” Satoru croaks, popping his head up, his face comically askew. “What kinda guy do you think I am?”

“Apparently the kind that stays over,” you snicker, digging around for your discarded bra and panties. 

He lets out a mock gasp, popping a hand against his cheek. “How could you say that! And after I gallantly brought you back here?”

“And fucked me,” you remind him, slipping your lacy underwear back on and re-adjusting the clasp of your bra.

“That too!” he qualifies, arching a pale eyebrow at your impassive face. “I’d say I was pretty generous. You did cum twice after all.”

“Oh my God,” you sigh, crossing your arms across your chest and perching beside the edge of the bed, shaking your head at the sprawling man under your covers.

“Come on, you wouldn’t seriously make me walk all the way back to the school at this hour. What if something happens to me? How could you live with yourself, knowing you kicked me out into the cold?”

“It’s summer,” you point out, rolling your eyes. “And you’re… what six foot three… and you have the legendary six eyes… I mean, I think you’ll be ok.”

“(Y/N),” Satoru begins, narrowing those bright blue eyes at you.

“Yeah?”

“Is it your habit to sleep with helpless guys and then kick them out? You’re so cruel.”

“Stop it,” you warn, snatching at the sheets and yanking them off of his naked form.

“No!” he protests, fingers clutching vainly at the thin cover. “Your bed is so nice! Come on, I’ll be good and I don’t snore. Well, not that I know of anyway…”

“Ugh, fine. I don’t have the energy for this and we have to be up in four hours. Just shush and scoot over.”

“Oh? Do you not have the energy because I fucked it out of you?”

“I’m sorry, were you wanting to stay the night?” 

“Alright, alright,” he splays his hands up in supplication and makes room for you, watching closely as you curl up beside him, a smile playing over his lips. “Hey,” he asks once you’ve closed your eyes, leaning close to your reposed form. 

“What?” you groan, cracking an eye open.

“Can I be the little spoon?”

“Satoru…”

“Mmhm?”

“Shut up.”

notes: hehe. i feel like he’d be so freaking chatty in bed. plus, how could i not make him a little touched starved? stop making me like characters that just wanna be held universe, gosh :3c

[astrella-writes]

prompt | @ssoftlydreaming​ asked: nfjsja ok from sweet home can you do lee eun-hyeok and basically he has to decide if he should risk the danger of everyone in the apartment complex or save reader who is outside and struggling to survive.

warnings | female pronouns, angst, spoilers for episode one of the netflix adaptation of sweet home, if you haven’t watched episode one complete then this won’t make much sense, panic attacks, the general horror of sweet home, eun-hyuk being a logical pain in the ass, somewhat of an open-ending.

word count | 1.7K

author’s note | i hope this satisfies your masochistic desires! i’m honestly so happy to have angst as my first request, and that isn’t sarcasm at all.

The sound of his descending footsteps echoing throughout the concrete stairwell became background noise to Eun-Hyuk as he stared at the unanswered messages he had sent you well over an hour ago. This was strange behavior coming from you, considering you usually responded back within minutes. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, he tried to think of a logical explanation to calm his increasing worries. Perhaps your phone died on your walk home, or you had to work over-time without a chance to inform him.

He was certain some minor inconvenience caused your abrupt absence, although he couldn’t shake off the unnerving feeling settling like a burden of tense muscles upon his shoulders. Realizing there wasn’t much more he could do, especially since all the calls he gave you went straight to voice mail, he decided to wait patiently for a reply from you and try to keep his thoughts clear during the meantime.

Eun-Hyuk stuffed his phone into his pocket as he finally reached the half-open double doors that led out onto the first floor, his ears immediately picking up on the commotion before he looked over at the front entrance that was blocked by the shutters. A group of people stood dispersed nearby, talking amongst themselves and watching one resident in particular as he tried tugging on the metal bracing that barely budged. The man sighed, dropping his arm and admitting defeat as he walked away from the shutters, mumbling to himself.

‘First the elevators aren’t working, and now this?’ he thought to himself, unimpressed with the current situation, especially since he had work that night. He wasn’t the only one annoyed by the circumstances as the surrounding people openly expressed their vexation. Although, unlike most of them, he remained calm and simply observed the scene with his hands in his pockets. Multiple residents spoke loud enough for him to catch on to the fact that the security guard was missing, which made little sense considering this was an issue for him to resolve.

“Excuse me?” a feminine voice sounded from behind him, causing him to turn around and look at the woman. “Do you have any service on your cell?” Despite having just been on his phone, Eun-Hyuk was so preoccupied with his thoughts regarding your whereabouts that he didn’t notice the minor detail of whether he had any service.

Pulling out his phone and unlocking it, he immediately dialed your number, taking the possibility to hopefully connect with you and find out where you were. When his ear met with a high-pitched ringing, Eun-Hyuk lowered the phone, lost in thought for a second before looking at the woman.

“I guess not,” he said, watching as her face dropped in disappointment and she turned to walk away, but he stopped her with a question. “What’s going on here?” 

The woman hesitated, wondering if anything was even worth sharing considering she would give him more questions than answers. She went on to explain how every main exit had been closed up, locking everyone inside. Although she speculated someone was behind this, she had no idea who it was and for what purpose it was done. 

The explanation caused Eun-Hyuk to swallow thickly before turning his gaze towards the concealed entrance. He stared for a moment, silently wishing for your safety.

                                                          ―――

A shrill ringing penetrated your ear, causing you to jerk your head away from your phone and hang up on your attempt at calling Eun-Hyuk. With a frustrated cry, you threw your cellphone upon the ground, hearing the shattering of the screen as it smacked face-first against the concrete.

On the verge of tears, you made yourself as small as possible in the alleyway's corner, pulling your knees up to your chest as you rested your forehead on top of them. Your breathing grew increasingly more labored as the sensation of dread and pure hopelessness consumed your mind.

Eun-Hyuk’s words repeated in your head during times like this, when you were at risk of having a panic attack. Stay still. Take slow breaths. Think of something nice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing the gathering tears to flow freely down your cheeks as they gathered at the tip of your chin. Forcing yourself to take in deep breaths, your trembling body gradually stilled. Eventually, your thoughts morphed as you focused on your breathing, rather than the surrounding chaos.

Think of something nice.

Eun-Hyuk’s face filled your mind, the sight prompting a ghost of a smile. You recalled your first meeting which occurred almost a year ago, when you had just moved into Green Roof Apartments. Someone had suddenly removed the towering stack of boxes you were carrying from your hold, and just as you were about to thank the person for helping, you realized you recognized him.

It turns out that you both used to attend the same high school, although you weren’t in the same class, your friend group interacted with his friend group quite a lot. Seeing his face brought back all those times at lunch when you would sneakily try to steal glances at him without your friends noticing. They noticed, of course, and teased you relentlessly about your crush but they were nonetheless supportive. They even proposed setting you two up on a date, because a ‘little birdie’ told them he had been crushing on you too.

Unfortunately, you were in such denial that someone as handsome as him had feelings for you, and rejected the offer. He was simply unobtainable, the extent of your relationship never surpassing polite greetings and friendly smiles until you both graduated and never saw each other again. Or at least, that’s what you assumed would happen.

It seemed fate gave you two another chance, unsatisfied with your prior silent pining and not acting upon anything. Considering you both matured immensely, talking came easy, and it wasn’t long before a much deeper connection began blossoming between the both of you.

His sister reacted indifferently when she walked out into the hallway one day, only to witness the both of you moving suspiciously away from each other, as if trying to conceal something. She caught on immediately, especially since her brother had been mentioning you quite often.

“Seriously? He’s the best you can do?” She scoffed, eyeing her brother disapprovingly before pushing between the both of you and walking off. You stared at her retreating figure in shock, oblivious to the smile on Eun-Yoo’s face as she disappeared down the stairs.

Once his sister found out, Eun-Hyuk became increasingly more open in terms of your relationship. And eventually, after a long week of his sister degrading him for not moving to the next step, he asked you to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t the most romantic of set-up’s; he had knocked on your door and asked you so casually that you wondered if he was joking.

When he assured you he wasn’t, you almost knocked him off his feet from the abrupt hug you gave him, accepting his simple proposal.

The memory faded, and the realization hit you like a truck. Eun-Hyuk was waiting for you, and you couldn’t give up on him. Taking a deep breath, you got up from the ground, trying not to focus on the screams and sounds of destruction in the distance as you lightly jogged towards the entrance of the alleyway. You peered behind the wall and looked both ways. The coast was clear; it was now or never.

                                                           ―――

You raced around the corner, narrowly dodging the attention of a nearby monster as its head popped up from one of the many dumpsters lining the brick wall of Green Roof Apartments, the location you had been trying to reach from when this all started.

The sound of metal creaking, which you quickly recognized to be the shutters descending, urged your aching legs to run faster as the darkness before you faded the closer you got to the entrance. That’s when you noticed Eun-Hyuk struggling to keep the shutters open as a distraught woman crawled towards him. He reached out a hand towards her, just as he looked up and made eye contact with you. His eyes widened at the sight, although bloodied and bruised, you were very much alive. You smiled at him, relieved, feeling safe already.

That was until you heard a rustling coming from your right, along with animalistic groans, as if something was just stirring back to life after being immobilized and ready to lash out again. A flurry of panicked voices came from the lobby of the apartment, everyone watching in horror as the hunched-over silhouette of the monster with a snake-like tongue began recovering to its full height.

Luckily for you, the monster disregarded your presence as it ambled towards the entrance. You stood frozen in fear as the shadow of its body passed over you, the sound of its languid steps lulling you into a trance as your body trembled lightly. 

It was perceptible that trying to run past it would end in your demise, leaving you stuck on what to do. Your pleading eyes drifted towards Eun-Hyuk, hoping he would come up with a plan to distract the monster long enough so you could make a break for the gap underneath the shutters he had been holding open - a perfect enough size for you to slide under.

He stared you dead in the eyes as he dropped the shutters; the metal clanging loudly against the tiled floor. You blanched, staring back at him in disbelief. A semblance of guilt took over his features, and you shook your head in denial. 

Your eyes stung with tears, and you wondered whether to cry and beg for him to help you or keep the remaining bit of dignity you had left. The monster suddenly shot its tongue within the gaps of the barred metal and Eun-Hyuk disappeared from sight as he dodged; the trance you were in instantly dissipating as you came to terms with the situation.

He left you to fend for yourself, surrounded by a horde of monsters. You weren’t sure whether to give up or keep going, considering nothing seemed worth fighting for at the moment. 

Did he regret it? Of course. Would he do it again? Without question. Eun-Hyuk would sacrifice anyone to keep his sister safe, even you, and even himself.

[jungcherie]

Sweat and Heat

—𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: johnny x reader

—𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 1.2K

—𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: smut

—𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: unprotected sex , fingering, oral (male receiving)

—𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: He fucked you once and now he's calling you because he can't get you out of his head.

—𝖧𝖮𝖴𝖲𝖤 𝖮𝖥 𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

It seems that all the energies and forces of the universe had come together to make this day the most exhausting and tiring of your week. You had plans to get home early but everything was ruined, now at almost midnight, you were in the car of one of your colleagues heading home. The headache became more intense as he spoke and you no longer had the strength to ask him to shut up.

Fed up with his words, you got out of his car muttering a small and inaudible 'goodbye', without looking at him and walking reluctantly towards your home, you yearned with all your whole being to take a good hot bath and sleep at least until 12 p.m. the next day. Unfortunately for you, after taking off all your clothes and preparing the water, someone knocked. You rolled your eyes and decided to ignore it because was probably your colleague, but the knocks became insistent and you had no choice but to go in a robe to open the door.

"What the fuck do—" you stopped mid-sentence to realize it wasn't who you expected, you couldn't do anything but open your eyes in surprise because the apology didn't come out of your mouth. The tall man in front of you had a small smile on his face, clearly amused by the situation, and by your expression as well. "Hi to you too"

The guy you fucked last week was here again.

"You need something?" You asked tired, you didn't even apologize. "Johnny I don't mean to sound rude but—"

"You're tired" he interrupts you, finishing what you were about to say. "I can see" you sighed leaning on the door watching him. "I've lost my ring and I'm pretty sure it's here."

You didn't say anything and you let him pass. Even though you barely knew Johnny, he had stayed the night and hadn't had any behavior that made you suspect he was a bad guy. "To be honest, I didn't find any of your rings" you said standing on the doorframe and watching him bend over to look under your bed. "I don't even remember if you were wearing rings"

Johnny was laughing internally, he doesn't use them, he just wanted a good excuse to see you again. "Go take your bath" he indicated, looking directly at you. "When I find my ring I can give you a massage if you want" You closed your eyes in satisfaction and sighed, Johnny's offer was too tempting to say no. "That sounds great."

Without hesitation, you took off your robe and plunged into the warm water, relaxing all your muscles. It didn't take long for Johnny to appear, curiously with a ring on his finger. "You found it?" you asked with your eyes closed after taking a look at it. He laughed nervously. "Yeah"

Next, he sat on the toilet, you knew it even if you weren't looking. "You promised me a massage" you said amused. Johnny laughed again and leaned closer to you as you settled yourself to give him your back. Your chest coming into contact with the air while the other half of your body was still submerged. The cold made bristle your nipples, Johnny didnt overlook them and the feeling he had kept all week was present under his pants.

His large hands touched your shoulders, little by little applying pressure and movement in different directions. You sighed when you felt the good work he was doing.

"You didn't come for your ring" you let out, with a smirk. Of course you knew, if he had forgotten something at your house, he would have come the next day, not almost a week later. Also, you weren't that drunk that night, you remembered well that Johnny didn't have any accessories, except for the earrings. "What did you come for, Johnny?"

His breath near your ear gave you goosebumps, his voice aroused memories and sensations. "Look" he started, brushing his nose on your neck. "I don't know what kind of black magic you've done to me," Johnny continued on his way and kissed one of your shoulders. "But despite being really drunk, I remember we did it even with the lights on"

You turned around, now being face to face. "Why don't you join me?"

Johnny obeyed you, you watched him shamelessly, as he took off his clothes, one by one, but once he was totally naked, he was standing, while you were still sitting in the bathtub, his hard cock in front of you, begging for attention.

You looked at him once before running your tongue down his entire length, savoring the precum that came from his tip. Johnny couldn't do anything but moan in satisfaction at the warmth of your mouth. He quickly caressed your face and made sure no hair interfered with what you were doing, you dedicated yourself to sucking his dick the best you could with the help of one of your hands. Johnny increased the grip on your hair and made you stop moving your head, and with your mouth still open, he started swinging his hips, controlling and holding the in and out of his erection.

