#is that normal?? lmao i hope so

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

how deep is your devotion? ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank u to @softgirlgonehaywire for having the biggest brain in the world and infecting me w this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading u can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself. awfully amused.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise your brow. unimpressed.

satoru steps back. inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“.. fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily.

his chest is heaving. lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire.

”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

a questioning hum. “do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing.

enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from the faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[fairyhaos]

JEONGHAN 💌 2024 New Year's Greetings Messages

[kogglyuffs]

jumping into this crackship bandwagon

[cheshiresense]

[Last Part]

Can't have a Yuzu POV without a Karin POV lol~

-0-

Karin makes it back before curfew with fifteen minutes to spare. Their brother had extended hers and Yuzu's curfew to 10pm since they'd hit their double-digits, and she's always been mindful to never break it. Yuzu isn't usually one to stay out late, but Karin likes her freedom to wander around without supervision enough that she isn't going to risk a grounding just because she couldn't be bothered to check the time. Besides, she knows kids her age don't get half as much trust or leeway from their guardians, so Karin isn't going to disappoint Ichigo's expectations by not following the few rules he'd set for them.

Not to mention she has exactly zero faith in her own ability - or honestly anyone else's - to slip under her brother's radar anyway. Only an idiot would think they could, and Kurosaki Karin wasn't raised a fool. Sneaking in late isn't even worth considering.

So she's back by 9:45 sharp, and she unlocks the apartment door to reveal a scene in the sitting room that's not entirely unfamiliar ever since dinner last Tuesday.

"Shoes," is Ichigo's greeting, and Karin immediately rallies.

"I rinsed them!" She insists defensively. "Thoroughly!"

She had. Karasu River, specifically that spot where their mother had died so everyone's avoided it ever since like they might get cursed if they stray too close, is a great place to get rid of evidence.

"And now you're thoroughly tracking water through the door," Ichigo points out dryly, which, oh yeah, she is, whoops.

Karin makes a vaguely sheepish face before quickly toeing out of her sneakers and leaving them outside to dry instead. Just her luck that Yuzu dropped a vial of her newest poison yesterday and burned a hole straight through the entryway doormat, and they haven't had a chance to replace it yet.

She shuts the door, drops her duffel bag against one wall, and ambles over to her brother for a hug and a cup of tea from the fresh pot on the kotatsu. Or rather, Ichigo goes about pouring her one while she slumps into his side with a content, if tired, sigh.

Ichi-nii has never really been one for hugs, even when she and Yuzu had been smaller, and that's no different now. Occasionally, on a birthday or new year or when - very rarely - something had made them cry, he'd dole one out to each of them, stiff and a little awkward, but genuine in a way Karin knows he'd had to learn just for them, and that alone had made it precious. Besides, he's never refused their hugs when they take the initiative to go in for one, and Karin knows full well that anyone else would be thrown across the room or tossed out a window, Mizuiro included, so that's just as good even if Ichigo doesn't often return them.

She leans against him now, and he endures it stoically, handing her tea and also casting a surreptitious eye over her for any signs of injury. There are none of course— Karin's been learning how to protect herself ever since her brother had become the undisputed head of the household, even if Isshin still remains determinedly blind to anything related to his son to this day. And on top of that, Ichigo's long since ensured their safety from most lesser predators in this town, so it's not as if they have anything to worry about.

Of course, there are still morons who slip through Ichigo's iron-fisted oversight - or rather, are allowed to slip through - either because they're new to Karakura or they're lured in from a neighbouring town, all of them deemed harmless enough prey for Karin and Yuzu to play with. They make for wonderful test subjects for Yuzu when she's getting creative again, and very convenient outlets for Karin whenever soccer and karate aren't enough to siphon off her excess energy. Unlike Yuzu, Karin really isn't made to sit still or stay indoors all day.

She blinks when Ichigo jostles her out of her thoughts with a nudge and a succinct reminder, "Greet."

Karin's pretty sure there's some kind of What Manners And Social Norms To Teach Your Kids So They Can Fit Into Society self-help book squirrelled away in Ichi-nii's room somewhere. Possibly even a series. Of course, her brother certainly doesn’t follow his own lessons on conduct, but this is one of those things that Ichigo has always implicitly expressed his preference for her and Yuzu to ‘do as I say, not as I do'.

So Karin can only swallow a forbearing grumble along with her tea before nodding curtly across the table, "Good evening, Hirako-san, Urahara-san."

Ichigo's already turned back to some papers in front of him, because bright side— her brother's number of fucks to give begins and ends with the most perfunctory of civilities, so at least Karin doesn't have to waste time on small talk. Yuzu, her crazier half, is the only one of them who actually enjoys that stuff. Karin sometimes can't believe they're related.

