#but like drowned man mark is just built different

[inklessletter]

Faith, should I take a leap?

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He’s never been. He was raised on it, he drank it since he was born. Eddie wasn’t even a teenager when he had to hide under his bed, or in the closet, or in the kitchen cabinet, next to the filthy trash can, so the piece of shit that was his biological father wouldn’t beat the fuck out of him. He was way too young to feel lucky when he came back home way later than he should, in the hope of finding his dad passed out on the couch, drugs filling his system. He can’t really make out any childhood memory that isn’t somehow based on fear. Not at home. Not at school. Certainly not a birthday. Not in the brief time he spent in foster care. Not even when his uncle Wayne showed up to take him home. God, especially when Wayne came into his life. He was terrified when he claimed him. Wayne, all awkward and candid, and full of “it’s okay”s and “you’re safe now”s. Wayne, with his pats in the head, and one-armed hugs. Wayne, with his consistency in worrying about him eating enough greens and doing his homework everyday. Wayne and his weird, rare habit of not yelling at him, or spitting at him, or slapping him when he spilled his juice. Wayne, who definitely didn’t beat him, or held him by the neck against the mattress to haphazardly shave his curls calling him a queer, a faggot, when he saw him and his friend Mark Harvest holding hands at the age of fucking seven. 

It took awhile for Eddie to understand that “the lucky days”, as in those in which he wouldn’t get beaten, was his new normality. Wayne has saved him from that kind of brutal, dehumanizing fear that built Eddie, in a way. The kind of terror that he couldn’t hide from, or run away from, not really, not when his age was barely reaching double digits. He was starting to make peace with it, with trusting Wayne, falling asleep in the coziness of finding himself finally at home. Feeling safe, cradled, taken care of. Yet Eddie woke up that one night screaming from a nightmare. Wayne came to his room, to see Eddie making himself as small as he possibly could, in the furthest corner of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, please, don’t hit me. Please, I didn’t mean to—” Eddie sobbed.

The pleas hung in his mouth as an echo of a past life, begging mercy to a hand that belonged to a man who first asked him if it was okay to touch him. A person who asked for permission. Like it mattered.

That night, Wayne taught him that fear might never go away, but he could fight it. He could armor up himself. He could find something that grounded him. He could run away, because when you’re in danger, there’s no shame in running. He could face it if he felt ready for it. He could ignore it. He could do a great number of things with it. 

“It gets to us all eventually. Fear, that is. We all fear something. And we all deal with it differently, but you’ll learn to face it and grow stronger. We all do, in the end. And it’s okay. It’s okay that you figure out the best way for you to face your fears, kid. This is a safe place for you to do it.”

So, he came back to the warmth of his bed, and let himself fall asleep with that thought in mind. He had a safe space to experiment how to face his demons. That night he really learnt what feeling lucky was like.

And he did just that. He came back to school and it wasn’t as frightening anymore. He’d come from an abusive home, and a school bully that was his own age was absolutely nothing. He built up. He taught himself how to look bigger, how to be louder, how to exist unapologetically. It took him years to perfect it. He dressed in dark, aggressive colors, sizes bigger, many layers, leather and cut off denim. He listened to loud, angry music, sung by loud, angry people that screamed loud enough to drown his terrors. He read fantasy, and adventures, and found it extremely exciting learning how different heroes and characters in his stories overcame his past, and his demons. Fuck living in crippling fear. Fuck hostile environments. Fuck buzzed hair, and black and blue skin, and being small. Fuck being silent. And most of all, fuck not feeling safe.

So when he was sixteen, he made his personal goal to create a safe spot, fear free. He’s gotten really good at detecting fear in people’s eyes. Like, really quickly. So there he was, founding a D&D club at school, retrieving lost souls with fearful eyes, giving them some space to create their own adventures, their own heroes, in which they projected their own tragedies to overcome, so they, themselves, could destroy them. So they could be bigger, grow stronger from their very own history. He could be that helping hand, he decided. He would guide them, he would listen carefully enough, he would learn about what decisions they usually made and throw monsters in their way that helped them to get out of that comfort zone, and face the danger. All in a safe space. A healthy one. He could do that. He knew how, he’d been there; he got out. He could help others find the way.

Fuck, he even found a way to provide (illegal) substances to help some fearful kids to get out of their own minds for awhile. Not that anyone would believe that his first intentions were honest, all loud and obnoxious that he was, all metal music, horns signs and ‘fuck the system, fuck the cops’. Not that anyone would believe that he really didn’t need the money, living in a trailer park in Forest Hills, not when he had a place to sleep and someone was actually filling the fridge. Not that anyone would actually believe him. Not that he cared, at this point. Not that anyone, in fact, asked. Business was good, and parties at Loch Nora were usually where he got most of his income, but there was in the middle of fucking Nowhere, Indiana, a hell lot of kids that bought weed from him because their minds were a scary place to be alone. Like, way too many underage kids asking for a way out to just be nobody’s problem. And there were at least twice as much pair of eyes looking the other fucking way. 

So, yeah. Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew that people dealt with fear in different ways. Eddie was fully aware that it made people raw, uncomfortable, wanting to run away, or towards it. But most of all, most of fucking all, Eddie fucking knew that you need a danger free environment to learn your ways. He knew what fear could do to people that felt unsafe. 

“They’re just scared, man”, Eddie said, low and breathy, shaky hand holding a half smoked cigarette. “I get it.”

Steve Harrington did not. Steve fucking Harrington did not get it. Not like Eddie. There was no fear in those hazel pupils of his. Which made absolutely no sense. Not with all Eddie knew those eyes had witnessed, not with every story that Dustin Henderson filled him in that involved Steve. Not with what he knew Steve had gone through.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t.”

Steve let out a shaky breath, in the middle of the night, and took the cigarette from Eddie’s fingers to take a long drag. He looked into the void, brows furrowed at the top of the roof next to his bedroom. The sky was clear, the summer was approaching fast. He held the smoke in his lungs.

“I don’t know how you are so chill about it. Half this fucking town hunted you down, Munson.”

Eddie chuckled, tearing his gaze apart from the guy next to him, focusing on the blue eerie haze coming from Harrington's pool.

“The other half didn’t.”

There was silence, but Eddie couldn’t really measure how long neither of them spoke. Might have been two minutes, or thirty. Steve broke it first.

“I didn’t expect that you were the type to see the glass half full.”

“Did you expect things from me, Harrington?” Eddie teased.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, granting him a glance. “Shocks me to the core that you're a helpless optimist, though.”

“Why? Because I dress in black, and talk loud, and hate authorities? Or is it because I ran away when a minor fucking died in my living room? Is that it? Is it because I ran away, Harrington? Because I’m a coward? I’ve got news for you, Steve; that’s not expectation, that’s called prejudice.”

That earned him a look from Steve. And man, what a look. Eddie didn’t raise his voice, but from the way Steve was looking at him, dead in the eye, mouth hanging, he seemed pretty much offended. Eddie couldn’t foresee if he wanted to punch his face.

“That—That’s not it, Munson. Far from it.”

And with that, he looked away. If Eddie didn’t know better, he could say that Steve’s cheeks were growing darker, embarrassed, maybe.

“Then, why—”

“I can’t conceive that you’re so calm about it. How are you not freaking out? It’s just—” Steve cut himself, trying to find the words. His voice did a weird, wobbly thing that Eddie couldn’t identify. Eddie didn’t pressure him, waiting patiently so he could find the words he was desperately looking for to express himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and yet half Hawkins still give you those looks, and it’s fucking infuriating. Yeah. And you’re not—you’re not even angry, man. You’re not even mad about it. I’m mad about it. I’m fucking upset about it!”

Steve didn’t look at him while he spoke. He raised his tone a little bit at the end, and Eddie’s gut did something funny. He’s seen people get angry, and mad and upset at him, but he didn’t remember if someone has ever felt that way on his behalf. What a time to live in. 

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, Eddie. It is not okay. Don’t say it is, don’t fucking dare to say it’s okay, man. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this shit. Just—please. Please.”

And there it was, the missing fear in his eyes. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this, he has said. Like you deserve this. Something clicked, and the knot that was forming in Eddie’s throat fell heavily to the pit of his stomach. 

“Harrington—”

“You don’t deserve this. It is not your fault. It is not.”

Steve still didn’t look straight at him, all brows furrowed, distant look and blue underlight. Steve didn’t look at him while his fear was showing through his voice, and probably, through his eyes, too. 

“I know that. I know it’s not my fault, and of course I’m angry. I just—I just can’t blame them, y’know? I can’t blame them for being scared. They fucking think I killed her, like I summoned a fucking demon to tear her apart. I’m not exactly thrilled either for being the object of their fear, but—I don’t know, man, it gets to us all. Fear, that is.”

Eddie parroted those very same words that Wayne told him that night all those years ago, probably because they got tattooed to his very soul as soon as he heard them. With this, Steve turned his gaze to Eddie, so straightforward, so piercing, that made Eddie feel a little bit lightheaded.

“Tell me ‘I don’t deserve this.’ I wanna hear it.” Steve lowered his voice, discarding the roach of the cigarette.

“Who the fuck would think they deserve a hell like this?”

“Please—”

“I don’t think I deserve it, okay? I don’t. I’m just saying that I get it. I know what fear does to people. That's all I’m sayin’. Jesus fucking Christ. Why would you think I’d agree to a fucking mob after my ass to burn me on a stake, huh? Who would—”

And he stopped. He stopped dead because now he could see the source of Steve’s fear. He could see now, in the gleam of his eyes what Steve was afraid of. 

“Steve, I’m not—I don’t think I deserve it. I really, really don’t, okay? Fuck, I need you to believe me when I say I’m not there. Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

“Not even fucking close, okay, man? Oh, my god.”

Eddie felt a tingle creeping from the tips of his fingers, a thin coat of cold sweat damp his forehead. The air grew thin as he learned to read the fear in Steve’s eyes. As he understood.

“Why did you think I felt this way, Harrington? Why—fuck, Steve, why did you assume that?”

Eddie spoke softly, trying to swallow the thickness in his throat, trying for it to go to the pit of his stomach, as it happened before. 

“You weren’t expressing any emotions that I thought you’d show,” Steve said, almost apologetically. “You weren’t getting angry, or scared, or—”

“Loud, or obnoxious, or fighting the system. I see it now.” Eddie smiled, and Steve almost smiled, too. “So you became angry and scared for me?” Eddie’s voice was slim, barely audible. A tightness grew in his chest.

“I just—I didn’t want you to feel like this thing was some sort of karmic response, or any kind of cosmic atonement that you deserved. You—You just don’t. This situation, this is all fucked up. I just wanted you to understand it.”

“I know. I do.”

“Good. Cool.”

The question that Eddie was willing to ask was boiling in his mouth. He had a feeling that he didn’t want to really confirm. He didn’t really want to, because if what he was thinking was true, well, fuck him. That would break his fucking heart. It took him a full minute to speak again.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why—Why were you afraid that I felt that way?”

Because I know how it feels, and it’s awful.

Because that goes along with deeply hating yourself.

Because I care about you.

None of the options that lied unspoken comforted Eddie. Not a single fucking one of them. Every one of them scared the shit out of Eddie’s guts. But Eddie, you see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew what fear could do to people. Eddie knew the many very ways someone could react to fear. And by the way Steve was keeping his mouth shut was a clear answer.

“It’s not your fault either. What happened to me, or what happened to you. You understand that, right?”

Steve snorted, still not looking at him. That sound might pass as the breaking of an hysterical laughter, but not a muscle in his face indicated that. Eddie noted that he was holding himself in the middle, and that his fingertips were white. Steve swallowed around nothing. He must have had that knot in his throat, too.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh, come on, Steve. Give me a break. You don’t really think that a bunch of douchebags murderers paid by the fucking government for experimenting on kids that eventually tore an opening in time and space to another dimension was really your fault, do you?”

That earned Eddie something closer to a laugh, but Steve didn’t look apart from the pool.

“Not that, no. But—”

And he fell silent again. Under the blue lights of the pool, so still, not blinking, his face morphing into an unreadable expression, Steve seemed a statue. One of those that appeared in the Art History books, an old Greek god or something. All perfect locks and gorgeous factions and sad eyes fixed into the void. When Eddie realized that he was staring, he tore away his gaze. He wondered if Steve could see that his cheeks were getting darker, too.

“Do you know what happened to Barb?” Steve asked, mimicking the soft tone, still not looking at Eddie. “Have we—Have we told you what really happened?”

So, that was it. Eddie knew what he’d been told, though. She died in 1983, attacked by one of those creatures from the underworld. She was Nancy Wheeler’s best friend. A year or so after that it was told by the news that she was accidentally killed by a chemical leak. And that she died in Steve Harrington’s pool in a clandestine party. He only got to learn the mystical part a few months back, when Dustin told him briefly about it. Eddie nodded, quietly.

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“She was there, you know?” Steve pointed at the pool with his head. “I saw the picture that Jonathan took of her, and she was there alone, sitting in the pool, when she was attacked.”

“Hm.”

“I was in my room having sex with Nancy. Barb—she got hurt, Nancy told her to leave, but Barb stayed there, alone and bleeding. For Nance. And I was fucking Nancy Wheeler.”

Eddie looked over at the blue pool, and let Steve talk. His voice was tight.

“The worst part is that at that time Will was still missing, and I fucking slept after. Nancy went back home on her own. I didn’t even drive her back. Didn’t even fucking offered. That thing could’ve gotten her, too, and I was fucking asleep. How fucked up is that?” Steve stopped to visibly ease the knot in his throat, and by the force of his attempts, it must have been a killer one. Still, Eddie didn’t interrupt him, just let him space to find the words. “I didn’t even have the excuse of not knowing that something fucked up was going on in Hawkins, there was a middle schooler missing, and nobody knew fucking why.”

Steve tightened the grip in his own arms, and took a deep breath. Eddie looked at him for a bare second. His eyes were glassy, and his back was stiffened. 

“I have no excuse for that. I have no excuse for what I did after that. I was seventeen, I should’ve known better. I didn’t know what to do with—with that. With what I did, I mean. Nancy saw the bullshit I was, the shitty person I was, trying to ignore what happened. I tried so fucking hard, Eddie. So hard. For her. For Nancy. To—to cover up for what I did to her, to Barb. I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t—I just—”

Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie could recognize it quickly and easily in other people’s eyes. Eddie could read the dormant terror, the trauma, in Steve’s voice, without even looking at him. Eddie could feel Steve’s knot in the throat, his voice growing thinner and shaky, the hard, white knuckles grip. Eddie was no stranger to Steve’s fear.

“Nance knew what to do with that feeling. She used it to give Barb’s family closure, to drag the government in the mud along with it. She’s so fucking smart. She knew what to do. She did it without me. Years later, and I still don’t know what to do with it. I still—I just don’t know, Eddie.

“Then the fucking Russians infiltrated in Hawkins and got us. They got us, me and Robin. They kept us for a few hours, they drugged us, they tortured us. I kept talking to protect Robin, and Dustin, and Erica. I just kept talking, keeping them busy, y’know? That was all I could do, buy some time. And there was this moment, this one moment, they hit me so hard I swear I couldn’t hear, or see anything for a full minute. And all I could think about was her. Barbara Holland. And I—I thought—I, fuck—I thought—”

“You thought you deserved it.”

Eddie’s voice was low and quiet. Eddie saw Steve’s hand travel to his own face. He heard Steve’s few deep breathings, letting it out slowly, calming himself the best he knew. Eddie lifted a hand, to comfort Steve, but he didn’t reach out. Not now, that Steve was all raw, and emotional, and vulnerable. Not now, that Eddie’s hand was also shaking. He put his hand in a closed fist in his own lap and took a deep breath as well.

When Steve talked again, he did it with a much calmer tone.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel that way. Not for one moment, not ever, because you did nothing wrong, Eddie. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, I used to sell drugs to kids, but whatever.”

Eddie was unsure that dropping a joke would help the mood, but Steve laughed. He laughed. For a moment, but he did.

“Well, yeah. There’s that. You’re clearly no saint, no.”

Eddie smiled. Yeah, that was a good call. They fell into a comfortable silence that didn’t last. 

“You know, in all these past years I didn’t even step in my backyard if it wasn’t strictly necessary. After Barb died, I turned off the pool lights with no intention whatsoever of turning them on ever. My folks didn’t question it, they weren’t around that much, anyway. I don’t think they didn’t even notice.” Eddie looked at the very much alight pool. “After we got to learn that the Upside Down, where her body is, is stuck on 6th November 1983, I turned them on again. In that Hawkins, Barb was still alive that day. So I—I like to think that she’s still somehow alive, I don’t know, trapped in time, maybe? In a—a time loop? Like, stuck two days before where she was still hating my ass for going after her best friend. And I know that she’s gone, alright? For good, but—I—I turned the lights on. Just in case, you know?”

“In case they flicker?”

“Yeah. In case they flicker, and it’s her.”

The air in Eddie’s lungs got stuck under the heaviness of Steve’s words.

“You’re asking yourself to be haunted by Barb’s ghost, Steve?”

“I wouldn’t blame her.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being so fucking damn familiar to fear. For reading too well in between lines. Fuck him for knowing beforehand that his heart was gonna be shattered. Fuck. Him.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie spoke, fondness impregnating his tone. He took air, to tell him how nothing that happened was Steve’s fault; how he wished he could just talk him out of the guilt, shame, and regret he spent years perfecting; how he wished he could forgive himself because, yeah, he took some bad decisions, but he was just seventeen. But then Steve reacted at his own name, and redirected his gaze to Eddie’s eyes, and then again, Eddie saw a twinkle of fear, and a whole lot of rifts in his insides. The golden boy in front of him was absolutely cracked, and probably this was nothing he could share, not even with the Party, or Nancy. Probably with Robin, but, by how he was still slightly shaking, what he had just told Eddie, was probably the first time he said it out loud. So, under the expecting gaze of Steve Harrington, Eddie said, “thank you for telling me. It must have been scary. It was brave of you for putting it into words.”

