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achilles-rage · 9 months ago

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Good Luck Charm: Chapter 19

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: evan meets your parents.

word count: 4.1k

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a/n: kinda love the last part of this chapter. also me using 911 stories because I simply cannot think of any:😋 enjoy<3

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You stand in front of your childhood home, grinning ear to ear as you take in the holiday decorations and the dim street lights illuminating the now-dark street your parents live on. Evan is standing beside you, but his expression is not as happy as yours. While he’s happy to be here with you, and knows that once he’s met your parents, everything will be fine, as long as your parents like him, he’s still filled with nerves.

His hand is tightly gripping yours as you walk up to the front door while the other is clenched at his side. He’s never met a girl’s parents before; he’s not sure what he’s about to walk into. He goes over the list of things you told him in his head: talk about football with your mom, and ask her about her most recent hobby; this month it’s her beginners pottery class, and talk to your dad about his studies. Most importantly, if all else fails, ask your dad about his job.

He’s only pulled out of his mental checklist when he hears your voice from beside him, and your hand squeezing his in an attempt to lower him back to Earth. He looks over at you with a blank expression, and you laugh softly. He definitely didn’t hear you, you think, and he looks like he’s about to throw up.

“I said, it’s gonna be okay. Please don’t worry so much.” you tell him sincerely. While it’s true that you’re not sure how your parents will react to Evan, although you think your father may go with the protective dad approach, you know him being nervous will only make it worse.

“Easy for you to say, they’re your parents.” he says in a slightly joking tone, but he doesn’t smile. You sigh, turning him to face you and grabbing his collar to pull him down into a chaste kiss. Once you pull back you look up at him as you tilt your head to the side, trying to catch his gaze.

“Ev, I promise, it’s gonna be fine. Okay?” you say sternly, and although he nods, he can’t help but speak again.

“What if they don’t like me?” Your eyes soften at his words, and you can see the insecurity in his face. You’re so used to seeing him as the confident football player he is around everyone else that you almost miss it, but it’s very much written across his face.

“What’s not to love? And either way, I like you, and they’ll see that.” you say in a soft voice, pulling him down once more to peck his lips. Once you pull away he lets out a loud breath, then nods, mumbling a soft “okay.” You nod back, then turn and open the front door, smiling immediately as the smell of your mom’s favourite candle fills your nostrils. There’s two things you can count on when you come home, your mom’s Champagne Toast candles, and your dad’s work stories.

Your parents come to the front hallway as soon as they hear you call out for them, your mom from the kitchen and your dad from the living room. You grin as you let go of Evan’s hand, giving them each a hug. You might not be as close to your parents as you once were, but the distance while you’re away at USC definitely helps, and every time you come to visit, you’re more excited to spend some time with them. Evan watches with a small smile; he loves seeing you so happy, but he can also feel his heart clench. He’s always wanted this type of relationship with his parents, and he wonders what being this close to your parents would be like.

“You must be Evan.” your father says, and Evan freezes as everyone’s eyes move to him. He slaps a smile onto his face, taking a step forward to your father as he reaches out to shake his hand. Your father gives him a small smile as he shakes Evan’s hand, a small hint of surprise on his face at his actions. You and your mom look at each other as you watch the interaction, giving each other a knowing look. Both of you are very curious to see how this will go, but you both know that this is a good first step.

“Nice to meet you, sir. And you too, ma’am. Your house is beautiful.” he says in a serious tone. He turns to shake your mother’s hand, but she waves him off and pulls him in for a quick hug. You watch with a wide smile, and the nerves you had settle tremendously. If this is in any way telling of how the next two weeks will go, you think you’ll be just fine.

“Well, dinner’s almost ready. Just need to pull it out of the oven, if we want to sit down.” your mother says, before turning to go back into the kitchen. With your mom gone, all three of you stare at each other, no one knowing what to say. After a moment, Evan clears his throat.

“Well, I’m gonna go get the bags from the car. Just so we don’t have to do it later.” he says, and while he’s speaking mostly to you, he keeps his eyes on your father.

“I’ll go with you.” you tell him, grabbing his hand, ready to pull him outside. You hope he’s still not freaking out too much. You hope you can take this time to reassure him that what’s happened so far is a good sign.

“No, no. You stay here, princess. It’s freezing out there.” he says, finally turning to you. He raises your hand to his lips and kisses it softly before he drops it again, giving you a comforting smile. You feel your cheeks heating up at this. You’re not sure if he’s playing things up because you have a spectator; this is something he’d do regardless, but it warms your heart nonetheless.

Once Evan is out the door, your dad turns to you with a raised brow, crossing his arms. You raise your brow in response, waiting for the inevitable words he’s about to say.

“He treat you well?” You sigh, rolling your eyes. You know he means well, but you’re confused why he’s even asking. Why would you be with him if he didn’t? And why would you tell your father if he wasn’t?

“Yes, dad. Always.” you tell him seriously, your eyes looking into his, almost begging him to believe you.

“Just gotta make sure. I know how college boys are.” he responds equally as seriously, almost sternly. You roll your eyes again, shaking your head. You know what he means, and you also know a little bit about how Evan used to be, but he hasn’t been like that since you’ve known him.

“He isn’t like that, promise.” is all you manage to say before Evan comes back in through the door, trying to balance all your bags in his arms. His eyes widen as he sees the both of you, both looking at him with expressions that make it obvious you two were just talking about him. He smiles sheepishly, looking between the both of you as he stands in front of the door.

“I’ll show you where to put the bags. Honey, why don’t you go help your mom with dinner.” your dad says, nodding his head towards the kitchen as he turns to speak to you. You’re about to argue back, not wanting to leave him alone with Evan to ask God knows what, but you close your mouth again just as quickly. You know your dad won’t take no for an answer, so there’s no use in arguing with him. You give Evan an apologetic smile before you mumble an “okay,” turning to walk into the kitchen.

“He seems nice. Handsome too.” you hear your mom say when you enter the kitchen, and you give her a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, he is.” you reply, your voice almost a whisper. You start taking out the plates and cutlery as your mom finishes with dinner, then you speak in a quiet tone, as if they’ll hear you from upstairs.

“Dad’s upstairs with him right now. I don’t even want to know what he’s asking.” Your mom laughs, rolling her eyes.

“You know it’ll happen eventually. You might as well get it over with now.” she tells you with a shrug, and you nod at her words. You know she’s right, but you’re secretly hoping that this conversation doesn’t make Evan want to sneak out in the middle of the night and never come back.

“He’s a good guy. He’s smart. He’s never done anything to make me question that.” you say, more to yourself as your back is turned from your mother. She hums softly at your response, then grabs the plates from you when you turn to hand them to her.

Your dad leads Evan upstairs and to the guest room, gesturing for him to drop his bags on the bed. Once his hands are empty and everything is on the bed, your dad grabs your bags off the bed, then gives Evan a stern look.

“You’ll be staying here, and she’ll be staying in her room. Under no circumstances do I expect to see you in her room.” he says, narrowing his eyes. Evan nods, his face void of any expression as he swallows.

“Of course, sir.” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s rarely ever felt this intimidated, but under your dad’s harsh gaze, he struggles to keep his hands from shaking.

“I know I can’t stop you from being with my daughter like that, but I’ll be damned if you try anything under my roof.” your father cuts him off before he can give him any more reassurances. Evan nods again, trying to give him a small smile.

“Of course. I would never disrespect you, or your daughter like that, sir. You have my word.” Your father seems satisfied by his response. He also catches the nervousness creeping into Evan’s face, and he smirks. He hopes that his warning has scared him enough into actually meaning that, and without another word, he turns and carries your bags to your room.

By the time you’re all sitting down for dinner, there’s an awkward feeling in the room, thick and hot around you. You all begin to eat silently, the only sound coming from the radio your mom has in the kitchen, softly wafting through the doorway and into the room.

After a few minutes, your mother speaks up, looking between you and Evan.

“So, how did you two meet?” You laugh softly, seeing Evan smile out of the corner of your eyes before he replies.

“We, uh, we were paired together for an assignment.” he says, looking over at you with a happy gleam in his eye. He knows that’s not exactly how you two met, but he knows that you’re still a little embarrassed about how you snapped at him the first time you met, so he doesn’t bring it up.

“Well, yeah. But, I bumped into him in the hall before that, and I sort of yelled at him.” you say sheepishly, laughing along as your mom giggles and your dad lets out a quiet, surprised laugh.

“You yelled at him?” your dad asks you in slight disbelief. He’s been on the receiving end of your bad days, of course, but he’s never seen you like that with anyone. “And you still wanted her after that?” he asks Evan with a raised brow, a small smile on his face as he stops eating.

“I was hooked. She’s too pretty for her own good.” Evan tells your father. Then, his eyes dart over to yours, and he gives you a quick wink, smirking. You both notice how your mother is looking at the both of you across the table, and your cheeks heat up. You know your mom would like Evan immediately, but she’s looking at you with stars in her eyes, and you know that he’s definitely on her good side already.

You look over at your dad next, and your smile widens when you see him nod once before continuing to eat. If you aren’t mistaken, you think you see a hint of approval in his eyes, although you know it can’t be this easy.

You continue to eat quietly, and while the awkwardness has substantially lessened, there’s still an odd tension in the air. You feel your mind go blank as you keep eating, and although you know you should be the one to break the silence, you can’t think of a single thing to say. You feel Evan’s hand move to your soft thigh, squeezing it softly. You put your hand on top of his, letting out a soft exhale. You know you should be the one calming him right now, but you’re grateful that he’s picked up on your slight daze.

“So, I hear you’re a firefighter?” Evan says, and you smile as you see your father’s face light up. Bless your perfect boyfriend, you think. He remembered your list.

“Yeah. Dad tell him about the call with the shark on the freeway.” you say before your father can speak. You know this will take out all the awkwardness. It’s his favourite story to tell, and you know he’ll somehow turn a 30 second story into one that lasts the rest of dinner.

It’s over an hour later when you look over at the clock on the wall. Your plates have long since been cleared, and conversation has been flowing nicely since your father began his story. The stories were a great way to open everyone up, and Evan seems to know every question to ask to get your father to speak, but he also looks extremely interested in his stories. You see a sparkle in his eyes that you only really see when he’s playing football, and your nerves are gone as you listen to everyone talking to each other.