"Brat," is Hirako's response, and his voice says amusement but his eyes say caution. Well, amused caution, but Hirako seems to find almost everything a little funny, and it's not even some weird bravado because his reiatsu manifestation is constantly a glittering field of yellow-gold-blue that takes the form of a sunny beach. Usually.

On the other hand— "Good evening, Kurosaki-san," Urahara returns, perfectly polite, with a perfectly pleasant if distracted smile, perfectly suited for someone who's genuinely glad to see an acquaintance's sister home safe. Except his reiatsu manifestation is a fucking ocean of blood, deep and dark and completely still on the surface no matter what he says or does. The only times Karin's seen even just a ripple in it is when Ichigo is talking. Her brother at least seems to have a knack for taking Urahara off-guard. Nobody else though, and the external mimicry of human reactions - no matter how expertly crafted - doesn't impress Karin one bit when she can see the disconnect between his insides and outsides.

So she snorts and goes back to ignoring them both. Since the dinner last week, these two have come back a couple more times, mostly meeting with Ichigo for something or other, probably a ghost-related problem, with Urahara also dropping off a stack of books and scrolls for Yuzu, and they seem like they'll be sticking around for a while. But until Ichigo tells her that they're going to be part of the family, like Mizuiro, Karin's not going to waste her time on getting to know them. Honestly, just by dint of being people, and worse, troublesome ones, means that they're more likely to get themselves offed at the business end of Ichigo's swords than anything else.

"Ichi-nii," She says instead. "I have another away game on Friday. Can you sign me out of class?"

Ichigo makes a noise in the affirmative. "Leave the form on the kitchen table before you go to bed. Is it in Naruki City again?"

"Yeah," Karin makes a face. "Back-to-back matches against Hiromasa. Dunno why they even bother when they're not serious about it anyway. And they're so annoying. We always kick their asses but they still look down on us cuz I'm a regular on the team. What, a girl can't play soccer now? But we literally run the score up into the double digits every time we play and all they say is that they were going easy on us cuz we've got girls on the team!"

She stops and takes a deep breath. She's actually complained about this before, multiple times, ever since she'd turned nine and been deemed old enough - and tall enough - to play in official matches. Or as official as elementary school club competitions can get anyway, and being able to play against other schools was awesome, but that didn't mean some of their opponents weren't dickheads. At least she'll finally enter middle school next year and probably won't ever bump into this particular group of idiots on the field again, but until then, she's no doubt going to complain some more.

And her brother always listens with the sort of patience he wouldn't extend to anyone else's whining, which Karin likes to take shameless advantage of, but on occasion, she also needs other ways to vent, and that was really what today had been all about after enduring last Friday's game.

Right on cue, Ichigo asks without looking up, "Haven't you gotten it out of your system yet?"

Karin huffs and takes another long drought of tea before speaking. "Kind of? But the guy didn't even put up a fight! He even pissed himself, Ichi-nii! Before I even did anything! It was gross!"

Ichigo finally lifts his head just to level a look at her. "You play with your food too much."

Karin stares indignantly back at him. "I do not!"

"How long have you had your eye on this latest one?"

Since like, three weeks ago, but that's not Karin's fault! "It's not my fault he took forever to take the bait. You'd think it would've been easier with the way he stalked my jogging route every single day just to see me in a tank top and shorts. Besides, I was saving him for after last Friday's match! You know, as a treat."

"And now it's already Tuesday," Ichigo mutters, but he also pats her on the head in a vaguely comforting if condescending manner, like he's consoling her for a botched job.

Karin splutters. "Ichi-nii!"

Ichigo smirks briefly. "You're still young. You'll get better. There's no rush."

Karin pouts into her tea. Eleven - literally twelve in less than half a month! - isn't that young. She's definitely not a kid anymore. Ichigo was already scaring the crap out of half the town before he'd even hit his pre-teens. He hadn't even killed anyone yet back then but people twice his size would pick fights with him that he'd always win, and then he had started killing once he'd turned thirteen, which had only cemented his reputation. Karin and Yuzu had had to beg forever to get their brother to teach them some of the tricks of his trade, because they hadn't wanted to wait years to follow in Ichigo's footsteps, and Ichigo had thankfully agreed that it made sense for them to learn how to protect themselves.

Still, no matter how many bodies she and Yuzu have put in the ground - not that many actually, they've got a long way to go to catch up to Ichigo - Karin isn't so oblivious that she doesn't know that a good portion of the respect they receive these days is entirely down to their brother's looming shadow behind them. But everyone needs a goal or two in life, and one day, she wants people to look at her and flinch because she's scary enough all on her own.

"Did you clean up properly tonight?" Ichigo adds like an afterthought.

