#and so he's frustrated because this planet is the dark side that's his side he should be able to connect

[tonycries]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, ��Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[satori-runa]

—Sweet as you

Summary: You and Captain Curly share a meal, despite your irritation regards the device that bakes your food.

Tags: Established Relationship, fluff, before the crash

Words: 0,8k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

No matter how many times you stand in the kitchen, Curly would always be amused by the sheer expression of despair on your face. He couldn't lie, it was extremely cute for him to see your brows furrow in irritation and your nose scuffing up slightly.

“You can't tell me that is cooking.” You mumbles, glancing at the device on the counter and the two packs of different ingredients in your hand. “This is more like…dark forbidden witchcraft.”

Being stuck in space, between all these stars, means that there is no fresh food, shops, or delivery services. The crew was certainly stuck with the device that mixes packs to make dishes. And as a former self-claimed chef, you hated it. This wasn’t cooking, and it never would be.

“Food is food.” The Captain chuckled quietly, bringing some tone into his usually exhausted voice. “As long as it works and we don't starve.” He took the packs gently out of your hands and placed them onto their respective spots in the cooking device, watching it close and make some bread.

“Told you, evil witchcraft.” You sighed, crossing your arms as you watched the machine whirr to life, producing something that only barely resembled real food. “I miss actual cooking.” You muttered, leaning against the counter. “You know, where you chop vegetables, sauté things, maybe burn a little garlic by accident.”

Curly smiled, stepping closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I know,” he said softly, his voice less teasing now. “And I miss seeing you in your element, making something real. But hey, when we get out of here, I might see what I can do to improve this experience for you. Who knows, maybe we can get an actual freezer to store products and a stove.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, the exhaustion of space life momentarily lifting.

You looked up at him, your frustration melting a little under his gentle gaze. “You promise?”

He chuckled, a hand resting lightly on your waist. “Of course. You’re going to make us a feast as soon as we’re planet-side again.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “I’ll hold you to that.” The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you moved your hands to hold him closer.

Curly pressed a light kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing through your hair. “In the meantime, we’ve got witchcraft bread.” He grinned, reaching for the freshly made loaf. “And the company isn’t so bad either.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “I guess I can live with that.”

You settled at the small table with Curly, the freshly made bread, and some packets of synthetic jam between you. Despite your earlier complaints, the warmth of the meal and the quiet intimacy of the moment made it feel… different. Better. Curly tore off a piece of bread and handed it to you, his eyes soft as he watched you.

You hesitated at first, taking a small bite, expecting the usual bland taste. But somehow, with Curly sitting across from you, smiling like that, it didn’t seem so bad. The bread was warm, and the sweetness of the jam clung to your tongue in a way that felt almost comforting.

“You’re enjoying it.” Curly said, his lips shifting into a grin as he watched your expression soften.

“Maybe just a little.” You admitted, taking another bite. “But it’s definitely not because of the bread.” You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment wrap around you like a blanket.

Curly chuckled, taking a bite himself. But when you noticed a few crumbs clinging to his lips, you reached out instinctively. “You’ve got something…” You murmured, brushing the crumbs off the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips quirked at your touch, eyes twinkling.

Before you could pull your hand back, Curly gently caught your wrist, holding it in place. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, soft and teasing, before he slowly leaned forward. His lips pressed against your fingers, and he licked a bit of jam that had smeared onto your skin, his eyes never leaving yours.

A warm flush spread across your cheeks as his lips lingered, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. “Tastes better this way.” He murmured with a playful smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, heart fluttering at the way he looked at you, so full of affection. “You’re impossible.” You whispered, feeling the closeness between you like a steady heartbeat.

“Maybe.” He said, still holding your hand gently in his, “But I make the jam taste sweeter, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded as you leaned closer, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah, you do.” You whispered, feeling the warmth of him giving you comfort.

[suempu]

tw: nonconsensual kissing. graphic wording.

"you look lonely."

ivan sighs while you situate yourself on the sofa beside him. his room is pitch dark, save for the light from the tv broadcast.

mindless advertisements and commercials mix and buzz into the air, creating a fog of background noise. and you wonder whose poor soul is getting killed on that stage at this very moment.

you spread your arm and dramatically bring him into a side hug. "nothing a bit of booze won't fix. ha ha ha!!" exclaiming with the vigor of an alcoholic, ivan can only groan in frustration.

"i'm not getting wasted with you." his eyes look worn down, mouth wrinkling into a frown as he tries to hide the agony behind a stone cold face.

a part of him is comforted by your presence, a sense of normality washes over him. as if you two were still children playing across the fake fields and staring at the equally as fake sky, laughing as you tackled each other to the ground and picked flowers.

"too late, i brought the good shit." you snicker as you bring out weird looking bottles. you're not exactly sure how safe these are for humans but the aliens seem to love it so, who cares? "this was hard to steal by the way, i got it from those private rooms."

ivan stares at you for a moment and eventually rests his head on your shoulder. he looks at you, cold ice wall melting down and you're met with the sight of absolute pain and distress on his pretty face when he sighs.

"why does it have to feel like this?" he whispers, voice cracking from the amount of vocal training and warmups he's been forced to endure that day.

you take a deep breath and open a bottle, careful with your movements as his heavy head rested on your arm. "what? wanna runaway? you know i wouldn't hesitate if you asked." chuckling as you tried reading the labels.

ivan knows though. you're the closest thing he's got to a friend. you'd do anything for him and with him. and of course he'd do the same but... you're not the person he holds nearest to his heart.

"it's funny," he watches as you sniff the alcoholic aroma before taking a sip. "no matter how much they make us do these—things, no matter how much it hurts... why is this thing in my chest more painful?"

your face falls blank, glaring at the bottle before taking a big chug. you hope it'll get rid of your own pain, wash away all the emotions and feelings of him.

and its funny. because what kind of weird fucking love hexagon is this?

you despise till.

you wish you could tear his bones out and wear his skin, take out his tongue and say all the things ivan has always wanted to hear and keep his heart for your own.

"i wish i knew the answer to that."

looking down at him and seeing his exhausted face, makes your heart break. you want to gather yours and his shattered pieces and construct a deformed statue of love and just hope it'll be enough for him. enough to replace the burning loneliness he's been forced to go through.

but no. even if he were to love you, it'd take a million years to pass, thousands of stars to die, and hundreds of planets to explode until then.

you bump your forehead into his and watch as his eyes widen. smirking to yourself, you think, what more could i lose?

"let's be lonely together then. just this once."

you whisper before kissing him.

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— obscured vision —

Warnings: angst, stalking, gun violence, blood, mentions of a fight, illusions of death

Summary: Jason can’t see anything but you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.4k

A/N: I wanted it out, so here you are! Enjoy ;)

Jason’s breath turned into vapor in the winter air, his boots slushing and crunching through the wet snow. He barely suppressed a groan as he took another step up, his stitched abdomen protesting with each jarring movement on the stairs.

Taking the fire escape had been a stupid idea, but he’d forgotten his keys and knew the window would be cracked open. His face was hidden beneath his hoodie, his red helmet stuffed in his backpack. A bruised face unhidden by makeup and a hoodie over his head would have to do tonight.

As he tugged the window upward, its stubborn wheels jammed halfway, as usual. He let out a frustrated growl, resting his forehead against the cold glass as his breath fogged it, despite his usual distaste for condensation. His breaths came shallow, each one catching on his aching side, while the city buzzed below him.

His shoulders sagged as he turned, slipping off his backpack and tossing it through the narrow gap with a careless flick. Leaning back against the now wet glass, he closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds drift around him: a distant siren, a muted shout, the rustle of wind down the alley.

He slid down onto the gritty metal of the fire escape, the rough brick behind him biting into his jacket. He didn’t care. Bruce had been slipping too much cash into his account each month anyway; he could replace any jacket. His mind idly wondered what the others used theirs for.

Between Dick, Tim, and Damian, he was certain he was the only one who knew what it was like to have empty pockets and a cold room as a kid.

He opened his eyes. The alley below was cloaked in shadows, save for the occasional beam of a passing headlight catching on the dumpster. He kept his eyes trained there, letting his head sink back against the sill, neck aching with the effort. He let his gaze drift up at last, tracing the clouds rolling thickly over Gotham’s sky.

He exhaled, and the dampness in the air clung to his face.

It had rained all evening. The snow that everyone had eagerly enjoyed yesterday had turned into slush as it always did. He had lived in Gotham for his whole life—not including the five years he was dead or training with the League of Assassins.

This was how winter had always started. He had never enjoyed the transition from fall to winter, but the lovely winter was worth it. 

He shivered as the first icy droplet hit his cheek, reminding him he needed to get inside before he was soaked. Gripping the edge of the window, he braced himself, shoving the glass upward with a strained grunt.

The chill of the window stung his hands as he scrambled through, landing hard on his couch. The throbbing in his side flared, and he bit back a curse, ignoring the muddy tracks he’d left across the carpet.

“Todd,” a familiar voice called from his kitchen. 

Jason groaned, head turning just enough to gaze into the dark kitchen. He could make out the faint outline of his youngest brother, Damian, from the small light of the numbers on the stove. “Demon,” he replied smoothly, keeping his tone measured. Every bit of him wanted to tell Damian to leave his place, but there was no fight in him left tonight. “What do you want?”

“Father’s having one of those… nights,” Damian explained with his arms still crossed. Jason noted the kid’s barely visible flinch. If Jason squinted, he could make out the shape of a backpack on Damian’s back. “I needed a place to stay.”

“And you chose mine over Dick’s?” Jason asked with one of his eyebrows raised. It was rare for Tim or Damian to crash at his apartment rather than Dick’s for when Bruce was having one of those bad nights where he kept snapping at them and Alfred.

The last time Tim had crashed at his, it was because Dick was off-planet. 

Damian managed a shrug as he walked closer. “I needed someone quiet.” Damian muttered, barely audible. But Jason heard it, even over the hum of his refrigerator. Damian’s hand reached out and he flicked the living room light on swiftly, watching with an amused smirk as Jason squinted against the sudden harsh lighting. 

“Turn that off, brat,” Jason grumbled out, voice rumbling through the somewhat area. Damian, in his usual fashion, ignored Jason. He looked around the apartment, nose wrinkling as he took in the mess; laundry piles, books, take out bags, anything to everything was lying around. 

“You’re getting tardy, Todd.” Damian’s nose wrinkled a bit more as his eyes snagged on the muddy footprints Jason had just tracked in. He kicked over a pile of laundry mercilessly. Damian’s eyes darted to Jason’s bedroom door and then back to Jason. “Where’s Y/N?” 