It’s also helped that your father has since learned that Evan is at school on a football scholarship. Not only does that mean he’s “strong enough to protect you,” as your father had worded it, but it also means he’s smart, which is important to your father. To him, this means he can care for you, in every sense of the matter.

You arrived at your parents’ house late, as they live pretty far away from campus, so by the time dinner is finished and everyone’s guards are down, it’s getting late. Your hand has been firmly placed in Evan’s on his lap since you finished dinner, and you squeeze it before you begin to speak. You’re sure he’s desperate for a break from being examined, and you’re getting tired, so since you had an hour long nap on the car ride here, you know that Evan’s probably tired too.

“Well, it’s getting pretty late. We should head to bed. I wanna give Evan a tour of town tomorrow, maybe go to the winter market.” you tell your parents with a smile.

Your parents nod, and everyone begins to stand up from the table, each person grabbing their plates to bring to the kitchen.

“Thank you so much for dinner, too. It was great.” Evan tells your mom, and she beams, grabbing his plate from him.

Once the table is cleared, you grab Evan’s hand again, ready to lead him upstairs when your father speaks up again.

“And, Evan? Remember what we talked about upstairs.” Evan nods, his nervous smile coming back onto his face. He had let his guard down completely earlier, and that almost makes this worse. He murmurs a quick “yes, sir” before you drag him upstairs, calling out a good night to your parents.

Once you’re up the stairs and in the hallway, you stop and turn to look at Evan with a raised brow.

“What is he talking about?” you ask curiously. You almost forgot about their conversation earlier, as you felt so relaxed at dinner.

“Oh, nothing. Just about keeping my disgusting hands off his daughter.” he says jokingly, taking a quick look over his shoulder towards the top of the stairs before he grabs your wide hips and pulls you into him. He kisses you deeply, and you can feel his smile in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. You hum softly as you kiss him with equal fervor, then pull back after a moment, keeping your forehead pressed against his.

“You’re not doing a very good job.” you tease, then give him another quick peck. He rolls his eyes with a scoff, then chuckles quietly. While most of his attention is on you, your father’s words echo in the back of his head, and he tries to keep some of his attention on anyone that could be coming up the stairs.

“I can’t help it, princess. How do you expect me to keep my hands off of you for two whole weeks?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone, although you can tell that he actually means it. You giggle softly, shrugging as you sway side to side, feeling his warm hands through the fabric of your pants.

“You have a car, don’t you?” you ask with a raised brow. Your smile widens when he lets out a low groan, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” he whispers, then gives your neck a feather light kiss before looking back up at you.

“Go to bed, Buckley.” you whisper back, trailing your hands down his chest before pushing him back lightly. He lets go of your hips begrudgingly, rolling his eyes.

“I love you.” he tells you as he backs up towards his room. You smile, biting your lip as you also back up towards your door.

“I love you. And don’t even think about coming into my room tonight.” you tease. He licks his lips, eyes trailing down your plush figure as he opens the door to his room.

“You’re gonna get me into trouble, you know that?” he tells you, and you shrug, laughing softly.

“That’s the fun part.” is all you say before you turn and walk into your room. His eyes stay on your door for a moment after you close it, then he finally closes his own door, letting out a soft exhale once he’s inside. This is going to be a long two weeks.

He doesn’t even hear his door opening about an hour later. Your parents have finally gone to bed, and once you were sure they were asleep, you’re padding across the hallway in nothing but an oversized shirt and panties. You’re so used to falling asleep beside Evan that you barely even think about the consequences of your actions.

“Evan? You awake?” you speak into the darkness once you close the door. It’s pitch black in the room; a harsh contrast from your room and the hallway, which are both illuminated by dim night lights. His ears perk up at your seraphic voice cutting through the silence and he sits up on the bed, his eyes, having been adjusted to the dark already, only just able to see the outline of your body in the darkness.

“Yeah. Come here.” he whispers into the darkness, holding his hand out for you to take when he sees you stretch out your arms.

“Where are you?” you whisper with a small laugh, hands reaching blindly in the dark. He chuckles, leaning forward and grabbing your hand, then pulls you towards him. You stumble as your legs make contact with the bed, almost falling onto him as you kneel on the bed. The only thing to stop you is Evan’s quick reflexes, as he holds you straight as you move up towards him. You remove your hand from his and use both hands to feel around again, and once they make contact with his bare chest, you push him to lay on his back. Once he’s down, you lay beside him, resting your head on his chest as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

“You still can’t see in here?” he asks with a quiet laugh, keeping his voice as low as possible.

“It’s pitch black in here. How can you see?” He rolls his eyes, leaning down and kissing the top of your head gently.

“Sorry I don’t need a night light to sleep, princess.” he teases, although he finds it adorable. He remembers the first time he slept over at your apartment; trying to sleep with the dim light illuminating your room. He tried to unplug it, but you gave him a stern look, and he quickly backed off.

“The dark is scary. You never know what’s out there.” you say with a small shrug, your fingers tracing patterns across his broad chest.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you’ve got me here to protect you, isn’t it?” he tells you in a teasing tone. You smile, nuzzling into his chest as his grip tightens on your shoulders instinctively, almost as if he’s now thinking about protecting you from whatever may threaten you.

“Only if my dad doesn’t catch me in here and kill you.” you tease, and he groans as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t be in bed with you right now, but it’s not like he’s in your room, right?

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” he tells you, his voice growing a little more serious. You smile, then lift your head up to face him, your eyes finally adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. You lean up and kiss him softly, then rest your cheek on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat as the quiet surrounds you again.

“Your dad seems to really love his job.” Evan speaks after a few minutes of silence, laughing softly as he thinks about all the stories he heard. You laugh along with him, nodding.

“Yeah, he does. He can talk about it for hours. And I mean hours. You seemed to really like the stories.” The last sentence comes out quieter, and your fingers still ghost along his bare skin as you speak.

“Yeah, they were really cool. Sounds like an awesome job.” he says, and it’s silent for a moment before he speaks up again. He feels like everything just fell into place, that he finally knows what to do. “Maybe after college I’ll apply for the LAFD.”

Your eyes widen, and you lift your cheek off his chest again to look at him. You remember how he looked hearing the stories, and you know it makes sense, and you’re just a little surprised you didn’t see this coming.

“You’re trying really hard to get my dad to like you, huh?” you ask jokingly. He smiles and rolls his eyes, which makes you smile.

“He has to like me. I’m gonna be here for a long time.” he begins seriously, then his eyes seem to unfocus as he thinks about the job again. Helping people? Doing the kinds of things your father talked about? It sounds perfect to him. “But, seriously. I really think I should look into it.”

You nod, your eyes softening as you take in his dazed expression in the darkness. He really does look excited, and you’d be lying if you said the idea of him becoming a firefighter and staying in LA wasn’t one you welcomed.

“You should. You’d be good at it. And my dad would love you.” you reassure him. You lean down and kiss his chest softly, then lay your head back down on his chest, feeling your eyelids grow heavy.

“And I can find a job in LA.” you say softly, trying but failing to keep your eyes open as his heartbeat acts as a lullaby. He smiles at your words, humming softly as he nods.

“Perfect. Then I’ll be able to keep you.” he says, his own eyelids beginning to get heavy. He feels an overwhelming sense of calm as he lays with you in his arms; like everything finally makes sense. He assumed you’d be able to make your relationship work, prayed you’d be able to, but now that you both have said you’re going to stay in LA, he falls asleep very easily.

next chapter

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cultkinkcoven · 8 months ago

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“Will my practicing demonolatry affect my loved ones and friends?”

This is one of the most common questions I hear from beginners, especially from those who are still in the broom closet and live with conservative or religious people. Will reaching out to Lucifer or Bune affect the people around you, either negatively or positively?

The simple answer is yes. The complicated answer is still yes but not in the way you think.

Although it is probably very possible, I’ve never had anyone close to me report having dreams about or seeing my demons/deities when I work with them. Your demons for the most part will not make their relationship with you known to outsiders. People have however, parroted direct quotes from my demons, or acted in accordance to what they say.

Is it a coincidence that my partner is suddenly obsessed with me and wants to be intimate after I invite Lilith or Astaroth into my space? Is it a coincidence that he suddenly wants to talk about music theory after Prince Cerberus asks me to study the power of sound?

When Leviathan tells me the winds are changing, and my partner absent mindedly says he feels like starting a new project, I can silently affirm that message.

Demons more often than not, communicate with us through our mundane lives. The people around you will not know that they are being used to deliver messages and lessons to you. My roommate isn’t aware that Lucifer is teaching me the power of empathy when she suddenly comes to me with her problems and needs a friendly ear or support. When I go to my altar and express to Lucifer that I feel ugly and unloved, and my boyfriend comes home with a bouquet of roses and tells me how beautiful I am, he doesn’t know that Lucifer is working through him, but I do.

Likewise, if my parent is being abusive or mean to me, I can’t say that my demons won’t cause some misfortune upon them. If my coworker is giving me a hard time, I won’t be too surprised if Lucifer reports that they’ve been fired or got demoted. The people who interact with you will be interacting with your demons as well, and because those demons are there to protect you first and foremost, it is very possible that those people will be seen as a threat or obstacle and dealt with or removed.

Sometimes demons give us adversaries to push us towards action. My boss being a major dick while quoting Belial: “If the work must be done, it should be done now”. Might just be the push I need to quit this dead end job and find something better. When that toxic family member is parroting every intrusive thought Lucifer told me not to listen to, maybe it’s time cut them off and find a better family.

Now, this doesn’t mean that you have to live in fear that every negative interaction you have with people will result in their lives being ruined. Demons aren’t here to destroy all of your relationships. But it also shouldn’t be too surprising when things do happen.

If you’re looking for signs that your demon is near you, pay attention to the subtle signs that show up through your interactions with others.

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chimera-dreams · 1 year ago

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Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy.

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down.

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing.

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor.

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs.

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now.

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played.

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore.

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone.

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh.

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain.

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys?

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position.

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in.

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus.

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager.

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere.

