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bbyseok · 4 months

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at first sight? — GOJO SATORU

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

word count: 10k (idek i was possessed)

banner by @/bbyseok , dividers by @/bunnysrph !!

a/n: um hi. its finally here ! thanks to all who liked the teaser, this is my first jjk/gojo fic ever but i really think everyone needs some comfort after jjk chap 261.. and fuck u gege !!

content: soulmate au, gender neutral reader, minimal use of they/them pronouns for reader but gender is not specified, sorcerer reader, nicknames ‘sweetheart’, ‘pretty’, ‘baby’, fluff, mild angst with a happy ending, slowburn??, several pov switches, suggestive/implied nsfw at the end but nothing explicit, brief swearing/explicit language, brief violence/injuries, alcohol consumption, reader gets mildly drunk but nothing else, implied satosugu as past soulmates: can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic, fic takes place after jjk 0 but before the show starts

analysis: this is a world filled not only with curses, but soulmates—in which you know someone is your soulmate when you first make eye contact with them. but for your case, things can get a bit complicated when someone is wearing a blindfold.

here, in this universe, you can tell that someone is your soulmate by simply looking at them. so with that, the saying of “love at first sight” is actually pretty accurate here. you see them for the very first time and barely know the person and yet, somehow, they’re the one you’re destined to be with.

with that, you’d think it’d be pretty common for two random people to run into each other while crossing the street or something and bam! suddenly you’ve found the supposed love of your life!

and you? well, for you, that hasn’t happened yet.

to be fair, it’s not like you’re actively trying to look for your soulmate. handling curses as a jujutsu sorcerer is difficult enough. (maybe you’ll run into them one day after saving them from a curse or something. how romantic!)

it’s better to leave it up to fate. it’s fate who decided your pairing anyway, right?

your transfer to jujutsu tech had been fairly smooth. after being stationed in kyoto for a while, tokyo was a nice change of pace.

coincidentally, you had been out of the country during the incident known as the night parade of a hundred demons. a scary event that proved the threat of curse users to be formidable.

because of that, your decision to transfer to tokyo seemed like the right thing to do. and so far, it’s been decent.

it’s a nice change of scenery. the students are aspiring; while maki and megumi aren’t the friendliest, they’re warming up to you. toge and panda are gradually improving.

nanami’s pessimistic outlook on jujutsu society and shoko’s overall unenthusiastic demeanor are certainly interesting for the most part, but your coworkers are pleasant to be around.

well. except for one.

gojo satoru knows that you are his soulmate. he has indeed known this fact right from the very start, ever since your first meeting.

even with his blindfold on, he could see your own eyes before him. his six eyes can see everything. the thing is.. he didn’t know he could have another soulmate.

his situation with geto suguru is something he doesn’t talk about with anyone. maybe shoko at times, but even then, it’s rare. it’s not that he doesn’t want to, but it’s pretty hard to talk about.

after suguru defected, gojo could still obviously feel their bond. even though they were no longer together as the strongest duo, did it really matter when their souls were still connected to one another? it was a factor that played in avoiding (and perhaps meeting up with) each other as the years went by.

satoru felt their bond die that day after the events with okkotsu and rika. and it had frightened him. that lingering presence of the bond was no longer there.

so imagine his surprise when he sees you.

a new sorcerer in kyoto, now transferred to tokyo. normally, gojo doesn’t seek out the new recruits, but yaga had dragged him over regardless. besides, he might as well get to know his possible assistant teacher that would be helping him out with the new first years.

“i guess i can check out some new faces,” he relented with a sigh, adjusting his blindfold and looking to the side as yaga’s steps slowed as they approached you.

gojo rolled his eyes–not that you’d see it anyway–as yaga introduced you with your name and your sorcerer grade. he stopped to stand next to the principal.

you extended your hand to offer a handshake, and gojo finally turned his head.

that feeling as his gaze fell upon yours beneath the blindfold was familiar—frighteningly so—and unfamiliar at the same time. as if he could breathe for the first time in ages. your eyes are unaware, but they’re so revealing to him.

satoru stuttered in his movements, reluctantly taking your hand. the skin that touched yours felt like it was on fire. he briefly held on to see if you felt it too.

but you simply smiled up at him.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo,” you said, blissfully unaware of the revelation currently dawning on the man before you and the turmoil it brought as he abruptly retracted his arm back.

gojo stiffened. he merely offered a curt nod before turning on heel and walking away briskly. he could faintly hear yaga protest about his sudden departure before apologizing to you hastily. satoru shook his head.

how was this be possible? how could the universe give him two soulmates? he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. he wondered if there had been a similar occurrence before.

gojo couldn’t help but feel nauseous. was this the world playing some sort of sick, cruel joke on him? or was it perhaps giving him a second chance?

and truthfully, it wasn’t like gojo even wanted another soulmate. not after what he had been through with suguru. he hadn’t given it much thought.

was it really worth it?

what if he couldn’t protect you too?

so satoru had decided on one thing that day: the blindfold stays on. concealing his eyes from the world not only for him, but for your sake too. he was certain in his choice; he would never tell you the truth.

as far as you were concerned, you haven’t met your soulmate yet.

and never will.

your first meeting with gojo wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t something you could describe as good either. you’ve been left with the impression that he’s cocky and indifferent.

and that he doesn’t like you.

it’s been around.. two? three weeks? it’s been a while since your encounter with the white-haired sorcerer, and you’ve only seen a few glimpses of him here and there on campus.

okay, he doesn’t display any outright mean or ill intention towards you. on the very rare times the two of you do interact, he is obviously curt and clipped. seems like he’s deemed you worthy of the only either nods or one word responses.

you’ve yet to actually participate in a lesson or mission with gojo, but you prefer it that way. providing individual training and advice for the upcoming second years has been going great. at this point, you’re sure it’d only be awkward.

besides, the strongest sorcerer alive doesn’t necessarily need assistance in dealing with curses after all. that much is understandable.

you’re currently in the teachers’ lounge room with nanami. even though he isn’t actually a teacher, he pays visits sometimes. he’s good company anyway.

“it’s nice to hear that you’re settling in well,” the blonde says with a nod. he loosens his necktie absentmindedly as he adjusts the newspaper in his lap. “especially with that gojo around. he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

you frown at the mention of the sorcerer, crossing your arms. you’re seated across from nanami, watching him idly look through the newspaper.

“oh, well, actually, he isn’t too much trouble. for me, at least,” you reply, brows furrowing, “he barely talks to me.” (in fact, he seems to avoid you like you’re carrying the plague or something.)

nanami looks up, raising a brow. “huh. you should be grateful then.” he then hums, “but maybe that’ll change once there’s actually new first year students to teach. you both are assigned to them after all.”

you lean back in your seat, your shoulders committing to a halfhearted shrug. “maybe. it’s not like i never did anything bad to him though..”

nanami sighs gruffly. “don’t think about it too much.” before he can continue, there’s the sound of footsteps. nanami brings his newspaper back up, muttering, “speak of the devil.”

“nanamiiii!” gojo’s voice sounds from around the corner. it almost startles you how lively he sounds. you realize you’ve never actually heard or seen how he acts without you around.

nanami doesn’t respond, rolling his eyes.

gojo strolls in enthusiastically, blindfold on. “heyy, nanami, we should-” he cuts off when he presumably sees you, falling quiet and stopping short.

you blink, a bit hurt. does he dislike you that much? but you don’t let it show, resorting to greeting him politely like you usually do when you occasionally pass each other.

“good afternoon, gojo,” you muse, offering a little wave.

nanami notices his reaction too, but doesn’t comment on it. he continues to ignore the sorcerer’s presence in fact, eyes still roaming over the newspaper.

gojo clears his throat and resumes his pace. “afternoon,” he responds, focusing his attention back on nanami. he reaches the two of you, giving you no further acknowledgment.

you don’t care if he can see you looking at him, you opt to stare at the black blindfold covering his face. you have a hunch that he can see, or at least feel, you staring at him.

“can i borrow you for a sec, nanami?”

nanami emits an exasperated sigh, but stands nonetheless to follow gojo out of the room for some discussion not meant for your ears apparently, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

do you make gojo uncomfortable? you don’t know what you could’ve possibly done so though. from what you’ve heard from the others, he can be rather eccentric and overbearing.

does he just not like you? perhaps he views you as inferior, too below his level and power to actually converse with you. while it seems a bit of a stretch, you’re sure it’s not out of the possibility also based on what you’ve heard about him from others.

your frown returns. before you can dwell on it any longer, nanami comes back into the room. “well, i certainly see what you mean from what you said about gojo earlier,” he announces.

his words do nothing to falter your frown. “right.” you then shrug once more, “it’s okay. it’s just a bit.. strange.” you then shake your head, trying to be a bit optimistic. “but also like you said earlier, that might change! who knows?”

who knows, indeed.

megumi tucks the cursed tools inside their designated box and closes the lid. he moves on to the next one right as gojo enters the shed, beaming a smile.

“hey, megumi. you almost done wrapping up things here?” satoru asks, undoing his blindfold naturally. there’s a pair of glasses in his hand ready for use.

the teen nods. they had used a few cursed tools during training session today, and the storage did need a bit of tidying up. “almost done.”

satoru makes a noise of approval as he places his glasses on. “great! do you need help setting up your dorm room?” he looks excited at the idea, still grinning.

meanwhile, megumi looks disinterested at his offer. “no thanks. i think it’ll be easy enough. it’s not like i’m decorating it anyway.”

“oh, boo.” but gojo doesn’t insist on it any further. he actually falls strangely quiet, which causes megumi to glance at him curiously.

his teacher looks.. distraught. it’s hard to actually tell, but he seems to be looking at the floor, maybe lost in thought. before megumi can say anything, gojo’s expression changes and he starts talking again.

“you’re, uh, with the new teacher for tomorrow,” gojo then informs. he shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at the floor absentmindedly. (he’s fidgeting. subtly.) “it’ll just be you two, i think, on a small mission. so they can get used to actually working with students on field. it’ll be good for the both of you.”

megumi nods. he tilts his head afterward. “you can say their name, you know. it won’t kill you,” he says a bit pointedly, “and they’re not technically new anymore. it has been a few weeks now since they’ve joined the school.”

“right, right.” megumi’s face scrunches up as gojo’s hand comes down to ruffle his hair gently. (a habit that has not died since his younger days.) “whatever you say, megumi.”

despite your minimal interactions and his rather closed off demeanor, megumi is actually one of your favorite students. (and yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have favorites, but oh well.)

your mission with megumi, or rather, the mission you’ve been assigned to supervise the student on, is rather simple.

there’s been reports of a low grade curse roaming the premises of a supermarket neighboring a nearby cemetery, so megumi is to obviously exorcise it under your watch. the area has been closed off with a small veil. megumi had decided to check the parking lot first for any lingering traces, so here you are.

“i think we’re good here,” the teenager confirms as his demon dogs return to his feet, seemingly in the clear. you nod and let him lead the way towards the inside of the store.

as the two of you begin to walk down each aisle with one of the demon dogs trailing behind, megumi says your name in an inquisitive tone. “what do you think of gojo-sensei?”

the sudden question has you blinking in surprise. your eyes scan megumi as you both continue to trek down the aisle. “what makes you ask?”

“no reason.” he doesn’t meet your gaze.

you bite down on your lip in contemplation. you’re not sure what brings this question to mind for him, but you’re willing to indulge him for now. “well.. i think he’s.. alright.” you pause. “as a sorcerer, i admire his strength. though, i think a lot of people think that obviously.”

“and as a person?” megumi presses, turning to investigate the next aisle. he still doesn’t glance over to you, still preoccupied with searching for the curse.

(hell, for a teenager, he sure is perceptive.)

you choose your words carefully, thinking it over with a brief pause.

“i’ll admit, i don’t think i know him well enough to be sure. as a person, i think he’s.. self-centered and rude. sometimes, i see him act very carefree in a way. he’s.. obscure, i guess.” you clear your throat and reiterate, “but again, i don’t really... know him.”

you can see megumi go over your words silently. the quiet continues. the conversation seems to be dying, but it doesn’t matter when monstrous gurgling sounds up ahead.

a curse appears in front of you, the shelving of the aisles toppling over as it gargles some unintelligible roar. megumi doesn’t hesitate, using his technique to summon his demon dogs once more to swiftly engage in combat.

the fight is easily handled in three minutes top. (they weren’t kidding when they said it’d be easy.)

after the commotion has settled, you allow megumi to do one more check up around the store just in case. just as you are prepared to exit and bring down the veil, you decide it’s your turn to ask him now.

“and what about you, megumi?” you inquire lightly, giving one of the demon dogs a few head pats for their good work. “what exactly do you think of gojo?”

megumi hums.

“i agree with most of what you said actually,” he answers honestly, causing you to chuckle in amusement. the teenager tilts his head and finally looks at you. “but i also think he’s kind when he wants to be.”

his frontward honesty surprises you once more. this kid sure is something. you believe his words; he has no reason to lie to you, especially about gojo of all things. still, you poke at him teasingly, “really now?”

you don’t really expect him to answer, but then megumi says in a mumble so quiet that you nearly miss it.

“well, he did sort of raise me after all.”

“i just don’t think he likes me, shoko,” you puff out a sigh, watching as she puffs out smoke. “i’ve seen the way he is around other people, and he’s not like that with me.”

she’s on break right now, so you thought you could talk to her about a certain blindfolded sorcerer who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

it’s interesting to hear about the different sides of gojo satoru from your peers. from nanami, you’ve learned that he’s pretentious and troublesome. from megumi, that he can be caring in his own way. and shoko?

“he’s crazy.” the doctor waves her cigarette at you with a shrug of her shoulders. “but it beats me on why he doesn’t particularly like you.”

you groan, slouching in one of the chairs set up in the infirmary. “maybe i should’ve stayed in kyoto,” you mumble. it’s more of a joke than anything; your.. weird terms with gojo isn’t enough to actually deter you.

but shoko puts the cigarette back to her lips and tilts her head. “want me to ask him about it?”

you straighten your posture abruptly and look at her. “what? you don’t have to. he might think i asked you to or something.”

she shrugs again. “your call.”

your brows furrow. “maybe we just got off on the wrong foot somehow. even though all i did was shake his hand.” you snort. “maybe i can get him something to break the ice. what does he like?”

shoko doesn’t even hesitate. “sweets. he likes his sweets.”

oh. oh, okay! you blink and nod. who would’ve thought? the strongest sorcerer in the world likes sweets. “i can handle sweets.”

you, in fact, cannot handle sweets.

why are there so many? you’re at a local bakery staring at the rows and rows of pastries they have on display, looking as if you’re trying the decipher the world’s hardest math problem.

shoko never specified what kind of sweets he liked during your conversation with her a couple days ago. cake? ice cream? cookies? you might as well buy the whole damn store at this point with your luck. the last thing you want is to buy him something he won’t actually eat.

“oh, fuck it,” you mutter and finally decide on a small piece of cake. it happens to be your favorite kind of cake, but oh well. if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it! it’s the thought that matters anyway, right?

as you exit the shop with your newly acquired dessert, you try to devise a way to give it to him. do you just.. hand it to him? or maybe it’ll be better to leave it in his office. or have shoko give it to him!

ughh, who knew how hard it’d be to give a man a cake? okay, okay. you’ll simply give it to him in person since he’ll know it’s directly from you. problem solved.

well, actually, problem is not solved. how are you supposed to give the cake to gojo in person when you have absolutely no clue where he is right now? after returning to the school, he’s no where to be found, so you eventually turn to yaga for help.

