#and looked at me like at an idiot as i blissfully read the small book of poetry and cradled the beetle

[theskoomacat]

my brain wrote such a fun little book of poetry by a beetle in today's dream, like damn. i didn't know i had it in me. the beetle itself was absolutely stellar too

[lozchi]

I was looking around and I was wondering. What if Taehun had a loser girlfriend who's literally the complete opposite of him. Like she's wayyy nicer then him (too nice), probably a push over, and not that smart. But she's the comfort he wants ykyk I'M SORRY I'M THAT LOSER GF I JS WANT A MAN LIKE TAEHOON

Dummy!

A/N: worry not, anon. I'm that loser GF too. 😭 This'll be shorter than my usual, forgive me. I loved writing this so much though. 🫀🥹

Pairing: Taehoon Seong x F!Reader

Themes: reader being an idiot. if you're familiar with my writing, there is always swearing.

To some, it’s baffling how one could fall for Taehoon Seong out of all people. He’s a pretty guy with captivating eyes and graceful movements, nghhh~ he's undeniably irresistible, isn't he? Every girl around him would think the same, swooning left and right due to his insane visuals -- Tsk! He's gorgeous! And you weren’t any different. In fact, you were his biggest simp.

It was a curious pairing, to say the least—Mr. Bad Boy and Miss Too-Good-For-Your-Own-Good.

Taehoon strode into the room with the kind of attitude that made people step aside. His arrogance and aggression were palpable. “Do I look like a fuckin’ bank to ya? I ain’t lending 7000, got it? Now scram before I beat the shit outta ya.”

You, on the other hand, were the epitome of kindness and generosity. “Sure! You can borrow 200,000 won from me! Just pay it as soon as you can!” Yeah, incredibly dumb too, unfortunately.

Taehoon had an uncanny ability to read people like an open book. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?” He’d snap, seeing through deceptions with ease.

Meanwhile, “Always happy to help!” You remained blissfully unaware of how people took advantage of you.

Taehoon lived by his own rules, always favoring his own brand of logic. “I’m doing this my way. It’s more efficient.” he would declare, unyielding in his methods.

And then there was you, grappling with concepts that seemed beyond your grasp. “Fuck this shit, I don’t understand a thing!”

“It’s math.” He'd say, almost bemused.

“I hate it.” you’d retort, your frustration evident.

“Those are just numbers.” he would explain.

“Fuck numbers, bruh!” you’d respond, exasperated.

“USE THE THEOREMS, GOD DAMN IT!”

“WHAT THEOREMS!?!” you’d cry out in desperation.

In physical prowess, he was unmatched, while you... Uhh... “How many more laps? It’s been ages!” you’d complain during your grueling training sessions.

“It’s been 5 fucking minutes, y/n,” he’d respond, barely breaking a sweat.

You were expressive, a fucking drama queen. While he remained, well, Taehoon.

When you’d proclaim, “I love you!” your heart on your sleeve, he’d respond with a gruff, “Of course I feel the same, dummy.”

A small injury would elicit your dramatic reaction: “Ouch! That stings!” while he’d barely bat an eye and say, “Be careful next time, you dimwit.”

You might sob over a movie, your emotions spilled out loud, and he’d- “Boooo. 0 stars. Too many plot holes. ”

Sometimes, vulnerability hits you, “Ugly crying in my bed right now,” and he’d cut through the sadness with an - “Alright, who the fuck hurt you?”

Happiness flowed from you like a river when you were with him. “I’m so happy when I’m with you~” To which he’d retort, “Same-- Ugh! Will you wipe that grin off?”

When you voiced how something hurt you, he’d reply bluntly, “Sometimes we just have to suck it up.”

“Can’t you be a little more sensitive?” But he'd always try. “I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from.”

And in the wake of betrayal, you’d lament, “Aughh, I just didn’t expect her to backstab me like that, I’m so stupid!” He’d offer a rough kind of comfort, “Want me to kick her in the ass?”

But beneath all these differences—your gentleness against his toughness, your warmth melting through his cold exterior—there was balance.

There was love.

There was harmony.

If it wasn’t already clear, he needed you just as much as you needed him.

From time to time, Taehoon shows his vulnerable side. You have to remember, he's just a human being and he can't always keep up his tough guy persona.

He grapples with uncertainties, worried that without caution, he could distance himself from you and ultimately be left alone.

He carries a burden of past mistakes that weighs heavily on his shoulders. It's an injury he seldom recognizes, yet it impacts all his decisions in a subtle way.

The thought of his previous mistakes coming back to trouble him and harming his loved ones worries him deeply.

However, despite feeling clearly insecure, Taehoon, being Taehoon, decides to never address it openly.

These ideas, though, are simply possibilities. He always puts in the effort to avoid making mistakes.

You understand there’s more beneath the surface and always offer him gentle reassurance.

“Taehoon, you’re here now, and that’s what matters. I’m with you, no matter what.”

In his own way, he cherishes the balance you bring to his life.

After all, even a bad boy needs a good girl to keep him grounded.

As you look at him, with all his imperfections and flaws, you smile and say, “I love you.”

And he looks back at you with a rare, genuine smile and replies, “Yeah, I love you too, dummy.”

[mangywayway]

“You should wear glasses more often, you know?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, without lifting his head from the book he was reading. He knew if he did that he would be too distracted to continue reading.

"Why on earth would I do that? I don't need them that much and it makes me uncomfortable to wear them" Steve muttered to the boy blissfully lying on his lap. "Because," said Billy, reaching out to better adjust the glasses on the other's nose, attracting his attention, "they look good on you and they suit your face very well. And then" and here Billy smiled broadly "they make you look like one of those sexy professors" concluded the harpy, accompanying it all with a suggestive movement of his eyebrows.

Steve, caught off guard, couldn't resist and burst out laughing when he looked at his boyfriend's face. Steve closed his book once and for all, as he had already given up for a while and given up on reading; he was convinced that he had gotten used to Billy's outings and yet he always managed to surprise him with something new. He wiped the tears from his eyes while Billy continued to look at him all pleased. It looked like the emblem of a big, chubby cat, which was saying something considering which of the two had feline origins.

There was a silence between them, broken only by the soft purring that rose from the young gattu's chest.

Steve's hands were tangled in Billy's hair and he let himself sprawl even more on his boyfriend's legs, so relaxed that he allowed himself to leave one of his wings free so he could stretch it a little.

Billy had let himself go so much that he didn't notice how Steve, after observing his face for a while, decided to remove his glasses and then place them delicately on the harpy's face. Feeling the added weight, Billy opened his eyes, blinking quickly to adjust to the change in view before him. He turned to Steve questioningly, his face slightly distorted by the lenses, but clearly curious as to why Steve's glasses were on his face. The latter shrugged his shoulders, replying "I don't know, I think they suit your face better. Although I don't think the role of teacher is for you"

"Oh, really?" Billy sneered. "In my opinion I could be a great teacher, what do you know," he said, moving his wing animatedly, as if he were illustrating something to an imaginary audience.

Steve rolled his eyes "Yes of course, as if I didn't know you enough. And then we both know that if you were a teacher you would have classrooms full of people who would spend more time looking at you than at the blackboard" the latter grumbled.

Billy was surprised for a moment, a little twinkle in his eye.

"Don't tell me you'd be jealous Stevie"

A light blush appeared on the young cat's face, and he didn't bother to respond, except for a muttered under his breath, you're an idiot, Billy Hargrove.

To his mortification, the harpy had heard it (because of course he had), so much so that he exclaimed "Ah! I may be an idiot, but remember that I am your idiot Steve Harrington, and you can't say anything against it".

Steve looked up at the ceiling, a big smile present on his face.

He would never admit it out loud, but what Billy had said was true and he would never change it for the world.

Okay, gouache defeated me (this time). I started this illustration with gouache, ruined it, and then draw it again and colored it digitally. I will keep practicing with gouache but with smaller subjects, because in this case I really went overboard lol. Also yeah, there it was a book in the original sketch (I'll leave it below) but I didn't like it at the end so I removed it. The illustration was based on this small thing I wrote; as always I tried to pay attention and translated it the best I could (even if there is something I'm still not sure about but eh) but yeah, if you see errors or change of verbs and stuff, just ignore them 🗿 (adding that I'm a big reader, but absolutely not a writer. Still, having them in these comfy settings is like free therapy to me so I'll probably try and do more stuff like this)

Pencil versione below ✨

[lesvegas]

New Vegas - Now Under New Management!

In 2301, the city of New Vegas had been a raiders’ paradise for nearly twenty years. Backed by an army of robots, a hedonistic courier has rendered the Mojave untouchable by anyone who would take the keys to the city from their cold, dead hands. But it was only a matter of time before someone else aspired to become the new king of the wasteland, and all they had to do was be born within the Strip’s walls.

Chapter 1: Vegas Lights [ao3 link]

Casino floors never had any clocks or windows so the patrons could forget about the illusion of time. It was easier to give away everything you had on games and drinks when you weren’t being reminded of a family or a boss expecting to see you at a certain time. If you were particularly susceptible, you could waste entire days and nights and all your savings on the slot machines until you had nothing to bet but your own life. This was just one of many ways some guys in the old world managed to suck the money out of idiots with disposable income despite starting their businesses in a desert.

They weren’t stupid enough to not take advantage of the view, though. If you already forked over the cash, you could have access to taking up space in a casino hotel’s luxury suite, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. If you don’t look too hard, you can just bask in the glow of the pretty Vegas lights, bright enough that you can forget missing the natural night sky.

I won the lottery by being born in one of these rooms. I’ve never had to pay a cap for anything. I’m not even twenty and I’m already king of the wasteland. And up here in my ivory tower at the top of the Tops, I can only stare forward at the lights for so long. Even a ruler with no responsibilities has to look down at his subjects sometimes, and I’ve been making a habit out of observing the street below.

There were no rich kids wasting daddy’s money or wealthy men and their gold diggers out on the town. There were no small-time vendors selling trinkets and snacks or criers promoting the acts of the week. There were no tourists from the West or lucky locals from Freeside. Hell, there weren’t even any whores flaunting their goods outside of Gomorrah anymore; they were all inside, where it was marginally safer. The Strip was packed, always, but never with anyone that was worth a dime.

It was mostly raiders down there. Worthless fucking raiders. They had to still be raiders; they didn’t actually do anything around here to earn all the caps they spent at the casinos. Not that they had to spend much when Fresno made this place a raider’s paradise.

“You need to open the window when you chain-smoke.”

I didn’t look back at my father. But I did open the window a crack before he could ask me again. The coolness of the night air almost made it possible to ignore the smell of blood, sweat and shit outside. I took a fresh cigarette out of my case sitting on the windowsill, used the last embers of the butt between my fingers to light it, and took a drag. I tossed the useless butt out the window, watching it fall, almost hoping it’d light up one of the palm trees below. Maybe it’d fall and crush some of those Fiends sitting around on the sidewalk, inhaling Jet, blissfully unaware of their inevitable demise. Wishful thinking.

“Wider, please.”

He was reclining on the sofa where he had been for hours, reading a pristine copy of Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor again. There was little else for a man like him to do when there was no real work to be done. According to the posters in Vault 21 and some old books I’d read, my father was an ideal man; he was reserved, he prioritized me and his ‘wife’ above all else, he only ever drank or smoked when Fresno did, kept his hair neat and wore a shirt and tie every day, spent most of his free time reading-

“Auguste?”

I shoved the window open all the way. Fine, let the whole room smell like shit, see if I care. If he really preferred the stench of the Strip to the scent of cigarettes, I could keep the window open. Let the sounds pour through, too, all the yelling and obnoxious music. He’d learned to tone out the noise years ago.

I looked back at him over my shoulder when I felt him staring at me. He was sitting up now, holding the napkin he used as a bookmark between his fingers, debating if he was finished reading or not. The room was smokier than I thought, I’ll admit it, but he didn’t need to be on my ass about it. I put my cigarette out. “Happy?”

He slipped the napkin between the pages he was on and closed the book, leaving it in the corner of the coffee table before standing up. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled from lying down and his blond hair was still perfect without any product. If only I was so lucky.

“Is this about Brutus?”

I must have looked real upset just then, because I saw one of the rare instances where my father looked like he actually regretted asking me something. I spoke up before he could even think to apologize.

“Is what about Brutus?” I asked, coming off way more defensive than I wanted to.

“Your…” He paused, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t piss me off. “Mood.”

No, of course I’m not still upset about losing my best friend. He was just some dumb animal I’ve had since my tenth birthday. Just a stupid puppy Fresno gave me with the hope that I’d be so distracted I’d forget my father even existed. God forbid a ten-year-old want his father’s attention sometimes.

“It’s been a week. I’m over it.” I lied, then tried to change the subject before he could pry. “You never complain when Fresno smokes indoors.”

“I’m not Fresno’s father.”

“Obviously. That thing doesn’t have a father.”

I thought I was pretty clever, but he didn’t seem to like my joke very much. I closed my cigarette case and pocketed it before he could come and take it from me. “Am I wrong?” I continued. “Would someone with a decent role model be responsible for this?” I made a sweeping gesture out the window with a splayed hand.

He approached the window, and I stepped aside to let him have a look. There was absolutely nothing new down there that he hadn’t seen, but he seemed to be looking for something anyway. He eventually spoke again without looking at me. “I don’t see why you care about what goes on in the streets. You only go outside to have dinner or catch a show. Your life is confined to suites, bars and casinos. Nothing that happens out there has any relevance to you.”

He took a step back and closed the window half-way. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. “You’re as safe and taken care of as any young man can be. Your only concerns are what happens within these walls.” He pointed out, then walked over to the coat rack by the door. I followed him.

“What about you, huh?” I asked. “Did you really come all this way just to be some weirdo’s trophy husband?” “Auguste.” He always spoke more firmly when I talked shit about Fresno. “If you’re so unsatisfied with the state of New Vegas,” He put his coat on. “You’re more than welcome to do with it what you will once you inherit it.”

The idea of this city becoming a monarchy was still bizarre to me. I was basically a prince set to take over once Fresno finally croaked, sure, but it still felt wrong somehow. A city like this shouldn’t really have a ruler. Stars and casino owners, sure, but even a mayor wouldn’t feel right. Maybe I was just too used to the hands-off approach Fresno had taken since before I was born.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I said. “Come on, you told me you left Reno for Vegas. Didn’t you ever have dreams for this place that didn’t involve… this? You said Reno didn’t have opportunities anymore, what with the families, and the, uh…” “The NCR.” “The NCR!” I snapped my fingers. “New Reno had no room for new ideas or new money, that’s what you said. It was all family drama and politics. New Vegas was really new again, a real diamond in the rough, the last real city in the world. You always said you wanted to start something out here, so why are you just letting raiders run it into the ground while you’re wrapped around Fresno’s finger?”

He only buttoned up the bottom two buttons of his coat, and took a look at himself in the mirror by the door. “I didn’t just leave Reno because it lacked financial opportunities. It also lacked any reason for me to stay.” He said. I already knew he didn’t have any family he wanted to tell me about. “I came to Vegas to find a purpose. And, eventually, I found something more important to me than any ambitions I previously had.” “Yeah, that’s real sweet.” I teased. “But seriously, what did you think it’d be like today, twenty years ago? What did you really want before you met Fresno?”

I was so close to getting a real answer out of him, I could just feel it. Something in his eyes seemed to give way as he adjusted his tie, but it was closed off again when the door suddenly opened.

Fresno, my father’s ‘wife’, seemed eager to see him but frowned when they saw me. I don’t think they’ve ever smiled at me. “Oh, I thought you’d be alone in here.” They said to him. “This is our suite.” I pointed out. “We share it. I live here.”

“Whatever.” They said dismissively, then smiled at my father. From the way he’d been checking his watch and the way they were dressed, it was obvious they had a date planned tonight. They had a date planned almost every night, but this one must be a fancy date, because Fresno was wearing a white shirt under their leather jacket. “Dinner and a show downstairs? Or the Ultra-Luxe?” They asked him, leaning in close enough to kiss him. They weren’t wearing lipstick today. “What are you in the mood for, my Valoire?” My father had the audacity to look at me instead. “Would you like t–” “No.” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to be dragged around as a second thought. I had business to attend to, anyway. Before I could give them a look of disgust, I turned around to return to my place at the window, looking down.

Fresno probably wanted to say ‘you weren’t invited, anyway’, but held their tongue. The only thing stopping us from lashing out at each other was the fact that my father seemed to like us both equally. He was very careful not to lean one way or the other unless one of us were obviously in the wrong.

I heard the door open, and a pause before it shut again. It might have been a moment of hesitation. Maybe my father and I would continue our conversation later, maybe we wouldn’t. But I already knew enough to know that any real individuality he had was destroyed years ago. He was devoted to Fresno, they were devoted to him, and neither of them could care less what happened in Vegas. It was all on me to make something of this place. Where a king fails, a prince inherits his mistakes.

I closed the window the rest of the way and got a glimpse at my reflection.

Despite my best efforts, I was the splitting image of my ‘mother’. Oh, I had my father’s strong nose and his bright blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. I had Fresno’s complexion, their fiery hair, their strong jaw, their obnoxious freckles, and their weak frame. There was only so much I could do about that, but I made up for it in keeping my hair short and tidy, and only ever wearing suits. Yes, my suits were much flashier than my father’s, but that was warranted in this city. And red was my colour.

I took out my cigarette case and opened it. There were only a couple sticks left. I lit one and saved the last for later as I turned my gaze down to the street again.

One of these bastards shot Brutus, and I was going to return the favour. But it’s been seven days since and I still hadn’t figured out who’d done it. All I really knew for sure is that it wasn’t a Khan; for all their faults, they weren’t stupid enough to pick a fight with me. They had their own home somewhere in the desert and treated Vegas like the attraction it was, for the most part. We were also their biggest buyer next to the Fiends. No, they knew well enough not to fuck with me or my dog.

Honestly, I don’t think it was a Fiend, either. They’re stupid, sure, but there were two types of Fiends: the ones that were fucked up and mellow, and the ones who were fucked up and aggressive. The former occupied the Strip, the latter were in Freeside if they were lucky. If a Fiend was going to attack, they’d do it to my face, not shoot from afar. I can’t imagine they’ve got good aim after taking God knows how much Jet.