Steve’s hazel eyes, under the blue light of the haunted pool, searched something in Eddie’s face. Eddie wanted to look away, he really wanted to, but he let him search whatever he was hoping to find. He let Steve study him, wondering if Steve would notice that he was definitely blushing.

“I think you’re brave, too.”

Steve’s statement was accompanied by a soft smile. Eddie gulped, and took a sharp breath. He smiled widely to shake away the sudden awkwardness.

“Look at us, the bravest men in Hawkins, Indiana. Not afraid of the apocalypse, not afraid of small-minded folks, not afraid of ghosts. What are you afraid of, Steve Harrington?”

The easy tone, suddenly loud and unnecessarily dramatic put an honest smile in Steve’s full—and fucking pretty—mouth. Eddie didn’t look long to Steve’s smile, but long enough to see it flake for a moment. A moment, when Eddie realized that Steve was, too, staring at his lips.

And see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew fear, and knew how to read it in other people’s eyes. And there was a trace of deep, everlasting, inherent fear behind Steve’s hazel pupils. Almost a trace of panic when he fixed his gaze again in Eddie’s dark eyes, after realizing that maybe, just maybe, he’d been staring at Eddie’s lips a couple seconds too long. Steve’s eyes, who dared to wordlessly answer Eddie’s question of what he was afraid of. Steve’s smile, that flaked until it was barely a smile anymore, gracing his face with the ghost of an unspoken truth. 

Yeah, Eddie knew Steve’s fear. It was the very same fear he felt after he laid on his mattress, seven years old, battered and bruised, his hair half buzzed, heavily breathing, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold another boy’s hand ever again. Feeling wrong, a big error of nature. Feeling terrified of ever meeting Mark Harvest’s eyes whenever they crossed paths. Yeah, that fucking, disgusting fear. 

He had so damn much to thank Wayne. That awkward conversation when Eddie was fifteen, the one that lasted no more than a minute, but it was all Eddie needed to know, that not in Wayne’s household was ever gonna take place any kind of hate for whomever he chose to love. It was that conversation that fueled him to, finally, at age sixteen, kiss a boy in that sweet summer camp in Indianapolis. It gave him strength to actually find a safe place, and meet people like him, and inform himself about safety and what was going on in the world for people like him, and going with Wayne to a clinic to get tested, and learn about his own preferences. He had indeed so fucking much to be thankful for.

But you see, Eddie knew fear, and he could read in the negative spaces of Steve’s family story, the constant absence of parents since he was thirteen, the loveless marriage and picture perfect nuclear family, money based, status based, that Steve Harrington had nothing close to a healthy, safe space to learn whatever he wanted to do with it. But Eddie, bless his soul, he knew fear. And Eddie had a soft spot for helping others to get rid of it. He could guide him out of that pit. Fuck, he could—

Eddie was no longer smiling. Neither was Steve. Eddie raised a tentative hand, slow and soft, toward Steve’s face. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, wordlessly asking for permission to touch, like it mattered, and Steve leaned into his touch, holding his breath, closing his eyes. And then Eddie learned about that other negative space of Steve Harrington, another thing never told, never spoken how damn touch starved that young man was, in that big, empty, lonely house for that long. By how he leaned into the warmth of Eddie’s touch, how he melted into it, how he closed his sparkling eyes with fear and curiosity. God, Eddie could help him, give him a way out, a chance to explore until he was no longer afraid. Eddie could help him feel safe to be him.

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear, fear was familiar, it has always been to Eddie. In the middle of the night, under a blue, pale, eerie pool light, and a clear sky full of stars, with their heart in their sleeves, his soul lost in Steve Harrington’s breathy, quiet moans in between kisses, his mind and his body fully given in to Steve’s hands in his hair, or his waist—or wherever it felt right for both at the moment—; even at that very moment, Eddie felt a new fear that didn’t surprised him. Not a bit. Because it was a logical fear, the one that got him reading his fate in Steve’s soft, wet lips, that he, sooner or later, was going to be broken hearted. It was reckless, borderline dangerous to get experimental and unattached with someone Eddie’s been having a crush on since high school.

But Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear. He knew his odds in this weird, new situation. His mind a mile a minute, he knew that they should be having rather soon a conversation about what was really going on there. Eddie absolutely knew that maybe he shouldn’t be kissing Steve that night, not after all the vulnerability, and the secrets spilled out. Not after talking about bad decisions, and regrets, and dead girls’ ghosts a few feet away from them. Not until Eddie made sure that Steve felt confident, and safe with him. Not after Eddie made clear that he would never hurt him, that while Steve was good at protecting people, Eddie was really good at protecting hearts. Not until Steve knew that they could take care of each other. 

He knew that he would have to work rather sooner than later about what was going to happen to him whenever Steve decided to leave him when he’d had enough. But it was worth it if it helped Steve through this. Steve, who was growing confident with every kiss until leaving Eddie breathless; who needed, desperately, to feel safe, and cradled, and taken care of. Steve, who cut himself raw to explain Eddie why he didn’t want him to feel like he deserved everything bad. Steve, who totally missed the pool lights flickering for a second. 

So, yeah, Eddie was no stranger to fear. And the panic rising in his soul at the melting touch of Steve’s taste in his lips was absolutely no surprise. Because, you see, that was the first time in Eddie’s life that he thought that he could live in this fear, as long as it was in Steve Harrington’s arms. 

And that—that was really scary.

---

Hey, y'all. I am absolutely in love with these two. This is the first fic that I've ever fully written (or posted), so I'm kinda nervous, not gonna lie. Thank you very much for taking your time and reading this.

Tbh, I've been using Tumblr for awhile now as an espectator, so, yeah, if I do anything wrong, I'm sorry. I promise I'm doing my best. I'm still learning (do we ever stop learning?).

Also, English is not my native language, so, if you detect any mistakes, I'm sorry about that, too.

The link to ao3 of this fic is in the title.

Again, thanks a lot, and I hope you're having a wonderful day. See you around!

[tftctwofficial]

The comic version of a drabble from a long while ago of a scene in the TFTCTW Western AU! The original scene in question is below the read more! There's differences between the comic and the writing, and that's due in part to the length of time between the two - sometimes details are forgotten and new ones are added!

Bigby was aware of the persistent throbbing in his side before he regained full consciousness. It’s steady pulse wove it’s way into his dreams, creating the illusion that something sharp was sliding it’s way in and out and in and out over and over again into his belly and back. When he woke up it was with a gasp, a hiss through his teeth, and a pained groan. He tried to move, to shuffle away from the sensation, but it only made it worse, so he stilled. Then, as he struggled to swallow the thick saliva that had built up in his mouth with a dry throat, he slowly remembered what had happened - he was shot. But that was the only thing he really and truly did remember. The fight before, then the blinding pain… then fading in and out… then the sting of something being poured over the wound, his arms and legs pinned and leather shoved between his teeth, the burning pierce of a needle… then nothing. He swallowed again, the motion easier this time, and when his eyes opened it was to a smoky orange glow. He squinted up at the rocky, craggy roof above him, shadows dancing in strange shapes, before he realized he was in a cave. Bigby knew he couldn’t really move his body, so he let his head roll to the side, squinting further as he looked directly into the heart of the campfire several feet away from him. He looked away, the flames burned into his vision for a moment, and his eyes managed to rest on Fox. The outlaw seemed to have not noticed the sheriff’s awakening, if the way he continued to stare blankly into the fire was any indication. He might not have heard Bigby over the crackling of the fire or perhaps - as he was just now registering - the crescendoing rain echoing throughout the cavern, drowning out most other noises. Bigby would’ve called out to him, gotten his attention, but his pain and sleep-addled brain still hadn’t gotten to that point of function yet. It also didn’t help that he was too busy being confused by Fox’s state of undress. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Bigby had seen shirtless men before. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, especially in the hotter months, but he hadn’t seen Fox shirtless before - or, well, shirtless and fully unbandaged. His torso was paler than his arms and face but still as lightly dusted with auburn hair that glowed like copper in the firelight. Strong arms crossed over his chest, hands gripping his shoulders, and even from this distance Bigby could tell he was shivering despite the fire burning brightly in front of him. He could also see scars, new and old, crisscrossing over his skin - the telltale markings of a man who lived on the edge every day of his life, dancing with death constantly. The branding on his neck stood out the most, shimmering wetly in the light of the fire like it was still fresh. A fresh bout of tremors shook the outlaws frame, and Bigby took note of the white-knuckle grip he had on his shoulders and the clouded, tired look in his eyes and he wondered just how long he’d been out and when the man had gotten some sleep. And again, why he didn’t have his shirt. Bigby tried to speak but all that came out was a croak, one that Fox still didn’t hear. So he swallowed and shifted onto his elbows - biting his lip on a pained yelp - and felt something fall off him. He glanced down to see the bandit’s red button up puddle into his lap. It’d been used to cover him like a blanket, it seemed. Something about that made something in his chest twist, but he ignored it in favor of trying to speak again. “You mean to tell me you don’t have any other shirts?” His rasp broke whatever spell was over the man, because his head snapped up immediately - eyes wide and mouth agape in surprise before it broke into a grin. “You’re up!” He exclaimed, voice echoing off the rocks as he scrambled to his feet and making Bigby wince. “Thought I wouldn’t be?” He inquired as the outlaw circled the fire to kneel beside him, keeping his eyes on his face and not his chest which was a lot broader than he remembered it being.

[There is more to this drabble, but its unnecessary. Enjoy the sneak peek you get!]

[goatpaste]

I think Diego had it worse and that truthfully Dio would be a lil scared of his Scary Monsters Ass bit not The World Diego as much. I mean if Dio met him fr, I think he'd piss himself like 'excuse me HE TRIED TO DROWN YOU...?? Mom DIED CAUSE YOU DIDNT??....-' and Diego is like yeah all things considered I had it worse and looking at you looks like I'm still normaller I'll take my chances here and say I'm glad Johnny fucking hates me while we're at it imagine being ungrateful for some wealthy people taking you in after mom died I stayed poor till I found some old lady to take care of and got her money when she passed. Sounds like you had it easier and are 'so powerful' and yet you fumbled the fuckin bag my guy. Loser ass. You even have bitches to do things for you and still fumbled the bag? Girl that's pathetic...

The way Dio would be shitting and pissing and crying over how this inferior and technically regressed version of himself has so much more resilience and charisma with so much less power and opportunity fills me with some pride on Diego's behalf. Like yeah king you are so cool and funny and swag and strong :) your haters were all wrong btw.

I do think! I can only somewhat agree

Because I think dio had a pretty fuckin bad childhood and it is what makes him and diego so similar yet so different. Ultimately it was the actions of the parent who raised them that truly made them who they were

Dio considered his mother of the VERY FEW people he loved. But he barely had her in his life and mostly was raised by his father who we see was an abusive and shitty father that dio put up with the best of his ability

And his father left him on the note that he had to do something great with his life, similar to diegos own mother when she died

However the very message both were left with led them down similar paths but with different hearts ultimately. Diego isn't a good person but isn't evil, he just wanted to live above it all because he sees the world as something that torn him down and killed his mother. While dio wants to conquer the world because it torn him down and created the environment that put him with his father.

We may not have gotten to have as much as a fleshed out early childhood with dio as we got with diego. But there is the implications on how heavily his father's presence in his life left a mark on him, especially in p1. We really get to see that dio never got over being afraid of being his father, the man he was believed was the reason his mother was dead.

I think their both kinda fucked as people! I genuienly do!

But beside all that, I do think dio and diego would either get along soSoSO well or they would eat each other like hamsters. They would tear each other to shreds.

It's not like dio wasn't unaccomplished in p3, he built a who cult built on his worship lol

But they came from very similar backgrounds with very distinct different people influence on them. Dio and diego are selfish but dio plays smart to get what he wants while diego has worked and worked for his place

I do think diego would have some resentment toward dio, especially an early pre scary monsters diego

But really and truly I think their either going to be besties or kill each other lol

Also scary monsters aura of swag would simply blow up the world 💚

[sageofthescions]

The meeting was proceeding smoothly. Thancred had taken the lead, proposing a mission of subterfuge in Garlean territory, meant to sow discord and, hopefully, oust the Ascian wearing the crown prince's skin. With any luck, removing the Ascian influence would open the door for them to eventually make peace. Or so was the long-term goal. Lenar was content to let the diplomats and the spymaster work out the details amongst themselves.

And then the pain hit.

Lenar clutched his head, a ringing sound filling his ears and drowning out all other sound. He felt lightheaded, dizzy, his body feeling light as if he were falling. Or flying.

"That way sorrow—"

The voice was distorted, faint, as if speaking across a vast distance.

"History must be changed..."

Lenar felt a hand on his shoulder, momentarily grounding him. He clung to the sensation like a drowning man, desperately trying to claw his way back to reality—

"Ahead looms a Calamity," the voice warned, a note of urgency to it. "Ahead looms Light, expunging all form and life. Twin dooms only you can forestall. Only you."

This time the voice was clear enough for him to make it out. It was... familiar. Familiar. Didn't he know this voice?

"Lenar! What's wrong?" Aymeric's voice sounded far away. Distorted. Like he was drifting somewhere between, fading in and out of hearing range.

"Who... is this...?" Lenar gasped out, finding himself struggling to even draw breath.

"Let expanse contract," the mysterious voice intoned, "eon become instant... Throw wide the gates that we may pass!"

In an instant, the pain disappeared and Lenar suddenly felt as if he was present again. He felt cool stone under his body, and the subtle background noises were different. Something hummed around him, like... magitek? The noise echoed faintly around him, implying a large room, maybe round.

"This... isn't Ala Mhigo," Lenar muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Thal's gilded balls," he heard Thancred mutter beside him. "Not again."

Thancred surveyed their surroundings, well-honed instincts searching for any potential hiding spots or exits. The room was round, and a striking shade of blue. No corners to slip into, nor any furniture to hide behind. And it looked for all the world like it was built out of crystal. Gold decorations marked the walls around them, creating the illusion of windows all around the walls. There were three doors: one to either side, and one behind them. Given how... exposed they were, Thancred and Lenar would have a hard time sneaking out of the room.

Before them was a set of round steps, leading up to a platform with some sort of... crystal mirror? It was difficult to tell exactly what it was from this angle. Partly because of the figure standing before it.

He—Thancred presumed it was the owner of the voice that summoned them—wore a set of black and red robes, his hood pulled up and obscuring most of his face. He held an elaborate staff in his right hand, the design striking Thancred as familiar in a way he couldn't quite place. Frankly, Thancred's attention was more readily drawn to the hand holding it. Unlike his left, which was clearly flesh and blood, his right arm looked as if it was carved from the very same crystal as the rest of the room. And from this angle, he could see bits of this strange crystalline substance creeping up the sides of the man's neck, one streak even making it across his cheek.

"Oh," the hooded man said, sounding just as surprised by this turn of events as the other two. "This is... not at all what I intended—"

Lenar perked up. He recognized that voice. This was someone he knew.

"G'raha Tia?" Lenar said.

The figure froze. Thancred saw his mouth open and close, before he cleared his throat.

"I... I don't know who you're—"

"Don't play coy," Lenar said. "I'd recognize your voice anywhere. Sure, it's been a while since I last heard it, but..."

"H-How did you..." The man's voice wavered.

"Well, it's not as if I can recognize people's faces," Lenar pointed out.

"...I suppose not," G'raha conceded.

"I take it the two of you are acquainted, then?" Thancred remarked, glancing between the two with obvious amusement on his face.

"Indeed. In fact, I was almost certain we'd never have an opportunity to meet again," Lenar replied. He smiled. "Praise Halone, it's good to see you again. For certain values of seeing, of course."

G'raha chuckled despite himself. After a moment's hesitation, he removed his hood and Thancred could finally get a good look at the man's face.

He was a miqo'te man, with short red hair that tapered to white at the ends. His eyes were a striking red, and despite the exhaustion that seemed to cling to him, they still shone with a certain vibrancy. As the hood fell away he shook out his ears, which must have been laying rather flat considering how Thancred hadn't seen any sign of them when it was up. G'raha returned Lenar's smile, his expression softening with obvious fondness.

"'Tis good to see you again as well, Lenar." Thancred raised an eyebrow. There was something hiding in G'raha's tone that he couldn't quite place. "Apologies for the rather... abrupt summons, apparently."

"Where and how, exactly, have you summoned us?" Lenar asked.

"Before I explain, I feel I should..." G'raha cleared his throat, rather deliberately glancing away from them as his face slowly reddened, "fetch something for the two of you to wear."

"That would be much appreciated," Thancred said. "This does not sound like a conversation to be had in one's nameday suit."

"Nameday...?" It was at this point it finally clicked that the reason why the room felt so cold. Lenar and Thancred were both in the nude.

"...Lenar." Thancred regarded him with a bemused look. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

Lenar remained conspicuously quiet. Thancred let out a heavy sigh. G'raha raised his free hand to his face and stifled a chuckle.

"I must admit, of anyone, I would not have presumed you to be the one unbothered by nudity," G'raha remarked, making his way down from the platform and towards one of the side doors.

"Yes, well," Lenar fumbled, folding his arms over his chest defensively, "it's a largely visual thing. How am I to tell if one is with or without clothes if I can't perceive them either way?"