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #fem reader #I'm going light on the tags fn #is this considered light lmao #fluff #jjk fluff

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mediocrecowboyhat · 6 months ago

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Set in sand - Chapter 2

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to safe the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Word count: 2768

Disclaimer: This is based on the side quest "Geology for Beginners" so the reader is from the future and aware of some things that happen, but not everything. The reader will also have she/her pronouns and this fanfiction follows the story of RDR2. Also English is not my first language so pls forgive me for any grammatical mistakes!

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well)

It's an early morning for you. A cold morning just like the one before and the one before that. Everyday seems to be the exactly the same. You wake up, sit by the fire most of the time with the others and get work given to you by Miss Grimshaw every now and then.

The tasks are a welcome distraction from the fact that you all are just sitting ducks while slowly dying of starvation, but unfortunately they don't last that long. The others don't seem too happy with this situation either.

Every face you look at has the same miserable frown on it and while you don't have a mirror on you, you're pretty sure you got that expression by now as well.

In the corner of your eye you see a woman with dark hair approach you with a young boy following closely behind her.

"Hey.", she greets you and you offer her a smile. You see her around a lot and her name appears in Arthur's journal every now and then. Abigail.

"I haven't properly thanked you for helping John. He can be a moron sometimes, but...you know..."

As you stand up from the crate you're sitting on, you place your hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

"It's okay. You don't have to thank me for anything."

She returns your smile and before any of you can say another word the front door of the house is being swung open. Miss Grimshaw is standing in the doorway and waves you over to her. Ah, another welcoming distraction.

The moment you take a step out, a wooden bucket is being shoved into your arms and she motions towards the woods.

"We need you to get some water from the river. Arthur and Charles brought home some game so Mr. Pearson needs all the help he can get to prepare dinner."

"Sure thing, Miss Grimshaw.", you yell over your shoulder while fighting your way through the snow towards the river.

It's a clear and sunny day. No snowstorm, no clouds, no wind. Those are your favorite days and picking up water by yourself is one of your favorite jobs. The walk takes a while so you take the opportunity to clear your head a bit.

Sure, you don't mind talking to the others, but it's still tough to be the new person. There is a certain suspicion hanging in the air, but you don't take it too personally. These people have a lot of enemies and you gotta be cautious with folk in this line of work you suppose.

No one has really told you why they're on the run and you only pick up some bits and pieces here and there when you overhear people talking. Some riverboat job that went wrong in a place called Blackwater is the only thing you know so far and that they lost some people.

You try to avoid eavesdropping and snooping around too much to not attract any negative attention this early on. Obviously you can't make everyone in the gang like you, but keeping a neutral reputation shouldn't be that hard.

Some of the freezing riverwater splashes on your hands and arms as you submerge the bucket, but you're almost used to that by now. This life out here is rough. Rougher than you could have imagined.

You have read a few westerns and seen a couple plays that set in the wild west and both of them tend to romanticize this lifestyle. To struggle is something you had expected when Francis sent you away, but you didn't think that every single day was gonna be a fight for survival.

From the distance you spot Arthur's blue coat at Mr. Pearson's makeshift cooking station. He is in the process of hanging up a skinned deer and you pick up your pace, careful not to spill any water.

There hasn't been any good opportunity to have a proper conversation with Arthur the past couple of days. Actually, now that you think of it, the day where they found John and you was the first and last time you have exchanged words with him at all.

It's strange considering he's the whole reason why you're doing all this. With a grunt you place the bucket on a table and hold your hands over the fire.

The watersplashes from earlier have seeped through the material of your gloves and it feels like something is cutting into your hands. Your eyes fall on the second deer that Arthur places on the with blood covered counter.

"I didn't know you were such a skilled hunter, Mr. Morgan.", you comment in an attempt to strike up a conversation.

Showing some appreciation might make him open up a little to you.

"Ah, you should thank Charles. He did all the trackin'. All I did was shoot it."

Grunts fill the air as he cuts open the deer and removes the skin. His hands move with a certain confidence that indicates that he has done this a million times before. You have never witnessed a deer being skinned, but watching Arthur do it is almost fascinating.

A metal pot is being shoved into your hands and you're being ripped out of your thoughts once again. Mr. Pearson takes a swig from the whisky bottle in his hand. Half his mustache is drenched in alcohol and you grimace at the sight.

"Heat up the water.", he commands gruffly and flumps down on one of the crates.

---

Thanks to the game that Charles and Arthur caught you get to sleep with a full stomach for the first time in days. All in all the luck seems to be turning in general.

Dutch took some of the boys to rob an O'Driscoll camp and they had stumbled upon plans to rob a train. Everyone seems pretty psyched about this except for one person.

"I thought we were supposed to lie low, Dutch."

Hosea has his hands on his hips as he looks at the gang leader with furrowed eyebrows.

"And we will once we have some money.", Dutch responds in a matter of fact way.

Your eyes fall on Arthur who is standing a few feet away, leaned against a wall with his back and a cigarette tucked between his lips. You join to stand next to him and watch the two bickering men.

"So after you guys do this train job, we'll leave this mountain?", you ask with your voice laced with curiosity.

"That's the plan.", Arthur answers plainly. It doesn't seem like he's in the mood to talk at the moment, but then again he never seems to be.

Everything about him, from his appearance to his tone, makes him come off as the most unapproachable man you have ever met. It's a vast contrast to how he sounds in his journal, but you guess it makes sense.

He doesn't strike you as the type to act like best buddies with a stranger like yourself.

"Are you excited?", you ask to keep the conversation going and turn your head to look at him.

His gaze is fixed at something in the distance and he takes a deep breath from his cigarette.

"I guess."

You try to mask the disappointment that is swelling up inside you. These short sentenced answers are surely frustrating.

"Where will we head to next?"

Arthur shoots you a quick side glance before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

"Hell if I know. Hosea mentioned somethin' about a town called Valentine I think. Never heard of it though."

"I can't wait to be amongst people again. Maybe even see some friendly faces for a change. No offense of course."

An amused huff escapes out of Arthur's throat and it gives you a sense of victory.

"None taken.", he answers. "We're not really the friendliest bunch out there."

You let out a soft chuckle and trace a pattern into the snow with your foot.

"But I do honestly think that you guys are quite nice. Aside from the whole law breaking stuff that is."

"Law breakin' stuff?", he repeats with yet another amused noise. "That's a mild way of puttin' it, I guess."

Before you can say a response, Dutch is already calling out to Arthur and waving him over. It looks like they're going to head out for the train job now.

"Good luck with your law breaking stuff, Mr. Morgan.", you say with your lips curled up into a smirk.

His expression is blank as he looks at you, but you don't fail to notice the delighted gleam in his eyes.

"Thanks and call me Arthur, will ya?"

With these words, he mounts his horse and follows the others out of the settlement. The short talk with him fills you with a feeling of triumph. Finally you had managed to grow a bit closer to him.

It doesn't feel like you can call each other friends just yet, but at least you're on a first name basis now. A win is a win and you're happy to take it.

The rest of the day goes by painfully slow as everyone awaits the return of the men who headed out to rob the train. You take the opportunity to walk out to the river again since it looks like this might be your last time.

With thoughtful eyes, you take in the white scenery before you with the crystal clear water and the snowy trees. The temperature has picked up a bit this morning so it doesn't quite feel as if your toes could be falling off any minute.

Your hand slides into the hidden pocket inside your thick winter coat and your finger tips come into contact with a smooth, cool surface. It's a cylinder made out of copper with rounded edges.

There is a slit around it that is so narrow, not even a fingernail can be pushed through. You recall Francis' instructions while you fidget the object in your hand.

"You have to push the lid down to be able to unscrew it. It's so it doesn't accidentally fall off and you push the button.", Francis explains and hands the small device to you.

It's fascinating how something barely the size of your hand could allow you to travel through time. Everything about it feels so surreal.

"It will send you right back here only ten minutes after your department.", he adds and you secure it inside your winter coat.

"And it's a one way ticket, you said?"

"Yes. This device only works once."

The prospect of losing that thing fills you with worry, but the two of you have come up with a plan B in case that happens. You'll always be able to send Francis a letter and then he'll simply pick you up. It would be a hassle, but not impossible.

"You said you'd return right after you prevent him from talking to this Thomas Downes?"

You nod. A big chunk of that encounter is missing in the journal so you don't know exactly how Arthur got infected. That detail doesn't matter though, as long as you make sure they don't interact at all.

The next morning you are being awoken by the sound of horses galloping and joyful cheering. After shaking off the initial disorientation and confusion you finally recognize your surroundings.

It's still Colter and it's still 1899. A deep sigh escapes your lips and you stumble out of the run down cottage, past the other gang members. Dutch and the others are standing in the middle of the settlement and you walk towards them.

"Quite the lively welcoming committee we got here!", the leader exclaims with a loud laugh and you stifle a yawn.

"So it went well, I assume?", Miss Grimshaw asks behind you.

"Well? It went fantastic!"

More and more people step outside to hear the good news.

"It would have gone even better if Bill hadn't messed up the explosion.", Arthur grumbles, earning a venomous glare from the man.

"Enough, gentlemen!", Dutch chimes in before an argument between the two men could break out. "Everyone, pack your things! We are leaving immediately."

Everyone got busy the moment he finished his sentence and you hurry back to your sleeping spot to pack up your own belongings. Your bag has gotten way lighter over the course of the last weeks and it's a strange feeling to own so little.

Unfortunately you're not given much time to reminisce about your home back in your own time.

"What are you doing here, sitting around? Move!" Ah yes, Miss Grimshaw can be quite the tyrant when she wants to and it's terrifying.

Being verbally abused by her is definitely not a rarity, but it is kind of comforting to know that she treats most of the camp that way. Initially you thought she only had a problem with you until you caught her give Karen the scolding of a lifetime.

After throwing your bag over your shoulders, you look around to see who might need help. That's when you spot Sadie Adler on the other side of the cabin, struggling to tie ropes together.

Abigail had told you that Arthur, Dutch and Micah had found her almost right before they found you and John. You feel pity when you think about what the O'Driscolls had done to her and her husband. Pity and disgust.

What kind of animals would do such things? The thought alone turns your stomach upside down and you join Sadie's side.

"Let me do this.", you offer with a soft tone. Her hands are shaking.