Karin rolls her eyes. "I would've called you if there was a problem. You know I have like three different cleanup crews and Mizuiro-nii on speed-dial."

She can't wait until she's tall enough to bag and carry adult corpses around on her own. It's embarrassing to have to call someone every time she - okay, she admits it - makes a bit of a mess. It's not an issue when Ichigo is there, and she just has to help him, but when she's alone, it pays to have extra hands in the aftermath, even if it feels kind of like she still has to be babysat.

"Cleanup crews?" Hirako suddenly interjects from where he's just been watching them and listening like he's never heard a single conversation in his life and it's somehow super fascinating. What a weirdo. "Where'd ya get those from?"

Karin squints at him. Why does he want to know? Shinigami old as dirt still don't know how to do their own cleanup?

"They're just local yakuza," Ichigo actually takes the time to answer, which seems exceptionally tolerant of him. He must really like this guy for some reason. "Someone always has some free time to lend a hand, and they don't mind sharing their dump sites."

Hirako arches an eyebrow. "They don't?"

Ichigo smiles lazily at him. "Not anymore."

Hirako stares at him for a beat longer before bursting into raucous laughter, except the sunny beach from before is shifting, sliding, fucking shimmering, and then it's no longer a beach even if it's still a field of yellow-gold-blue. Instead, sand dunes rise where there'd only been wild grasses and rocky outcrops before, an endless desert as far as the eye can see, while the sea isn't a sea at all but something that could be an oasis or just a mirage, now gone hazy behind a wave of heat, and all of it so deceptive and deadly that you might wonder how you could've ever mistaken it for anything remotely harmless at all.

And it's even worse beside him, because Urahara is sitting there, blandly smiling away from behind his fan, and he doesn't look much of anything, but the ocean of blood he's literally submerged in stirs for a minute like there's something large and lethal swimming in its depths. Karin can't see what it is though because the blood is so thick that she can barely even make out Urahara's face, let alone anything else.

She rubs at her eyes. They're giving her a headache. This is why she prefers baseline humans over ghosts. Ghosts naturally have more reiryoku than average living beings, and Shinigami have even more than that - way more - so Karin in turn sees a whole lot more than just flashes of transparent images when she has to look at them. And it would be bad enough if it was just that, but these two lie so much. She doesn't know if it's a Shinigami thing or Ichigo just attracts complications, although now that she thinks about it, Mizuiro had given her headaches at first too. It'd just been easier with him because when he'd started coming over to hang out, he didn't have anywhere near as much reiryoku as these two guys, and now Karin's just used to him so it doesn't much matter anymore.

But these two. She doesn't even know what Hirako's deal is, because as far as she's aware, he hasn't really lied about anything so far. His insides match his outsides, so to speak. But his manifestation also seems to imply that everything he says is as much a truth as it is a lie, or that it could be a lie just as much as it could be a truth, depending on the situation. Which doesn't make any sense, at least not to her.

And don't even get her started on Urahara. That man oozes shady vibes so it's not exactly a shock that his manifestation reflects that. It's just... who the heck has an ocean of blood representing their soul? It's not the fact that it's blood that confuses her; it's that the blood is all there is. Even if you kill a person a day for a thousand years, it can't be all that you are, right? Even Ichigo doesn't have something like that. Although to be fair, his reiatsu manifestation can probably come across as pretty disturbing too. But Karin basically grew up with it so she can't really say for sure. It's certainly never frightened her. Not that Urahara frightens her either. It's just... weird.

Both of these old dudes are so weird. They're the first people she's come across whose manifestations are as complex as her brother's, but she doesn't really know what she can interpret from them because manifestations are different from emotions, and besides that, emotions are her sister's wheelhouse anyway. Yuzu is the one who can pick up what someone is feeling at any moment and extrapolate from there. Karin just gets a bunch of pointless shitty abstract art shoved at her eyeballs, and Shinigami are clearly the worst about it.

And just to make it really unfair, Yuzu says that emotions rarely get too loud for her. Karin doesn't know if it's because her sister had been born with natural talent when it comes to controlling her ability while Karin... hadn't, or if Karin's ability encompasses so much of one of the senses she depends on most in everyday life that it simply affects her more easily, but either way, if the manifestation is a powerful one, then the longer she focuses on it, the more it can overwhelm her.

It'd been almost unbearable at first when she was younger, all of eight years old and finally tapping into her portion of the family inheritance, except even a glimpse of another student with slightly above average reiryoku levels could wipe her out for hours. There'd been days where Ichigo had had to pull her out of school just so she wouldn't have to see anyone, living or dead, and she'd needed almost six months before she'd gotten a proper handle on it.