Then there were the 80s. They weren’t too common around here, even with Fresno’s affiliation with them. All I ever see them do is act tough and ride those goddamn ‘motor-cycles’ they’re so obsessed with. Loudest fucking things in the wasteland. The second this city is mine, I’m outlawing them for good. Maybe they knew what was coming and wanted to strike first. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

That left the Scorpions, Vipers, and Jackals. A dwindling gang, a cult, and the weirdos that now ran the fanciest casino on the Strip. Not including any individual raiders that weren’t really part of a group. Hell, maybe there was no real motivation behind it; people shot and killed animals for fun all the time. Maybe Brutus and I were just unlucky that night. I don’t fucking know. But I still want the head of the son of a bitch that did it.

I stepped away from the window. I wasn’t gonna make any progress watching ants go by. I figured my father and Fresno had freed up the elevator by now, and so I left the suite to head downstairs. I had my own date at Gomorrah. 

Thanks for reading. Fresno belongs to my partner, @thespiral <3

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. it's unusual for gojo to have a partner during a mission these days. here you are, anyway.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. gojo is still very much gojo, swearing wc. 5.2k author’s note. O M G guys THERE'S ONLY ONE BED! HOW CAN THERE ONLY EVER BE ONE BED?!?!??!?!?!?

ੈ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 5: the missionTM (1)

why are you here?

not in the grand, philosophical sense, but the very literal one. not to diminish your own abilities, but they really don’t hold a candle to gojo. the day gojo satoru was born, the world shifted to make room for him, but it did not shift for you.

gojo does not need backup. frankly, an entourage would slow him down, make a two second fight amp up to five because he’d either want to show off, some bizarre accident would happen involving his colleague, or the curse would attack the weaker link. worst of it all, he might just stand aside and watch the sorcerer and curse sweat it out. for hours, if needed, until his glee simpered to unbearable boredom and then snap and it’s over.

so why are you here? yaga-sensei had vaguely mentioned gojo requiring a chaperone to deal with the mundane matters and make sure he doesn’t go overboard, but that’s a flimsy excuse if you ever heard one. despite his idiotic tendencies and general too easy-going disposition, gojo does understand how trains work, which report to add to which pile, and where to sign off. he just doesn’t bother with the details.

this is gojo’s mission, after all, not yours, even if it was framed otherwise. you would have significant trouble against a special grade, no, wait, two special grades, three maybe if you’re particularly unlucky. the exact number isn’t clear. all you know is that suspicious activity was recorded in some remote village between hitoyoshi and miyazaki. suspicious enough to warrant a personal visit from one of, if not the, strongest sorcerers on earth.

gojo does not need backup, and if he did, getou would have been a better choice all around. getou likely wouldn’t mind being stuck in a bullet train with gojo for roughly ten hours. gojo might’ve even updated the shoddy middle-class seats (curtsy of the stingy budget of jujutsu tech) to first class from his bottomless pocket. maybe he would’ve switched to plane tickets. or better yet, a private jet!

he could’ve done it now and finished off the curses before you arrived. he could’ve at least updated his seat, left you all on your lonesome. blissfully, you would’ve watched the scenery pass by, napped, listened to your favorite music, read a book. you are reading a book.

gojo, with his chin almost resting on your shoulder, is reading it with you.

“god, you read slow,” he mumbles, breath hitting the shell of your ear, “turn the page.”

if you flee any further, you’ll be glued to the window. another tactic done to unnerve you, and you’d be lying if you said it isn’t working. he’s too close and too comfortable. why are you here?

“you dyslexic?” he questions, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s wearing a small, playful smile.

“no,”

“was i supposed to believe you just now?” it’s a full on grin now, and he tilts his head to make sure you can see it.

“your breath stinks.”

“think it’s yours.”

“move, then.”

he does move; settles back hovering right over your shoulder, knee and thigh to yours. just like it’s been since you sat down, which was about an hour ago.

“you gonna finish today, or are you going for next year? c'monnnnn."

you are tempted to read even slower just to annoy him. how are you supposed to imagine the moving scenes and heartfelt dialogue if you just breeze past it? it’s just like gojo to skip to the good part.

“shoulda brought your own book if it’s so troublesome for you,” you finally flip the page. he hums.

“’m thoroughly entertained.”

you raise an eyebrow. side-eye. this is a novel you picked up at the train station. it was the cheapest and with a somewhat embarrassing cover of a man sensually holding a faceless woman. it reminded you of a few books you’ve seen at utahime’s, and naturally, you were intrigued. it’s a bit awkward to have it between your hands, but it’s pretty funny in how absurd it is.

“you like these types of books?”

he snorts; from behind his glasses, he gives you a pointed look, “no. the hell do you take me for?”

“how defensive.”

“it’s the truth. but i do wonder if kagai-chan will end up with iyazaki, or if she’ll choose the mysterious benefactor in the end. which would you pick?”

you consider the question, weigh the pros and cons of both bachelors. iyazaki and the benefactor are both terrible, only in different ways, “third option: neither.”

“no, you gotta pick,” he repeats petulantly, “here, imagine,” he presses two fingers to your temple, and stab stab stab stab, “i’m holding a gun to your head. choose one.”

“the gun would go off.”

“no fun.”

the two of you settle back to reading after that.

*

sometime between shimonoseki and kitakyushu, you grow sleepy. the compartment is conditioned, but sitting by the sunlit window has made you pleasantly warm. there’s the rumble of the train against your spine, and the pretty glimmer of the sea outside.

it surprises you, suddenly, how normal everything has turned out. you anticipated far worse: screaming babies, foul smells, drunk salary-men, that guy who stands near the exit and then just leans on the doors. it's quiet besides the monotone buzz of chatter. the muted grind of tracks.

gojo's quiet, too, you realize, save for the occasional grumble.

"it's all lies. god. ridiculous. you're gonna fall for it?"

you glance at him. his chin is resting in the palm of his hand as he peruses the book. you had abandoned it a while back, letting him read the rest since he was too interested in the ending, even if he claimed otherwise. he squints at a passage, chuckling every now and then, and you can't tell if his reactions are genuine or a fabrication to tease you.

"kami," he finally says, turning to you; what happened to respect? "this book sucks." he snaps it shut.

"who did kagai-chan end up with?"

"what do you think?" he moves the hand not propping his chin, and the air moves, gently, and settles.

"iyazaki?"

"duh. a boring, generic ass."

you hum, and for the sake of arguing, say, "she loves him, so."

his smile twitches, and he's staring for a moment, "but the guy sucks. totally. super sucks. and kagai-chan knows this, too."

"still..."

"that doesn't make him any less of a sucky, horrible guy."

"yup," you're grinning wider, "but he's her love interest. besides," you tap your finger on the cover, "with muscles like that? how could she resist."

he huffs, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down, and something else too, in the faint wrinkle between his brows, "i could beat him."

"you're a jujutsu sorcerer,"

"even if i was an asthmatic non-jujutsu sorcerer, i would be able to beat him."

"didn't take you to be this prideful about... mundane muscle size."

"my arms," he tugs and forces your palm against the taught muscle, "have you even felt them? shit's crazy, babe."

your brain stumbles a bit. babe again? it didn’t sound intentional like last time, more like a slipup. but not just that – him using you as a way to show his superiority through the non-falsification of the toned state of his bicep. you leave your hand there, oddly impressed. of course gojo could beat iyazaki without much trouble, even without his cursed technique. you know this, and you have felt his hands (unwillingly), but you have never felt him flex.

"impressed?" he raises an eyebrow, smug and expectant.

"if your ego grows any further, it might get stuck up your ass," you say, done with your inspection. what to do with this information? you decide you will forget about it, as you try with all gojo-related things.

he scoffs, and a crease reappears between his brows. maybe if you poked his cheek, you could pop that stubbornness right out of him. you are tempted. it would irritate him. it's usually getou who can pull off these type of stunts without repercussion.

maybe you shouldn't try, lest he chew your finger off.

…since when does the thought of touching him besides trying to squeeze the life out of his throat not repulse you? you must be tired.

"take a picture, it'll last longer." he offers, with his best fake-sweet smile.

"ha. never," and he looks down and away, then. and when you go to place the book atop the table-tray, you don't miss how he moves his hand to touch where yours had rested before.

*

by the time you arrive to kumamoto, which isn't where you'll be stopping, you’re in an awkward position you realize will not do you any favors later.

it’s not your fault. you had fallen asleep unexpectedly, and you don’t really remember when.

there's an odd heat on your nape. heavy, but somehow, still soft. not stifling. almost pleasant, really, and you're leaning into it before you notice yourself, and you still don't open your eyes as the awareness trickles. it's not sunlight warming the sensitive skin, it's gojo.

when did he slump so low? his forehead is rests against your shoulder, his breath puffing slowly, steadily against your neck. a little embarrassed at your ignorance and also mortified because this was not the situation you agreed to, you come to another realization – gojo satoru is sleeping.

and it would have been fine – hilarious, and even mildly enjoyable to have your petty revenge for months of pestering, but unfortunately, and it’s always unfortunately, your plans are fumbled before they can come to fruition. gojo wakes just then, in a sluggish and poorly-timed manner that leaves his nose brushing the dip of your shoulder and a sleep-deep groan rumbling right into you.

"whatimizit?"

"i dunno," you mutter, body paralyzed, "were you actually asleep just now?"

"think so,” he utters, words warm and low, still sleep-hazy. his breath feels hot against you. you are oddly squeamish, and for the strangest, most irrational of reasons, “your shoulder’s really uncomfortable, by the way.”

“…okay?” what sort of response was he expecting to his creepy observation? somewhere in the shadowy corners of your mind, surely you have some drivel to throw at him. nothing comes to mind, just the scent of his shampoo. lavender. how can such a harsh person use lavender?

"like, as expected."

"getoffme."

"hm," it tumbles low and vibrates around your jaw, "give me a moment. just like, five more seconds."

he mumbles those words, like he has the right to play sleep-drunk. it irks you, "stop pretending. move already."

"dun want to."

"who cares? go."

he takes a few breaths, like he's bracing himself, "...alright," he submits, though doesn't for a moment.

he does eventually settle back in his seat, the distance a sudden, welcome reprieve. it's cold without him, you note in the deepest corner of your brain. the most abominable pit where all the gooey juice and nonsense reside, like when you have a fever and are too delirious to distinguish mind-bending horrors from reality.

but there are more pressing matters. like your pride and dignity, which are likely shattered. you would normally never put your guard down like that, especially around him. you dig through your bag for a compact mirror with haste you don’t try to mask, because he definitely took advantage of you and likely drew some lewd things on your forehead with a water-proof sharpie.

he already took advantage of your innocently presented shoulder, so what’s to stop him at just that?

"there's no dick," he confirms as you open the small mirror, the obvious signs of tired amusement coloring his words, "relax."

you will not. you cannot.

"ha, ha, really cute," gojo goes, then yawns and stretches, "'got you."

"don't call me that," you grit out. you are too shaken by this, for this. for this.

"how come? nicknames make a great weapon," he pushes his bangs back, unruly strands pointing back in his wake. his smile is stupid, as always. you want to throw your compact at his head.

"would it kill you to act serious for five seconds?"

"yes," and you sigh. there’s no winning. he shifts to the side, then leans close and peers through the reflection with you, "you are kind of cute, tho. in a way like a sad-looking stuffed animal would be."

"thanks."

"like, dirty, wrangled, limp, even rotting—"

"okay, thanks, you can stop describing just how unhappy you find me now."

"it was meant as a compliment."

you do hit him. he's the strongest, and he still squeaks, hands coming up to his arm, wounded and pouting. you get out your makeup to fix the mess of mascara under your eyes and ignore the dumbfounded stare directed at you.

"...ow."

 you continue with your work, unfazed.

"do you actually put makeup on when you're on missions? cuz, kinda weird, don't you think?" he has no filter.

"looking your best is not just for aesthetic reasons, no matter how shallow that may sound. confidence is important," you nod sagely and set to fixing the smudge, "besides, what if i get scouted by a modeling agency?"

"doubt it. especially since you're such an old hag," you catch the corner of his lip pulled up, "you'd scare them away."

"you keep saying that if it makes you feel better," you state.

"and you know, you'll never find yourself a decent boyfriend if you don't fix up that face,"

"how do you know i don't have one already?" you add a bit more color to your lips, careful not to press too hard. you make it look nice and natural.

"not possible," you feel his gaze burn your face, but you can't tell exactly where he's looking. the urge to glance and check is almost unbearable, but you resist. instead, you close the mirror.

"so possible," you twist to get it into your bag and bump elbows with him. the physical contact sends a prickly, nauseous sort of chill down your back.

"where is he, then?" he looks around, exaggerated and theatrically, "don't see him."

"too bad."

gojo stares you down for a moment. he does this sometimes: an empty sort of look in which you aren't sure whether he is purposely annoying you or lost in his thoughts. it does bother you that you can't quite pin down the expression behind his blue-glass eyes peeping over the rim of his sunglasses. they say that blue is the most trustworthy and innocent of colors, but there is nothing kind or delicate about the six eyes. beautiful, yes, but so cold.

you feel almost transparent when you hold his gaze, expecting something, but never knowing what.

"hmph," he scoots back further, and you lean away into your corner once more, and now there's more distance between you.

you sneak another peek at him out of the corner of your eye. he has the sun caught in his eyelashes and across his cheeks.

*

the sky has turned an endless purple, dotted with stars that disappear the longer you look. the whole world is quiet

the trek through the prairies is long and boring. your feet hurt, and your back aches from the long train ride. when you asked if he could teleport you, he simply shrugged and said: "too far."

and so, you must locate this village by foot. in the mosquito infested dark. gojo is fine with his infinity, but you are suddenly so so so so sooo grateful for your foresight to bring repellent along. even if gojo complained that it smells bad.

the sky's inky expanse stretches on for miles, the small crescent of moon hanging like a water drop ready to fall.

the grass sways from a cool breeze. you think this is what it must be like being stranded at sea.

"is it much farther?" you ask.

"keep up."

*

it is, in fact, very much farther.

"ha, see, that cloud sorta looks like a cat," he points, and you indulge him only because you’ve resorted to naming all the bones and joints in your arm out of desperation for something to do.

you can't make out the clouds. even for a summer night, it's still too dark.

"mmm, can't tell,"

"look, see the pointy ears? and the snout? it's a cat. why aren't you agreeing?"

"just can't see it." you turn to him. his profile is washed out by the bluish twilight. it reminds you of a painting you've seen in a textbook somewhere, all watercolor pastels.

"it's so clear to me,"

"because you're a freak."

"i’m the normal one here," he shakes his head and sighs as if burdened, "tch, so lame. for your sake, i won't point out all the constellations and all the other cool shit. might start crying on me."

"thanks," you rub an eye and continue walking. the little village, illuminated by lights and lanterns and paper-pinned fireflies, comes into view just as you feel your eyelids grow too heavy to walk and talk anymore.

*

you stare. the hand on the door handle grows tense before it grows taunt. the bone-deep sleepiness is replaced with righteous anger. of course. of course there's only one bed because jujutsu tech can't be bothered to finance an extra. for an institution so important, they sure are stingy.

the small room itself is nothing impressive – plain, but cozy enough. livable and breathable for a single person of average size, but you have an abnormality with you.

to say you’re displeased is an understatement. the thing is: you’re fuming.

"this will not happen,” you decide, shoulders stiff and stomach churning with the measly station dinner you had had – waffles with whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate syrup. gojo had three plates and an extra ice-cream. you also ate a protein bar on the walk over, but that’s neither here nor there.

gojo raises an eyebrow, looking oddly refreshed despite the hours spent in transit and traveling through an uneven terrain.

"we are not sleeping in the same bed, do you hear me? i refuse. the world could crack down the middle, but there are still some limits."

"you are so—"

"no!" you will not bend on this, "it's too small anyway for your freakishly long limbs!"

"hey," his expression shifts from amused and pleased to somewhat put out, "my limbs are normal, you’re just short,"

"whatever, there's no way i'm doing that. i'll sleep on the ground or in the corner if you can't stay on the floor!"

he sighs and throws his bag onto the bed and lets it bounce, "calm down, you’ll wake everyone up,” and now he has the audacity to chide you, as if he isn’t the problem in this situation, “it’s not that big of a deal. i can scoot and make some space. not like you take up that much anyway. could probably fit you in a suitcase."

is his perception of you truly so warped? there’s no way you’d fit. while you aren’t exactly high-fashion model height, you’re definitely a bit taller than your average japanese woman.

if he means he could forcefully stuff you in a suitcase, well, that’s a different thing all together, because he could definitely do it, but you don’t want to think about that right now. you should be on a war-path instead, undistracted!

"shut up!" you announce, accusing finger pointed and all, “there will be no scooting!” it occurs to you then: perhaps there is some way for you both to survive relatively unscathed and rested, "i will speak to reception. there's gotta be more rooms left!"

"there aren't," he chimes quickly, "all booked."

"how do you know?"

"heh."

he sounds entirely too satisfied and proud of himself, and it makes you suspicious.

you narrow your eyes at him and say, tone flat, "did you do something?"

"what?! no! do you take me for some weird pervert or something?"

"is that a trick question?"

it’s gojo that silently fumes this time, and you sigh, knowing you could both go back and forth all night – a pattern you've learned from prior events, "ugh. they don't got a lot of rooms. it's a small ass town, what do you expect?"

it is obvious he is up to something, but it is just as obvious you will never pry it out of him without first growing a few years older and developing a stronger headache-pain tolerance.

you, decisively, lean on your hip and point to the floor, "fine, then you'll sleep here. clearly, i will be sleeping in the bed."

he peers down at you and then the floor, and makes a funny little expression: a squiggly frown, "what? seriously? are you a kid?"

you have the presence of mind not to stamp your foot as the annoyance bubbles, "you're too tall for the bed anyway!"

"my back hurts," he complains, "so does my ass. i don't wanna sleep on the floor and end up walking like some senile eighty year old tomorrow."

"oh, what? does the great gojo satoru require his bed with silk sheets? the ancient remedy of heating wax and hot water bottles?"