Jason’s chest tightened, the room seeming colder than before. He averted his gaze, shoulders slumping as he leaned back into the couch cushions. Just hearing your name reopened the wound he’d been trying to bury. Only a week since the fight, yet it felt like months. Every day was a hollow routine, made worse by your absence.

“She’s not here right now,” Jason muttered out, the words like bile on his tongue. He didn’t meet Damian’s gaze as he spoke. He knew what Damian would say if he knew why you weren’t here. 

Damian crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “What did you do, Todd?” 

Jason could feel the judgement radiating from the younger teen. His own mind was spewing a bunch of nonsense about how he didn’t deserve you and it’d be better if he had let you go for good. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see your clothes in his closet. Maybe then the second toothbrush in the bathroom wouldn’t be so glaringly vibrant. Maybe then he could ignore the judgement on Damian’s face. 

“Nothing,” Jason grumbled, his eyes cast on the mud tracks. “I didn’t—”

“Bullshit, Todd.” Damian’s voice was just as harsh as Jason thought it would be. “She couldn���t have just up and left you.” That was the harder truth to swallow for him. The fact that if he hadn’t messed up, you would have been here. You probably would have already fed and tucked Damian into the spare bedroom before waiting out here for him. 

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Demon—”

“As much as we all hate to admit it, she loves you for a reason I don’t understand.”

“Damian,” Jason cut in harshly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone, okay?”

Damian’s face turned harder, frown deepening. “But—”

“I said, shut up.” Jason’s words were sharp as glass, each syllable flaring the ache in his side. He inhaled deeply, willing himself not to think about you, about your absence that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment.

He’d even used your shampoo this morning, clinging to the fading scent. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay grounded. He inhaled deeply, trying not to think about you or the fact that you weren’t here, sleeping in his bed, in his room. 

Damian glared back, silence filling the air between them. Finally, with a curt nod, he muttered, “Goodnight, Todd.”

Jason offered a brief nod in return, his throat tight. Damian disappeared into the guest room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Alone again, Jason let his head fall back against the couch, eyes stinging under the bright lights. He didn’t bother turning them off, didn’t bother kicking off his boots.

Without you there, urging him to get up or scolding him for the mess, he sank deeper into the quiet, heavy ache of the night, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he told himself the sting was only from the light.

The faint buzz from his pocket tugged him back to the present, cutting through the haze of his thoughts like a blade. He sighed, a soft curse slipping past his lips as he fumbled for the phone. If it was Tim asking for a place to crash again, he might just let it ring out.

But as his eyes flicked to the screen, the air shifted in his lungs. Your face—peeking over a book in the picture he’d taken months ago—stared back at him. His hand stilled, heart lurching in a way that made his ribs ache. His thumb moved on instinct, swiping to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice betraying him with a crack. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” The way the question splintered in his throat made him wince. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and the ache of your absence pressed heavier than the bruises littering his body.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself steady, to not let the desperation seep through. But all he could think about now was how good it would feel to hear you say his name again, soft and familiar. 

“Jason,” you breathed. The sound of your voice over the line sent a wave of relief and something sharper through him. There was strain beneath it, though—like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. His shoulders stiffened, the dull burn of his battered muscles forgotten as he sat straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” The question came low and urgent, his tone dipping into something darker. His hand tightened on the phone as he heard the hesitation in your next breath. 

“I think… someone’s following me,” you whispered. The tremor in your voice tightened his chest, his pulse thudding harder. In the background, the sharp crackle of a passing vehicle echoed through the phone, every sound amplified in his ears. 

Jason stood, ignoring the protest of his battered body. His stitches pulled, a faint sting blooming at his side, but he didn’t care. He crouched to grab his backpack, the weight of his helmet inside grounding him as the panic in your voice lingered in his ears. 

“Where are you?” His words came quick, the edges rougher than he intended. His heartbeat roared, drowning out everything else. Screw logistics. Screw the rest he’d planned tonight or the fact that Damian would have to hunt him down if he woke up. None of that mattered. Not when you were out there alone, afraid. 

You rattled off a street intersection near your campus he knew very well. He could practically smell the sweet scent of sugar and the bitter taste of coffee from the cafe near where you were. He had picked you up so many times before for this one class.

He cursed himself mentally as he tried to shake the guilt of not being there right now, regardless of the fact that you two had fought. You were his girl. 

He strode to the window, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the glass as if sheer will could bridge the distance between you. “Stay on the phone with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone softer but no less intense. “I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” came your soft reply, fear embedded into the one word. He let out a deep breath as he pushed open the window, ignoring the burning sensation that made his teeth clench. The cool night air hit Jason like a slap as he swung himself onto the fire escape, his movements swift despite the dull fire in his muscles. The phone stayed pressed to his ear, your breathing on the other end the only thing grounding him. 

He cursed himself for every moment he’d wasted, every second he wasn’t already there.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice steadier now, though his body was alight with adrenaline. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a hitch in your breath, a telltale sign of you trying to hold it together. It broke something deep inside him. His chest ached again. 

“Good. Keep talking to me,” he said as he climbed down, his boots landing with a soft thud on the alley pavement. His bike wasn’t far. He broke into a jog, ignoring the way his body protested, his stitches pulling tight beneath his jacket. “What do you see? Anyone around?” 

“No, just... cars parked on the street. A few lights on in the apartments above the shops. It’s quiet,” you said, your voice trembling. He heard the little exhale you let out, evidently overwhelmed and scared. He could almost imagine you, shoulders curling in and phone pressed to your ear with that little pinch in your brows. 

Jason grit his teeth, his free hand curling into a fist. He hated this—the vulnerability in your tone, the fear lacing every word. You weren’t supposed to sound like this. Not his girl. Not because someone was too stupid to know who they were messing with. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer as he reached his bike. He stuffed his hoodie into the bag, the red bat symbol now on display. He yanked the red helmet free from his bag, tossing it on with practiced ease. “Just keep walking, sweetheart. I’m right behind you.”

The lie slipped out so easily he almost believed it himself. But you didn’t call him on it. Instead, you exhaled shakily again, the sound like static in his ear. 

“Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the distant hum of an engine passing you. He closed his eyes briefly at the slight comfort you saying his name brought him. 

“I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady and sure even as his heartbeat thundered. He started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there soon.” 

The streets of Gotham blurred past him as he sped through the city, the cold wind biting at his skin. Every turn brought him closer, but it wasn’t fast enough. He knew that intersection—the alleyways, the blind corners, the spots where someone could lurk unseen. He was thinking in a way he hadn’t done since Damian was kidnapped by his grandfather. All the ways he could protect you, hold you near him when he reached you. 

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone firmer now. “Do you have the gun I gave you?” His stomach lurched as he asked the question, the thought of you needing it pushing bile into his throat. He had given it to you, but he had also mentioned that you would never need to use it.

Now he was left contemplating his promise to you. The promises of protection, of caring, of loving you falling hollow. 

There was a beat of silence on the line, and Jason’s grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles whitening. The roar of the bike’s engine couldn’t drown out the pounding in his ears as he waited for your answer.

“Yes,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “It’s in my bag.” Relief warred with something darker in his chest. He was glad you had it, but the fact you might need it made his stomach churn. He hated this—hated that he couldn’t reach through the phone and pull you into his arms, hated the way his promises felt like empty echoes now. 

“Good,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even as he leaned into a sharp turn, the tires skidding slightly on the slick Gotham streets. “Keep it close, sweetheart, but don’t touch it unless you have to. Do you understand?” The rain started pouring down a bit faster. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word fragile and uncertain, but he clung to it like a lifeline. 

The city blurred past him—neon lights bleeding into shadows, the cold air slicing against his exposed skin. He weaved between cars, reckless but controlled, every second bringing him closer. But it still felt like miles too far. Too far from you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have called you. I just—I didn’t know who else—”

“Hey,” he cut you off sharply, the bike screeching to a halt for a moment as he waited for a light to change. When they didn’t change a second later, he ran the red lights. He didn’t care about the looks he got from passing drivers, the chaos of the city fading into the background. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for calling me. You did the right thing, okay? You call me every damn time, no matter what.” 

You didn’t respond, but he could hear the faint hitch in your breathing, the sound tightening something deep inside him. He softened his tone, the rough edges smoothing out.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I’m yours. You get that? Doesn’t matter what we’ve said or what’s happened. You call me, I come running. Every time. No questions. No hesitations.” 

A few moments passed in just laboured and shaky breaths. “I’m almost there,” he said, the words coming out like a promise. And this time, he’d keep it. 

The rain intensified, turning the streets into slick ribbons of black and gold. Jason’s tires kicked up sprays of water as he pushed the bike harder, weaving through the chaotic Gotham traffic like a man possessed. The world outside the phone call didn’t exist—only you, your shaky breaths and the distance he was tearing apart to get to you.

He didn’t care that he would most likely wake up with a dozen missed calls from Bruce to reprimand his behaviour in public as Red Hood. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

“Tell me what’s around you now,” he demanded, his voice steady but lined with urgency. He could see the tallest building of your campus now, the red lights dim in the neon signs surrounding it. 

“Um...” Your breath hitched again, the sound rattling through his chest. “I just passed the café. I can see the bookstore across the street. There’s... there’s an alley up ahead. Jason, I—”

“Don’t go near it,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening. He could picture the intersection perfectly now—the dim street lights barely cutting through the fog of rain, the shadows pooling in places no one should walk alone. “Stay in the light, sweetheart. Keep moving, but don’t rush. Just act natural, okay?” 

​​“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the faint sound of your steps echoing faintly through the phone. The roar of his bike echoed off the buildings as he turned onto your street, his heart pounding with every beat that he wasn’t by your side. He could see the café sign now, its neon glow muted by the rain. 

“I see the café,” you said, your voice so soft he almost missed it.

“I see it too,” Jason replied, relief flooding his tone as he spotted you a few paces ahead. Your figure was small under the weight of the storm, your bag clutched tightly at your side. He could see the trench coat you were wearing and the half-broken umbrella in your hands. 

But he wasn’t the only one who’d spotted you. His eyes locked on a shadow moving behind you, too deliberate to be a casual passerby. The figure lingered near the edge of the light, pacing a little too perfectly with your steps. 

Jason’s jaw clenched, his vision tunneling. “Sweetheart, don’t look back,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Just keep walking toward the bookstore. I’m right behind you now.”