Your jaw was getting tired, however seeing Johnny's face of pleasure was worth the pain. One last thrust, his cock deep in your throat and tears in your eyes, he left you and crouched down at your height. "Enough for me, it's time for both of us"

Johnny took you by your ass making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both left a path of water from the bathroom to your room. "I feel cold" you said when you felt the cold breeze hitting your naked body. "I can fix that"

With the help of the wall, he removed one of his hands to direct it towards your folds, clearly the heat began to invade you and the goosebumps were no longer due to the sudden change in temperature between air and water.

"I know you want it" says Johnny with his forehead resting on yours, the lopsided smile meant he was having fun. "I know you feel the same way I do. Come on, don't be shy."

"Fuck me" you whispered. "What did you say?" he asks still rubbing your clit, you took him by the cheeks, looking him straight in the eyes. "Fuck me, Johnny"

No words to say, he obeyed and plunged his entire length, causing you to let out a high-pitched groan. You kissed him, trying to shut up yourself and not get complaints from the neighbors the next morning, you had forgotten how thick this guy was and how good he felt inside you.

Your back was bumping against the wall and your chest was almost glued to his. He couldn't resist and he went down your neck, and then down to your breasts to catch one of your nipples with his mouth, sucking and biting, his tongue playing with it. Your nails were digging into his shoulders in response, his thrusts wouldn't stop, you were already to become undone.

"Johnny, I'm coming" you moaned, unable to speak normally. "Then come for me"

You kissed each other before making eye contact and finally feeling your orgasm come, a couple of thrusts later, you felt his warm cum filling you up.

All your muscles relaxed, the headache disappeared and you slept like a baby next to a man you met a week ago in a bar.

[buckysgoldenheart]

Angel in the Dark pt. 2

Demon!August Walker x Reader

Summary: After a one-night stand, or what you thought would be one, a demon drags you to his world and forces you to grow wings like he has so you would have to stay with him, unable to permanently return to Earth.

Notes: For those who asked for another part...I hope it lives up to any expectations. More parts to come now that i've fallen down this dark hole. Sorry it’s short.

Warnings: i'm sure there's cursing somewhere. Future smut. Oh, smut in this too. I forgot. Kind of captive-ish. idk. Sorry if I missed any. Oh, maybe a little emotional abuse? That's a pretty strong word for it though.

Words: 1364

Part 1

Part 2

He moaned so sweetly for such a massive man, as he slowly moved in and out of you, stretching, filling; his lips grazing across one cheek before nudging his nose against yours and kissing the opposite cheek. You’d tried to thrust your hips up harder to get him to fuck you faster, but all he’d done in response was place a giant hand on your hipbone to hold you in place so he could continue at the pace he preferred.

It was not a pace you were used to, and certainly not one you expected, but you hadn’t hated it. Eventually you succumbed to it, thrived in it, and when you managed to flip him over and sink all the way down his cock, you kept it slow. You’d liked to have thought his hands on your waist kept you from increasing speed, but they just rested on top of your skin, caressing, occasionally moving to your ass and squeezing or to your breast. Your movements were all your own.

“Beautiful,” he had whispered, eyes locked with yours. “Absolutely—”

You shot up at the sound of knocking on the door, instantly groaning at the ache of your healing back then rubbed at your sleepy eyes. There was more to be healed around where the wings had burst through your skin, but it was getting better, and you were finally getting used to the extra weight of them. 

He knocked again. Why he bothered to knock, you didn’t know. He certainly hadn’t bothered to ask you before he invaded your body with that poison, or whatever it was; neither did he when he took you from your world and brought you here.

Even though you didn’t answer, he eased the door open, which felt a little more in character. He’d have come in whether you wanted him to or not. You should’ve locked it, but then again, it’s not like that would’ve kept him out, not with his strength.

August held a small tray in his hands, covered with an assortment of foods that looked as if they were from Earth, but you could never really be sure. Just as you could never be sure if the view out your window was real, or if even he was real. There could be a monster under that beautiful mask, more physical than how you’d accused him before. His skin could be of an inhuman color, bones twisted and mangled, teeth razor sharp, with eyes black as pits. You hoped that wasn’t what you had let inside of your body nearly two weeks ago. You weren’t sure how you would stomach it.

The foods ranged from fat, green grapes to thin apple slices with cubes of cheese, to perfectly round plums and olives. All foods which you enjoyed…coincidentally; you hoped anyway. You were sick of the hints that he had more information on you than he had led you to believe.

You remembered the stories you read as a child about the Gods and Goddesses. The tale of Hades and Persephone always stuck in your mind. Some retellings had the young girl falling in love with her captor, choosing, by her own free will, to eat the food of his world in order to stay there with him. Maybe the food of this world wouldn’t condemn you to the same fate, but you weren’t about to risk it, stomach rumbling or not.  

“You need to eat,” He said as he sat the tray on the table beside your bed. “You haven’t in days, and you need to keep up your strength.”

You crossed your arms like a petulant child. “Not hungry,” You mumbled.

With a gentle smirk he said, “Yes you are, you little liar. I heard your stomach groaning from down the hall.” Then he nudged the tray a little closer. “So eat.”

“I have no intention to indulge in anything you have to give.”

“Well, you should get over it. You need food just as much now as you did before. You may not die, but you could be bedridden, a hollow husk, skin and bones. And not to say you wouldn’t still be beautiful, but I prefer you a little more—” His eyes dragged up and down your form “—plump, than that.

A wave of nausea rolled through you. You didn’t want to be anything he preferred ever again. “Don’t come in here and bring me food like you’re trying to play house.” He snorted but you continued. “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your wife. I’m not your toy. You brought me here for no good reason. You forced me through unimaginable pain. You ruined me!”

His face contorted harshly by the end of your words, eyebrows dipping in the center and corners of his mouth tipping down. “You think I wanted you to hurt!?” He shouted, and it shook the walls, actually shook them. A picture fell from its hook and smashed to the ground, scattering glass all over the marble flooring. “You think I don’t remember my own pain from the process? I hated hearing your screams! I wish I could’ve taken it all away, but it wasn’t possible!”

You stood from the bed then, shoving hard at his chest, but he didn’t stumble. “You could have left me alone!” You hit a fist against a boulder of a shoulder. “I’m not meant to be here! I don’t belong! I am human!”

He grabbed your hands and held them down, then pushed you until the backs of your knees hit the mattress and you had no choice but to sit, your wings spreading to fit behind you. He still gripped your wrists when he leaned his face closer and said, “You are meant to be with me. You are mine, and you couldn’t go back to your old life even if I let you. You are not human! This is your home now and I am all you have!”

“…I hate you.” You tried your hardest to maintain the glare in your stare-off, but a tinge of red was seeping into the blue of his eyes, like little veins slithering from the pupil and infecting the iris, and it called for you to back off, to stand down. You looked away from him and he took a breath.

“You will learn to love me,” He whispered. The words, hot from his breath, softly kissed your cheek before fading to coldness.

“You stole me—” You met his eyes to see all the red gone, just the mesmerizing ocean blue “—How could I ever love you? Why would I even bother to try?”

“Because what could you have possibly had on Earth that was so good--Nothing. I saved you,” He said then straightened to his full height. “I am the only one that loves you.”

You jerked your head back when he tried to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t currently holding your wrists captive. “You don’t love me. We only slept together once.”

“It was enough for me to confirm what I want.”

“What you want from me,” You corrected with a shake of your head. You knew he would take everything from you whether you willingly gave it or not. 

“What I want with you.”

“You’re insane...and sick!”

August chuckled and released you, but there was a warning in that chuckle, a threat in the way he let your hands free. He was being merciful—he wanted you to realize—and would have no problem easily putting you back in your place if you didn’t calm yourself. “I’m getting really sick of your mouth.”

“Yea, well maybe you took the wrong girl.”

He smirked again then crossed his arms, staring down at you, almost examining. “No, I didn’t,” was all he said before he turned to walk away. He paused right before the door and pointed a long finger at the tray of food. “Eat. And maybe by the time I come back you’ll have straightened out that attitude.”

Yea, right. You rolled your eyes as he slammed the door behind him. Not a chance in hell.

----

Tags: @meriamunnofrumerit​ @mis-lil-red​ @agniavateira​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @meganwinchester1999​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway​ @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @amberlokabrenna​ @a-dlv​ @writing-about-current-obsessions​ @coffeebreathy​ @madbaddic7ed​ @petitefirecracker10​ 

[chewiedon]

REGRET | TSUGIKUNI M.

the rq didn't go exactly how it was written, but I had no idea what they were supposed to talk about, taxes?

REQUEST: Y/N has been married to Michikatsu Tsugikuni for 5 years and has lived a happy life with her 2 children and husband. One day, her husband decides to leave all 3 of them behind to join the Demon Slayers, he deeply loved Y/N however his jealousy was far stronger, and thus 2 years pass. On a cold night Y/N sits at the top a cliff near her home, with her oldest child dead due to a monster that attacked their old home at night. She wonders how her husband is doing and amidst her thinking a demon approaches ready to attack. Michikatsu kills it and reveals that he had gone back just 2 months after to discover the house reeking of blood and both his wife and offspring missing, and that he had been searching for them. He offers Y/N his haori/kimono (??) in fear that she will grow cold and they just talk.

You and your family didn’t have much money, but you were happy nonetheless. Your husband was a hard worker that took care of his and yours child, everything was perfect. Another child was due in a few short months, and both you and your eldest were ecstatic. In your point of view, but there was a growing concern in your stomach that continued to plague you the growing days. Your husband, Michikatsu’s brows seemed more furrowed lately, and his training has been frighteningly more intense. At first you didn’t mind, you were glad he was improving on the things he was passionate about! Things only seemed to go downhill from there, to the point where he’d pass out for hours on end from exhausting himself too much.

The afternoon was surprisingly quiet, your toddler sat behind you while you folded clothes. You couldn’t help but eye your husband that laid on a futon that was in the other room. He ended up passing out again after training under the hot summer sun. Before you realized it, you were staring at his unconscious state. A gaze with increasing concern.

“Okaa-chan!” A squeaky voice interrupted your focus, “I’m hungry! Let’s have lunch soon!” The child that sat behind you tugged on the fabric of the kimono.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Yuki. I’ll get some lunch going for us then, what would you like to eat?” You smiled sweetly to the child, before quickly setting the sheet that was in your hands down onto the ground.

“Rice balls! Rice balls! Rice balls!” Yuki cheered behind you, dancing as she did so.

“Shhh, you don’t want to wake Otou-san do you? Let’s let him rest,” You reminded her with a sweet tone, your smile only grew as she put her hands over her mouth.

Soon, the afternoon had come to an end and the day had gotten darker that was accompanied by an evening chill. Yuki was munching on some leftover rice crackers that she had found, enjoying the evening before it got too cold on the engawa. Heavy but quiet footsteps were heard, turning around you were met with the intense eyes of your husband.

“Michikatsu, I’m glad you’re up now. I’ll get started on dinner soon,” You said, looking up to him with a gentle smile present on your face.

He gave you a small hum of agreement before watching you scurry off into the home, leaving him alone with Yuki. Unbeknownst to you, he had a massive burden on his shoulders that was eating at him. With a soft sigh, he took a look at his daughter who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“Yuki-chan, it’s time to come inside,” Michikatsu requested, his voice monotone and dull.

The girl let out a small hum before standing and dusting off her purple kimono, then heading inside, her father following behind the girl. You could be seen starting a fire on the clay furnace that was in the kitchen. The kitchen was hardly that though, it was a small room filled with wood and sticks and a furnace. You were spaced out while looking at the straw and wood that was burning, waiting for the water set above it to start boiling.

“(Y/N)?” A rough voice took your heads out of the clouds, turning your head to look over your shoulder meeting your husbands’ intense eyes once more. “Can I talk to you?” He added.

You let out a small hum, he squatted down to your height where you were crouched close to the floor. He grabbed your face, his fingers around your jawline which forced you to look at his face. You let out a small yelp of surprise when he yanked your face closer to his, the tips of your noses mere millimeters from touching.

“I have to talk to you, it’s important.” Michikatsu said, his voice strict and filled with reason. You couldn’t do anything but clench your jaw in anticipation.

Putting your hand around his wrist to support your weight, “What is it, is something wrong?”

“No, I’m going to leave soon. Final selection is going to start the day after tomorrow. I need to surpass my brother and join the Demon Slayer Corps.” His voice wasn’t as monotone, but took a more serious approach.

You let out a small hum, your brows furrowed in frustration. “So… You’re going to leave?” It was more of a rhetorical question, because you already knew the answer.

“Yes,” His voice and expression were unwavering as he stared deep into your eyes.

“Tomorrow?” You whispered with caution, you couldn’t deny the frustration that was bubbling inside your stomach.

He nodded, and you hummed back. His grip on your jaw loosened allowing you to move and continue with what you were doing before, your husband was leaving. You didn’t want to try and stop him, you respected his wishes to leave and the last thing you wanted to do was hold him back. But… What about you? You had Yuki to take care of and you lived about an hours’ walk away from the closest village. Not to mention you were 3 months expecting another one of Michikatsu’s children. The extra workload seemed stressful, but you should be able to adjust smoothly. Demon slayers make good money if you can do it right, but money shouldn’t come at the risk of your husband's life. Not that he was doing this for money, he was doing it so he could surpass his brother, you decided to respect his wishes. You kept quiet and served him and Yuki dinner, and Michikatsu told the petite girl while she chewed on her wooden spoon.

“Eh? Go away? Where? How long?” Her eyebrow creased, tears swelling in her eyes. Yuki then started to sniffle and rubbed her eyes before her father could answer her, “I don’t want you to leave! It’s no fair!” She claimed.

“I don’t know how long it will be, but I promise to visit when I can. This is really important to me, Yuki.” He paused and waited until Yuki looked at him, “I need you to take care of your mom for me? Can I count on you?”

“Yeah… Yeah,” She was still a sobbing mess, all you could do was smile at the two.

But, why now? Why not a week prior so he could help prepare for you and your daughter instead of just leaving you high and dry. You knew as his wife it was your duty to support him, but you couldn’t help but feel a little negative.

And you had every right to.

How long ago was that? One, maybe two years ago?