“he’s on a mission where??”

you stare at yaga with wide eyes as he names some city so far away you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to find an affordable ride to get you there in a reasonable amount of time.

“oh, alright,” you say, feeling a little disappointed. the cake suddenly feels a little too big and heavy in your hands.

the principal’s gaze flickers down to your little intended treat for his former student. “these kinds of missions are no trouble for satoru. i’m sure he’ll be back soon, so you can leave that in his office.”

you brighten up at that and nod. “thank you, yaga.” you then dismiss yourself with a polite bow after he informs you where gojo’s office is exactly, and you start to make your way there.

it’s only a few minutes until you get there. you open the door and catch sight of a desk. it looks rather plain, which is understandable since it doesn’t seem like he uses this space often. (though, there is a chair that looks more expensive than your entire rent.)

either way, you walk inside and set the container down on the desk with a small sigh. hopefully the gesture is appreciated! if he really does have a sweet tooth like shoko says, you’re not sure why he’d turn it down. again, you can only hope.

you sigh again and turn to leave when the sound of the door creaking open sounds again. you freeze in place when it swings out fully, revealing the very man you were thinking about.

(yaga was not kidding when he said that gojo finishes his missions pretty fast.)

gojo perks up at the sight of you in his office, and even with his blindfold on, you can tell he’s got a surprised look on his face. “can i help you.. or do you have a reason on why you’re snooping around in my office?” he inquires, walking in.

while not evidently hostile, his appearance and words suddenly have you anxious. “oh, well, i-’’ you want to mentally smack yourself for fumbling over your words. “i’m sorry for intruding. i, uh, just wanted to leave you a little something.”

it’s only then does gojo look past you and makes a small noise. you can’t really decipher it, but you watch as he walks by you to open the small packaging to see the slice of cake meant for him.

and when he makes a small noise again, you can tell it’s one of delight. “you got me.. cake?” he asks, looking to you again questioningly.

“i did,” you clarify with a small nod, summoning a small smile and rubbing the back of your neck a bit sheepishly, “i didn’t know what kind of sweet you would like, so i just ended up choosing my favorite cake. um, i really hope you don’t mind the flavor, but if you don’t you really don’t have to eat it so-”

“kikufuku.”

you stare at him, confused. “what?”

“kikufuku,” satoru reiterates, and it’s his turn to smile. (it nearly catches you off guard because although very small, it’s pretty.) “s’my favorite. or.. one of my favorite sweets. crepes are good too.”

his newfound friendliness has you smiling a bit more evidently, pleased that this interaction is your most pleasant one with him so far in the weeks you’ve been here. “oh, okay,” you chuckle, “noted.”

gojo opens the container and unwraps the plastic fork that had came with it. he takes a bite of the cake and hums in approval. “can see why it’s your favorite. it’s not bad.”

your face lightens up at that. “oh, i’m glad.”

he hums, popping another slice of cake into his mouth. “any particular reason on why you’ve decided to give me cake, if i may ask?”

you falter once more, now nervous in telling that you’re hoping to.. resolve this one-sided tension with you. ultimately, you decide to be straightforward, inhaling deeply and looking at him. (well, his blindfold.)

“well, i’m not an idiot, gojo. you haven’t exactly been.. friendly to me. i’m not trying to win you over or anything, but if we’re going to work together with the first year students, consider this a gift for a truce. or um, a peace offering so we can act somewhat decent with each other.”

the white-haired sorcerer falls silent at your confrontation. you’re half expecting him to brush you off and walk out of the room entirely. especially since he seems to have stiffen up (similarly to the way when you first met, you had noticed).

he seems to contemplate for a bit. you don’t know where he’s looking at; the floor, the cake in his hands, you? it’s suddenly nerve-wracking.

“you’re right,” he finally speaks up, “i.. i’m sorry for my previous behavior towards you. can we start over?” he places the cake aside and walks back over to you to hold out his hand.

“gojo satoru.”

your eyes flicker to his blindfold to his hand, then back to where his eyes are hidden underneath. the rumored powerful and breaktaking six eyes concealed from your ever so curious sight.

against your better judgment, you repeat your name and take his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo.”

your new relationship with gojo is steadily becoming better. he’s no longer curt with you, and actually engages in conversations even with no other people around.

though, you can’t help but feel like he’d avoiding looking at you for some reason. which is pretty far off since you can’t technically see where he’s looking, but it’s a hunch you have nonetheless.

but hey, it’s progress, progress that you’re somewhat happy about.

like now, as satoru leans over your shoulder to peer at the clipboard in your hands. you’ve just finished wrapping up a lesson with the soon-to-be second years out on the field.

“ooh, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow, teach?” he pries.

“assistant teach,” you remind him teasingly, going over the contents of the clipboard. “more sparring. oh, and the registration for that new first year.”

“the one from the countryside?” gojo hums.

you nod. “yep. a.. kugasaki nobara. we won’t actually get to meet her, but arrangements for her arrival are getting finalized.”

“oh, boo. s’just more paperwork,” the sorcerer beside you whines, kicking at the grass.

“at least megumi isn’t the only one now,” you point out and finally turn to him.

just as you expected, satoru glances away to look at panda and toge finishing up. you squint at him narrowly but don’t comment on it.

“that’s true. not like that kid cares anyway, but it’ll be good for him,” gojo agrees airily, shoving his hands into his pockets.

you eye him. “hey, gojo?”

“yeah?” his head remains turned to the students. (further proving your point! you feel like you’re collecting evidence here; the gojo satoru cannot look at you in the eye!)

you hesitate. “wanna grab some kikufuku?”

he perks up at that. (like a puppy, really. it almost makes you laugh.) “mm, whatever happened to not trying to win me over with sweets?” he teases.

you laugh at that then, shaking your head in soft denial. “no- that’s not what i-”

“well, you did said kikufuku.." satoru interrupts you with a dramatic sigh and heave of his shoulders, “so how could i ever possibly resist?”

satoru doesn’t dare to look down at you.

“care to join me?”

but you smile up at him cheekily, and he hates the way the sunlight is hitting your features just right. it looks like the color of your eyes is glistening.

you’re just.. lying down on the grass of one of the training fields, admiring the drifting formations of white clouds on the blue canvas that is the sky.

satoru keeps telling himself that shouldn’t be doing this. his first mistake was accepting your cake. allowing himself to get closer to you. but when you look at him like that, he feels like he can do anything. which is odd, becaues really, he can do anything. it goes without saying as his status as the strongest.

but with you, it’s starting to feel a bit different.

when he doesn’t give you an immediate answer, you tilt your head and continue to blink up at him. “you can see the sky even with your blindfold on, right?”

he snorts. “yeah, i can.”

you pat the space on the grass next to you welcomingly, a beckoning that he just can’t resist again. “well, come on and join me,” you persist.

he hesitates, shifting his weight on his legs for a moment. against his better judgement, he joins you. it’s surprisingly comfortable, he finds, as he kicks out his legs and sighs.

it’s a comfortable silence that it’s almost startling. how easy it is just to be around you. (which is the exact reason why he had been avoiding you in the start, in fear of slipping up around you. he still might.)

“you get headaches, right? if you don’t cover your eyes.”

he chuckles at your question. “yeah.” it’s a half truth, half lie. he does get headaches, but for another reason now. you can’t get out of his head. (he’s got a suspicious feeling it’s because the soulmate bond is incomplete. but again, that’s just a theory of his.)

“‘m’sorry. that sucks.” you pout subconscously, still looking up at the sky to admire it.

he scoffs fondly, clapsing his hands over his stomach. “it’s no biggie. you think headaches can take down gojo satoru?”

“hey now, tough guy. they can take down me sometimes.”

(he’d fight off headaches from you if he could.) his heart is thudding against his ribcage, warning him. but he doesn’t heed the warning, and continues to lay down with you on the grass.

it’s a nice feeling. he doesn’t feel like the greatest sorcerer in the world with his colleague. it feels like he’s just satoru, pointing out the different shapes and animals you can spot in the sky with his soulmate.

“hey, that one looks like you!”

“hah?!”

“i’m guessing you and gojo-sensei are getting along now,” megumi bluntly comments.

it catches you off guard slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. (of course he had noticed how the both of you interacted from the beginning.) “oh, uh, yeah.”

and as you watch satoru go down the steps of the stairs to head over to you both whilst waving an arm with much more enthusiam than needed, you can’t help but smile.

“yeah, we are.”

this is a mistake. he shouldn’t be doing this.

but satoru can’t help but be so selfish, selfish in indulging in your looks, in your scarce touches. when you had confronted him with your peace offering as you had so called it, he had given in.

and now he’s spending more time with you. be it after lessons with the students, on random days where you have nothing to do, during weekends when there’s no authorities to bother him—he can’t help it.

was it the bond wanting to be complete? you were still unaware of his true identity, of what he could possibly mean to you, so why does he feel like he needs to be so close? he gets antsy at times when you’re not in his sight. it’s starting to affect him.

the soulmate bond, or lack of it—that has to be the only explanation for it. because he knows that you’re his soulmate, he’s subconsciously drawn to you and your presence. (it’s definitely not because he likes the way you smile, or laugh, or-)

fuck.

after a relatively tough mission, you’re obviously sent to see shoko. you’re not fatally harmed, maybe a scratch here and there. and okay, maybe a gash on your shoulder..

it had been enough to sort of knock you off your feet, but you’re fine. totally. exorcising a semi grade two curse at 1 a.m. in the morning was no biggie at this point.

once she’s finished tending to your wound, she dusts off her hands and places them on her hips. “you’re all set.”

you smile gratefully. “thanks, sho. can always count you to patch me up.”

she snorts. “well, it is my job.”

gojo suddenly appears right next to the table and you yelp, startled by his teleportation. shoko, on the other hand, looks unfazed, as if she’s used to this.

“gojo!” you blink, your voice taking a scolding tone soon after, “geez, you scared me! what’re you still doing awake??”

the blindfolded man falters, looking apologetic. “sorry. heard you got back from your mission.” he sounds worried, but before he can voice his concern, shoko rolls her eyes.

“they’ll be fine,” she says.

gojo’s shoulders finally drop down and he plays off his previous display of concern with a laugh. “ahaha, yeahhh, i knew that,” he scoffs with a wave of his hand, “i can’t bless you two with my presence?”

shoko gives him a displeased look before she turns around to tidy up her tools. you chuckle at her annoyance. “thanks for checking up on me, satoru,” you say sincerely. your eyes go over his appearance; he’s dressed more casually: a pair of dark slacks and shirt that expose his collarbones. not that you’re.. particularly looking.

but his shoulders seem tense again at your words and he hums quietly. (huh, strange. at least he’s not refusing to look at you anymore, you think.)

“well, i say this calls for a little celebration,” satoru suddenly purrs in delight, waving his hands in the air.

“celebration? for me getting kinda beat up?” you blow a raspberry at him, only for him to blow one at you right back. even though you had done it first, you can’t help but giggle at his childish antics.

he grins at that, then shakes his head. “heyy, i heard you beat up a semi grade two curse!” he says, “i think that does call for a celebration, does it not?”

you stare at him, unsure on whether he’s joking or not. wait, how did he even know that? well, maybe he had gone through the mission reports and assignments. still, you’re surprised that he knows. “you can wipe those out in less than a minute, gojo,” you point out with a raised brow, “don’t try and humor me.”

his grin lessens. “well, yeah, s’kinda easy for me, but i think that goes without saying. you’re telling me don’t wanna celebrate an accomplishment of yours?”

you look to shoko who is almost finished with cleaning up. she just shrugs. you look back to satoru and shrug yourself whilst rolling your eyes. “alright, we can celebrate.”

gojo fist bumps the air. and here you are again, giggling at him.

eventually, when he leads you out of the infirmary and to the teachers’ lounge. he digs through one of the fridges and hands you a bottle of what seems to be alcohol.

“i didn’t even know this was allowed here,” you mumble, settling down on what of the high chairs near the counter. you wiggle in your seat to get comfortable as gojo takes the one next to you.

you offer it to him but he shakes his head, nose scrunching up a little. “i don’t drink.”

“wasn’t this your idea?” you blink. “suit yourself, more for me.” you shrug and open the bottle to pour yourself a glass. and another. and another. and then another.

(you don’t know what particularly drives you to keep drinking as you talk with him, but perhaps it’s the way you know that satoru’s eyes are lingering just underneath the blindfold. you can practically feel his stare.)

and gojo watches you gradually drink yourself to being mildly drunk.

“okay, no more for you,” he laughs as he takes the bottle away from you and holding it above your head when you try to reach for it.

“awh, man.” you pout and rest your head on your arms on the table, looking at him the best you can. “you meanie. you got me drunk on purpose. give it back.”

he snickers, amused and endeared by your drunk antics as he pushes the bottle aside. “sorry. you’ll thank me later, pretty.”

pretty. he’s never called you that before. you wanna hear him say it again. (amongst some other things.)

“pretty.. you’re pretty. i bet your eyes are pretty too,” you say into your sleeve, your other hand reaching out to his blindfold, “everyone else says they’re v’ry pretty.”

he leans back to avoid your hand, heart pounding in his chest a little too loud for his liking. he wonders if you can hear it. “sure. i guess they are,” he says softly with a small chuckle.

“i wonder who my soulmate is,” you then mumble out. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s your incoherent slurring, but you sound.. sad.

before he can dwell on it, you’re slurring out another question that has come to your head.

“d’you have a soulmate?”

satoru’s eyes widen under the blindfold. he knows that you’re drunk. that you’re just saying things. but your hazy eyes stare up at him with a glint that makes his heart lurch.

and you won’t remember a thing in the morning, right?

before he can answer, you’re out like a light.

you wake up in the morning with a splitting headache.

with a groan, you sit up in what seems to be a bed that seems way to be to be your own, legs kicking the sheets that had been draped over you in alarm.

you have no idea where you are, but there’s a glass of water along with some painkillers on the nightstand beside you, which you down gratefully. there’s also the smell of food coming from outside the room.

you can piece two and two together that you’re probably in the home of someone you know.. your brain racks for information of what had happened last night but it’s only causing it to ache even more.

gojo.

you shake your head and make your way to what seems to be the bathroom to tidy yourself up. you notice that your’re still clad in your clothes of last night, so gojo had done the courtesy of tucking you in.

after you’re done, you take a deep breath and head outside.

you navigate your way down the hallway and follow the smell of food. as you turn the corner, you catch the sight of satoru in the kitchen. not that you doubted that the greatest sorcerer could cook, but for some reason, he looks so domestic.

he’s simply wearing sweats and a loose fitting shirt, your back turned to you as he tends to the stove, but the mere sight of it has your heart leaping into your throat. you have a feeling that it’s a sight meant for you, for you to see.

you don’t no how long you stand there, but suddenly a laugh rings through the kitchen from satoru teasingly. “take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer.”

you yelp, embarrassed. (sweetheart? you try not to think about it, but you hate the way it makes your heart leap again. he’s just.. messing with you.) “erm.. sorry. good morning, gojo.” you approach the kitchen and take a seat at the counter.

when he finally turns to you, he’s not wearing his usual black blindfold, but instead what seems to be white bandages. you haven’t seen it on him before, but you don’t comment on it though.

he says good morning back before serving you some food, which you thank him for gratefully. “thank you for the painkillers too. i didn’t do anything embarrassing last night, did i?” you inquire, half jokingly.

you try to remember what had happened last night, but your memories are still a bit hazy. all you can recall is talking with him about things and staring at him. (you’re not going to tell him that though.)

“nah,” he waves off, “just told me your darkest secrets, s'all.”

you straighten up. “what?”