You hesitated, your steps faltering slightly. “Jason��”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone firm but pleading. “I’ve got you.”

He cut the engine and dismounted the bike in one fluid motion, his boots splashing onto the wet pavement. The rain poured around him, soaking through his jacket, but he didn’t feel it. His focus was locked on the man trailing you.

Jason’s hand hovered near his holster, his movements smooth and deliberate as he closed the distance between him and the stranger. The man was too preoccupied with you to notice the Red Hood stalking behind him, and Jason intended to keep it that way—until it was too late.

Jason moved with the precision of a predator, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. The man trailing you was oblivious to his approach until it was too late. In one swift, silent motion, Jason’s arm locked around the stranger’s neck, earning a quick struggle before the man managed to kick out of his grasp. 

Jason’s eyes flared as he threw a punch. The man staggered back, his hand shooting for his waistband, but Jason was already on him. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the nearby wall, the impact rattling the alley. 

Jason felt a faint shift in the air—a movement too fast, too sharp to be ignored. He spun, his instincts screaming just as a second man emerged from the shadows, his gun raised and aimed straight at Jason’s chest. The man behind Jason kicked his knee, effectively knocking Jason to his knees. 

Jason’s breath left him in a sharp hiss as the kick collided with his knee, sending a jolt of pain through his leg. He stumbled but caught himself, barely, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. His eyes locked onto the gun aimed at his chest, the barrel glinting in the dim light of the alley. His eyes flickered between the gun and the man. The man from behind cackled. 

The gunman took a step closer, the cold muzzle pressing against the red bat symbol on his chest. “Red Hood. Saving pretty girls, huh? Thought you used to be above all that.” 

Jason’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling in preparation, but the pain in his knee was a constant reminder that he was in no position to fight back easily. The gunman’s words cut through the night, a taunt designed to throw him off balance. But Jason wasn’t going to let that happen. Not tonight.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Jason said, his voice low, threatening, as he forced his back a little straighter, despite the throbbing pain. His fingers twitched at his side, inching closer to his own gun.

Just as the gunman took another step, a rustle from the other side of the alley caught Jason’s attention. A flash of movement, a shadow that wasn’t there before. It was enough to shift the gunman’s focus, just for a split second. That was all it took. Before the gunman could react, a loud crack echoed in the alley. The force of the shot sent the man reeling back, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. 

Jason swiveled around, kicking out the man’s legs from him and then knocking him out. Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting to the source of the shot. There you were, just an arm’s length away now. Coming to a stop in the alley, your hand shaking slightly as you lowered the gun, still aimed in the direction of the man who had just fallen. Your chest heaved as you stared at the limp body, the weight of what you had just done settling over you. 

Jason’s chest tightened, the relief of survival and the shock of what had just happened colliding in a heavy rush. He had no words at first—only a stunned silence that rang louder than any sound in the night. His knees still were firmly pressing down onto the pavement. His hands reached for the gun, gently pulling it from your grasp and sliding it into an empty holster. He held your hand a bit tighter. 

His hand pulled you lower, closer, tugging until there was barely an inch left between the two of you. His gaze left the body on the wet cement, falling upon your wet hair and trailing down your face slowly to your lips. His chest heaved with exertion against yours. His eyes snapped up to yours, watching you keep your gaze on the body. One gloved hand pulled the back of your neck to move your head to face him. He ducked his head to block the sight of the body. 

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes trying to snap you out of the trance you were in. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, the rough material of his leather doing nothing to hide the heat emitting from the two of you. 

The action seemed to break your trance, wide and fearful eyes meeting his through his helmet. Your hands came up to deftly take it off, fingers more steady than your panicked breathing. He let you take it off, silently letting you raise it above his head and pull it away from his face. A sob tore out of your lips just as his gaze met yours. 

“Sweetheart.” 

Jason’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, his own breath catching in his throat. He had never seen you like this—so vulnerable, so shaken by what you had just done. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with the weight of the moment. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, searched his face for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just some kind of grounding.

He gently reached for your trembling hands, cupping them in his own, his gloved fingers brushing over your skin in a pattern. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, but soft. “You did what you had to do.” 

But you shook your head, your breath still ragged as you took in the scene around you. The gunman, still lying motionless, the echoes of the gunshot ringing in your ears. It had all happened so fast—too fast for you to fully process. He swallowed thickly, not caring about the fact that he was still in costume without his helmet on with you in an alleyway. 

Instead, he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as he sought to anchor you. “Look at me,” he urged again, his voice low and steady, trying to cut through the whirlwind of your thoughts. He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. It was a gentle way forcing your eyes away from the body, blocking all of your sight of the body on the pavement. 

His eerily green eyes stared into your teary ones. 

Your hands, still trembling, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his suit as if it was the only thing holding you together. The silence between you both stretched, heavy with everything unsaid, everything unprocessed. But his presence, his touch, was grounding you, even if it didn’t take away the storm inside you. 

Slowly, you met his eyes, your breathing steadier now. The pain in your chest didn’t fade, but it became something more bearable, something you could hold onto.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, the words faltering at the edges.

Jason’s eyes softened, his hand gently pulling you even closer. “You didn’t have a choice, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me. You saved us.” 

Jason cradled your head and pulled your face into the crook of his neck. His eyes darted to the limp body, studying it for a moment before he noticed the slight movement of his chest. He kissed your hair. “He’s alive, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your temple, dropping another kiss, lips lingering. 

Your body stiffened, but Jason’s arms only tightened around you, offering comfort in the midst of your confusion and guilt. You could feel his heartbeat under your ear, steady and reassuring, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair. It was grounding, but the overwhelming emotions still churned inside of you like a storm. 

“Alive,” you repeated, your voice faint and distant as you pulled back just enough to look at him. The weight of the word felt heavier than it should have, the knowledge that the danger wasn’t fully over, that the man you had just shot was still breathing.

Jason’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “Yeah. But you did what you had to do. You protected yourself. You protected me.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still gripping the front of his suit like a lifeline, as if the very fabric of him was the only thing keeping you grounded in reality. The thoughts were swirling too fast, too loud in your head. You weren’t sure how to process it all—the gunshot, the blood, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins.

Jason seemed to sense your inner turmoil, his hand moving down your back in a slow, calming motion, like he was trying to steady you, keep you from slipping. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing the top of your head again. “We’re okay.” 

But you weren’t so sure. Everything felt wrong. You had just almost taken someone’s life, even if it had been in self-defense. Your stomach churned with nausea, and you clung to Jason’s chest, hiding your face against him, letting his presence shield you from the reality of the situation. 

You steadied your breathing and looked up at him, ignoring the urge to look back at the limp bodies. “What—what’re we supposed to do now?” 

Jason’s expression softened further, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he saw the fear still clouding your gaze. He gently tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes, trying to anchor you in the present moment. “First thing’s first,” he said quietly, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “We get you out of here.” 

His hand didn’t leave your chin, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, soothing motions. But there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his movements. He was calculating, already thinking several steps ahead, but he made sure you felt none of it. His focus was entirely on you now. 

“The police’ll show up soon,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. “I’ll tell Oracle—Barbara what happened. She’ll handle it.” He raked his hand through your hair, staring down at you in concern. 

You nodded, still unsure, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The reality of the situation was setting in—the cold, harsh aftermath of your actions. You hadn’t just fired a weapon; you’d taken control of a life. Even if it was in self-defense, the gravity of that decision was heavier than any physical injury.

“We can’t be here when they do. We don’t need to explain any of this to them. Not tonight.” He glanced toward the fallen man, his jaw tightening. 

“What about him?” you asked, your voice small, trembling, though you immediately regretted it. The man you’d shot, his life still hanging by a thread. His future, whatever that was now, was out of your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the guilt crawling under your skin.

Jason's eyes darkened slightly at your question, but his expression remained controlled, calm. He didn't immediately answer, his gaze lingering on the fallen man for a moment before he looked back at you. The faintest of sighs escaped his lips, but his tone was resolute. “I’ll take care of him,” he said quietly. “He won’t be a threat to us. Not again.” 

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t flinch away from him. Jason’s world was one of calculated decisions, harsh realities, and necessary actions. You’d seen glimpses of that before—the man who operated in shadows, whose choices often weighed heavy, but always with purpose. 

Your heart still raced, the guilt and uncertainty gnawing at you, but you forced yourself to breathe steadily, pushing the questions from your mind for now. The sound of distant sirens began to echo through the alley, too close for comfort, and Jason’s grip on you tightened just a fraction. 

He gave you a small, reassuring nod. “We need to move. Now.” Without waiting for another word, Jason gently pulled you with him, leading you further down the alley. The sounds of the night seemed muffled, your mind still focused on the chaos you’d just left behind. But with each step you took away from the scene, the weight of the situation shifted.

You weren’t in control of it—not yet, not fully—but Jason was, and for now, that was enough.

[eldritch-spouse]

I slam the door with frustration, spooking the angel patiently waiting by the door. I haphazardly throw my coat on the floor before grabbing the celestial’s hand and stomping into the living room. Forcing him to sit on the couch, I turn on the tv for noise and hastily unbutton his suit. “I need you now. Had a bad day and you will help me relieve stress.”

In different years, Belo would find this way of life to be slightly insulting.

He's a warrior after all, a power. His kind belongs outside, patrolling, securing the well-being of lessers, fighting for the honor of their Highers and holding the safety of Eden on their shoulders.

Ah, but those days are gone. Long gone. His vision glazes sometimes, wet and torpid eyes lamenting the fate of many of his brethren. They, unlike him, didn't have the fortitude to handle their own abandonment, the newfound fruitlessness of their very existence.

It's one thing to never know what the meaning of your existence is. It's another thing to have that meaning embedded in your very core and never be able to fulfill it again. Sometimes Belo envies that freedom, that ambivalence of simply existing because you can, because you were made.

Also unlike him, his kin did not have the miraculous luck to find someone like his Lady. His Lady-Worship, his beam of light in a universe ready to swallow him in its poisonous darkness. The guiding hand in a world so new and so different, so degenerate. So horrid! As amazing and radiant as you are, Belo shudders when he thinks about how you made it this far intact without a celestial by your side.

With new meaning come new duties, understandably.

As Belo still needs to learn quite a lot to understand the symbolism of this new age, he worries himself with protecting your sanctum, making it the best version of itself, and keeping it painfully, effectively warded against all threats- Especially that fiendish "neighbor" you have, what disgusting absolutely abhorrent lifeform it is! Noxious creature!