"so rude," he sniffs, crosses his arms, "you're a sorcerer, not a common housewife. what about that chivalry code, huh? am i not worthy of your selfless charity?"

your eye twitches, and he grins at his small triumph.

"no, you're not." you roll your eyes and kick off your shoes, "move."

"could offer me your lap for a pillow or somethin," he mumbles and sits on the mattress, already pulling out his things.

you balk.

you did not hear that right, no way, "... what?"

he shrugs, collecting his pajamas, shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few more glimmering bottles you don’t recognize, "said, was thinking you could just be my pillow? "

you are not a toy. the audacity has you spinning.

"fuck you,"

"is that an invitation, or—“ he yelps and springs from the bed to evade the object, which is apparently your shoe, “right, gotcha!”

"you’re despicable.”

“i’m just teasing, christ,” he fixes his glasses, “didn’t think you’re such a prude.”

your prudishness levels are normal and healthy, thank you very much. this type of conversation would be fine with you if you and gojo were good friends – you might even tease back! but such is not the case, and won’t be for another millennia and more.

at your limit, once again. how does he always manage to plow past your defenses and whirl you into a fit? could he have been born with this talent, or did he develop it after stalking and berating you?

a winner knows how to face defeat.

so be it.

"fine," you submit.

he's startled, breathless and disordered all at once, "what?"

"i'll sleep on the floor," if he expected something else to leave your mouth, he doesn't show it. instead, he scoffs, brushing past you to lock himself in the bathroom.

"fine," is all he says before he shuts the door.

still grumbling, you pull out a thin and stiff futon, place it by the door, then pad the flattening surface with clothes. collect all your many toiletries. even if you will sleep on a less than comfortable surface, that's no reason to skimp out on your skincare routine.

you pretend to be counting and recounting your things, because no way will he see you waiting by the door like some pet.

when all is said and done, and when you emerge from your cold shower, donned in your pajamas and all, gojo is standing by the bed, hands shoved into his sweatpants. no glasses, just pretty blue eyes cast downward and warmed by the mellow lamplight of the room.

"changed my mind," he says.

"k. good night."

you've learnt better by now than to trust his mercurial decisions. so when he follows you and tugs on the edge of your shirt, you send him a leery glance.

"get in the bed," he says, and you're wondering what sort of plot is his twisted mind scheming up this time.

"...why?"

"can't have you hurting that little butt," you shove him with your shoulder and his resulting giggle makes your face pinch together.

"don’t talk about my body like you’re familiar with it.”

“i’m definitely acquainted,” and that protein bar you ate? might see it again in the upcoming seconds. noting your disgusted expression, he rolls his eyes, "just sleep already."

"not gonna until you're away from the bed."

"go ahead, wake up and be cranky in the morning."

"and i will!" you state and toss yourself down, instantly hiding underneath the flimsy blanket. it's by no means cold, and in the morning, you'll likely be sweating, but you don't like how he keeps watching you. he has an odd look about him, eyes open but unfocused and hazy. his own little world in those sapphire blue.

you feel a bit warm.

the sound of cloth against the thin mattress and blankets. the squeak of springs. you have your back turned to him and will stay facing the wall and your closed eyes forever if only so he can't make another weird request.

"why so stiff?" you can hear his smirk through the lilting tone.

"why so dumb?"

"that hurts, you know."

"good. night." you finish that word, clench your hands into fists. when you feel the bed shake again, you prepare yourself for whatever prank he'll pull this time around. the light clicks off, and the room is dark.

you wait and wait and wait, and nothing. you almost wish something would happen. this is weird. gojo? keeping his hands and his words to himself? the same person who won't shut up for a few seconds, even to breathe?

something’s definitely up.

you twist around. he lies, flat on his back, an arm slung across his face. he looks perfectly normal, body limp and relaxed and taking up entirely too much space.

still, there is something odd about his body language – he's practically inviting you to just reach out and—

he lifts the arm off his face, cracks a lid open. that eye glows like a soft nightlight. he is the very picture of innocence. the effect is ruined, however, when his lips curve and form that classic shit-eating grin, “thought you were sleeping,” his tone is warm and dark and so much like the rich chocolate pudding, it brings that pleasant thrum to the back of your head.

the silence stretches on, thickens, turns to fog. you turn away again. you have, perhaps, a sliver of bed left. you will definitely fall during the night, or he'll push you out.

you must argue, but the resulting bickering will make you too groggy and sloppy for tomorrow's mission. he'll likely leave you to fight the curses anyway, and you need your strength and beauty sleep.

... but it's difficult to relax when he's right behind you. and quiet. and still.

so very still.

you must relax. you will not let gojo's weird-ass staring or his desperate need to annoy you stop you.

you will sleep. you will get a good eight hours, and you will slay this mission's curses without breaking a nail or sweating too hard, and when gojo attempts to slack off and gets his ass kicked, you won't help.

yes, that's it. the hate and spite will lull you into a sweet, pleasant dreams. you chuckle to yourself quietly.

"you crazy or something?"

never mind, you hate his stupid voice.

"shuddup," you complain into the lumpy pillow, turning your face more into the scratchy cloth, wishing you could merge into it and disappear, “sleep.”

"trying," it's difficult to tell if he’s honest by that lazy drawl, "but this mattress is sooo terrible. might as well sleep on the floor."

“please do.”

“meanie.”

a pause.

"seriously? the silent treatment?"

you can feel him. there's rustling that would suggest him leaning on one elbow to look down.

"wow, no reaction," his tone shifts, just barely: you hear amusement but also, if you strain and really concentrate, a drop of curiosity. like you're a science experiment on display.

you peek open one eye to see his blurry shape. he is indeed peering over, head tilted. staring at the bare skin between your top's loose neckline and exposed collarbone.

you quickly shut your eyes, "get lost, perv."

you pull the covers high, up to your nose. gojo remains frozen like that, angled body casting long shadows and one arm supporting him, hovering close enough to feel his body heat.

he settles back on his spot, the springs of the mattress letting out a weak groan, "well, sweet dreams, kami."

thank god. he's decided not to antagonize you, it seems.

just as you begin to slip into the foggy mist of drowsiness, he sighs, and in one, smooth motion, rolls over so he can press himself flush against your back. you, immediately, go stock still.

the breath leaves your lungs as gojo wraps an arm around your midriff and nestles his nose between the slope of your shoulder. his breath fans your skin, a gentle caress, and he is all hard planes and warmth and a foreign weight, foreign touch.

you should hit him. your hand curls but doesn't strike. you should kick him, or maybe yell and threaten, or elbow his stomach, but it's suddenly too warm.

is he? is he sleeping? like this? is he out of his goddamn mind? there’s not way.

what is he doing, and why are you letting him?

and, yes, you really are. what’s wrong with you? it's warm, warm, warmer with how effortlessly his presence wraps around you.

it should disgust you. a sense of unease should build in you like a wave. something should make you shiver, or stir your muscles into a jerk that’ll send a fist toward his handsome face. you’d just need to jab once, or twice, to satisfy the small but intense irritation and disturbance.

but you are stuck. held captive by a strong arm and an unexpected heat.

and when he mumbles nonsense and drifts further, you find the situation only heightens and multiplies and saturates your senses. he smells nice, you think to yourself, faintly sweet, faintly cool. you swallow. once, twice. the ball in your throat doesn't budge, and soon you're dozing off. like some idiot, falling asleep in the arms of a fucking idiot. it's so easy to forget you dislike him like this. you're too tired, too confused, and your mind is too cloudy. maybe you're just dreaming.

he shuffles a bit closer, the nose pushing through your hair. a contented noise.

oh, jesus christ. you should smother him with a pillow. when the two of you wake, it'll be awkward, and his teasing will become merciless.

... well, perhaps he isn't half bad as a big-spoon. you'll think about the repercussions later. maybe he meant the stuffed animal comment very literally. you are still faintly hoping this is just a dream.

you are very tired. and a very weak person, apparently. your final scattered and uneven thought is that perhaps your skin is unusually soft and touch-deprived to his fingertips. and maybe he has no self-control.

and maybe, when his palm is flat against your stomach, something warm flickers within you. you hold that small spark cradled within your ribs.

.

.

.

(so much for not sharing a bed.)

tags (couldn't tag the marked). @shokosbunny, @jotarohat, @alygator77, @fortunatelyfurrygiver, @finnydraws, @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy, @letsmyy , @staruus , @doomsday08, @k0z3me , @bqvz , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n, @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury

[uchiharomance]

kinktober 2021

day one: first time with gaara

18 +/NSFW minors, please do not interact

“I’ve never done this before.”

That’s it.

You’ve ruined the mood.

Still hovered over you, propped up on his hands, Gaara freezes, mouth slightly ajar on its way to kiss you as though your confession has caused him to forget how.

“I - I haven’t either.”

“Oh.”

You’re not complaining, in fact, you’re not really even that surprised much to your own guilt. Actually, you’re rather relieved; two bumbling idiots in love trying to have sex is surely better than one desperately trying to follow a more experienced partner.

Right?

And after all, you’ve both already said, Yes.

Gaara’s underwear is the only thing left on his body and you sneak yet another peak toward the growing bulge there, just a small, tantalizing distance away from your already naked body. Not quite as big as your fantasies and the scenes in romance books had lead you to believe but more than enough to set butterflies bounding around in your stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asks you, breaking through your guesswork by pressing his warm fingers to your face and you falter only slightly. Being a past Tailed Beast holder doesn’t give him the ability to read minds does it?

“I’m sorry,” you admit, suddenly realizing just how you must look right now. Lost in your own thoughts with sweat pooling on your head. “I’m just a little nervous.”

Gaara’s laughter, as gentle as the expression on his face, bursts from him, and you blush, suddenly very aware of just how true your statement had been.

“You’re not the only one,” he assures you, his fingers gently landing upon your cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you cry, catching his hand. “No but, thank you, that’s sweet.”

And it is. Here he is, ready to devour you and he’s hesitating, giving you yet another chance to back out, to say no.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you begin, cringing a bit at your just how cheesy your words sound. “I want to do this for real.”

Your lover gulps.

“As do I.”

Hesitantly you reach out your hands to slide off the lose, brown fabric that still clings to his waist, giggling a little as it peals back under your touch, slipping off his frame like a show sheet being pulled from a newly finished sculpture.

Would it be too clique to say what’s beneath belongs in a museum?

“It’s really nice,” you say, breathlessly, and it is.

It’s different you realize, than the books and their overly flowery wordplay. Gaara’s cock is long, comfortably thin, and as you look at it, almost unremarkably, normal.

The most perfect one you’ve seen.

The only one you’ve seen.

“Do you want me to er, do something?” you ask, hoping that your eyes, rather than your faltering words will assure him of your desire.

“No.” he says, voice tight. “I want to do this right.”

“I don’t think there is a right way.”

A particular, is that guilt?, look washes over him and you realize too soon to stop your squeak of shock that he’s lowered himself and rubbing his member against your thigh.

“I mean,” Gaara begins, eyes darting about as he reaches a shaky hand for the bottle of lube.  “I want my first touch, the sensation to be inside you.”

Oh.

Oh.

In what seems like mere seconds you’ve lathered the blissfully warm lubricant upon yourself and tossed the bottle to the floor along with the wrapper of the condom. More cleanup but in this moment, the least worry in your mind.

You watch as Gaara’s wraps his hand around his dick, his tongue slipping up over his upper lip as he guides it to your entrance, the head bumping into you as he squirms about on the bed, trying to position himself.

“This sounded easier in practice,” he mumbles apologetically and you try to strife your laugh.

“Maybe if I lift my hips?” you offer.

It works.

The tip of Gaara’s cock slips into you, stretching the tight band of flesh there and you find yourself reaching up for his arms. Is sex supposed to be this ridiculous?

“It’s different than I thought,” you admit, squinting one eye closed as he pushes into you, taking long pauses in between his hesitant movements. “It’s almost funny.”

“Easy for you to say,” he chuckles and you flinch as he buries himself to the hilt, and makes a face. Pleasure? Agony?

Hot?

And it is hot, no warm; a fulling feeling with a comfortable heat and perhaps the romance stories are a little true after all. It does feel good, it does feel whole, it does -

“Incredible,” Gaara breathes, and the look on his face now is relaxed, one of pleasurable content. “You feel good.”

“So do you,” you giggle.

Hesitantly he moves, pulling back an inch and then thrusting back up.

“Should we go easy?”

Probably. Even if there is a small part of you that wants him to go fast, to rock into you with wild passion.

Grabbing onto his arms and lifting one leg slightly you nod.

For a minute or two it’s slow going; a few thrusts, a slip out, and a noise that sets your cheeks aflame before you burst out laughing.

So this is sex.

“How do you feel?” he asks, picking up his pace and finding his rhythm as you lower one hand to your clit, the sensation of your tightening walls and the gentle hammering of his cock into them sending some very delightful pulses up through you into your belly.

“Great!” you answer, a little too fast and he grins, sweat heavy on his face and hair damp against his skin.

“You look beautiful.”

All too quickly your lover begins to reach his end, jerking and groaning as he dips his head to mumble something into your shoulder. Cautiously you lift one leg to encircle his waist, squirming as his cock slips into you at a frenzying pace.

“I-I think,” Gaara begins, searching your face. “I think I - “

There’s a steady ball of nerves in you too, but not quite there yet.

“G-Go Ahead?” you squeak out and as though waiting for your command, he does. Shivering and falling onto you with a small cry and you can fell the effect of his moan in your ear as you clench heavily about him.

Is, that it?

Wrapping your arms about his back you lay there for a long minute, your own orgasm a uncomfortable buildup waiting for its release as your husband catches his breath, still groaning from the effort.

“D-Did you - ?”

“No,” you say, raising a hand to comb through his hair.

“Oh...wait let me,”

Despite your, rather halfhearted protest, Gaara slips out a bit, squeezing his hand in between the two of you to stroke your clit. It’s only a matter of minutes then and you’re coming too, arching your back and jutting your hips up, walls tightening around him again and drawing yet another delightful groan from his lips.

It’s several minutes before either of you can speak again, Gaara pulled out and laying at your side, and you, you staring thoughtlessly at the painted white ceiling above you.

“Is that it?” you ask, rather hesitantly.

“I think so,” he answers, and you laugh at the shy smile on his face. “Temari tells me that it gets much better.”

Giggling you roll over, all but wrapping your limbs about him.

“I thought it was pretty good today. A little awkward though.”

He chuckles.

“She said that gets better too.”

You can imagine.

“Our first time,” you sigh, as he reaches down, slips the condom from his cock and tosses it into the can by the bed. “Our first time can you believe it?”

“I’m glad mine was with you,” he admits, cupping your face. “I’m glad I have you. Just two years ago I was still so alone, like this. I never thought, nor hoped for someone to share this sort of bond with.”

So this is the part where he does the pillow talk. You wonder if it would ruin the mood to say you want to cuddle first.

You wonder if you’d start crying and ruin the moment further if you told him you felt the exact same way.

“I’m oddly sleepy,” he adds, dark eyes becoming lidded as he watches you.

“I think you’re supposed to fall asleep now while I stay awake and mope,” you laugh, and you allow yourself to be drawn into him, safe and secure in his arms.

Gaara hums.

“Would you mope less if I tell you that I love you?”

“No. More. You got me off, you’re doing pillow talk and cuddling. You’re ruining everything.”

But he’s not. And you aren’t. And this feels nice, feels right, feels like everything it should actually even if the experience wasn’t. Because he’s with you, he loves you, and there will be time and time again for more sex, better sex.

And hopefully less mood ruiners.

“I love you too.”

[sxfik]

you're the sunshine in the rain when it's pouring (won't you give yourself to me?)

read on ao3 • masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was not afraid, she wasn’t built to be afraid. But what else could you call the pang that rippled through her heart as she noticed the two figures huddled at the cafe near the entrance of her school?

a/n: hello! this is my first solhwi fic i've written and if i'm being honest, it's kind of a mess but i have so many ideas for them, especially after these last few episodes! honestly, the two of them are the epitome of idiots to lovers so i just had to write this! the title of this fic is from best part by Daniel Ceasar ft. H. E. R.

come interact or drop a request if you want to see more solhwi content :)

Kang Sol A was not afraid.

She wasn’t afraid during her yearly doctor’s appointment, the glint of the long needle threatening to pierce through her. She wasn’t afraid when she stood up for her sisters, time and time again, until she was beaten and bruised protecting them. In the face of any adversity, she was taught to stand strong and fight, no matter how big or small the enemy. Even at the face of losing her scholarship and being expelled from Hankuk Law School, she knew she could pull herself up.

No, Kang Sol A was not afraid, she wasn’t built to be afraid. But what else could you call the pang that rippled through her heart as she noticed the two figures huddled at the cafe near the entrance of her school?

It’s been a week since Ye Seul’s trial, five days since the incident, and four days since she started avoiding Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam, Han Joon Hwi.

His presence was bearable prior to Ye Seul’s trial. Actually, more than bearable. It was a comfort, a person she knew she could let her guard down with. His teasing smiles or his love for ramen at any time of day.  As her days and her mind got busier day by day, his presence was unyielding. Every late night in the library, he was by her side, explaining the codes over and over again. Even when she got frustrated, or whiny, Joon Hwi was infinitely patient with her. With Joon Hwi by her side, everything seemed so easy. She saw the light at the end of the long tunnel she was dragged through. Still, with Kang Dan’s sudden appearance, Mr. Yang and Ye Seul’s trial, her mind was too busy to think clearly. To see clearly.

But when his gaze shifted to her and her roommate when he stood as a witness during Ye-Seul’s trial, her breath caught in her throat as she imagined, just for a moment, that he was going to say her name. That he was looking at her. That he was in love with her.

It was as if something clicked, like the puzzle pieces coming together in her mind. In an instant, she saw him in such clarity, every action, every smile and gesture passing through her mind. Cliche as it seems, it was as if she saw him for the first time all over again.

But of course, that gaze was not meant for her. Why would it be? Han Joon Hwi was meant to be with Sol B, not her. The students who were born to work with the law are perfectly suited for each other. It was obvious that he wanted to protect Sol B. Yet, in her weakest moment, her heart yearned for it to be her.