You depended on Michikatsu to protect you if something like this were to happen, even though he had no way of doing so. How would he know this would happen? It’s not his fault… So why when your life flashed before your eyes you held on to your vision of Michikatsu.

There was blood, so much blood. You woke up to the blood curdling scream of your eldest daughter, a demon had sunk its teeth into her neck. You shook, and you ran. You grabbed your youngest who cried in fear from the fresh blood of his sister that was on your face.

“Hah? You think you’re going somewhere?!” It sneered at you, dropping Yuki’s lifeless body on the floor as if she was some kind of dog toy. You had your son tucked into your chest and ran as fast as your legs could manage, this unknown adrenaline kicking into your body. It only lasted so long, tripping over a larger rock and falling on your side. You felt a searing tear of the flesh in your leg, the burning sensation of the skin being ripped open. You screamed, hoping some Godsend creature would come and rescue you. Another rush of adrenaline had kicked in as you kicked the monster away with all your might, and the chase had begun once again. You forced your legs to move, you subsided all pain and resisted the urge to limp. Tears made way to your face as you had begun to cry out of fear that this demon would end up taking you and your sons’ life away. Running through the woods, no shoes or socks, you prayed. You prayed for your husband to come back before you died, you’d do anything to see his intense eyes again.

Michikatsu, why did he have to leave? No, it’s not his fault because he didn’t want to live his life in a small shack that stunk of breastmilk. He wanted to live his life. You can respect that, but not now. Your lungs began to become sore, and every part of your body felt like it was on fire. How long have you been running? Is the demon still behind you? You knew if you slowed down or stopped running you probably wouldn’t be able to start running again, you were finally out of the woods and into a big clearing. Long grass that was up to your hips bathed your figure. Your legs went from a sprint to a walk, then crashing onto the floor. Your child’s cries rang in your ears as you tried to soothe it between heavy breaths, you laid on the ground with him in your arms trying to muffle his cries with your chest. You couldn’t hear anything but the now muffled and softer cries of the child, and your own heavy breaths. Your lungs were still on fire, and your body fell completely limp. Your eyelids were beyond heavy, the stinging in your leg pulsing with more pain by the second. Your entire being was numbed from the exhaustion.

Everything was hopeless at this point, you were going to die here from blood loss or that demon is going to come and kill you both. You couldn’t go and get help, and your son was way too young to do anything like that safely.

“(Y/N)?! (Y/N)!” At this point you refused to believe your ears, you lifted your head above the grass to see a tall figure yelling out your name.

Hope swelled in your chest, as you began to recognize that tone more and more. He came. He came back. Michikatsu came back!

“Michi-” You weren’t able to speak or move as a pulse of pain spread throughout your entire body.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)! Where are you?” You raised your hand, it shook in the air as your husband ran to your limp body.

The first thing he did was hold your face to his, touching his cheeks to yours making sure you were real. He held you tightly, but not enough to hurt you.

“Is he okay? Where’s Yuki?” He lifted his head as if to look around you for the small girl.

Grief swelled in your chest, “Gone, the demon got her… I’m so sorry.” Was all you could manage to say, warm tears made their way freely down your cheeks. You whispered bitter apologies over and over to him.

He hummed, stroking the side of your face, “It’s okay, you’re alright and that’s all we need,”

He wrapped his haori around your shoulders once he noticed your shaking. Burying the remains of your eldest daughter was hard, but the hardest part was cleaning out her room where her blood stained the wooden floors. Michikatsu stayed and soothed you the entire time you were crying as you scrubbed her liquids out of the wood. He didn’t know what to do except pat your back and tell you it was going to be okay.

And that’s all you really needed.

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  6.4

"What did you mean when you said they didn't escape?"  You had noticed Xiao's eyes never left the bird when he spoke to you, and finally realized the stupid piece of scrap metal was more than a knocking device.  When it had hopped to the other end of the hall you decided to take a shot and ask Xiao again.

"I meant exactly what I said," his eyes finally met yours.

"W-What? But--"  Movement near his legs attracted your attention and you saw that he was drawing letters on the tile's surface with the pad of his finger.  You watched him intently.

"All is not as it seems."

"Hm?"  Your brain hurt just trying to decipher it's meaning.  He gave you a final warning look before facing straight ahead again.

"Food."  A Fatui agent slid your tray beneath the door.  He glanced at the yaksha, but walked away without saying anything else.

You dragged the tray over so that it sat in front of the two of you.  "Would you like to eat something?"

"You know I can't stomach human food."  He pushed the tray over to you.  It was then that he noticed just how hollow your cheeks were, and the way your collarbones stuck out from your chest.  "Eat."

"I'll pass."  You watched his eyes narrow at you.

"Eat."  This time he shifted so he was facing you head-on.  "There's no point in starving yourself here."

"They can't achieve their agenda if I'm dead."

"They already have your blood samples.  They won't care if you die as long as they have me. So eat."

"But you could just break out of here if I die!"  You had only meant the words as a half-joke, but your vision was obscured by tears.  "I-if I die on my own accord, you won't have to worry about hurting me.  That's why you haven't done it, right?  That's why you haven't broken the seal, because you don't want another person's blood on your hands?"

Xiao observed you carefully before releasing a sigh.  His eyes cast downward and landed on his gloves, overturning his hands as he envisioned them coated in the blood of his comrades and enemies alike.  "Do you truly no longer care for your own life?"

"I'd rather die at my own hands than let them kill me."

"What about returning to Qingce Village?  Or seeing the Lantern Rite?"  He raised his gaze to you again.  "You were looking forward to that as far as I remember."

"It's like Childe said," you mumbled.  "There's no future even if we both escape."

"Childe?" His eyes narrowed and his voice was tinged with anger.  "Don't believe the things he's told you.  He's--"

"Why? He's right about this," you choked out.  "Even if we get out, they'll always chase after us...we can't hide forever, and..."  I'll always be chasing after the love of an adeptus.  

"There's no need to fear such things." Xiao eyed you carefully before scooting closer to you so that your knees were touching his.  He gingerly placed a hand at the nape of your neck and pulled you close.  His thumb gently rubbed against your skin.

"Heh," a small chuckle left your lips and caught the adeptus off guard.  

"What?"

"It's just...You did this before."  A warm smile crossed your lips, and Xiao frowned slightly at the myriad expressions you kept making.  He couldn't keep up with your feelings; you switched between them so fast.

You're still this strange after all this torment?  He was about to make the comment when you grabbed the hand that sat atop your neck and brought it forward.  Your gaze dropped as you enveloped his hand with the two of yours, stroking the plate that encased the top of his glove.  

Sooner or later, I'm going to die and it'll probably be in this cursed cell.  But...I can't say I'm ungrateful for the moments I've known Xiao or for his rescuing of me when I was a child.  It's a privilege to know him...but he will forget about me sooner or later, just as Childe said.  But even still, I can't help but...

Your touch was so...gentle.  Soft, even.  Xiao short-circuited and froze as he contemplated the gesture. What was its meaning? No one had ever done this with him before.  It was weird.  Too weird.  "Your body requires nutrition to function.  So eat it."  Xiao abruptly pulled his hand out of your grasp and handed you the tray of food.

When all you did was stare at the tray with a conflicted expression, the yaksha sighed in annoyance and grabbed the spoon.  He scooped up some of the rice and held it out to you.  Your blushing reaction wasn't what he expected.  "T-this is too embarrassing!"  You covered your face with your hands and shook your head.

"If you won't eat, I'll force you to."

"EH?!"  You peeked out from behind your fingers and saw that he was completely serious on doing what he said.  "F-fine."  You took the spoon from his hand and hesitantly brought it to your mouth, mindful that he was intent on watching you until you finished the plate.

........................................................

"Xiao!" You sprung up into a sitting position and gasped for a breath of air.  

"It's been some time since I've seen you awaken from a nightmare."  Xiao scooted a little closer to you and noticed there were tears brimming your eyes.

"I thought I--"  Your cheeks suddenly dampened from the onslaught of tears.  Your throat clenched up as you recalled the horrific dream.

"You're alive and here."

"No," you shook your head.  "I-I thought..."  Your exhausted body gently slid back onto the floor as your eyes fought hard to remain open.  "I thought you..."

I thought I lost you, your tired inner voice reached his ears.  Xiao watched you slide your hand toward him as you fell back asleep, almost as if keeping it near him somehow gave you comfort.  Your eyelids finally closed, and he continued to stare at your outstretched bony hand that rested atop the tile floor.  He's here, thank the archons he's right here, your unconscious thoughts continued to flow into him.  ...right...here...

Xiao wasn't sure how much time passed as he continued to watch you sleep.  His eyes always returned to your hand, following its outlines and grooves, from the tips of your fingers to your wrist.  She's been holding back on praying to me this entire week, yet she holds fear of losing a yaksha?  Xiao furrowed his brows as he contemplated your thoughts.  Why is a human so worried about my wellbeing?  Her and Aether both. He shook his head in an effort to rid his mind of what was probably some sort of human compassion for you.  Humans are difficult to comprehend, he dismissed.

Your eyes opened slightly to look at him, and he noticed.  You weren't awake, but your eyes glowed nevertheless as his inner turmoil somehow found its way into the depths of your mind. 'Perhaps you face and accept what is in your heart...and you will understand the meaning of my words.' Zhongli's advice was brought to the forefront of Xiao's mind as he watched your eyelids close again.

I hate this, the yaksha grumbled to himself.  A small sigh left his lips, and his gaze fell to your outstretched hand once more.  He had a feeling that this past week would have a lasting effect on you, and you probably wouldn't be the same person after the two of you escape this hell.  Something inside you was slowly breaking; he felt the despair and desperation in your daily prayers to him.  It reminded him of himself so many centuries ago.

'You best be sure to share them before they fall on the ears of an early grave.'  The yaksha rolled his eyes as he remembered another one of Zhongli's lines.  But...he's not wrong.  His agreement with the archon's words was already a big enough struggle; he couldn't imagine actually acknowledging and accepting his own feelings.  He continued to watch you, his expression hardening as he fell deeper into his thoughts.  Human minds are fragile.  She could break and come out stronger; she could break and become like me, or...she'll shatter completely.  My feelings may not reach her if the latter happens.

After thinking this and continuing the internal struggle for a bit longer, he finally placed his hand beside yours, fingertips barely touching fingertips.

..........................................

Xiao glared at the handcuffs that restrained him when he caught sight of the exact same seal that prevented him from breaking out of his cell.  The harbingers must've done a lot of research in order to obtain him.  He was forced to walk behind you after being blindfolded.

Unlike him, you were allowed to see where you were walking.  Apparently Dottore had thought of you more as a pest than a serious threat.  Not that you were offended, though; you were a pest without a vision.  Fighting was useless, and your only chance of escape was crushed in the damned Tsaritsa's hands.  Now that Xiao was here, it was your priority to get him to escape while he could.

'Out there, you will not survive.' Childe's words ringed in your ears much like a mosquito.

Speaking of which, here was the man himself, in the middle of Dottore's arena and accompanied by another harbinger you had seen in the Tsaritsa's throne room several days ago.  He was much shorter than Childe, more around your and Xiao's height.  He wore a strange outfit too, with the likes of an umbrella for a hat and shorts of all things in a literal winter wonderland.  You had the guts to stifle a laugh, and he glared harshly at you.

"You're walking just fine after being injected so much," Dottore held a strange grin and nodded to himself.  "Just as the Tsaritsa thought; healing abilities would be drastically increased along with the lifespan of the human in question.  Interesting.  Now then!"  He clapped his hands and signaled for the guards to halt your and Xiao's movements.  They finally removed the cloth from around his eyes.

"This here is the sixth harbinger, Scaramouche," greeted Childe.  Even he seemed to find amusement in his co-worker's height, a rare glint of joy in his eyes that quickly darkened when Scaramouche caught onto the glee in his voice.

"He will be in charge of testing your fighting capabilities," Dottore answered your confused expression with a thin smile.

"Fighting capabilities?"  The guard unclasped the cuffs around your wrists.  "I don't--"

"Another lie!" Dottore rolled his eyes and scoffed.  "Childe reported you fight much like this yaksha, correct?"  The harbinger nodded in confirmation.  "Now I sincerely doubt an amateur such as yourself would be able to wield a lance so proficiently when all you were learning to wield was a sword."  He nodded to Scaramouche.

"I'll break her in," he spoke almost to himself, and tossed you a metal staff that hung from a rack of weapons to the left of the arena.

The guards escorted Xiao to the right of the room, and Childe joined him.  He leaned down slightly and placed a firm grip on the yaksha's shoulder.  "My orders are to kill you if you try anything."

I sincerely doubt you could, Xiao thought to himself as he watched you catch the staff.  Your worried inward voice reached his ears, and he met your gaze without nodding.  This is...wrong, he watched Scaramouche assume a fighting stance.

"Fight me," the harbinger ordered.

Xiao?  Your eyes met the yaksha's, and much to your dismay, his expression was unreadable.  You didn't want to fight anyone if it were for the sake of this sickening research.  Your stare fell to the metal in your hands as you absently stroked it.

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" The harbinger spat out.  "Follow my orders."

You dared to look up at the harbinger and in an act of defiance, struck one end of the metal polearm onto the tile floor.  The ringing accentuated your now-glowing eyes.  "No."

"'No?'"  A light scoff escaped his curled lips.  

Childe's grip on Xiao's shoulder tightened immensely.  "She's made quite the mistake this time," he whistled.  Even the guards tightened their hold on the yaksha in preparation for what's to come.

"No," you repeated in a firm tone.  Your irises shone brighter.  "I don't want to."

"You don't want to?" Something snapped in the harbinger, and he threw himself at you with a catalyst in his hand.  A bolt of electricity hit the staff as you attempted to block his advance, and it instantly jarred your bones.

"Urk!"  Your back collided into the back wall of the arena.  Your body fell to its knees, your limbs violently twitching from his attack.  Xiao was also struggling a bit, but he breathed through the pain.  After all, he could handle more pain than your mortal body ever could.  "Hah.."  You started to get up even though your legs shook like jelly.

"I didn't say you could get up!" Scaramouche landed a hard kick to your stomach, and your head hit the wall again.  When you caught a glimpse of his face, it terrified you.  His eyes were pure malice, pure insanity.  They were cruel, and much more than Childe's ever were. The disregard for human life was on par with Dottore's.  Scaramouche yanked you to your feet by the collar of your shirt and slammed you into the wall again with a hand at your throat.  "When I give you an order, you follow it. Now do what you're told."