Thancred broke into barely-stifled chuckling. "Is this the same justification you give for failing to tell whether someone is a man or a woman?"

"Yes!" Lenar replied, voice rising ever so slightly. G'raha laughed from the other room. "Listen, do you realize how many elezen women have supposedly 'masculine' voices?"

"...Fair enough," Thancred conceded with a shrug. "I suppose the tendency for elezen voices to hover around the lower registers would make relying on that as a determination rather difficult."

"Precisely!" Lenar declared triumphantly. "And anyway, I don't really see what all the fuss is about to begin with. It's quite an arbitrary distinction, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't quite call it arbitrary."

G'raha returned with a pair of robes, draping them across each of their shoulders and leaving them to wrestle them on themselves. He politely turned away as they grappled with the clothes, only chancing a look back once the sounds of rustling cloth had settled.

"All done?"

"Yes," Thancred said. "We are no longer exposed to the elements."

"Good." G'raha made his way back to the raised platform and faced the duo. "I apologize again for the abrupt summons. Now, as to the matter of where you are..."

[bookfreaky]

Kamala Harris Brat Edit

I am getting close to saying goodbye to my youth, or at least what social media understands by youth. I am a millenial, a typical one, who is eternally frustrated by the economy, having my childhood dreams being crushed by reality and trying still to live up to the kind of life that my parents had built for them during the 90's. I have just one more year to say goodbye to my 20s, I don't think I am totally ready but I am eager to embrace being 30.

I wanted to be an artist ever since I started to make art myself, which for me was at the age of four. I started to paint at four years old, started to write at 14 years old and started to write music at 16. My parents were supportive of my art as long as it remained as a hobby, and they pushed me to have a "real job". When I got to university, I was so depressed that I couldn't imagine myself in the future. I was a closeted trans girl, still very much a teenager, I didn't know what I wanted to be. I didn't even know who I was. During college, all I wanted was to drown myself in vodka, write sad music and party with my friends until 4 a.m., which was destructive but very elucidating to my gender experimentations.

To the year I graduated in psychology, I had tried drag (it wasn't really for me, I hated the makeup process), I had written my first book (still unpublished) and I had travelled abroad and met different people and different cultures. I still felt incredibly unhappy. Very much out of touch with my body and confused about my sexuality - sex wasn't a very interesting idea to me before my hormones. I wanted desperately to be someone else, to escape somewhere, to own a body and an identity that could be mine.

After my graduation, I got my first job and I was determined to start my transition - with or without my parents approval - I had in mind this stupid idea that you could only have a successful "passing" transition if you took hormones up until 24. I realized that if I kept living as a man, I would kill myself. And so I tried, I wasn't very good at it either.

Getting used to a new body took a long portion of my time. At some point I thought about detransitioning, I was depressed and suicidal in my first two years, I had problems with alcoholism and prescription abuse, I tried to mutilate my own penis, and I developed a case of atypical anorexia. Besides that, I had fell in love with a boy - a friend, a very close friend - that never felt the same way about me. I am still grieving from that, I admit that I am still angry, but I also can't ignore that my relationship with him marked me in ways I hadn't been touched before: I understood that maybe I don't like being alone as much as I thought I liked, I learned about my own sexual fantasies, I strengthed by relationship with my mother and talked about daddy issues in therapy, I learned that I take care of myself better when I have someone else to take care of, I understood my bisexuality, I wrote several love poems and from that I got my first published book.

A lot happened. I feel so tired, I just wish I had quiet inside my head. We ended up both hurt, I, broken-hearted and he with a broken face. Still, I have to admit that even though he isn't part of my life anymore, he still is a part of who I am and of my history. I hope some day I can recollect those memories and feel thankful to that.

Studying psychology was pretty much a mistake. I don't have one single bone in my skeleton that wants to help people. I don't have enough empathy for that. I'd rather do un-serious things, like write articles about clothes, make movies, appear in photoshoots, things that my parents and the current economy of the country won't consider "a real job".

I want to be able to write for the rest of my life, but I get now, closer to 30, that I need a "job" in order to fund my "career". But I don't want to have to become an instagram sensation to do that. The mental health field does not pay well, and you work long hours. I want to be a writer, but I also want to have my own place, I want to travel to Italy, I want to buy Dior makeup, and I want to have money to pay a lawyer next time I hit a boyfriend on the face. I feel stuck in a hamster wheel, for the last 10 years of my life I had lunch with my parents in weekdays and dined with friends on weekends, now maybe I realize that I want to have dinner with someone else on weekdays, and only have lunch with my parents on weekends.

The first thing I saw this morning was a Kamala Harris Brat Edit, with Von Dutch at the background while they played the same memes on repeat. That is a political campaign strategy to target young voters from the United States, since older voters, voters that don't know what Brat or who Charli XCX are, probably will already vote blue. Gen Z and Millenials are the undecided about whether or not voting is worthy a while. I understood that, and I thought I could do that. Yes, I could probably gain money with that.

[kingofbr00klyn]

Drowned Man Mark just hits different

Look at him

Just look at him

[givemearock]

TMR Boys playing Minecraft

A/N: saw someone in a different fandom do this, and I just revisited some of the old Minecraft YouTubers I used to watch (specifically LDShadowlady and StacyPlays) and since TMR is my current hyperfixation here’s this

Minho

takes the game way too seriously would try to speedrun killing the ender dragon

would definitely get addicted and finish the game in one night

after that he’d try to get every achievement before spending the next month trying to get to the farlands

his inventory consists of full diamond armor, an enchantment table, and every potion in the game x64

Thomas

an absolute menace

at first he’d play the game normally building a wooden house and whatnot but as soon as he discovers tnt it’s over for everyone else on the server

since he’s one of the admins no one can kick him so everyone just lives in fear of Thomas and his inventory full of tnt

he targets everyone but Newt

would definitely mark everything with ‘Thomas was here’

‘CaptainGally was blown up by TomBomb’

‘ZarttheFart was blown up by TomBomb’

‘TheCoolestRunner was blown up by TomBomb’

Newt

at first he wouldn’t see the appeal of the game but eventually he’d get into it and start building a life for himself

within two hours he’d have a house, a farm, and several dogs that he grinded for because he wants to feel like he earned his living even if it’s a game

no one messes with his stuff like ever because Thomas once accidentally blew up part of his house and he gave him a lecture about dynamite control and didn’t speak to him afterwards for a couple days

he’s very respectful of the villagers even though they aren’t real because Yk, Newt’s a great person

Gally

he tried survival, got frustrated, and resigned himself to making stuff in creative

since he was the keeper of the builders in the glade his thing would be just making intricate buildings and just walking around in them

he has his own server everyone but Thomas is allowed on that’s just a bunch of replicas of real life structures that come together into a giant cityscape

Newt definitely has a house in Gally’s city

extra thing, on the main server they’re all on he’d gather an army of dogs and get Thomas to hit him just for the satisfaction of watching Thomas get mauled to death by his Minecraft dogs. Or he’d just kill Thomas for fun

‘TomBomb was slain by CaptainGally’

TomBomb: Stop killing me ! >:(

‘TomBomb was slain by CaptainGally’

Aris

he tried survival because Thomas convinced him to but he’d be really bad at it like he’d die all the time

‘Ventboy was shot by a skeleton’

‘Ventboy drowned’

‘Ventboy tried to swim in lava’

‘Ventboy was crushed by an anvil’

‘Ventboy was blown up by TomBomb’ (Thomas apologized for that one)

but eventually he’d discover red stone, and he’d make a bunch of cool stuff

especially with music blocks like he’d recreate songs he liked

him, Sonya, and Harriet have their own server and Aris does concerts in the town Sonya and Harriet built

Zart

he plays the game just for the flowers

he also made a little birch wood cottage that’s across from Frypan’s oak wood cabin

once he’d collected all the flowers in the game and made a garden around his cottage he’d get all the flower mods

him and Frypan share a garden where Zart grows flowers and Fry grows food

sometimes the others will wake up to flowers around their houses and everyone knows Zart put them there despite him always denying it

Frypan

he’s a very reliable player to have on your team

this man has a whole farm, and always has like 64 stacks of every food

also he found a village upon spawning and decided just to live with them in his cabin

usually he’s just farming or going on scavenger hunts for plants with Zart

however when Minho was going on his several quests he accompanied him as a food source so Minho could carry all his weapons and potions

He also has a farm in Gally’s city

But yeah thanks for reading my post !!

Have a nice day and night !! 🌺

[reciprocityfic]

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[lady-ragnvindr]

I’m back! My final of the day was horrible but at least the horny juice is pumping! (also I may or may not have become too excited about this particular scenario so now it’s also becoming its own X reader for AO3 when I finish it oops)

*cough* just clearing some warnings first... 👀

Omegaverse (obviously), size difference, reader has two cocks and a 2ft tongue, scent kink, sex pollen but it’s actually reader’s scent cause they triggered a rut, tongue fucking, mouth knotting, animalistic/primal sex, overstimulation, cum inflation, breeding kink, spitroasting (male receiving), marking/claiming bites, double penetration (male receiving), breeding kink, dragon cum confers semi-permanent immortality, slightly yandere characters

———

Okay, so in this setup, Teyvat’s dragons are these secluded and solitary creatures, that are only seen very rarely and decades apart. One is lucky to see a dragon come out of their secret lairs in their lifetime, but they don’t consider it as such, because dragons only ever come out for three things: treasure, war, or... mates.

The thing is, no one knows what happens to these ‘mates’. The dragons just come, towering over the tallest of alphas, roam around the land with their horns and fangs and claws, and then leave with their ‘mates’ on their arms...only for them to never be seen again. So, in the mouth of the people, ‘mates’ are just another word for ‘food’... only with a worse fate. Not that anybody dares to say it to an actual dragon.

In the middle of this, you’re a dragon just over a hundred years old, and you’re just out of your parents’ nest, roaming the land in search of treasure and possibly one (or a few) mate(s) before finally setting yourself with an adult lair.

The humans, however, are nowhere to be seen from where you stand, closing the doors when you pass and hiding their children, and you’re mildly confused, but chalk it off to them having never seen a dragon in their lives. Well, you’re truly majestic, even among other alpha dragons, with your two sets of curled horns and beautifully long tail, but it still hurts a bit seeing the mortals avoid you when you had been so eager to meet them, ever since your infancy’s tales.

And then, a presence makes itself known- or three, to be more precise. Two omegas and a beta, you can tell, and you wonder why they’re approaching you so cautiously, but you’re excited nonetheless. From their smell, you can tell they’re unmated, and you hope that if they’re not here to be your friends, they’re here to be your mates.

The first to approach is Scaramouche, in service of the Tsaritsa to investigate he rumors of a dragon descending (form where, he doesn’t know). He smiles and talks with glee in his eyes at the smile filled with pointed teeth that greets him, and you can feel your chest swell with pride. It’s all going well (all too well even, the unmistakable scent of pleased alpha making his omega reel in want), until the traveler comes too, scowling at him and loudly warning you about Scaramouche’s hidden nature and his probable ill intentions (nothing you hadn’t already noticed, of course).

Aether goes on, introducing himself and offering to help you for a while if you don’t know where you’re going, ignoring the tiny part of his brain that tells him he also wants to use you for his own benefit, finding his sister, but also the much louder one that screams ‘alpha! mine!’ in the back of his mind. Well, if he gets what he’s here for, he might as well be lucky enough to-

And then the third man comes forth, a refreshing smell of qingxin coiling around him just like the white snake on his shoulder, and Baizhu ropes you in his talk, friendly and surreptitious and he sounds out information about you you’d gladly give him in an instant had the ruse not been up. He asks about how life is like for a dragon and curious questions about your tail, and hides his need for knowledge just as much as the saliva already pooling on his tongue at the sight of you, your built form more than a head taller than he is, and the sheer strength you carry in yourself (And the other dragons said you were small for an alpha...)

The curious behavior of them is enough to rope you into their banter, a purr almost forming in the back of your throat at their sight and their scent, mixing so well with your own, but you hold it back for a while, knowing neither of them has tried anything with you. But they will, you’re sure, and you can wait for it for as long as they want.

It’s a few weeks later until your prediction comes true, a week full with lingering tension and careful touches that last just a bit too long and just a bit too little to be not nearly enough at every turn. You’re in the cave you’ve claimed as yours for your stay in the mortal world (only waiting for your little mates to come around), tail loosely curled around the three of them just enough you can chalk it off to a mindless behavior. You chuckle at yet another bickering between Scaramouche and Aether, the sore jabs and quick nips exhilarating to watch, as you prop yourself against the stone wall and play with Baizhu’s hair, his head resting on your lap.

And then, a hand is grabbing at your wrist, propping it against Baizhu’s cheek and him nuzzling against it, vibrant amber eyes staring straight at yours. “So, how do dragon mates work, even?” he says in that silky, languid voice of his, and you feel yourself twitch in interest.

The sounds of the conversation around pause all of a sudden, and now all three of them are looking directly at you, breaths hitched and scents sweetening just a tad, making your mouth water. Slightly nipping at your lip, your gaze wonders through each of them, finally setting down on Baizhu again only to ask, tone a bit more low now, “What do you want to know?”

The curious eyes shift lower on your form, and you feel, just for a moment, that the glint in their eyes could be more menacing that what you see. And then, Aether is shifting closer, now right in front of you sitting back on his knees, and Scaramouche has moved to your side only to stare closely into your face with a devious smirk.

Baizhu turns, and your attention is back at him now. “Perhaps... you’d like to demonstrate?” he says, already trailing a hand through your waistband and you can’t contain yourself anymore.

You snap, feeling the fire burning through your veins, liquid lust escaping through your scent and into the air. You grip at Baizhu’s neck only to pull him up for a fierce kiss, your tongue unraveling from within to shove down his throat, and he whines. Your tail is curling around the other two, death grip as it pulls them by the waist to pile against your heating body, and Aether whimpers, the steady filling of your cocks rubbing on him now that he’s climbed up your lap.

Scaramouche grips at your bulge then, still covered by your clothes, and you groan, leaving Baizhu to grasp for air as he holds right to your frame as you bite into the harbinger’s neck, fangs already extended and ready for marking. The surprised moan that escapes his mouth is almost as nice as the way he turns limp into your arms from shock, only to grab your hair and hold you against his neck, you biting and licking all too eagerly before you feel cold air and deft fingers hit your skin.

A sigh leaves the blond’s pretty lips, and you look down just in time to see him start nuzzling into your cocks, inhaling your scent and looking hazily up to you. He moans as he takes one of your cocks into your mouth, Baizhu’s trembling hand reaching to caress his cheek and tug at your other cock, and you groan as you pump out more of your scent, wrapping your tail tighter against Aether’s waist and moving to rip your mates’ clothing off.

You don’t waste time to maneuver Scaramouche’s hips into your face, his always smug face contorted in pleasure as your tongue breaches his hole, a frenzied rhythm inspired only by your growing need to mate, and breed and to claim. You grip into Baizhu’s head to guide him to your other leaking, dripping cock, and he moans as he laves his tongue on it, intent on pleasuring you the best he can as you hold right to his hair with pricking pain that goes form his scalp right to his cock.

The messy sounds in the cave get drowned by the rain outside and you feel yourself on the brink at all the sensations, thrusting up into the receiving mouths working desperately at you and making Aether gag, taken aback, and Baizhu thank his lack of a gag reflex. Scaramouche, you know, is also more than desperate to get off, shaking his hips and trying to send himself further down your tongue, crying already with a fucked out face and you wonder just how sensitive he is as you lick more intently, feeling your thighs flex and high peak as you slam both Aether’s and Baizhu’s heads into your new protruding knots.

You feel Scaramouche come on your tongue then, triggered by the smell of pleased alpha inundating the cave, and your tongue works faster as the slick drops down his thighs, cum spurting from him only to fall into his stomach and the wall on the back. You don’t stop your licking though, working him up again to a strangled cry as he’s forced to quickly wind up again on it and cum until your knots come down enough to get to actually fucking your mates dry.

The growls you make reverberate against the walls of both the cave and Scaramouche’s hole, and the minor twitches on your cocks has Aether’s eyes suspiciously water, his tongue doing its best to lap at you and keep you satisfied.

Baizhu leaks his scent then, the calming scent just enough to get you to let Scaramouche up, shaking legs struggling to hold him as he drops on your side and drapes his head on your shoulder, and you ride the rest of your high out to his satisfied purrs.

—

You must have fallen asleep at some point, because when you wake it’s to your little mates draped all over you and the burning need to breed. With much less grace that you’ll want to acknowledge later, you groan at the feeling of your rock hard cocks dripping on your chest, and makes quick work of lifting Aether up and unceremoniously dropping him into your cock, and he screams as he wakes up, feeling a size much too large for himself breaching into him all at once. He pants, feeling your soothing hands on his hips as you nip his neck in apology, but you don’t stop until he’s flush against your hips and barely a second to adjust before you’re hammering up into him, grunting at the feeling of your other cock rub against his cleft.

It’s not nearly enough to get you off and you’re about to try and jam everything inside Aether all at once when Scaramouche wakes, scowling at the noise, before stopping himself to the sight. You growl at him, and he looks at you with sheer want on his eyes, and it’s in more of a roar than an ask that you tell him to ride your cock, and he whines, yet makes no move. You sneer, reaching for his hair as you mercilessly yank him into your cock and stuff his hole full all at once, copious slick aiding your work and you can feel him clench at you as he chokes on his words. He whimpers and cries as you thrust up, roughly, barely hitting his prostate in a way that has him screaming for more and arching his back, and you stuff your tail up in his mouth to stop his whining, leaving only muffled whimpers to fill your ears.