During last Tuesday's dinner, she actually couldn't even see what Hirako and Urahara's faces looked like until near the end of it. Their reiatsu is just that strong, which means their manifestations appear completely solid and three-dimensional, and that means that those manifestations are the only things Karin sees most of the time when she has to look at them.

She doesn't even get the benefit of practically being able to read minds like Yuzu can. Although Yuzu always says it's nothing like reading minds. Karin remains unconvinced. Emotions can reveal a lot, especially with context clues. Manifestations on the other hand almost never react to whatever is happening in real time. Unlike emotions, they're rarely a consequence of outside stimuli. Hirako's had changed earlier, from illusory beach to the real desert hidden underneath, but that's because his manifestation has always been like that, switching between the two when the mood - his mood - strikes. Even now, it's already settling back onto the beach scene. It may have been somewhat affected by what Ichigo had said - by cleanup crews??? - but it hadn't shown anything that hadn't already been there, part of Hirako's soul.

In contrast, Urahara's the real outlier. Karin doesn't even want to think about his manifestation, never mind look at it. It's not that his soul has become something new either - the whole person would have to be swapped out for that to happen - but she's never met anyone, ever, whose manifestation seems to hinge so absolutely upon one person before. She's not even sure if Urahara is aware of how... fixated he is. And she definitely doesn't know what it means. Ichigo doesn't even like the guy, and Urahara - inside or outside - doesn't seem particularly hung up on Ichigo. Except of course for the little matter of how his actual-facts immortal soul is doing the near-equivalent of placing itself in the palm of Ichigo's hand, which- what. Didn't they just meet like two seconds ago? If Karin actually believed in love at first sight, she'd say this might be what it would look like if it could manifest a physical form in the creepiest way possible, but she doesn't, so to her, Urahara's just insane.

Anyway, no one can blame her for not wanting anything to do with these crazies, especially when coupled with her ability. She wouldn't give it up if she could, because it's hers, and it makes her special like Yuzu, like Ichi-nii, makes her part of the family in a way no one else but the three of them can be, but at the same time, it's honestly a pretty useless skill. Manifestations are just... portraits of souls laid bare, which sounds all kinds of impressive and philosophical but is actually just a fancy way of describing a lifetime of squatting in an art museum with all its exits sealed.

It's terrible all around, made doubly so by their houseguests, and in Karin's opinion, the sooner Ichigo gets tired of them, the better.

The room has gone silent, and Karin only notices when the mostly empty tea mug is plucked from her hand. She's pinching the bridge of her nose with her other hand, eyes closed, but she opens them then to peer up at her brother.

"It's getting late," Ichigo says without much inflection in his voice, but he also pats her head again, and a flare of reiatsu floods her retinas like cold spring water on a hot day, washing away the pain. "Go to bed. Lights out by eleven."

Karin's more than happy to get out of there, away from Less Crazy 1 and More Crazy 2.

"Mm, I know," She gives her brother a quick hug before clambering to her feet. "'Night, Ichi-nii. I'll leave the form in the kitchen."

Ichigo grunts his acknowledgement, and Karin spares a moment to nod in the general direction of the Shinigami before wandering away, pausing only long enough to scoop up her bag before making her way up the hall and to the master bedroom. She and Yuzu still prefer sharing each other's space even though Yuzu is fastidiously possessive about her own belongings, so Ichigo had given them the biggest room when they'd moved in, while he and Mizuiro had split the single and study-turned-bedroom between them. The best perk of this is of course the fact that she and Yuzu get the en suite bathroom to themselves.

Her sister is still up, bopping to some music on her headphones while reading one of the scrolls Urahara had given her. She barely glances up when Karin comes in, although she wrinkles her nose plenty when it's clear Karin hasn't had time to do her laundry.

Karin rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. "I won't leave anything lying around, don't faint."

Yuzu glowers at her. "I don't faint!"

Karin snickers as she ducks into the bathroom. "Whatever you say, princess."

The thud of a pillow hitting the bathroom door is her reply. It's actually pretty hilarious when Karin thinks about it. Yuzu's manifestation is a sterile white room lined with perfectly preserved faceless corpses wall to wall, but give her a human body with its guts spilling out, and she immediately runs for the nearest toilet. She doesn't mind the scent of blood, but gods forbid any stains linger where they shouldn't.

Speaking of, Karin digs out the set of clothes she'd changed out of earlier, after her stalker had been dealt with. She hadn't even gotten them very dirty this time, and she'd made sure to scrub everything clean in the river anyway before coming home, but she'll still have to toss them into the washer again if she doesn't want Yuzu nagging her about it. In the meantime, she shoves it all into a vacuum seal bag and leaves it in the corner. She can haul them over to the laundry room next door in the morning with the rest of the past week's load.