But alas, your benevolence knows no bounds. Not only have you welcomed him into your life, you refuse to let that wretched pest meet its end. Truly, you are too good for this lost planet.

Now.

Back to his current task.

The sanctum is spotless, but alas, Belo was never taught how to prepare meals for lessers. It was not the type of discipline delivered to his cast. A guardian would know this, even a principality! But not him, not a power. Unfortunate and unacceptable- He must show adaptation and flexibility unlike ever before!

Which is why that uhm... Digital movie playing contraption you have comes in so very handy.

He never thought he'd be learning to cook from lessers, but here Belo is, hoping against all odds that he doesn't ruin the eggs this time. It's not that he can't handle objects in a gentle manner, it's that he's never had to taste things. Therefore, he doesn't know how to create the correct flavor.

And Lords forbid he ever present his Lady with something foul-tasting!

The power is sure he's got it down correctly this time however. Belo has just finished putting the eggs on the plate he intends to present you with, when he stills.

An acute sense of alertness and hearing means a lifeform like him is always aware of the movement around your apartment complex. He knows when your neighbors leave and arrive, which parts of their homes they're in... This also means that he knows when you're nearby, having memorized the noise of your vehicle -Such a shame that he can't accompany you to some locations- And the jingle of your mildly irritating keychain.

The angel scrambles to put everything together, wanting to be at the door with his offering in full display, so eager to see you-

The door rips open.

Only a nick of time allows Belo to secure his painfully crafted work of mediocre culinary, lest it be swatted to the ground. Sharpened eyes spare you great concern.

His Lady exudes frustration. Although his rank is not the most emotionally attuned, Belo senses a cloud of negativity choking you, your glorious features drained and tense. He's overcome with emotion.

" My- My Lady! Whatever happened today? Did you get hurt? Who d- "

The force with which you grip his hand is surprising for a human, dragging the angel only because he always allows you to. The food lies forgotten on the nearest surface. It's by his ever subservient attitude that you can toss Belo to the couch too, his silent confusion following when you activate the bigger display box.

" I need you now. " You begin, patience depleted. " Had a long day and you will help me relieve stress. "

He squawks the same way he does whenever his Worship starts these encounters without proper warning, wings fluttering and fur fluffing in a mixture of shock and anticipation. He fears that a part of him may enjoy getting pleasurably surprised more than any self-respecting angel should.

" But... " He knows it's not a good idea to challenge you, trembling as the last of his covering is undone. " You should eat b-before I service you, my Lady, many hours have passed- "

" I'll eat when I can't feel my legs. " The snarl you give Belo sends shudders down his spine, and he bashfully, albeit inwardly happily, readjusts to spread his legs for you.

" Excuse me but that hardly sounds healthy... "

His cock pokes out a furred slit, beading and twitching to interest. Although Belo becomes uncomfortably erect the moment you recklessly undress before him. It was not, as a filthy demon would put it, a slutty display. It was raw need, irritation and pure dominance. It was a side of his Worship he had yet to witness.

Belo refuses to ever admit it aloud, he cannot, he will not! But... But oh, the sins of the flesh. No, when provided by the superiors, they are not sins, they are gifts. They cannot be wrong. It's not wrong for Belo to enjoy your physical rewards for his work, but it is perhaps sinful of him to lust for more, to so eagerly hope that you'll allow him such pleasures when he performs certain tasks.

He does not touch his aching length because he's not allowed to. His pleasure is for you to decide upon, of course.

The angel prepares to slide down on his knees when you shove him back on the cushions by the shoulder.

Three eyes blink at you. " Am... Am I not to service you, my Goddess? "

You usually enjoy the touch of his fingers upon your most intimate zones, for training him is easy, and Belo adored the sounds of your approval. You did also curiously enjoy grinding over his face, a sensation that often left him pointlessly thrusting against nothing.

None of that today, it seems.

" Shut up. "

He was about to reply with a reflexive 'Yes, my Lady' before catching himself.

When you straddle him, the celestial only tilts his head, figure heated, but never expecting you to simply line him up with your entrance and slam yourself down.

Had he not been in the midst of breathlessly throwing his head back, Belo would have died from worry. As holy as you are, you share the stature of humanity, and Belo knows -F-From common sense, of course!- That his organ is not the same size of a human's at all.

He tries to articulate his concern, but the squeeze of your core around him is hypnotic and sickeningly euphoric. Belo can only hold onto full hips and cry his delight while you mercilessly hammer down on his cock, milking all the pleasure you can from him.

His melodious whines and resounding moans -Something he ought to control- rise in intensity as Belo loses himself and begins rutting senselessly, the tip of his dick nuzzling spots that make the two of you go stupid.

" Don't you dare cum yet! "

He wails, physically wails, body trembling so hard it almost spasms in his effort to reign his movements. " N- Never, never my Lady! I'm good, I'll relieve you- I'm good! "

And as if to confirm it, your serious complexion finally morphs into a self-satisfied grin, all lidded eyes and gentle, mocking affection.

He's the one that's not getting any relief soon.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Quote and character request. Levi Ackerman. "You don't have to love everything about me; that means you're actually looking at me"

Beneath the Armor

Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Synopsis: You searches everywhere for Levi Ackerman. But when you finally find him, he acts cold as eyes, doesn't even want to talk to you. Word after word his true intentions reveal...

Warnings: Levi is very self conscious in this fic due to how the war left him - if that's too negative for you or simly not your style keep on scrolling. Hurt to comfort, fluff fluff fluff

The room is tense, thick with the lingering echoes of your argument. You can’t believe it. You traveled for what felt like ages, turned the whole planet upside down in order to finally see that man again. And him? He avoids you at all cost, ignores you while you’re standing right in front of him.

You clench your fist, gleaming eyes staring at him through the thick silence. All of that, after you spent one night together, after you finally started trusted another human being fully.

The air feels heavy, each of you standing on opposite sides of a dark hallway that only seems to widen with every passing second.

Levi’s clenches his jaw, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, normally so calculating and composed, flash with a rare anger. It’s not often that you two fight like this. But when you do, it feels like the world is tilting off its axis. You’re both too used to being strong, too used to being in control. And now, that strength is clashing, neither of you willing to yield.

Can’t you understand that he did all of this to protect you?

“You don’t get it,” you spit at him, voice trembling with frustration.

“You shut me out, Levi. You push me away every time I try to get close. And that after I searched the whole fucking world for you.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, his silence only adding to the tension. When he finally speaks up, his voice is low, almost dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

“And maybe you’re better off that way. Maybe it’s easier if you don’t get too close.”

The words sting like a flat-palmed slap, causing your heart to tighten in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to push you away on purpose, as if he’s testing to see how far he can go before you finally give up. But you’re not ready to let him off that easily. Not when you spent weeks trying to find him over here.

“Why?” you demand, taking a step closer, your voice rising with emotion.

“Why do you keep pushing me away? What are you so afraid of?”

Levi’s eyes flash again, but this time, there’s something else there - something darker, more vulnerable. He turns away from you, as if he can’t bear to face you head-on, his shoulders tense and rigid.

“I’m not afraid,” he mutters, but there’s a crack in his voice that betrays him.

“Then what is it?” you press out, not willing to let this go.

“Why do you keep trying to make me hate you? Why are you running away from me?”

He spins back to face you, his expression torn between anger and something else, something raw, something painful.

“Because if you don’t hate me, you’ll see me for what I really am,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

“And I don’t know if I can handle that.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his confession. Who he really is? You eye him up and down, take in his blind eye, his missing fingers, his overall worn-out figure. Is he really talking about how this war changed his appearance? No, he can’t believe you’re that superficial, right? Did he really push you away because he thought you’d stop loving him now? For a moment, you’re both silent.

“You believe I don’t love you anymore”, you finally speak up.

“I can’t believe you think that-“

“You don’t have to love everything about me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

There’s a softness to his tone now, a tenderness that wasn’t there before as well as a new-found fragility. His hand reaches out, hesitant at first, before resting on your arm.

“That means you’re actually looking at me. Seeing me for who I really am. But I understand that…You might not want me anymore.”

You feel like giggling and breaking down at the same time. Why would that man ever think that he isn’t good enough for you anymore, that you’d throw him away like trash? But he’s letting his guard down, exposing a side of himself that he rarely shows, a side that’s scared and unsure, but also hopeful. Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, you’ll see him and still choose to stay.

“I’m not perfect,” he continues, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’ve done things… things I’m not proud of. I look even worse than I did back then. And I don’t expect you to love me. I just want you to know that I’m trying. Trying to be better, trying to be the man I was before, for you. I just…can’t change that shitty body.”

His hand moves from your arm to your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. But still, he doesn’t dare to look you in the eyes, his voice still muted and covered in agony.

Is this the reason why he never tried to reach you, never tried to find you? Because he thought you’d never look at him again the way you did before all of this? Humanity’s strongest losing his whole confidence over something so minor, something that actually makes you admire him even more.

His thumb brushes over your skin, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I want you to stay. But if you can’t love me like that, I’ll leave right away” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His words hang between you, raw and unfiltered. That lack of self-esteem, all the horrible things he had to endure while you were gone. What did he see? What did he feel? With each passing minute, your heart swells up more and more. For that man who risked everything including his precious life for a world you’d be safe in. For that man who know stands in front of you and thinks he isn’t good enough for you.

“I see you, Levi,” you say softly, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions.

“I see you, and I’m not going anywhere. Those scars,”

Gently, you allow your finger to wander over the faint scar that covers the skin around his blinded eye.

“Those hands that hold my entire world,”

You take his hand in yours tenderly.

“Do you really think I’ll leave you over something like this when I searched the world upside down just to see you again?”

A flicker of relief passes through his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Levi allows himself to hope. And for the first time since he can think, he’s glad to see your tears paired with that loving look in your eyes. Will you really…stay with him?

“Please don’t push me away. I still need you in my life”, you mutter before lunging yourself at him.

Like countless times before, you rest your head against his shoulder, wrap your arms around him in fear that you’ll lose him any given minute. That precious but stoic man who drove you insane more than once, that man who never failed to argue with you.

That man, humanity’s strongest. The love of your life.

“Fine, brat”, he grumbles before stroking through your hair.

“But I’ll leave if you make fun of me.”

“I’ll always make fun of you half-pint.”