Baizhu stirs awake to this vision, the pretty blond clutching at your back and arching to rub against your belly as you fill him up and fuck the pretty, loud sounds out of his lips, and the other artificially arched in a bow as he’s fucked on both ends, and he can’t believe how hard he’s gotten and how grateful he is he left Changsheng and Qiqi to go over on a mission for the week. He wastes no time in nuzzling to your neck and hump into your side as he bares his glands to you, and you waste no time to accept it before diving down and biting hard enough to draw blood. He’s moaning, then, trailing wet kisses over your skin as he speeds up his humping, panting and moaning as if he was a bitch in heat, which he might as well be at this moment.

You dive down as you feel yourself reach completion again, speeding your thrusts and slamming Aether’s hips back on yours as Scaramouche is sluttily rocking back and forth on your other cock, and claims the blond’s bare neck in a single, twisted bite, your teeth so large against his slim neck you grunt and cum right on the waiting bodies above you, knots firmly against the omegas’ stretched entrances, and Baizhu is panting loudly and cussing as you lick the blood away from Aether’s neck only to open again the matching wound on Scaramouche’s.

They come, untouched, still riding on your hips from oversensitivity and Scaramouche is tamer than you’ve ever seen him before, and Baizhu is trailing up again to catch your lips as he grunts and comes on your side, and Aether’s looking so pretty you might as well just keep on fucking him until he can’t take it anymore (and then do it again).

Your omegas look so beautiful like this, fucked out on top of you and even falling over each other, too tired to even process it, and their cum stuffed bellies bulge and satisfy a primal urge in your alpha to keep them well-bred, full of pups and begging for more.

You wrap your tail around them, and decide to wait again for the next wave of your rut, only for Baizhu to tell you to ‘wait for him for a bit’, with the calm playfulness only he can achieve and you thump your tail lightly on the ground in acknowledgement.

It takes not long before he notices when your cum starts to leak from where your knot subsided, and it’s at this moment that he gently pulls the two omegas (or tries to, before you move them yourself) to both your sides and out of your cocks. You whimper at the loss, cold air of the cave and the rainstorm outside replacing wet, tight heat and is about to protest before he groups both of your cocks together and aligns to his hole, sinking down with a hitched breath.

He sighs, adjusting slowly to the intrusion, before he pouts, “I didn’t get to have my fun yet”, and moans when he’s finally meeting your still barely deflated knots with his shaking hips. As you move your hands to his waist and grips, hard enough to leave marks for days, he smiles languidly and laughs, saying there’s something he noticed on your cum. “It heals people, doesn’t it?”

You grunt, thrusting into him the softest you can so as not to wake the tired out omegas on your chest, and nods, saying it’s what helps dragons keep their mates for their whole lives. His eyes sparkle and he gasps, sinking down harder and you can barely contain yourself as to not flip you both out and fuck into him like there’s no tomorrow (someday, you think distantly through you lust-dazed mind).

“Yes, I noticed,” he gasps, and it seems he’s hit an extra good spot, so you shift your hips until you’re aiming right at the spot, the double girth brushing at all his right places at once and he has to hold himself back as to not be too loud. “I wouldn’t be able to take both these monsters at once if not,” he gasps, finishing his thought as you chuckle. It’s not long before he’s coming, clenching down on your cocks as he shivers, and you moan at the welcoming heat, spurts of slick still so little compared to your omegas but delightful nonetheless. He crumbles onto your chest, grumbling something, and nods when you grip harsher at his hips, and you waste no time in wrapping two rings of your tail around his waist, propping his head up with the tip and setting up a much harsher, much faster pace, seeking to destroy the beautiful man you’ve been gifted with. And his self-control is gone at his time, muffling his whines and pleads only by biting into his own hand as harsh as he can, the other twisted into your hair in a tug that makes you want to ruin him. And you do, diving down for the final mark on your beautiful strike today, right over his gland, and he’s spurting again with a hitched breath, making him clench and trigger your orgasm as both of your knots are shoved in his right hole, and he swears he’s gonna cry himself dry at this point.

As you leave his neck and licks soothingly at the wounds, you can’t help but rumble again at the beautiful sight of all your three mates, stuffed full and fucked out for the day.

—

It’s not for a week later that the four of you leave the cave, your rut finally done with and thankfully not triggering any of the omegas’ heats, thanks to their steady use of suppressants. You smile as you walk towards the nearby town, preparing to finally decide where your adult lair is gonna be, and you couldn’t be happier as Aether pulls your hand, leading the group as Baizhu saunters behind and Scaramouche is snarling and snipping sarcasm at the blond’s behavior, and discreetly snarling at everyone who looks at you slightly too long. Your smile grows larger, appreciating how cute they are, clinging to you and scaring off the few people that seemed a bit too interested as well.

So cute, just for you.

Even if you know they would try to kill anyone who ever upset you or tried to talk to you again, but that’s okay. With three beautiful mates like these, who would need any more?

———

This has gotten much longer than I wanted even with all the cuts and edits I made, so I hope you like it bestie 👊🏻😭

~🐃

Babe this is some good shit, each time I kept scrolling I didn't wanted to end 😫

[cower-before-power]

Slippery When Wet: Part 2

Summary: An untimely accident in the shower leaves you injured and in need of rescue. Lucky for you, the object of your affections is more than willing to help.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, nudity, implied sexual content, description of injury (nothing graphic), unintentional voyeurism? (idk i mean like voyeurism in the name of helping i’m not sure how to say it ha), lots of dick talk, prolly really bad sex jokes

Link to A03 here

PART 1 HERE

A/N: First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED AND COMMENTED ON PART 1. You are all amazing, I am so glad you are enjoying this silly little venture Gojo has dragged me on. Again, thank you so much to @ghost-party for her beta skills, you da best! I hope Part 2 makes you all happy :) please enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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You shouldn’t look. Not because you don’t want to, but if you do you’ll know what is absolutely not warming your bed at night and then you’ll probably just feel worse. But, you were overwhelmingly curious. Just a quick look couldn’t hurt.

Right?

You peek through your fingers, just at his upper half. The sight makes you curse softly under your breath. Of course he’s absolutely beautiful out of clothes, did you really expect anything less?

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll get dressed,” he says, “just thought this would help you out.”

Help you out? Good grief this is going to be the star of your late night fantasies for months. Because instead of dreaming it up, you now have the real thing to recall.

“No,” you take a deep breath and drop your hands. “I’m fine.”

Are you though? He’s built to perfection, checking off all the boxes on your “Things I find physically attractive” checklist. You marvel at this long column of his throat, sweeping down into a set of collarbones that would make models die of envy. His chest is hairless (did he wax or was it just naturally that way?), miles of smooth skin and muscle that your fingers were just itching to trace.

Your eyes trail down past his stomach, briefly cataloging the very nice set of abs, before settling on what you were the most curious about.

The snort of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Excuse me, did you just look at my dick and laugh?” He asks accusingly, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle at the disgruntled expression on his face. “It’s just, I’ve always wondered if the carpet matched the drapes since I assumed you dye your hair. Guess I was wrong.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru visibly deflates.

“That’s what you’ve thought about?” His voice is full of frustrated disbelief. “My pubic hair?”

You can’t stop giggling. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious! Are you sure you shouldn’t get rid of it though? Doesn’t the white make people think they’re boning an old man?”

“The utter disrespect,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I can assure you that is the last thing on their minds when I’m working my magic.”

You wonder why you aren’t feeling more flustered. The fun and teasing atmosphere feels almost refreshing after the intense back and forth that was just occurring.

“What, you casting spells for dry weather?”

“Oh, you are evil!” He moans, then looks down at himself. “Don’t listen to her, big guy. You know what you can do.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk to it,” you roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “And don’t oversell the merchandise. It’s average, at best.”

(It isn’t. It’s probably the nicest looking one you’ve ever seen. But him and his astronomical ego do not need to know that)

Gojo grabs his chest as if you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch! Shots fired, target annihilated!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you sigh. You wonder if he notices the quiet fondness in your voice.

He opens his mouth as if to retaliate, but then suddenly shuts it. A look comes over his face as if he’s just remembered something very interesting and important.

“Hey,” he says, and you watch his mouth spread into a smile. “You said you’d wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. That means you definitely imagined me naked at least once.”

And your blush is back.

“What of it?” You huff, cross your arms and looking away. “It’s only natural. I’ve thought of lots of people naked.”

“Do you ever imagine sleeping with me?”

The question causes you to choke on your breath.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

You take a look at him, standing naked and unashamed in front of you. His smile is different; there’s a sultry edge to it you’ve never seen before.

“Maybe inquiring minds should stuff it,” you stick out your tongue. Immature, but he’s got you feeling all funny now.

“Well, I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, actually.”

Your heart misses a beat in your chest.

“You have?” Your voice squeaks as you force the words out.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You consider the question. You’ve got insecurities, but you know you are a decent looking person. And despite his flightiness about many things, Gojo has actually never given you the impression that he’s shallow in that way.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I guess I just never considered the possibility that you were interested in me in that way.”

He sighs. “Pumpkin, I’m not blind. You are stupidly attractive. Every time we’re out in Tokyo you’ve got a million guys and gals staring at you.”

“I just always assumed they were staring at your and your stupid blindfold,” you scrub at your cheeks with your palms, trying to rid yourself of some of the perplexing confusion you feel swirling inside you. “How come you’ve never made a move?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

You want to shout at him, to say of course yes a thousand times yes, but you pause. You realize you’ve never given him any signals, any hint that he was more than just your often annoying friend. Sure, you blushed at his silly flirting, but so did lots of people.

You shift back through your interactions, all the missions, the late night hang outs, the strolls through the city. Nowhere can you find any instant where your ever expanding feelings might have risen to the surface. But still, would your seeming indifference deter him? He was a very self assured man, after all.

“You have confidence coming out your ass, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t make a move anyways, just to see,” you say instead.

His whole demeanor softens. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Oh.

OH.

And you know exactly what he means. It’s why you’ve never said anything, why you forced your desires deep down into the pit of your being when in his presence.

It seems even the strongest shaman could be afraid of something.

“It’s not just about fucking, is it?” You ask, feeling your whole body start to tremble.

“It was never just about fucking,” he replies, and it’s like the universe explodes before your very eyes. “Why do you think I spend all my free time with you?”

“To annoy me?” You croak feebly. “To eat all my snacks? To enjoy torturing me by spoiling the end to every movie we watch?”

He chuckles. “Just side bonuses. Being with you is the real prize, pumpkin.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and your brain whirs like an overworked laptop. You’re having trouble processing that this is actually happening, that the man you’ve been pining after for what feels like forever is really standing there, confessing his own feelings.

Buck ass naked.

“You’ve got two options right now,” Gojo takes a step closer to you, and you shiver at the dominant aura that suddenly swirls around him. “Either I get dressed and we put today behind us, or I come over there and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name. Make your choice.”

Was there even a choice? There was only one option. A slow, warm feeling blooms in the middle of your chest and spreads outwards, dousing your whole shaking body in molten yearning. It’s not a new feeling, but the sensations are different. Because now you can give in to it.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out, breathless and giddy. “Get the fuck over here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

A flash of a savage grin, the soft thump of footsteps and then you are numb to everything but him.

He tastes like sugary coffee and chapstick, lips hard and hot against yours as he kisses you like he’ll die if he stops. He’s everywhere at once, in all your senses, drowning you in his onslaught of desirous fervour. It’s not a timid kiss of new sweethearts; it’s a passionate embrace of long overdue lovers.

Your hands run over every inch of him they can reach, mapping the ridges and valleys of his exposed skin. His own slip beneath your shirt to spread across your back, crushing you to him with a grip of iron. It’s not enough; you want them everywhere, you want him everywhere, until he’s branded onto your body. Until you no longer know where you end and he begins. Until he’s sunken himself into your very bones.

You need to breathe- you pull away with a gasp, one gossamer thread of saliva lazily trailing after you.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You pant, digging your nails into his arms. He’s unwilling to keep his mouth off you, now pressing scalding kisses along your jaw.

“Blame it on mutual stupidity,” he sighs into your skin, teeth slightly grazing the spot just below your ear. “Let’s make up for lost time, eh?”

“I’m game,” you say, a soft whine leaving your lips as he works steadily on what is sure to become a bruise.

“Good,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across the blossoming mark before leaning back to smirk at you. “Have to make you take back all your snarky comments about me and my game.”

You giggle. “Oh, so you’re saying it won’t be as dry as a desert ‘round here?”

“Well let me just check tonight’s weather report,” he laughs, grinning cheekily as he slips a hand down between your legs, brushing gently over the front of your underwear. You bite your lip, grip on his biceps tightening.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re in for a wet night,” he says in what you assume is his best weatherman voice. “Expect a great deal of precipitation, more so than what’s already accumulated. Perhaps we’ll even see some flooding. We’re talking possibly record setting levels here.”

You snort with laughter, pushing at him slightly. “You are such an idiot. Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I intend to put my mouth in a lot of different places,” he removes his hand, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your hip as he goes. “I know I just got you into these, but shall I undress you now?”

“Yes please,” you nod eagerly, already wiggling out of your shirt. He quickly helps remove the offending garment, but in all the lust and excitement you’ve forgotten about your shoulder, and you moan in pain when you jostle it.

“Owwwwwwie, stupid shoulder!”

“Shhh, pumpkin,” Gojo coos gently, leaning down to pepper the area with kisses. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You feel yourself melt at the sudden tender display, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his luscious hair as he continues to smother your bruised shoulder in affection. “You already are, Satoru.”

The first name slips out unexpectedly, but you like the way it rolls off your tongue. He seems to as well, judging by the pleased noise that rumbles from his chest.

“Well, allow me to continue then,” he purrs, and his lips leave your shoulder to capture yours in another toe curling kiss. You press yourself to him, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a thrill shooting down your spine.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“I never got to finish my shower,” you break your kiss to speak, looking up at him under your lashes.

He catches on immediately, his smile once again turning primal. It makes your knees weak and your gut clench in anticipation.

“Maybe you should help me, since I’m injured and all,” you push yourself even closer to him, shivering at the feeling of his not-so-average excitement pressing against your belly.

“Hmmmm, I could do that,” he’s already got his fingers hooked in your underwear, slowly starting to push them down your hips. “But what if you slip again?”

“Well, you’ll just have to catch me then,” you wink at him. “With your dick.”

He roars with laughter, and your heart has never been more full.

“Oh, I’ll do more than just catch you, pumpkin,” he growls playfully, and before you can blink he’s rid you of your bottoms and swept you up into his arms. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you.”

You reach up to kiss him as he pounds towards the bathroom, your blood on fire and only one thought in your head.

Bless that stupid, slippery, wonderful bar of soap.

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Taglist: @satorudicks @sara-nyaa @dixonsbugaboo @fandomtrash100 @oikusa-snow @okemis @kuxredere @mylittleteddybear @the-fandoms-georgie @inaflashimagine @crapimahuman @elenapri0502 @fragments-of-aria @bollywoodghoul @wrdro @kiasnotforever @disregardedbymybias @lavihs @euniartsu @satjsstuff @lycorizzz @fushigurosimp @levisbrat1 @bxstboy-tetsu @one-leaf-grimoire @glxar (sorry i just tagged everyone who asked and commented haha, bold means I couldn’t tag you sorry!)

[westmoor]

the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

--

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

--

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

--

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar​ @elliestormfound​ @justjess94​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @honeysuckletook​ @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

[tommysparker]

Never Forget You [Chapter 1]

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

A/N: here’s the first official chapter! thank you so much for the support this series as already gotten. chapters will be posted every Saturday! enjoy :)

Warnings: angst. fluffy flashbacks. this isn’t even the worst of it mwhaha. paragraphed italics = flashback

                                            [10 YEARS LATER] 

The sky was as blue as his eyes. Not as dark and cloudy, but gave the same feeling of hope, peacefulness, and comfort. You could picture them vividly in your mind, even the small crinkle at the edges and the kindness they held, a warmness that matched your current aurora.  

The two of you sat in the gardens for what felt like hours, deep in meditation. Your force signatures quickly became entangled with one another, your bond radiating around you, creating almost a shield bubble between the rest of the world and the two who sat inside. 

Obi-Wan was the first to open his eyes, having never been one to sit still for long periods of time. He’s improved since he was a youngling, but still had a long way to go. 

You, on the other hand, looked completely invested in your meditation. Your face was relaxed, although every now and then your eyebrows would furrow as you tried to maintain concentration. It was hard when a certain other was very distracting, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“I can feel you staring,” you said, eyes still closed. Obi-Wan was thankful for that fact because it means you wouldn’t see him blush in embarrassment from getting caught. 

“I can feel you blushing, too.” This time, you opened your eyes and smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t last long.” Anytime the two of you tried to meditate together, it would always end with Obi-Wan getting bored and asking to duel instead. 

He quickly hid his face, pulling the hood of his robe over his head. “I’m not blushing, that’s childish.” 

You giggled, leaning forward to lift the front of his hood. “Obi-Wan, you are the most childish person I know.” 

The young man was about to protest before you hushed, eyes already closed once more as you returned to your deep state of awareness. 

You opened your eyes and sighed, long and deep. 

Standing up from the cold floor of your room, you looked out the window and gazed at the cloudy sky of Gyfill. The air felt chilly from the lack of life-forms in the area. After your first week on the planet, you decided it was a safer idea to seek shelter away from town. Considering your mission was to spy on the local Separatist groups, keeping a low profile was essential. 

Today was different, however. The same cold and dull atmosphere were present, but the future is what held the divergent. For today, was the day you were finally to return home. 