Her knives are tucked inside the duffel as well. Those she'll take care of tonight. Ichi-nii went all the way to Nagasaki to commission them for her from a semi-retired blacksmith last year. They're elegant and gorgeous, and they cut like a dream, sheathed in black leather and embossed with a small stylized K on the flat of each blade, only noticeable when the metal runs red. It's the best gift Karin has ever received, and if they ever rust, or she ever loses them, she'll probably bawl her eyes out.

She hops into the shower next, sighing happily as she relaxes under the hot water. Despite the atrocious company Ichigo keeps these days, today's still been an overall good day. She'll be able to go back to her jogging in peace starting tomorrow, and the upcoming match on Friday doesn't seem quite as irritating now that she's had someone to stab a time or ten. Of course, after the match is another matter entirely. Maybe she can tag along to Yuzu's bake sale on Saturday. There's always a couple suckers at the outskirts of Karakura too stupid to live.

It's something to look forward to. For now though, she finishes her shower, brushes her teeth, and then gets to work cleaning her knives. She doesn't have all night.

"Was Onii-chan still talking to Hirako-san and Urahara-san?" Yuzu asks a little later as they get ready for bed because their brother always knows if they stay up too late.

"Yeah," Karin says around a yawn as she sets her alarm. "They might still be out there. Can't you sense them?"

Yuzu shakes her head, leaning over to switch off the lamp on her nightstand. "They're... quiet, I guess. Quieter. I have to be in the same room as them to pick up on their emotions."

Karin hums as she rolls herself into her blankets. "What do you think about them?"

"I don't, really," Yuzu admits easily, so they're agreed on that at least. "Although if Onii-chan gets rid of them, I hope he can wait until after Urahara-san has finished teaching me."

Karin snorts. Typical.

They're silent for a moment until Yuzu speaks up again. "I think they're trouble. I mean, Onii-chan did mention it during dinner last week. But I think it's a different kind of trouble than the usual stuff. Not like yakuza or random creeps or even the monsters. Worse, I think they're going to bring trouble."

Karin frowns into the dark. Well, it's not anything she hasn't thought of herself. It's another reason why she dislikes them. If they've got problems, why do they have to dump them at Ichigo's doorstep? What have they ever done for Ichi-nii?

Still, "Ichi-nii will be able to handle it," Karin says with certainty. She's never known her brother to fail at anything. There has never been a problem Ichigo couldn't solve. He'd even cowed their father without ever laying a single hand on him, and that was back when Isshin had still been stronger than Ichigo.

"Well, obviously," Yuzu says, equally confident. "Maybe Onii-chan will even have some fun with it. I know the monsters don't give him any kind of challenge anymore. And he likes Hirako-san and Urahara-san well enough."

"He likes Hirako," Karin corrects, shooting a flummoxed look at the bed across the room. "Urahara, he could take or leave. I'm surprised Ichi-nii lets him come here at all."

"Yes," Yuzu says with an audible smile. "Onii-chan lets him come here."

Karin blinks. ...Huh.

"So, what, is it like... a crush?" Karin grimaces. Ew. "They're old and weird!"

Yuzu giggles. "I don't think I'd go that far. Yet. Besides, they're also powerful and interesting and not afraid of him, and you know what Onii-chan's like."

"Yeah, but I also thought Ichi-nii doesn't get crushes," Karin grouches. "I can't believe it's both ways."

"Both ways?" Yuzu echoes, and Karin can almost hear her eyes go wide. "Urahara-san too?"

Karin squints up at the ceiling. "What, you didn't pick that up from him? I mean I don't think it's actually a crush. Like you said. But there's something there."

"Urahara-san is a bit strange about Onii-chan," Yuzu agrees thoughtfully. "But I'm not exactly sure what it is. His emotions are hard to read sometimes. Hirako-san is easier. And nicer."

Karin makes a disgruntled sound. 'Nice' isn't how she'd put it, considering Hirako's reiatsu manifestation.

"Hirako-san isn't that bad," Yuzu says, amused. "And they're both kind of like Onii-chan, so that might be good. It's good to have friends."

Karin shrugs and grabs an extra pillow to hug. "Whether they're like him or not, if they do something dumb, Ichi-nii will handle it all the same."

Yuzu laughs, bright and cheerful and just a little anticipatory, even if she does seem to have a better opinion of them than Karin does.

The conversation between them fades away. Karin shuts her eyes and lets her thoughts drift. She has morning practice tomorrow and can't be late, so old weird men calling on her brother are frankly the least of her priorities.