He backed off of you and let you pick the staff up again.  You wiped the blood away from the corner of your mouth and snuck a gaze at Xiao, remembering that he was feeling the exact pain you were.  Do I fight him? Your eyes wavered with conflict as you glanced back and forth between the harbinger and the yaksha.

This feels wrong, Xiao's conflicted thoughts plagued his decision of answering your question with a nod or  shake of the head.  I can't ask her to fight like this, but I can't ask that she avoid it either.  Both conclude with us battered and beaten--wait.  His brows furrowed at you.  Is she...trying to protect me?  Again?  A yaksha, who's known nothing but pain and death and can come out unscathed?  She's prioritizing me over her mortal self?  

Your gaze had long since removed itself from the yaksha, and you eyed the harbinger carefully while you twirled the polearm in your hands.  This man intentionally chose a pure metal object as my weapon so he could just electrocute me whenever he wanted.  Your shoulders shrunk back at this as you realized the true intents behind this 'exercise.'  One, to torture.  Two, to see if they can make you snap and prove their theories right.

You sure as hell weren't going to let them push you around if it was going to hurt Xiao.

................................

Coming up:  Attempted escape.  A couple more Xiao x reader moments ;)

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Ballad of Bounty Hunters & Outlaws

Wild West LOZ AU

I’m slowing down one of my AUs and apparently moving onto another one already. Will I make a bunch of disjointed oneshots and inevitably put them on ao3? Yeah, probably.

I stole this AU from @kajuelle :)

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

There was a moment where Zelda had thought of herself as smart.

A bright mind that was intelligent enough to memorize his routine from hearing alone. Within a week, she had fine-tuned the man’s schedule down to the minute. She supposed it was odd that he waited a half hour before dawn to relieve himself, even stranger that it sometimes came down to the minute until she heard the sound of scraping boots against wood as he brought himself to a stand outside her inn room’s door. A slight grunt when he stretched and then clicking spurs down the hall.

But she wasn’t about to complain. That morning was the perfect opportunity.

The outhouse was the opposite direction from the stables and her execution was flawless.

Now that confidence was a well running dry very quickly. Zelda’s fervent kicks to her horse’s ribs did little to recover the distance her pursuers were stealing. Panic led her to do things that blue-eyed hick will kill her over; among those reasons was the clear indecision in her steering, causing her fright to bleed over to the horse. That only led to Zelda frantically glancing over her shoulder to see a barrel pointing right at her.

She opened her mouth to scream but it stuck in her throat as her body went airborne.

The ground met her quickly and she rolled several times before coming to a stop. Coming to her knees was an athletic feat, the Earth refused to stay still and by the time she achieved it a short nudge of a boot toppled her back to the dirt.

“Well, ain’t that a cryin’ shame,” a monotone voice talked down to her. She knew who it was from the saloon the night before. Link had directed her away rather quickly under the pretense that they hadn’t been seen, but evidently he was wrong. The eye-patched man didn’t look remotely as forlorn as his words were. “Was sorta hopin’ you’d give us a better chase there, missy.”

That woman with him was suddenly flanking her with a constantly swiveling head as if she has a crick in her neck.

“Come on, Lead. Let’s just-let’s just get it over with real quick like.”

Then Zelda realized she was loading her sawed-off shotgun when it clicked loudly into place.

“He wants her kickin’. That’s the whole reason I came with you because I knew you’d conveniently forget.”

“You shoulda sent Scout, then!” the woman glowered, raising and dropping her hands with an irate speed.

Lead shot her a glare. “Scout woulda fucked it up someway somehow,” he motioned towards Zelda with an empty hand, already walking away to gather the horses. “’sides he should be at the station right now. Load ‘er up and let’s get out of here before we lose daylight.”

Zelda tried kicking the bandit’s hands off her, but her grip on her ankle was like steel.

“Get the fuck off of me!”

“Oh my, little miss princess has got a mouth on her,” she drawled with a lazy grin until it steeply dropped, “She better shut that shit real quick before I lose my patience.”

Zelda shouted obscenities at the woman when her foot alone flipped her over and pressed sharply down on her spine as she untangled some rope. The binds dug brutally into the thin skin of Zelda’s wrists no matter how she thrashed.

Regret bit heavily, especially when the reality of her fall was found in dull aches that were only worsening as the adrenaline ebbed away. Neither of the bounty hunteres were answering her screaming questions until eventually a bandana was forcefully stuffed into her mouth.

She fucked up. Royally.

The woman cackled with something wedged between her teeth.

“Your daddy’s bout to be a sorry sonovabitch.”

The man named Lead busied himself with a lighter, attempts digging himself further into frustration before the clean cut of gunfire sent his hat to his feet. It fluttered to the ground, just at Zelda’s eyelevel.

“Shit,” he hissed, ducking to the dilapidated fence that had stopped Zelda’s horse minutes earlier. “Shit, shit, shit – Turette get down!”

Turette paused mid-tie to pop her head above the horse’s flank. Another shot rang out, promptly spooking it. Once the animal had dashed off, Turette man-handled Zelda into a stand only to push her behind the barrier Lead was at. Green eyes widened as the world turned side-ways once more with the slight glimpse of a galloping horse closing in on them.

Her captors were already positioned with their backs to the rotting wood. The wild look in Turette’s eyes was a stark contrast to Lead’s darkened expression – she seemed almost excited while he bit down on his back molars and twisted around to steady his rifle’s sight. The man barely reeled back from the recoil, flinching quickly when the reaction was splintering wood just above Zelda’s head.

Suddenly, Lead shouted, “Did you tip him off?!”

Turette balked, “Why’re you asking me that? Ask her!”

Both pairs of eyes met Zelda with a ferocity. There was nothing she could say because it was impossible that whoever was on the other end of the gunfight was an ally of hers. Zelda had very few and the ones she trusted had no knowledge of her whereabouts. Perhaps if she hadn’t gone out of her way to abandon the man her father hired to protect her, she wouldn’t be in this position. But he was miles from here and with Zelda’s careful escape there was nothing to go off in finding her.

Zelda aggressively shrugged her shoulders and tried her best to mirror their anger. She didn’t owe them a damn thing.

The distant sounds of a horse weren’t so far off now. Its galloping had slowed to an abrupt stop. Lead and Turette shared a glance as the rider dismounted, noisily making a show of patting his panting horse.

“I knew you two were a cowardly lot, but couldn’t we have done this a little closer to town?”

The lazy arrogance made Zelda jolt. Turette locked eyes with her quickly and the click of a decision was made. If not for the gag, she would have gasped at how roughly the woman brought her to a stand. The cold double barrel of a shotgun pressed painfully underneath Zelda’s chin, forcing her head to tilt back.

Another gun was trained on them only a few feet away, except now Link let his aim droop. A red bandana was tied just above his nose to keep the dust at bay. The eyes just under the brim of his hat narrowed.

“I wouldn’t be so liberal with that gun there if I were you, sharp-shooter,” Turette spat, increasing her grip on Zelda for emphasis. “Unless the missus doesn’t need ‘er neck.”

Slowly, he let the revolver fall to his side and a quick yank to the bandana revealed an easy smile.

“Let’s not be too hasty, now,” he spoke gently. “We’re sensible folk. Seems to me that you’ve got something I want and I’ve got something you want.”

With his rifle at his side, Lead positioned himself beside them.

“Mister Lincoln, you know the only thing I want is your body in a bag.”

Link nodded as if that were gospel truth.

“Yeah, well, ya have to understand why I can’t make follow through with that. I was thinkin’ along the lines of what you don’t want,” he gestured at Zelda, “That’s Bosphoramus’s girl. His only little girl. I highly doubt that your attempts at getting to me is worth that old man’s anger.”

Turette cackled and in a sing song voice cut in, “Oh, Link! You really don’t think we know that? It don’t matter who her daddy is, what matters is the pretty penny on her head.”

A piercing glare from Lead cut her laughter short. Link traded his sights on them, the smile wiped completely.

“Who’s got a contract out for her?”

Neither of them resigned to answer, at least not immediately.

He repeated himself more pointedly, “Lead, who called in a contract for Zelda Bosphoramus?”

“It’s a private contract and I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands like that, outlaw.”

Lead gripped Zelda’s forearm and ripped her away from Turette.

“Make a move and she gets it,” he demanded, already pushing Zelda towards the remaining horse. She yelped against the gag, almost tripping on air. Lead motioned to Turette. “Disarm him and take his horse. The train leaves in less than an hour.”

Zelda resisted but he was stronger than Turette, basically lifting her from the ground. She let out a muffled scream and desperately writhed against his grip on her. Over his shoulder, she watched as Turette reached for his pistol only for Link to twist the weapon around and thwack it across her crown.

She let out a strangled noise, hands scrambling to console the pain bursting from her bleeding head. Link pushed her aside.

Lead hadn’t turned around by the time Link pressed the gun to his temple. The movements were so swift that she hadn’t seen his forearm wrap around the bounty hunter’s neck to drag him down to Link’s height.

“Come on, you know what to do,” Link murmured.

Anger boiled red in Lead’s face, but he did as was told and dropped his arms. Zelda’s feet met the ground, off kilter and stumbling. Turette was still crying out behind them with her shotgun buried in the dirt.

“Now,” Link sneered, spinning Lead around to talk to both bounty hunters. “I’m gonna give y’all the opportunity to get the fuck out of here on two conditions: take that ‘private contact’ off the board and tell whoever put it up that he answers to me.”

The rifle skidded across the dirt. Turette was manically nodding and stumbled to Lead’s horse with bloody hands. The other simply glowered when Link pushed him away, persuaded only by the barrel trained on him.

“You’re scum.”

“Goes both ways, Guardian.”

They left without much fanfare. Link kept his eyes on them until the distance was to his satisfaction. Zelda had taken a seat staring at the ground, hands to bound tightly when he turned to her. She’d seen him angry before, but nothing was schooled in his expression now. He breathed in loudly and took his hat from his head to rake a hand through his hair.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Every word was emphasized as if it were a question that had been on his mind for hours.

Zelda winced as he cut the rope and unthreaded it from her wrists.

“You’re damn lucky I busted that door down,” he exasperated with a shaking head. “You better thank your lucky stars and Hylia Herself that I even thought to check in on you! I knew it was strange that you were so tired all week. I knew something was up, but I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. You might hate me plenty but those people don’t give a damn about your well-being. Why, I’m surprised you aren’t in a ditch by now.”

He rounded her and crouched to remove to gag, but Zelda had beaten him. She couldn’t pinpoint when her eyes betrayed her. Her vision went watery, but it was too late to hide it. Link had stilled, his mouth open to berate her further yet nothing came out.

“I’m sorry!” she shouted, her voice fragmented. Her brow knitted, both from his provocation and the shock of almost dying. A gun had been to her neck. Zelda had seen the insanity in that woman’s eyes, the excitement to see violence from a loaded gun. She had felt that.

She repeated the apology and curled up into herself. Link was obviously hesitant to do anything. Neither of them could recall a moment where she apologized to him for anything. There was no amount of guilt that could have made her regret her attempts to drive him away. Zelda’s cruelty had simply been a means to an end until now.

Despite her ugly sniffling, he didn’t walk away. Link sat beside her, occasionally placing his hand on her back or brushing strands of escaped hair from her face. Even after she collected what was left of herself, he said very little and deigned only to guide her onto Epona’s saddle. The rest of the ride consisted of collecting her spooked mount and traveling back to the inn.

Much of their silence consisted of an amalgamation of thoughts about how Zelda Bosphoramus might actually need that blue-eyed hick.

[wanderinginksplot]

Just for Kix

Previous | Masterlist

Vent

"Hey, look who finally decided to show up!" a friendly voice called out as Kix walked into the GAR's main medbay.

"Curl, you di'kut, there's no one else here," Kix complained, though the grin on his face took the sting out of the insult he tossed to his fellow medic.

"Yeah, but the others are on their way," Curl said defensively, gripping Kix's forearm in greeting. Kix squeezed Curl's 104th-gray vambrace in return before helping to gather some of the medbay's most comfortable chairs.

'The others' were the other medics of various battalions. Every few months, the GAR brought some of the older medics back to Coruscant to be recertified. This class was going to be great or terrible, Kix hadn't decided. With some of the brothers he heard were scheduled to be here, it could go either way, but it was sure to be memorable.

Still, it would be good to see everyone again. They had decided to meet here as soon as everyone's transports arrived. Classes didn't start until the next morning, but everyone needed a chance to complain about the idiots they were in charge of.

"Are all the transports here?" Kix asked.

Curl started to say something, but he was cut off by heavy footsteps approaching the medbay door. A large trooper stepped in, his sheer size and the weight of his heavy muscle making the floor reverberate a little with every step. His armor, altered to fit his increased muscle mass, was painted with swirls of 327th yellow.

When he caught sight of them, he bobbed his head and removed his helmet. "Kix, Curl," he said in greeting, his low voice rumbling through the room like thunder.

"Limit," Kix returned.

"Well, if it isn't the most popular medic in the GAR," Curl joked, beaming at the man. "Heard you couldn't keep the females away last time you were at 79's, vod."

Limit's face flushed. "Stop it, Cu- Curl. I get enough of that from my- my own men."

"Leave him alone," Kix chided, shoving at Curl's shoulder. "Keep it up and I'll tell Wolffe you were bullying Limit."

Curl was irreverent, but Kix thought that threatening to go to his commanding officer would make him back off - especially with a CO as ill-tempered as Wolffe. Curl seemed unphased, however.

"Oh, yeah?" Curl challenged. "Maybe I'll tell him you were messing with Limit. He's still mad at you for joking about his cybernetic eye."

"You j-joked about Commander Wolffe's eye?" Limit asked, looking shocked and a bit horrified.

Kix felt an uncharacteristic surge of guilt. Limit was everyone's favorite brother. Disappointing him was like hitting a youngling.

"You didn't have to see how bad it was, Limit!" he defended. "I was scraping black goo out of it. He's lucky it didn't catch fire, and Curl is lucky he didn't have to deal with it!"

"Yeah, but I had to treat your general that one time," Curl tossed back.

"And I'm sure it was terrible for you," Kix said dryly.

The one time General Skywalker had been injured and admitted he needed a medic, Curl had been the one to treat him. Kix had spent his entire career dragging his general into the medbay for every injury, but Skywalker came and asked Curl to all but perform a battlefield surgery!