Home. The word itself felt familiar but distant. As a Jedi, you trained to hold little sentimental value. Attachments were forbidden, a path to the dark side. They provoked fear. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. 

Once your bag of belongings was packed, you made your way to the marked location someone from the Jedi council sent earlier that morning. Mentally, you were not prepared to see everyone again. After being isolated for years and having limited contact with any life form outside of business, the many faces from your time at the Temple became slightly blurry. Except for his. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was on his way to the Archives when he bumped into Ahsoka Tano. 

“Oh, Master Kenobi! Perfect, I was about to go look for you.” 

“Ahsoka,” he smiled. “What can I do for you?” 

“Who’s Y/n Y/l/n?” 

Obi-Wan froze. The sound of that name echoed in his mind, paired with memories that he had locked away in the back of his mind. “Well...that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” was all he could manage to say, still trying to process all the past recollections that suddenly surfaced. 

“So, you know them?” 

“Uh, yes I suppose so. We were...close as younglings and trained together as Padawans. They were...the most skilled Jedi I ever had the pleasure of knowing, almost as good as Master Yoda.” 

“If they’re so great, how come I never heard of them before?” Ahsoka tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, resting a hand on her hip in classic ‘Ashoka manner’, 

“They were sent away on an important mission years ago as far as I know. Er, why do you ask? And how did you come to know of that name?” 

“Oh right. Anakin said the Chancellor told him that Master Y/l/n was returning today. He told me to ask you about it.” 

Once again, Obi-Wan’s world paused. 

He stood across from you, trying to maintain a neutral expression as he watched you load your bags onto the ship. However, you knew him better than that. 

You walked up to the young boy and he took in your appearance. Gone was the braid that draped over your shoulder. Gone were the long robes you liked to hide in, in their place was a heavy jacket that looked like it was built to keep out the cold. Perhaps you were going to Hoth? 

“Obi, you know I can’t tell you where I’m going. Master Windu was strict about his instructions,” You sighed, sensing your friend trying to deduce as much as he could. Your Master was very clear when he told you how classified the mission was. No one can know, especially Obi-Wan. 

“Can you at least say how long you’ll be gone?” He practically begged, wanting something, anything he could get to keep his hope alive. Hope that you'll return soon. Hope that you weren’t truly leaving him. 

You looked away, staring at the towers and passing hover-vehicles that littered the planet you’ve grown up on. “I don’t know.” 

Everything had happened so suddenly. You were called into the council room that day to hear the news every Padawan dreams of. When Master Windu said you were ready for the trials, the first thing you went to do was tell Obi-Wan. The two of you celebrated that night in the gardens, a moment you would treasure for the rest of your life. Soon after you gained the title of Jedi Knight, you were once again called into the Jedi Council room to be debriefed on your first mission as a proper Jedi. You didn’t want to mess this up. You couldn’t. 

Obi-Wan resists the urge to pull you into a hug and never let you go, instead opting to hold your shoulders and give you his signature charming smile. “Be safe, darling.” 

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You held his wrist, bringing his knuckles to your lips and pressed a hesitant kiss to them before pushing them to his side. “May the force be with you.” 

There was no pet name at the end, no ‘my friend’ or even his own name. It was a sentence that was meant to bring comfort, but the way you phrased it, the edge in your voice, made Obi-Wan feel everything but comforted. 

He didn’t get the luxury of responding, for all he did was blink and suddenly you were on the ship, taking off into the clear blue sky. 

You gazed at the clouds passing by as the ship flew into Coruscant’s atmosphere. The bright light and sunny day was a harsh change from the grey sky that fell over Gyfill. The energy emitting off of all the life-forms gave you a headache. You felt the Force all around you, swirling in the air and penetrating your soul. It was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for over a decade. 

You flinched at the light as the door opened, suddenly feeling like a hermit crawling out of its shell. Slowly walking out of the ship, you pulled the cloak hood over your head, inhaling the strange but familiar scent of the Jedi Temple. You were still wearing your Gyfill civilian attire, the wool fabric made the Coruscant heat much more intense causing a few beads of sweat to form on your forehead. Or was it just the nerves of seeing all the people you left behind? 

Master Windu stood at the end of the drop door, a smile on his face at the sight of his former Padawan. It was an occasion that called for a little joy, a moment to celebrate outside the war that raged through the galaxy. 

You descended down the ramp, taking in a sharp breath at the feeling of another force sensitive. “Master Windu”. You bowed your head and he did the same to you. 

“Master Y/l/n, it’s great to see you in person rather than as a hologram.” 

You both chuckled lightly. “The feeling is mutual, Master. It’s...it’s good to be back.” Your eyes wandered over the people that roamed about. Jedi Masters walked with their Padawans at their side. Distant memories resonated within you. Some time ago that was once you and your Master, the man who stands before you know who has grown significantly older. Then again, so have I, you thought to yourself. 

Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one registering your growth. Obi-Wan stood behind a pillar, glancing over the hanger in search of a familiar face. He was aware it would not be the same face he knew as a young boy, but he certainly was not prepared for what he saw. 

You look older, which was the obvious and expected observation. He noted how you wrapped yourself in your cloak, similar to how you would in your youth. You stood tall in front of Master Windu, another trait you had kept since your days as a Padawan. He remembered how you would always act mature in the presence of Masters, something he never really understood until becoming a Jedi Knight. The need for approval by the superiors was a constant.

It wasn’t just your appearance that had changed either. He could feel it in the Force. There was a shift in it when you had landed that made an excited yet nervous chill run down his spine. You were stronger and held more control in your signature. 

Before, he remembers being able to feel it from across the Temple. Now, it was barely there. He remembers feeling your bond drift farther as he watched you leave, and how it had dimmed over the years you were gone. He remembers the pain that tortured him every night as he laid awake in bed, trying to reach out across the stars but only being met with the vast emptiness of space. There was something in him that broke the first time he slept without having a tendril of your force signature connected with his. He felt cold, resorting to sleeping in his Master’s quarters in an attempt to ease the loneliness. 

Overall, it would appear that nothing about you had changed, and yet it seemed everything was different. Almost everything. 

His eyes were just as blue as the last time you saw them. They looked tired, haunted by the ongoing war but still filled with determination. Classic Obi-Wan. 

You quickly broke eye contact the moment it was made, but that one second was more than enough for Obi-Wan to get lost in the familiar colour. His favourite colour in fact, not that he would ever admit you had any part in the decision. 

“Master Obi-Wan?” 

He jumped at the sound of a voice and suddenly became aware of the presence right next to him, that presence belonging to none other than Master Yoda. 

“Master Yoda! I er I was just...uh...looking...for Anakin! Yes, uh have you seen him around by any chance?” Obi-Wan quickly tried to cover his stutter, feeling embarrassed about getting caught gazing from afar. Not that Master Yoda would know he was looking at you...right?

“I see,” the little green creature smirked in amusement. “Whatever it is, wait it can. Council meeting about to begin there is.” 

Obi-Wan furrowed his eyes. Typically he was able to keep a good track of the meetings, but this was news to him. “What’s it about?” 

“Master Y/l/n.”  

“Hmm?” You hummed absentmindedly.  

“Are you listening?” Master Windu raised an eyebrow.

“Oh uh, my apologies Master. I’m just...readjusting.” You tried to focus your attention on what Master Windu was saying, but the recognition of his presence made it difficult. For years, you tried to forget about him. You ignored the empty feeling in your stomach at night, the thoughts and memories that plagued your dreams. After some time, they eventually began to fade but never forgotten. It was for the best. 

Master Windu crossed his arms. “There will be plenty of time for that after your debrief of the mission. Master Yoda and the rest of the council await.”

Oh, Force, not the council. 

You would never dare to admit or even show it, but the council and being in the council room had always intimidated you. How could it not? You had to stand in the center of all the best Jedi of that era while they stare at you, judging you, sitting high and mighty in those stupid chairs.  

“This way, my old Padawan.” 

You followed Master Windu through the large halls of the Jedi Temple. You masked the nervousness that was no doubt radiating from your force signature. A multitude of thoughts ran through your mind, good and bad. Worst case scenario, you had done something so wrong that you were about to be kicked out of the Jedi Order. Nothing came to mind when you tried to think of any offence you had committed in the recent weeks since you earned the title of Jedi Knight. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the large council room doors opening, the creaking of the hinges made you cringe slightly.  

The room was ominously lit, the only light source being the setting sun shining through the glass windowed walls. Master Yoda sat in his seat. All the other chairs were empty. 

Master Windu took his seat as you stood before the two of them. He could see the questions rise from your confused facial expression. “Everything we discuss in this room stays between us, young Jedi.” 

You nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm yourself. “Master Windu, Master Yoda. What is this about? Have I done something wrong?” 

The two men looked at each other and shared an unreadable expression before turning back to you. Master Yoda was the first to speak. “Sending you on a mission we are. To Gyfill you will go.” 

Whatever anxieties that you held before were washed away with this information. You contain your excitement, but the sudden mood shift was still noticeable. “Who am I going with? When do we leave? What’s the mission for?” It was rare that a Jedi would be sent on a mission alone, typically you were partnered up for safety measures. Obi-Wan’s face flashed in your mind, and although it was unlikely, a small part of you hoped he would be going with you. 

“This mission only requires one Jedi. There’s a Separaist organization on the planet and we’re sending you to gain intel and report back to us. No one outside of this room can be aware of this information. You leave within the week. Understood?” 

You frowned, “Forgive me Master, but why can’t anyone know?” The idea of having to leave your home seemingly without a trace made you iffy. Obi-Wan once again appeared in your mind. 

Master Windu and Yoda exchanged a look before Windu responded almost hesitantly. “We have reason to believe someone in the Order is a traitor, and the number of people who are trustworthy is very limited.” 

“You mean someone has betrayed us?” You asked in shock. How could anyone do such a thing? And a Jedi nonetheless. 

“Time to answer your questions, there will be, young one. Prepare for your first mission now, you must.” Master Yoda said. “Prepare to say goodbye you should.” 

It was as IF he could read your mind, which he probably could. You dreaded the idea of saying goodbye, especially when it was clear that there was no guarantee of your return date. How would you explain to your friends that you won’t be around anymore? What will Obi-Wan think? 

“That is another subject that needs to be discussed.” 

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what else needs to be discussed? who’s the traitor? how will obi-wan and y/n get on after all this time? lemme know what you think!!

taglist: @queenariesofnarnia @dwarfplanet69 @katsukink @blondekel77 @generousrunawaydonut @fandomtrashwhore @fortheloveofaqueenfan @mrskenobi19 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @hotleaf-juice

[fairyoftbz]

aquaphobia | k. sunwoo

(n.) : an irrational or disproportionate fear of water, especially anxiety in deep water or when submerging one's face in water.

🌊 pairing: shy! sunwoo x fem! swimming teacher! reader 🌊 word count: 4.6k 🌊 genre: slight angst, fluff, mentions of suggestive themes at the end. 🌊 tw: aquaphobia, mention of claustrophobia and agoraphobia 🌊 synopsis: a young man approaches you while you give children swimming lessons. you’re far from expecting what he asked you. 🌊 a/n: happy birthday sunwoo! ❣ seeing him so scared of going underwater broke my heart, so i had to write about it! miss swimming so it felt so nice to write something like this!! i hope it’s any good and enjoy! 

╰☆☆☆☆╮

Hands resting on your hips with the whistle in your mouth ready to blow, your eyes followed the children you were teaching to swim, walking at their pace on the side of the pool. Some parents were sitting in the cafeteria, watching you doubtingly and judgmentally from their seats, nervously sipping on their coffee as they were scared of the safety of their kids. They probably hadn't expected you to be this young, but your lifesaving and diving credentials could prove them otherwise.

You inhaled and blew your whistle, the children picking up the pace, making you squint as their feet tapped harder on the surface of the water, splashing it everywhere. You glanced at the clock on the wall and whistled again, ordering them to stop, before repeating this twice until they arrived at the other end of the pool.

"Alright kids, we'll end there for today," you paused your stopwatch, giving them a little time to catch their breath and get a grip onto the edge of the pool with their little hands.

"You're going to swim one last lap, starting in pairs. Once the first pair gets to the other end, two more will leave, etcetera, etcetera," you explained while gesturing everything under the watchful eyes of the parents. Smiling at some to reassuring them, you focused back on your students and calmed down the nervousness creeping in your veins under the parents' watch.  "On your mark... Go!" you yelled, the first pair starting to swim. You kept the whistle close to your lips and followed them with your gaze, clapping your hands to encourage them. 

You helped them out of the pool after everyone had finished the activity, the children scampering towards their parents. You waved with a smile to the few people who greeted and thanked you for your work, and you began to put away the different things used for the class.

"Hum, excuse me?" a voice coming from behind startled you, letting go of the pair of fins you had in hand. "Yes?" you replied in an uncertain voice, still surprised at the young man in front of you.

“I saw you training children just now. Do you happen to teach adults as well?" The question seemed to bother him, but he regained confidence when he saw the kindness and the smile on your face. "Classes are for everyone, no matter how young or old you are," you smiled, and he nodded before briefly looking to the side to escape your gaze. "A-Are you interested?" You dared to ask, and he blinked several times, taken aback by the question. "Let's say… how to put it," he started, and you nodded encouragingly, a smile forming on your lips.

“There is no shame in wanting to take lessons, even the biggest swimmers began with those." "No! This is… it's not it. I actually can't swim,” he confessed in a whisper, and your eyes widened briefly before picking up your towel that was lying on the stack of floats. “It's okay, you know. It's good that you want to experience this new sport," you tried to cheer him on, but it seemed like something was wrong, his gaze didn't light up when you accepted his request. "There’s no rush, I'll give you time to think. But if you want to take the plunge, you can sign up at the pool reception," you beamed, and he nodded another time, thanking you for giving him time.

A few days later, while you were having a coffee next to Sangyeon, your best friend - which was also the volunteering pool lifeguard - the young man who had come to talk to you at the end of class reappeared, a lost and anguished look painted on his face.

“Ah, looks like your first student of the day has arrived,” you laughed as you handed him your cup of coffee, opening your lifeguard jacket before walking down the first few steps to the main pool where the young man was eyeing the water, his face growing livid. "Ew, your coffee is disgusting, it's too sweet," Sangyeon put the mug back on the table with a disgusted look, his grimace making you burst out laughing. "Nobody forced you to drink it though," Sangyeon rushed over to a bottle of water and opened it, lightly waving at you as you started your day.

"Sunwoo, right?" The young man got startled as you announced yourself, causing him to turn around quickly, nodding. "Y-yes, it's me," he put his towel on his bag, and you nodded, setting your belongings next to his. "Good. I'm Y/N, and I'll be your teacher until we reach your goals, okay?" You started to walk towards the small stairs that went into the pool, but Sunwoo stayed on the first step with his feet in the water, muscles visibly clenched. You looked at him with furrowed brows, glancing briefly at Sangyeon in his cabin, who was also looking at you with furrowed brows.

Sunwoo fiddled with his hands, his index finger scratching the skin around his thumb. You could see in the side of his neck that his heart was pounding, and immediately understood what was wrong.

You then got out of the pool and put a hand on his shoulder, leading him back to his belongings. How do you get him to explain the situation without scaring or triggering him? His breathing was jerky and panting, your presence not reassuring him at all.

"Sunwoo? Sunwoo, look at me, please," You pressed your hand further onto his shoulder to force him to look at you, trying to make the young man understand that you didn't mean any harm to him. "Can you tell me what's going on? Are you afraid of water?" You asked in a whisper, and he swallowed hard, giving you a clue that you had hit a nerve.

“You know, it's not a shame to be afraid. Your fear is as acceptable as someone afraid of heights or confined spaces. Just because it's a tad bit less common doesn't mean it's less valid," Sunwoo nodded, your heart skipping a beat when his eyes swelled up with tears. "Do you want to postpone-" "No. No, I want to try," you nodded at his shaky words, relieved that he had built up the courage to overcome his fear. "It's-it's just that..." "You don't need to tell me the reason you're scared, that's none of my business. But simply tell me what scares you, so we can work on-" "I'm afraid to drown," he cut you, and you looked at him, encouraging him to continue, "I almost kicked the bucket once and ever since… I'm afraid of going back in the water. It can be the sea, a lake, a swimming pool, I hate it all." You nodded and stood up, motioning for him to follow you.

"We've already moved forward, you told me the reason for your fear, we can take the problem step by step. Now, would you feel reassured to have the lifeguard by the pool? He's my best friend, and he was a coast guard before he moved to come here, so he can save people in any condition," you suggested while pointing at Sangyeon, the latter standing up immediately. Sunwoo shook his head, and your friend sat back down, giving you a knowing smile that he would come down at any sign from you. "Great, then. Let’s try to get into the water, shall we?” You extended your hand, which he took without hesitation, squeezing your palm tightly. 

You helped him take deep breaths to calm his pulse and train of thoughts, feeling his hand gradually loosen from yours as you encouraged and reassured him. You walked down the second step of the stairs, and he followed you, swallowing hard as you congratulated and cheered him on again.

"Take the time you want, even if you have to spend the session here, it's fine, okay?" He joined you on the third step, water now above mid-thighs, his hand tightening around yours. "It's alright Sunwoo, I'm here. You're okay, we'll get there eventually. Look at me, please," his firmly shut eyes relaxed, and he blinked several times, sighing as he wanted to cheer himself up. "Remember to breathe deeply and clear your thoughts. And if you feel like stopping, tell me, and we’ll do something else," his eyes never left yours, as if he were caught in a trance. A slight smile decorated your face, your eyes filled with kindness acting like a tranquilliser on his heart.

You looked away from Sunwoo for a brief moment to look at your best friend, who gave you a thumbs up with a big smile from his cabin, encouraging you to be the good teacher you were.