[sonic-adventure-3]

an incredibly rough comic. i think star fragments would taste like a scintillating phantasmagoria of light, a severe electric shock, a newfound gambling addiction, and a hint of the nastiest artificial grape flavour you’ve ever tasted. sonic is imbued with the power of slot machines now

[sketchncanto]

Felìz Cumpleaños to my favorite middle aged babies!! ✨💕🦋

Doubling this as my submission for today’s encantober prompt, ✨Miracle✨

[miasmaghoul]

miasma i have been yearning for mean rain and the most well-behaved mountain you have ever seen. (he's on his knees.) will you indulge me? )

oh man rain's real mean you guys :(

(cw for slapping, spitting, a little blood, piss and rough oral. all consensual, dont worry, mountain is SUPER into it)

It's an ache Mountain can't describe that brings him here.

On his knees in Rain's room, fully dressed with his legs spread as far at they can go. He keeps his arms folded together at the small of his back and his eyes forward, watching dust motes float through the beam of silvery light pouring from an open window. The sun had been up when he first knelt, but Rain's space was meant for moonlight.

Mountain doesn't know how long he's been here, truth be told, and it doesn't matter. That ache demands he stays put regardless, forces him to stay still and silent. It makes him wait for something he can't put words to. Makes him yearn, makes him itch in a place he can't quite scratch. It makes him want.

And so, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

When the door finally creaks open, he thinks it's the holiest of hymns.

Rain slips into the room with a fluid grace Mountain could never hope to replicate. He moves like water, his lithe frame draped in the gauzy fabric of a flowy white top he'd no doubt stolen from Cirrus. It suits him just as much as the skin-tight black pants he's paired with it, as stark a contrast as his dark, loose curls are against his pale skin. Bathed in moonlight, he looks like something out of a dream.

Mountain would worship him always, if he could get away with it. Would lay himself bare for Rain to observe, to inspect. He'd endure agony, ecstacy and everything in between if it meant earning Rain's touch, his attention. If it meant pleasing him however Rain saw fit. He'd give anything, give everything.

Rain closes the door, and does not acknowledge him.

The ache grows.

Mountain doesn't move. Doesn't dare to so much as breathe too loudly, lest Rain become irritated and shove him out the door. He can't risk it, not with the singular sort of need that's been eating at him all day. He listens, though. Tracks Rain's careful footsteps as he makes his way across the room. He's in no rush, ever casual as he clicks on a bedside lamp and rifles through a drawer.

Mountain's cock stirs in the confines of his jeans. He's gone from soft to hard and back again more times than he can count during his endless wait. If he glanced down, there would probably be a stain on the light denim. He couldn't help it, but he knows Rain won't approve.

Hell, that's half the reason he wore these particular jeans.

"How long have you been here?"

The words cut through the silence like a razor, smooth and sharp. Mountain shivers with them, hungry ears finally blessed with the first hint of what he's been craving. He shrugs, eyes still locked on the bedroom door. He can practically hear Rain's eyebrows scooting upwards.

"You don't know?"

Mountain shakes his head. If he had to say, it would be something between five hours and a hundred years. He'd wait a thousand, if Rain asked him to.

Behind him, Rain hums. It's a pondering sound, as though he's wondering whether or not Mountain is worth his precious time. It makes his stomach hurt. He wants to beg Rain to let him stay, wants to plead with him to soothe the ache in his gut. Wants to grovel at his feet until Rain sees fit to relieve him of his need.

But Rain hasn't given permission to speak, so he doesn't.

Again, Mountain waits. Stoic at a statue despite the stiffness in his jeans, the stabbing pain in his knees and the tension in his back. Everything hurts.

He hopes Rain makes it worse.

It's ages before Rain moves again, before his boots thud against the hardwood and the other ghoul reappears in front of him. Mountain keeps his gaze resolutely forward, his eyeline even with Rain's torso. The fabric of his top sways in a nonexistent breeze, more than a few of its buttons popped to expose the creamy skin of his chest. It's speckled with bites and bruises, evidence of what, exactly, he'd been busy doing while Mountain waited his turn.

"Have you been just like this?" His tone gives nothing away. If anything, Rain sounds...bored. "On your knees for me?"

Again, Mountain nods. Rain hums once more, that same sound of almost dismissive contemplation. He brings both hands up, idly twists one of his rings, and the rustle of his shirt brings with it the scent of the lake on a summer evening. It's accompanied by a waft of spiced woodsmoke, and Mountain knows exactly who had been busy fucking up Rain's perfect skin.

"Are you growling?"

Mountain mutes himself immediately - he hadn't even realized he'd started. He didn't mean to, he swears it, but even if he were allowed to speak he knows Rain wouldn't want to hear it. He chews on the inside of his cheek and hopes his remorse is evident in the way his shoulders sag just a hair.

"Let me guess," Rain lilts, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of auburn hair by Mountain's ear. Even the ghost of his touch is electric. "You need me."