Curl had been insufferable after that.

"You know better than to make fun of someone who came to you- to you for treatment, Kix," Limit told him, deep voice saddened.

"Yeah, Kix," Curl gloated, beaming from behind Limit's impossibly broad shoulder.

"Come over here, Curl," Kix invited. "I want to show you this new method of spinal adjustment I learned. Only a mild chance of paralysis."

The door opened once again, this time admitting a trooper who wore Coruscant Guard crimson even out of uniform.

"Wow, Ink," Curl commented. "Didn't even bother to dress up, huh?"

"Got off duty an hour ago," Ink grunted. "Didn't want to be in my armor longer than I had to."

True enough, the trooper wore a crimson shirt with sleeves that barely reached his elbows. Wearing civvies to a medic meeting, even one that wasn't GAR-official, was a bold move. Everyone's civilian clothing was open to mocking, and Ink was no exception.

Of course, Curl didn't limit himself to Ink's clothing.

"What happened to your arms, vod?" he asked, seeming to fight a grin.

Ink was known among troopers for his tattoos. Intricate, Mandalorian-inspired patterns traced along the entirety of his back, shoulders, and arms. Ink had been expanding the maze of tattoos lately, and they had now spread down his forearms almost to his wrists. Of course, Curl was probably talking about the spots where messy splotches of color filled the precise outlines of the pattern.

At Curl's question, Ink glanced down at his forearms and shrugged. "The Guard had to investigate a fire on one of the lower levels. There were some younglings there."

He said it like it was a full explanation and - from him - it was. Ink melted around younglings of every species, despite how much he scared their parents.

Kix hid a smile of his own. "How's life with the Corrie Guard treating you?"

"He shou-should be the one doing the treating," Limit joked.

"Hilarious," Ink deadpanned. "Guard life is good. Treated a sprained ankle last week. Di'kut jumped down a level and a half without a jetpack."

"Hey, you know the rules," Curl objected. "No med talk until everyone is here."

"Who are we waiting on?" Kix asked.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyyy!" Shatter cheered, bursting through the door like he had been waiting for an introduction. Sprain followed close behind, throwing his arms outward like he was accepting applause.

"You didn't start without us, did you?" Sprain asked when Shatter finally paused to breathe.

"Just a short story about Wolffe," Limit admitted, looking guilty. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, Limit," Shatter forgave easily, gripping Limit's forearm in a quick warrior's greeting.

"Besides, we've all heard about Wolffe's eye," Sprain added. "Kix has been complaining about it for months."

"Was I supposed to stop?" Kix asked, mildly affronted. "I can still smell it!"

"Gross," Ink contributed.

"Gross? I'm gonna assume you're talking about that sad excuse for civvies," Shatter jabbed. "I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but it looks like something a Weequay would wear."

Ink snorted. "At least they didn't run out of dye for my shirt like they did with your hair."

Everyone else in the room chuckled at that - except Sprain, who had a single streak of dye up the back of his hair to match his brother. Shatter's was 212th gold, of course, while Sprain's was 41st Elite Corps green.

"I would be more offended by that if we weren't talking to the unanimously-voted best medic in the GAR," Sprain said, grinning.

"Is it true you actually got Fox to sleep more than five hours straight?" Shatter asked.

Kix perked up. This was new information… Fox was infamous for his lack of regular sleep, and infamously stubborn when it came to setting professional limits for sake of his health.

Ink leaned back in his chair and crossed his color-swatched arms over his chest. "I can neither confirm nor deny that story. Medic-patient privilege."

"C'mon, Ink," Curl wheedled. "No one's ever gotten Fox to sleep that long, especially not an almost-shiny like you."

Ink shot a glare in Curl's direction.

"However you d-did it, good job," Limit congratulated sincerely. "The Commander needs to take better care of- care of himself."

"We're here to learn new stuff to use on the field, right?" Kix mused slowly. "Well, I have a general who likes to avoid sleep. Can you give me some tips, Ink?"

Curl snorted. "Maybe another medic just has to ask."

Sprain, having heard the Curl-treating-Skywalker story before, just elbowed Curl. "Yeah, Ink, help Kix out. Of course, I don't need any help at all, since General Unduli believes in living a life of balance..."

"Shut up, Sprain," Shatter told his brother. "We get it; your general actually takes care of herself. Ink, if the circles under Kenobi's eyes get any darker, I'm going to get called in for dereliction of duty. Help a vod avoid a court-martial, would you?"

Ink sighed. "I can't be specific, but… did you know that certain Coruscant businesses will package unflavored protein powder in stim packages?"

Shouts of laughter greeted his carefully worded advice.

"Is that ethical?" Limit asked, sounding a bit troubled by the idea of deceiving a patient.

With a shrug, Ink told him, "More ethical than letting the Head Commander catch a plasma bolt in his shebs because he's too tired to function when his overlapping stims wear off."

Limit still looked doubtful, but Kix made a mental note of the trick. The general and commander didn't use stims except in dire circumstances - claiming that the Force sustained them - but the captain was known to be more reliant on non-sleep methods than Kix would prefer. And don't even get him started on Fives and Echo. When the ARCs were attached to the 501st, Kix could feel his heart working overtime.

"Speaking of catching a bolt, is it true you threatened to shoot one of your troopers, Curl?" Kix asked, relishing the looks of shock on the faces of the other medics. He had waited until everyone was present to drop that particular bit of news.

Curl looked surprised, for once. "How did you hear about that?"

"I have my ways," Kix said mysteriously. It paid to be friends with officers from other battalions, and his friendship with Sinker had proven it on multiple occasions.

Looking murderous, Limit drew himself up to full height. "You what?"

Curl knew when to get out of the line of fire and took a few steps away from the mass of muscle that was Limit. "It's not as bad as it sounds! Some of the members of the Wolfpack were experimenting with their jetpacks. I overheard a plan to drop a trooper from cruising altitude and have the other men catch him on the way down. I told them that they wouldn't have to worry about the enemy if they tried it."

Shatter blew out a breath. "Your battalion is something else, Curl."

That was the general consensus, if the nods and grunts around the room were any sign.

"So? Am I forgiven, Limit?" Curl asked, his eyes dancing.

Limit clenched his jaw. "I just don't think there is any- any cause to threaten one of your own troopers. Their safety is your concern, and they get enough threats from outsiders."

Sprain looked curious. "And what do you do when one of your troopers refuses to consider his own safety?"

"I talk to him," Limit answered simply. "Last miss- mission, Lieutenant Galle tried to hide an injury from me. When I found out about it, I treated- treated him and we had a talk about the responsibility of command and the importance of being at your- at your best when the lives of your vode are at risk."

"How did he take that talk?" Kix asked. Galle was notoriously stubborn and took criticism extremely poorly.

"He cried and admitted that I was right."

Surprised laughter met that pronouncement.

"Psychological warfare is the worst kind," Ink told him. "I'd rather someone just shoot at me."

"You don't mean that," Curl said, though his voice made it a question.

Shatter raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather get shot at or have Limit tell you that your life choices were bad?"

With a long look in Limit's direction, Sprain shrugged. "I'd go under fire any day."

"And I sup-suppose you all just threaten your men?"

"Sometimes, you can bribe them instead," Curl countered, keeping a steady distance between Limit and himself.

Any attempt at coherent conversation disintegrated from there, as the medics fell into arguments about the best way to handle stubborn patients. Kix fought a grin as he listened to them all. With medics like these fighting for the Republic, the CIS didn't stand a chance.

---

A/N - As a note, stims are canonically injected, but this is a theoretical powdered version. (Go with it.) I know some of you have told me your hopes for a happy ending for Kix. While I'm sure he continues to help where he can in his current timeline, the sequel era just doesn't inspire me enough to write a sequel-based happy ending for him. However, the idea of a medic group chat is one that has stuck with me throughout this series, and I wanted to include it in part here! You already know Curl, Shatter, and Sprain. Limit was introduced in the Bly chapter of Nobody Listens to Kix. Ink is new and got his name from his tattoos (not because of my username, I promise!). I hope it provided a lighthearted end to this particular fic.

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story at this point. Unless I get some new ideas or surrender to my urge to write more about these OCs, this is the end of this particular story. If anyone has interest in a different work about several members of the Coruscant Guard, I have one I'm publishing as my new weekly-updated story (found on my masterlist). If not, no worries! It has been an absolute joy writing for you! Thank you, as always, for reading! Have a wonderful day!

[qqueenofhades]

my sister also moved this week, its such a mental and physical hassle. hopefully your move went/is going well!!

at least we can just imagine PEL! fivan also having a disaster move in Moscow/Brighton Beach as a coping mechanism (if we have to suffer so do our faves)

The customs line at New York JFK is a mile long, has not moved for almost an hour, and the reek of hot, tired travelers, as babies scream and people shuffle papers passive-aggressively, as if this will magically make more agents appear and stamp the damn things, is almost overwhelming. Fedyor wipes his forehead again and shifts restlessly from foot to foot, staring balefully at the whopping two whole booths which are currently open. It’s August, it’s hot, he didn’t nap much on the plane, and his sweat is dripping stingingly into his eyes. His phone doesn’t work and it won’t until he gets an American SIM card, which he can’t do until he gets out of this fucking line. Which, by all appearances, may be literally never.

Next to him, Ivan looks even more stressed out. It’s how he’s looked ever since they landed, and Fedyor doesn’t blame him. Ivan can follow a conversation in English, sort of, if the other person is speaking slowly, but absolutely nobody in New York does that. Likewise, he can barely read it, and so this is an incoherent, cacophonous, wall-to-wall barrage of America, the first time Ivan has set foot in the West and already has no option but to stay here. Shuffle, shuffle. Wow! One whole meter forward! Someone call the newspapers!

At long miserably last, they get to the front of the line, and hand over their Russian passports, helpfully opened to the visa page. They have just temporary visitor visas for now; they had to pay through the nose to get them expedited, and they’re lucky that Fedyor had enough money saved to afford it. His parents have grudgingly agreed to ship over his stuff, and since that’s as close as they have ever gotten to approving both his relationship with Ivan and his decision to leave Russia, Fedyor is not ungrateful. Once, you know, they have an actual address to send it to. They have a lawyer, or rather a law student (though Nikolai Lantsov is a name to conjure with, no matter the technicalities of his employment status) who has promised to help them, a friend of a friend of a friend in the Russian community of Brighton Beach who has offered ditto, and a booking in a downtown Manhattan hotel for the next week. After that – well, who knows. Hopefully something works out. That, or –

“Mr. Kaminsky, Mr. Sakharov,” the ICE agent says, reading their passports. (Of course he pronounces it wrong, Sack-a-roff instead of Sa-hha-rov.) “How long are you planning to be in the United States of America?”

“We’re…” Fedyor is the one who has to do the talking, and though he has faced down Kremlin agitators and Russian riot police and God knows what else without turning a hair, he’s freaking out. “We’re in the process of applying for asylum, actually. So it’s not clear.”

The ICE agent eyes them up and down, as if trying to judge what their reasons for claiming asylum might possibly be. Ivan is tense from head to foot, and hopefully does not look like a Chechen terrorist trying to sneak in past the noble guardians of American sovereignty. Fedyor knows that he hates this with his entire being, throwing himself on their mercy, even if he agreed to do this and to come here. He pulls out the letter. “This is from Nikolai Lantsov, at Hyde Perrier Claremont LLC in Manhattan. It explains our situation.”

The ICE agent takes it and scans it, looking bored. Ivan’s tension, if possible, increases. He theoretically knows that they’re not about to be arrested for being gay here (though any other reason is certainly possible) but the idea of just letting this officious, bureaucratic stranger know, just like that – what the hell. It’s completely insane. Impossible. They can’t get in, Fedyor thinks suddenly, forcing down a sick surge of panic. They’re going to have to turn right around and return to Russia. Their visitor visas are valid, but after that –

“Here.” Fedyor sounds too nervous, too solicitous, as he passes over the letter of invitation from the president of the Russian Citizens of Brooklyn Neighborhood Alliance. “This too.”

The document is likewise collected. The ICE agent reads, taking his sweet time, as the line shifts and sighs and stamps behind them. He holds up each passport and compares the photo to Fedyor and Ivan, asks them to confirm their date and place of birth, and then finally, stamps his approval cursorily onto each temporary visa. “Welcome to the United States.”

Trying not to shake too visibly with relief, Fedyor and Ivan take back their passports, thank him, step through the control point, and head down to baggage claim, checking screens to see which one has Aeroflot 102 from Sheremetyevo. It takes a while until their suitcases appear, they haul them off, and finally, after using the restroom and refilling their water bottles, step out into the sweaty evening, alive with honking taxis, jostling buses, droning recorded announcements, rental-car shuttles, rideshares, and other madness. Ivan looks like he’s overloading, and Fedyor grabs his arm. “Vanya, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Ivan takes a deep breath. “Yes, I am.”

“Just a little longer,” Fedyor promises. “Then we can sleep.”

He takes charge of hailing them a taxi, and the guy pulls over, loads their stuff into the boot, and starts the meter, as they pull out and almost immediately come to a dead stop on Grand Central Parkway. It’s the height of city rush hour, and once again, they are reduced to creeping forward a few feet at a time. Planes roar low overhead, landing and taking off from JFK and LaGuardia, and the driver has the Mets game on the radio, the air conditioner cranked up to bone-chilling levels. Hearing Ivan ask Fedyor how long this is going to take, he says, “Where is it you guys are from?”

“Uh,” Fedyor says. “Russia.”

“Huh. Nice there?”

“I guess.” Fedyor unaccountably chokes up. He is settled in his decision to leave, but right then, he misses it so desolately that it seems impossible to bear. “Yeah.”

At least the cab driver doesn’t care much aside from that – in this job, you meet people from all over the world – and once they inch through the toll plaza and onto Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, they move consistently, if slowly. Fedyor glances in every direction at their new home, trying to see as much of it as he can, to make it familiar. He’s only been to America once, during his final year at MSU when they visited Washington D.C., and this is plenty new for him too. Finally the driver pulls up at their hotel, they get out, and Fedyor pays him in cash, with a nice tip. “Thank you,” he says, as Ivan silently unloads their suitcases, in the honking, flashing, noisy, whirring, chugging ambiance of the city around them, the sweat and heat and hustle of lower Manhattan. “Have a good night.”