“kidding, kidding!” he snickers.

you groan and drag your plate to you. “i didn’t know you could cook.”

satoru looks mildly offended, emitting a dramatic gasp as he waves the spatula at you in a petulant manner. “hey now, i’m no expert. but i can at least make some sort of breakfast.”

(he totally did not look up a tutorial on how to cook for you. definitely not. but he’s a natural at everything, so at least his naturally gifted skill is in his favor this time.)

“thank you, gojo.” a smile tugs at the edges of your mouth.

“satoru.”

“what?”

“c’mon, you’re literally eating breakfast in my kitchen,” he laughs, sliding a mug of coffee (probably with extra cream and sugar because it’s gojo) towards you across the counter. “satoru’s fine.”

you test the name on your tongue, paying little attention to the way it makes the man before you stiffen up as you grab the coffee. “satoru.. thanks, satoru.” you think you can get used to saying that.

(he does too.)

satoru turns away back to the stove. “you’re welcome.”

“hey satoru, what did you say what you wanted again? i’m thinking bubble tea but i dunno..”

he likes the way his name sounds from you.

“uh, satoru? satoru? helloo, earth to gojo satoru? satoru!”

oh.

fuck, he hadn’t realized he had spaced out. gojo lifts his head in a sudden motion, making a surprised noise. he smiles sheepishly. “what’s up?”

“you feeling alright, satoru?” you tilt your head.

keep saying his name.

“awhh, i’m feeling more than alright, sweetheart.” he shoots you a grin, liking the way your eyes reflect the café lights, giving it a warm hue. “i’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“you seem to be in a good mood lately,” megumi points out. ijichi, in the front see, looks at the two of them through the rear view in silent agreement.

(a lot of people have noticed actually.)

gojo pauses, halfway through unwrapping the plastic of a popsicle. it’s the same one he used to consume during his youth, but his taste really hasn’t changed after all this time. “oh?”

the teenager eyes him narrowly. “yeah.”

gojo merely hums and pops the icy treat into his mouth.

“heh, i guess i am.”

you can hear gojo and shoko’s voices coming from the infirmary, causing you to smile absentmindedly. you didn’t think you’d be enjoying their company this much in the recent months—especially satoru’s.

(strangely, it feels so natural to be around him, you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same. you try to write it off as spending so much time together for a while now, but you can’t lie when you say he doesn’t make the stomach churn with butterflies.)

you turn the corner and announce your presence to the two with a smile and wave. you catch sight of them when they glance over to you, noticing something different.

shoko is wearing her usual white coat with a cigarette in hand, but she’s got her hair tied up in a rare bun to keep any strands from her face.

but that’s not what’s different as your gaze strays to the man next to her, the familiar frame of gojo catching you a bit off guard.

he’s wearing his glasses.

you’ve never seen him wear anything but his blindfold.

how does he look even more breathtaking than without it? you can’t see his eyes still, no—it’s a deep, deep shade of blue that still blocks his gaze from anyone else. but it’s a more casual look, seeing as his hair isn’t being help up and a few strands fall down and you can see his sharp facial features a bit more and-

and then he’s gone.

you audibly make a sound of confusion and hurt, because one moment he’s there and the next he’s no where to be seen. he had vanished without a single world.

he’s fucking avoiding you again; the realization of it makes your throat close up. after all you had been through with satoru.

“what the fuck was that?”

shoko stares at the space gojo had just been standing, just as lost as you.

there’s a distance between the two of you again. it’s painstakingly familiar to when you had first met gojo and he had kept himself strictly professional with you.

and you don’t know why.

it’s back to the cold shoulder from him; you’re seeing him less and less around campus, and those times where you did hang out off duty are practically a thing of the past now.

satoru is going to be the death of you one day, you’re sure of it.

and you and satoru aren’t even.. a thing.

then again, you’re not even sure what you are. you’re friends, yes, that’s much more than clear, but why does it feel so much more intimate than that despite the fact that the two of you have never even done anything?

however.. a part of you knows that you want more. more of those days lying in the grass with him, more of those mornings eating breakfast with him in his home, more of those afternoon café runs, more of everything with satoru.

is that why does it hurts so much now that he’s pushed you away again?

satoru is praying that you’re not in there with shoko as he approaches the infirmary a week later. she had called him over, and though he could’ve easily refused, he found himself obliging anyway.

“hey, what was that the other day?”

shoko is blunt and straight to the point once he arrived, striking him with a petulant and expectant gaze with her tired eyes.

gojo blinks innocently, tilting his head at shoko. “what was what?”

shoko then rolls her eyes. “you know what i’m talking about. what was that. you just- walked out like they we’re going to kill you or something.”

that’s the thing. you just might.

the white-haired man frowns and continues to feign innocence. he’s starting to wonder why he bothered coming here. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

his avoidance causes shoko to frown as well and she crosses her arms. “you’re doing the same thing that you did with them when they first joined here.”

when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “avoiding them, pushing them away. i thought you didn’t have any problems with them. at this point, make up your mind because you’re just toying with their feelings and it’s not going to-”

“we’re soulmates,” satoru blurts out.

shoko is cut off, staring at him all wide-eyed for once. “you’re kidding.”

satoru falters. “i’m not. s’why i always wear the blindfold. and that’s why i.. i ran that night. just my glasses was too risky.”

what if he had angled his head the wrong way, what if you saw his eyes, what if you finally realized that you were fated to be together at the whims of the universe? he couldn’t do that to you.

“how long have you-”

“since we first met. i.. i could see it because of six eyes,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know why. i didn’t think i could have another one after-”

the two fall quiet at the mention of suguru, a heavy feeling hanging in the air between them.

“what are you going to do?” shoko asks quietly.

satoru sounds wrecked. “..i don’t know.”

“well.” shoko smushes her cigarette against the surface of the metal table. “you better do something before it’s too late.”

unfortunately, the higher ups have also noticed.

(the push and pull that has been going on between the pride of the gojo clan and a random transferred sorcerer from kyoto. nothing goes unseen by their tight hold on jujutsu society.)

and you are none the wiser when you’re an assigned a mission late so at night, at a secluded edge of tokyo. you would’ve questioned it, but after looking over the details, it seems easy enough since it was a low level curse.

ijichi drops you off near the location and bids you luck. the night is dark, with the shape of the moon only peaking out every now and then due to the clouds to offer minimum light, and then the veil is coming up.

it’s fine though, as you start walking to get this over with. the faster, the better.

what the fuck? the cursed energy here is much stronger than you had anticipated, almost as if it’s suffocating. now uneasy, you continue your search with more caution.

a low growl sounds from somewhere behind you, and you turn on heel to brace yourself in case the curse decides to catch you off guard with an unexpected attack.

your heart drops.

it’s a grade one curse.

something’s not right.

satoru can feel it. he can sense it in the air. something is lingering, a presence that makes even him feel uneasy, and he doesn’t know why. nothing makes him feel uneasy. but it’s a gut feeling, it’s the bond tugging and tugging and-

you.

something’s not right.

and then gojo is teleporting and finding ijichi in record time, giving the poor man a scare. gojo’s voice is on edge and leaves no room for argument as he demands the assistant director where he had driven you minutes prior. the veil still stands, undisturbed.

fuck, fuck, fuck- shoko was right. he should’ve done something before it was too late, because now it might actually be too late as he steps through the veil.

it’s too quiet for his liking, but the lingering silence only lasts for a few heartbeats before he hears you scream.

you’re going to die.

you don’t want to think that, but you’re definitely not going to make it out of this unscathed as you dodge the curse’s scarily accurate attacks, as if it knows where you’re going to move and land.

the curse screeches out something ugly, and you’re too stunned to react in time as one of its malformed limbs swings down with a speed that you can’t comprehend.

your throat cries for help even as the air out of your lungs, but then there’s the sudden brilliant flash of red that blinds your vision.

satoru?

you can’t see and your body aches everywhere while the sounds of the curse fade out. it’s replaced by the sound of someone speaking frantically. it is satoru as he crouches down at you, hands coming to lift you up gently. his infinity is off. “hey, hey it’s me,” he voices, “it’s me, sweetheart.”

satoru, it’s satoru. satoru is here.

you emit a sigh of relief, cloudy vision gradually focusing. you try and focus it on satoru, tracing over his features repeatedly, trying to engrave it into your memory.

“shit. those damn higher ups,” gojo grits his teeth into an angered scowl. the higher ups? were they behind this? you don’t know, but you know that you’ve ever seen him this furious before. “i am going to rip those old geezers apart limb from li-”

“satoru, we need to head back.”

he looks dazed, tufts of snowy hair now hanging a bit loosely over his blindfold compared to when it’s normally pushed upright. he even sounds dazed, the great gojo satoru, when he says, “yeah. yeah, okay.”

he’s holding on to you tight and suddenly everything seems to get blurry for less than a second before you blink. you realize he’s teleported you both not to the school, not to shoko’s infirmary, but to his penthouse.

the interior is at least familiar: white walls, a little messy, a couple of decorations, and—

“my place,” he clarifies, as if he had read your thoughts. he sets you down on his couch, uncaring if you’re staining the color of the cushions. but he doesn’t let go, hands still cradling your form so tight that you don’t know if you’re still shaking or that he is.

“are you okay?” you utter out weakly and scan him for any injuries while clutching at his arms, which is ridiculous because he’s untouchable. but you’re not in the right mind right now, and you have a feeling he isn’t either.

“i should be the one asking you that,” he retorts, and you also have the feeling he’s doing the same thing with you with the help of his six eyes.

“i’m alright,” you try to reassure him with a small shake of your head. it only aids you in wincing, but the pain is the last thing on your mind. especially with him here. “it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he argues, his hold tightening even more on you, if that was even possible. is that a slight tremor in his voice? “you almost died.”

“and why do you care?” it’s not a malicious question from you. it’s more of confusion, of genuine. after all you’ve been through with satoru, you’re not sure where he stands. what he feels.

he seems startled by your question, like he can’t believe you could ask such a thing. “of course i care! why-”

you clench your fists in your lap, eyes tracing over his face repeatedly. “i don’t know what you want anymore from me, satoru! you’re not- you’re not telling me the truth.”

“i didn’t want to hurt you,” he tells you hoarsely. god, you wish you could see what he’s thinking. what’s going on in that head of his.

“you did hurt me.”

gojo trembles. “i know.”

“you seem to know a lot of things.” your voice sounds tired. your hand goes to rest on his chest, where you can faintly feel his heartbeat underneath. (oh, to be the only one who can touch gojo satoru like this.) “what are you hiding from me?”

“i can’t hide anything from you.” he draws a slow intake of breath. he then whispers,

“but how am i supposed to tell you that we’re soulmates?”

your heart skips a beat.

gojo satoru is your soulmate?

astonished, you now stare at him with wide eyes. “why- why didn’t you tell me??” you ask, voice cracking. to think, all this time, your soulmate had been right there, right beside you, right in front of you.

then it all clicks. his off-standish behavior, his reluctant interactions, his avoidance. his blindfold. he didn’t want you to see his eyes.

he’s known all this time somehow—and oh, oh. his six eyes. your lips part in realization as you stare hard, as if you could see his damned eyes beneath the cloth that hides you from the truth.

“i thought that if you knew that we were soulmates, you’d-” satoru shakes his head. “something always happens to the people i love.” he hesitates, “you still have a chance. you can find someone else.”

“what if i don’t want someone else??” you say out softly in protest, gripping the lapels of his uniform.

gojo shakes his head again. despite this, he doesn’t let you go. like he can’t, like he doesn’t want to. “we’re not bonded yet,” he says your name shakily, “please.”

still gripping the collar of his uniform, you tug him closer to you desperately. it’s so clear, so obvious that he wanted this.

“satoru, have you thought about what i wanted?” you breathe out, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “that maybe, there’s a chance that i want to take the risk? that i want to be bonded to you?”

your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily. “that i want you too?”

satoru’s breath stutters.

“you haven’t seen my eyes.”

you cup satoru’s face in your hands, swiping your thumb under the space where his eye is hidden with a fierce tenderness that makes him listen.

“satoru, i didn’t need to see your eyes to fall in love with you.”

your confession has him stilling.

(all the times he had stiffened up in your presence, he had been falling for you, bit by bit. you know that now.)

his hand comes to cover yours, the one that’s still resting on his cheek, fingers smoothing over your knuckles. and then his hand continues to go up, up, up, and-

he tugs the blindfold up and over his head, revealing his eyes to you at last.

his eyes are gorgeous, a blue that seems to spill into your vision and take over your senses. a blue that you can get lost in, a blue that reminds you of the summer sky, a blue that tethers your soul to his, and you both can feel it.

the bond between you is so electrifying that you nearly forget how to breathe.

and then satoru is surging forward, closer, even closer, until your breath is his and you forget how to breathe for a whole different reason entirely.

he’s kissing you.

he kisses you like you might disappear right before him, his head angling into yours to capture your lips with a force that makes your world spin.

and you return it tenfold, one hand still cradling his face while the other sneaks to dig its fingers into his undercut, and he’s making a noise into your mouth with fervor.

you’re all too aware of his heat against you, the frantic touches he’s now giving into as he draws you closer. the surface of the sofa dissipates into nothingness and then-

suddenly he’s teleporting you both again—or maybe he’s kissing you dizzy. but you realize you’re now in space that’s not overly familiar with you, but you can tell it’s most likely his bedroom based off of the feel of the lush satin sheets underneath you.

less than an hour ago you were fighting for your life, and now you’re fighting for your life on gojo satoru’s bed.

“satoru, s’toru, wait-” you’re gasping for air, for something as he engulfs you with his presence. he’s everywhere all at once, and it feels as if the bond is intensifying everything he’s doing to you.

“nuh uh. think we’ve both waited long enough for this, baby,” he gasps against your lips, like it’s impossible to be separated from you again, “don’t know how much i wanted this, wanted you. drove me crazy.”

his words makes your head all fuzzy. you don’t even know if it’s the bond anymore, or just the way he makes you feel. maybe even both. your lungs feeling like they’re burning, but even then, you manage to get out,

“you have me, ‘toru, you have me.”

“yeah?” when he pulls back, it’s not even a few inches, his nose brushing against yours. his alluring eyes glimmer in the darkness of the room, and you’re almost so mad that you feel like kissing him again because he’s kept them from you for so long.

your hands hook over his neck again. when your fingers run over his undercut again, you can actually feel him shiver, causing you to giggle in delight. “yeah, ‘toru.”

“yeah, pretty,” he sighs out and he’s losing himself in everything that is you once more so willingly. your eyes, your very being, compels him to give you everything, so he does. “y’have me too. all of me.”

his confession rings through your ears before he’s kissing you again, kissing you breathless. it’s a blur on what happens next; feverish touches and passionate symphonies, but one thing’s for sure,

the magnetic glow of his eyes in the dark of that night is something that you’ll never forget.

as your stir amongst the tousled bedsheets, you can feel the warmth of a certain someone creeping over you, like a cozy cat searching for cuddles.

your eyes peer open to meet the blurry sight of the ceiling, along with the sight of messy white hair tickling your chin.

“good morning to you, sweetheart,” a voice says cheekily, followed by cascading kisses down your jawline, prompting you to giggle softly.

you watch sunlight spill over into the bedroom, engulfing the man above you in an angelic glow as he finally pulls back to look down at you.

so maybe you didn’t fall in love at first sight with gojo satoru.

that’s okay.

cause as you stare up into your soulmate’s pretty ceruleans in the morning light, you think you can fall in love with him like this a little more.

BONUS!

“you owe me.”

nanami drags a hand over his face as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. “this is the first and last time i make a bet with you,” he grumbles.

shoko merely smirks. “you have such little faith in gojo.”