He makes it sound like a taunt, and Mountain's stomach burns. He nods again, slow and deliberate. Squares his shoulders again before Rain can chide him for his posture. The other ghoul huffs out a sigh.

"How pathetic," he chides, and oh does it sting. "Sitting here for hours when you could have been making yourself useful."

Long fingers cup his jaw and Mountain lets his gaze be guided upward. He finds Rain watching him with mirthless cerulean eyes, his mouth set in a hard line. Mountain gulps even as his cock throbs, and before he can stop himself,

"I'm sorry -"

He hears the slap before he feels it, a sharp backhand that makes his head spin and his chest tight. The sting hits soon enough and Mountain bites his lip, hoping to draw blood that he can offer in penance. Rain grips his chin in that same cruel hand, guides him back, and Mountain can already feel the fuzz creeping into the edges of his mind with the look on his stunning face.

"Lucifer, you're pathetic," Rain scoffs, dragging his other hand through his own stylishly disheveled curls. "And here I thought you were going to be good for me."

I will, Mountain wants to scream. I'll be good, I'll be so good, please -

"I suppose I'll just have to put you in your place."

Mountain can't help the way his eyes slip shut at the merciless tilt to Rain's voice. The one he only uses when he can tell exactly what sort of cruelty Mountain craves, when he wants to belittle and shame. It settles heavy in his gut, makes him just dizzy enough that Rain has to give him a little shake to bring him back.

"Eyes on me," he orders, and it's an easy command to obey. Mountain may be edging towards hazy, but focusing on Rain keeps him grounded enough to maintain his pose. The hand on his jaw threads into his hair instead, grips a nice handful. "Show me your tongue."

Mountain does - of course he does - despite how dry his mouth feels. He opens wide and lets that pink appendage hang down over his chin. Rain's hum carries more weight now, the slightest hint of approval enough to make Mountain throb. Rain yanks him back by the hair, makes him suck air through his nose, and leans over him, eyes sparkling.

"You look thirsty."

Mountain can't hold back the groan that bubbles up in his chest when Rain spits directly onto his tongue.

"Don't you dare swallow," Rain threatens before Mountain can so much as move his tongue. He wasn't going to. He knows better.

It's tempting anyway.

He curls his tongue instead, makes a nice little home for Rain's generous gift. Rain releases his head with a derisive snicker, standing back with his arms crossed.

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much," he admonishes, eyes squarely fixed on the wet spot Mountain can feel on his thigh. Less than an inch from the head of his sore, ignored cock.

He's so hard. Always is, for this. Rain probably won't even let him cum, if experience tells him anything - or maybe he'll make him cum over and over until he's empty and weeping. Either way, the suffering is what matters.

Mountain twitches when the toe of Rain's boot presses into his thigh, a hair's breadth from his throbbing length, and it's work not to swallow the mess on his tongue.

"Someone's excited," he taunts, nudging the swollen ridge of the head less than gently. Mountain gives a fervent nod. "You were messy before I even walked in, weren't you?"

He applies more pressure and Mountain pitches forward just enough to accidentally drool Rain's spit onto his own shirt.

Oh shit.

Rain's next slap is expected, and somehow all the worse for it. Same cheek, same hand. It cracks through the room with a sick echo, and Mountain tastes iron.

"Useless," Rain sneers, unceremoniously shoving two fingers into Mountain's mouth to wrench out a gag. When he pulls them back they're tinted pink, and watching Rain lick up his blood and saliva makes every inch of him sing. "All you're good for is making messes, isn't it?"

Mountain sniffles, eyes wet at the corners, and nods. Rain rolls his eyes.

"Use your words," he says as though Mountain is very stupid. His cock spits against his thigh.

"S-sorry Rain, I didn't -"

"Sorry who?"

Mountain shudders.

"I'm s-sorry, Sir," he breathes, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to make a mess, I -"

"Liar," Rain interrupts, and Mountain gives him a bewildered look. "I know you came here because you want to be a wet, filthy mess."

Mountain can't stop staring up at him. He doesn't want to.

"In fact," Rain croons, reaching for his belt, "I think you want me to make you one."

His intention is clear as crystal, and the moment it settles into Mountain's skin he bites his tongue. He swallows thickly, trying his best not to sway as he watches Rain slip his belt from its loops and toss it aside. Silently, Mountain hopes Rain plans to use it on him later. He grips his own arms tight behind his back while the other ghoul unzips, every inch of him twitchy and quivering in anticipation.

"What do you say?" Rain asks, low and sultry over the splash of his own piss.

Rain's only half hard when he pulls himself out, maybe less, but it doesn't matter - any time he gets to see Rain's cock is a blessing, as far as Mountain is concerned. Rain gives himself a few languid strokes, pushes and pulls his foreskin the way he knows Mountain likes best. Makes him drool. He fattens up so quick, gets nice and stiff right where Mountain can see but can't touch. Anyone else would want to stay soft for this, but Rain?