"I know how to tie a knot, goddammit.", she immediately protests and you take her trembling hands in yours.

"I know."

You lock eyes with her for a split second before she pulls away from your hold and leaves through the front door.

It barely takes an hour until everything is packed up and stored onto the wagons. You have to give it to them. These people know how to be quick and efficient when it comes to leaving as fast as possible. They must be used to that by now, you guess.

Your gaze wanders from one wagon to another as everyone climbs onto them and you're not sure which one you should hop on. Then you see a flash of blue in the corner of your eyes.

"You can ride with us. There is space in the back."

You give Arthur a thankful smile which he only returns with a nod and you heave yourself onto the back of his wagon. Hosea is sitting at the front next to him and greets you with a quick wave of his hand.

The ride off the mountain is bumpy, but at least the snow and freezing temperatures are behind you now.

"Careful now, Arthur. Try to get us out of the stream.", Hosea says as you ride through a river.

You let out a startled noise when the wagon suddenly tips to the side and the wheel comes off. Now you know why the ride has been so painfully bumpy this entire time. This will probably leave a bruise or two on your ass, but nothing too devastating.

"What happened?", someone further ahead yells and Arthur throws up his arms in frustration.

"Ah, I broke the goddamn wheel!"

Soon enough Charles jogs over and the three men get to attaching the wheel back to the wagon. By the looks of it, it doesn't seem like they're in need of your assistance at all so you decide not to get in the way of things.

The rest of the ride goes by rather smoothly. No wheels are falling off, no wild animals are attacking you out of nowhere and most importantly there is now cold wind cutting through your clothes.

While Hosea talks about Valentine and the area, you just lean back with your eyes closed and relish in the warm rays of the sun. You don't even notice that you're dozing off until someone shakes you awake by the shoulder.

A pair of blue eyes stare back at you as you blink your sleep away.

"Get up. We're here.", Arthur says and you stumble off the wagon.

You find yourself standing at a cliff side and the sight is practically knocking the air out of your lungs. Trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. You take off your gloves and brush some hair strands out of your face.

This place isn't too bad.

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan

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callmeagardengnome · 1 year ago

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𐙚 ink my heart 𐙚 - chapter 1

w.c. - 2.3k words

pairings - idol! lee dong-hyuck x tattoo artist! fem! reader x idol! mark lee

genre - romance, strangers to friends to ?

synopsis: being a tired university student with no interest in life was something you were satisfied with until you unexpectedly become friends with an idol.. but what if it becomes more?

not proofread!

previous / next

masterlist

You never expected to find yourself in a love triangle. From working in various odd jobs during high school to currently taking a hellish part-time job as a beginner tattoo artist in university, you have always focused on one thing: money. Your desire for cash increased tenfold when you entered university, as your student loans racked up. Sure, you were lucky enough to get a job, but you somehow ended up with one of the worst bosses you have ever come across.

As someone who only started tattooing actual people a year ago, your boss was really pushing you to take on all of his clients. You didn’t mind too much (he was paying you more money) but you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how to tattoo people.

Now not only is your social life dead, you feel dead on the inside, having to work unnecessary hours with additional school assignments on top of that. It didn’t help that the tattoo studio was about 2 hours from your school, home or any signs of life. You can’t remember the last time you met up with a friend.

Ding ding!

You look up from what you realise is a blank computer screen and see three blurry figures walking to towards you. You fumbled around your desk and grabbed your glasses. You noticed that they all wore caps and masks. Okay, weird, but who are you to judge?

You bit the inside of your cheek. You don’t remember seeing three clients on the schedule - do you have to work overtime again?

One of them approached your desk and started tapping on it rhythmically before finally saying, “Hey uh.. I booked a session for 4pm?” you nodded mindlessly while turning on your computer to look for the work schedule.

“Yeah you’re a little early,” you squinted your eyes at the computer trying to see if you read the right name. “It says here that you are… TY..?” you asked while raising my eyebrow.

“Sorry, thats just my nickname,” he said nervously. “It's actually Taeyong.”

“Uh huh.. you’re the only one getting a tattoo right? Unless the other two are walk-ins?” You swivelled your chair over to the printer and waited for the tattoo stencil to print out. The moment he nodded, a mini celebration went through your mind. You finally have short day. Sure, the tattoo would take a minimum of 3 hours, but at the very least you wouldn’t have to walk through the creepy street at midnight again.

“You guys can make yourself comfortable over there,” you said, while pointing to the tattoo chair in the corner that was accompanied by a small couch.

They shuffled over to the chairs before deciding to take off their masks and caps. You took a glance and of course, they happened to be one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen. It’s not like you’ve never met a man before in your life, but none of them looked like models. You gathered the templates (and your composure) before rolling your chair over to the three men. “You wanted a shoulder tattoo right?” you asked, while putting on your gloves.

The three of them looked at each other, surprised. “A-are you the one tattooing him?” one of them questioned. “Yeah…?” you looked at them confused.

“Sorry- it’s just that on the Instagram page it said that a ‘Mr Park’ was the sole tattoo artist here.”

“Well.. Mr Park is my boss and no, I’m actually the only tattoo artist here.” you answered before taking a warm towel and slowly dabbing the stencil onto Taeyong’s arm.

As you continued your work, they started to chat with each other, trying their best to include you in the process. You soon find out that the other two men were named Mark and Haechan.

“So how did you guys find this place? Its not like it’s popular or anything,” you asked, trying to make small talk as you focused on the tattoo.

Mark shrugged. “We heard that it was good for privacy.” He isn’t wrong, your boss’s main priority was the privacy of the studio. Shady location, tinted windows, only providing the address once the client puts down a deposit, the whole studio screamed safe house to you.

“Yeah- well.. Mr Park is known for his discretion,” you said, lifting the tattoo gun when you saw Taeyong wincing.

“But it seems that you’re the real talent here,” Haechan said while leaning closer to the tattoo.

His words made you pause for a second. It’s not everyday you receive such compliments, especially by someone so.. good-looking. You tried to brush it off and returned back to tattooing, but the way he continued to look at your work (and you) made it difficult to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest.

“Thanks..” you mumbled keeping your eyes on the tattoo, hoping that no one would notice the slight blush on your cheeks. You continued to steal glances at him, seeing his eyes sparkle with curiosity and amazement.

“Dude.. you have a really steady hand though,” Mark said while pushing Haechan aside to get a better view of the tattoo. “How long have you been doing this again?”

“A little over a year.. I think…?” you trailed off, feeling slightly self-conscious under his gaze. It’s strange, you always prided yourself as someone that was independent, a workaholic, being perfectly fine with having little social interaction. And yet, you’re basically crumbling under the a simple compliment.

You heard him mumbling a ‘thats awesome’ before continuing to talk about random things you didn’t catch. The level of sincerity in their interest made you question every interaction you’ve ever had. Sure, you’ve talked with some of your clients before, but most of them barely acknowledged you, treating you as though you weren’t even there.

Today is different though, these guys treated you like a friend, like someone real. The way they talked to you made it feel as though you have an actual friend group, even if it’s just for a moment.

Hours pass by in a blur of conversations and needlework. When you finished, Taeyong looked at the tattoo, smiling widely while doing different poses.

“Dudee.. that looks sick!” Mark exclaimed, the awe in his voice making your heart swell. Haechan nodded behind him before saying, “Yeah you’re crazyy talented.”

You can’t remember the last time you said the words ‘thank you’ as much as today. You haven’t felt this good about your work (or yourself) in a long time.

“Thanks, you really did a good job today,” Taeyong said. You gathered the money in his hands before putting it in the cash register.

“No, thank you guys for being such great company,” you said while looking over at each of them.

As they gather their things to leave, you notice Mark lingering near your desk a bit longer, hesitating. “Hey uh-“ he said, looking at the door. “We were thinking of get some food nearby… do you wanna join?”

Your eyes widened, did you hear him correctly? “Uhh…” you glanced at the clock briefly before looking back at him.

Your first instinct is to refuse. You’ve had a long day of work and school and you know that you have an assignment waiting for you back at home.

As if noticing your hesitation, Taeyong quickly added, “No pressure by the way. We just thought it would be fun.”

“Yeah, it would be fun to hangout more,” Haechan interjected. “You're cool.”

Great, more pressure. You let their words sink in. You never saw yourself as someone ‘cool’, just basic. You only knew how to talk about three things - work, school, and tattoos. Also, you’ve never really hung out with anyone before. You doubt you would be a fun addition to their night.

“Sorry to disappoint guys.. I’ve had a really long day today,” you said hesitantly. “But I’m pretty sure I can make time for you guys next week…?”

A downcast expression flashed on Mark’s face, “It’s okay we understand..” You gave him a small smile before continuing to pack your things.

“Wait, before we go can I get your Instagram?” Haechan said while swiftly sliding his phone towards you.

The shock on your face must have been obvious as he started to chuckle at your expression. You weren’t expecting any form of interest from them, and the sudden request caught you off guard.

“Uh.. sure...” you muttered as you took his phone and entered your details. You handed his phone back and your fingers brushed against each other, sending an immediate spark through you.

“Let’s keep in touch yeah?” Haechan says with a playful grin.

Mark, who had been quietly observing the two of you finally speaks up, “I hope we can meet again soon ‘___’. Tell us when you’re free, okay?”

“Yeah of course,” you replied, hoping that your exhaustion isn’t obvious on your face.

Right before they leave, Taeyong suddenly mentioned, “Wait, I didn’t see a car when we got here..” he looked at you with concern. “How are you gonna get back?”

“I mean trains are a thing..?” you said shrugging, before Mark interrupted you. “Dude.. didn’t you say that you lived like- two hours away from here?”

“It’s really not a big deal,“ you tried to say. It really wasn’t, you had gotten used to the routine of taking the train back home. However, the three of them looked at you as if you were going to be trekking through a storm.

“Absolutely not,” Mark says firmly. “We can’t let you do that, especially not this late.”

Haechan nods in agreement, “Yeah it’s not really safe in this area.”

“You guys are acting as if you didn’t take public transport here,” you chuckle as you pick up your heavy bag from the floor.

“We took the car…?”