Forcing herself to breathe, she continued on after the trial as if nothing had changed between them. Because, well, they haven’t. The view had shifted but only for her.  At first, it was easier than she expected, teasing him about her roommate. Sol would be lying if she said it didn’t come with a twinge of jealousy but what could she do, but continue to be loyal to him. So on she continued, with Joon Hwi blissfully unaware that she was falling deeper for him, day by day.

Of course, nothing ever goes her way. Five nights ago, Sol was seated at her usual desk at the library, the rows of desks unoccupied. It was another late night for her, as she poured over her case files for a quiz the next day. Despite being a breeze for the other students, Sol had to study for a 110% in order to score an 80%. Sol set up camp in the library, her texts haphazardly strewed across the desk, highlighter in hand, as she buckled down for a long night of studying.

As the hours passed, her vision slowly blurred, the words on the page meshing together into a blob of black squiggles. She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus but to no avail. Sighing, she shut her eyes as she slumped back into her chair, allowing her head to loll off the edge of her chair and stretching her arms out.

“Still studying?” Joon Hwi’s familiar voice startled her, her head jerking back and almost tipping her chair backwards. “Whoa, Sol, be careful!” he lunged, catching her chair before she had the chance to stabilize herself.

“Yah, Han Joon Hwi, why would you come up suddenly like that?” Sol wrinkled her nose at him in annoyance, getting a teasing smirk in response. Sol turned towards her desk, pulling herself closer to the desk as he looked over her.

“Are you studying for Professor Jung’s quiz tomorrow?” he questioned, his head tilting in a familiar way as she sighed once more.

“Of course I am. Not all of us are law geniuses like you, Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam,” Sol huffed as she looked up at him but she softened her face as she saw the smile on his face.

Joon Hwi let out a small laugh as he stepped closer to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Well, then I’d be more than qualified to help, don’t you think, sunbae?” he quipped back.

“Hey, I can do it myse-”

“Hm, let me see,”  he cut her off, his eyebrows furrowed. Her heart stuttered as he leaned forward, over her shoulder, looking onto the texts that lay in front of her. “Oh, this one isn’t as bad as the others, you should start with this and then…” he rambled on, but every once of her concentration was on his proximity. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder bleed through her shirt, the feel of his palm burning her skin. He was close enough that she could hear the soft puffs of his breath, his warmth radiating off his body pulling her body towards him like a magnet.

It’s okay, just breathe. You know how to breathe right, Sol? She slowly instructed herself on how to breathe like she suddenly had to learn all over again. And wow, was that a bad idea. His cologne is even more intoxicating up close, and so is Joon Hwi. Every one of her senses was overloaded, her mind blank save for him.

“Yah, Kang Sol? You better be paying atten-” he turned his head towards her, and she forgot how to breathe all over again. His brown eyes widened in surprise as his face just centimeters away from hers. Sol parted her lips ever so slightly to speak but his gaze dropped her lips and her mind was blank again as she blinked at him. His features were so much softer up close, as she watched his face relax. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheek as he blinked. His eyes flitted back to her, but his familiar honey eyes darkened. Her eyes drifted over his face, and then dipped down to his soft lips. If she just moved closer, she could feel how soft his lips were...

And suddenly, reality slapped her in the face. What would Sol B think if she caught her boyfriend so close to her? Even with her roommate’s cold behavior, Sol knew just how much she suffered and how much it would break her to know how she felt about Joon Hwi. Despite every molecule in her body begging her to move closer, she couldn’t do that to Sol B.

So she moved away, stuttering out some lame excuse as she gathered her books and stumbled out of the library. But as she lay in her bedroom, staring up at the ceiling as she imagined all that could have happened between them, the warmth of the memory spread across her body.

And Kang Sol A knew that she wasn’t just afraid. She was terrified.

When she couldn’t stand and fight, she did the next best thing. She ran. She intricately planned everyday to minimize her contact with him as much as possible. Obviously, step one was to sit away from him in class, to avoid his gaze in the halls. She would leave her dorm as early as possible and hide until he was finished with his dinner to sneak in and grab herself something.

But it wasn’t until she tried to avoid him that she realized just how much space in her life was occupied by him. He used to always sit next to or across from her. Always looking over her shoulder, or leaning over  to see the textbooks clearly. Every time she turned to ask a question, or make a snarky comment, there was an empty space reminding her of her decision.

Still, even if he wasn’t physically present, he occupied a corner in her mind. His voice was in her head, echoing responses to her every thought. Her mind would fill with things she wanted to rant about, to ask, to share with him. When she closes her eyes at night and drifts into sleep, he would be there, his signature teasing smile on his face.

And he didn’t seem to be making it any easier on her. It seemed that Joon Hwi took it upon himself to magically appear whenever she least expected him to. If she went to the copy room to print a case file, he was sitting there, looking through a stack of papers or in line to print a copy himself. If she decides to have a late night study session, there he is across from her, books in hand with his legs propped up on a table.

Han Joon Hwi was the constant, unavoidable presence that she can’t seem to get rid of from her life. From her mind. From her heart.

“Unnie?” a soft voice snapped Kang Sol out of her thoughts, and Ye Seul appeared in front of her, near the entrance. How long have I stood here? Sol blinked.

“Ah, Ye-Seul,” she smiled at her best friend. “Let’s have some coffee today? At the cafe?” she asked, her shoulders relaxing after flitting up to where Joon Hwi and Kang Sol B stood. Well, where they were standing. I guess they left. Ye Seul’s eyebrows furrowed as she followed Sol’s gaze but before she could respond, Sol A hooked an elbow through hers, dragging her toward the cafe.

But of course, nothing ever goes her way.

“Ah, Ye-Seul, can I borrow Kang Sol for a moment?” Joon Hwi asked, suddenly appearing in their path, his eyes strictly focused on her best friend. Sol squeezed her arm in alarm, everything in her body pleading for Ye-Seul to say no so she can just avoid him until her crush fades away.

“Unnie, buy me the coffee next time, hm?” Ye-Seul turned to her with an apologetic gaze. Betrayal. I’ll get you back for this. Sol A sighed as she turned her gaze to Joon Hwi.

“Yah, Sol, why are you avoiding me like this? Please, just talk to me so we can fix it,” he pleaded with her, wasting no time to get to the point. Sol A pursed her lips as she looked up at him, her mind too full for her to answer him. What could she say to him? That she likes him? That she’s found out how much she needs him in her life, but she was too late?

“Sol, please,” his voice broke slightly as the silence stretched between them but that was enough for her to sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she gave in to him.

“Okay,” she responded and that was all Joon Hwi needed to grab her wrist and walk towards the corridor between the stairwells.

“We can talk more privately,” he answered her before she even voiced the question. “Now, why are you mad at me? The last time I saw you was at the library and then you disappeared,” Joon hwi ran a hand through his hair nervously as he rambled on and for the first time, Kang Sol took him in. To say he was disheveled was an understatement. The usual calm demeanor was nowhere to be seen and his clothes were askew as his face showed the lack of sleep and exhaustion. Her heart clenched for him, but no, you can’t do this. You can’t betray Sol B.

“Don’t you think it’s best if we don’t interact with how we used to?” she asked, her eyes glued to the floor, ignoring her throat closing up at the thought of breaking their friendship.

“What?” his eyes zeroed in on her, and she could see the confusion running through his mind.

“What do you think Sol B would think if she saw us like this? We can’t be close like this with each other bec-”

“Who cares about how I am with you?” he cut her off, his jaw clenched as his eyebrows furrow in frustration.

“Ya Han Joon Hwi, how could you do this? I expected so much better from you. Don’t you understand, it’s terrible to do this to her!” she pleaded with him, her heart squeezing inside her chest. Sol clenched her jaw, willing herself to be strong for her roommate’s sake, for his sake, and for hers.

Silence stretched between them as she looked up to him. His eyes closed for a moment while he looked down to the floor. And then his eyes flitted up and into her eyes as his fist clenched, his brown eyes filling with an unreadable emotion. “Why is it so terrible?” he whispered.

“Why-” Sol started, her voice burning in anger and pain.

“Why is it so terrible that I’m in love with you?” Joon hwi’s eyes flickered up to hers, his gaze boring into her.

Kang Sol blinked. Her back straightened as her mouth opened and closed like a fish, as Joon Hwi took a step closer. “Me?” she stuttered out, her mind spinning, unable to process his words.

“You.” He stepped closer.

“But you like Kang Sol-”

“A. Kang Sol A.” Another step closer.

She closed her eyes as she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and to ignore his proximity. But all her attempts were futile as Joon Hwi brought his hand up, his touch feather light as he cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. Sol’s hands felt frozen as her breath lodged into her throat, her eyes meeting his. She could hear her heart thundering in her ribcage as Joon hwi spoke.

“I like you, Kang Sol. It’s always been you,” he whispered, his voice wavering as he grew closer, his lips just a centimeter away from hers. Never one with patience, she surged forward to meet his lips. Her imagination and dreams did not compare to how his lips felt against hers. It was soft and his kisses were just as unyielding as his presence. It was all consuming as her hands gripped his coat, pulling him closer. His thumb running across her cheekbones, he shifted his head pulling her in deeper as his hands cupped her face. Even though their lips just met for a few moments, it felt as though his soft lips were against hers for an eternity.

Sol’s eyes were still closed as they parted, not wishing to leave this moment and back into real life. Apprehensively, she met his eyes and a moment of silence stretched between them, as they caught their breath. A million watt smile stretched across his face, his contagious happiness brightening her up as she smiled back. But suddenly reality caught up to her.

“Wait, so you’re not with my roommate?” she questioned, confused about everything she had seen between them. Joon hwi shook his head.

“No, I was just with her because she asked for help during one of her legal research papers,” he explained, then paused. “Yah, wait. You avoided me this whole time because you thought I was in love with Kang Sol B?” a smirk spread across his face, his expression taunting. Sol bit her lip as she looked down, unwilling to admit her mistake.

“Yah, how can you be at law school and not figure out I liked you!” he asked, his voice incredulous.

“You were so ambiguous! Every time I thought you liked me as more than friends, you’d act close with Sol B!” she huffed out, pouting  and pulling away from him, embarrassed that she thought he liked her roommate. Before she could pull away, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a crushing hug. Her body relaxed as she took him in, the way he felt against her intoxicating and comforting beyond description.

Kang Sol A was terrified. But having him at her side was enough to know that she could fight once more, together, as more than friends.

[nano--raptor]

Fooling no one

Pairing: Sam Wilson X Bucky Barnes

Words: 1100

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Club atmosphere, alcohol consumption, missions, undercover kind of, fake dating, kissing, teasing, making out, some feelings too.

A/N: This is for @the-marvel-horniest-book-club​ for SamBucky week, with the prompt Fake Dating for FATWS Month. I actually had a lot of fun with this, and I am growing to love these two. I can’t wait for Friday!! Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate the support!!❤ Glitter gold dividers by @firefly-graphics​!

Please do not click ‘keep reading’ if you are under 18!

“Ugh this is so stupid. This is never going to work.”

“Just relax, it is going to work, because you’re gonna make it convincing.” Bucky rolled his eyes, throwing his tie down on the table in frustration and finally just loosening the top few buttons of his dress shirt before grabbing his suit jacket.

“I dunno Sam, I can’t see it working. They’re gonna totally see right through it.” Sam just smiled, that calm, suave, stupid smile of his, and Bucky narrowed his eyes, his skin prickling under Sam’s gaze.

“Anything goes these days, don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.” Sam fixed his cuffs, checking to make sure his vest was straight underneath his jacket, before stepping back with a knowing glance. “You ready?” Bucky sighed, checking the mirror one last time as well, smoothing some unruly hair back into place.

“I guess. Let’s get this over with.”

The club was loud and dark, despite the colorful lights that flashed and danced over the floor and the walls of the room. Sam made his way through the crowd, with Bucky following, both of them scanning with expert eyes for any signs of the target. Or targets. You could never be too careful. They were here to work, but they both grabbed a drink, doing their best to fit in and look completely inconspicuous.

Eventually they saw him, seated at a table near the back, and made their way to a corner booth close by, where he’d be oblivious to their tailing of him. At first Bucky sat stiffly beside Sam, sipping his drink and looking around the club. Finally Sam’s arm around Bucky’s shoulders pulling him closer snapped him out of it, and he turned, blinking as he was suddenly face to face with Sam, that stupid smile back on his face.

“You don’t look very convincing,” he quipped, pulling Bucky close and planting a kiss on the top of his head. Bucky felt his cheeks heat up, a blush creeping in. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed. Sam just smiled again and leaned his forehead against Bucky’s.

“Playing the part you idiot. You don’t have to kiss me but at least make it look like you’re having a good time. You’re stiff as a board and people are gonna notice.” Bucky was torn between laughing and growling, and thankfully he managed a smirk then gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek. Sam laughed then, smiling at patting Bucky’s cheek. “There ya go. That’s a good start Buck.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the way Sam’s words rolled through him. His lips turned up into a small smile and he sat back, trying to relax.

The night drew on, a few people passing by their target’s booth, but he stayed blissfully unaware that Sam and Bucky were basically sitting there just to watch him. They just needed proof of a meeting or a drop off, and Sam had his phone out periodically, pretending to take selfies while they’d record anything suspicious.

Sam hadn’t been wrong when he’d told Bucky that they’d stand out less acting like a couple, than if they were just two dudes at the club. Everyone left them alone, whereas any single people always seemed to be mobbed by other single people, and neither of them needed distractions tonight.

But the longer Bucky sat next to Sam, with Sam’s arm around him, leaning into his side, his scent just permeating Bucky’s senses, the less he cared about the target. Surely this booze couldn’t be having an affect on him, but he’d had a few drinks already and found himself leaning more into Sam than he realized. At one point he pressed his nose against Sam’s neck, running it over his skin, soft and warm, and he swore Sam shivered when he exhaled across it. Sam smelled like leather and cognac, and Bucky smirked, running his nose up under Sam’s jaw, then pressing a small kiss to it. You want it to look convincing? You’re on.

Bucky pecked little kisses along the underside of Sam’s jawline, then back and up behind his ear, grinning when Sam shivered again. When he ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, Bucky was rewarded with a low growl rumbling through Sam’s chest.

“Convincing enough?” Bucky murmered while he trailed kisses down Sam’s neck, flicking the tip of his tongue out to trace along the column of his throat.

“Dammit Bucky,” Sam hissed, and Bucky chuckled, trying to ignore the way the low sound of his voice made warmth ripple through him and into his gut. “You’re distracting me.” “Oh yeah?” Bucky nipped at the skin against his lips then, and Sam growled again, his grip around Bucky’s shoulder growing tighter. Then he was cursing and fumbling to get his phone out again, snapping a quick photo of Bucky’s face buried in his neck, before flipping the camera around and hitting record. It would have looked ridiculous, Sam pretending to take photos of the two of them, if Bucky had been paying any attention and not trying to find every spot on Sam’s neck that made him shiver. Bucky was realizing that he loved Sam’s reactions, and now only wanted to figure out how to get more of them.

Then Sam was hissing Bucky’s name again as he finally caught everything they needed on video, setting his phone down and turning his head. He grabbed the back of Bucky’s neck and crushed their mouths together, and Bucky couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him, falling into Sam in the moment, and it just felt right. When he pulled away, they held each other’s gaze for just a moment, before they were both smirking, Sam pulling Bucky back in for another one.

The next morning, Bucky's eyes fluttered open and he stretched, spreading out in the bed and languidly rolling onto his side as the morning light filtered through the hotel curtains. Sam was still sleeping in the other bed, his back to Bucky, shirtless, and Bucky’s thoughts drifted to the night before. He thought about Sam’s arm around him, the way he smelled, his warmth, the feel of his skin on his lips, Sam’s lips on his. Then he found himself longing to press kisses to Sam’s back, wanting to feel that warmth again, and wondering how that smooth skin would feel against his lips.

Then he blinked, realizing that it was just the two of them here, with no one to impress, no show to put on, and no alcohol to speak of in his system.

Oh.

Uh oh.

* follow @nano--raptor-writes​ for my taglist! *

[visit-ba-sing-se]

My contribution to the “what happened to Kuzon?” question, I guess. No canon, just me making myself cry. Kuzon was old. He knew that, and with every move he made his body reminded him. Still, he was crouching over to clean the dust from a statue. The monk that it resembled had his eyes closed and seemed to be mediating, blissfully unaware off the world around him. Kuzon sighed. What would he give to just trade spots with him. Once more, he was not sure if he was supposed to find it rather funny or tragic that this small shed, in a small village between somewhere and nowhere, was where his life had led him. His parents had been a merchants. But not the kind of merchant you would meet on the city market and who'd sell you cabbage or fish. The kind of merchant that travelled to Ba Sing Se or Omashu and returned with ancient relicts that they'd sell some fire nation nobleman. Or the other way around, trade spices that would be used to for the spicy pickled kelp severed to earth kingdom royals. And Kuzon had been accompanying them for as long as he could remember, and a lot of it, he had loved. Counting heavy coins while sitting on his father lap, helping his mother chose between different colored pieces of cloth to buy and sell again for more, crossing items from a list before he even could read the words. And of course, he had met two of his best friends on their journeys. Bumi and Aang. And he had believed that that would be how things would stay, and that one day, he would grow up to be a merchant as well. Of course, in his mind he then imagines being the greatest merchant there ever was, who would have dinner with the king of Omashu and make his parents proud. And of course, that dream shattered as childrens dreams do.  One conversation it had taken to tear his world apart. One conversation that he had listend to from the closet in their living room. Kuzon had used to hide when his parents welcomed wealthy clients, as they had never wanted him around then. Today, he still remembered that one trade as if it had been yesterday, not a century ago.