Well, there are advantages to being a water ghoul.

Rain cants his hips just enough to slap the head against Mountain's cheek once, twice, three times. Enough to leak a little bead of pre and leave a sticky spot behind.

"Say please," he commands. Mountain feels so very dizzy.

"Please," he manages to slur, barely a whisper. Rain snorts.

"Say it properly," he smears the tip over Mountain's lips just because he can, and Mountain's eyes roll back at the scent of him.

"Please, Sir," he breathes, staring up with heavy lidded eyes, "please...please get me wet. Get me messy."

Rain offers an unkind smirk, milks out one more bead of pre that slides onto Mountain's lip. He doesn't lick it up. Hasn't been told he's allowed. Rain pulls back, takes a deep breath, and aims.

"Whore."

The first drops hit Mountain's knee, impossibly hot, and then a perfect golden arc hits him square in the chest. It forces a wave of the deepest sort of shame through him, makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up. Mountain gasps when it really starts to soak in, and he can feel real tears gathering in his lashes when Rain smiles down at him.

"Th-thank you, Sir," Mountain gasps, fighting every muscle in his core that's trying to make him pitch forward. "Thank you."

Rain hums, pleased, directing the stream wherever he likes until Mountain's shirt is well and truly drenched. He feels like he's burning from the inside out, like his brain is leaking out onto his thigh and soaking into stained denim. He's panting by the time Rain's done, watching in a daze as he pushes out the last few squirts, lets it dribble out to speckle Mountain's thighs.

"Open," he orders, and like the good boy he is, Mountain does.

Rain shoves his still-leaking cock down his throat with no hesitation, and Mountain chokes on it just enough for the tears caught in his lashes to track down his cheeks. Rain purrs, smearing them all over with mean thumbs.

"Gonna put this mouth to good use," he drawls, "and you're gonna take it."

The way he says it is completely at odds with the punishing pace he sets. Brutal thrusts that stab at the back of Mountain's throat, sure to leave a bruise. Every one answers the call of that singular ache, and in no time at all he's floating. Lost in the gross, wet sound of Rain taking his pleasure and the slap of his balls against his chin.

Maybe later Rain will sit on his face and he can well and truly drown.

Mountain hopes he does.

[shadeswift99]

Current thought: the Genuine Dismay in Iskall's voice when Beef suggested building his house interior instead of and not in addition to the attic room. I did not know a guy could express "D:" out loud so clearly but he Did

[taravangians-storming-balls]

dragonsteel con 2024 fit

[b4kuch1n]

wizard looking for a way home (aka wizard of dark space)

[possamble]

Do you think Falin ever saw Marcille in her little elven loungewear or would it be a bit of a surprise for her? In "a little creature" it might be a bit of a (pleasant) surprise, depending on whether Marcille hasn't used the clothes up to that point. Though it might make things a bit more awkward

so this doodle from Ryoko Kui implies that Falin has seen it, but the fact that they're on an ipad and a phone means this isn't really supposed to be canon... still, I figure an informal image in the creator's mind is still closer to canon than anything else.

I'm imagining that Marcille prooobably started wearing this type of stuff closer to her later years at the academy? Maybe she finished the graduate track program and went on to the post-graduate whatever the fuck they have. That would probably mean getting a dormitory upgrade to something a little bigger and more private, too.

As for Falin's reaction seeing it for the first time... going by how casual they are in this image, I get the feeling she didn't have much of a reaction beyond the usual "oh Marcille is wearing something new and nice" ?? I do lowkey believe she just kind of Didn't Think About Herself hard enough that her horny teenager phase was incredibly muddled and mild. That, and she got so good at "I'm not allowed to think about Marcille like that" that it just didn't happen until the dragon came along and was like. HEY. WE'RE HOT FOR ELF. CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT

[rangersbecket]

the cassius girlie experience

[happi-tree]

Hello :) do you take art requests?

Would you be willing to draw-

Teen-High-Binder Transmasc Normal?

Hi there, Nonnie! While I don't typically do requests I HAD to jump on the bandwagon for this one. Thank you Will Campos for making characters that are so queer and transgender 💗💗💗

Hope you're having a wonderful day!

[the-acid-pear-art]

Save a cowboy, ride a huge fucking sausage today 🏜️

(i will hopefully get around to making more Peppi pin ups in the future-)

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

TOLD YALL I WAS AT IT AGAIN AND HOLY HELL LOOK HOW IT PAID OFF

Again thanks to @majimasleftasscheek for the inspo behind this, giving me another reason to draw the woman ever