“Wait, WHAT??” Now it was your turn to be shocked. “Aren’t guys like my age? How can you afford a car?” you started to question rapidly.

The three of them looked at each other nervously. “Well.. we’re actually ido-“ Haechan said before he got cut off by Mark.

“Actually its my parent’s car.. yeah my parents car,” he said weirdly. You saw a look of confusion on Haechan’s face before he added on, “Sure whatever he said..?”

Mark offered, “Just- let us give you a ride home.”

The offer does seem tempting, but it doesn’t feel right to enter the car of three guys that you just met. You open your mouth to protest, but the looks on their faces made you pause for a moment. “I really don’t wanna be a bother.. and I promise you that I can make it home safely.”

“You’re not a bother,” Mark insists. Taeyong made a sound of agreement before saying, “You did me a huge favour today so let us help you."

You don’t know what compelled you to enter a stranger’s car. You weren’t usually this trusting, but something about them made you feel.. safe. Still, you gave them the address of the train station near your house to be careful. You sat at the back with Mark while Haechan accompanied Taeyong as he was driving. You were planning on staying awake to make sure that they weren’t going to kidnap you but your heavy eyelids had other plans.

You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable. Without realizing, you drifted closer to the person next to you. Before you could stop yourself, your head gently came to a rest on Mark's shoulder.

You froze for a moment, hoping he wouldn't say anything. Just as you lifted your head, you heard a chuckle.

"It's okay man," Mark said softly. "You should rest.. you had a long day."

You met his eyes. There isn't a trace of annoyance, you only found a warm smile that spread across his face. Feeling embarrassed, you nod slightly and allowed yourself to relax on his shoulder.

You accidently glanced at the car mirror and saw Haechan watching your interaction with Mark. He quickly turned away though, pretending to look outside at the quiet street. Confused, you let your eyes close, listening to the soft hum of the engine, drifting to sleep.

You woke up with Mark nudging your shoulder lightly. “This is it right?” he asked. You squinted your eyes and saw the all familiar worn-down train station ahead of you. You nodded your head tiredly while sluggishly reaching for your bag.

You feel a hint of reluctance to leave the car as it stopped in front of the drop-off, “Thanks again guys.. really,” you said gratefully.

“Anytime,” Taeyong replied. “Yeah, don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.” Haechan added while smiling.

You waved them goodbye as you stepped out of the car. You haven’t felt acceptance in a while. This entire interaction breathed life into your barren routine and you find yourself actually being excited for the following days.

When you reached your apartment, you flopped onto your bed as your phone starts lighting up continuously.

@dong-hyuckkkk

‘____’ did you make it back safe

answerrrrjerjue

OMG I SHOULD HAVE WALKED YOU BACK

A smile slowly appeared on your face as you replied him.

@‘____’

its okay haechan im safe…

also your username is dong-hyuck??

@dong-hyuckkkk

Yeahh its my actual name

Haechan is just a nickname

@‘____’

ohhh i see

@dong-hyuckkkk

Friendly reminder:

CLEAR YOUR SCHEDULE NEXT WEEK

Not the whole week but still

You clicked on his profile and started to do a little digging. Despite of his outgoing personality, he only had 26 followers, including you. You scrolled through the countless photos, seeing Mark tagged in a few. You resisted the urge to follow Mark as you didn’t want to come off as stalker-ish.

You put your phone down before taking in whatever happened today. For the first time in forever, you feel warm and happy about something that happened in your life. Maybe you should take up their offer of meeting again next week.

authors note: this is my first ever fic that im writing and all kinds of feedback is welcome! make sure to like and repost if you enjoyed <3

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sksharmin632 · 11 months ago

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afiampah · 3 months ago

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bonespired · 2 years ago

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How to degrease bones? (With the easiest and cheapest method!)

Bone cleaning is quite a journey - and honestly degreasing is the part I find a tad confusing. Questions like: how long it will take? Does it work in cold water as well? Is it done? Is it doing anything at all?

As a beginner bone collector, who also doesn't want to put a huge amount of money into it and finding an acceptable way to clean bones is essential. Mainly because of the challenge, - tbh it is quite enjoyable for me to create quality bones with a less amount of investment, it just makes me feel like I really worked for it, I love these challenges - but mostly because it is already difficult to make my family accept this kind of a hobby of mine. Not many people are fond of keeping rotting animal parts at home, I can tell you that! If this hobby turns out to be stinky and expensive, that is definitely a no from family members. And even though I am an adult, making my own money, my husband does have a saying about the family funds - because we are both responsible for this family - so it is important for me to keep things at a reasonable price.

There are many ways to degrease bones and you have to pay a price for it either way, be it about the time period the degreasing takes or the used materials. You can degrease bones chemically, using liquids like ammonia or acetone, but personally, I dislike these, because:

it requires some effort to put your hand on this stuff, they can be hard to come by

they can be harmful to your health (ammonia is not nice to work with)

they can be expensive, and we already have to buy H2O2

they have to be stored and get rid of properly - you cannot just let these go down in your sink

and some materials can be straightforward and dangerous - read about some pros are using stuff like petrol for degreasing and while it does the job, petrol is extremely unstable, highly flammable and tend to blow up easily, so super no!

So, I go with the safest and also the cheapest solution: dish soap.

Dish soap is something that is easy to come by, can be super cheap and the water system is well prepared to clean grey water, so you can pour dish soap into your sink. However, it can take time to degrease your bones. While ammonia or acetone can be done with degreasing under a day (depends on the size of the skull and species of the animal), dish soap takes a lot longer: days at the best, months at the worst. But this is also the easiest degreasing method for beginners.

But there is another big question: how do you know your degreasing is working (and when it is done)?

When I started to even think about degreasing I went online, read about dish soap and was happy because everyone has dish soap at hand, so I picked a pot, filled it with cold water, pour the dish soap in, put the bones in and yay, magic was done! But things are not this simple.

The first days everything went fine: my water had fat oil drops at the surface and a visible white cloud came out of the bones, so a clear sign of the degreasing is working. But this stage went down quickly, like a matter of days - and I thought okay, degreasing is done, time to pull the skulls out and whiten. But my whitening never turned out white, rather like light grey and first I blamed my peroxide because of it, then my bones. These are findings from nature, probably they are stained, right?

I started to be doubtful when my cat skull turned out to be sticky after whitening. That never happened before, so another research later I came to the conclusion the cat that I thought are fully degreased is actually not degreased. But it didn't do a thing in the pot anymore. So what did I do wrong?

I used cold water. Apparently cold water works, but only for a while. It cannot really pull out the grease that is hiding deep inside the bone - that's why I stopped seeing white cloud after a matter of days, falsely thinking I am done. I needed warm water in the long run - if I simply use warm tap water that just runs cold way too quickly. It can be done with warm tap water as well, but that takes even longer. So, I bought an aquarium heater.

I looked after the fat oil drops in the water. They appeared on the first day, so I thought they will keep appearing until I am done. Turns out they don't? Rather the water slowly goes more opaque and murky with time, but no more fat drops don't matter how hard I am looking for them. This makes my job significantly difficult because oil drops are easier to spot and tell based on them if the degreasing is working or if I am actually done.

I am just super imapetient. I want my skull done and perfect as soon as possible. But it just doesn't work like that. I am working on this cat skull for 3 weeks now and it is still going: I had to macerate it, then degrease it, then whiten it, and then go back to degreasing and all I wanna do is glue it together and post fancy pictures of it. Won't happen for a while, time to accept that.

But how this opaque water progress looks like? I was so confused about is it clear water, is it dirty water, is it done, whether the water is warm enough or not, so I started to document the process.

This is the freshwater stage. I just changed the water and quickly snapped a pic of it, making it my reference piece. I can clearly see all the details of my bones, even if my dish soap is yellow, colouring my water a bit - but I can see through the water without any problem. My heater can do 36 Celsius degrees max, otherwise, it cooks the fish in the tank, so I put that on max, hoping it will be enough. About the temperature: I did read about 46 Celsius or even more than 50 Celsius for water temperature, but the aquarium heater cannot reach those degrees, because the main goal is to keep fish alive and no fish stays alive in 40+ water. I could use a bucket heater, but for me, that is harder to get and I really don't want a setting that takes a lot of space/costs a lot of money, so an aquarium heater it is.

Another thing I am not comfortable to put my bones in more than 50 Celsius degrees. This is my personal choice, but I really wanna avoid any chance of accidentally cooking my bones, and 50 seems to be too much heat.

I looked back at it an hour later and snapped another pic: and look, we start to get blurry details! No oil drops on the surface, but something definitely makes the water murky: my water is not hot enough to cook the bones, so it cannot dissolve or take any kind of damage in my bones, so this stuff must be grease! Seems like the heater works!

Checked the bones that evening as well and the water is definitely even more opaque!

And this is the next day: I can barely see my bones anymore, so definitely time to change the water.

Conclusion

If you think you are done with your bones, but they:

have yellow spots or wax on them

stick to your hand like you glued them

are shining here or there

have a waxy feeling

smells

Then your degreasing is not done. The good news is you can always go back to degreasing, doesn't matter if you whitened the bones or not.

The cheapest version of degreasing is the dish soap version and you will need warm water for it! It can be a good idea to get an aquarium heater because that will help you to macerate carcasses during the winter as well and quickens degreasing too. You can work with warm tap water, but that takes even longer.

But the dish soap method really takes time! Seems like this part is the longest one in skull cleaning. So even if it seems like my degreasing is not over and my method works, I can also see I won't have a pretty white cat skull anytime soon.

The bones are bathing for the third day in a row now and they seem to release the same amount of grease, so no sign of clear water yet. Also, when I pull the bones out of the water I can still see yellow spots on it - that is grease, sweeping to the surface and I need to get rid of that.

And how I will know my degreasing is done? My water stops being opaque. I can decide when to pull my bones out - do I want to fully degrease it or I decide to end it sooner because I want some discolouration, preserving am roe natural look.... that is up to me. Ideally, I wanna do a full degrease, but I just wanna preserve my bones perfectly to have quality art references that will be with be for a long time, so I try to go for a full degrease and will see how long that takes.

So just take your time, change your water as needed and enjoy the process :3 You cannot harm your bones this way, so happy experimenting!