“You know, the prices for those artifacts are going to increase rapidly soon,” his mother had said, her you find my price to high but there is nothing you can do about that voice as he called it. “It is not like new once will enter the market. And I even heard that the government is striating to seize and destroy those that are currently one it.” Kuzon was angry at himself for not taking a peak at what she was selling earlier. Now they were standing with their backs to him and the view was blocked. “Even if you are right, which is not unlikely”, that buyer, a fire nation noble, had responded,  “don't feel any bad at all profiting from that?” His mother had snapped back directly “Oh, don't strike that chord with me. You want to invest. I have an investment to offer. Nothing more, nothing less. This little intermission won't fool any of us, and you know it.” “Fine.” The nobleman than had sighed, as Kuzon had moved his head slightly, desperatly trying to get a glimpse of what had being sold.  “A pity they had to kill all of them.” “They just made the best fruit pies. And they were so fun at parties.” None of this had made sense to Kuzon. Not until he finally had seen what the noble man had just bought. An air glider. Like the one Aang had had. And with that, it had hit him. Fruit pie. Air glider. Aang. Killed. Kuzon had not left that closet until finally, after he had missed lunch and dinner in there his father had discovered him and ordered to go to bed. Of course, looking back, it was childish. But In that moment, he truly had thought that as long as he stayed in the closet, the reality would stay out. The reality in which Aang, his best friend Aang, the funny, caring and genius Aang, Aang who he had spent some go the happiest days of his life with, was dead. And his parents were selling air gliders for profit.  But of course, the reality was there, and it did not care if Kuzo accepted it or not.  He was just 12, and one might say that a kid that age would not understand so much anyway. But Kuzon felt like in fact, he was the only one who did. The only one who saw all the places in which the air nomads were missing. The only one who saw how fearful the merchants from the earth kingdom that used to be good friends of their family now looked. The only one who did no pretend that their firelord was nothing else but a liar and murderer.  All of that had made him wanting to yell. Or cry, Or both. But his parents had taught him not to do so very soon very well and so he did neither.  But he wrote it down. He started with everything Aang had told him about his people, and what he could remember from the times he had visited. He continued with everything that happened then. When his father got drafted for the war. When they started having to say this weird pledge in school. When the man with the serious face brought the letter that made his mother cry. When they had to leave their big house in the capital and move back to his grandparents into a smaller house in a small village. And how despite all of this, the first thing his mom did in her new, small room was to hang up picture of Sozin so that he could stare down from there as well. He wrote down how after that picture changed from Sozin to Azulon, he applied to university to avoid getting drafted himself. The thought of that made him chuckle now. How smart he had found himself to be. Only too find out that at university they may did not teach him how to kill someone with a sword. But to kill his mind with some words. Of course, he had written that down as well. Just as he wrote down the rumors of the deserted admiral, and the drinking songs the other students were singing about bravery and burned towns. Finally, he got into one last fight with his anthropology professor that got him kicked out of university and close to being arrested. After more or less fleeing town, he cut his hair, hid in a few more closets and stole the passport of a poor lad named Lee. Like that, he escaped his military service scrubbing floors, serving tea and unloading ships on docks. He spent some nights in prisons as well, after fights he had picked at night and after assaulting governmental officials. For jokes about Azulon that he alone had found funny. As the result of trying to convince people that attacking Ba Sing Se would not be right. But no one wanted to be convinced, so once more, all he could do was write down what he observed. The cheering masses and tea sipping towns people just as the polluted rivers and starving fisherman. The children playing war in the streets, already so eager to kill and die for honor and glory just as the factory workers with dark circles under their eyes. He hated to admit it now, but during that time, he had been giving close to giving up more than once. He woke up in the morning not knowing which town he was in, nor how he would pay for dinner there in the evening. He had given up his home, his studies, his name. All because he had not been wanting give up on Aang. He could not betray his friend. When he was not able to fight all of them and stop the war, the least he could do was not to become one of them and instead bear witness for future generations to come. But is just got harder and harder each day, and more and more times he scolded himself for being just stubborn and stupid. His friend was dead. The Dragon of the West was at the walls of Ba Sing Se. And everyone just loved Azulon. What difference would it make if he joined them in? Or if he just stopped trying completely? What saved him was a small clay figure of a sky bison. A woman sold it on the market in a town which's name he did not even know. What he knew, however, was that these kinds of toys were only made by air nomads. And that that woman clearly had no idea how much the piece she was offering here was worth. He bought it without thinking twice. And that was how he finally became a merchant. Trading goods became his explanation for traveling up and down the country, searching for traces and hints, gathering artifacts that one way or another that found their way into the hands of people who had no idea what they were holding. Of course, he had to start small. Very small. But he had learned from the best there were. And he had a goal. “Maybe I am naive to think that one day, the war will be over and the firelord defeated. That one day we can speak freely again and that people will come and learn about the airnomads.”, he wrote down during this time, but when that day comes, they need to have something to learn from. After many years, when Ozai already replaced Azulon, Kuzon settled in a small village, where he lived in a small hut with an even smaller shed in which he kept the artifacts hidden. People quickly started avoiding him as the weird old man who in any other place would have already been arrested but here just served as village idiot. He continued writing, but news travelled slow and when they arrived were usually not reliable at all. Because of that, he nearly did not dare to write the first hopeful line after what seemed to be an eternity. Word has it that the Avatar has returned.

And then after another year, despite all odds and just like that, the war suddenly was over. At least so he heard. And noted that the war was over. And then finally, he put the pen down. Everything suddenly had changed. Yet still, it remained the same.

Kuzon was still alone in his hut and with his books, and still no one seemed to care. He had a testamony to make, but no one wanted to listen. They all just wanted to forget so fast.  And he was a disturbance, since they knew that he remembered.  There were rumors that the new firelord, Zuko, 16 and like that himself half a child, wanted to change things and own up the crimes that were committed. Some people pretended to support that. Others openly complained. Kuzon just would like to believe it was true. But he just had stopped trusting in firelords a long time ago.

Still, he tried his best to maintain the artifacts in good shape, but he was old. He had no family. No friends. And the thought that they would remain hidden here after his death, abdomend and forgotten, broke what was still left of his heart.  But here he was, and here they were. Alone. Suddenly, when Kuzon could already feel his eyes filling with tears, he was interrupted by a voice. A very familiar voice.

“Somebody here?”, it asked.  Kuzon was sure that it was only in his mind, brought back by all the memories. Still, while scolding himself for being a stupid old man, he slowly turned around, expecting to see nothing except for the wall of his shed. But his mind had not tricked him. There he stood, smiling that familiar smile that Kuzon never would have thought he would see again. Aang. And Kuzon cried.

[pastorpresent]

Bobby had always known there was something different about the Winchester boys.

His friendship with John had quickly become strained, because he never quite understood the mans insistence of bringing the two boys into such a fucked up life. He butted heads with the eldest Winchester pretty much every other week, but he had to admit he saw his boys like his own sons.

The first time he met them, Sam had been 8. He hadn't known anything about monsters that lurked in the night, thought his daddy was just a buisness man. He had been a painfully shy and tiny thing, sat pressed firmly against Dean as he clung to his older brother and gave Bobby tentative looks.

After he lets Sam have access to his library, the kid seemed to settle a lot better. He spent 70 percent of his time with his nose in a book, 20 percent talking about his book and 10 percent sleeping.

Dean had been 12. He knew all about all the horrific monsters of the world. If he hadn't been so small, Bobby would've believed him to be far older. He acted like it for sure. He wouldn't let Bobby get near Sam for those first few visits, either. He was like some sort of silent guard dog, always sat close to wherever Sam was just flicking through a comic or watching TV with an arm always draped around his younger brother. If Bobby got too close to Sam his face would harden, and that arm around his brother would tighten even if Sam seemed oblivious.

After half a dozen visits, Dean seemed to decide he wasn't a threat.

He was still quiet and spent most his time watching Sam but he didn't look at Bobby like he was trying to make him drop dead from a single stare anymore whenever he got close to Sam.

Sam really warmed to him. He would babble endlessly about what he had been reading about and a few times they tossed a ball back and forth outside together. Sam was like a little ball of sunshine after that initial shyness melted away, and Bobby had really hoped that he wouldn't lose that positive outlook once John inevitably taught him about the horrors of the world.

He wasn't sure how Sam found out eventually, but he could pin point it directly to that three week gap between one of their visits and the next.

And Bobby's hopes for Sam to remain bright and happy were dashed.

That visit was a good three years after he first met the boys, but the tension made it feel like one of those very first ones.

John had dropped them off with nothing but a gruff 'see you in two weeks', and Dean looked frustrated and upset, grabbing both him and Sam's duffel before pulling open Sam's door and practically dragging him out.

Sam hadn't said a single word. He hadn't said hi to Bobby, or locked him in one of those crushing hugs he had began associating with the kid.

And if Bobby thought Dean carried himself older all those years ago? He kept forgetting Dean was 15 rather than 30.

Sam hadn't picked up a single book during those two weeks, just sat curled up in a ball next to Dean while jumping at every slight noise. Bobby cooked his favourite meals, but Sam barely ate any of them. He had a nightmare every single night for the entirety of those two weeks, and Bobby would always rush in upon hearing the youngests terrified screams and cries only to find Dean already there with him curled up on his lap. Bobby watched him whisper reassurance, kiss the top of Sam's head as he rocked him back and forth.

That light in Sam's eyes had gone out, and Dean's green ones had grew duller.

He had never hated John Winchester quite as much as he had during those two weeks.

Eventually things got back to normal. As normal as they could be, anyway. Sam began reading more lore books, asking Bobby on parts he was unsure about. He was never that happy little kid again, but he seemed to be finding some acceptance for their situation. Dean seemed less on edge too, which wasn't surprising since Bobby had long learnt that a calm Sam typically made for a calm Dean.

It was shortly before Sam's 15th birthday when he began to notice something else.

Nothing monster related. At first, Bobby was convinced he was being a paranoid idiot. He must be reading stuff wrong, or twisting perfectly innocent things into something they didn't deserve to be.

But Sam always came out of their room in Dean's shirt. He watched Dean wipe food from the corner of Sam's lips, and the way their eyes lingered for a beat too long on one another. They still sat far too close, and a couple of times Bobby was convinced he had seen Dean's arm slung low around Sam's hip poorly covered by a blanket.

He had his suspicions, but he still refused to believe it. They had always been oddly close, but it was always just... a protective brother thing. An inevitable product of their unstable upbringing.

It was three months later when he got his concrete proof that whatever was going on with the Winchester boys was far more than that.

He had woken up far earlier than normal, and decided to go make a start on breakfast. Except when he got to the doorway of the kitchen, Sam and Dean were already up.

"Hmmm, I'm glad dad didn't take you with him this time." Sam's tone was soft, made even softer by the tinge of sleep still present.

Bobby peeped around the doorway as subtly as he could. Sam was sat on the cluttered kitchen counter, in one of Dean's old ACDC shirts. Dean was stood between his spread thighs, face buried in Sam's neck.

"I know baby, missed you so bad last time." Dean murmured, so quiet that Bobby almost didnt hear. Dean lifted his head, sending Sam a gentle smile so very similiar to those fond ones he used to send his little brother years before, when Sam said or did something particularly impressive.

Bobby's head was swimming with so many questions. He wasn't... he wasn't disgusted, or disappointed even.

Part of him already knew. And an even deeper part of him knew this was inevitable, something absolutely natural for their paths in life even if everyone else would vehemently argue otherwise.

"Kiss me, De."

Bobby turned and left, padding back to his bedroom as silently as he could manage.

Something had always been different about the Winchester boys, but he would never label it as something wrong.

He just hoped they were damn better at hiding it from their dad, because Bobby had no idea how the man would react. But while they were under his roof? Bobby would play the role of blissfully ignorant for them easily.

[thinking-about-sw33ts]

тнιѕ ιѕ тнє тнιя∂ fαиfι¢ σf тнє ρяσмιѕє∂ fσυя fαиfι¢ѕ!! αѕ αℓωαуѕ ιf тнєяє αяє αиу ѕρєℓℓιиg мιѕтαкєѕ/єяяσяѕ, ρℓєαѕє тєℓℓ мє ѕσ тнαт ι ¢αи fιχ тнєм!! αℓѕσ тнιѕ нιgн ѕ¢нσσℓ αυ нαѕ мα∂є тнє тєєиαgє ιимαтєѕ α вιт σℓ∂єя, ¢σиѕι∂єяιиg тнαт тнєу'яє ιи нιgн ѕ¢нσσℓ. αℓѕσ тнє αѕѕιѕтαит ѕυρєяνιѕσя gυαя∂ѕ ωιℓℓ єιтнєя вє α тєα¢нєя σя α ѕтυ∂єит! ( єχαмρℓє: нιтσѕнι, αнαтσ, ѕєιтαяσυ, єт¢ = ѕтυ∂єитѕ. αи∂ уαмαтσ, ιиσяι, єт¢ = тєα¢нєяѕ!) нσρєfυℓℓу тнαт мαкєѕ ѕєиѕє! тнє мιиσя gυαя∂ѕ ωιℓℓ вє ѕтυ∂єитѕ αѕ ωєℓℓ! (∂αιѕєи вяσтнєяѕ, єт¢ = ѕтυ∂єитѕ!) σиє σf тнє ѕ¢єиαяισѕ ιи нєяє ωαѕ α¢тυαℓℓу fяσм σнѕн¢ (συяαи нιgн ѕ¢нσσℓ нσѕт ¢ℓυв) ι яєαℓℓу ℓιкє тнє яσмαитι¢ ιитєяα¢тισиѕ тнє нσѕт ¢ℓυв нαѕ ωιтн нαяυнι! нσρєfυℓℓу уσυ gυуѕ ωιℓℓ єиʝσу яєα∂ιиg тнιѕ!!~★

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⭐️Not Fair⭐️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anime:

🗝Nanbaka🗝

Ship(s):

Main Ship:

💢Honey💢X💦Seitarou💦X🛠Trois🛠

Supporting Ship(s):

🃏Uno🃏 X ⛓Jyugo⛓

💊Nico💊 X 🔮Upa🔮

🔥Musashi🔥 X 🗑Qi🗑

🍔Rock🍔 X 🥮Liang🥮

Type:

🌸Fluff🌸

🔽Love Triangle🔼

AU(Alternative Universe):

🏫High School🏫

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

📑Narrator’s P.O.V📑(Point of View):

Ah yes, Valentine's day~ A day to spend with your lover, or to potentially confess your undying love to a certain special person. Today on this special day, we’re going to see what the students of nanba are going to do!~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💦Seitarou’s P.O.V💦(Point of View):

“So student 25, what are you going to be doing on this day?” I asked a certain excited, jumpy green haired american. “Well today I’m going to be hanging out with Master! Look, I even made him a letter, and bought him some candy hearts!” Nico rambled, his dark crimson coloured eyes sparkling. As well as holding up the item for me to see.

The item he held on his left hand was a neon coloured card, with a few traced characters from various animes. While on the other hand, was a clear nicely wrapped plastic bag that contained the tiny different coloured heart shaped candy, with little cute messages engraved on them. “They look nice. He probably would enjoy them!” I responded, clearly impressed with the items. In return I received an excited nod.

After escorting Nico to the infirmary for him to get his medicine he immediately went on to finding Upa. When he finally did, he gave the said items to him, receiving an embarrassed ‘thank you’. As well as a little kiss on the cheek, when he thought people weren’t looking.

I softly smiled at the adorable couple. I walk back to my locker, opening it in order for me to get next classes’ textbooks. Once I opened it, a bunch of stuffed chocolate poured out onto me, covering me.

“Damn pretty boy getting all the freaking chocolate!” Uno shouted to himself, clearly mad. “Well that’s fine I have jyugo. Someone he’ll never have.” Uno explained to himself, snuggling on to the black haired Japanese native. About to give him a passionate kiss, before Rock interrupted them. “Can you guys get a room?” Rock suggested, holding a certain long haired chinese’s porcelain hand.

They slowly went to the cafeteria, planning to skip class and just hang out. While heading to their destinations, I managed to see that Rock planted a soft kiss on his lover’s lips, while Jyugo handed Uno some chocolates. I smiled once again, feeling overjoyed for the couples. I quickly head over to the library, planning to borrow some books to read before class starts.

As I entered the library, I saw that Qi was sitting on Musashi’s lap, reading him a book about different kinds of plants, and what their medicines are used for. In return, the more Qi talked about the plants, the more Musashi snuggled up to him. “Hey students 71 and 634, remember to go to your next class. It starts at 12:20!” I reminded them, getting a lazy nod in return.

After getting the books I wanted to borrow, I immediately headed over to my next class, planning to eat lunch there and read the books. I arrived at the class, getting out my lunch before setting it down on my assigned desk, and putting my bag at the side of my desk, while pulling out one of the books I borrowed. After doing all that I sat down on my seat opening the bento box that was wrapped in a blue polka-dotted cloth.

As I lifted the wooden lid my eyes widened, sparkling. ‘Wow, Hitoshi’s getting much more better at making bentos! I have to compliment her later.’ I thought to myself. There laid before me, was 2 rice balls that seemed to have eyes made out of small circular shaped seaweed, while there were 3 pieces of cut tamagoyaki on the side.

The other side from the tamagoyaki were 3 cut pieces of crispy chicken. Next to it were 2 cherry tomatoes. All of the items were laid on various pieces of lettuce with a nice sauce on it, adding much more to the flavour. I lifted my silver chopsticks, picking up one of the tamagoyaki, munching down on it happily. ‘This tastes like absolute heaven!~’ I thought to myself, looking up to the sky letting the taste guide me.

“That looks absolutely delicious.” A certain voice called out. I looked over to my side, seeing that it was Trois. I nod my head, eating another piece. “Want to try some of my lunch?” Trois suddenly asked, making me deny it at first, until he started to insist, making me give in. He searches through his bag, finally he pulls out a small clear container with a mint green tint. I lightly tilt my head to the side, not knowing what to expect.

Suddenly he tilts my chin with his index finger, feeding me a spoonful of what seems to be a sort of cake. After feeding me, I immediately put my hand in front of my mouth, so that crumbs wouldn’t fall out. I start to chew on it, focusing on the taste, feeling absolute bliss. “It tastes delicious!” I admitted. “It’s a french dessert called Fraisier, which is a certain strawberry cheesecake.” Trois explained, about to feed me the rest of it. Once realizing this, I feel my cheeks get warmer.