"Are you doing fine?" You asked in a soft voice, and he nodded, jaw clenched. The poor boy. You didn't know what had happened to him, but you truly could see that behind his brown eyes laid years of the trauma he had never been able to heal. "Y-yes, I think so," he whispered, taking a deep breath. "Good job. Do you want to try the fourth step, or should we wait for the next lesson?" You asked as you walked down the second to last step, not letting go of your student's clammy hand. You saw his foot hesitate above the step, but he took a step back, then another, letting go of your hand to take refuge on the first step. At least there was something positive, he hadn't run out of the pool completely.

"I-I am sorry," he whispered, and you stepped out of the water too, the wet part of your swimsuit sticking to your skin. "It's okay, Sunwoo. You've made some good progress already," you comforted him with a smile he barely surrendered in return. “It all takes time. Remember, it's better to take small steps than nothing at all." He nodded, but you could tell he wasn't listening to you, a veil of anxiety appearing in his eyes. "See you next week then!" you put your jacket back on, leaving him sitting next to his bag. "Thank you, Y/N," an unconvinced smile spread across his face. You gently pat him on the shoulder before heading back to your best friend, who was standing up to watch the young man you left behind.

"His distress makes me so sad," you said with a sigh, sitting in your best friend's unoccupied chair. Your gaze fell on Sunwoo again, who was staring at the ground as if he were drained of all the energy he had in him. "But I'm sure you'll be able to get him to overcome his fear," Sangyeon was leaning against the window of his cabin, the soft crackle of the radio occupying the silence. “I'm not as confident as you are, but I'll try."

The more Sunwoo came to the pool, the more anxious he seemed, despite making some progress from the previous lesson. He now knew how to stay in the water, all alone where he was, without having to hold onto you or the side of the pool, but it took several weeks of hard work. He still had that panicked look on his face, but he seemed to have mastered that part of his phobia. Sunwoo even confessed to you that he had tried taking one or two baths, which was a big step forward on his part.

"And? How did it feel being in the bath?" “It was weird… I felt a bit uncomfortable, but the hot water felt good. I even wanted to try to put my head underwater, but I didn't have the courage." “Do not forget what I keep telling you over and over, small steps. There's no point in wanting to go too fast, plus you were all alone. One misstep and we can start all over again, so be careful,” you took on a more severe tone to make him understand that he shouldn't let himself be overwhelmed by a sudden rush of confidence, at the risk of losing all the progress you've made so far.

"Do you want to try to float on your back?" He took his gaze away at your suggestion, his eyes moving all over the place as if he were looking for an escape. 

He knew you were only suggesting an activity, but he couldn't help but create horrible scenarios in his head. Sunwoo was reassuring himself as best he could: he had researched you on the swimming pool website, as well as your university, and he had come back more confident than the last time. The sight of all your life-guarding and swimming diplomas featured in the pool staff description reassured him and made you completely trustworthy in the young man's eyes.

"I'm going to ask you to move back, and you bring out your abdomen. Think you want to show everyone how great your abs are,” you explained, and he chuckled through his nose while nodding, dimples appearing on the side of his mouth. You slightly pulled him a little further from the edge, but still close enough in case he panicked. "Remember that you can always set your foot on the ground or grab the pool edge if you don't feel like doing it anymore," he agreed, and you moved closer to him, slipping an arm through the middle of his back to accompany him. 

He had his eyes closed, and he was shakily controlling his breathing, a flinch seized him as his head touched the surface of the water, but he kept going nonetheless.

"You can do it Sunwoo, I believe in you," you whispered, and he nodded weakly, feeling your arm behind his thighs, holding him to the surface. 

He stayed a moment, but he felt a wave of anxiety crash onto him, his heartbeat echoing violently in his ears not helping him to calm down. He opened his eyes, struck dumb with fear, but you caught his gaze instantly. He managed to make out encouraging words coming out of your mouth despite the thickness of the water.

"I'm here, don't worry, I got you, Sunwoo, I got you," you repeated the words over and over to engrave them in his memory, his phobia unfortunately still present despite your ongoing efforts. You moved closer to the edge and rested your knee against the wall, still maintaining Sunwoo on the surface of the water, allowing him to hang onto the edge to feel safe.

"I'm never going to make it," he whispered, rubbing his face, putting his foot on the ground. "No, Sunwoo, it's not the time to let your fear take over and make you give up. Not after all these efforts.You have to pull yourself together and overcome your fear." You let go of him and replaced your hair behind your neck, observing your student. "Easier said than done." He spat involuntarily, his anxiety speaking for him. "I know it's hard, I know it, and I see it, but I'm sure you can do it." "How can you be confident of something so uncertain? What tells you I'm gonna get there?” Sunwoo slightly raised his voice, the frustration flooding his veins. 

"Because you are ready to face your fear! Look at yourself, you came of your own free will to the pool to take lessons, which means you want to progress. If you wanted to remain so fearful of the water and drowning, you wouldn't even have made the effort to get here, let alone be in the water with me. I know it is hard, everyone has a phobia, but you have to be patient and allow time to do what it needs to do. I also have a phobia. I am afraid of confined spaces, elevators, and large crowds. Being stuck on the subway with hundreds of other people always feels like I'm going to suffocate or getting crushed to death. It's a different phobia, but it's just as valid as yours," Sunwoo sighed and folded his arms over his chest, listening wearily.

"Okay Sunwoo, I think we're going to stop there for today," you gave him a slight smile which he didn't answer, lost in thought.

You didn't understand. Yet he was on the right track, making progress, but he was now on the verge of giving up everything. How could you make him enjoy swimming and water again?

This question ran through your mind for the rest of the day, your hand gripping the bar of the subway train as you patiently travelled home. Music at full volume in headphones, you tried to create a safe bubble around you to forget the situation you currently were in. As if talking about it this morning with Sunwoo had triggered something for it to happen.

The subway stopped at a fairly popular station, your eyes widening as you noticed the mass of people who were waiting to climb into the train. You squeezed the bar even tighter, your fingers turning white as the doors opened. Closing your eyes, you internally cursed yourself for not waiting for your best friend to finish his shift. You took a deep breath, now feeling the distress Sunwoo experienced when he was in the water. This feeling of suffocation and helplessness in the face of this fear was starting to take over your whole body. You lowered your head to look at the ground to avoid meeting all eyes and the bodies around you. Chills ran through your spine, and your throat tightened, making your breathing, and swallowing a struggle.

You opened your eyes when a hand grabbed your free one, turning your head sharply to the right as fear rose your heart to your throat. Your grip on the bar slightly relaxed as you recognised Sunwoo beside you, holding your hand as tight as he did when he stepped into the water during your first class. You were ready to cry, but you gritted your teeth, looking away as you felt your eyes fill with tears. Sunwoo shuffled around you, a few people groaning as the coach was packed. He managed to make his way to the automatic doors, where he guided you to the window so that you could focus on something other than the mass surrounding you. His hands were on both sides of your head for him to stand upright, subconsciously creating space for you to have enough room to breathe a little easier.

"Thank you," you whispered, and he smiled compassionately, understanding your distress. He moved closer to you to whisper in your ear, his action making your heart skip a beat. "You did it for me at the pool, I don't see why I shouldn't do it for you on the subway," he wiped a tear away with his thumb and weakly smiled as you fidgeted with your hands. 

The more your classes continued, the closer you got with your student, the subway event from a few weeks ago having acted as a trigger. Sunwoo understood that you were on his side, that you weren't doing this because you wanted to make money or because you had to. He felt that you genuinely wanted to help him surmount his fear, just as much as he wanted to help you with yours. 

Outside of lectures and meetings, you would start spending time together over coffee or chatting, sensing that a friendship was forming. Sunwoo was a very gentle guy, passionate about music and dancing, activities that had helped to drown out his trauma and move on. He was very talented, his ears turning red despite his beanie when you watched his dancing and rapping performances on his phone at a cafe.

___

You took a break from training for a while, you and Sunwoo having to focus on your studies. Despite your part-time job at the pool, you also had a degree to achieve, and it was by far the easiest. You were in law school with Sangyeon, and your student happened to be in biology in a building a few feet from yours. You didn't have time to spend time together. Sangyeon, his girlfriend and you almost lived in each other's house, studying together for your final exams.

Once that affliction was over, you could finally relax, and for both of you, that meant jumping into an Olympic-size pool and swimming laps until you could no longer be able to move. When swimming was your stress reliever, Sangyeon and his girlfriend had some spicy intercourses that allowed them to get rid of the built-up pressure together. Since they were not as tensed as you, Sangyeon gave up earlier than you, wrapping himself in his towel before sitting down to watch you swim.

As you were getting rid of all your frustration and exam stress by pounding your feet in the water, a familiar face appeared from the changing rooms as you lifted your head to breathe. You briefly smiled before putting your head back under the water and swinging your arms above your head, waving your pelvis before repeating the movements.

"Nice to see you here, Sunwoo," you said, stopping at the end of your lap with a smile on your face, lifting your goggles. He sat by the pool and dipped his feet in the water, looking at you with a smirk. "I was bored now that the exams are over, so I thought I could drop by and see you," you placed a hand to your heart, acting fake touched by his words. You started swimming again as not to lose your energy nor the rhythm you had managed to keep after a few laps.

Sunwoo watched you go to the other end of the pool, your movements and form hypnotising him. He desired to become as graceful and comfortable in the water as you were, but he still had a long way to go. You got introduced to swimming as soon as you could walk, your parents wanting to pass on their passion to you.

The lifeguard gently smacked Sunwoo's shoulder and winked to greet him while he was leaving. Your student nodded while shifting his attention back to you, who was coming back to finish your training. Putting a tried hand against the edge of the pool, you grabbed the bottle of water before taking a few gulps as you caught your breath. A sudden, swift movement surprised you, your eyes widening as you saw Sunwoo's figure dive above your head, coming back to the surface with a smile on his face. He laughed when you choked and spat out the water you had in your mouth, shocked at his sudden, magical progress.

"Sunwoo, what the fuck! You were still hesitant to put your head underwater the last time we saw each other! What happened?" You yelled in confusion as you approached the young man, who smiled and ran a hand through his wet hair to get a better look at you. "I… lied. I took classes with Sangyeon while you were studying. I wanted to give you a nice surprise at the end of the exams…" you shook your head, scoffing, slightly offended at the amazing progress he had made with Sangyeon, as you followed him for months. "You made more progress with my best friend in a few weeks than with me in several months," you said, and he chuckled, a big smile on his face. 

Were you doing something wrong?

Sunwoo saw your slightly crestfallen face and moved closer to grab hold of your forearm. You looked at him sideways for long seconds, finally smiling when you saw the teasing look that decorated his eyes.

"You did most of the work, Sangyeon just took the opportunity to show me other things." “Obviously. That fucker always does what’s the easiest. He certainly isn't going to bother to get his hands dirty," Sunwoo laughed at your statement, noting that this wasn't probably the first time your best friend's done this to you. You sighed and instantly lifted your head as your friend took off your swim cap and brushed the baby hair out of your face. "I wouldn't think twice if all of this had to happen again. I would take lessons behind your back with Sangyeon if I had to, again, because nothing can replace the surprise that shone in your eyes when you saw me dive. It was priceless,” you rolled your eyes and looked away, Sunwoo's fingers grabbed your chin to make you look at him in the eyes. 

Not only did Sangyeon teach him how to swim, but now he's a huge flirt! Where did the shy guy that was terrified of water go?

"Whatever," you retorted, and he arched an eyebrow. "Oh. You don't believe me?" "Not so much, no. It sounds like a crappy plan any-" a soft source of warmth rushed to your face, feeling pressure against your lips, allowing you only milliseconds of what was currently happening. 

Sunwoo's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you to his slender body. One hand running around your curves to come to rest on your cheek, cradling it tenderly, contrasting with the fervour of the kiss you were exchanging. Pressing your hands against his chest after making out for a few minutes, his lips left yours, leaving you both breathless, the workout you had just done not helping you in this situation.

"I wanted to confess to you another way, but you talk too much, I had to do something to make you quiet," you pat him gently on the forearm, laughing, a wave of embarrassment seizing your body. "You're done? Can I start swimming again?" You changed the subject, and Sunwoo smirked, leaning against the wall of the pool. 

The rays of sun hitting the water gave his skin a luminous complexion, his beautiful eyes turning a lighter shade of chocolate brown as he looked at you with a thin, satisfied smirk. He watched you silently, his eyes unrestrainedly longing for your lips. You moved closer to him and planted your eyes in his, finding their dark colour again. He grabbed your cap and threw it behind him, landing near your bag so you couldn’t go back to swimming.

"If I was mean I'd press your head underwater, but I don't want to ruin our efforts, so you better run fast," you threatened him, but he didn't move an inch, always watching you with a teasing look as his elbows rested on the edge of the pool. He cleared his throat and stared at you, a new sparkle lightning his eyes.

“Sangyeon told me about a technique that helps reduce stress well, tested and approved by him and his partner. Do you want to give it a try?" You quirked an eyebrow and your tongue poked the inner part of your cheek, rolling your eyes before staring at him, moving closer to his ear. "I'll meet you in the showers, you better be good if you don’t want me to kick your ass," you said, and he hoisted himself out of the water in no time.

“Noted,” he started and went on one knee to near his face with yours, “teacher,” he winked and threw your towel around his neck before confidently walking towards the showers, sending you an explicit wink as you scoffed at his behaviour, shaking your head as you rushed out of the pool. 

What has Sangyeon done to your student…

[arminty7]

𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘦

Mermaid!Jungkook x Reader [Part 3]

Trapped in this life of expensive wine and judgemental eyes Y/N met an unusual lady who offered her a job at an aquarium a few towns away. Despite being hesitant and uncertain for the future she decided to take the offer as it was her only way out, not knowing that many dangers might come her way.

Jungkook swam his way through the small tunnel in wonder. He didn’t realise what he was ‘walking’ into as he took the entire night to explore a tunnel. He thought it might lead to you, how naive. It is only when he heard the piercing sound of drilling from the small tunnel entrance did he know what was happening, he was trapped. With that, his instincts took over.

Chapter: #3 Swimming in Wine

Words: 4843

Warnings: Mild Swearing // Fluff // Eventual Smut? Idk maybe depends // Jungkook obsessive // Evil Namjoon (im sorry guys) // It might be a little messed up.

AN - It's been a while. I know. 

© arminty7 2020 - All rights reserved.

This work shall not be copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission. In a case where this might happen, legal action will be taken as it would be a criminal act under the law and breaching these terms. Upon reading my work you are acknowledging that this work is mine and that you know the consequences if this work is copied, reproduced, translated and/or modified in any way without my permission.

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It was early in the morning when the sun started to creep its way into the room. You were sitting on your bed and surprisingly enough, you were already awake. You never used to be such an early bird, but throughout these past few nights, you would wake up drenched in sweat. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop thinking about the incident on the cliff. Upon sleeping, you could almost feel the arms of the creature wrapped around you, like its haunting touch has placed a permanent mark on you. When thinking about it more deeply, it felt human to you. The arms of a human, but its touch too deeply pressed on your skin: the coldness you felt, reached down to your bones. It was like death was clinging onto you, with you as its life source.  

 "Hey Y/N? You up?" You heard a whisper and you saw Julie poking her head through the door as she opened it slightly. You look over at her with a relaxed expression and a soft smile.  

"Yeah, I'm already up. Did you want to go and get a coffee near the waterfront before dropping me off to work?" You stand up from your bed and start fixing the blankets and pillows. 

 "Yeah that sounds like a good idea, let me go get my bag and we can leave soon." She spoke as she left the room, closing the door but not all the way. 

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Looking out onto the ocean, it felt calm today. Although the tranquillity that you felt while looking out onto the shore exhibited a chaotic kind of peace. The calm before the storm. You could feel it, the anger of the waves crashing down and the freeing nature of the water wanting to come out. But it held restraint, it couldn't do anything even if it tried. Something was missing but you didn't know what. All you knew was that the feeling you had felt when looking out towards the ocean, changed somehow. The calm waters seemed too good to be true.

 You sat there at the coffee shop across from the beach near where you work. The smell of sea-salt and fish mixed with coffee seemed like a horrible combination, but the locals were used to it. You found comfort in the idea that you might get used to it too. The coffee that you held in your hands was hot against the cool air. You sipped your coffee while waiting for Julie to come back with her usual morning cravings of insatiable sweet pastries. 

 “So, tell me. Have you made any work friends? Any of them cute?” Julie sat down across from you, taking you away from your thoughts. You looked over at her and chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I have made some friends, not many but hopefully that will change in time” You smiled slightly looking out at the ocean again, feeling yourself get distracted but not with anything in particular. "Well it’s your first day today so make sure to stay on your toes, but don't overwork yourself," Julie spoke while her mouth is full of sweet dough-like pastries, more focused on the icing coating the top of her lips, not realising that you have been spacing out this entire time. 

Thankfully you're good at multi-tasking and you chuckle at her comment, "It’s funny, people keep forgetting that I have worked at an aquarium before you know? It's not that much of a big deal." You sip your coffee but immediately placed it back down on the table, it was too sweet.

You look at your watch, realising its time to go. Plus, you would rather be at work than trying to have a normal conversation with her, you know she's trying but she's not your caretaker or mother, she doesn't need to try so hard.

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As you walk through the entrance of the Aquarium you could immediately feel the difference in atmosphere from the other day. The busy environment that you knew so well back home at the aquarium suddenly felt familiar. The buzzing sounds of life engulfed the reception as many families and residents were chatting away while waiting in line. Kids nagging at their parents and young couples looking at each other lovingly while waiting in line.  There were not many people though as it was early, and it wasn't officially open for another 30 minutes. 