#vulture culture #degreasing bones #skull degreasing #animal skulls #degrease #degreasing #dead animal #oddities #bone cleaning

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dontsh0vethesun · 2 years ago

Text

gluttonous craving

part two of three | series masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

18+: referenced abuse and alcohol, brief sexual harassment, murder, restraints, blood, knives and stabbing, violence, smut; dom!emily, dark vibes, handcuffs, blood kink, knife kink, public sex, sex at a crime scene, degradation, gun kink, arousal brought on by violence??, choking, fingering, oral

wc: 3.1k

You’re always prepared, organised, detail-oriented. That’s what makes you so good at your job. If there’s one thing you’ve learned working within the Behavioural Analysis Unit, it’s that traits like these, no matter how good, can be used for evil. Smarts can work to your advantage and yours alone if you so choose.

Being observant enough to recognise potential victims within the area is useful, especially in your case. Earlier in the day during even more interviews, you’d spotted someone, a nightly visitor of Owen’s bar just a few blocks from the police station. A forty-something-year-old male with an equally vile past as those who came before him.

You slowed your run to what seemed, to an outsider, to be a tired-out walk, lingering for just as long as you’d predicted until stumbling feet scuffed against the loose debris of the ground outside the bar. His eyes caught your own before you continued onwards, he took that as an invitation to follow you.

It was almost laughable how predictable they all were, even without your astute skill for observation it’d be hard not to follow their routines. You knew what time he got to that bar, you knew how long ago he’d ordered the cheapest draft beer and taken a sip, and you knew how long he’d stewed in the back corner of the establishment before coming outside for a cigarette. It was like clockwork, the metallic flick of his lighter as it burnt the tobacco, the rough stepping of his feet when he caught your eye.

All it took was an eye for detail. Of course, FBI-issued access to the locals of the area and their backgrounds was a huge help but you can’t help but feel a little smug at your so far faultless execution. You almost smile to yourself at the thought, slowing your pace to lean your back against the thick trunk of a tree, leaning your bag beside you before undoing the zipper to pull gloves onto your hands.

You pondered back on the past couple of days as you waited.

You knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find another to fit the victimology, the world isn’t starved of abusive parents after all. And in a town as small as this, narrowing down the pool wasn’t much of a feat. He almost fell into your lap, just sitting there waiting for you to pounce; father to a son, a history of drinking, and an all too eager fist to match.

Once the team had determined his son to be clear of guilt - across the country for a fresh start - you figured he was apt bait. You’d flicked through files printed with his information, reports of domestic abuse, prior arrests for assault, a son who left home at sixteen. He fit the age range of victims so far and it just so happened that the barkeep knew him by name. It wasn’t hard to pull the rest of your plan together. You’re not a beginner anymore.

You feigned obliviousness at the sound of twigs crunching beneath a worn-out leather boot and acted as though you were worn out and breathy from running, unaware of the freshly finished cigarette butt being flicked to the ground as he approached.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred, stepping closer to you, so much so that you could smell the sourness of his breath. “What? You playin’ hard to get?” he added with a huff of a laugh, an obvious agitation at the way you looked at him blankly.

Unluckily for him, he hadn’t noticed the rock balanced in your hand, you wrapped your gloved fingers around it tighter as he approached. You weren’t going to let his hand come into contact with your body so you beat him to it, succeeding in the dull thump of his skull beneath the force before his body crumpled to the ground beneath you.

You stepped over where he lay to toss the bloodied rock into the nearby river, watching as its current carried it away.

His wrists were soon bound together by the rope you’d stored in your bag, knotted tightly and with precision, a neatness matching those you’d studied with your teammates. All of your knowledge let you know that he’d only be out for a few minutes so you watched him take his shallow breaths just waiting for his eyes to blink open.

The sight of the glint of moonlight against the shining blade of a knife made your heart beat rapidly in your chest. It was the same type of weapon you’d used multiple times before, having acquired more than enough duplicates without a trace specifically for your current project. You’d planned it all out methodically. A means of destroying evidence, measures put in place to leave no trace of yourself behind, items procured with zero paper trail as though you were an expert in getting away with murder. The BAU has taught you quite a bit.

You perked up at the sight of his foot twitching, easily hearing the shifting of his breath with the quietness of the secluded wooded area around you. You don’t consider this as fun, moreso something that must be done. It’s that itch you can’t live without scratching and it built itself up within you until you let it take hold, giving in one night after a haphazard plan. You almost consider yourself as something of a vigilante, taking out those that have caused pain. A pain you know well. So, though you wouldn’t label it a hobby, you might have some form of enjoyment in the act.

You tapped the side of his face to bring him to, clearly annoying him with the harshness of the last slap if the grumble he let out was anything to go by.

“Oh my God, hurry up,” you mumbled through your teeth, smiling slightly when his eyes locked onto yours. “There we go,”

You didn’t have all night. This was just a means to an end, nothing to take your time over, just a job to complete. You got to work, unable to savour the moment unlike the others, this time you had a kind of time limit; to be back at the hotel and in your bed for a sound night's sleep, showered clean and free of any remnants of the night.

Almost like a choreographed piece of art, he took each blow you threw his way, copying your previous routines as you feel as though you must. The bone of his cheek cracked beneath the knuckles you punched it with, easily knocking his nose askew with blood already beginning to paint his skin. You ignored his cries of pain with a focus on your goal.

Just like his predecessors, he thought he could somehow get the upper hand against a trained FBI agent but the hands that tried to reach for you despite their restraints were easily caught by yours and the resounding crunch of breaking fingers soon filled the space.

The only attention you paid to his constant garbled words was a muttered sentence through gritted teeth.

“I’m just making sure people like you can’t lay a finger on anyone ever again.”

You’re not too sure why he continued to shout out for help. You were too far away for anyone to hear.

His plagued hands were battered and bruised, littered with cuts from swipes from your knife at each attempt he made to grab you, bones mangled beyond recognition. The rest of him didn’t differ too greatly. Your knife had left its mark, deep cuts and slashes across his torso, bright red blood spilling from deep wounds to his stomach. To his neck. His arms. Anywhere you could reach. This was the overkill that you, along with the rest of the team, had scrawled on a police station-issued whiteboard on day one.

You could feel it within you when you were done, that your mind had quenched its craving, and you stepped back to admire your handiwork as much as you could within the darkened space. The trees hid most of the moonlight but you could still see the glistening crimson, the lifeless corpse of an abusive parent.

You were breathless from the excursion and found it time for you to take your leave, taking your gloves off to free your untarnished hands.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t see her watching these last few moments, she’d made sure to make her way over to you quietly.

“Emily,” you spoke. “Emily, I-”

“Save it,” her voice was sharp as you approached each other. Observant as ever, she took note of the bag beside the tree, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off you. All the blood splattered onto your face, the painting of it against your clothes.

She took the handcuffs attached to her belt and with each step she took forwards, you took one back until your back hit that same tree trunk. With a force that left you dizzy, she clicked them closed around your wrists, eyeing you darkly.

“Please don’t do this, Em. Please. You don’t understand,” you pleaded with her but she only shook her head.

“See, I knew something was off. For a second - just a second - I thought it might’ve been you,” she began, keeping your body trapped. “How you left, how you said you had this craving. But fuck, I didn’t think it’d be true.”

There was something in her eyes that you couldn’t place. A desirable glint as she took in the blood of another against your skin. She licked her lips at the sight, the perfect way you looked so carnally divine. Your skin blanched with violence.

She used one of your discarded gloves to pick the knife up from the ground, weighing it musingly in her hand whilst you just watched on in a dazed submissiveness. Ready to take whatever she gave just because it’s her.

Your breath hitched in your throat when she used the blood-coated blade to nudge your head upward, letting her hot breath fall past her parted lips when she stroked it along the column of your throat, feeling the way you thickly swallowed. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip at the small whimper you couldn’t completely hide.

“You like that, huh?” she laughed, taking a firm hold of your waist to pull your body closer to hers, pushing the dull edge of the blade against you harshly enough to restrict your breathing.

She let it drop back to the ground in favour of holding onto you, crashing her lips into yours which surprised you. This definitely wasn’t the response you’d expected. You pulled at her shirt as best you could with your hands held back by the metal wrapped around them, feeling her body flush with yours while she claimed your mouth with her tongue pushing against yours.

You could hardly breathe. Lungs deprived of the air that she had stolen with fervent kisses, heated and lustful. Dirty and unbecoming. If you were to look just past her body you’d see that lifeless mess you’d left behind and yet she consumed you anyway.

So lost in the moment, you didn’t notice the one hand that left your waist, only becoming aware of its new intentions when cold and hard metal brushed against your temple.

“How about this, hm?” she breathed, pulling away from you with a bite to your lip that drew blood. She admired the sight. “Does my filthy little slut like this too?”

The barrel of her gun was cold against your warmed cheek, you followed its slow movements with your eyes peering down. Goosebumps littered your flesh when it made its way down, over the thin skin of your throat, your chest, and between your breasts in a way that made your nipples harden at the sensation.

Emily only smirked at the way you shifted. She could see how you desperately wanted to hide how aroused she’d made you, how needy you become at just one look from her. One touch.

With each centimetre she inched the gun downwards she took in the sight of red upon your clothing. She’d never thought something like this would stir her up this way, that she’d take one look and just imagine how divine you must’ve looked in action. She’d seen encounters you’d had with unsubs and shown you just how hot she found it the same night but not once had she envisioned herself wanting to fuck you senseless after finding you panting for air and covered in blood.

But the sight was ethereal to her.

The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, with barely anything between her and what she wanted. She assumed this was a tactical decision on your part - the less clothing there is, the less there is to get stained. It only made her want you more.

You could feel the coolness of the steel weapon when she pushed the long side into your clothed cunt, watching it come into contact with you musingly while her other hand wrapped around your neck. She tutted at the pathetic sight of your hips twitching in an attempt to gain any semblance of friction you could.

“I thought you would,” she rasped. “Just a dirty, needy, little thing.”

Her lips claimed yours again while you subconsciously pushed yourself onto her gun, feeling the reward within your core; the squeezing of your throat was dizzying. She let you catch your breath so she could pinch a pert nipple through your t-shirt, reveling in the small yelp at the roughness.