All of a sudden we both hear the doors slam open. I turn my head towards the door, only to see a certain familiar purple haired person with various arrows protruding from his hair, panting, clear signs that he runned over here. He quickly sits next to me, pulling out a clear container, shoving a spoon in my mouth. Once realizing that it was just some apple pie, I munch down blissfully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💢Honey’s P.O.V💢(Point of View):

‘Hah! Beat that idiot!’ I wondered to myself, looking behind Seitarou to see what Trois’ reaction might be, flashing him a smug smirk. Trois looks over to me smiling politely, even with the scary purple aura surrounding his figure. In return I flash him one of my famous middle fingers, my smirk still not leaving my face.

As I did that I continued feeding Seitarou my apple pie. Smiling at his blissful face, making me just want to just plant a soft passionate kiss on his plump lips. Suddenly Trois taps Seitarou’s shoulder making him turn around. When he did in fact turn around, he fed him some of his food. The victorious smirk leaves my face, clearly starting to get angry.

As I place my container down, I throw one of the desks behind mines, almost hitting Trois. Although missing, since he dodged it. In return, he threw one of the desks back. Dodging it, a fight broke out between the both of us. We managed to take a quick glimpse over to Seitarou only to see that he went back to eating his lunch, making us continue our fight without any interruptions.

“Ahem! Boys settle yourselves down!”

We both turn our attention over to the head of the class, only to see a disappointed Kiji Mitsuba. We quickly stopped what we were doing, going back to our seats, bowing our heads in shame. Soon after that, class started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✨Bonus✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💢Honey’s P.O.V💢(Point of View):

“Yes, What is it, student 82?”

“I forgot my textbook. May I share with Seitarou?”

“Fine , go ahead, don't forget your textbook next time though.”

With that being said I move my chair closer to Seitarous. ‘All of this is going according to plan.’ I thought to myself, a victorious smirk planted on my attractive face.

All of a sudden I quickly slam my hand on the top part of his chair, cupping one of his tainted cheeks with my other hand. As I trapped him there, I guided my hand over to his chin, tilting it upwards, so that his rose coloured eyes met with my emerald coloured ones.

I brush my fingers over his lips, just inches away from kissing him right there. Just as my lips moved towards his, I turned his face to the side so that I could whisper something to him.

“This isn’t a dream Seitarou~” Letting go of his face, I saw that he immediately covered his face with both of his hands, making me smirk once again. “Not fair!” Trois muttered to himself, breaking his pencil with both of his hands, looking over towards our direction.

“Ahem! Pay attention to the lesson, students 82 and 03! Seitarou dear, just tell me if these perverts are bothering you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[theshadowsong]

Ordinary evening

Yes I wrote something stupid xD My OC Diya is the assistant of Archibald and clearly annoyed of his behavior lol (with a fluffy ending)

I really tried to translate all the names of people and places right, because they differ from the German version. Sorry when something is wrong though

It was a typical ordinary evening in Clairdelune and Archibald was once again celebrating one of his parties. People of the nobility, especially of the Illusionists and the Web gathered, laughed artificially, danced and drank. And none of them wasted even a thought that someone might want to concentrate here.

Wearing a simple purple dress, Diya sat in one of the many side rooms of the mansion, trying to think. Her long hair, lighter on top than underneath, fell silky smooth into her face. Annoyed, she wiped a strand out of her field of vision and immediately regretted it a moment later. As soon as she touched her hair, it was electrified by the cold, dry air of the pole. Even the best illusion couldn‘t change that, her hair had always been very sensitive.

„Ah the little assistant.“ Diya looked up from her notes and groaned inwardly. Standing before her was the director of the Nibelungen. One of the most unpleasant people she had ever met. She tried to ignore the disparaging tone and put on a fake smile.

„What can I do for you?“ She couldn‘t help but sound a little annoyed, especially since the director had been getting on her nerves terribly for quite a while.

„Regarding the request, I assume the Ambassador has already been informed?“

Diya raised an eyebrow, „Your application has only been on file for two days, Director.“

„It is of the utmost importance that...“

„I will present the application to the Ambassador after I read it.“ She interrupted him, conspicuously emphasizing the word „after.“

The man opposite her gasped indignantly.

„I see manners have not been taught to you in any case, cook.“ Dyia looked skeptically at the director. Indeed she had been a cook before becoming Archibald‘s assistant, but she was such a miserable cook that it almost bordered on poisoning. In a way, the ambassador had probably saved her from the arduous life of a servant.

It was also to be expected that the nobility of the Pole was not very enthusiastic about showing a servant a certain amount of respect. Even if she was officially no longer one. In addition, she wasn‘t even from the Pole. Which is also not entirely true, because she was indeed born here. But because of the unequal darker skin tone, the Polians were all pale and light blond, with the sandy brown hair and the green eyes, everybody noticed immediately that she was of a different descent. Her mother came from Al Ondaltus, as a visitor to Pol. From her, she also had her family power, which she hid as well as she could.

Diya could sense and alter the emotions of others, which might not be a popular gift at the Pole. Her father had been a page who died before she was born. Her mother disappeared. But left her in the care of a nasty old woman who liked nothing better than to mend old socks over a bottle of whiskey.

„Are you being molested?“ Archibald‘s blond curly head appeared in the doorway. He was beaming as usual. His gaze lingered on the director, who grimaced.

„You should control your employees better, I already made a request two days ago...“ Archibald‘s bright laughter interrupted him and Diya just hoped for this conversation to end soon. The director of the Nibelungen scowled even more.

„But, but... do you know how many applications and documents come in here every day, I guess you‘ll have to be patient.“ Archibald fluted cheerfully and winked at Diya.

She had nothing to add.

Outraged, the director whirled around and stormed out of the room.

„Well that was interesting.“

„No it wasn‘t.“ Diya‘s headache increased, as it always does when there are too many people in one spot. Too many feelings all at once. Add to that the ever-present sensations of the family spirit she was always aware of. She would have to leave the pole just to escape Farouk‘s confused aura.

„You should really have some fun for once,“ Archibald laughed, eyeing himself over the table of documents, his breath sweet, having already had a drink or two.

„And who’s going to do all your work then?“ Diya gave the ambassador a playfully reproachful look. „Apart from that, neither the alcohol nor the presence of all these people help with my headache.“

Archibald was one of the few who knew about her powers. Diya tried to tune them out as much as possible. Diving into the feelings of others was already very personal, but on the other hand, it wasn‘t equally easy to read everyone. Many hid their true feelings from themselves, others were so open that they practically threw their feelings in her face.

Archibald‘s smile became more tentative, and he straightened up again.

„At least promise me to eat something.“ Out of nowhere, probably having held it in his hand all along, he whipped out a plate of cake.

„Ah? I guess cake counts as a full meal with you guys, huh?“ teased Diya, accepting the plate. „Sure, especially with strawberries.“

They heard some groping footsteps and then a high-pitched, definitely drunk voice of a woman, „Ohh Archi!!? Where are you?“

„Well, I’m being summoned.“ The one addressed raised his hat and gave a deliberately exaggerated bow to his assistant, who just rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of water.

A few hours passed until the people slowly dwindled and Diya‘s headache disappeared. Sighing, she got up, the music had been off for a while, instead the sound of a piano key kept repeating.

Diya walked down a corridor past a small fountain, which she was convinced was an illusion. In the room she entered afterwards, there were several sofas, armchairs and tables. There was also a piano on which a figure was playing the same key, half lying down.

Archibald‘s curls were even more tangled than usual and his face was slightly red.

„Archibald?“

He didn‘t respond at all.

Diya looked at him for a few seconds, then sat down next to him.

„Archibald, look at me.“ gingerly, she lifted his chin and forced him to look her in the face. „Dude how much did you drink?“ reproachfully, she looked at the ambassador, but the addressed one only laughed inanely and tried to stand up. He failed miserably, staggered and almost fell down if Diya had not supported him. Without thinking about whether he might have been too heavy to be carried by his assistant, he leaned his entire weight against her.

„Thisss is... well, not... how late isss it...?“ he slurred, laughing again.

„To late.“ hissed Diya, who had to muster all her concentration not to fall down. With difficulty, she hoisted him onto a sofa, where he plopped down at an odd angle. He was still giggling stupidly to himself. She couldn‘t possibly leave him alone like that.

„You’re really making more work for me than necessary,“ she reprimanded Archibald, settling down on the sofa next to him. Archibald had stopped giggling and looked at her with wide eyes. „Are you mad at me?“

Surprised, she looked at him, sounding seriously concerned. The way he was lying next to her on the sofa, he almost seemed like a child.  „No, of course not.“

Diya was just dog-tired, nevertheless she would wait until Archibald fell asleep. She grabbed a book from the side table and started flipping through it randomly, she was way too tired to concentrate.

After 10 minutes of nursing, she thought he had fallen asleep, but suddenly he put his head on her lap. Irritated, she looked at the ambassador, with his worn clothes, unshaven face and tangled hair, he had more similarities with a bum than with a nobleman. Still, one could not help but find him attractive. Sighing, Diya closed the book and put it aside.

Gently, she placed her hand on his head. She would not find sleep in that position, but Archibald was already blissfully slumbering. Her fingers played with the surprisingly soft curls. A little helplessly, she shook her head.

„Idiot.“ whispered Diya, but could not hide a smile.

[writtenonreceipts]

Will you write a part 2 of a chain, a box, a lie where they get back together?

Fixed it for you, sorry to leave you hanging for so long.  Part One is here.

May still be a bit angsty. I’m not sure how I feel about this one but oh well….at least I didn’t go with the version where someone had to die to get them back together.  Seriously, I wrote three different versions of how this would go aaaaand still not satisfied with it... enjoy?

#

Fools in Love

The bed was too large. Too large, too cold, too empty.

Aelin rolled onto her side and glanced at the alarm clock barely visible amid a pile of books, chocolate wrappers, and tissues.  Cold red letters blared back at her.  

7:54 am.

It took her a few minutes to orientate herself and try to remember what had woken her up.  It wasn’t until her phone gave a second loud chirp that she realized some idiot was texting her so early on a Saturday.

Groaning, Aelin fumbled for her phone.  Unfortunately, her morning coordination was crap and she ended up knocking it to the ground with a clatter.

At her feet, Fleetfoot gave a loud huff and shifted until her paws were digging into Aelin’s calves. The puppy behaved like a temperamental teenager more often than not.  

By the time she found her phone on the ground, Aelin knew she wasn’t going back to bed.  Instead, she rubbed her eyes and stuffed her feet in her slippers.  Fleetfoot remained blissfully asleep as Aelin shuffled into the kitchen.

Damn dog.

Aelin stretched as she put on the tea pot for some tea and was about to open her phone to read the texts when someone knocked at her door.  She froze.  Who the hell?

She had a pistol stashed in a safe in her room, but that seemed too far away.  Aelin did the only logical thing she could think of grabbed her cast iron skillet settled on the kitchen counter.  No one she knew would be up this early.  Not even her landlord.  

Aelin opened her phone ready to dial the police when she saw the texts.

>>Can we talk?

>>Please?

Another knock came at the door.  

Aelin cursed as she kept her grip on the skillet.  Even if she hadn’t seen the texts or seen his name, she should have known.  Just to be safe she looked through the peephole. Once again, standing just outside her door was Rowan.  Once again, looking like hell.

She knew she would regret it, but Aelin locked her phone and slid the chain from off the door.  As she eased the door open, Aelin could see the surprise register on Rowans face that she’d actually woken up to his texts. Let alone come and open the door to him. But that wasn’t what surprised her. It was how bloodshot his eyes were. It was the circles brewing beneath those eyes and how that intensely passionate gleam had been snuffed out.

“Rowan,” she whispered. His name on her lips was hard to hear. She felt her heart cinch painfully at it, but figured cursing at him wouldn’t be helpful.

The man merely stared at her as he leaned against the door jam.  It wasn’t raining, which was a small blessing, so he was dry this time.  But his hair was still a mess, his clothes still rumpled.

He merely stared at her with tired eyes and a tired body.  It seemed to be a miracle that he was still standing.

“I didn’t text you back.” She couldn’t keep her own exhaustion from her voice as she spoke.

Rowan exhaled sharply and cursed. “I know.  I’m sorry, I was already on my way over here and I wasn’t thinking and—” He let himself trail off.  A small spark of hope flickered in his eyes. “You can tell me to get out when ever and I’ll listen.”

It took her a moment, but Aelin finally nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”

Rowan did.  And as he stepped around her, he noticed the skillet she still held.

“Are you going to beat me with that?” he asked.

She scowled at the amusement in his voice. “I’m thinking of it, considering you woke me up at eight in the morning.  On a Saturday.”

He at least at the decency to look abashed.  

A part of her wondered if she was being stupid to let this happen.  To let him in and either talk or stare or yell.  Whatever they ended up doing it was stupid.  But then…they were adults.  She was twenty-five and he was twenty-eight.  They could be in the same room together.  They needed to be in the same room together.  Their friend group had merged into one giant conglomerate that they had to get used to one another again.

The apartment was silent as she shut and locked the door behind him.  Aelin didn’t bother looking at him as she headed back to the kitchen and set the skillet back on the counter.  The tea pot began to sputter but Aelin was feeling like she needed something far stronger now.

Running a hand through her hair she looked back to Rowan.  He was still standing in the middle of the entry way hands in his pockets. His leather jacket was open displaying a graphic t-shirt from some grunge band they’d discovered together.

Despite everything, he still looked good.  Aelin hated him for it.  She turned away and started her coffee machine.  Tea would wait for another time.

“What do you want to talk about Rowan?” she asked.  Steeling herself, Aelin turned back to face him.  She leaned against the kitchen counter, ready to lunge for the skillet if need be.  She knew however Rowan wouldn’t hurt her.  She just wanted to make sure she would be able to cause some damage if he pissed her off enough.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked anywhere but at her.

It stung.  That reaction.  She knew she’d broken his heart.  She’d broken her own too.  But it was better.  It was better to walk away from those feelings because honestly, who the hell would want her around for so long?  It was only a matter of time before the ball would drop and they would both realize how strange and deranged their relationship was.  Ten months be damned.

“We never talked about what happened, Aelin,” he said.  Finally, he locked eyes with her.  Aelin looked away quickly.  She still got shivers hearing him say her name.  So carefully, so gently.

“We did—” she tried to speak, but Rowan cut her off.

“And I don’t mean the fight we had and the words we threw at each other,” he said.  His words cut right over hers with some of the same passion he’d once had.  Aelin couldn’t bare to see if his eyes were just as bright. “I mean about what happened with us.”

It was Aelin’s turn to look anywhere but him.  She focused on the space behind him, to the wall where she used to keep a framed picture of them together.  It was tucked beneath her bed because she’d been up most of last night crying over it. But she would not admit to that. It was her fault after all that they’d broken up.

“I just want to talk.” He sounded helpless enough that Aelin had to look at him.  His eyes were desperate, almost pleading as he looked at her.  The usual short hair cut he had was growing out enough that his bangs flopped in his face making him appear younger than he really was.

“We did talk,” Aelin said. She ran a hand through her hair and silently cursed herself.  She was wearing his damned shirt like an idiot.  Hell, she couldn’t have put on a sweatshirt?

“Aelin,” Rowan said exasperated.  Whenever he got frustrated like this he began pacing and today was no exception.  He didn’t walk towards her, but rather to the couch and back, his footsteps heavy on the floor. “I want to talk about us. I want to talk about how you told me that you could do this anymore and that it was over.  And nothing else.  What am I supposed to do with that?  How am I supposed to get over you based on that?”

The back of her eyes burned, but Aelin wouldn’t let him see her tears.  She’d cried enough over this the past several weeks.  Talking about it wouldn’t help.  Talking about it would only reveal the truth and the truth was an ugly, wretched thing.

“I need coffee,” she muttered.  

Without looking up, she went to the coffee pot and pulled a cup to the brim.  She took a long sip without her usual additives.  All she really needed was the rush of caffeine.  Something to clear her head and help her think. The bitter roast of the coffee beans certainly helped with that.  Who the hell drank a blend this dark?

As soon as she had the thought, she realized that this must have been left over from Rowan’s stash that he’d kept here.

Aelin cursed and set the cup aside. “So, I’m supposed to be responsible for why you can’t move on?  I’m responsible for your own misery?”

She knew of course that it was her fault.  She loved him and still ended it.  She loved him and still walked away.  

“Ten months together Aelin,” Rowan said.  He stopped pacing now and stepped toward her. “I deserve more than that.  We deserve more than a few sentences and shouted words. I have to believe that.”

There was too much Aelin wanted to say.  Too much she could say.  But saying it wouldn’t make any of this better.

Scrubbing a hand over her eyes and the tears forming there, Aelin faced him full on. “We were working so much, too far apart and…and I just couldn’t…we just—”

“We just weren’t good together?” he finished for her, a disbelieving sort of smile on his mouth.

Even though he didn’t know those were the same words she’d pretended she would say to him—it still cut her to the core to hear them.  We’re just too good together.

Her lip wobbled.

“You were never good at being honest with me,” Rowan observed, “even at our best, I always knew you were holding something back.  Keeping something hidden.”

Aelin had to bite down on her lower lip, but she knew it was too late, knew he could already see her breaking.  

In the living room, the infomercials continued to play.  Aelin could think back to one day early on in their relationship when she’d taken a sick day because her period had been miserable and she could barely move. Rowan had come over as soon as she’d texted him that she wasn’t feeling well.  He’d come fully prepared with a heating pad, chocolate, and ice cream. They spent the day on her couch watching these same stupid infomercials.  Laughing over the poor acting, the strange products.  Simply together.

Aelin swallowed stiffly. “Rowan,” she began, her voice sounding wounded to her own ears that she needed to pause.  Because how could any of this be made better?  How could she take back what she said?  How could they come back from this?

“Can you blame me for being scared?” she finally said.  The words weren’t the ones she really wanted to say but as soon as they were out, she couldn’t stop. “Scared of everything about us, about you?  I’m terrified by how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.  Because I’ve never…I don’t…”

Aelin trailed off uselessly. There was no stopping the tears in her eyes, falling down her cheeks.  Between Sam and Chaol and a brief interlude with Dorian—the raw all-consuming emotions that she had with Rowan were utterly new and different. And she wasn’t lying when she said she was terrified of it.  She was so, so tired of lying.  Even if it led to more misery.