You walked past them towards the reception and saw Seokjin who looked busy talking to the people in line. He glanced over at you and he made an expression as if he remembered something.

"Ah Y/N, Jimin told me to tell you to wait for him at the food court at the bar. You'll be working with him today. Taehyung is meant to be here, but he called in sick". You nodded, silently chuckling to yourself as Taehyung probably just called in sick because he was "too busy" or had some "emergency". While in reality, he's probably watching a new season of a drama he recently got addicted to. 

You head your way to the food court after you say goodbye to Seokjin. It seemed quiet in the food court but simultaneously busy as workers prepared for the day. You could see some workers running around in their little cafes or tourist shops as you walk towards the main bar. You could hear your heels hit the glassy floor, echoing as it bounced off the wall of the gigantic room. 

The bar had no one in it. You suppose it didn't open till later in the day. It was weird to you, you have never seen an Aquarium that had a bar before. Mind you, you never really travelled anywhere so you wouldn't know if it's a common thing to have at Aquariums. 

You sat on the stool, looking at the giant tank circling the entire food court, acting as a wall around the large room. You tried to look through it to see how far it went but all you could see was the light blue ocean that seemed almost endless. Some small school fish could also be seen swimming in the tank. It felt as though you were in the middle of the ocean. All alone. 

In contrast to the light blue colour that is seen throughout the rest of the room, the small tank that was built into the wall behind the bar looked darker and overgrown. It was a very small square tank that resembled a small window. You could barely see through it, a thick layer of algae covering the glass, it looked so dark in there. Maybe it was connected to another section of the aquarium, perhaps it even descended underground?

You shivered and looked around the food court, were you being watched? You could feel the sudden nervousness tingling throughout your body.

It was a weird feeling that came upon you, an icy cold feeling of loneliness like the air had suddenly shifted. The voices of the other workers in the food court were drifting away and you were slowly slipping away from reality. An alluring voice crept into your ear, singing an enchanting but hypnotising harmony. Somehow you could sense that it wasn't one of the workers for the voice sounded too angelic, too sweet to even be real. Your bones were chilled as you sensed the familiar feeling of cold strong arms enveloping around your waistline and chest as if you were reliving the moment by the cliff. You could physically feel it, its touch… his touch. Closing your eyes, you could feel the cold sharp wind from that moment above the water as it brushed against your cheeks. The creature’s hot breath giving you some type of warmth in the moment, yet it felt unknown to you. Mortality was clutching you in its hands, but you felt so safe. Like it was saving you despite drowning you at the same time. 

You shook your head, awaking from the trance that you were in. Glancing back over at the tank behind the bar and you saw a dark figure in the water. It stayed there looking through the algae ridden glass. You could only see a face, black and blue scales on its cheekbones and jaw. It looked human, but at the same time, you knew it wasn't. Its alluring golden eyes, shining in the water, staring into your own. Its eyes were soulless. 

By the time you blinked, it was gone.

You stood up, wanting to go closer to the small tank behind the bar. Making your way behind the bar, you were stopped by a strong hand pulling your shoulder back. "What are you doing here?" You turned to see a man who held your shoulder with a firm grip, his eyes staring straight into yours.

Oh, if looks could kill.

"I uhh.." Your mind went blank as you stepped back a bit, away from the man. He looked annoyed while you struggled to let the words out. By this time, you forgot what just happened moments ago.

"Answer my question" He spoke quietly but sternly, letting go of your shoulder but moving a step closer to make sure you can't run away. 

"I was waiting for-" 

"Yoongi-Hyung, what are you doing?? Leave the poor girl alone, you'll give her a heart attack" You sighed in relief as you saw Jimin walk up to the bar. 

'You know this girl?" He spoke in a serious tone, you remembered what Taehyung said earlier about the Bartender, I guess this is him.

Jimin nodded, leaning on the bar. "Her name is Y/N, she's the new recruit Hoseok was telling us about" Jimin looks over at you with a charming smile while you take the opportunity to escape the bar and onto Jimin's side. 

Yoongi looked at you and then back at Jimin, "well get outta here will you, the aquarium opens up soon”.  

You nodded and Jimin just smirks before looking over at you "Come on Y/N, we have a busy day ahead of us" He stands up, grabbing your hand, giving you his signature smile before leading you out of the food court and down the hall.

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Third Person POV

"I can't believe we are opening up the aquarium a day after we caught it, what if it escapes?!" Hoseok looked down at the ground continuously tapping his foot on the ground as he leaned on the bookshelf in the office. Namjoon sat there in the chair in front of him. 

"Don't worry, it can't escape" Namjoon reassured him and then continued. 

"We have reason to believe it got stuck in an old tunnel filled with water that was built throughout the aquarium. We constructed the tunnel ages ago for the public and we were going to add glass windows to it, so you can look through the tunnel. However, the construction wasn't going as planned and we halted the idea." 

"So, it's just swimming in a small tunnel throughout the aquarium walls with no way out? Like a maze? In pitch-black darkness?" Hoseok widened his eyes, he never heard of such a thing. 

"You have nothing to worry about, the tunnel that he swam through to get in the aquarium was connected to the ocean, but we blocked it off as soon as we found out he swam in it. He's stuck in there." 

"Are you certain? Have you swum through the tunnel yourself? How do you know there's no other way he can reach the other aquariums for the public to see?" Hoseok said, his voice raised. He walked up to the front of the desk, his hands crossed, Namjoon could sense his doubt radiating off of him. 

"Before this place was opened to the public, I got some divers to check it out, it has no pockets or windows. It's pitch black down there" he tried to reassure Hoseok again. Namjoon looked up at Hoseok and he nodded, uncrossing his arms. 

"Let's hope he doesn't go too crazy down there, we'll have to get him out soon." He continued, "Oh, by the way, Jackson called. He said yes to the deal." Hoseok 

"Good. We will prepare the creature for transport soon".  

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It was a busy day. 

You sat off to the side as Jimin stood in his wetsuit on the platform of the dolphin's tank. He had a big smile stretched across his face as he instructed the dolphins while the crowd watched from the bleachers. With every flick of his hand, the dolphins would jump up in the air and the echoes of cheering would fill the small arena. You had a bucket of fish with you and you watched as each dolphin would come up to you after doing a trick. You sat on the side of the tank, you were visible to the public eye, but they weren't paying attention to you. It was sad really, you knew what went on in aquariums. How ironic that you want to be free yourself when working at an establishment that rejects freedom. You looked at the next dolphin that swam your way, it seemed weaker than the others. You went closer to the tank and sat on the edge. It slowly swam up to you, it was at that very moment that you saw a gash stretched out on its back. It wasn't bleeding, and you could easily see that it’s been there for a while.

You looked up at Jimin in worry although he didn't take notice. He held the microphone as he catered to the audience. You looked back at the dolphin and reached a fish from the bucket. Perhaps it was self-inflicted somehow. You heard that stuff can happen in aquariums. You watched the dolphin gently swim away, back down into the water, following the strict routine that was given to them before the show. 

After the show ended, you still couldn't get that dolphin out of your head. Its empty expression in its eyes is still burned in your mind. All the hope and optimism you once associated with dolphins was now gone. 

You stood there in the tiny tin room out the back of the aquarium near the dolphin tank, cleaning buckets of fish that were now empty. Jimin left you and went to go help another co-worker and gave you the task of cleaning out buckets that radiated the smell of decaying fish. You remember the innocent smile he gave you when he asked you for this little favour. It was your job, you couldn't say no - and he knew that. 

"Thanks, Y/N! I owe you" Jimin yelled out, waving his hand as he ran off. 

It was around 4 pm when you finished cleaning. Your body felt tired from the long day and you and Jimin were headed to the bar.

As you stepped into the food court the feeling you had before suddenly crept through your body. You shivered, and a sudden feeling of dread came upon you. It was weird, you didn't even think about the incident after it happened. Like you suddenly forgot about it. But now, as you slowly walk up towards the bar, you felt a chill encompassed around your bones. 

Jimin sat down on the stool on the bar and placed a hand under his chin. He looked up at Yoongi with a smirk, "So, how's business?". Yoongi took a glance up at the both of you and looked back down again, wiping the bar down. 

"It was pretty slow today. It was weird, I expected more people to come" Yoongi said quietly. You sat down next to Jimin and crossed your arms over the bar, letting your head rest gently on your arms. 

"Hey, I just cleaned that" Yoongi looked over at you but after the day you had, you couldn't care less. You replied with a monotone "sorry" but stayed in your current position. He could tell that you were tired and surprisingly enough, he didn't push it. 

"So, you remember that key I gave to you right? The one I found?" Jimin straightened up at Yoongi's words and looked over at you for a split second. 

"Yeah I remember, what about it?" Yoongi sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well I need it back" Jimin looked confused, "but I thought you found it, that it had no meaning to you. That's why you gave it to me in the first place"

Yoongi sighed, "To be honest it was actually Hoseok's. I was curious to know what it's for, so I gave it to you. I didn't realise you wouldn't tell me after you found out. Still, after all these years, you haven't told me! To think, I was the one who gave you the key in the first place". Yoongi grabbed a glass from under the bar and shoved some ice in it before filling it up with apple juice. He passed it to you as if to tell you that he still remembers that you're here.

Jimin rolled his eyes, "Yeah, you gave me the key because you were too lazy to figure it out on your own". 

"The point is, I need it. Where is it?" Yoongi looked somewhat anxious as he wiped down the bar for the third time. 

Jimin shrugs, reaching his arm over to take your drink from the table that you haven't touched.

It’s too sweet. He sipped it casually and looked over at you before landing his eyes towards Yoongi again. "I don't know, I threw it away, I found no use for it". 

Yoongi crossed his arms frowned, "that's bullshit, you are lying, and you know it, you've always been a bad liar". Yoongi then looks at you, your arms still crossed as you lay your head there, if they didn't know any better, they would have assumed you were asleep. Except you laid there, silently listening. 

Jimin then also frowns, "look I don't know what to tell you, it's been years since you gave me that thing. The truth is, I lost it." Jimin looks up at Yoongi but Yoongi scoffs. 

"So, you threw it away or lost it? Come on Jimin, just give it to me, I know you have it". Yoongi looked right through Jimin's eyes, you looked over at both of them, you could tell there was tension in the air. 

Jimin was silent and Yoongi sighed grabbing the drink that you obviously weren’t going to finish and pouring it into the sink before placing the glass in the dishwasher under the bar. 

Yoongi spoke quietly but you could tell that his words held a lot of weight, "Promise me". 

Jimin looked up, "I don't get why you are so obsessed with this key, I don't even have it!" 

"Promise me that you don't have it" Yoongi looked at him, his facial expression was the look of hurt more than anything. You could tell that there was more to this than what Yoongi was letting on. You sat there next to them, waiting for Jimin to spill the beans about giving the key to you.

Jimin was hesitant for a second before strongly responding, "I promise I don't have it." Yoongi stood there silent before nodding, mumbling a soft "sorry" under his lips before going back to cleaning the bar, even though he already finished. 

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"I can't believe you lied for me," You spoke as you walked around the dolphin tank outside, Jimin walking beside you.

"I didn't lie. I don't have it. You do." Jimin smiled at you brightly, although you could tell that something was bothering him. You both kept walking before Jimin looked at his watch, "I'm sorry I got to go, feel free to stay here as long as you want, Namjoon doesn't mind us staying after hours. Although you do realise our shift ended an hour ago, right?" Jimin smiled brightly as he looked down at you, his eyes shining in the moonlight. 

You chuckled, "Yes I knew, I just like your company. Thanks for being there for me. I haven't known you long, but you made me feel comfortable on my first day" You smiled, it seemed like you and Jimin were going to become really good friends. 

"I'll always be here Y/N... Anyways I'll see you at work tomorrow yeah? Have a nice night" Jimin waved goodbye and walked away. 

You sighed, reaching for the key from your pocket. 

"Might as well check it out while I still can?" You thought. 

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It was late, really late and you found yourself questioning Jimin's earlier statement about being allowed here after hours. You wandered through the halls of the aquarium, following the directions Jimin and Taehyung showed you last time, careful not to make any loud noises to gain any attention. 

The halls were cold, and you could hear were the sounds of your heels tapping against the hard floor. While walking, you felt your chest become heavy, looking around you started to hear weird sounds coming from the walls. You shrugged it off however, you've been in aquariums long enough to know that it could be anything and that it's never completely quiet. 

Finally reaching your destination you head down the metal steps. You've never been to this part of the building apart from when Jimin and Taehyung took you, you suppose it's for private personnel only. Continuing down the steps you reach the door to the moonpool, the sounds of water can be heard dripping and sloshing from behind. Inserting the keys and turning the metal handle you slowly walked inside. It was darker than the last time you saw it. What was surprising was the glow worms on the roof of the moonpool illuminating the moonpool and stone walls that surrounded it. You didn't see them during the day. They were beautiful.

Walking along the gravel towards the moonpool, you took off shoes your socks and placed your backpack next to the moonpool. You sat on the edge, dipping your legs in as you rolled up your pants, so they don't get wet. You closed your eyes, feeling the water reach up to your kneecaps. The water was lukewarm, and the smell of sea salt radiating off of it. 

What a long day. 

If you were being honest, all of this was too much for you. You never thought you would say this, but you miss home. You miss Marina's cooking and weirdly enough, you miss your mother. She hasn't called, even texted since you left. You felt like you thought this would be different, the people here are nice but every so often you get reminded about the flaws of this world, the treatment of animals, – the dolphin – the uneasiness you felt about Julie and her intentions. Even Jimin and Yoongi, you didn’t want to cause a fight between them because of some stupid key.

The water had suddenly started to turn cold, starting from your feet you feel a rush of icy water spread to your knees, eliminating any prior warmth you felt. The dripping stopped, the sloshing of the water halted. You opened your eyes curiously to see a figure from the other side of the moonpool staring right at you. You looked right in its eyes. Time stopped, and you could barely see anything else but the wide golden piercing gaze of the creature. You sat there frozen in place. You don't know how long you stayed like this for, but it took a while to realise what was happening. It didn't say a word, but you could tell by its knowing facial expression that it somehow knows who you are. Looking down in the now murky water you could see an outline of a human’s body, his muscles and broad shoulders prominent underneath the dark blue scales that stretched over its torso. You continued to examine the long outline of a tale - a big tale at that - with the front looking slimy however you could guess that the back of the tale was sharp enough to cut through any piece of flesh that it would encounter. One aspect of the creature that seemed almost beautiful were some parts of his scales that were brighter than others, acting as a highlighter around his cheekbones and arms. 

You didn't want to make any sudden movements, frightened that the creature would drag you under. Eat you. Kill you. You decided that it was now or never and spoke quietly under your breath, looking back up at its eyes that never left yours. "Hi, my name is Y/N". Your breath was shaky, and your lips were dry. 

"It probably can't even understand you," You thought to yourself. 

The creature stopped staring into your eyes and lowered its focus to your legs that were swaying in the water. You shivered, the cold air getting to you. Goosebumps appeared on your legs and arms and you could have sworn you sore the remnant of a smirk that appeared on its lips. 

You suddenly had an idea. 

Carefully, you looked up at the creature, "I'm just going to grab something out from my backpack, okay?" Slowly you stretched your arm out towards your backpack while maintaining eye contact with the creature. The creature stayed still, however you knocked something metal in your bag and it made a loud noise that echoed throughout the moonpool. The creature’s facial expression turned darker and it went full force towards you, grabbing your calves as it didn't let you go. It was close to your face, its golden eyes peering into yours as you could feel its grip and claws on your legs tighten, its body between your thighs leaning in on you. You breathed in slowly, feeling almost petrified, but somehow you knew the creature didn't mean any harm. It looked over at your hand that was inside your backpack. You waited a few seconds before slowly, lifting your hand out of the bag, to reveal a container of prawns that was meant to be your lunch today. 

The creature's grip loosened from your calves as it watched you open the container, taking a prawn before slowly reaching over to the creature's lips. One of its hands let go of your calf as it held your hand, guiding it towards its lips before it opened its mouth biting the prawns head off. You looked at the creature, a little startled. Its teeth were sharper than a normal human, like razors. In fact, you looked closely at the details of the creature's face, noticing the similarities to that of a human. Everything was the same except for the scales on the sides of his face, neck and on his cheekbones. The outline of his eyes was darker though, making his golden eyes brighter than usual. It had brown locks of hair, wet but you could see it was starting to dry. He resembled a male in his 20s.

He finished the prawn quickly and looked back at the container, wanting more. You spoke softly, "have more if you would like". 

He looked down at your hand and then back up at you as if it was asking you to feed him again. His grip on one of your calves was softer and you could feel his thumb running circles over your calf. You grabbed another prawn, reaching over to his lips as he was careful not to cut your fingers with his teeth as he ate the prawn. 

You sat there, feeding him the rest as he grew more comfortable around you. His hand reached out of the water towards the gravel next to your thigh as he spelled out the words "Jungkook" on the gravel. 

"Jungkook?" You questioned, "is that your name?". Jungkook looked up at you before placing his hand on your thigh. 

"Yes", he answered. Your eyes widen in shock, you didn't think he could understand you. You frowned and asked him curiously, "could you understand me this whole time?". 

He smirked slightly, "I'm not the best at this human language but yes, yes I could" He looked up at you, his eyes shining. You frowned, feeling a little messed around with since he could have at least answered you the many times you spoke to him. But then again you understood, he doesn't know you, and you don't know him. 