Tags:

@lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @levislegislation @istglevi-gotmesimping

[kofiilicious]

“untied shoelaces” // luke castellan x reader

pairing. luke castellan x reader

word count. 803

content. reader doesn’t know how to tie their shoelaces so luke helps them and teases them about it. gn!reader. fluff, because that's, like, all i can write.

notes. my phone was like less than 8% when i wrote both halves of this,, but i pulled through

---

Okay, so it was cross them, then two loops, then cross the loops and put one through the hole… wait. What hole???

You let out a frustrated huff. It was probably your fifth attempt trying to tie your sneakers. You were trying to get ready for the day, but your laces came untied, and you wanted to rip the ears off whatever bunny this method was based on.

So here you were, knelt on the ground, ending up with either a messy knot or laces that fell apart when you pulled them taut. You weren’t about to cave and ask someone for help, either — you were too stubborn for that. If anything, you’d go barefoot before that happened. It was kind of pathetic, being a demigod who has to face monsters hourly and not even knowing how to tie your shoes.

Someone suddenly knelt behind you after another failed attempt. Two familiarly strong arms wrapped around your abdomen, and a chin rested on your shoulder. A mop of dark curls slightly obscured your vision.

“Having a bit of trouble there?”

Ugh. Of course, Luke Castellan, your totally not favourite person on the entire planet, had to interrupt you while you were moping about your shoes. You tilted your head to the side, leaning on the slightly coarse pillow of brown locks beside you.

“Not at all. You’re crazy.”

“Really? Because I just watched you redo that lace at least five times. You look like you’re ‘bout to cry.”

One of Luke’s hands snakes up to tap his fingertip on the tip of your nose. It earns a frustrated huff for you, letting your hands drop back to your sides, your shoulders slumping. You’re officially giving up.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going barefoot today.”

“Why? Do you not know how to tie your shoes or something?”

The silence following the question was very telling. Luke huffed out a surprised laugh, arms squeezing your gut slightly as he leaned forward, chest pressed against your back, to gaze down at your untied shoes.

“You seriously can’t tie your shoes?”

“Shut up.”

The son of Hermes’ hands trailed down your sides to your hips before finally making it to one of your shoes. His hands were stupid large, and your gaze lingered on the vein that ran through it before trying to focus on what he was doing.

“Watch the professionals and learn.”

Safe to say, you watched, but you learned nothing. Luke lost you when he made the two bunny-ear loops. Everything was confusing, and you couldn’t make sense of it by the end.

“There. Now try on your other shoe.”

“Try what?”

“To.. to tie your shoe.”

“. . .”

“.. You didn’t pick up on a single thing I did, didn’t you?”

Your sheepish grin confirmed his suspicions. The brunette couldn’t help but groan, rolling his eyes as if he should’ve known better than to expect you to remember — or even to watch, for that matter.

“Alright. Switch your knee.”

With a pout, you abide. Earlier, you knotted the shoelaces on this sneaker and pulled it taut, but the two loops didn’t retain. Luke stared for a long few moments, dumbfounded, before bursting into hushed laughter and grabbing your sides to steady himself. You could feel the shake of his shoulders pressed against your back.

Your face burned up with embarrassment. The only thing that held you back from going off on him was that his laugh was probably the most addictive thing you’ve had the pleasure of hearing and causing.

“Are you done laughing at me yet?”

“I’m sorry— haha! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

That lopsided grin on Luke’s face told you that he wasn’t really. You huffed, saying nothing as he began to undo the knot in your laces, which proved a struggle with his large fingers and his position. You didn’t dare help him.

Eventually, he rejoiced, untying the stubborn tangle. This time, as he tied your shoelaces the proper way, he tried to talk you through the steps. The words just seemed to go through one ear and out the other.

“Cross them over —”

“— loops, like bunny ears —”

“— one loop through this hole, and tighten.”

You were spacing out until he nudged you after you hadn’t responded the first two times he said your name.

“Did that help?”

“.. Totally.”

“…… You didn’t listen again, did you?”

“.. Nope.”

Luke shook his head with an amused smile. He stood, holding his hand out and helping you to your feet. He sighed out your name,

“What am I going to do with you..?”

You gave him a grin and went to take a step.. only to trip and fall flat on your face. Luke burst out laughing.

Motherfucker had tied your shoes together.

---

[nvuy]

oil, but the petroleum kind, not the lavender kind — wanderer

summary. the wanderer keeps breaking down, and as frustrating as he believes you to be, you’re the only person on this god forsaken planet that knows how to fix him.

notes. obligatory first post of 2.7k words is not a navigation post, and had to be scaramouche related because i’m not obsessed at all. i actually don’t like him. not one bit.

warnings. innuendos because you’re a bit weird. also not proofread, so mind your eyes.

The puppet trudged into the rundown warehouse with a sickening twist in his stomach, like a towel wrung too tight.

In his right hand was his left hand. Popped right off at the socket, and buzzing incessantly. He would kill The Doctor when he got his hands on him; why would there need to be an unnecessary bzzt! in his ear every time something in his body went wrong. Case in point, his hand was not attached to his arm.

He didn’t need a warning alarm. He could very well see the problem.

Nonetheless, he barged through the door with a permanent snarl imprinted on his lips.

Typical. You were asleep at a bench in the back, spine bent at an awkward angle with your forehead resting on your forearms. Your arms were covered in charcoal of some sort, as well as white smears from the paint bucket you decided would make a great pillow.

It reeked of oil. He noticed a black leak from beneath one of the machines. It looked old, very much so, with lots of holes for missing compartments. It screamed Fontaine, if he’d ever seen anything like it.

Impatiently, he thwacked the back of your head. “Hey.”

You shot up from the seat. There were dark imprints around your eyes from where you’d been wearing the safety glasses over your head.

You blinked blearily at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I need your supposed ‘expertise.’”

“What sort of time do you call this?” you scolded.

“Five in the afternoon.” And he was right. Oops. You swore you’d fallen asleep last night, too. You swivelled around in the chair to face the clock ticking on the wall. It was a good few minutes behind the actual time, but yep. Three past five.

Then, you stood up. “I’ve been sleeping for twelve hours?!” You shoved the chair out of the way and bounded for the giant machine. “Gods!” You vaguely remember setting an alarm. You had no idea what you were doing, rubbing at your eyes and blinking the sleep from them.

You hit the machine with the side of your fist.

“You can cry later.” He tossed his hand at you and you barely caught it. “My ears need fixing as well.” For good measure, there was another vibrating buzz deep inside his head, and he jolted.

“Do you want your hair done, too?”

He almost hissed at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” You sighed, still staring sadly at the machine. “You know the drill. On the bench.”

So, he got on the bench. The same as what he'd done for centuries with another man. It was different now with you; he’d insisted the pain you inflicted, as unintentional as it was, didn’t hurt in the slightest because he’d experienced much worse, but you’d paused every time. With a grimace too, like you were worried about his state. It was never anything worth mentioning anyway.

He wasn’t a frequent customer, per say. Frankly, not many people that came in claimed they were sentient puppets anyway. You’d believed him, as absurd as the claim was. And you’d poked at the indentation on the nape of his neck.

But, he’d visited more often than he’d like to admit. More often than not because he was breaking down without constant maintenance—and no, it wasn’t because he was old—to the extent that it frustrated him. Limbs popping off if too much pressure was applied, especially now with his newfound Vision attached to his heart.

He hated to admit your company was tolerable, even if all you did was blabber about machines. You’d taken a rather strange interest in him, it seemed, though. Not that he minded. He liked to be doted upon.

“Are you finally gonna let me–”

“No.” There it was. The pathetic begging to crack him open and watch how he worked. Every time, without failure, like a broken record spinning the same loop on repeat.

You pouted. “But I do things for you.”

“Fix my hand,” he practically demanded. He felt you reach over his legs when he straightened them out on the bench. Then, there was the sound of a buckle, and his right ankle was ensnared on the table. “What are you doing?”

“You squirmed too much last time,” you explained, tightening the buckle around his left ankle.

“You’re not exactly gentle.” He made no effort to fight you. “And this treatment is barbaric.”

You tested the restraints. “Whatever. My warehouse, my rules.”

“You’re filthy, by the way,” he said. You smelled like oil, so strongly he was convinced you’d doused it on yourself like a fragrance. Usually, you liked to combine a mixture of lavender and coconut. When you were clean, of course. You tied his right arm down to the bench. “You should shower.”

“I would, but there’s a dog barking at me on my workbench.”

He almost turned his head to bite your arm.

Nonetheless, his hand was an easy fix. He’d probably be able to do it himself, in all honesty, but it gave him an excuse to escape Lesser Lord Kusanali’s never ending ramblings and such. Not to mention he could visit you, as pathetic as it sounded.

The limb reattached with a pop that made him tense immediately. Other than that, he wriggled his fingers experimentally, and they worked just fine.

His ears were the worst. Not only did they require constant maintenance, but aforementioned 'constant maintenance' needed patience. Patience that you, nor him, had.

And because of that, it was hurting him. He tried not to let it show, not that you couldn’t tell, but there was simply no other way to do it. His ears were tricky technology because he didn’t have standard human anatomy, or anything that was a poor imitation of it. No cochlea, no eardrum, no nothing, so permanent hearing damage wasn’t too much of an issue.

In the absolute worst case scenario, if you completely destroyed whatever it was that allowed him to hear, you were sure you could make something. You were crafty like that. It also sounded fun. (And gave you the excuse to bury your hands in his chest and see what he was made of).

His ear buzzed and he jolted.

You frowned, the scaler tool wedged deep inside his ear canal. “Stop moving.” Your fingers pressed to his temples to steady his squirming.

“I’m not trying to.” Another buzz. “Ow, you wretch! Get off me!”

You held his head still. “Yeah, yeah, you big baby. I’m almost done.”

His fingers curled into his fists and he shut his eyes as tight as he could when you readjusted his head to his side.

The pain wasn’t even the worst part of it. It was just uncomfortable. He’d rather just cut off his ears and be finished with it.

Another bzzt and he grunted. There was a pained and wobbly line coating his lips. His eyes glossed over.

You tried to ignore how he was practically trying to curl up into himself and shift away from the tools. You needed a pair of suture scissors in his ear as well, and he almost broke free of his restraints when he felt more pressure.

“I think I–”

“Finish this,” he said dully, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“I can’t.” You pulled the tools slowly from his ear. “It’s not your ear. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

The buzzing was astoundingly miserable, and there was now a sharp ache to accompany it. “Well, then what is it, genius?”

“Something’s up with whatever controls your hearing. And no, it’s not your ears. There’s literally nothing in there.” You traced his earlobe soothingly, still thoughtful. “Did you fall?”