You whined at the lack of contact when she holstered her gun again.

“So fucking desperate,” she growled, pushing her hand past the waistband of your underwear with her fingertips instantly finding the soaking mess between your folds. “It’s pathetic, really.”

You moaned at the feeling of her touch gliding over your aching clit, stomach twisting with the ravenous way she touched you. She could feel how drenched you were when they pushed into you, curling sublimely while she paid attention to your bud with her thumb.

Each thrust of her digits into you set you alight, knuckles making contact with you from the steady roughness of her pace. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such blissful pleasure, orgasm quickly approaching with your moans only quietened by the thumb she hooked over your teeth. You screw your eyes shut as your pussy clenched around her fingers and your legs began to shake with the feelings washing over you.

“C’mon, baby. Make a mess, like the filthy girl you are.” Emily could feel her own arousal building, so turned on at just the sight and sound of you, especially when she watched you fall apart onto her hand. Your throat harbouring choked groans and your teeth digging into her thumb.

She licked her fingers clean of every drop of you she could find, burying her hand within your hair to push you downwards.

“Get on your knees and be a good girl,” she muttered, smirking slightly at the irony of the situation. You returned her expression, daring a quick look behind her, just for a moment. You struggled with the button of her jeans, grateful for her aid when she moved them downwards just enough to make her drenched cunt available to your wanting tongue.

You soon dug in, obeying her instruction, flicking your tongue over her clit and humming at the sweet taste of her arousal on your lips. The bluntness of her nails scratched at your scalp with each lick of your tongue through her cunt, lapping away with your lips latching around her swollen clit.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” she groaned out above you, pushing your face into her sex with disregard towards your need for air. She just needed to feel you, rutting her hips to chase her high, dripping down your chin much to your delight.

You loved the taste of her, you adored how you could pull such explicit ramblings from such a woman with your tongue. She felt her orgasm approach with the swiping of your tongue within her and soon came into your mouth with a harsh tug at your hair.

She rode herself through her coursing pleasurable sensation, fucking herself onto your face until she was through with you. It was then that she helped you stand again, tasting herself on your lips when she kissed you.

“So, you’re not arresting me?” You questioned her once you’d both calmed your pounding heartbeats and she unclasped the cuffs from your wrists.

“No,” she laughed. “Call me crazy but when you’re girlfriend looks hot while killing shitty men, why would you do such a thing?”

You laughed at that and leaned into her touch when she pulled a wipe from your bag to clean your face. Emily never imagined being in this position, finding your fellow FBI agent to be the latest unsub wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but knowing why you did it and feeling this way about you, her choice seemed clear. She’d always had a slight darkness within her and she supposes this is how it comes to light.

That’s what shadows do. They hide things in the dark.

It was a while later that you spoke again, you ruminated on the last couple of hours in a comfortable quiet as you walked hand in hand along the route you’d methodically planned. She’d handed you the spare clothes in the woods for you to change and helped you rid yourself of the blood and dirt.

She watched in amazed silence at the pre-collected evidence you had in plastic baggies in the side pocket of the backpack. That suspect you’d all found to be a fine candidate had sipped a cup of water during his interrogation - you’d swiped his DNA. You left traces on the sleeve of the victim’s coat.

Luckily for you, he also donned a hat. Unluckily for him, his hair was now at a soon-to-be crime scene. Emily only adored you more for your almost scary attention to detail.

She sat on the pile of discarded junk in the isolated parking lot you’d pinpointed on a map, watching each rehearsed movement as you piled the contents of your evening into a metal bin, pulling matches and lighter fluid from your bag to watch it all disintegrate beneath the lick of a flame. It was fascinating to her to watch you in your focused element - an insight into the criminal she’d been profiling for weeks. She’d be showering with you again tonight, she’d decided.

“So, what’s next?” she asked you when you perched beside her, both of you watching it all burn.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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videnrambles · 4 months ago

Text

Alone but Alive AU

This is a long brain dump so fair warning, might not be fully organized but it was really fun to write. This is like a continuation of the short post I made, it was gonna be a reblog but ended up being kinda long so here.

Yuji kinda gives up after Gojo tells him no matter what he does he's gonna die. So instead he picks the option of just sitting around and being brought the fingers instead of joining the school as a student.

He's 15 and he's just been told that all he can do now is die.

And apparently magic exists??

And now he's got an ancient evil wizard living inside him?

Okay so he helped Fushiguro with the thing in the school, but he didn't know it was a full time commitment.

He just misses his grandpa and wants to go home.

He's just scared okay, he doesn't want to die

Thats reasonable right?

So now instead of training for epic fights and shit, Yuji is just chilling alone in the dorms. No more school, no more clubs, no more visiting grandpa. He's free to do whatever he wants so long as he stays on campus.

I'm gonna say that Yuji was always super busy working so he could pay bills and get food when he was living alone. So he's not used to having this much free time.

At first he kinda just stays in his room all day, read manga, eat ramen, and sleep. However that doesn't last two days before Sukuna is demanding he eat actual food, preferably meat.

Yuji usually hates cooking, it took time away from when he needed to work and he alway had to rush through it. But now he finds himself in a situation where he can actually take the time to make something. (Some small things for this part)

Kitchen is fully stocked with ingredients and all, but no one ever uses them

Yuji usually ordered food and when he didn't it was some rush job that he never enjoyed doing

Upon asking Sukuna what he should make, who actually responded with some reasonable requests, he gets to work. He's surprised to find that the process of making food, something he often felt was annoying and a waste of time, was actually really relaxing. It happens again when he makes dinner, the slow actions of preparing the food and idle chatter with Sukuna is actually kinda fun. (no matter the au, i will always add chef yuji)

For lunch he made meatballs, its the only recipe he could remember from before his Grandpa was in the hospital and he could still take time to enjoy food.

Yuji isn't as oblivious to Sukuna's power/evil vibes so he's a lot more respectful to him. Sukuna likes this, so he indulges Yuji when the kid feels brave enough to start a conversation with him.

It also helps that Yuji tries to answer all of Sukuna's questions about the modern era, and if he doesn't know an answer he looks it up.

Sukuna also explains stuff about sorcerers and cursed energy to Yuji. Because it's a bad reflection on me if you know nothing about cursed energy.

Before dinner Yuji and Sukuna had looked up some recipes that they would both enjoy. Sukuna of course demands something with meat and Yuji wanted to find something easier to cook because he doesn't have much skill yet.

They settle on gyudon (so i asked an ai to give me some Japanese meat based dishes that could easily made by a beginner who couldn't go out to buy specific ingredients and this one looked good)

Yuuji now realizing he can do stuff he never really had time for before begins to start trying stuff out. He asks Gojo for a bunch of supplies he would need for these new hobbies, along with some specific groceries for the kitchen. Gojo, while surprised, is more than happy to get the kid what he asks for. He's just glad Yuji is no longer scared to breath around him.

An activity that Yuji begins while he waits for Gojo, is exercise. Something he never really saw a point in doing as he's always naturally been pretty buff and significantly stronger then others. Gojo had mentioned that there was a gym he could go to when the students weren't using it, but again he never really saw the point. However it's Sukuna who pushes him to do it, walking him through proper form and pretty much giving him a work out plan.

More like Sukuna just yells at Yuji to do a specific exercise and shouts "again" until he's satisfied with the amount

Yuji, who is still very scared of Sukuna, follows without question

Eventually the supplies arrive and Yuji begins to try things out. He finds he prefers repetitive activities such as sewing and wood carving(you can rip the idea that Yuji would do wood working from my cold dead hands). They mindless hand movements let him zone out completely, pretend that he wasn't marching closer towards his execution.

Sukuna recommended Yuji tryout some practical hobbies because he thinks Yuji could be a good substitute for Uraume

I feel like at some point Sukuna would go soft for Yuji because he's being such a good vessel. Making him food, allowing him to take over for small amounts of time when alone, always following instructions. So at this point he kinda views Yuji as someone would view their dog. Cute, entertaining and lovable but also property.

After one or two weeks of trying new hobbies and attempting to improve old ones, Yuji finds himself back in the kitchen. He is surrounded by food of varying sizes and shapes, trying to improve his Knife work, when Sukuna comments that this would be significantly easier/quicker with his technique. Yuji says that he doesn't have his technique so stop complaining, to which Sukuna offers to teach him it.

Yuji is extremely against it at first, not wanting to get deeper involved with Jujutsu then he already is, but Sukuna is stubborn. After a few hours of back and forth arguments Yuji finally relents, under the promise that he won't have to fight while using it.

The next day is spent with Sukuna explaining how to channel cursed energy and use his technique. Yuji's apprehension towards all forms of sorcery definitely works against them. Every time he manages to channel the smallest bit of CE, he gets scared and stops. But Sukuna is patient, he knows that his usual teaching methods of yelling and fighting won't work here. Yuji 's not like the past students he's taught, while they were power hungry and couldn't wait to use CE, Yuji's terrified of it. He needs to be patient, like introducing a dog to water, if he rushes Yuji it may scare him off for good.

So when Yuji, after days of practice and encouraging, finally manages to cut the vegetables in half he offers unending praise and encouragements to keep going. Yuji continues to practice, with extreme hesitance of course, but what pushes him over the edge is him admitting to Gojo that Sukuna taught him.

Yuji is terrified that Gojo will kill him right there, Sukuna is pissed that his vessel had admited such a thing. And Gojo, Gojo is proud. (and a little annoyed that he didn't get to teach the sunshine incarnate that is Yuji but now's not the time for that) He excitedly praises Yuji for getting over his fear, once again offers for him to be a student, which Yuji declines again.

Still Gojo is excited still, offering a new deal for Yuji to have personal lessons with just Gojo. No expectations will come from these lessons, just a want for Yuji to improve his skill and control. Sukuna actually encourages Yuji to take the offer, he's not able to teach much without his physical body. Yuji is extremely hesitant to accept and wants to spend time thinking it over.

Sukuna wants Yuji to learn his technique because it gets him food faster. And also he's become slightly attached, so what? You try not getting attached to the person who does pretty much everything you ask and is basically your care taker.