“bet or not, can we go back to before they were together?” nanami looks like he’s close to investing in a pair of one of gojo’s glasses that can block any normal person’s vision.

satoru is clinging onto you like a sloth.

“babyyyyy,” your boyfriend whines, resting his chin on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your torso. you can’t help but giggle, endeared by his clinginess. (he had claimed it was to make up for the way he had acted in the past and for lost time.)

he’s like another part of you now. not that you mind. being his soulmate is everything and more—from the tender touches to the passionate ones, to the talks of everything: to the mundane to the serious. after all, your soul is his, and his soul is yours.

(and then his hands are sneaking off to places they shouldn’t be.)

“‘toru, not here!”

nanami heaves out another sigh as his hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “is it too late to quit being a sorcerer again?”

TAGLIST : @spn-obession , @deepestartisanhumanoidshark , @scarasw1f3 , @kalopsia-flaneur , @90s-belladonna , @peachipeachy , @chrystinaamanda , @kalulakunundrum , @hunnyheavenn , @dekusdante , @dontmindmelove , @cherries-lostgirls , @rv19 , @etherealstarlightqueen

+ a/n: this fic ended up being way no longer than i expected omg.. but thanks to all who asked to be on the taglist !! some didnt work so im sorry about that </3

like this fic? feel free to go ahead and check out my other works here! -> masterlist

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botanyshitposts · 8 months

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if theres anything ive learned about science communication both online and offline its that people love unusually large or small versions of a creature. nothing really reaches across the barriers of age, education, or language like that does. if it has another interesting factor that seems mildly upsetting or surprising but not offensive to broad human cultural norms, that is a plus but its not required because even then for a single moment everyone is like damn, yeah, thats pretty big or small, and then even if they remember nothing else they might remember that the creatures are coming in Sizes. you know

#this post sounds like its about the titan arum but its actually about the double coconut at my workplace that looks like a butt #seedposting #scicomm #science communication

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ilguna · 10 months

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☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle.

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case.

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise.

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder.

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack.

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up.

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively.

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees.

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—”

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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beneathashadytree · 2 months

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We need double fish dick sizes /j

And you shall get them nonnie!! I hadn’t thought of them before, but when you sent in this ask I sat down and brainstormed for a hot minute, so here come the headcanons I have about Rafayel’s Lemurian form‼️ NSFW ahead, obviously, monsterfucking tropes (literally nothing is realistic here), and reader is gender-neutral!

To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Now, Rafayel’s Lemurian form has an entirely different lower half, obviously, so it does make sense that finer details of his anatomy change too

I would say that he has two… appendages, not cocks per se, and I’ll explain this in a minute

What does resemble a human cock, is really nothing short of absolutely pleasurably torturous, and would be quite literally physically impossible for a normal human to take

10 inches in length, and that’s just me trying to censor things a little… so yes, no one can take him to the hilt (let’s be —ironically—realistic, people)

Girth is pretty complicated, and here’s why:

He’s got a really wide, flared base, but it’s rather thin there, and then he grows narrow in width until his tip

After the flared base, he’s actually got a rounder circumference, so while the base feels more of a stretch, his actual length is what makes them feel so full once he’s buried inside them

Rafayel’s cock has a delicious upward curve near his tip, and it’s made all the better by the slightly angular curves to the mushroom-head

Bonus points for the thick vein that runs along the underside! It’s almost ridge-like, and pairs perfectly with the slight ridges along the sides

I’m a firm believer in the fact that everything related to Rafayel is insanely pretty, so yes, even his Lemurian cock is bathed in gorgeous shades of deep purple, lavender, and a sweet bubblegum pink that flushes a deeper fuschia when he’s past his breaking point of arousal

Now that we’ve gotten his Lemurian cock out of the way, let’s talk about his second—but no less pleasurable—“member” so to speak

I imagine that he hides both under a well-hidden flap along his tail’s midline, right where his human crotch would be, so once that’s pulled back and his cock coaxed into full hardness, you can find his second tentacle-like cock underneath it

It’s thin, even more so than his human cock, is roughly 12 inches long (not very practical, but nothing about his devastatingly beautiful Lemurian form is) and a lot more flexible than you would think—which is good for its two uses

The first is prepping his beloved to take him, which is definitely no easy feat for anyone

He produces a lot of water-resistant slick there, which can help lubricate them easily in order to make the slide more comfortable for them, but it has the side effect of acting almost as an aphrodisiac, which (if in someone whose body can’t take that) may lead to it being too draining to keep up with him and their combined insanely high libidos at the moment

The second—which ties to the first—is that it makes it easier to curl inside his lover and reach their most pleasurable sweet spot, causing them to naturally gush around him and pull orgasm after orgasm before he could even attempt to slip inside their warmth

Again, Rafayel’s Lemurian form is dictated by his biology more often than not, so it’s no surprise that his cum is thicker (to avoid being washed away) and comes out in copious amounts, all for breeding purposes

The Lemurian race was dying out long before they were threatened by external factors and such, so procreation was a very important part of their mating rituals

You can toss that aside though, because it’s purely biological and will only be determined by whether or not his partner can and/or would want something like that; for Rafayel now it’s simply an instinct to be closer and rut deeper into them, so much so that they can’t tell where he ends and they begin

His cum looks quite pearlescent and actually pretty breathtaking, oddly enough; I truly believe it glimmers a little, especially if you look at it under the moonlight and catch the almost gem-like shimmers in its stickiness

Fair warning, it’s quite salty in terms of taste (though not hazardous in composition; he’s all about safety first you know!) and may be a little too much the first time his lover tries to swallow his release down

But that’s nothing a few kitten licks at his pulsating tip won’t acclimate them to, even if it does earn a strangled, breathy moan from him and him shooting his second load of the night on their tongue 🫶🏽

All in all, having sex or even just foreplay with Rafayel’s Lemurian form is overwhelming in the best ways possible—and definitely not for the faint-hearted!!

Taglist: @vash-yuu @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @reika-desu @tikitsune @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins @cantescapethevoid @teewritessmth @lovra974 @straykidz143 @reishuus @xinnn6 @vyntagei @bakahimesama @rafayels-procrastinator @scentisterror @sour-chaos (more in replies!)

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podcastenthusiast · 4 months

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Personally I don't think Edwin gets enough credit for being as socialized as he is. Socialized? That can't be it. That's for dogs. I'm tired I dunno.

But like for real. At least seventy years in Hell. 73? Decades in the worst place with the worst people--demons and others keen to harm him and damned souls just as wrapped up in their own misery as he was. And he didn't have friends even before that when he was alive. All that without even factoring in the autism of it all!

Like, yes he shows Charles immense kindness which had never been shown to him either. He wants to do good, for selfish reasons and for its own sake, and he wants a friend. Maybe his first friend ever. He hasn't spoken to anyone else in who knows how long. Probably hasn't laughed since he died. He's a lonely kid, still.

And listen: when Edwin says he's not good with other people, that he's out of practice, I believe it. After the pandemic lockdown I could not remember how to interact with strangers in real life, how to like have polite facial expressions and stuff, and that was only a year or so.

The Edwin we see thirty years later is comfortable with his best friend and wants nothing to change. He's rude to anyone he sees as a threat and sometimes without even realizing, and usually won't apologize. He's blunt, stubborn, clever but a bit condescending, kinda self-centered, full of repressed gay thoughts and trauma, bad at social cues, funny af but not always good at conveying if he's joking or genuine.

I love all of that about him, by the way.

I wouldn't be surprised at all if Edwin fresh out of Hell would just go days without even speaking were Charles to let him because he isn't used to the possibility of conversation and forgot how to initiate it. Thank god for Charles' likely endless list of questions about ghost rules.

Edwin back then was probably always bracing to be dragged to Hell again. Not to mention even more snappish and prone to saying shit that made other ghosts and psychics want to punch him.

Charles has dedicated thirty+ years of his afterlife to understanding Edwin Payne's mannerisms and communication style. He's done research. Because that's what love looks like.

Tldr: Edwin is a bitch and I love him so much.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #charles rowland

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imaginespazzi · 2 months

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Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team.

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face.

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up.

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up.

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back.

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again.

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too.

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her.

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes.

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again.

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs.

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen,

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend.

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence.

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond.

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way.

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening.

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously.

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly.

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana.

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath.

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that.

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately.

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips.

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is.

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours.

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look.

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends.

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage.

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them.

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her.

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger.

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said.

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly.

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again.

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly.

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore.

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate.

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple.

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did.

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her.

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh.

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly.

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-”

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender.

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever.

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist.

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows.

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames.

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother.

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her.

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them.

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently.

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands.

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch.

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be. That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort.

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas.

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them.

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt.

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults.

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side.

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other.

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years.

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe.

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this.

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige.

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes.

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay.

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake.

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly.

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away.

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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zvdvdlvr · 22 days

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Could you please write an imagine based on the episode where Greg House gives a lecture about the three cases and he's one of them (where we first see Stacy).

Reader is one of the students there, gives the correct answers, therefore grabs his attention and he offers a job and they end up dating

Thanks in advance!

chasing you ✩ gregory house

“What color is your pee?”

You watched House interrogate one of the few students that had been giving input on his three stories.

“Yellow,” she replied with a sharp tone.

“And what color is your blood?”

“Red.”

House nodded. “Yes. And what colors did I use to make this tea color?”

The female student stammers as she replies with “red, yellow, and brown.”

The man clicks his tongue. “And brown. How do we get the brown color?”

“Waste-“

“Thank means the kidneys are shutting down,” House cut in. “Why?”

“Could be damage done by the self injection. He has no history of trauma.

“Treatment?”

House’s rapidfire questions had rattled the woman, but she stiller answered. “Heat and rest-“

“Other possible causes?”

“Infection.”

House nodded. “Start him on antibiotics. What else?”

Silence filled the room. House looked around, expecting an answer. “Come on! What is it?”

“I-I don’t know,” the student admits. She looks away.

House sighs and walks down the steps. The paper with the tea color crumpled in his hand.

“You know, it’s hard to think with you in our faces,” starts the annoying student right up front.

“Yeah?” House scoffs. “You think it’s gonna be any easier with a real patient really dying?”

The guy looked down. Once again, silence reigned over the room as House prepared himself to speak. Until… you opened your mouth.

“The unknown factor would be muscle death.”

House looks up. Near the back of the auditorium by the window on the far left. A student House originally thought was uninterested. Sure, House had seen you around the hospital- practically every wide-eyed intern or student had met the witty man but he had never spoken to you.

Which was odd considering he took a little joy in making the interns and students squirm- especially the pretty ones. House was surprised he’d never even caught your name.

When House’s mouth opened and closed twice, you resumed carefully. “The dying muscle leaks myoglobin which is toxic to the kidneys. There’s your brown, Doctor.”

“Brilliant,” House murmured. He eyed you carefully as he went on. “MRI the leg. See what’s killing it.”

The Heath Ledger dupe spoke up again. “Why is the girl getting the MRI?”

“Because the neck skan revealed nothing and her doctor’s way more obsessive than she thinks she is.”

Heath tilted his head. “But you said the guy needed the MRI.”

“Because the mysteriously smart girl over there said muscle death. Not one of you came up with that. Not one of this guy’s doctors came up with it either,” he replied harshly. “They gave him bed rest and antibiotics- just like you guys would’ve.”

“Does he get better?” The female student from before asked.

House clicks his tongue. “No.”

“How long-“

“Three days.” He looks around the room, stalling when he made eye contact with you. “It is in the nature of medicine that you’re going to screw up. You are going to kill someone. If you can’t handle that reality, pick a new profession. Or finish medical school and teach.”

The female student from before spoke up. “It took three days for them to figure out about the muscle death?”

House shook his head. After heaving a sigh he answers “No, it took three days for the patient to suggest muscle death.”

“What caused the muscle pain?” You asked. “Was it- was it a clot?”

House nodded. “Don’t steal my thunder, young padawan. But… yes. A clotted aneurysm lead to an infarction in the patient’s leg.”

You nodded as House examined you intently as he went on. “After the surgery to remove the clot, the patient went in to wide complex tachycardia… The patient was technically dead for over a minute.”

“Do you think he was dead? Do you think those experiences were real?”

Every head in the room turned to the back. There stood James Wilson, leaning on the door. He looked knowingly at House, like he knew something everyone didn’t.

“Define real,” House shot back. “They were re experiences… What they meant- personally, I choose to believe that the white light people sometimes see, visions this patient saw… They’re all just chemical reactions that happen when the brain shuts down.”

“You ‘choose’ to believe that?” You ask curiously.

House’s eyes dart back over to you. “There’s no conclusive science. My choice has no practical relevance to my life,” he replies. As he starts to pace slowly around the front of the room, he proceeds. “I choose the outcome I find more comforting.”

“You find it comforting to believe that this is it?” Wilson asks accusingly.

House blinks. “I find it more comforting to believe that this isn’t simply a test.”

Everyone sat, listening closely to House’s every word. No other sounds could be heard despite House’s cane movement. He explained how, once the patient was put into a medically induced coma, his trusted proxy had made the decision to remove the dead muscle from his leg.

“Because of the extent of the muscle removed, the utility of the patient’s leg was severely compromised,” he told everyone slowly. “Because of the time delay in making the diagnosis, the patient continues to suffer chronic pain.” He tilted his head up to look at the crowd in front of him and then dropped his head to look at his hands.

“She had no right to do that,” piped up a different female student.

Heath Ledger look-alike scoffed. “She had the proxy.”

The woman argued back, “She knew he didn’t want the surgery!”

“Well, she saved his life,” Heath Ledger responded.

“We don’t know that,” the guy in the front row cut in. “Maybe he would’ve been fine.”

“Still, it’s the patient’s call!”

Heath Ledger shrugged. “Patient’s an idiot.”

“They usually are,” House agreed. “Do you have a buzzer? What time does this class end?”

This time, a mew voice answered House’s question. “20 minutes ago.”

For a moment, House looked at Cuddy with an unreadable expression. Then he clicked his tongue and stood up. “I’m not doing this again,” he informed Cuddy. “And this guy is not the world’s greatest dad- not even ranked. Who the hell let’s their kids play with lead based paint? That’s why he’s always sick. Find him some plastic cups and the class is all his again,” he told Cuddy, placing the yellow hand-painted mug in her hands. He started to walk out, but paused and hobbled back to point his cane directly at you. “Except you. Come with me.”

With haste, you gathered you books and writing utensils and shoved them into your bag. As you followed the limping man out of the classroom, you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“I have a job for you if you want it,” House tell you finally, stopping in front of a door. “It’s tough, people lie to you every day, and we don’t even have decent coffee.”

You look from him to the door that reads ‘Gregory House M.D. - Head of Diagnostic Medicine’. “I have literally spoken to you three times. How do you know I won’t accept the job, wait until you trust me, and then steal all your money and leave?”

House paused. “Good question. Will you accept the job, wait until I trust you, and then steal all my money and leave?”

“Probably not,” you reply.

“Great!” House exclaims. “You’re hired.”

Over the course of the next few month, you had clicked immediately with Chase. You spoke passionately about different types of literature with Cameron, and joked with Foreman about anything and everything.

Your relationship with House was complicated to say the least. During your first official case, House insisted he followed you everywhere. You more than understood his hesitance to let you do tests completely on your own. But when he limped around, tracking you like a damn dog… you wondered why he still hadn’t trusted you enough.

To your fortune, Wilson had cornered you in the cafeteria as you were getting lunch. “We need to talk,” he had said before plopping down next to you.