Aelin didn’t notice when he came towards her.  She barely registered it through her tears until he was right before her, his hands ghosting trails up her arms, slow and careful.  When he began wiping the tears from her cheeks, Aelin nearly yanked away from him.  Or fell into his arms.  She didn’t know which.  

Which was worse?  The weakness of him seeing her like this? Or the weakness of being a sobbing wreck?

“Fireheart,” Rowan whispered.  So close. He was close enough that she could smell him.  That glorious scent of pine and snow mixed with the fresh tang of sunlight.  One of his hands moved to cup her chin, tilting her face up just enough to look directly into her eyes.

Through her tears, Aelin could make out the concern on his face.  She could just see the twisted frown of his lips, the pained look of his eyes.  That look sent a pulse of her own pain through ever nerve in her body.  Aelin shivered and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” Rowan said to her silence.  Her eyes flew open at the words and locked onto his gaze. “Everything about you, Fireheart, terrifies me.  I keep finding another reason to fall in love with you.  I keep finding another reason to want to be with you.  And I know enough about you past and the other men in your life to get why you’re scared.”

He paused, his eyes flicking away from hers for just a moment.

“But,” he continued, “I’m not them.  And I don’t want to leave you.  I don’t want to run when things get hard.  I’ve always loved you.  And I always will.”

The admission sent a rush of warmth through Aelin.  Damn him. Damn this man before her who knew everything about her and loved her still for it.  She could hear it in his words, the tremble of his voice.  How sincere he was.

His hands still cupped her face and Aelin reached up to grip his wrists with her hands, desperate to keep him there.  Releasing a shaky breath, Aelin, bowed her head and stepped closer until her forehead bumped into his chest.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She looked up at him ready again to apologize and say something else about what an idiot she was.

Rowan however, kissed her.

His lips were soft, a whisper against hers.  And much like his words from when he first came in, the touch echoed the same sentiment. I’ll leave if you ask.

Screw that.

Aelin surged on her toes and kissed him with greater force.  She ran her hands up his arms, cupping his neck and pulling him closer, closer.  Because really, she was a fool to have let him go in the first place.

When Rowan pulled back, Aelin was more than ready to follow him, the heady need in her body not yet satiated.  The cocky smile growing on Rowan’s mouth though almost had her smacking him.

He sobered though. “I’m sorry, too.”  She furrowed her brow at him and he continued. “For throwing too much at you, for not talking sooner and making sure you were okay with what I was asking.”

Aelin curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.  She pressed her forehead against his and breathed deeply.  The words were on the tip of tongue.  Words that had felt like acid on her tongue for weeks now.

“Rowan,” she said, enunciating ever syllable, “I love you.”

He smiled a heart-breaking smile as he looked down at her.  He paused a moment, his hands running down to the hem of the shirt she wore.

“Is this my shirt?”

Aelin gave him a blank look. “You’re still not getting it back.”

“That’s fine by me,” he said and kissed her again.

#

Gah. Hope this heals your wounded hearts, dears.  Not my fave, but oh well…

I’ve got another ask that is giving me a hard time, but I promise to the anon who sent it in, I am working on it.  I’m going to work on my Cursebreaker fic next and hopefully have something ready soon.

As always, my ask box and messages are always open for whatever, prompts or just to talk. Thanks y’all.

tags:

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[kneamet]

Jaguar! Tom discovers his wife is having an affair. He murders his rival. Reader's wrists are tied to the chair. Tom caresses her cheek. He tells her: You're mine. She says he forced her to marry and she isn't love him. Tom smiles and tells her : You will never leave bedroom. You will stay there forever as my lovely wife.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, murder

Word Count: 1536

Character: Jaguar!Tom/reader

Summary: your husband finds out you're having an affair. And he is filled with pure anger.

POV Thomas

He was angry. Very angry. Anger filled him. But also, in a sense, I was a little confused. How could his beloved wife dare to cheat on him? Why? Didn't she love him?

But didn't they have the most beautiful and pure love in the world? Weren't they happily married together? In Thomas ' opinion, she had everything: beautiful and expensive clothes, a husband who idolized her, delicious food, comfortable conditions. What was wrong with her?

Thomas spent most of his free time with you. Spent time with you, even bathed you when you were sick. And in the end, what? And in the end, she just ignores his feelings and throws a knife in his back. Not literally, of course.

But why with him? Why did she cheat on him with a stranger? A man who wasn't even her type! Thomas knew about his wife's tastes. You liked the dangerous ones, the courageous ones, and most importantly, the smart ones. Who would even like a stay-at-home person? Some nerd, what does he do, what does he read about morality?

No, his doll was only interested in gentlemen like him. And she won't need anyone else. Period.

Thomas sighed, clenching his jaw tightly, squeezing his snow-white teeth. He blinked a couple of times and his gaze returned to the body. On a dead body. On the body of his wife's lover.

What a freak. These were Thomas's thoughts, and he kicked with a little lethargy, his shoes already stained with blood. The blood of the bastard who tried to steal you from him.

Thomas didn't like Ben. That was the man's name, Ben. The towering man slowly savored the name. He didn't like it. What kind of idiot would give his son that name. Although St. Benedict...

But no. Beliefs were alien to him, and he had never had much sympathy for any religion. Although thanks to them, it is easy to manipulate people, which was certainly a plus for all politicians.

Thomas quickly squatted down, spreading his legs and raising his left eyebrow. And how could this man only attract the attention of his wife?

Benedict's red hair lay in an unpleasant and sticky arrangement. Was he poor, since he couldn't even afford a normal gel? It was possible, especially if you looked at his clothes, which were old, worn jeans and a loose red sweater. More like a jumper, though. Thomas didn't know much about it.

He didn't want to believe that those disgusting hands were touching the body of his doll. He couldn't imagine this freak stroking her back.

No, he wouldn't dare touch his doll like that. Her beautiful soft hair, which was convenient to grasp during acts of love, soft and innocent eyes that always looked into the eyes of the interlocutor. This is a beautiful face, the beauty of which can not be compared with anyone from the existing person.

Still, Thomas hoped Benedict hadn't touched her in that particular way.

The man stifled a sigh.

"Thank you for not even torturing you. My tortures can be quite brutal, by the way, " Thomas lamented, getting up from his crouch with a loud gasp and adjusting the black frosted pants from the new Westwood collection. And why was he only wearing that suit? I knew I'd get it dirty. And his favorite shoes.

Thomas turned to the other men who were standing by the door, watching the scene, and said quickly::

"Get out of here, and quickly," he waved a hand in it. "I don't want the police to notice the murder of this senseless man," Thomas said in a steely voice, quickly scanning the perimeter for other people.

"Get ready, doll, because you're going to get hurt," he muttered to himself, clenching his fists tightly.

***

"I love you, doll," the man mumbled happily, holding his beloved's small hands tightly in his big and wounded ones.

The girl only smiled in response, resting her head on the strong shoulder of her beloved Thomas. He just smiled, blissfully closing his eyes.

"Me too," she murmured back.

***

POV Your

Fucking freak. A complete freak, incapable of even the slightest feelings of compassion. How could you ever meet someone like that? Why exactly are you? Why exactly do you get into all sorts of unpleasant situations with crazy psychos?

You sighed softly, feeling your heartbeat quicken again, getting faster and faster. You didn't want to think about what would happen when Thomas, your husband, came here. I didn't want to. You were sure that this betrayal would be followed by the punishment that your, you slightly grimaced, husband, so often spoke of.

You blinked a couple of times and looked at the door across from you. Freedom was so close and yet you couldn't get it... Although even that plan did not seem to be very implemented.

Your last plan, which Thomas revealed, was to have an affair with a man behind his back. With a man who would do anything for you, even write a book! With a man who will love you with a sincere and pure love, and not the way Thomas loves you.

You don't even want to say his name in your mind.

But in the end, the plan failed because Thomas installed a small sensor in your body, as painful as it was to realize, that would monitor your location.

But how did he know about it? After all, you did everything secretly, there were no inaccuracies. You checked everything! And in the end, Thomas somehow doubted your "loyalty" to him and decided to track you.

But even apart from that, you didn't stop dating your beloved Benedict. After all, he was so cute! Infidel, one of the best people there is.

***

Thomas's intense and watchful eyes were watching you. Watching you change into a pair of light pajamas that consisted of long shorts and a white nightgown.

You turned your brooding gaze on him, looking at Thomas in a little confusion. He took your gaze and cleared his throat, lowering his eyes.

"Tell me, do you love me?" he asked incredulously as he sat down on the soft, spread-out bed. You stifled a sigh and sank down beside him. It was getting harder to wake up and fall asleep next to him.

Trying to smile, you turned off the light.

"Of course I love you," unfortunately, or fortunately, these words had to be said constantly and through force.

***

You pressed your lips together. Being in this room right now was just disgusting. You never liked her, but you knew that if you said a word against Thomas ' word, you'd be in trouble.

Although it would seem that the usual room of a rich man. The white walls matched the white bed, the legs of which were dark in color. There was a large beige sofa next to it, a large-screen TV in front of it, and bookcases with books and clothes next to it. And of course, in the corner of the room, you could see a small camera. Thomas loved to dominate the situation.

Yes, everything would be fine, but only if Thomas didn't force you to have violent sex in this room and everything here wasn't bought with stolen money.

And although you used to like this beige sofa, standing next to the bed, now you just hated it fiercely, as well as the bed itself. And all why? Because you were sitting on it right now, and the ropes were tied to the bedposts, rubbing your skin very painfully.

Suddenly, the wooden door opened loudly and closed with an equally loud bang. You looked up reluctantly. Your husband, who was apparently in a complete mess, was walking straight towards you, angry with Thomas. It seems that not now will definitely not be good.

You've never found Thomas eerily handsome. Yes, he was good-looking, in your opinion: that black hair, gelled, thin lips, brilliant blue eyes that you could drown in, a great style in music, clothes, books, after all, but still something about him always seemed suspicious. He was too perfect.

Suddenly, he was right in front of you, grabbing your sore cheek with a strong hand. You stifled a painful groan. Damn, this is so unpleasant. But you will have to endure, because it is better not to show Thomas your fear and resentment, otherwise he may be bitterly angry.

"You're mine!" he roared loudly, through his teeth, like a lion about to pounce on its prey.

You sighed softly, feeling the uncomfortable feeling in your hands again, where the hard rope was rubbing painfully against your wrists, and feeling your cheek tighten again.

"I'm not yours!" No, it was just unbearable. You're not a toy and you don't belong to anyone. "I will never be yours, because you just forced me to marry you, you freak!"you snapped back, already feeling that Thomas would slap you, so you prematurely closed your eyes.

However, the blow did not come. Blinking, you saw Thomas smiling at you with a sickly smile. She's always terrified you. It meant that something was about to happen.

"You just don't understand. You just don't get it, do you, doll? But no, you understand perfectly!" he growled again, barely able to contain himself. You saw the veins in his neck bulge. All of a sudden he just calmed down. "You will never leave this room again. You will stay here forever, as my beloved wife.”

[ashtheshortstack]

beautiful disaster - ch 1

Rating: M Ship: Kyoru Chapter 1/5: “Do you wanna hang out?”

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Learning intimacy, Virgin Dorks, Post-Curse, Manga/Anime Spoilers 

Graduation was fast approaching, it seemed. Though it was still a few months away, Kyo couldn’t help but want to hang onto these memories of high school. Life would be completely different soon. Not in the way Kyo had originally suspected, of course. For so many years… he believed after he graduated high school that he’d be locked away for the rest of his life. That his life on the “outside” would be over. That he’d be separated from Tohru forever… and he’d be doomed for a lonely eternity. 

But instead, she changed his life forever. Changed everyone around her like the precious flower she was. If anyone could bring out the good in someone, it was always her. Always Tohru. He didn’t deserve her… God, he didn’t. But she chose him. And how lucky he was that she did. 

Shigure and the rat weren’t going to be home that afternoon. The thought of being left alone with Tohru made him warm all over. It shouldn’t be a big deal. They spent so much time together as it was since they’d been dating for months. And during their summer break they were alone a few times and it didn’t matter. Kyo couldn’t be afraid of being alone with the girl he loved. That was just stupid. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Or fret over. Or overthink. Right? 

Right?

So, why did today feel so different? Why was he so itchy all over? He’d noticed a shift lately. He found himself staring at her hips as they swayed, found himself eyeing the creamy skin of her legs that shown between her skirts and socks. 

“Oh, hey, Carrots. You waiting on Tohru?” 

Bristling, he rocketed out of his thoughts. Kyo glanced up to see Uotani standing there with her arms crossed. Freaky wave girl wasn’t with her, shockingly. Not that he minded… her constantly teasing him about how attractive his master is made his skin crawl. Since the spirit of the cat had left him, he’d noticed that people were able to sneak up on him a lot easier than they used to. He kind of hated it, but he couldn’t really complain. 

“Yeah, why?” 

She cocked a brow. “Why do you think? Usually the prince is around to walk Tohru home with you, but he’s been surprisingly absent lately.” 

Kyo snorted. “‘Course he is. He’s gotta girlfriend now and that student council crap. Besides, s’not like I want that jerk around.” 

“You do like to hog our Tohru to yourself, huh?” 

“That’s not what I meant!” 

Uotani just barked a laugh at his expense. Just like she always did. Kyo couldn’t help but think there was a bit of spite to her words. She wasn’t wrong. And Tohru already agreed to move away with him. She’d be far away from the people she loved. There was a small guilt that ate at him for that reason alone. Tohru had agreed to come with him. Insisted that he was her most important person, and that she wanted to be with him. So, so many times, Kyo thought about how he didn’t deserve her devotion. That she shouldn’t give up everyone she loved just for him. But she was insistent. 

He’d do whatever it meant to make her happy. 

Kyo would give Tohru the damn universe if he could. If that's what she wanted. 

“Seriously, though… Don’t go too crazy with your new found alone time. Be gentle with her, alright? She’s never had a boyfriend before and all of this is new to her.” 

Pushing off the wall, he tilted his head. “Well, yeah. I’m new at this too and-- wait .” Kyo felt his cheeks heat as the meaning of her teasing words suddenly sunk in. “Shut up! That’s none of your damn business.” 

Uotani tsked. “Don’t tell me you’re a prude, Carrots.” 

“I--” he gritted his teeth. “I ain’t talking about this with you,” he sneered as he turned his back to her. 

“You really do fluster easily, dontcha? No wonder you’re soulmates.” 

Kyo grunted, feeling his cheeks warm clenching his fists before stomping off. “I’m gonna go find her.” 

“See ya! I’ll ask Tohru all about it later!” she snickered with a wave. 

“Shut up!” 

Damn, did she know? Was it obvious he’d been checking Tohru out lately? Shit! Had she noticed!? Fuck, that was embarrassing. 

  The walk back home was uncomfortably silent, not that Tohru noticed. Her fingers were twined with his own as she hummed happily and swung their connected palms without a care in the world. She was muttering about what to make for dinner. Kyo loved that about her… that she could be in her own little world. Entirely obvious to the inner turmoil he felt. Not that he wanted her to know what he was so worked up about. 

That stupid yankee didn’t know what she was talking about. ...Well, maybe she did . But that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t pressure Tohru into something like that. Unless… Wait. Did--Did Tohru bring it up to her friends? Did they talk about that kinda stuff? Did that mean she was ready for the next level of--of physical affection? 

Shit, what did he know!? He couldn’t even hug a girl until recently. And the only girl he wanted to hug was Tohru. The only girl he wanted to do anything with was Tohru. They’d just learned how to cuddle, dammit. And Kyo hadn’t even realized how fucking touch starved he was until he and Tohru curled up together watching movies in the living room. Until they laid together listening to stupid music on the radio on her bed. Until he hugged her from behind when she cooked dinner--Shigure and Yuki caught them that time. And he was utterly humiliated and annoyed by their teasing. 

Who could he even talk to about it? Certainly not Shigure. That guy was gross and perverted and there was no way he was going to ask for sex advice from somone who wrote trashy romance novels. Even if he was an expert on the topic, clearly. His master was also out of the question. He would be far too embarrassed to discuss that with his parent. Even if he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, it’d still be a big deal for Kyo. 

So… that left the damn rat, didn’t it? Shit. No way. No way in hell would he stoop low enough to ask that bastard if he knew how to… er. Besides, he didn’t necessarily understand Yuki's relationship with Tohru, he can’t say that the guy would appreciate it. Anytime he fucked up, that guy was always there to glare at him. Or beat the crap out of him. 

Fuck. He really was on his own with this, wasn’t he? Obviously, Kyo wasn’t an idiot. He knew the mechanics of how intimacy worked. But that just seemed like such a huge step to take. Which meant… he really would have to ask Tohru how she felt on the matter. 

“Kyo…? Are you okay?” 

Ah, crap. She finally noticed. 

His cheeks flushed in an instant. “Y-Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Tohru blinked, looking over him. “Are you sure?” 

Just spit it out. Just spit it out, goddammit!

“D-Do you and your friends talk about--uh--I dunno… girl talk?” 

She seemed a bit taken aback by his question but took a moment to mull it over. Tohru glanced away from him, tapping her chin as she thought. “I guess so. We have sleepovers a lot. We talk about girl things then.” 

“Do you… talk about me?” 

“Well, yeah. I love talking about you, Kyo. Oh,” she glanced away as he tried not to focus on the admission that his girlfriend does, in fact, talk to her friends about him. “That must get bothersome after a while. I hope Uo-chan and Hana-chan aren’t annoyed by it.” 

Kyo bumps her slightly with a small smirk. “They would never tire of hearing your voice. Neither do I. It’s… It’s special.” 

Giggling, she gazed up at him. Those brown eyes full of a happiness that made him weak as she smiled so innocently. God, he almost felt dirty… thinking of her like that. But wouldn’t it be wrong if he didn’t? She was the love of his life. Of course, he thought of her like that. As a woman. As someone to hold and kiss and caress… He really did want to touch her. To please her. To make her feel loved the way she deserved. Damn, she deserved so much.  

There was a dampness between their palms. Was he sweating? Was he nervous? Shit, he needed to chill out before she really noticed something was up. Because she would. It was Tohru. She could read him like a damn book, just as he could with her. 