Yuji eventually does accept under the condition that he is able to stop whenever he wants. Gojo agrees very quickly to this deal. And if he some how also agrees to Yuji baking him cookies in exchange for the lessons? (you really don't need to give me anything I promise Yuji-kun) Thats his own business thank you.

End of Rambles

Y'all I'm like really tired of writing but if this is like popular I may add more tomorrow. I'd also like to say that the end part slows down a lot and can kinda be read like a fanfic, which it isn't. These are my mindless rambles and not an actual story.

#alive but alone au #jjk yuji #yuji itadori #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk sukuna #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #jjk au #there are few scenes i might comm art for #just for funsies #more to come #i hate tags so much

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racinggirl · 2 years ago

Text

Collision of hearts - 01

Lando Norris x OC (Fayenne Jackson)

word count: 2k warnings: none notes: I hope you like the first chapter, please let me know what you think about the piece at the end, I'm planning on incorporating that a lot more! Any way of feedback, whether it's positive, negative, in the comments, in my asks, as a reblog in the tags is very very welcome <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, read the bottom of this post 🧡

masterlist (will be up somewhere this week)

prologue

next part

🏎️ = Lando

⛸️ = Fay(enne)

⛸️

‘’You go first, I don’t want to be the one falling through the ice, that’s cold!’’

I let out a soft chuckle as my friend, Melanie, stood at the edge of the lake, a scarf around her neck, gloves around her fingers as she looked from the ice to me, very quickly. See, I loved to skate, it was something I used to do when I was little, something to escape the world for just a moment. No, I wasn’t a professional skater, I wish I was, though. I started on some home-made skates my father made me for my 6th birthday. I fell, a lot, but that’s part of life. You fall, get up, fall again, and keep trying till you get better and better, and that’s exactly what I did.

I’m 23 now, and my best friend is holding her phone with her right hand, positioning it so she’d capture the perfect content for when I’d fall through the ice.

‘’It’s been freezing for almost a week straight, Mel, the ice is thick enough!’’ A smile appears on my face when I hear the metal of my skates touch the still untouched ice. It was a beautiful sound, soft, but it pierced through my ears like it was the only thing I could hear. A few steps onto the ice, and I slowly turned around, watching how Melanie slowly put away her phone.

‘’Damnit, that would have made some great content to be fair.’’ She looked over at me with a smirk, a playful one, because I knew she didn’t mean that.

Melanie, she has been my best friend ever since kindergarten. We basically grew up together, only under very different circumstances. We finished primary school together, and even secondary school. However, after that, she went into a different direction for her career, one my parents would never allow me to take. She started modelling, and I was lying when I’d say I wasn’t jealous of her. She started of doing a few shoots for some of her boyfriends at the time. I know what you might be thinking, but Mel would never do THOSE kinds of shoots. She wasn’t your everyday influencer Instagram model, not at all, she’s smart, and made sure to have a backup while modelling.

‘’Come on! It’ll be fun, and totally safe.’’ I teased, skating around the lake to make sure every bit of the water at the top was frozen. I felt like a fish in the water, but on the ice, and not a fish, because that would be… You know what I mean. I felt like home on the ice. Like I said before, I’m not a professional skater. I’m actually a lawyer. I ended law school this year, and I couldn’t be happier to have finished it and never look into those books ever again. I’m a terrible lawyer, at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

‘The only way to do great work is to love what you do’

And well, I don’t love it. I hate it, even. I know many people would want to have a law degree, I know many people would want to finally have that paper and help people, help the innocent ones. But that’s the thing, you don’t get to choose who you defend, especially as a beginner. You take every job you can get, and that’s mostly not the one of the victim’s defenders. You’ll have to work with stubborn people, criminals, the so called ‘bad guys’.

‘’Okay, okay, fine, hold my hand.’’ I skate towards my best friend and hold out my hand for her, making sure she would be stable on the ice before we moved on the slippery surface.

‘’You’re doing great, Mel, just remember, lean forward, and focus on where you want to go.’’

Melanie has supported me every step of the way, even when I finished my degree and got a job at the local skate centre instead of being a lawyer, the path my parents set out for me. It was a hard decision, and one that came with consequences, but it was the first time I had actually gone against my parent’s commands. I felt torn, because they were the ones that paid for my university, they were the ones that made all the effort and what did I do? I just chose my own way, my own path, after everything they did for me. I know they want to see me happy, but telling them I wouldn’t be happy pursuing my career as a lawyer was the hardest thing to do, and they didn’t take it well. That’s why I moved out. That’s why I took the job as a skate instructor for the little kids, ages around 7 to 9, at the local skate centre.

‘’I have a better idea, why don’t we grab a hot chocolate and have dinner at my place tonight? I heard there’s this new club opening, and guess who got tickets for the grand opening?’’ She tugged my hands slightly, mostly to keep herself balanced on the ice, but also because of the excitement.

That’s the thing of having a well-known friend, she always knew where to go and where to be, receiving invitations for one of the biggest club openings, and me always being her plus one.

‘’One more round on the ice, and we have a deal.’’

‘’Okay,’’ Melanie groaned, holding my hand tightly. ‘’Fine, but just one!’’

🏎️

‘’What’s up chat! I’m back! I know, three times in a row, pretty mint huh?’’ I positioned myself in the chair, the headphones on my head, a snack on the side, next to my bottle of water. I scan through the chat, trying my best to read some of the comments, ignoring most of them.

The season ended, not the best way possible, but it could have been worse. The upgrades we brought the second half of the season made a big improvement to the car, and I’m quite glad about that. We’re going into the direction I wanted, which is up, and times like these are the moments I’m grateful for the patience I’ve had with McLaren.

‘’It’s gonna be a shorter stream though, chat, cuz I have somewhere to be after this.’’ I take a bite from the biscuits I held on the desk, immediately taking a sip of water after it.

‘Do you have a date?’

‘Where are you going after this?’

‘What are you eating?’

I quickly scan through the reactions, not really answering any of them. I loved to stream. I wasn’t able to do it a lot because of the busy season we had. Because of the busy schedule I had, but right now it was a little more toned down, meaning I had found a few free hours I could sit and talk to the camera on Twitch.

‘’Thanks for all the gifted subs, everyone! Holy shit, I can’t even keep up with them.’’ I laughed, trying my best to thank every single person that popped up on my screen. I never could get used to the amount of support I was getting from the fans. People chanting my name, the thousands of bracelets people would make for me, taking the time and effort to create something for me, it was surreal.

As the chat buzzed with questions and comments, I couldn’t help but smile at the energy radiating through the screen. The support from my fans was overwhelming in the best possible way. I glanced at the clock, realising time was ticking away faster than I anticipated.

‘’Alright, let’s jump into a quick Q&A, chat!’’ I announced, grabbing a handful of questions popping up in the chat. ‘’First up, where am I headed after this? Well, I’ve got a charity event lined up. Gotta give back when I can, right?’’

The chat exploded with emojis and words of encouragement. I chuckled at the flood of enthusiasm, feeling grateful for the platform that allowed me to connect with such an incredible community.

‘’Next question,’’ I continued, scrolling through the comments. ‘’What am I eating? Just some biscuits, nothing fancy.’’ I reach for the packaging of the biscuits, showing them to the camera. ‘’Not sponsored!’’ I joked afterwards.

Time flew by faster than expected, and as the charity event drew nearer, I reluctantly announced the stream’s conclusion. The chat flooded with messages expressing gratitude and excitement for the next stream.

‘’Thanks everyone, it’s been fun! You’re the best, love ya. I’ll catch you in the next one.’’ I said, creating a heart with my hands before I ended the stream.

I quickly gathered my things, leaving the streaming setup behind as I rushed to the charity event.

⛸️

It’s been a while since I went out to a club, especially one where a basic pair of jeans and a nice top weren’t ‘good enough’. The club we were headed to wasn’t your ordinary ‘I’m bored with my friends so let’s go out’ kind of club, not even close. It was a higher-end, new, influencer filled kind of club, one where normal people like me wouldn’t usually get access to. At least, if you didn’t have a model as a friend.

Melanie had been modeling ever since we finished secondary school, she got scouted by many modeling agencies across Europe, but she always chose the one near London, near me. She was like an older sister to me and when times were rough, she’d be there and vice versa.

‘’You know? I’m quite jealous of you, actually.’’ Melanie got me confused by that comment, she, jealous of me, what for?

‘’Oh?’’ I furrowed my eyebrows slightly but remained focused on applying my mascara.

‘’Your natural beauty, your eyebrows, your lashes, and oh my god your lips.’’ She said, sipping her wine as she applied some nude lip-gloss on her plump lips. I knew where she was going with it all. I never had surgery, not once in my life. I never wanted to, because maybe I was a little proud of my so called ‘natural beauty’. I barely wore make up, and whenever I did, it was a simple clear brow gel and a lip balm. My lashes were dark, black, long and they had volume without me having to do anything about it aside from curling them. My eyebrows weren’t black, but a nice dark colour of brown that matched my hair. My lips, never done anything about them, no fillers, nothing. I’m not saying anything is wrong with having fillers, I think it’s beautiful on Melanie, really natural as well, it just wasn’t something I’d see myself doing.

‘’Your lips are so.. urgh, plump, I wish I had that.’’ She says as she finished her make up and moved on to pick out an outfit from her never-ending closet. ‘’What do you think, this Versace dress? Oh, or this Elisa one?’’ She says, holding out two black sparkly dresses.

‘’Left,’’ I start the beginning of my next sentence. ‘’You have gorgeous lips.’’ I say, full honesty. ‘’Yeah, but they’re fake.’’ Melanie says and simply grabs the Elisa dress and starts putting it on, making sure every one of her curves and pros of her body were nicely hugged with the expensive fabric.

‘’Mel…’’ I sighed, closing the tube of mascara, and placing it back in her vanity as I almost always used her make up. ‘’I know, I’m just kidding, I’m just saying, maybe you should start to model too, it’s gonna give me competition, but if it’s you, I can handle it.’’ She teases with a smirk, making me roll my eyes.

‘’Come on, Fay, let’s go.’’

...

taglist

@smoooothoperator @itsjustkhaos @tpwk-cherie @skynel09 @peqch-pie @aphroditeisamilf

a/n: if you want to be added to the taglist, comment ❤️ down below

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