You paused, looking up from your cafeteria spaghetti. “About what?”

“House.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Wilson looked at you with an expectant expression. “Because I want to know what you said. Duh.”

“I think I’m missing something,” you told him. “What was I supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to say to me?”

Wilson dropped his silverware. “Are you serious? He didn’t- You don’t- What?”

“I’m lost here, Wilson,” you tell him.

Wilson looks around suspiciously before licking his lips. “So… you know how the medical gala is coming up?”

Nodding, you shove a forkful of noodles in your mouth. “Chase won’t shut up about seeing ‘all the hot babes in tight dresses’ or something,” you inform Wilson.

After guffawing over your imitation of Chase’s accent, he gets serious. “It’s in a week. Are you sure he hasn’t talked to you?”

You throw your hands up and sigh. “Just spit it out already, Wilson. I feel like a high schooler trying to get my friends tell me who they have a cute little crush on. Tell me or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel!”

Wilson looks away. “I can’t. I’m scared of House.”

With that, he picks up his tray and goes to leave.

“Bye bye, Willie!” You call.

James turns and glares at you before walking out of the room. You chuckle and attempt to finish your meal before your beeper will inevitably go off.

You just start chowing down on the garlic bread (read: bread with butter and garlic) when you hear the dreaded beeping. You bite off a large chunk of the bread and dump your tray before reading the ‘MY OFFICE- EMERGENCY’ that was from House.

When you finally pushed open the door, you saw House facing the window outside.

“Is our patient with the living?” You ask, taking a step towards House.

House doesn’t turn around. “I need you to go to the winter gala thing with me.”

You stiffen up. Throughout your whole body, your muscles tighten as your freeze midstep. Your face drains of blood and your heart feels like it just dropped into your stomach and was dissolved by the acid. Bile had just started rising up your esophagus when House turns.

“Don’t look so excited,” he insists sarcastically. “But seriously. Why are you looking at me like I have a tumor growing out of my eyeball?”

“No,” you mutter raspily. “Take Cameron.”

House’s eyebrows furrow as you turn on your heel and start to leave.

“Why won’t you go with me?”

You gnaw deeply at your lip as you turn. To your surprise, House was standing- watching you leave without his cane in his hand. “Go with Cameron,” you say again. “I don’t- I’m- No. Just no.”

“Y/n, why-“

You practically run out the door before Greg can even say your name. He stands by his desk, staring intently at the ground where you just stood. “Hm,” he hums. He sighs and thinks about what to say to you next.

The next three days consist of House trying and failing to speak to you. To his own surprise, you have completely stopped talking about personal matters with him and have withdrawn any of your own opinions except for facts having to do with the patient.

House had just finished off another bottle of pills when Foreman barged into the room. “What did you say?”

House blinks. “Uhh… to who? Where? When?”

“To y/n, House. What did you say to y/n?”

“I told her that I needed her to go to the winter gala with me,” House answered truthfully. “Why? Has she said anything to you?”

Foreman flops down in the chair facing House. “Do you like her?”

“Well, I hired her, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, House,” Foreman snaps. “Answer me. Do you like her?”

A moment of silence fills the air. House thinks back to the first time he interacted with you- how confidently you completely the puzzle that certified doctor’s couldn’t figure out. How you had matched House’s wit on your very first day. How you- despite being babysat- had completed every test and blood swab and every challenge House had put in your way. How your face often spoke before you did, how House unconsciously searched for you in a crowd, how House looked for your input after almost anything is said, how House wants your company.

“No,” he answers. “Yes. Maybe. Why?”

Foreman looks at House like he’s stupid. “Because she likes you! How have you not figured that out?!”

“Uh, maybe because of the fact that she seemed to want to projectile vomit all over me and then sprinted out of the room? Sorry, I was too focused on the horror in her eyes to consider the fact that y/n really wants that enemies to lovers trope in real life,” House rambled.

“She thinks you’re gonna make a fool out of her, House, and I think you are too,” Foreman answers. He stares at House, searching for information he won’t get. “But… you’re less abrasive when she’s around.”

“You’re acting like she’s your precious little baby sister about to be wed to an evil ogre in the woods,” Greg mutters.

Nodding, Foreman quirked his eyebrows. “I feel like I am.”

House looks at Foreman for a long moment. “Why did you come here to tell me this?”

Eric heaves out a sigh heavy enough to know down an elephant. “Because she wants you to mean it. Y/n wants you to want her. To show her that you want her.”

“I see.”

Foreman nodded. “Don’t tell her I conversed with the enemy.”

Greg scoffed. “As if she’d voluntarily talk to me.”

Eric’s face turned sympathetic. “Just talk to her. Show her this isn’t some whim to- I don’t know, win a bet against Cuddy. Show her you feel the same.”

It was the day of the gala when House found you testing a patient’s blood. You whispered lyrics to a song Greg didn’t know as he stealthily approached you.

“Y/n.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a weird choking noise as you leapt back. “Christ, House!”

“Sorry,” House said with a very unapologetic tone. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” You ask plainly, looking through the low power lens of the microscope.

House leans on the table as you adjust the stage. “About… the dance. Tonight.”

You adjust the fine adjustment knob slowly, clicking your tongue unconciously. “What do you have to tell me?”

Greg looks around the lab awkwardly. He silently tried to encourage himself, mentally recalling the nights before, thinking about what to say to you. “I want to formally ask you to go to the gala with me.”

You stand at full height, facing him directly. House held his breath. He was so close to you, he thought he felt your breath on his face. “I don’t want to go. With you, Cameron, Chase, or Foreman. I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” House asked immediately.

You shake your head. “I’m-These things never go well for me House. Besides, you could just go with Cameron. I know she’s dying to go with you.”

House watches you watch him. “I don’t want to go to Cameron. I want to go with you,” he admits lowly.

“And why do you want to go with me?”

House pauses to see your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips- so fast that he almost didn’t notice. “Because I don’t like her the way I like you.’’

You swallow. “How do you like me, House?”

“Like this,” he tells you before dropping his cane and grabbing your waist. Hearing no complaints from you, Greg pulls you close to him and brings his face close to yours. At this point, House swears his vision is blurred by how fast his heart his pumping. House’s hold on your waist is possessive, protective. He hesitates, hoping you won’t reject him now.

You- thankfully- understand the words House is trying to tell you through his eyes. You carefully let your hand cup the nape of House’s neck and pull his lips down to yours. A breathless moan escapes your lips as Greg pulls you flush against him.

House’s head- for once- is silent. And his leg doesn’t seem to hurt quite so bad with your hands on his body: feeling him like he’s only dreamt about before.

And then- when you do pull back- House keeps his grip on your waist as he looks you in the eyes. “I want to go to the gala with you. If you don’t have a dress, then we can just go home.”

Your flushed lips pull into a dazed smile. “How much cleavage do you want to see?”

House groans and lets his head fall back as his eyes close. “As long as I can take it off tonight and any other day I don’t care.”

“Is that- Are you- Are you hinting at commitment? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?”

House guffaws sarcastically. “Careful, there. I could get you fired.”

You just laugh. “Yeah, and have the others bicker like siblings and let patients almost die thrice before diagnosing them? I don’t think so.”

“You know, you have a pretty big ego for someone who hasn’t worked here for a full year, yet,” House chides.

Scoffing, you attempt to return to the blood you were looking at before House interrupted you. “First of all, you would know about egos. Second of all, I’m good. Cuddy has spoken to me… about other positions,” you tell him vaguely.

House is taken so off guard, his arms go limp. “What?”

“Nothing I accepted,” you answer, turning back to the microscope.

House just hums. “Good.”

You murmur a quiet ‘good’ in reply. “I know how to cure this guy,” you breathe quietly. With a growing smile, you take the slide off the stage and turn off the microscope before discarding the bio-waste.

House struggled to keep up with how fast you were walking, but your kiss had definitely left him chasing you- literally and figuratively.

#x reader #female reader #jules writes 📓🖊#gregory house md #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house x reader #house x you #house x wilson #house x cuddy #gregory house fluff #gregory house angst #greg #greg house #greg house x you #greg house x reader #house fluff

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cinematic-phosphenes · 5 months

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Major Shōgun Ep. 9 spoilers:

Yabushige truly gives meaning to the term 'rat bastard'. Toranaga factored his inevitable betrayal into his plans, and Yabushige STILL somehow managed to spring a surprise betrayal. If it wasn't so horrible, it would be impressive how two-faced the man manages to be.

So, about Mariko .... (I'm actually glad I randomly got spoiled the day before seeing this episode and was prepared otherwise I would not have survived what happened to her.)

My take ... Mariko's death was 'pointless' in the same way Nagakado's death was pointless. Nagakado died a senseless death that failed to accomplish anything, but then Toranaga gave his son's death meaning and honour by thanking Nagakado for dying to earn him some time. Mariko blocking the door with her own body served nothing in the sense that it wouldn't prevent Ishido's men from getting in nor did it change the fate of anyone else in that room. But by choosing to sacrifice herself like that and die at the hands of Ishido's agents, Mariko derailed Ishido's plan to take her captive and ensured she'd become a martyr to Toranaga's cause. Mariko not only fulfilled Toranaga's plan, she exceeded it.

Mariko's mission was to get the hostages freed or die trying and in so doing force Ishido to dishonour himself by openly revealing his hand instead of keeping up the facade that he's not keeping anyone against their will. Mariko did both: got the hostages freed and died a martyr to the cause. (Yes, Ishido may choose to turn around and keep the hostages anyway instead of releasing them as agreed, but in doing so he'll only dishonour himself further and lose more support.)

When Toranaga gets to Osaka, he'll have the moral highground and the support of the other samurai families who didn't want Mariko to die like that and who now see Ishido for what he really is. (Also, when the time comes, I think the Christian Regents will now be prepared to turn against Ishido.)

And Mariko got what she'd wanted all along: dying with honour in response to what happened to her family. Her death was meaningful. She served her duty like her father told her to. And she got to spend her last night being at peace and experiencing something like happiness with John.

Buntaro dishonoured her for so many years by keeping her alive for selfish reasons and when he finally offered her the release of death, it was also for selfish reasons. Buntaro was only willing to allow her to finally die because HE wanted to die then and wouldn't be affected by her death since he'd be gone too. Buntaro ordered Mariko to stay alive. John asked Mariko to stay alive many times, and when she ultimately wouldn't change her mind, he not only accepted and respected her decision, he honoured it by offering to second her. Mariko died knowing John finally understood. He finally got it.

Mariko died, and now she is finally free.

EDIT to add:

She died calling herself Akechi Mariko instead of Toda Mariko. She disavowed her husband and her unwanted marriage with her last words. She was truly freeing herself!!!

#shogun #shōgun #shogun spoilers #shogunedit #toda mariko #lady mariko #anna sawai #give her all the awards!!!#new patron saint unlocked #our lady mariko #but i'm still sad as fuck #crying like omi #may have to write fanfic to console myself #*meine

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thursdayinspace · 4 months

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I love the Millennium kiss for the way it is so gentle and happy and calm. There is no urgency behind it, it’s not a revelation, it’s not suddenly being hit with bottled-up feelings.

He looks at her and he loves her, utterly and completely. He doesn’t see the point of putting any walls up in this moment. He lets himself feel it because . . . because it’s what he’s feeling. There’s no “Oh god, I have to kiss her.” It’s: consequences be damned, this is the woman he loves and she’s right there next to him and his heart no longer sees the point of not doing this.

And she welcomes it so easily. There is barely a moment of surprise on her face. She’s ready. This is what they have always been to each other and there is no hesitation, no moment of “Okay, so this is happening now.” It just is. She has loved him for so long and in her heart she already knows that there’s no use denying it. If he leans in for a kiss, then yes, she’s going to kiss him back.

I love the way this kiss is done – the way all the sounds of the new year’s celebration fade into the background and the camera narrows the world down to only them, like nothing else exists. It captures the gentle energy of the moment so nicely. Because what has prevented them from doing this has always mostly been external factors, private and professional, but not emotional. But there are none here. They’re literally being faded out. It’s just them. It’s honestly perfectly done. Including the acting; you see them giving in to the moment, and I especially love the change of her smile after the kiss, going from “wow, this really happened,” to “did this really just happen?” It’s art. Everything about it.

This moment is not about being in love, it’s about loving each other. There is a difference. There is none of the fluttery excitement about being in love, the elation of it, the fantasy of what could be, the need, the straining towards each other. This is not their hearts jumping in their chests, their breaths hitching, their palms tingling with the need to reach out. This is quiet and soft. They already know. This is not “I need you like I need air,” this is not “I think of you every second of every day and miss you like crazy when I don’t see you for more than an hour.” This is “Did you know that I love you? Because I do.” This is “Nothing feels more right than being here with you right now.” This is exactly what they say to each other after the kiss: “The world didn’t end.” “No, it didn’t.”

It is not a storm. It’s the atmosphere of a gentle summer evening, nowhere to be but with each other. Life goes on, and it still will if they allow themselves to kiss, to admit that this is what they’ve wanted all along. Maybe, in a way, it is a revelation after all. It’s realizing that there’s no point in pretending.

They are truly happy in this moment. There is no doubt, there is no question about anything. This is who they are. This is pure and unfaltering love. Quiet, calm; the only motivation being that they want to. And that is what makes it so good: the only reason for it being “I can’t not tell you that this is the way I love you.” Of all their kisses, this is the happiest one. Their walls are down, and the world didn’t end.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder and scully #txf meta #I have so many feelings about the millennium kiss

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fushiguwu · 1 month

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enjoying your view? getou suguru

CHAPTER 3 from the Summer Fever's serie!

ft. dilf!getou and college student!reader

warnings: use of alcohol (again,, lol), party, gojo being comic relief, reader finds someone else hot (they're just drunk), jealousy, risky making out, sweat, spit, oral sex (w receiving), breath play, soft!dom suguru but he is just really romantic, use of the names princess, baby, silly bun, love, kind of fluff and a bit crack if you squint.

words: 3.7k

a/n: hope u enjoy it :3

Lucky enough, Friday night came like a blink of an eye and you had finally something to do other than mold by your mom’s pool. Gojo almost fainted after hearing you were going to his friend’s daughter's birthday party, as if he wasn’t the one who very much put you in Mimiko’s circle of friends. He, despites, seemed a bit upset for not being invited – and it perhaps was another reason why his dramatic ass almost fainted.

“It’s a young adults party, Gojo. And you are her dad’s friend. Would you want your uncle in nearly forties to get along with you and your twentie’s friends?” You try your best not to sound so rude for him to be more concerned, even though it seemed an impossible mission. Satoru was just so sentimental. “It’s not personal, Satoru. Don’t be such a brat about it”

“You are so cruel with your words, jeez! Could’ve just said I’m not the party’s target group. Now I feel bad AND old” he sits down on the couch with a hand holding his chin, looking absolutely defeated. “In your age, I was an unstoppable party monster, just because I got married doesn't mean I’ve got to become a grimace”. And then he keeps on grumbling by himself while scrolling through the tv channels. Your mom by his side could only laugh at his pityness. Poor woman.

You’ve seized the chance to go off home and get into your uber, who’s been parked by your sidewalk for a whole five minutes now, while you had to deal with Gojo’s attitude. You didn’t bother trying to explain the situation for the poor man working so the trip to Mimiko and Nanako’s house was filled with the city sounds outside.

Their house were huge, and the amount of cars parked made you doubt the party’s surprise factor. The door was wide open and the music as loud as the speaker would allow. A lot of people were dancing in the living room, and it made you question the number of people they knew and how many of them were actually friends — you wouldn’t know that many people for your entire life.