The driver thanks him, climbs back into his cab, and drives away, and Ivan and Fedyor step inside to check in. They collect their key and ride up in the elevator, and find that their room has a decent view of midtown, the glittering skyscrapers and the iconic needle of the Empire State Building. Ivan throws his bag down on the floor and collapses on the bed without another word, eyes closed. Fedyor pauses, then goes over and curls up next to him.

At once, Ivan shifts so he can pull him closer, and Fedyor buries his face in his neck. Muffled, he says, “Are we totally crazy?”

“Maybe,” Ivan admits. “But either way, Fedya. I’m glad that I’m with you.”

[hinatas-sunshine]

Request Synopsis: Could you maybe do headcanons for Bokuto with an s/o who admits to him that before they got together she was intimidate/scared by him because of how big/tall he is? Especially because she's so short/small (Like 5,3)❤ - @bitweird1

A/N at Requester: Thank you for the request! I hope you have a good day and I hope you enjoy the headcanon!

A/N: Requests are open, I haven’t been having a good few days recently and I’m just bleh, anyways check out my pinned post for Halloween headcanon requests! Kithes! ❤️

• When you first met him, it was because you had to tutor him in math

• When he walked in you about just hid behind your desk - whipping out your phone you texted Akaashi, who had asked you to tutor the random boy

• You slipped your phone in your bag crawling out from behind your desk to come face to face with the boy previously mentioned

• Before the boy could say anything you scrambled out of the room

“pleasedontkillme.”

• As Bokuto followed you out you smiled at him, he approached you and as he got closer he was towering over you

“Y-You’re really tall...”

“Really! Thanks! You must be Akaashi’s friends Y/n!”

• You nerves settled as you smiled at him, his face was bright and his face creased from what looks like all the smiling he did

“I’m glad you’re smiling now! It looks good on you!”

• You couldn’t help but notice the heat rushing up the tip of your ears and along your cheeks before leading him back into the classroom

“Uhhh, so you need help with math?”

“No Akaashi just thinks I do, but I made a 47 on my last math test! That’s so much better than my test before!”

• Smile and nod y/n... smile and nod...

• As weeks passed on you taught the boy math, him listening. After a particular math test he showed you his increased grade by double what it was before

“To celebrate I think you and I should go get dinner y/n.”

“I’d be a psycho to turn down free food.”

• The rest was history, and thank god Akaashi had told the owl haired boy you were hiding behind your desk

• Besides your similarities, one big difference stood out and it was his height, you literally only reach to his chest

• This meant after a bad day you would definitely just walk straight into his arms and face nuzzling into his chest

“You have a bad day?”

*nod*

“Wanna talk about it?”

*shakes head*

“Your nose ticklesssss!”

• And when he had a bad day he would lean down and sulk draped over you.

• This meant you half dying and carrying Bokuto to practice

“A-huf-Akaashi!”

*thump*

• Now you were laying on the gym floor with a sad Bokuto, while you died under him and Akaashi dragging him across the gym floor to get him off of you before you suffocate

• Right now you and Bokuto were laying in his bed watching old cartoons, his head on your chest while you played with his hair

• Seeing this boy melt in your hands and realizing how you judged him by his appearance and height but he’s just a big baby

• Your heart fluttered as you see him turn to look at you, tired eyes and a loving smile.

“How was I ever intimidated by you?”

• He furrowed his eyebrows, confused and sitting up

“I am intimidating! I scare my opponents all the time!”

• You shook your head sitting up too and shuffling over to him

“When I first met you, you were so tall and I was scared you could literally squash me like a bug.”

• He threw himself onto you making you fall back with a loud groan at the sudden heavyness

“I could! You’re so tiny babe!”

• You would answer.... if you weren’t suffocating under Bokuto ❤️

• You smacked the boys back making him get up and you’re automatically gasping for air

“I lied I’m still scared of you squashing me like a bug.”

Tags:

[min-chery]

In the way | KTH

Pairing: Artist! Taehyung x Sound therapist! Reader

Rating: PG-13 

Genre: angst

Warnings: Swearing, Both MCs have a sad past :( , side pairing Yoongi x Jungkook and Jimin x Hoseok is mentioned.

Word count: 2.4k

A/n: This is an excerpt from my ongoing series ‘Sky’ that is posted on Wattpad. I’ll insert the link right here if you want to check it out. 

Also I have no much knowledge in sound therapy. So if you find any points inaccurate, you can leave it for me in the ask box!~

“Is that all you’ll need?” Taehyung asks, looking at the one bag that sits on the passenger seat of your car.

"Yes. Everyone in our team decided to split up and bring the necessities. I was in charge of lunch. So... this is enough." you reply. You had packed enough food for 8 people to eat one afternoon, a change of clothes, your laptop and sound equipment.

It had been three months since the two of you started dating. The two of you spent almost all of your free time with each other. A lot of time spent in each others’ homes and even met at each others’ places of work for lunch. One thing the two of you did in common at all places was make out. 

It seemed impossible to keep your hands and lips to yourselves. Kissing against the wall, on the table, on the couch, on the bed and even on the living room floor. Too many times you’ve been walked in on, but you cannot bring yourselves to be fazed by it. 

And now, you are getting ready for a project with your sound therapy group at a mountain a little far away. Another group that had been there before had claimed that the variety of birds that reside in the area make the most beautiful songs in the early hours. It was enough motivation for your group to decide to have a trip and record some of it.

"Okay. I think we're all done here." you sigh, standing on the tip of your toes and pulling Taehyung in for a hug by his shoulder. And he slumps into the embrace, nuzzling his face into your open hair. You rub his back, feeling your boyfriend yawn into your blue tresses.

 "Still tired? You can go sleep, baby." you say, lifting his head and squishing his face in your palms. He shakes his head, pouting while his grip on your waist tightens.

 "Go on, sweetheart. It's only 4am yet. You go catch up with some sleep, yeah?" you usher, wanting to see him well-rested and chirpy when you return in the evening. But he doesn't seem to want to oblige.

 "Can't. Our best friends are too loud in there." He whines, eyes half closed as he falls back onto your shoulder. You laugh, happy for the two who are so in love.

 "There won't be a disturbance anymore. I'm about to leave too." Yoongi joins in, with Jungkook holding his hand. Both of their hair are ruffled, sticking up at random places and clothes crumpled. Both look utterly ruined with blushes decorating their cheeks.

 "Drop me off at my place, will you?" Yoongi asks you, placing a kiss at the side of Jungkook's head. He smiles at Taehyung as he gets into the passenger seat.

 "Bye, Tae. See you later." you speak, pressing a kiss on his cold, red nose. Taehyung reluctantly lets go, pouting as he waves you goodbye. He watches you slip into the driver's seat and disappear into the morning.

 "Aren't you tired? Come sleep with hyung." He tells a very drowsy Jungkook who's rubbing at his eyes, a sleeping yawn falling from his own lips.

 ***

 It's around 1 pm when Taehyung calls you. You close your lunchbox that is almost finished, excusing yourself from the group.

 "Tae bear!" you exclaim into the phone, voice full of cheer.

 "Hey baby!" Taehyung replies, voice equally gleeful.

 "How's the recording coming along?" he asks, sounds of a window being opened accompanying his voice from his side of the line.

 "It went good, baby. Maybe we should come here on a date together some time. The view looks like one of the pictures you painted. Too beautiful."

 "Maybe we should. Have you had your food yet, darling?" He asks and you hum into the receiver.

 "Planning on returning yet? Or do you still have work to get done?"

 "Why? Miss me already?"

 "You know I do." Taehyung laughs.

 "Our work is done but we found an amazing free climbing trail close by. Decided to check it out. And it's for beginners too." Leah says, expecting an enthusiastic response back. But all you's left with is stillness from the other line.

 And then comes the shuffling, the sound of something falling down and Taehyung's muted cursing.

 "What do you mean free climbing?" His voice somehow feels distant, piercing Leah through her heart.

 "You know, rock climbing. And the ropes are going to assist me if I fall." you tentatively answer.

 "And you thought it was okay to do that without telling me?"

 "I didn't know I had to ask my boyfriend before I did things." Both of you speak with an edge to your voices, as if the sole purpose was to hurt one another.

"See ___. I understand that you have to climb up cliffs and dangerously high places for work. But this seems really unnecessary. I really need you to stop doing these things. Are you even aware of how many accidents take place during things like this?"

 "You don't tell me what's necessary and what's not. I do it because it makes me happy. And I'm not going to let you stand in the way of my happiness."

 "You can do whatever the fuck you want! I don't care anymore!" Taehyung yells. It has you flinching, lips wobbling from unpleasant memories of the past swarming you.

 "Don't yell at me." you shout back, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. Taehyung is breathing hard into your ears through the phone.

 "And it's not the first time I've noticed you clam up when I talk about going like this. You need to tell me whatever the fuck is your problem if you-" you never get to complete what you start from Taehyung abruptly ending the call.

 Your hands tremble at your sides, knees feeling weak. It had been true when you said Taehyung clams up when such matters are brought up. Avoiding looking you in the eye and slowly drifting away from the conversation with an uncomfortable smile. It was clear he hated heights at this point.

 But the extent to it was only now becoming clear when the ever calm yet cheerful Taehyung raised his voice. It seemed more of fear and frustration than anger towards you. But you weren't going to let him get away with yelling at you knowing how it affected you.

 You make your way back to your group who are waiting for you with their bags on their back and smiles on their lips. Forcing a smile of your own, you sling the bag onto your back.

 Like you said, you weren't going to let a guy get in the way of your happiness. No matter how much you love him.

 ***

 Taehyung draws deft lines on the page of his new sketchbook with a charcoal pencil. He sighs, hating the texture of the pages with the kind of pencil he’s using. Everything blurs when he feels the tears rise. Hurt and shame surge through his veins for raising his voice at you. He looks out the window of the diner, watching droplets of rain wash over the street. For a minute he wonders what the two of you would've been doing in this weather had you not fought. Would the two of you be drinking a mug of hot cocoa at your apartment as you watch a movie on the couch? Or would the two of you have been watching the rain while cuddling on the swing in his balcony and being huddled in a single blanket?

 ‘I miss her.’ The voice in his head says. He misses you so much that it feels like a knife is lodged in his throat. But it's nothing compared to the way he’s felt when you left him behind that day. Better than being terrified to death wondering if he’d get a call bringing him news he'd never in his life want to hear.

 Taehyung drops his head down on the table, pulling up the hood of his jacket as he goes down. Focusing on the pain that blossomed on his forehead, he forces all thoughts of you out of his head.

 Just as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the loud noise and vibration of something being slammed down on the table reaches him. His head jerks up startled, coming face to face with the very person he’s been avoiding for a whole week. His lips part, nothing but silence falling out of it. You look vexed at his expression. 

 "A 100 calls!" you say, pointing at the phone you'd thrown onto the table with your call log on. "A 100 calls and countless texts. All to you. I even emailed you dammit! What the hell are you doing, huh? Ignoring me like that! Do you even remember you've got a girlfriend?" your voice takes on an edge, volume increasing the slightest than your normal.

 He can't do anything but stare at your red face. He’s washed over with worry with how little you've dressed for a rainy evening. He holds himself back from swiping your wet lips in for a breathless kiss.

 "Answer me!" you yell, slamming your hand down on the table. It makes him flinch in his seat. And the women at the counter. 

 "I don't want to." he says, a slight tremor in his voice. He avoids looking you in the eye, instead setting his gaze on the device on the table. He’s afraid anything he does will anger you further. And it does. 

 " 'Don't want to'?" You scoff dangerously. "What else do you not want!? Your girlfriend spending time doing something she likes!?" you grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him up from the chair and in front of the table. 

 Taehyung’s jaw ticks at your words and actions. He pushes your hand away and straightens the shirt. Dominating him like that in front of another person jabs at his ego as a man.

 "That is not something I'm ready to talk about yet!" He shouts. Memories from the past swarm him, choking him so hard that it feels like he’s combusting from the inside.

 "I'm your girlfriend, asshole! I would've listened to you if you had told me that at the time instead of yelling at me!"

 "Stop repeating that you're my girlfriend!"

 "Why!? Do relationships scare you now too!?" 

 "Because I'm not sure I want this anymore." he whispers, head falling low in resignation. It's only half-true. He does want it. More than anything else. But he’s too scared. 

 Fear, he learns, is the most dangerous emotion.

 "You are breaking up with me?" you ask, voice too composed than earlier. Taehyung keeps looking down at his shoes. Big mistake.

 You lift up the cup of hot tea from his table and smash it on the wall at your side. You throw it with so much force that the shards fly back at you, slashing you on the cheek. The hot liquid splatters all over your hand, turning it an angry red. You don't flinch. You stare at him, eyes void of anything he's ever seen in them. Like he has no more access to you. 

 You rove your eyes over him one more time and then turn away with your phone. You slam a fifty-dollar bill in front of Mrs. Choi at the counter and leave without looking at Taehyung again.

 Taehyung looks around the cafe at the wreck the two of you have caused. He bends down to pick up the shards of glass through the tearful blur. He stays back, helping the part-timer clean up before he leaves. Mrs. Choi even comes around to take him into her arms, bracketing him into her motherly embrace.

 Crying all through the walk back to his house, he asks himself the same question over and over again. 

 ‘What the hell have I done?’

 ***

 Yoongi can clearly see the smoke come out through the gaps of your bedroom door. His jaw ticking in anger, he pushes it open and immediately meets with the sight of his best friend.

 You are leaning against her headboard, a cigarette clutched between the index and middle fingers of your healing hand. You leave out a puff of smoke and when he enters, you hurriedly push the remaining against the ashtray. You put it away in your drawer with wide eyes and fumbling hands.

 "I saw that, ___. You're smoking again?" He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 "Sorry I just... I didn't know you were coming over."

 "So you were planning on keeping this away from me? You promised me you'd stop." He says, seating himself down beside you.

 "You know why I do it." You sigh and pull the comforter over the lower half of your body, pulling your legs towards your chest. Clutching your face in your hands, you put it on your knees.

 The sight of you, curled up against the headboard has Yoongi's heart wrenching in sadness. It had been a week since the breakup and you were still as broken as the day at the diner.

 Moving closer, he pulls you to his side. Almost instantaneously, you lay your head on his shoulder and curl up against him.

 "Why did you come over without telling me? You always call me before."

 "Jimin called me. He was scared of how little he saw you around the house. And any time he did see you, he said you were high. Barely aware of what was happening."

 "I should've worried him a lot. Where is he?" a troubled look crosses your features. 