He did. A very very large fall, might he add, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “Never mind that. You can’t fix my ear?” For a laugh, it buzzed again.

“I can, but–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want me to help you, then get out of my warehouse.”

The puppet bristled like a cactus. “I stated, very clearly, might I add, that my ear and my hand needed fixing. There is no reason for you to pull me apart.”

There was a scowl etched onto his face.

“Clearly it’s more than just an ear problem, old man.” You poked at his chest teasingly. “I’ll charge you less if you let me pull you open.”

“No. And you’ve never charged me regardless.”

“Negative number charge.” You tapped your cheek. “You can pay me with a kiss.”

“I will leave,” he threatened. He felt heat creep into his chest.

“Not if I keep you here.” You leaned over the workbench to retrieve your toolbox. “C’mon. I’ll be quick. And I’ll fix your ear. It’s a win-win situation.”

He jolted when his ear buzzed once more. It was like torture choosing between a constant involuntary and painful twitch and your hands below his skin.

They both sounded like terrible outcomes, though one was slightly more feasible than the other.

“Fine. Be quick.”

You gasped, eyes sparkling. “Really?!” Alarm bells rang in his head when you raised a hammer over his torso. “You got it.”

“I have buttons,” he forced out swiftly. “Put the hammer down.”

You practically threw the hammer somewhere else. It clattered on the ground with a loud clang, making his ears buzz. He writhed for a moment, and his teeth gritted at the incessant stiffening pain in his joints.

The restraints were growing difficult to bear. The cloying scent of freedom just out of reach was overwhelming.

“Where are they?”

If his wrists weren’t tied down to the table, he would’ve flailed unintentionally and caught you right in the stomach. “Hips.”

You whistled lowly. “Nice.”

He shot you the most withering glare he could muster whilst his left eyelid began to twitch.

You managed to get the waistband of his pants down just enough to see two large markings on either side of the roundest part of his hips. The waistband sat dangerously low, and he tried to control the twitching, though that didn’t seem to help.

Experimentally, your fingers grazed the deep purple markings. There was a shock that raced up your fingers; a warning not to try anything stupid.

The longer you pressed your fingers, the purple rose higher and higher towards his torso.

There, the electro-like veins and circuits formed a square that covered the expanse of his stomach to the tip of his ribs.

There was a hiss, and then the square sank into his torso.

He grunted at the vulnerability.

His skin gave way and slid below another portion of his hip, completely out of sight.

You stared down into him for a moment.

He wanted you dead. “What?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His thigh twitched; whether it was him trying to remove himself from his confines, or if the surging Anemo was seeping down to his legs was a question that he couldn’t even answer.

He wanted to bark, or retaliate, or harp on about how weird you were, but he refrained. You were here to help, as strange as it was.

Instead, he murmured, “hurry up.”

“I’m serious.” You reached over and prodded a circuit running in a loop along his spine. “Whoever created you sure took their sweet time.”

“Enough.” He tried to sound as menacing as he could from his position. “Just finish this.”

So, you began, playing with an assortment of tools and wires to see what made him jolt.

Just as he’d so proudly proclaimed many times before, his mechanics and anatomy were beyond your understanding. From your own personal experience, robotic puppets would be absolutely filled with machinery and crossbeams and devices of all sorts, with barely any wriggle room for experimentation.

The puppet on the table was filled with almost nothing. There were a few core pieces, one of which you recognised as actuators stuck to the internal joints of his limbs.

As you poked and prodded, the puppet tried his very best to remain still. He’d been opened before, countless times actually, but with the intention of pain. Hurt, as a price to pay for power. Gloved fingers would yank and pull and shock until whatever was beneath his skull melted behind his eyes.

You were simply and innocently curious. Albeit a bit wobbly and unsure with your fingers.

“No clue what I’m looking at.” You nudged at a weird metallic square with purple script where a stomach would be. “This one looks important, though.” You then knocked on it, and his ear buzzed in tune with your knuckles. Found it. There were two wires from the square that crept up suspiciously close towards his ears.

As you worked, his hearing faded in and out. You’d asked him questions throughout, even having to wave a hand in his face when you noticed he was completely unaware that you’d spoken at all.

It wasn’t as jarring as he would’ve thought it’d be; although, there was an aching disappointment in his chest when your voice didn’t come through in his head properly.

His hearing eventually came to properly. He could feel the tugging and harsh pulling of the circuitry and wires controlling his ears, but the buzzing eventually subsided. Relief was light on his shoulders when he could finally sit still for longer than five seconds.

But even though his ears were fixed, and he clearly wasn’t twitching anymore, you’d barely moved from your spot with feeling hands.

He sighed. “You’re taking a long time considering how much you prattle on about your ‘inventive genius.’”

“I’m having my fun.” Experimentally, you pulled at one of the actuators, and his right index finger twitched involuntarily in response. “You’re a work of art.”

“Whatever comes out of your mouth never fails in making me want to shrivel into a ball and die. Did you know that?”

You tugged at another mysterious wire and his shoulder jolted violently. You were smiling, knocking his rib cage softly. “This is so cool.”

You whistled a tune while you tended to him. More yanks of things you didn’t understand like some sort of toddler on your end, but he figured if it made you happy and satiated that never ending curiosity, he’d let it slip through his fingers.

Just this once.

Patience was not his forte, however, because soon enough, the uncomfortable persistence of hands where there shouldn’t be was weighing heavy on his chest like an anvil.

He grunted. “Are you finished groping me?”

“I could do this forever, I think.” There was that stupid smile still printed onto your lips. “I’d love to pull you to pieces and see what happens.”

“A strange proclamation that I won’t let happen, unless you don’t want to keep your hands.” The restraints were like lead wrapped around his limbs. “Stop drooling over me and hurry up.”

You sighed, disappointed. “Yes, princess.” You closed up the hearing compartment, making sure you hadn’t ruined anything else before allowing the exterior skin to slide back over the hole in his torso. “I’m finished.”

He was disgusted by the appalling nickname.

But, you seemed pleased.

He was proud of himself for it, and secretly pocketed the pride. However, the scowl remained on his face.

“So…” You moved to unbuckle the restraints. “Where’s my ‘thank you?’”

“Shouldn’t I be receiving one for being so generous?” When you froze with the restraints, a reminder of who was at a disadvantage here, he let out an exasperated sigh, before mumbling, “thank you.”

“Mm-hm. You’re welcome.” You leaned over the table. “And where’s my kiss?”

“You’re an insufferable rodent and I should squash you beneath my heel,” he threatened through his teeth.

You remained frustratingly unperturbed. “One kiss or you can stay on the table.”

“I will spit in your face.”

“Fine.” You unbuckled the restraints. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I am.”

You blew a raspberry at him before you dusted off your hands. You really needed a shower, actually, but the broken machine sitting in all its glory with a pungent oil leak was staring at you with big bug eyes.

You kicked it in retaliation.

While you moped, the puppet struggled with an inner turmoil. He was still standing by the table, testing out his hand—not that he really needed to, actually. You’d helped him many times before, all with precision. You’d never let him leave with a problem.

And that was the thing.

He felt he did have a problem, and his skin felt like it was alight.

His hand was fine, and the incessant buzzing in his ear had finally ceased.

He heard you flop back down into the swivel chair for a moment, hands in your hair as you moved around the circumference of the base, trying to eye where the leak was coming from.

He turned with a spout of quickly dying determination.

A tweak of one of the bolts in the machine had a spring of black petroleum target your face and thoroughly drenched you.

You looked like a sad, wet cat.

He was heating up, and his mind wandered elsewhere.

“Hey.”

You turned around defeatedly in the now wet swivel seat, clicking a pen you’d just found absentmindedly. “Yep.”

His lips pressed to your own.

When you tried to lean forward closer to him, tried anything, to pull him onto the chair with you, or let your fingers creep towards his hips, he shoved you back into the chair and left.

In absolutely no world would he let you witness the bright blue beneath his skin flickering to life with heat all over.

You tasted like oil. There was a black smear across his lips that he frantically fought rubbing off all the way back to the city.

[mango-forest]

inspired by A Second Life by Die_Erlkonigin6083

“—lo?”

What?

“—an you hear us?”

Go away.

“The levels are stable. We should see if—”

He can’t move; he’s floating in place with wires attached to him. He can’t breathe; there’s some sort of liquid all around him. He can’t see; the liquid gel substance presses against his eyelids, forcing them shut.

“Process starting in three, two, one!”

What process? Just let him sleep.

“WARNING: SUBJECT F-4N70M DESTABILIZING. PLEASE CHECK ACTIVITY LOG.”

It’s getting warmer. He wants it to get cooler. Why is it getting warmer? He hates it. It only gets warmer when they’re doing tests. People are loudly talking to each other—or is it to him?

Is this another test?

-

He slowly opens his eyes. It is bright, in the way all of the Rooms are, sterilized white the only color on the walls. But there’s blue curtains surrounding the bed he’s in. They never let him have curtains.

Actually, there are a lot of differences between where he is and the Rooms. It’s hard to move, but when he turns his head to the side, it’s not only chairs and machinery that he sees, but there’s also a small table with flowers in a vase, and pillows stacked next to it. There is a tube connected to his nose, and another one leading to his arm. But the discomfort cannot compare to the awe he feels when he looks through the window and sees the darkness outside, speckled with lights.

He can see millions of lights past the window, glowing, tauntingly beyond his reach. It is overwhelming. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He has to get closer.

Getting his body to move is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He clumsily paws at the tubes until they fall off and in the process tumbles out of his bed, crashing onto the floor. The machinery has gotten louder now, a constant screeching that he ignores as he painstakingly makes his way to the window. He has to slowly drag himself most of the way, but it’s worth it when he props himself against the wall, closer to the lights.

He hasn’t been there for more than a few minutes when someone sits next to him. “Hello,” the person—who was not there when he woke up—says. “What are we looking at?”

Why does the person have to look with him? He was looking at the lights first! “The lights,” he says. It’s quieter than he meant it to be. His voice is hoarse, and it actually hurts him to talk.

Something cool is pressed to his hand. “It’s water,” the person says. He doesn’t look away from the lights as the person sighs. He can’t curl his fingers enough to grab it. A hand presses against his chest, leaning him back into an embrace. Another hovers a few inches in front of his face, blocking his view of the lights.

Angrily, he looks at the other. The person smiles indulgently and uses the blocking hand to then grab the cup of water and raise it to his mouth. While he’s forced to slowly drink, the person says, “We call those lights ‘stars.’ Do you like stars?”