The sisters were nowhere to be found through the crowd. You didn’t know where to leave the present, and the more you got inside, the harder it was to find a space with no couple making out or a young adult drinking like they had two livers. So you go upstairs, hoping to find a safe place for Mimiko's gift — a sweet gold collar with a heart pendant. You open a door to find a bathroom. The next one, an office, smelled like fresh wood and had such beautiful brown furniture. You got too distracted to notice a figure emerging closer and closer right behind you.

“Excuse me, ma’am” you hear a low voice say next to your ears and immediately jumps out in fright. You quickly get out of the way, without looking back, say a whispered “sorry” and go downstairs as fast as your shoes allow you. Your face probably looked as red as a fresh tomato right now. The man once behind you followed your quickie path with a smirk hidden between his cheeks before getting to his office. Thinking straight after a few seconds in the crowded living room, you’ve realized you actually recognized that voice and perfume. It was his voice. It was his smell. You turn around to seek him on the second floor, but as nothing’s ever happened right in your life, someone brought you to a tight hug and got you back to orbit.

“Can’t believe you actually came!” Mimiko looked a bit drunk already. Apparently, you missed the surprise. “Is that for me?” she says pointing to the small box in your hands. you don't say anything, just put it on her hands instead. Finally you gave an end to this poor box. She hugs you one more time and says lots of “thank you’s” kissing your cheeks before disappearing again.

You go upstairs again, this time even more anxious than the last. The bathroom was empty, so it just left you with the office: you knocked on the door, no answer. You opened it, empty too. Just the wood smell and fancy furniture. The hallway, empty. The other doors were locked. No one was supposed to go to the second floor, as it seems, and you were looking for someone that obviously wasn’t there — and at this point you doubted yourself and started believing you were frightened by a ghost. so you accept defeat and head to the kitchen to get drunk. It wasn’t him, nor anyone.

You looked devastated holding your fifth drink sitting by the kitchen counter all by yourself. Perhaps you were too shy to be at a party, you thought. The music playing was trash, you didn't know anyone besides Mimiko and Nanako, and they were nowhere to be found in the crowd. The kitchen seemed to be the loser's spot: there were you, by the counter, alone, a man laid on the ground with a beer bottle in hands, absolutely wasted, his friend by his side trying to get him up, while their other friend threw up in the sink. What a night.

And you know what? fuck it. You're not going to spend your night sat watching drunk men throwing up. You’re going to honour Gojo’s party rocker memory. You took a long sip from your drink and got up to the living room. Fuck the shitty music, fuck the shyness, fuck the ghost of the man you’re obsessed about. you’re going to enjoy your fucking summer break.

The improvised dancefloor was so hot you wanted to just take off your dress right there. Your hair sticking on your skin, the smell of sweat and vape smoke would have made you sick on any other occasion, but not in this state of mind. A man approached you, he’s blond, not so tall, but what truly got your attention was that he had no shirt on. You shamelessly stared at his abs.

“Enjoying your view?” he asks you. you nod your head, still not looking at his face. “Yo. I’m up here” he slaps his fingers in front of your face to successfully get your attention. He, then, grabs you closer enough to meet your lips to his. His hands on your waist as you closed your eyes to let him through —wishing, expecting. Suddenly, when you could finally feel his breath on your nose, he stepped back, and another pair of hands found your waistline, from behind. You opened your eyes and looked back, pissed off. But to your surprise, you are met with both black shirted chest and hair falling down the shoulders. You, then, look up, afraid to be who you thought it was.

“Suguru?” he smiles down at you. Your heart racing to see him again. It’s him, actually him. All flesh and bones — and looking absolutely stunning. “What are you doing here?” you could see him staring down at the dude you were about to kiss. He looked even more surprised. “Sorry, man, didn't know she was with someone. My bad” he said, frightened by Suguru’s piercing stare and height, and left without looking back. You turned around to match the raven haired man’s embrace. You just looked up at him, not believing he was actually there at all.

“Enjoying your view?” He repeats the strange man’s words, and you smile openly at him. You nod again, but this time looking deeply into Suguru's eyes. He smiles too, and your heart absolutely melts. You were getting even drunker on his perfume, his voice blurring the loud music playing around. You whispered an almost inaudible “yes” to him, completely dazed by his presence and he could see it. “Why’s that everytime I meet you, you’re drunk, princess?”

“I’m not drunk!” you tried to defend yourself. He arched his eyebrows at you.“Then why were you about to kiss that tiny naked man, huh?” his voice was lower than it normally sounded like, and he seemed truly bothered about it.

“You saw him approaching me. Why didn’t you come on first, huh?” you mimic him and arch your eyebrows back. Suguru swallowed dry and looked away, his grip on you loosening.

“Because…” he looks back at you, uncertain. You could see in his eyes that something was going on. You only looked back at him, waiting for an answer. “...Because we shouldn’t do it here. I shouldn’t” he seemed sincere, for your importunity.

“And why’s that? Who says so?” You get his face in your hands, feeling the soft and almost perfectly shaved skin. “It’s a goddamn party! It’s the exact place to do so. Only if you are here with someone else…” and you loose your hands. He quickly puts them back on his face and deeps his gaze.

“No. it’s not that.” he says right after you, laughing a bit — more like a nervous laugh than anything. “It’s just that… I don’t know…” you come closer to his face, standing on tiptoe. You could see him flushing a bit, and it makes you smile.

“You know nothing.” and you kiss him, as you’ve been dreaming for weeks now. And it felt just like the first time: just right, absolutely right. You really don’t know what was making him feel so insecure, but as the kiss deepens, he seems to forget about it more and more. His hand tightens again, and one meets the back of your head, gripping the hair from your skull in a delicious tight. You moan on his lips, your eyes shut, just feeling him over your skin again. His hand on your waist goes down to your ass, squeezing it as hard as you bit his lips. It was starting to get dangerous and you knew it. “Is there… somewhere else…?” you break the kiss to ask, breathless, finally opening your eyes. His lips were red and swollen, his gaze low down at you. He looked as starvelling as you.

Suguru doesn’t say anything, just takes your hand and leads you away from the crowd, looking all around, afraid to find Mimiko or Nanako on the way, while you had no thoughts in your head at all, absolutely clouded, just following him wherever he takes you. And it is upstairs again. You look back, feeling like breaking some rule for going to the second floor again, but the black haired man didn’t seem to care about it. He opens the door that leads to the office where you first remembered him today. “I’ve been here, and heard someone talking to me with your exact voice” you confessed to him while the door was being closed.

You watch him coming to you slowly, the anxiety growing at each step he takes. You could feel your heart beating on your mouth. It was finally happening: you’re finally alone with Suguru. You take a step back until you bump into the office desk, a gasp coming out your lips. He meets you, taking your legs up so you could sit on the desk, a few papers and pens falling down on the floor, but neither of you seemed to care. He puts himself between your legs, pulling your dress up your hips, as his face comes closer to your ears. His delicate hands pushing your already dry hair aside. “Yes, silly bun’, ‘cause it was me” and then kisses your neck slowly, exploring your skin and smells. How silly of you to think it was a ghost, indeed. You could feel him smile between kisses, but you were a bit concerned.

“Don’t…” you try to advise him, for you were all sweaty and sticky just now. You move away your neck, which he didn’t seem to enjoy. “I’m dirty, Suguru.” He listened to you unpleasantly, and gripped a hand on your throat smoothly, as looked deep into your eyes. His mood suddenly shifted — he was mad at your insecurities.

“I don’t fucking care” your view became blurred. “I want you, I don’t care about a fucking sweat.” you groan to him, trying to pull your legs together, to have a little release, but his own are in the way. It doesn’t pass unnoticed for him, though, as you feel his knees tight in your panties. He never looked away, his gaze seemed to pierce your soul apart, like a devil you gladly let be corrupted by. You wanted more of him, he wanted more of you; your lusts exploding within the walls. No closeness seemed enough.

“Open your mouth, princess“ you do as he commands, but he wasn’t satisfied yet, “tongue out” he hards the grip once again. As you show your tongue, he comes closer to you and spits on it, making your eyes widen. “Swallow it.” you pleasurably do, his hot and transparent fluid going all the way down your throat to heat your neglected pussy. He smiles and lets go of your neck, you feel like breathing for the first time of your life again. “Felt good, right?” Suguru glances at you while you nodded at him like a trained puppy. And he kisses you, deeply, almost greedy for it.

His kisses started to go down your chin, neck, collarbone, and when you blinked again your dress strap was in your elbows and his mouth on your chest. “You’re just so beautiful, princess. So fucking beautiful.” he squeezes your waist, with his face hidden between your tits. “I could stay here forever” He said —more for himself than for you, kissing all the way down to your bellybutton, as getting on his knees, slowly. His hands pulled your panties down and you missed him putting them in his jeans pocket.

Suguru puts your dress up your hips and sighs at the glance of your naked pussy dripping wet for him, and only him. He really wanted to stay there for eternity: with your knees on his shoulder, his face deep between your legs and your delightful whimpers. He didn’t know why you messed so much with his head, why he got so obsessed with you since the day you first met. Why did his heart race when he saw you again opening the door for his office and it melted when you ran away. He wasn’t supposed to leave the second floor tonight, wished to let his children enjoy their party without a boring parent present. Until he saw you and, then, risked everything just to get to your embrace once more. He knew that if one of his daughters saw you two, would never forgive him. But Suguru knew, too, that you felt the exact same for him: you eagerly, abruptly wanted him close to you. Perhaps it was for your sudden separation previously to blame; the almost that never was in the bar. Your willingness grew immensely, even more for the feeling of never seeing each other again, but now that you did, surprisingly did, it needed to be barbarously released.

“Hold my hair back, love” Suguru gets your wrist, puts it on top of his head and goes back to work. You try, between groanings and shaking hands, to lock his hair strands in a messy bun. Your grip tightens everytime his tongue pressures harder on your aching clit, and the vibrations of his moans makes your mind clouded by lust. Looking down at Suguru you could see how freaky pussy drunk he actually was: his grip on the fat of your thighs so hard you knew it’d leave a bruise or two, half of his face was wet and spittle ran down his chin. He shaked his tongue like a beast, drank on your floods as if he’s been thirsty his whole life. You felt somewhere else in between him and your pussy. He was clearly doing it because he fucking loved to, not only for yours, but for his pleasure too —and it turned you on like nothing’s ever done.

“Sugu, please,—fuck, i’m so close, please, please…!” you whined so many ‘please’s’ for him with such a crying voice he just couldn’t stand not giving you what you wanted. He grabs your hips and gets you up from the table, making you choke. You had your elbows holding you on the table and your legs stuck on Suguru’s ears, your hips floating in the air with only his arms to hold. You were starting to actually worry about his breath, though neither did he care.

For the first time, he distanced himself from your clit. The lack of stimulation made you look down at him breathless, helpless. He looked at you with a smirk, his face red and soaked. “You wanna cum, babe?” you nod at him greedily; his smirk grows and he mimics your nod slowly, saying a “yeah?”

“Yeah. Ye’Please, Sug’, pleas’ make’m cum, was so close, s’close” you had no breath to speak properly but knew he could understand you. He gathered his saliva and spat right on your swollen clit, then gave your ass a spank.

“then fucking do it, but I want you cumming looking right into my eyes, you understand, baby?” you nod and get your grip back on his hair, using it to maintain your balance. You felt a wave coming so hard from your tiptoes to your scalp; his twilight eyes looked straight into yours until your vision went blurry, and black, and sparkling, and your body shaked like never before. Mind blank, legs weak, eyes rolling back. Suguru kept his mouth deepening your orgasm till you pushed him away, trembling, breathless. You had such a dumb face on, he couldn’t help laughing. You looked back as if asking him what was so funny. He kept his laugh and carefully helped you stand still again — though your legs were still shaking, so the raven haired man never left his grip on your waist.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby.” but he still had a smile on. “it’s just that you’ve been fucked so stupid by my tongue, I didn’t know you were going to cum so hard.” your face went red with his words. How could he be just so shameless?

“S-stop saying that! It’s embarrassing.” you cover your burning red ears to protect yourself from his filthiness — not resting long, as he takes your hands within his chest, only making you blush more for the contact with his warmth. You didn’t want to look at his face and Suguru noticed that.

“Look at me, princess. We did nothing wrong, I’m happy that I could make you happy.” he speaks so sweetly, grabs your chin so gently to get closer to your gaze, almost as coercing you to look back at him — and you do. Your cheeks burning as found by his sharp eyes. He’s just so, so gorgeous. All of him, looking back at you so tenderly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? You did a great job, little one.” his left hand stroking your hair as the right one kept your two hands still on his chest. You loose one up to stroke his silky brunette hair strands too. He smiles genuinely and kisses you, but this time, it felt way more meaningful. Suguru was, indeed, starting to feel something about you. Even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself — like, he’s seen you twice now, how could he feel something, right? Right?

“Suguru…” he left his wonders to the sound of your voice so close to his lips.

“Yes, love?” you two kept your eyes closed.

A brief silence. A laugh.

“...Your face smells like… vagina…” and you open your eyes nearly together.

“I can’t believe you just fucking said that.” he said, serious. You thought he was mad at you, until a loud stuck-up laugh escaped his mouth. You laughed too, — in relief. “vagina? oh, my goodness.” he was losing his shit now, holding on his knees, his strength evaporating his body. You didn’t know if kept laughing or helped him up, starting to feel a bit embarrassed again.

“Suguru, stop! But that’s it’s name!”

“I know, I know, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to say that, of all things.” Suguru cleans a tear running down his cheek and standed up again by your side. “of course it does, princess, I just ate the fuck out of your” he pauses, biting his lip not to laugh “...vagina.” you slap his shoulder. How dare he make fun of you? Damn you, Suguru. You end up laughing with him, though. You didn’t know that side of him yet, he looked really loosened up; perhaps the alcohol in your blood has been passed to him, somehow? You took advantage of his looseness to ask something you’ve been wondering the whole night:

“So, Sugu, where do u know Mimiko from? She’s, like, waay younger than you. Are you a kind of cousin or something?” and there it is, the question Suguru was afraid of the most. He wasn’t ready for you to know about it, he didn’t wish to scare you away; just when you were getting along so nicely. The deep breath he takes after your questioning makes you feel a bit insecure he was, indeed, trying to avoid this subject.

And just when he was about to speak, his phone vibrated inside his pocket and the atmosphere suddenly changed in the room. A deadly silence as soon as he sees who’s calling him — you failed in trying to see it. Suguru murmurs a very low ‘fuck’ to the blue screen and looks back at you, as saying ‘sorry’ with such doggy eyes. You say that it is okay and he kisses your forehead fastly. “It’s from work, I really gotta go, baby. Sorry for that. You know how to go back down there, right?” you nod as he turns around to go. But something stops him just before closing the door behind you: “Please, don’t kiss any other ugly, short and stupid boy while I’m out.” you nod to him for the last time that day, looking upset. “Promise?” he was looking into your eyes, even as you looked away. He knew you were disappointed, but he wasn’t going to leave while you didn't answer him back.

You look into his eyes from afar, “Yes, I promise, Suguru.” He gives you an honest smile before leaving.

“Good girl.”

#geto smut #geto x reader #getou smut #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu smut #suguru smut #getou suguru smut #getou fanfic #suguru fanfic #jujutsu fanfic #getou suguru fanfic #geto suguru fanfic #geto suguru smut #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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frenchonionsoop · 6 months

Note

How did Oda leave such a strong impression on Dazai?

OOHH ok i have a lot of thoughts on this topic so bear with me, this is gonna be a long one My interpretation is the first thing Dazai latched onto about Oda was his honesty.