 "Apparently it's been affecting him too much. So, Hobi took him out for some breakfast." 

 You hum. You are glad Hoseok is being a good boyfriend to your other best friend.  

 "You need to learn how to control your ang-"

 "I can't Yoongi." You say, lifting up your hand. It trembled in frustration.

 "I almost smashed a cup against his skull. Had I not mentally reminded myself of who was in front of me, I would've put him in the Emergency room." you recollect, wiping the tears.

 "We can always seek help, ___." He rubs up and down your arms to soothe your emotions.

 "Is that okay?" He asks and you nod against his shoulder blade. The two of you bask in the silence afterward. Embracing the calmness that you knew wouldn't last once the voices in your head get too loud.

 "Should've known it was too good to be true." You sniffle, "He was way too perfect from the beginning."

[pagingdoctorcarter]

hi ive read like all your stuff about korkie is a kenobi in the span of about three days and i'm so EMOTIONAL?? it makes such narrative sense - star wars is a story about fathers and sons and what happens when mothers are lost and in eternal spring, when obi wan doesn't reject korkie, and korkie doesn't reject obi wan, and they love each other and accept each other despite the gaping hole that satine left in their relationship it like heals and breaks that cycle of little blonde boys being 1/

of little blonde boys being left in the desert without their mothers and with father figures who don't quite accept the responsibility of being a father to all of their detriments! it lets padme live, and it lets luke escape, and it lets everyone who wants to heal and work towards a better future. anyway, this is some Good Fucking Food and thank u for writing it. if you're still open to prompts i would really like to see some kryze-kenobi family bonding. just the three of them happy and together 

AH! This has been sitting so beautifully, and lovingly in my inbox for ages now, and I do apologise, but I just - I saw fluff and I panicked. I PANICKED!!!

And, as you can probably see, wrote reams of whump and h/c instead. But I tried.

Anyway, there is so much I want to say about this - I’m going to have to bookmark this whole thing just so I can come back again and again to your generous words. Thank you! I do have such a fondness for Eternal Spring, and whether or not it began as a joke, I am SO attached to the idea of Korkie as a Kenobi, the idea that blood isn’t always bad, that healing can happen, that good people make mistakes, that forgiveness IS an option - and I love how that aligns with the Pacifism of Satine’s New Mandalorians. I wish we had more of it (that insistent, unrelenting kindness and compassion) in SW, and Korkie is my little effort at that.

RANTING ASIDE, I hope you find and enjoy this little bit of fluff for the Kenobi-Kryzes. MUCH LOVE.

AND BY THE HAND LED

It was not Life Day. It was not Holyrod week, and Belli’s birthday had been a full ten month ago. Yet still, on this day, Kirokicek Kryze woke with the sun, and raced to his window where he could see the Sundari dockyard in the distance. 

Personal shuttles buzzed to and fro. Docking tugs hauled heavy freighters into place. Long, thin vactrains hurtled passengers from one platform to the next, or further on into the heart of the city. A few large ferries which had found mooring overnight made their ponderous voyage upwards, headed for the small opening at the apex of the Sundari dome. They were bound for transports anchored in wet space, the people aboard away for deep space travel to distant stars. 

Korkie watched as one neared the aperture, then, with incredible steadiness of hand, cleared the narrow gap with ease. He let go his breath, but his eyes remained fixed upon the opening. He was not much concerned with the ships that left, but instead found great interest in those ferries which were currently arriving.

They took turns - one in, one out - and with every exchange, Korkie felt as though the city was making room for a very special guest. One who loomed larger than life in his young consciousness, and one who occupied more and more space in his heart the closer he came.

Bebu was coming home.

A knock at his door was not enough to tear his attention from the spectacle outside, but he shuffled over to make room for his mother beside him at the window.

“Good morning, cyar'ika,” she said, pressing a kiss to his hair. “And what has got you up so early?”

She still wore her nightclothes beneath a fine gown of pressed velvet. Korkie leaned back into her embrace, stroking the soft fabric, and letting the warm, sweet smell of sleep wash over him.

“I’m watching the dockyards,” he said. “Look! Do you think that one of them has Bebu on it?”

Satine let her chin rest on the crown of his head, and followed his gaze to the sky.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Are you excited for your Bebu to come home?”

Korkie turned, trying to get a glimpse of her expression which could only be as teasing as his own was incredulous. She smiled.

“Excited, Belli?” he asked. “I am so, so, superlatively excited!”

“My,” she said, her face transforming to one of awe. “That is quite a superlative word you have discovered. Is it new?”

Korkie nodded. “I am saving it for Bebu, for our collection. Do you think he shall like it?”

“I think he shall be quite impressed, dinui.”

“I have another, but I always say it wrong, so I think I shall write it down, instead.”

“That is very wise,” she said. “For then there is no chance of misunderstanding, and then your father can teach you to speak it correctly.”

Korkie grinned, and squeezed her hand, so glad to be in such perfect accord. 

“That was exactly my plan, Belli!”

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast,” she said, laughing. “Now come.”

“Are we going to the docks?”

“Not yet,” she said. “First meal first, I think, and then we shall see.”

She stood from her place behind Korkie, and smoothed her skirts. The early morning sun fell kindly over her face, so that it lit her eyes from behind, like the facet of some bright gem. She held out her hand to him.

“But Belli -!”

“Is that fussing I hear coming out of your mouth?” she asked, the perfect image of confusion.

“No,” he conceded, hanging his head in defeat.

“I thought not,” she said. “Not my Korkie. Besides, we must first ensure that we are properly fed, and tidied before we appear at the docks. We cannot have our tummies grumbling and complaining while we are at the height of a superlative joy, now can we?”

“That would be rather distracting,” he allowed.

“And what would your father think if you showed up all bleary eyed, and sleep tousled? He’d hardly recognise you!”

“That’s not true,” protested Korkie. “He’d think me a ‘devoted legislator’. He said so last time.”

Satine cocked her head, a smirk curling in the corner of her mouth, and pinned just there, until such a time as she could give it to the owner of those borrowed words. 

“Well, cyare, I cannot think he meant it as a compliment,” she said, wiggling her fingers temptingly. “Now come - to firsts.

In the kitchens, his mother suggested they arrange a menu, scrounged from the conservator and pantry, while the staff set about preparing for the rest of their day.

“No need to bother anyone too much when it’s just us, right?” She placed a stool in front of an out of the way countertop, and held his hand while Korkie made a great leap to stand atop it. “Now, what are we hungry for?”

“Isbeans, and egg!” he cried. “With fresh muja juice!”

“Muja juice!” she echoed in surprise. “My, but we’re feeling quite indulgent today!”

“Well, it is a special occasion!” he said.

“Of course, you’re right. Muja juice it is. Anything else, ad’ika?”

He thought for a moment, but knowing how easily she had acceded to his first request, he concluded it most reasonable to forward several more.

“Perhaps some toast,” he said. “And flatcakes. And melon squares with black fire jelly? And then some moof milk and summerberries because they’ll go bad if we don’t eat them. With sucre crystals on the top. And maybe - only because Bebu says it’s healthy - a cup of kava. But just one, or I’ll be up all night.”

She crouched down to meet him, mischief sparkling in her eyes and not a word of protest at his requests. Instead, her tone was conspiratorial, as though they were together in some great game of hide and hunt. 

“Let’s brew a whole pot,” she said. “So that we may share it.”

He laughed in delight. Satine pulled down a tin of weava flour, and let him sprinkle the surface while she portioned out another measure into a shallow bowl for flatcakes. Under her careful eye, he cracked a tip-yip egg, and tipped in some sucre. She worked the mixture into a sticky dough, and portioned out small spheres for Korkie to press out upon the counter. Cook A’den looked on skeptically, but when his stack of raw discs began to pile up, she stepped in with a sigh, and a fond smile and lifted him on her hip while she fried them over a nano-cooker. 

As he worked, Satine gathered the berries and the milk, and a little pot of sucre. Helping hands piled plates high with toast, and ulik butter. Isbeans and hard boiled eggs followed, kept warm beneath heated domes. A whole pitcher of ice cold muja juice was produced from the conservator, and a fresh pot of kava was left to steep with wide, green leaves still in it. There was so much food that, in the end, a small cart was required to bear the fruits of their labours, while Korkie added the final touch of perfectly browned flatcakes.

Normally, they would eat their firsts in the family dining hall, but Satine insisted that she could not possibly do so while still dressed in her nightclothes.

“And scandalise the whole parliament? I think not, my very shocking dinui. No, it’s best we take everything back to my rooms, and eat there where no one will think us as uncivilised as we appear.”

So with many thanks to A’den, and her workers, Korkie followed his mother down the glistening marbloid halls with their wide windows. The sun was nearly all the way up, and the traffic in the sky had only increased since Korkie last looked. He was hit with the sudden realisation that perhaps many ferries had come and gone in his absence, and any one of them might contain his father. He raced to the window to check.

“Come along, Korkie,” said Satine. “Soon. I promise.”

Torn between food and the possibility that his father was waiting for him even now, Korkie gave into the demands of his hunger, and followed his mother down the hall.

They stopped outside her door, the cart pushed just off to the side. Satine looked at him appraisingly, smoothing one hand over his determinedly erstwhile hair.

“Oh dear,” she said, straightening his synfleece robe, as he reached for the cart to steal a summerberry from the pile. “You do look a sight. But I suppose it cannot be helped.”

She gave him a fond caress, her thumb tracing the swell of his little cheek with such reverence, and care that Korkie nearly felt guilty for snatching the fruit. But she smiled as he swallowed, and he supposed it must just have been one of those strange things buirs did from time to time, where they mixed up joy and sorrow and said nothing about it.

“I shall comb my hair later, Belli,” he offered. That seemed to do the trick, for she laughed, and stood, and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

“I will remember you said that,” she said. “Now, be a good boy and get the door for your Belli, would you?”

She returned to the cart, as he wiped his hands down the length of his robe, and reached for the palmpad. The door chimed, and slid aside with the barest sigh of air. Inside, Korkie could see that the curtains had been pulled back, and the room was flooded blue and gold with the oncoming day. Playful shadows danced across the floor where hanging tassels toyed with the sun. The carpet glistened like thick grass, lush and crowned in dew. A small table with three chairs sat to one side, and an old cloak lay thrown across it. There were boots, too large for his mother to wear, a belt too wide to be hers, and there, in the bed, swaddled in silkweed sheets and haloed by the sun, was Obi-Wan Kenobi, hovering on the edge of waking.

“Bebu!” Korkie shouted.

At his cry, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and smiled, catching his son as raced across the floor and leapt upon the bed in a single motion. 

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.”

“Bebu!” Korkie cried again, laughing and wriggling with joy. His father lifted him over his head, holding him aloft as he made his cursory examination.

“Korkicek!” he groaned, as his strength gave out and Korkie tumbled atop his father’s chest in a tangle of limbs and blankets. “You must be very much grown since I last saw you, for you are getting too heavy for me!”

“No, I’m not, Bebu,” he said. “I’ve only grown two centimeteres since you were gone, and Belli says that’s only because I’m on a spurt.”

“Only two centimeters?” Obi-Wan demands. “Dear me, that’s not very much at all. I shall expect more diligence in your efforts at stretching if we are to make any serious headway in this matter.”

Korkie giggled. “Don’t be silly, Bebu,” he said. “I cannot stretch myself bigger. It takes time.”

“And heavy reading,” Obi-Wan agreed gravely.

“And good eating,” Satine added from behind them. She’d set the table in their distraction. Obi-Wan’s cloak now hung respectably from a hook by the fresher blind, and three plates sat waiting to be filled. The isbeans steamed, their skin crackling and blackened. The flatcakes dripped with galek syrup and butter. The summerberries shone plump and delectable in their precarious pyramid. The black fire jellies jiggled, and the muja juice sparkled.

“Is that fresh kava I smell?” asked Obi-Wan. 

“It is!” said Korkie. “And all sorts of things which Belli and I made! I suppose it’s a lucky thing we made so much extra, for now you can share it with us.”

“A lucky thing, indeed,” Obi-Wan agreed. He looked at Satine with such adoration that the smirk she had pinned up earlier unfurled completely and crossed her face in a radiant smile. 

“Come, Bebu,” said Korkie, taking his father’s hand in his. “Enough lazing about in bed. Let’s eat, or the kava will get cold.”

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan agreed, standing as Korkie slid to his feet beside him, and tugged him over to where Satine was waiting. “We can’t have that.”

“And you may have my cup as well,” added Korkie, magnanimously, “As it is truly a rotten drink, even if you say it is healthy. But since it is such a special day, I don’t think I should be forced to have it, anyway.”

“He drives a hard bargain, your son,” said Obi-Wan, leaning in to beg a small kiss.

“Ah, but of course,” said Satine, quick to grant his request. “He gets that from you, cyare.”

--

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.” - Ah, my little terror! I was wondering when you might show up. It has been far too quiet without you.

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast” - The best mind agrees with itself. (read: Great minds think alike.)

ad’ika, dinui, cyare - little one, gift, beloved.

[beautifultypewriter]

Midsummer Festival ~ Sir Leon

Requested: Yes / by @taletime

Warnings: Heights? 

Word Count: 1,283

Pairing: Sir Leon x reader

Summary: Reader is getting the castle ready for the annual Midsummer Festival when one friendly knight decides to lend a hand.

A/N: It’s entirely possible that I could be swayed into writing a part two of them actually at the festival. Just sayin’.

Tags: @hahaboop

Summer had always been your favorite time of year. The flowers that bloomed around Camelot in the hot weather were the most beautiful to be seen all year and the longer days were something to cherish. Tomorrow happened to be your favorite day of summer. The solstice. The longest day of the year and the day that Camelot put on it’s summer festival. Vendors set up in the courtyard and every inch of the castle was covered in flowers. And lucky for you, the job of floral decorator landed in your lap. You had been nervous when at first your boss told you that you would be responsible for decorating the corridors of the castle with flowers, but now that the day had come, you were actually excited. You had been given free reign to do what you pleased, so long as it looked good, and you had spent a week making plans and coming up with sketches.

 And now you were able to put those plans and ideas into effect. You had spent all morning and afternoon hanging flowers and strategically placing petals along the floors, lining the walls. You had just one more section of the castle to get done and you would be finished.