Carefully, he nods his head, a bit of water dribbling down his chin. Stars.

“I do too. Did you know there are other planets out there? My name actually came from one of those planets: my name is Nightwing. Do you have a name?” Nightwing asks slowly, placing the empty cup on the floor and then wiping the wet off his chin.

He also seems disappointed when all he gets in response is a blank stare.

“Okay then, kiddo,” Nightwing says. “Let’s get you back to bed.” The man shifts so that he’s now held against his waist. Then he gets up and they move back towards the bed with the blue curtains. They’re leaving the stars. Why are they leaving the stars? Is it because he didn’t answer? He weakly struggles against Nightwing, a whine leaving his throat. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s okay. You can still see the stars from the bed.”

But it isn’t the same! Frustrated, he tries to bite Nightwing’s shoulder to get him to stop, because even the biggest scientist stopped when he did it, but even that doesn’t work because Nightwing’s stupid black and blue suit is too tough!

“Aw, baby don’t do that. This is special material, you’re just going to hurt your teeth.” Don’t tell him what to do. He stubbornly bites down harder.

The sheets are cool against his skin and Nightwing uses his hand to press against his chin and cheeks in a certain way that loosens the bite enough that he can detach him.

Ignoring the glare directed at his whole being, Nightwing then tidies some previously unnoticed papers on the bedside table and hums a little tune. “You know, if you don’t have a name, then I can name you. What about. . . Babywing? Or . . . Pythagoras?”

“Name?” he asks, unable to have before. “What is. . .?”

He trails off at the end, but Nightwing seems to have understood, frowning for a moment before smiling again. “A name is what people call you. It’s who you are, in a way.”

He doesn’t know what a Pythagoras was, but he does know he doesn’t want to be called that. “‘M not a baby,” he rasps.

Nightwing pauses and looks at him with a smile, probably pleased he was talking. “Well, your charts say you’re seven. So you’re basically a baby. A baby with no name, which I shall now fix by naming you. . . Small Boy!”

“You’re not good at naming,” he informs the adult. He’s forced to drink more water before he continues, unimpressed. “I have a name.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Nightwing. “I would’ve known, Small Boy.”

“Yes, I do.” His throat has gone dry and Nightwing seems to notice as he produces another cup of water out of nowhere and helps him drink again. “They called me Phantom.”

Never to his face. Never when talking to him. But sometimes, they would shorten his label to Phantom when talking to each other, something easier for them to say. To him and to the lab recordings, he was referred to as Subject F-4N70M only. But the thought of Nightwing—the only person to treat him like a person—using his label, a string of letters and numbers. . . it gives him a weird feeling of shame.

Nightwing blinks. “Phantom? That’s. . . a very nice name.”

He shrugs. It’s not like he chose it. “It’s not a normal name,” he mumbles. None of the people in the lab have names like Phantom.

Nightwing sits on the edge of the bed, giving him a gentle look. “Well, I think it’s fine. Nightwing isn’t a very normal name, either. Phantom sounds cool. Like a hero’s name.”

“What is a hero?”

The frown is back again for a second before the gentleness replaces it. “Someone who helps and saves people. My hero name is Nightwing.”

“You’re a hero?” he says in slight wonder. “You saved me. You were the voice I heard.” It makes sense: if anyone fits the label of hero, it would be Nightwing, he thinks.

“You could hear us when you were in stasis? Well, I was the one there, and I am a hero! But hey,” Nightwing quickly adds, “If you want to have a different name then you can! You don’t have to keep the name they gave you.”

“Really?” It is barely above a whisper.

“Really,” Nightwing responds, firmly.

“Can I,” he starts, voice small, “have—there’s this name I—“ He swallows and looks around nervously. Waving Nightwing closer, the hero indulgently leans over. He says it so quietly it might have been a murmur: “Can my name be Danny?”

“Danny?”

He nods. He’s never said that name aloud before; it’s only ever been floating in his mind—in fact, he’s never really said it even in his mind. But he knows, as soon as the name leaves his mouth, that it’s his. “Yeah. Danny, not—not Daniel, Danny.”

Nightwing smiles widely, warmly. “Danny with the bluest eyes,” he coos.

Danny smiles back, shy but undeniably happy. A yawn escapes him, making him a bit surprised. When another one escapes him, Nightwing laughs and says, “Time for bed, I think.”

“I am in a bed already,” Danny says.

“No, like—I mean it’s time to sleep.”

Danny tries not to flinch, although he probably wilts judging by how Nightwing’s face goes a bit worried. “Oh. Where’s the capsule?” he asks, looking around as if he just missed it the first time and it was in a corner he hadn't thought to check.

Nightwing frowns. “Your capsule?”

“Yes. Where else would I sleep?” Danny asks. Nightwing’s face does something complicated. Danny hopes this isn’t when he finally gets upset and angry at him.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

In Another World

Part 2

Request: Hi! Can I please request a Kylo x f!reader oneshot where she’s from Earth, & doesn’t know about jedi + 1st order(she’s not a Jedi/no powers). One day stumbles upon something that causes her to teleport where the 1st Order is. Kylo & troops notice her & capture her(she’s terrified/confused), He keeps her safe, & to fully protect her, he marries her so the order doesn’t question why she’s alive. She hates it at first, but they both fall in love, she even talks him down, so he doesn’t kill his dad. Requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt

Warnings: angst

WC: 1.5 K.

You can read part 1 here. Fictober Challenge

You didn’t understand why Ren had forced you into a marriage at first. You assumed, like other men who force women into such bonds, that he wanted something cruel and selfish. You prepared yourself to resist, even if fear gripped you, you would rather die than let him touch you like that.

But to your surprise, on your wedding night, he entered your now shared room with nothing but a condition: you would obey his commands in public, but in private, you had the freedom to be yourself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being in a cell.

Over time, your defenses softened. He remained cold and stoic, but he started inviting you to join him for dinner. 

Those dinners were silent and tense at first, but one evening he asked, “How was your day?” It startled you, and the truth tumbled out; how suffocating it was to stay locked up every day in your room. Something changed then. He began to let you roam the base, and you’d walk alongside him, watching as he commanded his troops. 

Then, there was that fateful day on a distant planet, where he was hunting rebels. He asked if you wanted to step outside, to feel the sun on your skin. It was a monumental leap of trust on both sides. You spent the day collecting wildflowers you’ve never seen in your life. And when he saw your collection that night, he laughed- a genuine laugh that lit up his entire face. It amused him how you seemed to be so fascinated with these common, mundane flowers. It was the start of something beautiful, fragile, and so terribly dangerous. 

The flowers became your secret language. Every time he returned from a mission, he brought you a new one. Each time he saw the sparkle in your eyes and the smile he put on your face, his heart softened further. But the day he brought a flower and your smile didn't reach your eyes, something in him shattered. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hesitantly stepping closer.

“Nothing,” you shook your head dismissively.

He took your hand, a rare gentleness in his touch. “I know you’re lying. Please. Tell me.” 

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to meet him. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do. Please talk to me,” he urged.

“I was just thinking… about everything,” you admitted.

He frowned, confusion and worry etched in his features. “And that made you sad?”

You nodded. “Yes. Because I see good in you, Ren. You don’t have to serve the dark side,” you said, cautiously.

His hand fell away, his eyes darkening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” you insisted, stepping forward. “You don’t have to be the monster you pretend to be. I know there’s a part of you that is good. You saved my life. At first, I thought it was out of cruelty or control, but now I see… you were trying to protect me. You can’t hide that part of yourself anymore.”

“And why does that matter?” His voice grew rough with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. “Why does it matter if I’m good or bad?” 

“Because I have grown to care about you,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I like you. And it hurts to see you hiding behind this wall, pretending to be something you’re not. You’re more than just darkness and cruelty-”

His expression shifted, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Y- you care about me?” The words seemed to echo in his mind, blocking out everything else you said. 

As he pointed that out, you realized you revealed more than you intended. You took a shaky breath, there was no denying it now. “I…I do.”

You braced yourself for anger or rejection, but instead, he closed the distance between you. His hand rested at the back of your head, and he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort, rejection. Finding none, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours,s o gently you almost didn’t believe it was real. Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling as you deepened the kiss, feeling the walls between you finally crack.

From then on, he became more caring, more affectionate. Even with his troops, he was still intimidating but gentler.

He had opened up to you, sharing stories of his past, of his grandfather, and the legacy that haunted him. In return, you spent hours studying their histories, trying to understand the world that shaped him.

One day, he captured  a girl who held crucial information about his uncle. He didn;t want you to see her, but word got around, and you found your way to the room. The sight of her, bound and defiant, brought back memories of your own capture. You talked to her, and eventually, you freed her. She hesitated, begging you to leave with her, but you told her that Kylo wouldn’t harm you.

“Where is she?” he stormed into your shared room, his voice like thunder.

“Who?” you feigned innocence, though your heart raced.

“Don’t play with me, Y/n. I’m not in the mood. Where’s the girl?” His fists clenched, his nostrils flaring.

“Oh, Rey?” you replied with forced nonchalance. “I let her go.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Let her go? You let her go?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea what-” He was interrupted by a  trooper informing him they’d located her. His father was there, too. Without another word, he stormed out, leaving you behind.

You followed, finding him poised to strike his father down. “Stop!” you cried, your voice cracking with desperation.

“Get back to your room,” he ordered, his voice like ice.

“Ben, please,” you pleaded, taking a cautious step forward. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, raising a hand, ready to use the Force.

“Remember what you told me about your grandfather?” you pressed, your voice trembling but determined. “Vader returned to the light. He saved his son, and his son saved him. If you want to honor him, let your father go. Please, come back to me. I won’t leave without you.”

“Y/n!” he growled, the conflict raging in his eyes.

Heart pounding, you took a final step back toward the railing. “I’m giving you a choice, Ben. Will you let your love for me win…or your thirst for power and revenge?”

“Don’t try anything reckless,” he warned, fear flashing across his face.

“Then choose me,” you whispered, before letting yourself fall into the void. Fear gripped you, you didn’t want to die, but hope lingered- that he would save you, choose you. 

You never hit the ground. His arms caught you, and you opened your eyes, he held you tightly. He’d let go of his father to save you. He chose love over hate.

Guiding him back to the light was a slow, painful process, but he let you in, step by step. Peace followed, but the dream began: visions of a place you knew you had to return to. You couldn’t ignore the signs any longer. You knew what that meant. You had to go, leave him behind, return to your life, your own timeline. You spent the last few days giving him all the love you could, spending every minute of every day with him.