Oda is a very straightforward person, he rarely ever if at all has an ulterior motive and it totally blindsides Dazai. He can't manipulate Oda because he'll take what he says too literally, he can't predict him - not because Oda is good at hiding his thoughts, he just naturally has the most unreadable resting poker face imaginable - and no matter what he does nothing seems to phase Oda (keyword "seems", it often does he just doesn't show it) , and it intrigues Dazai.

As seen with Chuuya we know Dazai gets hooked on people who surprise and/or impress him, so I can absolutely understand how he saw the enigma that is Oda and said "you're my friend now we're having soft tacos later <3".

I could go on for hours about the various times Oda has bamboozled Dazai and how each effected him profoundly in so many different ways, but that's a discussion for another time. I don't think just these factors would realistically warrant Dazai's drastic change in world outlook and spur on his sudden redemption arc, so what did?

I believe it was his complete lack of judgement. Despite Dazai's constant suicide attempts and harsh view of the world not once did Oda outwardly judge him for it, which is in some ways a blessing and in some ways a curse. Oda never viewed himself as qualified enough to call Dazai out, which in hindsight might've done harm as there were times were Dazai needed someone to call him out, but unbeknownst to Oda that lack of judgement gave Dazai room to breathe.

He saw right past the silly facade and the darker side to Dazai, he saw a "sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we're seeing", and he saw a friend.

And this is exactly why Oda's last words hit Dazai so hard. Odasaku, who never speaks up for himself, Odasaku, who's so genuine he'd believe a murderer if they simply said "I didn't do it", Odasaku, who is now telling Dazai life might just be little better if he decides to help rather than hurt.

Bleeding out on the floor of a mansion, in a desperate attempt to make up for all the times he didn't confront Dazai Oda has to find some way to get through to him and fast. His harsh words to Dazai on how he'll never find that happiness he so desperately craves are so jarring they snap him out of his panic, suddenly he's blindsided all over again, and that vulnerable state gives Oda's next words the chance to reach deeper - "be on the side that saves people."

In order to truly get through to him, Oda needed to level with Dazai, the only way to do that in such little time was to repeat back to him his own internal mantra of "never filling that hole that is his loneliness". It's clear his words are false, especially the line "nothing beyond your own expectations will happen" as Dazai's entire speech to Fyodor in the prison is about his belief in the unpredictable nature of human beings.

But regardless, that slap in the face of hearing his own self-destructive thoughts voiced aloud after going his entire life without ever considering anybody else could understand them heightened Dazai's faith in Oda's promise of a life that's "a bit more wonderful."

What makes me adore Oda and Dazai's friendship so much is how grounded and natural it feels. Oda isn't some perfect saviour who always knows exactly what to say, far from it, he was a 23 year old PM grunt with 5 kids and a love for spicy curry, but that's all he needed to be.

Sorry this is so ramble-y and long winded if you couldn't tell already Oda's my favourite character so I have a lot to say about him 😭 Thank you so much for the ask!!!

#there are a thousand other points id love to make here but i didnt want it getting any longer than it already is lmao #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd dazai #bsd odasaku #the dark era #dazai osamu #oda sakunosuke #ask

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lost-in-fandoms · 12 days

Note

3⁹⁾ нечетные носки

39) odd socks

it had started as an accident.

One day, after a particularly good qualifying, Daniel had realised his socks didn't match. He wasn't superstitious, he wasn't, but it felt...right to do it again the next weekend. It was just a tradition. No superstition, no lucky socks, just something to get him into the right headspace.

It didn't always work, Daniel knew that his position in qualifying depended on more factors thank just the kind of socks he was wearing, but if he started to have a special spot in his luggage for his luckier qualifying socks then it was nobody's business but his own.

It had become a habit over time, so much so that it had started to bleed into other aspects of his life.

A particularly long day of shooting? Lucky socks. A talk with a team for a new contract? Luckier socks. A day spent being stupid with Scotty, because who knows what they would end up doing when they were high on adrenaline and laughter? Super lucky socks.

And he likes that it's something just for him. So many aspects of his life, especially on race weekends, are controlled down to the minute, included his whole routine before he has to step into the car, so to have something that he can do to focus and that only he knows about? It feels good. It centers him more than whatever breathing exercises he has learned during the years.

Which is why he's surprised when he finds out that Max knows.

"You're nervous?"

Daniel blinks at the question, pulling away slightly from where he's sitting on Max's lap, kissing his neck, to look at him questioningly.

He is nervous. It's not every day that you're over thirty and are planning to have your first time with a guy, when the guy is also two-times world champion Max Verstappen, but he thought he was hiding it well.

Max smiles at him, thumb wiping away some saliva from Daniel's bottom lip, softer and more gentle than Daniel has maybe ever seen him. His other hand, which is wrapped around Daniel's thigh, moves to touch Daniel's ankle.

"You're wearing odd socks," he points out, making Daniel twist around to confirm that he is, indeed, wearing one grey sock and one green sock (very lucky).

"And?" Daniel asks, still puzzled. He doesn't understand why they're suddenly talking about his socks instead of doing something better with their mouths.

"You always wear odd socks when you have to do something that makes you nervous," Max says simply, as if he's not turning Daniel's world upside down.

It's not that he's wrong, even if Daniel wouldn't say that he does it when he's nervous, just when it's important to feel a little bit safer, but Max wasn't supposed to notice. Max wasn't supposed to see this little detail of Daniel's soul and carry it with him for who knows how long. Max wasn't supposed to know Daniel like this.

Except. Except that Max always has know him, hasn't he? He's always been the one to notice Daniel, even when they weren't teammates anymore.

And now he's sitting there, looking at Daniel like this is nothing new, nothing special.

"We of course don't have to do anything today, if you don't want to," Max adds, frowning slightly, probably because of Daniel's prolonged silence.

This absurd, wonderful, man.

Daniel surges forward, kissing him with a little too much force, teeth knocking together, until Max's hand comes up to cup his cheek, angling his face differently, making it better. Always making it better.

"You can take them off when you take off everything else," Daniel tells him when he pulls back, breathless and flushed.

Max, equally breathless, cheekbones red and eyes bright, grins at him and then pulls him back in.

#i knew what i wanted this to be but i was stuck on the last bit for quite a while #so i hope it still came out okay!#i'm obviously back on my sappy bullshit <3 #maxiel #my writing #typos only exist if you let them

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coltermorning · 26 days

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 19 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: The owner of the barn returns, surprising you for unexpected reasons.

Author’s Notes: There is slight nudity in this chapter. Chapter nineteen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, nudity, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Nineteen: What Lies Ahead

Word count: 5750

He figured it would work. You slept easily, satisfied and dreamless if the state of you was any indication. You were laid out on your back now, a sliver of the bare skin of your stomach showing between the fur openings of his coat, chest rising and falling with every slow breath. What Arthur hadn’t figured for, however, was the state all of this would leave him in. The first and most devastating thing being that you’d never done anything close to that before, even yourself, and he had had the privilege to introduce it to you with his own hands. The second was the look on your face as you had let go. He would never forget that absolute surrender, the complete trust you had in him. The third was the feeling of you tightening around his finger and how his brain wouldn’t release its hold on that thought. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do this with you a second time and hold himself back. But it wasn’t for the reasons he expected—he wasn’t hell bent on feeling himself inside you. Instead, he wanted to kiss every inch of skin you’d let him see. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to return that trust you had given him, what he believed to be the most valuable thing he had to offer. And how goddamn dangerous all of that was.

Arthur had only ever been in love once. Even then, he was young and a fool who knew nothing of it. Not really. If it had been truer, he would likely still be with Mary. But he remembered that feeling that caught in his chest around her plain as day, because he was feeling it now—a fondness so strong he couldn’t get past it. He recognized it now because he was able to lie there next to you content as could be without ever finding his own release. If sex wasn’t what mattered to him about all this, then that left a big hole that only something stronger could fill. And it terrified him. It terrified him to let that feeling in again, knowing how this would all end. He had weeks left with you. Days. That wasn’t enough time. He wanted your trust, your sharp humor, your rare, loving gaze you sometimes gave him. He wanted the woman who had forfeited her own life for his without question, the one strong enough to match his grit and stare death in the face. He wanted a life he couldn’t have, because it would come at the cost of his gang. Always at the cost of his gang. Before, with Mary, it was obvious leaving them was the wrong choice. But this felt so much more aligned with who he was and perhaps who he could become that he worried it would be the wrong decision to leave you. That was what scared him most of all. In a few weeks time, he had absolutely no clue what he would do. At least there was one easy factor he could rely on: you. You could make that decision for him. Love like that had to be returned to be worth a damn, and he was happy to lay the decision in your hands. But for now, he would enjoy every moment with you. He would sit here and watch you sleep peacefully, knowing what it had taken to get you there but thinking only of how that act had grown his fondness for you more. Knowing that, above all else, you trusted him. And that meant more to him than anything ever had.

You were warm, a bit stuffy, when you woke. You could feel the sweat on your forehead before you opened your eyes, could smell fresh hay and hear a creaking barn surround you. You wondered, for all of a heartbeat, what you had done to warrant this—your parents making you sleep out in the barn like livestock. Then you realized how very far away your family barn was and all the circumstances that came with the notion. The thought ached.

You slowly opened your eyes, seeing shadowed rafters high above you, feeling that sweat turn to clamminess at the vision of your dead parents and a dead deputy. You took a moment to release the breath you were holding, like it was swollen with every regret you’d ever had. Letting it go was a bit undeserved, but you did it anyway. You didn’t have the strength to weather all that hurt right now.

Realizing what else was missing, you turned your head to find Arthur in the corner of the stall, sitting there working away in his journal. At least that brought a faint smile to your mouth. As did the thought of what had happened between you only hours ago. That was why you were so sweaty—in your nakedness, Arthur had given you his coat. It was like a furnace wrapped around your body, the bed’s fur blankets on top of it making for a cocoon of heat.

“Hey.”

Your shallow voice drew his attention. He smiled at you. “She lives.” He went back to writing in his journal. “No more nightmares then?”

“None.” You hadn’t dreamed one wearying thing. Hadn’t dreamt at all. “How did you know that would work?”

He smirked, the sight like a kiss of its own. “Get the body relaxed, and the mind tends to follow.” He folded up his journal, stowing it away with his pencil. “At least, that’s what I’ve found.”

“So you do that often yourself, then?”

His face blazed red, his hand finding the back of his neck. “That’s…not what I meant.”

“Right,” you teased. Your smile was growing. It was usually you with a face full of embarrassment.

“Anyway,” he said on a long breath, and you let it slide. For now. “You may as well get some more sleep. How dark it is, sun won’t be up for another few hours.”

“Have you slept at all?” you asked, already knowing the answer. His eyes were heavy with it.

He shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Maybe you need relaxing,” you taunted. His eyes snapped to yours. It was so easy to get a rise out of him. But he just shook his head and smiled again, the rare smile that wasn’t for show.

“Go back to sleep.”

You would have, but he was too interesting. You suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about him.

“What are you writing? In your journal.”

You turned on your side, propping your head on your hand. With the motion, you could feel his coat fall open underneath the blanket. Naked as the day you were born, and that shyness in you was glad the blanket covered you.

He pondered your question a moment, likely deciding whether he wanted to tell you the truth or turn it into another joke of his. He finally caved. “Drawing.”

“What?”

“Drawing, not writing.” He just watched you, a bit of a challenge in his eye. You met it.

“Well, what are you drawing, then?”

Again, he took a moment to respond. “This barn.”

“Can I see?”

To your surprise, he reached in his satchel and pulled out the small, leather-bound book. He was awfully protective of it, never letting you near it before. Apart from when he had given you his satchel in that town, but you had been too preoccupied to think of snooping then. Now, you could feel excitement take hold as Arthur flipped to the proper page. You sat up, letting the blanket fall. Feeling excitement for another reason as his coat fell open, covering only parts of you but not the whole.

Arthur found his page and looked up at you, and his eyes caught and held. Moved down your body then back to your face.

“What?” you asked, smiling. You knew very well what.

He clenched his jaw and looked down at his journal. “This is…” He studied his drawing before letting out a bark of a laugh. “Ugly as shit now.” His eyes met your body again. “After a view like that.”

You could feel the heat in your cheeks but didn’t care. Not as you said without hesitation, “Draw me, then.”

That shook him. The eyes he almost never let widen met yours in surprise.

“It’s either this or me covered in dirt and blood and God knows what else.” You were still unusually clean from your recent bath and the trip to the launder. “Your choice.”

He clenched his jaw again. Then, dragging out his pencil from his satchel, “Lie back, then.” His voice was small but not weak. Like he was trying hard for control.

You did as he said, captivated by the sound of his voice, amazed you could have such an effect on a man.

“Like this?” You turned back on your side, letting the coat fall. You propped your head on your hand again, letting your other hand settle on your hip where it met the dip of your side.

Arthur eyed your body like it was a complicated thing to study, though there was an underlying softness in his gaze. He stood and moved to the right, sitting again when he found the viewpoint he was looking for. “Perfect.”

You smiled. He started drawing.

After a minute or two of pure captivation—on both your part and his—you spoke so as not to lose your nerve and write this off as a ridiculous idea. “Do you write at all or just draw?”

“Both,” he said, using the conversation as an excuse to look at you again. His eyes scaled down your upper body slowly, a smile forming in their wake.

“What do you write about?”

“Anything. Usually whatever shit predicament I’ve landed myself in.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I bet you had some choice words on the day I showed up.”

He smirked and went back to sketching, a few loose strands of his hair falling over his forehead as he did. It was distracting in a way you’d never known a man’s hair to be, of all things.

“I’ll admit, I weren’t too happy to be going with you in the beginning.”

“You hid it well,” you offered. “It was hell getting you to leave, but you haven’t complained the first time since.”

He eyed you again, a familiar gleam in his eyes as they locked onto yours. “It was hard to find something to complain about once I saw the real you.” He chuckled, going back to drawing. And just when you thought he had paid you a rare compliment, “Since you did enough complaining for the both of us.”

You shook your head at him with a grin, not wanting to prove him more right. And besides that you were too distracted by where his eyes kept catching, by his pencil tracing the lines of your breasts, the curve between your legs. You couldn’t help but think how wildly inappropriate this was, but you didn’t care. You wanted his gaze, wanted him studying your body and learning every inch of it. You wanted to do the same to him. Even now, you ached with the need to see him without his clothes. You wore his coat, and all that remained on him was a tattered shirt and pair of pants that let you in on just how powerful his body was. You didn’t just want to see it either—you wanted to feel it. You wanted his skin beneath your fingertips like he had done to you.

Laying there studying him just as shamelessly as he was you, you made up your mind. You would get your due, even if you didn’t know where the act would lead. Soon. Maybe as soon as he finished that drawing and got back in bed with you.

“I ain’t even gonna ask.”

You didn’t realize your gaze was so revealing of your thoughts until he said that.

“Probably best,” you told him, loving the way his resulting smirk lacked all notion of innocence.

The time ticked on, and other than more talk about his drawings, there was nothing left to distract you from the need you had for Arthur. It was growing, untamable, likely because of the pleasure he had shown you only hours ago. You wanted him to do it again. And finally, when he folded up his journal and stowed it away, did you see your opportunity.

“You better show me.”

“Later,” he said.

You patted the bed, purposely not going to him. Purposely leaving yourself exposed to him in the hopes that your body would tempt him like his was tempting you. “Now. It’s only fair.”

He eyed you, his gaze hardening in that way that meant you’d snared him. You felt satisfaction blooming hot and heavy within you, especially when he slowly reached back into his satchel, his eyes never leaving you.