 The front entrance. Arguably the most important part of the castle, which is why you had left it for last, you wanted it to be perfect, so you wanted to take as much time as you could to work on it. You looked up at the archway, sighing as you hoisted the garland into your arms. You had been able to borrow a ladder from your father and you had leaned it against the wall, just next to the archway. It was fairly old and a little rickety, but your father had assured you that you’d be safe on it. With another sigh, you made sure you had the end of the flower garland in one hand and the hooks in your pocket. Grabbing one rung, you stepped onto the bottom of the ladder, climbing it slowly as it shifted slightly with each step. You held tightly to each rung, your fear increasing the higher up you got.

 Your heart was pounding in your chest by the time you reached the top. Reminding yourself not to look down, you reached into your pocket to grab one of the hooks. With shaking hands, you reached out and secured the hook to the wall, pressing hard to make sure that it would stay in its place against the stones. With a relieved breath, you reached up and tied the end of the garland to the hook, nodding in satisfaction as you finished the knot.

 Then you felt yourself moving. Your smile fell as the ladder tipped left then right. You moved with it, trying to gain your balance, so that the ladder wouldn’t go toppling to the floor, taking you with it. It swayed again and you gripped the rungs tightly, your eyes pinching closed as you prepared yourself for the immense amount of pain you were about to feel.

 Suddenly, all movement stopped. The ladder was still pressed firmly to the wall and you didn’t feel as dizzy as you had only a moment ago. You peeked one eye open and looked down, your head tilting slightly. Sir Leon was smiling up at you, his hands holding firmly to the ladder, steadying it for you. You gave him a grateful smile as your heartbeat started to return to normal. With slow movements, you started your descent, still gripping the rungs of the ladder tightly as you focused on your feet.

 Once you were within arms reach of Leon, he placed his hand on your back, the warmth of it immediately sending a shock up your spine. You took a steadying breath as you took the last step down, your feet landing on the solid stone of the castle floor. Leon took your hand in his, “Are you alright?” You nodded, just now realizing that you were shaking. Pulling your hand from his, you clenched your fists, hoping to steady yourself.

 You took a few breaths before looking over at Leon, “Thank you for the help.” You motioned to the ladder as you looked down to the floor.

 Leon chuckled quietly, “It was no trouble. How many more trips do you have to make up there?” He pointed upwards, and you followed with your eyes, looking at the archway and sighed.

 “Two.”

 Leon chuckled again, “Well, luckily my patrol doesn’t start for a few minutes. I can hold the ladder for you.” Your eyes snapped to him, your breath getting caught in your chest. Leon smiled softly, “If you’d like me to, that is.”

 You nodded, smiling at him, “I would appreciate the help.” You turned away from him, grabbing the ladder and moving over to the middle of the archway. Leon followed you, dragging the hanging part of the garland with him. You spun around, ready to go back for the garland, but you were stopped short as you bumped into Leon’s chest. He had stopped directly behind you when you turned back. Looking up at him, you smiled. He held the garland out to you, returning your smile easily. You mumbled another thanks under your breath before you turned back to the ladder. Leon wasn’t far behind as he stood close to you, holding one side of the ladder. You gulped as you grabbed the rungs and started climbing up again. Leon steadying the ladder for you and you felt safer, knowing he was there and that the ladder wasn’t going to move.

 You were able to hang the garland easily and Leon once again placed his hand on your back when you were close enough, guiding you safely to the floor. He picked up the ladder this time and moved it to the other wall, holding his hand out for you. You took his hand and let him guide you to the ladder. You started the climb, reaching down as Leon held the garland up to you with a gentle smile.

 You stepped down from the ladder after making sure that the garland was secured. Taking a few steps back, you admired your handiwork. You could feel Leon next to you, his shoulder was brushing yours and you leaned against him, “Thank you again.” You chuckled as you looked down to your feet, “I don’t think I could have done it if you hadn’t shown up.” You looked up again, beaming at the knight next to you.

 Leon smiled back, “It was no trouble.” He looked up at the garland before his eyes moved over the rest of the entrance hall and down the corridor you had decorated. His attention was on you again as he swept his arm out, indicating the room, “This place looks beautiful. You did an amazing job.” You blushed as you looked down again. Leon’s hands fidgeted as he took a steadying breath. Then his fingers were gently grasping your chin and moving your head up, “Y/N, I don’t mean to sound forward, but,” he cleared his throat, “may I escort you to the festival tomorrow?” You could see his cheeks beginning to color and you had to hold back a giggle.

 You placed your hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I’d like that.” He smiled before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

 As he pulled away, his hand fell back to his side, “Then I shall see you tomorrow.” He bowed his head before he turned and made his way outside. You nodded as you watched him go, your hand moving up to touch your cheek.

[eolian-234]

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Eighteen: Existing

Chapter Nineteen: A Phone Call 

As the weeks passed, Peter struggled in vain against the extra workload of his sophomore year classes. The balance between work, school, friends, and himself was everchanging, ever in threat of tipping off the edge of the proverbial blade. Though the latter was pushed to the side with increasing frequency and his bed was becoming more of a rare luxury much to his dismay.

The tub of tabouli, hummus, and carrots sat uneaten in front of him while Mike explained again why the discourse surrounding the new Firefly show was important to their group and the larger culture abroad.

“It’s a western in space, guys, how can you not like it? Plus, Nathan Fillion is working it. You know he’s damn charming.” 



“It’s basically a soap opera and you know it.” Midge said, arms crossed in front of them.

Mike sputtered and Ned stepped in before anyone else would get more offended. Still pouting his lips, Mike turned away from them and started shoveling down his lunch. Midge just sighed. Peter shifted in his seat wondering if he should say anything when Ned bumped shoulders with him.

“You okay?”

He forced a smile on his face. Ned waited for an answer, his eyes open and earnest. The expression made something in Peter’s chest ache. This bitter tug nestled down behind his ribs. Ned was dragged along in all of this. What started as befriending a lone boy in an empty classroom had turned into trying to gather intel from two of the biggest corporations in the world. Still, his friend was right there for him, ready and unfailingly patient with a smile.

“Want to hang out this weekend?” Peter asked instead of answering the question.

He wanted to do something. To have fun and get out of the house for once. His work shifts were pretty stacked up but it was worth it to rearrange them. Ned agreed if his answering smile was any indication.

“Yeah, dude. There’s this cool exhibit downtown about brainwashing. Maybe weird but it could be cool.”

“Sounds fun.” He said.

“Yeah, they get all these big companies to put something together. I’m surprised you know who didn’t do it. I hear Oscorp is holding one in the fall.”


Peter rubbed his chest. The cafeteria noise rushed toward him. All the laughter and words and echoes pressed against him, weighing down. His smile felt wobbly to him but hoped it came off as sincere.  

“We’ll have to check the one this weekend out.”

-

Ten hours later, Peter sat at his desk. His head resting in the crux of his arms crossed on the scattered papers and notebooks. He shifted in the chair and tried not to think about the coming week. The to-do list was somewhere in the mess under him. Every bullet point added another reason his headache was growing at an alarming rate.

One of the pages peaked out from under the curve of his elbow. The model car on it was dissected into the median and coronal planes showcasing all the guts. Why was he tinkering with it after all this time? No one would see it now. Red marks, newly etched into the paper some sleepless night would probably never leave this room let alone the top of his desk unless it was carried through the trash.

The thought of acknowledging he was finally abandoning the project left him gripping onto the papers tight in his palms. Even all these months later, Peter found himself tweaking their project and trying to improve upon it. Lee, the head intern, had said she was always available. Maybe he could email it over and then she could send it onto whoever her boss was? The chain of command wasn’t something he was entirely familiar with but eventually it had to land in his hands.

His phone buzzed.

Out of habit, Peter flipped it upside-down without looking to see who it was from. He tapped his finger against the wood until the sound stopped. He only just managed to sigh when the buzzing started again.

Phone calls were the worst. He hated answering the phone, hated talking over people and not seeing their facial expressions, and hated how goodbyes were always awkward. Above all he hated the way he could never talk in a coherent manner. Always felt like he was overstepping or worse in some people’s eyes, being too quiet.

Phone calls from anyone besides May were trouble. His aunt was in the living room so that meant it was bad. He could be expelled from Midtown or one of his friends could be hurt. Ned’s hands bloody. Julia’s heart stopping. Flash’s chest not rising anymore. Peter’s chest throbbed at the images. With sweaty hands he grabbed his phone off the desk and looked at the ID.

It was from an unknown number.

His thumb hovered over the green button as it rang but he didn’t answer.

If he didn’t answer it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. The worry barely concealed by his expression was better left unfounded. He kept reading through one of his source books on mechanical engineering but the words held no meaning. His eyes kept returning to the flip phone sitting all innocent inches away from his hand.

His fingers twitched and the phone rang again.

Peter breathed in deeply before flipping it over. He read the number over again. Tried to memorize the digits quickly as if they would hold some significance the longer they were in his mind. The ringing continued and continued for what felt like forever.  

His Uncle Ben came to mind. Without letting him linger for too long again, he flipped his phone open and pressed enter. The other side of the call was silent. There was no breathing or anything to indicate someone was there.

“Hello?” The crack in his voice echoed in his ears.

“Am I speaking to Peter?”

The voice was smooth - pristine in its cadence and rhythm. Unlike his own, the words were spoken with no hesitancy or irregular pitch. There never was, either. It was a voice Peter would recognize anywhere. Hearing them say his name now made him realize how much he missed them. It was a strange thought considering. How could he miss a voice so much?

He scowled. It wasn’t fair to minimize Friday to that of just their voice.

“Fr - Friday? I…How did you get this number?”

There was another pause. Peter wished he’d said something else instead of beginning with such a sharp tone. He could’ve asked how they were doing or greeted them with enthusiasm. Instead the panic from earlier manifested in more of a bark. Heat flooded from his neck up to his ears.

“I have scanned through the Stark databases and found this number on Boss’s phone.” He couldn’t help it. Peter laughed throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Friday’s silence was enough to confirm they heard but it didn’t dampen his smile.

This was Friday he was talking to. Peter couldn’t believe it and if the smile on his face was wide and almost made his cheeks hurt, he could almost forget about everything else.

“You stole my number from Mr. Stark’s phone?”

“Peter, as I said I scanned...”

“You did! Friday, I can’t believe it. Wait, is everything okay? Did something happen? Is … Mr. Sta- everyone’s okay, right? I mean you don’t have to tell me anything but is everyone…”

“Everyone’s fine. I’m sorry to have made you worry. I would also like to apologize for keeping silent. I called you friend once but haven’t acted in accordance to what constitutes that bond.”

Peter’s neck burned. Friday’s voice sounded as hesitant as Peter felt and he was glad, for once, he wasn’t in the Tower so they couldn’t hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“No need to apologize. I just assumed when I left…”

“That has no bearing on it. There were other factors. Some I can talk about some I can’t.”

“Is, is this why you called? What can you talk about?”

Peter imagined Friday was taking a large breath in from the gap between answer and question. His heart, already beating far too fast for a regular school night, increased its speed.  

“You need to come back to the Tower, Peter.”

His ears filled with cotton inducing a fuzzy ringing. It grew louder and louder until he found himself leaning his forehead against the desk. The phone rested where it fell on the table by his clenched hand. He scooped it up despite the trembling in his digits and brought the phone to his ear again.

“Friday?” He rasped out.

“You need to come back to the Tower. There are matters here that would… benefit from your presence.”

There were too many pauses in the sentence and a million phrases flowing through his mind in response. Following on his immediate responses were a plethora of images of the Tower. He conjured filled hospital beds, condemned signs, and most haunting, empty rooms. The worry gnawed at his stomach not caring about Friday’s reassurances. Something had to be wrong. Why else would Friday contact him? It had been months.

There was nothing more he wanted, but all he managed to say was, “I can’t.”

The pain it would bring was all too easy to think about. He’d had a taste of it at the finale internship presentations. The sheer amount of people buzzing with excitement was enough to dull the awkward hurt but Peter couldn’t forget how hard it was to breath once he was in the Tower again. The familiarity burned at his throat. What was a safe haven reduced to just some place he used to know had hurt more than he was willing to say out loud.

Friday wanted him to go back there after everything. No awards or parties would be there to distract. He would have to walk down the hallways and see the beautiful skyline only glimpsed at that height. He would have to see Mr. Stark.

What would he say? What would he do?

“I can’t work on the project anymore, Peter.”

It was devastating in its simplicity. A twist of the metaphorical knife Peter had never even felt embedded in his side. It was a rope taken away as his head sunk swiftly under water. All the progress he’d made even if he didn’t realize it, was gone in the moment those words were said.

Mr. Stark was clear. Final.

At the time there were a thousand words he’d wanted to say but then and now it didn’t seem right. Now, the sense of betrayal no longer stung because it didn’t matter that Mr. Stark knew all about the Weaver and Oscorp. In the end, no amount of explaining or conversation would fix anything because there was nothing to fix.

The steps he took through the door were some of the hardest in his life. His surreptitious glance back resulted in seeing Mr. Stark bowed and facing away from him. The frightened look crossing over his face before hardly seemed to matter in the face of those words. It told Peter all he needed to know. Peter wasn’t wanted. Who wanted to look after a confused teenager? His time there was over.

Or so, he thought.

Months and months passed and now Friday was on the other end like nothing happened. Was there an option besides declining?

He would have thought Friday didn’t know what happened but that was impossible. They knew basically everything that happened in the Tower. It could be some misplaced urge to help Peter. It didn’t make sense. Despite their reassurances, he couldn’t help but worry something was the matter and despite his caution, Peter was curious.

Still, he repeated the two words again. They sounded more like a plea than a decision.

“What you are saying is you won’t not that you can’t. I know you only have one job and the owner has already given permission. I’m asking with sincerity. I need your help…. We need your help.”

Peter took his time to exhale. He stared at the phone in his hands, tracing Friday’s number with his eyes.

He thought of all the reasons not to go back. But the latest realization barged forward. It was with surprising ease that Peter thought about all the help Mr. Stark had thrown his way. All of the encouragement and kindness he showed without Peter even understanding what was happening.

The question wasn’t if he wanted to go back. He would always want to go back. The Tower in a way had grown to be his home. A safe space he never felt drained from after being there. No one expected anything more than Peter could give and the peace of working there, flexing his mind and being with people who understood him was intoxicating.

He could admit to himself he wanted to say yes without thinking despite every reason to say no. He had to be cautious about this, he decided. Peter had to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt like before. That no one would get hurt.

“Friday, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Only when he knew could Peter go back. Only then would Peter step foot in the Tower again.

Enjoy!

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