“Why do you ask?” 

He nearly choked. “Uh! J-Just curious is all. Just wanna know if I need to be worried about that yankee knowing all of my business.” 

Tohru giggled at that. “No, of course not.” 

Humming in agreement, Kyo thanked whatever deity was looking out for him that they were finally home. That had to have been one of the longest walks home of his life. Normally, he’d love Tohru’s company but being around her while he was driving himself insane… wasn’t helping him at all. 

He just kept thinking about touching her. How soft her skin was. How her cheeks flushed when he told her how cute she was. Would she blush like that when he ran his palms along her bare hips and-- stop! Nope! Nope nope nope. Enough of that. 

Releasing her hand, he quickly unlocked the door (because it was actually locked this time) and kicked off his shoes. Tohru trotted in happily after him, blissfully unaware of the dirty images that had just flashed in his mind. Was he really a dirty pervert like Shigure said? No. No way. It was perfectly natural to be attracted to his girlfriend. Physically. Emotionally. ...Sexually. All of it. That was part of being in love, right? To desire someone? To feel that want aching inside of him? 

Dammit, this was all Uotani’s fault. Yes, maybe he was fretting over being alone with Tohru… a little. But she brought it up! She made him think about--about that.  

“Kyo?” 

She was looking at him then. Tohru was bent at the waist, hands behind her back as she peered up at him from beneath her brown locks. There was that smile… that sweet smile that always made his chest tighten in a wonderfully longing ache. 

Finally, he relaxed for the first time since they’d left school. She wouldn’t bring it up, would she? It had to be him… She’d tell herself something stupid, wouldn’t she? She’d think he didn’t want her like that. She’d think that he wasn’t ready. She’d think he didn’t desire her physically, but dammit it all he did. He wanted her so badly it made him feel crazy. 

Dropping his bag, he grabbed her hand and tugged her close. She yelped in surprise when her face hit his chest. A small part of him was waiting to transform, but it never came. He knew logically it wouldn’t, but a small part of him always had that fear gnawing at the back of his mind. Instead of fretting, he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“Sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m the one being spacey today, huh?” 

Tohru gazed up at him with those beautiful brown eyes before reaching up and bumping him lightly on the head with her knuckle. 

...Did she just…? 

He snorted. “Dork.” 

“Kyo’s the one who needs to come back to earth,” she sang with a beam. “What do you want for dinner?” 

You.

His cheeks flushed. “Um, it’s up to you. M-Maybe, Shigure and the rat will know what they want. How about we just… Do you want to hang out?” 

Blinking, she tilted her head. “Of course. I always want to be with you.” 

Kyo groaned, bumping his forehead to hers. “You can’t say cute things like that.” 

That earned him another giggle in response. He could listen to that laugh every single day… Every sound she made was addicting. And Kyo greedily took them in. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing when she followed him into his room. There wasn’t a plan… he hadn’t thought he’d get this far? N-Not that he was trying to go far with his girlfriend. He just--he just wanted to spend time with her. Whatever happened just happened. They would be leaving soon. Things would be different. And he just wanted to savor every moment he had of this life before their lives changed. Of course, he wanted to be with Tohru for the rest of his life. And he was excited for that. 

Tohru was curled against his side, her head resting on his chest. He loved her. He loved her so much. It never crossed his mind that there would be a day that he could do this. That he could cuddle. That he could lay in bed with her touching him like this. Unable to help himself, he brushed a hand through her hair. Pressing a kiss to her crown, he snuggled closer to her. 

With a content hum, Tohru glanced up at him. “Is this really okay, Kyo? Are you sure Shigure-san and Yuki-kun won’t mind that I’m not making dinner?” 

“If either of them have something to say, they’ll have to answer to me.” 

She laughed at that before nodding. “I’m… I’m so happy we can be like this. It’s so nice to lay here with you.” 

“I know… I--I never thought I’d be able to hold you.” 

He heard a small sniffle in response. Kyo looked down and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. “Oi! D-Don’t cry,” he sputtered and wiped her tears before they could fall. “Dummy, that’s nothing to get upset over. We’re here now.” 

Her voice was soft when she spoke. “S-Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up and--and everything will be different. That Kyo will be gone and--” she whimpered. 

Oh. Oh, never. Never ever would he let that happen. 

Kyo tipped her chin up, smiling softly at her. “I’m not going anywhere, alright?” 

She nodded. “I-I love you.” 

“I love you, too…” 

He cupped her cheeks, pulling her in for a soft kiss. Warmth pooled inside his gut, swirling and seeping into his veins. Heartbeat quickening in his chest, he felt more want for her than he ever had before. Kyo wasn’t sure when he did… and he hadn’t even meant to… but he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against her own. Tohru didn’t seem to object as she sighed into his mouth. 

Palm sliding into her hair, he twined his fingers into the brunette strands. He felt Tohru’s smaller digits clench the front of his shirt. When did the room get so hot? When did it become so suffocating? So hard to breathe? 

When she let out a whine, Kyo felt his world tilt. The tiny sound sent heat straight to his groin. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Mayday. This was bad. This was so, so bad. He had to control himself for her sake. 

Suddenly, her lips left his. She didn’t move far though. “Kyo…? Is this okay?” Tohru asked, her lips brushing his. 

He chuckled. “I should be asking you that. Are you okay?” 

Tohru nodded, face flushing. “Y-Yes. I feel, um…” 

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Me too.” 

“Really? You too?” 

“Mhmm…” 

Tohru cuddled closer to him. “Could we… continue?” 

“Do you want to?” 

“Yes.” 

Well, hell. Who was he to deny her anything? 

Kyo cupped her cheek with a tender smile. The way she gazed up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. She was so beautiful. He hoped she knew that. Hoped she knew how much he treasured her. He wanted to show her. Gently, he pulled her back in. Kyo pressed his lips back to her own. The kiss was chaste and tender. Until he deepened it, his tongue tracing her lips gently. Tohru hummed sweetly in response, her lips dancing with his own. 

Slowly, he trailed his fingers downward over her hips. Tohru’s breath hitched making him chuckle. “You okay?” 

“Yes, you just surprised me is all.” 

He smiled at that with a timid brush of his fingers against her thigh. With a whimper, Tohru clutched his chest again before tugging him down for more kisses. He would gladly oblige her. Kyo felt his fingers tremble when his hand slipped beneath her skirt. No slap came or anything, so Tohru didn’t seem to mind so much. 

She hummed when he cupped her rear, and it only egged him on. Kyo kneaded the soft flesh there. God, she was soft. So soft. He loved that. Loved how much she squished under his touch. Maybe, he was being too bold… but he fiddled with the edge of her panties, dipping a finger beneath the cloth. 

Her lips left his. “You, um--” 

Pausing, he glanced down at her. “Yeah?” 

“Take--” she sucked in a breath. “You can take them off.” 

Heart pounding, his throat grew tight. “O-Okay.” 

His hand traveled slowly upward, giving her time to change her mind. The last thing he’d want was to displease her. But the objection never came, and Kyo tugged at the waistband of her panties. His breath was lost in his throat as he watched them slide down her legs. He was going to die. This would truly be the death of him. 

She shuffled, her thigh brushing against the bulged formed in his pants. He groaned in response. Tohru yelped, pushing back. 

“I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you!? I didn’t mean--” 

He bumped his fist to her forehead. “Stop, dummy. That didn’t hurt. Uh--at all.” 

“Oh. It--It didn’t?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, didn’t make that noise cause it hurt.” 

Blinking, she gazed at him. The gears were turning in her head. God, he loved her but sometimes Tohru could be really dim. But… he couldn’t help but find it endearing. She was really cute. She gasped, the realization dawning on her. Cheeks reddening further, she gawked at him. “O-Oh. I understand. Should I do something…?” 

“Just… Can I touch you?” 

Silently, she nodded. 

Kyo gently pushed her shoulder, encouraging Tohru to roll onto her back. Leaning his cheek against her forehead, his hand returned to her skin. He rubbed gentle circles on her thigh before finally venturing upward. When his hand found her center, they both froze. Tohru whimpered, brow pinched and lips pursed. He was sure it didn’t hurt… She was just nervous. So was he. 

He was timid when he brushed a finger along her folds. There was a slickness there that surprised him. Her breathing was heavy on his neck, the feeling sending tingles down his spine. Kyo was terrified of rushing. Of going too fast and not pleasing her. Or even disappointing her. 

Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, he stayed there with his lips against her skin as he dipped a single digit inside her. The little moan that left her lips almost killed him. But he had to keep his wits about him. He had to do this right. This was their first time doing anything like this. He couldn’t fuck it up. 

His motions were slow. A soft in and out. When Tohru hitched her leg upward, he almost died. But that was a good sign, right? He wasn’t hurting her. She was okay with what he was doing. That was what he wanted. He wanted to please her. Make her feel good. That was his goal. All for her. 

Tohru’s fingers wrapped into his hair. She panted through parted lips. The sight had him wanting her even more than he did before. His movements grew faster, earning him another sound approval from her throat. 

“Kyo… I-I…” 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

She clutched him, thighs quivering as her walls throbbed around his finger. She suddenly gripped his wrist, stopping his motions in his tracks. Tohru fought to catch her breath as he pulled his hand from her folds. Cringing at the moisture, he wiped his hand on his pants. 

Tohru gave a contented sigh. “That was really nice, Kyo.” 

“Did it feel good?” 

“Mhmm.” 

He smiled, nuzzling her crown. “Good. That’s what I wanted.” 

“But…” her palm brushed the bulge in his pants. His brain suddenly forgot all coherent thought when she gingerly rubbed him. “What about Kyo?” she murmured. 

Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “You don’t have to…” 

The sound of the front door opening downstairs sent them both whirling away from one another in a panic. Yuki’s voice called up to them, announcing he was home. Well, that was better than it being Shigure... Tohru yanked her panties from the futon and slipped them back on beneath her skirt. Kyo tried to ignore the sight of her bare ass when she pulled them up, but that was completely futile. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

She paused in her steps towards the door. Spinning, she smiled at him. “We’ll take care of Kyo next time, alright?” she asked, pressing her fingers to her lips. 

Kyo felt himself flush as she turned and left the room on clearly wobbling legs. Was she… Did she just tease him!? Dammit! He knew she was damn cheeky. God, his girlfriend was too damn cute for her own good. She would definitely be the death of him. 

He could hear her run down to welcome Yuki home. Glancing down at the very obvious tent in his pants, he realized that he’d definitely have to wait until he calmed down to go downstairs. He flopped back on the futon, rolling to his side. 

It was… weird. Had they really just done that? Did he really just pleasure his girlfriend? And then she said--

….Wait. 

Next time!?

[artificialqueens]

(Wo)men in Glass Houses (Branjie) - Pinkgrapefruit

A/N - now my yearly october to january hibernation is over, have a fanfiction. read by ortega and jaz and quite frankly neither of them found anything glaringly wrong with it so… enjoy lads. i swear i’ll post something of more substance soon.

I’ve been sleeping late

And if I’m speaking honestly

My dreams are the only place

The thought of you can’t bother me

Vanessa is on her back - eyes piercing holes in the ceiling. It’s white, as most ceilings are, wood chipped and bumpy. There’s a coffee-coloured stain that jeeps drawing her eyes but she’s too scared to ask how it got there. If she’s honest, she doesn’t want to know.

Her bedmate is still fast asleep or is at least doing a good job of pretending, and it’s giving Vanessa too much time to think. Her immediate thought - the one that breaks through the carefully constructed walls at the edge of her mind - is how she wishes she wasn’t awake at all. She wants to be asleep again, running through the fields of spring flowers near her childhood home in Yorkshire, blissfully unaware of the mistake sleeping next to her.

She loathes to call Brooke a mistake - but there aren’t any other words.

The covers are soft between her fingertips and her pillow smells of eucalyptus and mint and it brings her back to her train of thought. They were never meant to happen. It’s simple really, the relationship was never meant to happen. They’re a square peg in a round hole who’s too ashamed to admit it and is therefore trying to pretend it doesn’t have any corners at all and the point is - they don’t fit.

Coffee and cheese. Milk and sriracha. Piers Morgan and drag queens. No entiendo por favor. 

(She truly does not understand).

They’ve been trying to change each other and like an elastic band, Vanessa just wants to snap back to how she was. She enjoyed her lazy Sundays with Riley, drowning last nights hangover in coffee just long enough to make it to brunch with Kiki and Silky. She misses her half-hearted gym sessions where she’d piss about with resistance bands and yoga balls in the studio off the side before actually doing some hip hop dancing and calling it a night. She hasn’t seen a shitty action film in months and, dare she say it, she misses bad nacho cheese.

She’s not the only one whos made ill-fated sacrifices - she can admit that - Brooke hasn’t been working late, misses her morning runs most days and only drinks chamomile when Vanessa isn’t at her house because the brunette says it smells like old people.

Drink your old people tea, Vanessa thinks in a more scathing tone than she would dare say out loud because it’s before six am and she’s in a worse mood than she thought. She looks at Brooke - her blonde hair splayed on the pillow like a halo. Fucking drink it.

And when I’m wide awake

It takes all of my energy

To tell our friends we’ve never been this happy

The thing about breakups - is if you know they’re coming, you can watch them in slow motion like a train crash. 

A’keria has been watching this one for months. 

It’s the sort of ‘watch and wait’ scenario that leaves her grabbing the popcorn and tucking herself into the sofa with a blanket her nan crocheted and she’s not mad about it. 

So she watches the relationship go up in flames and wonders how either of them thought it would be a good idea to act on the sexual tension that’s been threading around them for years and she privately thinks that maybe she should have just set Vanessa up with her sister to save the trouble. 

Because climate change has moved faster than these idiots. 

Waiting for the glass house to come down

Waiting to hear that crashing sound

Waiting for the right words to tell you how

I don’t wanna be false art

They move around each other in their perfectly choreographed morning routine - not a word is spoken but they are both fed, watered and ready to go when they need to begin their walk to the office. 

Their fingers are intertwined but it’s more of a perfunctory gesture than it used to be. Vanessa grabs Brooke’s hand somewhere between the offices for Walkers and Harveys. She always does.

With Brooke in a maxi dress, she looks more like a model than a lawyer and it allows Vanessa to exercise her possessive streak when a builder catcalls. They kiss bruisingly in the disabled stall before they head to their respective offices - frustrated before 9 am.

When A’keria asks how Vanessa is doing - she lifts the edge of her shirt to show the hickey embedded into her hip.

I’ve been making shit up

But I’ll come clean

I finish in the bathroom

While you fall asleep without me

Brooke stays in the bathroom after sex. 

She washes herself slowly and thoroughly, as though any hint of mint shampoo left on her body would be a sin. (Brooke’s shampoo is lemon because she refuses to make her hair smell like toothpaste).

She cannot deal with post-coital cuddling today - the image of another person in her bed just too much to accept in the waning light of day. So she performs her nighttime routine twice to make sure that the summer sun has set entirely by the time she is back in the bedroom. It allows her to slide under the covers in the dark and pretend she is alone - if not for the steady exhales of Vanessa.

She is not right for Vanessa. 

The brunette deserves romance and wooing and all Brooke can give is detached sex in bathrooms and bitter black coffee. 

There are things she needs to unpack. A box of memories in her wardrobe that will sting more, the longer she leaves them hidden away. 

She cannot love herself with enough fervour to love Vanessa.

They both know it. 

So she suckles bruises onto her collarbone and calls it adoration.

And our friends they say they want this

But they don’t see

That it’s inevitable

And inevitably

“God, I want what you two have. It’s practically a romcom - friends to lovers.”

It’s harmless, just Courtney simpering as she heads towards the bar set up on the corner of the room but it makes Vanessa dig her nails into her palms so hard she worries she might break the skin. 

Brooke sidles up to her - cold lithe fingers wrapping around her waist as she leans down to whisper in Vanessa’s ear. 

“Bathroom, five minutes,” she whispers and then she’s gone.

Vanessa marvels at the way people interpret things they don’t understand. To most people - the blush that’s threatening to flutter across the apples of her cheeks is in response to a declaration of love, or a flirtation between sweethearts. 

They can never know the detached but furious way Brooke will make Vanessa come undone while the brunette is leaning against the sink - faucet poking into the small of her back. The way she will nip red marks into the flesh of her inner thigh and then later into her bottom lip - Vanessa’s tongue carrying out its own assault on Brooke’s mouth.

For all the ways the forced romance has ruined them  - the sexual tension is as thick as the day they first met.

The glasshouse to come down

Just waiting to hear that crashing sound

Waiting for the right words to tell you how

I don’t wanna be false art

Like a fairytale - their eyes met across a crowded room and that was it.

That is, of course, a lie - but it’s how they tell it.

In reality, Brooke had just moved to London from Devon and she’s booked an interview at the firm Vanessa worked HR for. Vanessa took her paperwork, A’keria noticed the spark, Brooke got the job.

They mistook sexual chemistry for romance and by the time they’d figured it out they were four months into a relationship of convenience.

Vanessa has always thought that friends with benefits was a ridiculous arrangement but men in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones and isn’t this just the kind of relationship she always scorned. 

Acquaintances that share bodily fluids, a bed and invites to dinner. Someone to share secrets with and hold hands on the way to work. Someone to watch sleep in the early hours of the morning and cuddle you when you’re drunk and lonely. 

Vanessa is, too often, drunk and lonely.

It’s a habit she intends to break.

Pretend we’re picture perfect

When we’re breaking beneath the surface

I don’t wanna be false art

They break up on a Sunday and finally, Vanessa can agree it’s a day of peace.

It can hardly be considered a breakup from her perspective - the only emotions left to untangle are Vanessa’s towards Brooke’s cats. It’s cold, clean and incredibly reminiscent of Brooke herself - cold, clean, perfect. 

Icy.

In a twenty minute sweep of her apartment - every hint of the tall blonde is gone. 

Make love like we deserve it

To cover up what’s hurting

I don’t wanna be false art

She makes a cup of coffee, inhaling the scent that reminds her so vividly of university and youth, and drinks it by her window. She plays her music loud.

She refuses to have any regrets.

I don’t wanna be false art