He hadn’t even opened the book before the barn door swung inward, letting in an almighty gust of wind. You went still as death on instinct, having half a mind that the wind had done it until you saw a figure separate itself from the dark of the night outside. And just like that, your panic was back. You threw yourself to the floor, wrapping up in Arthur’s coat just as he cursed and pulled his gun, shooting to his feet.

“Who’s there?” yelled two voices, one Arthur’s, the other belonging to the newcomer. It was oddly feminine, enough that you raised your cowering head to see the person better. You still couldn’t see them well enough to tell their gender, and Arthur was pointing his gun with so much determination you quickly ducked back down again, not needing to see anymore death.

A barking laugh echoed through the barn. “Some nerve you got. I’m the owner of this barn. Who the hell are you?”

“We don’t mean no harm,” Arthur answered, the sound of his revolver being stowed filling you with relief. “Just passing through.”

Again, a snort of a laugh. “Passing through, huh?” You heard footsteps approach, oddly muffled. “It don’t look like you’re passing through. Looks like you gone and made yourselves at home.” The footsteps got so close you knew you were in plain sight. You turned your head to see—sure enough—a woman staring down at you, face tinged with mild curiosity in the lantern light. Though she was holding a gun, and you were willing to bet she knew how to use it based on the state of her—animal skins for clothes, even her fox hide boots. Her face was rough and worn like she hadn’t seen civilization in years.

“What you hiding down there for?”

Arthur stepped between you. “We were just leaving. Unless we got a problem here?”

The woman looked back to him, looking up so far you realized then how very small she was. But she must not have been intimidated by him, as she smiled with a toothy grin and said, “Not unless you want to start one.”

“No,” Arthur said, that commanding, protective voice of his back in place.

“Well, shit. I ain’t had company in years.” The woman let out a wild cackle and strapped her gun over her shoulder. “Years! A sight for sore eyes, you two!”

Knowing there wasn’t much danger apart from her strangeness, especially not with Arthur standing there like he would take her down at a moment’s notice, you made sure the bulky coat covered you completely and sat up. The woman eyed your clothes—or lack thereof—then the nearby end of the bed and all the clothing piled up at its foot. She let out another cackle of laughter. “Just leaving, were you?” She cocked an accusatory eyebrow at Arthur. “Don’t look like you were leaving. Looks like you were just getting started.”

Your face burned at that, but Arthur was quickly moving a step into the woman’s space, towering over her. “I need to repeat myself?”

Something about the way his pointed words made her frown at him had you standing. “Excuse him,” you said, stepping to his side. “We’ve been traveling a long time and haven’t met many hospitable folks along the way. He’s just being cautious.”

The woman eyed you, then sized Arthur up in a way that made you proud to call him your…yours.

“All right, then,” she answered. “But if he don’t mind his manners, I’m not letting him in on the fresh kill waiting for me outside.”

“I told you, we’re-”

You put a hand on Arthur’s arm to quiet him, looking to the woman with a small smile. “He’ll mind.”

Arthur’s head whipped to you, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know how offended he was by that. You reined in your smile.

“Good. Well, you can start by helping me with that deer out there,” she said to Arthur. “Goddamn giant, he is.”

The woman was already turning back, looking for something as she went when you finally caved to Arthur’s stare. You shrugged at him. He rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

That made your smile appear. “Go help the lady. Don’t be rude.”

He grumbled something but relented. That left you to turn back to the pile of clothes on the floor, the one that was filling you with such giddiness you felt the urge to laugh.

“Name’s Beth,” the woman called out. You peeked over to watch Arthur join her, begrudgingly offering his name in return. But he did take the gambrel from her that she had seemingly come in here for, at least willing to help her hoist up the deer outside. You knew he was helpful, had been since the day you met him, but watching him do so with a pout made it ten times more satisfying. And before you knew it, they were out the door together, leaving you to get redressed.

Normally, a new stranger would have you on edge. But as you donned your chemise and pants, buttoning your shirt back up, you couldn’t help but feel that this wouldn’t go badly. The woman—Beth—was strange but amusing. She knew how to fend for herself but hadn’t tried to do so against you. In fact, her first instinct was to be friendly, or as friendly as a person in this circumstance could be considered. So you let that as well as the familiarity of the barn lend themselves to your comfort that everything would be okay this time. It had to be. There had to be some decent people left in this country. You only hoped that Arthur wouldn’t get annoyed and spoil the visit—something he was very liable to do.

After donning hat and gloves, you joined the others outside. You were met with a biting wind that promised more snow, so you hustled over to the barn’s overhang where Arthur stood coatless.

“Here.” You handed him his coat back. The last thing you needed was him falling ill because you were too busy parading around in his coat. Which you had, just a little.

He thanked you and shrugged it on, going back to helping Beth skin the deer. She was right—the thing was massive. The animal sported one of the more beautiful racks of antlers you’d ever seen.

“Hell of a buck,” you offered.

“Ain’t he?” she said, looking up at you but still skinning, like she was so deft with the knife she didn’t have to watch what she was doing. “Been tracking this one for two years now. First time I saw him, I knew he’d be something special. So I let him grow a bit, made sure he stuck around. Turns out, he weren’t quite as smart as that big head could account for. Either that or he got cocky ‘round me. Didn’t even spook when he spotted me aiming for him.”

“Lucky,” Arthur said.

“Mhm,” she hummed proudly, looking back to you. “What’s your name, then?”

Your breath caught a moment before you remembered the last time someone other than Arthur had asked you that. “Frances.”

She nodded, going back to skinning. “Nice to meet you two. I don’t get many travelers out this way. Too far off the path.”

“What’s it like?” you found yourself asking, suddenly realizing why all of this was nagging at you—it was the life you had wanted for yourself in Montana. Alone and living off land your parents had given you. “Living out here, I mean.” You felt Arthur’s eyes on you but ignored him.

“Oh, it ain’t so bad. A good spot, really. Plenty of food and water. The barn I happened upon, but I’ve been fixing it up for years. Feels like I rebuilt the whole damn thing myself at this point.”

“It’s nice,” you said without thinking, admiring the structure looming beside you. Beth looked at you curiously but didn’t respond. It was more than you’d offered any stranger apart from Arthur.

You let the moment go, letting the barn continue to comfort you for its constant presence at your side.

After Beth and Arthur finished skinning, Arthur hoisted the animal up on the gambrel, letting it hang for Beth to harvest as she pleased.

“Thank you kindly,” she said, stepping around him. “Why don’t you two go back inside, take my horse and get him out of this cold a while? It’ll take me some time to finish this.”

“Sure,” Arthur offered.

“Thank you,” you added. “For letting us stay.”

She smirked, the expression much like that of an animal’s. “I know two lovers when I see ‘em.” You couldn’t hold her eye over those words and wondered wholly whether Arthur could. “The thing about lovers is,” she went on, turning back to the hulking deer. “They’re always too distracted by each other to cause much damage. Least, that’s the way it was for me.” She let out that wild laugh again, and you took that as your dismissal. You turned and passed Arthur by without looking at him, suddenly embarrassed for having your feelings laid out so bare like that. It was obvious you favored him, but to have it so easily recognized by a total stranger was…you didn’t know what it was. Real, somehow. Much more so.

You grabbed Beth’s horse by the reins on the way inside and led him in, letting Arthur shut the door behind you. The animal immediately tugged on your grip, tempted by the hay in the nearby corner. You let him be and led him over, taking his bridle and saddle off before giving him a pat and letting him eat. It was only then that you turned and saw Arthur meandering off, a cigarette between his lips. Nervous, then. You had to fight off the happiness that curled within you at the thought of him being nervous around you. Because of you.

You watched him walk over to your mounts, entering the stall and placing a fond hand on Boadicea. There were suddenly so many endearing things about him culminating together that you turned away and went back to keeping an eye on Beth’s horse.

Two lovers indeed—an entire barn apart and too nervous to put to words what was passing between you. Because something was definitely forming, something you nor he had a mind to confront, but neither seemed to want to stop it either. So it grew and grew in that barn, forming into stolen glances and, if it weren’t for the woman outside, the desire to come together again like you had just hours ago. You knew he felt it too, written in that small flame of a lit cigarette that was giving him away. You could only hope the feeling would last a little while longer, that this barn would keep you longer than necessary. A girl could dream.

After a while, Beth came inside on another gust of wind, like she was made of nature herself and bent it to her will.

“Ah,” she said, again in that unnecessarily loud manner. “I see the fat bastard’s already found the haystack.” She was smiling fondly at her horse despite the nickname, taking her gloves off as she approached.

“I think he was already going for it before we made it through the door,” you told her.

“‘Course he was. I think he’d go to that corner blind and deaf and out of a working nose.”

You laughed, the feeling a little unfamiliar. Especially around a stranger. But Beth was soon waving you and Arthur over to her wood stove, asking you to join her for a meal, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. There wasn’t much in the way of seating, but you settled nonetheless, Arthur’s arm brushing yours as he settled beside you. It filled you to the brim with contentment.

The three of you soon got to talking, you and Arthur telling Beth of your travels and the unfortunate circumstances along the way. Arthur left out the bit about the lawmen being after you and all the damage the two of you had caused in the last town. You were glad for it. You weren’t about to bring it up either. This small respite was something you needed after all the hardship, and you didn’t want it taken away over something as small as a stranger’s suspicion.

Beth talked about her childhood and what had led her to a life like this, never once questioning too much, seemingly pleased to talk about herself instead. You were grateful enough for that but even more so for her conversation. She was a fascinating woman. Most definitely out of her mind, but fascinating. And when she offered a bit of the deer meat she had just cooked and it turned out to be delicious, you thought that maybe all the turmoil you had been through leading up to this was worth it for the glimpse into a life like this. It was freeing in a way you had always desired for yourself. It left you wondering, for the hundredth time, why your parents hadn’t wanted this for you. Anyone would want this life if they had the ability to sustain it. Hell, your parents had left Nebraska for the very same reason. But that kind of thinking was doused every time you looked at Arthur, finding his gaze already on you. You never would have concerned yourself with loneliness before. But now, having him was enough to make the thought of his absence ache. And it had taken you all this time to realize why your parents had wanted you with family, why they had wanted marriage to be on the table for you. They had known what that companionship felt like, yet you’d been all alone in those mountains. You just couldn’t see it until you’d felt it yourself with Arthur.

When darkness finally gave way to light creeping in through the barn doors and after doing most of the talking herself, Beth finally gave it up. You’d left her bed just as you found it upon arrival and, without hesitation, she made for it without a scrap of concern for her safety around two strangers. You couldn’t decide if it was because she deemed you unthreatening or because she was truly that out of her mind, but it didn’t matter. It left you and Arthur relatively alone again. And you were on the verge of wondering just what that would entail, busy thinking of his drawing of you earlier, when he spoke.

“We’ll need to be getting on soon.” His voice was low so as not to carry.

You met his gaze from where you sat against a beaten up wagon, noting the exhaustion in his eyes. “You never got to sleep.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Sleep’s hard to come by in my line of work.”

You gave him a chiding glare, one that made him shrug.

“You need to rest, Arthur. I can’t have a half-sane guide when we’re back out there, back on the run.”

He shook his head. “Can’t sleep here.” He mumbled it, like it was tough for him to admit. And it hit you then, how much he would exhaust himself to keep you safe. He wouldn’t risk sleeping with a stranger around, unable to help at the drop of a hat if the need arose. He was too protective over you. And that was wholly comforting but just as unwise.

“How about I make a deal with you?” you offered, standing. He watched you closely in a way that had your mind wandering, your words tumbling out. “I stay up and keep my gun on me. Watch over you.”

His gaze broke away then, embarrassment reaching his fidgeting hands and half smile. “I don’t need you watching over me,” he said on a laugh, like the very thought was ridiculous. But you knew him well enough to know the laugh was to hide what he wouldn’t say—that you had caught on to his protectiveness over you. And the distance between how you felt and what you wouldn’t admit to each other stretched farther.

“Well, I’m not leaving here until we can say goodbye to Beth,” you quipped. “And you look like you’re about to drop dead, so it’s either sleep now or don’t get the chance for who knows how long.”

He snorted a laugh. “Stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?”

His face reddened, but he said, “I know why you want to stay, and it ain’t ‘cause of any goodbye.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh really?”

“You been admiring this place the minute we stepped foot in it, and I know how you think—you want to carve out a little life for yourself just like this, don’t you?”

He’d pinned you dead to rights, damn him. “Maybe, but that doesn’t much matter, does it? It’s not like we can stay here,” you said, gesturing to Beth across the barn.

“No, we can’t,” he said smugly. Like he was trying to get that fact through to you. But you already knew that.

“So you want to what, leave now? Find another place to set up camp and-”

He held up a hand to silence you, grinning as he did. “Save it. I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you. We’ll stay.”

That surprised you. He seemed to always want to rile you as much as he could, and him giving up like that was…not as satisfying as you thought it would be.

“What do you mean we’ll stay?”

He was outright snickering now. “You just can’t resist, can you? Got to be on me about something.”

“You’re being stubborn and…confusing. I can’t help it.”

He flashed a smile at you that immediately branded into your memory. So unfairly attractive.

“Just get some rest and leave me be, Beth Jr. I can handle myself just fine.”

The nickname had you seeing red. “Not Beth Jr.”

“No?” The smile in that word was not helping his case.

“What’s with you and nicknames that make me want to strangle you?”

“Oh, you have a preference?” he teased. “‘Cause I seem to recall that you loved sweetheart.”

You were shaking your head, turning away, doing your best to keep to yourself. Because you would strangle him for that one. He just laughed, the sound like spun gold, and it took everything in you to block out any further thought of him. On the plus side, this was very far off topic from how much you liked it here and why. You weren’t ready to breach that subject yet, probably because he would make you see sense you didn’t want to see. And it took you until that moment to realize that was why he was teasing you—he saw how much it meant to you and had changed tracks. It was kind enough to have you finally meeting his eye again, an inevitable smile crossing your face. “Shut the hell up,” you chided.

He laughed still, and for once, you joined him in it.

There was no further talk of Beth and her barn and her strange life, no more talk of anything for a while. Instead, you and Arthur fell into comfortable silence for the remainder of the time Beth slept. He looked over his journal and you looked over your father’s ledger, both content for the time being. How he wasn’t falling over asleep, you didn’t know, but there would be time for that later. Now, it seemed each of you enjoyed being around each other for multiple reasons, the most obvious being the comfort of shared company. Just being with him felt good, even without words or touch. Friendship, you realized, deep and profound. And it wouldn’t be long until you were without it, so you soaked it in. You soaked it in while you sat there together. You soaked it in when Beth finally stirred and you said your goodbyes, thanking her again for letting you stay. You soaked it in when your mind was on Arthur rather than the retreating barn at your back, on the present instead of the past or the future for once. And you finally, for the first time since beginning this journey, found the key to contentment in the man at your side. It was about living each moment as it came. Harder said than done, but he made it easy. He made everything easy.

You pitched canvas within a few short hours and watched as sleep stole over him quickly, leaving him peaceful like only sleep could. But, you recalled, there was one other thing that brought him that peace, as you had seen it just yesterday before falling asleep yourself. You did. You had never seen him content like that until his eyes wouldn’t leave you, until his expression was calm like it never had been in his waking hours. And maybe, just maybe, the feeling that brought him was enough to match the feeling it brought you.

Watching him sleep and basking in the moment with him, you had one solitary thought that wouldn’t leave you be, circling and circling. Maybe now, that feeling of peace you brought him would be enough to make him stay.

_________

Chapter twenty is here.

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