His grip on your calf and thigh tightened as he started to pull you in the water. You freaked, holding on to the edge of the moonpool. "Wait, wait, wait! I can't get these clothes wet and I uhh, have to get going soon..." Jungkook frowned but stopped pulling. He let go of you. 

"Promise me you'll come back?" He looked at you with a sad expression, lowering himself in the water. 

You looked down at him as you took your legs out of the water and grabbed your bag with your shoes and socks.

"I promise"

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AN: I know I haven’t updated, but I do really wanna update more. I feel like this chapter was a good one, give me some feedback? :)

tags:  @mjlock​

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

After all this time, always the same

Prompt used- kissing the top of other's head| harry and draco finally meet each other years later at a memorial gallery, discovering some buried promises |

" I actually did not know Colin was this good " Harry said impressed as they walked the gallery

" really, who knew that kid was really good " Ron hummed.

" i miss that kid " Harry said as he drown in reminiscents of everyone who died in the war

" I am sure it would mean a great deal that you're here Harry. He always looked upto to you, he lived a nice life " Denis smiled at harry before he departed to he other batch of visitors. It was almost 10 years after war when one day a bunch of Hogwarts student's had received an invitation to the colin memorial gallery. Dennis, his brother had managed to construct certain photographs Colin had taken before he died and decided to put it into his memorial. Apparently Colin always wanted something like that, but his gallery Would've been incomplete if the people he had photographed had not shown up, so this was the reason why a bunch of Hogwarts student's had been given a free pass as a contribution to his memory. Harry was however saddened by the absence of colin. After all this time he still misses all those who died a lot. He learnt it the hard way that he will probably never forget any of them but he can manage to live with it.

It was however surprising how amazingly brilliant Colin's skills were. Nobody knew he had even taken their pictures secretly and it were all too great.

" hey, theres us " Ron said a little too loudly, much to anyone's liking. Harry gave them all a small apologetic smile before he joined Ron to see the photograph hanging over the wall of him, Ron and Hermione.

" seems like a different era, doesn't it ?" Ron nostalgically said.

Hermione nodded besides him as she put her head over Ron's shoulder. 10 years and they're still in love like they were when they were kids. Harry had always been fond of their relationship, not because it's his friends but because of everything it was built upon, the love they have is just for each other, and there probably had never existed other who had walked upon earth who they'd love them more than they loved each other.

" there's you " Ron suddenly pointed a small picture on the bottom

" oh yeah- that's me " harry carefully looked at his solo photograph. He wasn't particularly attentive, looking in some other direction as if he was watching out for something.

" that's forbidden forest " Hermione peeped carefully at the picture

" It might be the courtyard " Harry interjected as he took a few steps away to look at a few more pictures to avoid their questions.

" but harry I'm sure it's forbidden forest, it's the same place where sir- where you fought those dementors, I'm sure " Hermione egged on

" I'm not saying it might not be, might be. I wandered off a lot during 5th year but I'm pretty sure it must've been just the courtyard, Colin wouldn't probably enter the forest " Harry made a point with raised eyebrows. Hermione didn't seem to believe yet nodded forcefully, dropping the matter.

" there's a tons of pictures of you guys here " Someone said from behind Harry and before he had time to register to who it was, his fingers were already intertwined with someone and by the touch, he just knew it was Ginny.

" well he was quite a fan of me " harry smirked at his fiance.

" but still. It's like you were his personal models. Gotta agree though, he was great " Ginny said as she looked at the wall in front of them.

" he was " Harry hummed and walked alongside the rest of the gallery with them.

It wasn't until Ginny got bored of looking at plain walls just with pictures, she left to chat with other people. Hermione and Ron had collected themselves to the other part of the gallery, conversing with a few people. That meant Harry was left alone and he found it quite relieving even if he loved all of them.

He had reached the last of the gallery when his eyes fell upon the same blonde head he had abstained himself from seeing in years. Hundreds of flashbacks flashed back as he tried not to stare at him. It had been years yet even now if Harry passed by him, he'd know he still smells the same. As if he too had sensed Harry's presence, he looked away from the picture to his direction. They only locked eyes for a moment, a moment of weakness before Harry nodded and walked away. He sighed as he walked away, it has been so long, so long yet this feeling doesn't change. He thought staying away would change but it hadn't helped, not a lot to be precise.

Harry walked away deeper in the gallery until he reached the last of halls and stopped there, right there at the last picture. It was the last picture Colin had clicked after which only his broken camera's were set. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't stunned to see the last picture. It was so weirdly ironic how the last photograph from Colin's collection was the picture marked with the symbolic representation of end of certain other things. Harry longingly stared at the picture, the moment running on his mind like a music reel

" this seems nice doesn't it ?" He asked

" it's more than nice Draco " Harry had replied

" Harry- i-" but he closed his mouth

" what ?" Harry asked him to continue when he was rendered speechless

" nothing " Draco sighed as he leaned back on the tree

" go on, tell me " Harry said as he climbed forward towards him

Draco stared at him long enough as though he was memorising harry deep within his heart.

" you're going to love me the same, right ?" He finally asked.

Harry stared at him, more confused than ever before he cupped Draco's face and said " of course Draco, always the same way "

" even if I do the most wrong in the world ?" Draco asked a strange shadow of sadness covering his eyes, obstructing Harry from reading his eyes.

" you- I- I-"

" it's hard to say ?" Draco asked almost hurt

" Draco, I believe you. I love you, I'll always love you the same way but the definition of most wrong depends on a lot of things but I believe in you, I know you wouldn't do anything that would be the most wrong thing to me in the world" Harry gave him a comforting smile . When Draco didn't say anything he climbed into Draco's lap and rested his head against his Chest, hearing the rapid heartbeats.

" you're afraid of something Draco " Harry said as he analysed his heart rate

" I'm afraid of the ruins " Draco truthfully answered because he was aware of everything he was supposed to be doing.

" ruins ?" Harry asked confused, craning his neck up to look at him, only to find Draco looking far away. He seemed lost.

" we can never be wholly together Harry, I'm always afraid, every moment of my life when I'm with you..I'm afraid you'll wake up from this dream and realise it's all ruins " Draco answered, his lips trembling a bit. Harry snuggled in closer to his chest, he knew he was right..

" you're not a ruined man Draco and this isn't ruins to me " Harry Answered

" am I not ?" Draco asked looking hurt

" y- you're not a ruined man but even if you are, you are my ruined man and I promise to love you the same way, everyday even if this doesn't work out, you get me ?" Harry asked empathetically.

" you must be a fool to fall in love with me " Draco finally said after a few minutes smiling down at harry.

Sensing the light tone Harry smiled up at him " then I am your fool "

" I'd rather never wake up from this dream " Draco smiled at harry lovingly then kissed on the top of his head and just then they heard a shuttering sound, startling them awake from their moment.

If only harry had known what was to happen, he'd had never gotten up and ran for the sound but he had and it had ruined millions of memories that could've been made.

" it's a beautiful picture" a familiar voice said behind Harry. He didn't need to turn around to know who it belonged to, he had grown up Being fond of it.

" while It lasted " Harry replied turning his head to find Draco was now standing next to him

" broken promises, some thing huh"

" I know I kept mine " Harry whispered avoiding looking Draco in the eye

" did you ?" Draco retaliated

" I always did " Harry replied more seriously now than before.

" oh hey, it's the same picture from your albums Harry- didn't see you there malfoy, g-good to see you " Ron suddenly appeared from behind them

" you never really talk about him. One boyfriend huh " Ron added Patting Harry on his back.

" it's because of the ruins " Harry replied smiling at Ron.

Draco turned his head towards Harry that it almost snapped. Harry had already been looking at him when he did, and for a moment just for a moment, everything had vanished from the room except them. The people here didn't matter, it was just them, finally away in their isolation Just with each other without their ruins. It was a moment of weakness where they smiled at each other knowingly that after all this time, always the same.

" Harry, it's your boyfriend from sixth year, the one in the album-"

" Draco, it's the picture from the album, your boyfriend-"

Astoria and Ginny's simultaneously said.

Requests open

Day 25- perfect birthday plans | Day 27- Harry's dance partner

[chokemeanakin]

Give Me Love

Chapter Nine

Wc: 2.2k

MASTERLIST

It took weeks before you got a conclusive word on how things were going on Kamino. You spent every day throwing yourself into work, staving off the thoughts of what might be happening to people fighting that battle-- to Anakin fighting that battle.

It was selfish to miss him, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him back here with you, catching your eyes from across the room, smiling at you in the mess hall, nodding at you in passing. You wanted to go to Dex’s with him, to fly in his starfighter, to sleep next to him. You wanted that swirling tempest of an angel back under your fingertips, taming it as you studied everything that should have made him human.

Even your weekly breakfast-dinner’s at Dex’s with Sabe and Ahsoka had to hold off as the tense atmosphere of the Temple seemed to leach out onto the streets of Coruscant, the citizens holding their breath as they waited for an attack. Ahsoka was busy with Jedi duties, and Sabe worked tirelessly to sign a bill that would send more troops to back them up on Kamino.

You watched, day after day, as medics were deployed out. You were one of the only ones left in the Temple, and it made you angry how they held you back. Were you not of the best medics here? No one else had training like you, no one else had experience like you. How could you just sit back and watch as everyone left for Kamino except you?

The stress of it all became too much. One night, you decided you couldn’t toss and turn in bed anymore, plagued with the constant “what-if’s” racing through your mind. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a dress, and headed toward The Core.

It was a nightclub, but a little less rowdy than the ones found in the deeper ends of the city. A jazz band played on stage, aliens of all shapes and sizes milling about. They carried drinks and ate food and played cards. You sat at the bar, nursing a small drink as you took it all in. People-watching always helped quiet your mind.

“You’re far too young to look so troubled,” a gruff voice spoke next to you.

Without sparing it a glance, you shrugged. You kind of expected someone to come on to you, as it was almost guaranteed if you were a young woman alone at a bar on a Friday night. You were prepared for it, but you still didn’t want to deal with it.

“Oh come on,” the voice teased. “You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He didn’t sound like he was coming onto you. In fact, his inquisition seemed nice enough. You decided to spare him, glancing over to see a blue man with bulbous antennae coming out of his head. His eyes were black through and through, and a patchy silver beard hugged the lower half of his face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, pleasant. He took it as an invitation to occupy the stool next to you.

“You’re frowning like your husband died in war.”

You jolted as if you’d been struck. Furrowing your brows at him, your anger took control. “That’s a very inconsiderate thing to say at a time like this.”

“My apologies,” blue lips pulled into an impish smile. “I see I’ve struck a chord. Does this mean you have a husband off fighting?”

“No,” you swallowed your drink hard, burning as it slid down your throat.

“No husband? Then it looks like I could have you all to myself.”

You leaned away from his touch, the hand reaching for your cheek pausing in midair. He let it drop, laughing. “What? Too scared to have some fun?”

“With you, anyone would be scared.”

His silence caused your heart to stutter in fear for a moment, wandering if you’d now struck a chord. Your hand inched toward the knife you kept strapped to your ankle in case you had to use it.

“You fucking virgin,” he spit, and the words punched you straight in the gut. “No one would want to fuck you anyway.”

You’d been on the receiving end of angry, rejected male rants many times before. In each instance, they’d never bothered you. You’d been called a slut, whore, a dirty bitch, every name under the sun really. But never that. You fucking virgin. That one was new.

And personal.

Out of all of them, this one sent shockwaves through your system as if you’d been slapped.

What’s wrong with being a virgin? You wanted to call after him. Why is that a bad thing?

Unable to get your rolling emotions under control, you decided it might just be best to head home. It was getting awfully late, and you didn’t want to be on the streets when the bars closed.

The blue man’s slurred insult pushed at your mind the entire way back to your apartment. Admittedly, tears stung at your eyes a few times, but you managed to stave them off until you got to your room. You walked into the bathroom and caught your reflection in the mirror, your smoky makeup and messy hair didn’t give off any pure or innocent vibes. How had that man been able to tell?

If he could, does that mean Anakin could as well?

Stressed tears finally broke through the dam you had built up. You turned away from the mirror, unable to look at yourself any longer. Tragic, your mind hissed. People are dying in war, and you’re crying over being a virgin.

You were quick to stop the tears, opting to take a shower and drown in self pity as you watched the water run down the drain. How had life gotten so dull? Before Anakin, you’d been able to find joy in the mundane tasks of your everyday routine. But now, with Anakin off fighting, and you not knowing if he was alright or not… everything was grey.

It’s not like you’d never seen him off to battle before. Ever since you began working in the temple last year, Anakin had been deployed countless times. He was rarely in the Temple more than he was off on some other planet, pushing back at Separatist forces and making a name for himself on the Holonet as the Hero with No Fear. But this time was different. This time, you knew the touch of those hands and the twinkle of that smile. How his curls tickled your neck, and heart beat beneath your palm. Every second he was out there, his life was in danger of being ripped away from him. Away from you.

Anakin will come back, Ahsoka had assured you. He always does.

Those were the only words you would allow to enter your mind as you drifted off into a restless sleep. You had barely woken up when you were being shoved onto a ship, zipping up your field suit and buckling yourself into a transport ship to head to Kamino.

You weren’t nervous, not one bit. This was exactly what you wanted. Your mind zeroed in on the tasks that you would be met with once you touched down--

“The fighting on Kamino is over, but the Republic has faced heavy losses. We need every medic we can spare out there, which is why you’re heading there now,” your boss, Rico, shoved a field suit into your hands and a medcase on top of it. “Don’t expect it to be pretty.”

“It never is.”

Strangely, you felt calmer now than you had in weeks. With every second this transport ship was in the sky, you grew closer and closer to Anakin. You itched to see him, but you also itched to work. To rush around the aftermath of battle and hush wounded men’s cries, to free them of their pain, and ensure that they would live another day.

It took hours to get to Kamino, and when you arrived, it was already beginning to turn into dusk. Smoke filled the sky, billowing up from buildings all over Topica City, blood washing off the platforms and into the roiling sea below.

You hit the ground running, moving from clone to clone as you assessed their wounds, patching up the ones you could, helping the ones that could walk to the medical transport, and marking too many for bodybags. Bit by bit, the awful groan that seemed to come from the core of the city itself quieted, until the last clone was being loaded into a medical transport. You wiped your hands on your field suit, caked with blood as if you had been in battle yourself.

With the tasks at hand done, your mind was left to wander. Technically, you were supposed to get on the same ship you had arrived on to go back. But… there was someone you wanted to find first.

“Y/n,” a male spoke behind you, the first non-clone you’d heard in hours. Your heart jumped into your throat, until you turned around and saw that it wasn’t who you hoped.

“General Kenobi,” your eyes immediately landed on the way he clutched at his shoulder. “You’re hurt-- let me help.”

“Perceptive, as always,” Kenobi grimaced through a smile as you urged him to sit on an overturned crate. He shook his head, and then looked toward a ship behind him. “The Council needs us back right away— if you don’t mind hitching a ride with us.”

Of course you didn’t. You followed him to the Republic cruiser, stepping on to find clones wearing yellow and blue armor, running around to get the ship started.

“At ease, men,” Kenobi calmed them as he limped past. “This battle was a difficult one-- take some time to rest.”

Your eyes softened at his words. You could tell by the way every clone you saw had blood spattered over the white of their armor, how the ones with their helmets off were pale and stricken, how they all seemed to work in silent shock. They had been through hell.

You were glad they had Kenobi to look out for them. He was one of the best Jedi you knew, as well as a good man. He had vouched for you ever since arriving on Coruscant after running away from Noxella. Your home planet had cancelled your certifications, as you had left illegitimately, and the Temple wasn’t going to take you in to work at the medbay like you hoped. Kenobi stood up for you-- you were young, and already so gifted. Why should they waste such talent?

It was mere coincidence that he also happened to be the Master and best friend of the man who occupied a special place in your heart. Kenobi, as a result, had always earned your utmost respect.

“How did this happen?” you asked as he made it to the piloting station. He sat in a chair at the back of the room, requesting gently for the clones to find their own rest, before taking off his shirt. His shoulder was purple and crooked, very obviously wrenched from its natural position.

“Unfortunately, being thrown off the top of the building and catching yourself on a loose rafter isn’t the best for your shoulder joint.”

“I couldn’t have guessed,” you played along, keeping things light hearted to calm his nerves. There was no need-- Kenobi was always calm. You’re not sure how he did it, but his presence was soothing you right now. You’re not sure he even meant to, especially because he must be in excruciating pain.

You examined his shoulder, noting the extent to which it hunched out of place. Sometimes it was difficult to determine if it was a subluxation or complete dislocation, but you were pretty certain Kenobi’s was the latter.

“I’m going to have to set this now,” you gave him the bad news. “But afterwards, the pain should ease up.”

“Do your worst.”

He looked absolutely exhausted, and weary, and beaten down. It tore your heart apart, seeing one of the Republic’s bravest heroes so worn out. He didn’t even look like he minded the pain, rather his eyes were filled with a deep sorrow that made you want to take all of the hurt away.

You could fix one thing, so you turned your focus on extending his arm out straight, one hand gripping onto his elbow and the other positioning your palm onto the out-of-place joint. With a steady and firm pressure, you pull on his arm until the bone popped back into place, earning a low groan from the older Jedi.

“Anakin,” he grit out of his teeth, eyes fluttering as he caught sight of a presence behind you. “Perfect timing.”

You turned your head, hands still holding Obi-Wan’s arm in place. Your heart began to beat double time as the weeks of worrying and stressing melted away.

There he was.

He stood tall in his black leather armor, curls dark and dripping with Kaminoan rain. His skin was pale and grey circles stained his undereyes, but he was beautiful as ever. Here, alive, and in once piece.

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