The day finally came. You brought him the coordinates, the dread heavy in the air. When he asked you about it, you told him you’d been having dreams about that place and wanting to explore it, without explaining further.

When you arrived, you saw the thing that looked like a portal of some kind, but he couldn’t see it. To him it looked like a wall.

He sensed your pain and unease. “Y/n, why are we here?”

You inhaled slowly, unsure of how to tell him this. “I have to go back.”

“Go back? Where, Y/n? Go back where?” He knew the truth, but he didn’t want to hear it, believe it.

“You know where,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “I have to. All signs are telling me I can’t be here, Ben. The dreams, this unsettling feeling, the accidents lately. I’m not meant to be here anymore,” you explained.

“Nonsense,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You belong here with me. You can’t leave me now…Please,” he begged, his voice breaking.

“I believe I was brought here to save you, to guide you back to the light.That  purpose is fulfilled. I must go back and you have to let me. I don’t belong here and you know that, no matter how much I want to, how much you want me to… If you love me, you will let me go.” A tear slipped down your cheek and in a moment he was there, wiping it away, his hand trembling.

“But I love you,” he choked out.

“I love you, too. Maybe in another world, in another life, we’ll find our way back to each other. I will miss you so so much, Ben. And I will always love you.” 

You kissed him one last time, lingering, memorizing every sensation, not wanting the kiss to end. But it had to. You struggled to pull away, but when you did, you didn’t look back. You walked toward the portal, his fingers slipping from yours. That touch was the last thing you felt before awoke, to see yourself back in the lab, with tears streaming down your face.

Tags: @aoi-targaryen

[eoieopda]

Jadie:) i would like to make a request!!

Reader having to spent countless night home alone because Jungkook’s busy working at the studio? They fight and she asks him to love her more than she loves him?

Honestly i feel like JK gets frustrated with fights so he says things that come out in a different way?? Thank you so much!!!!

i went in with the angst on this one 😳 i think most of us have had similar fights before, so i was definitely channeling some of that something here OPE

cw: verbal sparring, major angst, ending is ambiguous/unresolved

By the time his car rolls into the driveway, Jungkook has nothing left to give.

A vampire disguised as a weekday sapped every bit of energy he had left. His reserve tank is empty, and when he’s running on fumes like this, there’s only one way to top up. All he wants — now, then, any time — is to bury his face where your neck meets your shoulder; to revel in your steady pulse and soft breathing; to remember that there’s life here, outside his studio.

He doesn’t waste time getting out of the car, having summoned the last bit of willpower he had to unbuckle his seatbelt and slip from the driver’s seat. Jungkook locks the car behind him and within seconds, he unlocks the door to his home. To you. It feels like forty years have passed since he left that morning, but he can still smell the kimchi from the eggs you cooked.

Did hours always used to feel like decades?

One foot over the threshold, the toe of his boot collides with something in the dark. His eyes strain to see it; and his eyebrows furrow once he does. It’s a weekender. Yours, the one he bought you to take on little getaways when your schedules aligned like planets. It’s packed and ready, but Jungkook can’t put a finger on why that is.

Did he forget about plans again? Fuck. His mind never used to be a sieve, but that’s all it’s been lately. Jungkook has to be careful not to let you slip by.

He toes off his shoes and places them on the mat on the other side of your packed bag. As he heads off to find you, kiss you, breathe you in, Jungkook takes one backwards glance at that weekender. Nothing sparks.

Where were we going again?

There’s rustling down the hall and he follows it. Underneath his timid footfalls, there’s the quiet metallic click of the medicine cabinet door as you close it. Jungkook can’t see you, but he can feel you — you and the upset ebbing outwards from you. Little concentric circles, rage rippling his way like a stone has broken through the surface.

I dropped you, again.

Jungkook reaches the doorway to the bathroom just in time for you to exit. You gasp when you collide with his chest, but that shock dissipates quickly when his hands steady you by your forearms. You clutch the bag of toiletries that you nearly dropped like it’s all you have.

The expression on your face is less obvious now that the surprise is absent — and that scares him.

“Whoa,” Jungkook tries to chuckle to lighten whatever this crushing weight is, but there’s no humor in your affect. Flat. Despondent, like you cried out all you had and there was nothing left to animate your features.

Oh, this is bad.

He needs to fix it, so he tries again, “Where’s the fire, petal?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook flipped a switch alright, but it didn’t turn the light in your eyes back on. Ham-fisted and stuck in the garbage disposal as it —

“I don’t know, Jungkook. Where is the fire?” You have that tone when you reply. That rare and terrifying voice where you sound calm, but he can smell the venom hitting dead air.

You, petal, are soft, but you are not calm.

You’re excitable, vocal. Jungkook can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard you speak without your perfect, dizzying rollercoaster of intonation. It’s jarring, it’s whiplash, it’s clear as day that there’s something very wrong here.

What did I do to you?

“I’d love to know,” You carve another slice as you back out of his grip. “Haven’t felt warmth in weeks. What about you, Jungkook?”

He feels concussed, in a way, like this is somehow a sucker punch you’ve hit him with. It feels like a blow when you say his name with that look in your eyes, but Jungkook knows it’s not. He knows exactly where this is coming from and he doesn’t get to pretend otherwise.

Desperate, he tries to hold you, but it’s like running underwater trying to reach you. By the time his lead limbs finally accept the signal and begin to move, you’re skirting around him and out the door.

You’re quick, but so is he. Jungkook’s long strides catch up to you easily, and when you sense him, you wheel back around to look up at him. Now, your face is crumpled and littered with tears. It’s even worse than the nothing you were wearing a few moments ago.

Jungkook pleads, one teardrop away from getting on his knees for you, “Tell me what I missed and I’ll make it up to you, petal. I swear I’ll fix it —”

“That’s the thing, Jungkook,” you sniff as you angrily wipe at your slicked-wet cheekbone. The worst part is that he knows you’re beyond the point of anger when it comes to him; it’s the fact that he’s caught you crying that bothers you the most.

“You miss everything. And you know it, too, because your first guess — your very first thought — was that you must have forgotten about me — again. What does that tell you, Jungkook? What does it say about us that this is an easy assumption for you to make? Because it sounds like a habit to me.”

There’s a montage broadcasting through the silence that settles between you. It’s every ‘I’m sorry I’m late, petal’; every ‘petal, I’m going to be here longer than I thought’; and ‘you don’t have to wait up for me.’ It’s all of those disappointed sighs you tried to swallow when you gave him grace he hadn’t earned.

A soundtrack delineating every instance where you held him up and he let you down.

It’s deafening.

“I just want you —” Your voice gives up on you halfway through your sentence. He knows better than to reach out for you now, but it’s all he wants to do. “I need you — just once — to love me more than I love you.”

There’s that sucker punch.

How could he? How could anyone love harder than you do? It’s impossible, Jungkook thinks, to try to mimic the way your heart holds everyone so completely. Laughable, almost, that no person on their best day could hold a candle to you — even on your worst. He thinks you’re pure magic.

But Jungkook has never been the best at putting the things he thinks into words, so he says, “Petal, I can’t.”

And he can’t backtrack or explain what he meant or beg you to listen because you’re grabbing that weekender off the floor. You’re slinging it over your shoulder, headed to your sister’s for the night. As he watches you leave, Jungkook recalls that there’s one thing he’s even worse at than communicating how he feels:

Sleeping without you.

[whistling-birds]

A Series of Events

These chapters are part of one larger story. Please enjoy! Let me know if you are interested in more. I just write these for fun, so please be nice! I appreciate feedback, and could always use an extra pair of eyes, so if you find errors that I’ve missed I’d be more than grateful to listen and make changes! Some of these chapters are a bit slower- I am trying to build emotion and character relationships😊

—————

STORY OVERVIEW: One day you randomly wake up on a planet with a Mandalorian hunting you even though you swore you were just in your bed, on Earth, the night before. Why are you being hunted? Why are you here? Is this a bigger story or just a series of random events taking place?

CHAPTER OVERVIEW: The only thing that was comforting happened to be Grogu.

3. Truce

“What do you mean you’ve been here for a day ?” The Mando’s voice grew dark and gruff as he towered above me.

I stared at him as he spoke. Gentle winds animated the dull tree branches and forced sunlight to dance around the forest floor. The atmosphere was warm as the warriors armor reflected light like the lantern beetles at home.

I still didn’t understand why I was able to breathe on a new planet.

A thick bolt of anger and confusion filled my body as I took a breath of air.

He didn’t believe me and I was tired of being a pawn.

My lungs continued to burn from the inside out as I tried to regain my composure from being held captive at gunpoint.

My shirt clung to the sticky blood that dried up on my back- I felt disgusting and all I wanted was a hot shower. Instead, I argued with a walking tuna can in the middle of a random ass forest.

This entire day was nothing but a game of cat and mouse. A game in which I knew none of the rules and was tired of losing. I was angry and sad and confused. I felt everything and nothing at the same time. I was about to implode.

“Last night I went to sleep in my bed. This morning I woke up in the middle of a desert. With two suns.” I stated clearly as I shook my head, “I don’t even know what a Mando even is!”

I sat upwards with Grogu still in my arms. His little hands gripped the pendant on my necklace as I conversed with his father. In contrast, Grogu’s energy was soft and gentle and extremely comforting.

Never in a million years would I have expected to be comforted by a baby alien.

Was he like that with everyone?

I watched as the knight sighed with frustration. His weight shifted to his left leg, too. Even though his face was completely hidden I could see all of his emotion displayed in his body language.

His gloved hands touched the sides of his helmet as if he were to rub his temples in order to release built up tension.

“A Mando?” He mocked. A low chuckle escaped his lips until he became stern and cold once more, “I don’t have time for this.”

Oh, he was not going to dismiss me.

I rolled my eyes and stood up. I glared at the warriors helmet. All fear and intimidation left my body and was replaced with my stubborn nature to be heard. Meanwhile Grogu babbled to himself while he chewed my necklace.

“Listen to me. If this is some stupid prank you need to fess up because I’ve had a long day and I just want to go home.”

I had to grit my teeth after speaking to him. I turned to look around the forest, which still felt hollow and empty, “oh…yeah, and if I’m some sort of “enemy” then why did you trust me with your kid!? Thought you would’ve been smarter than that, space warrior.”

I stepped closer to the cold man and handed him the kid and the satchel. Mando’s metal arm scooped the kid up with ease as the necklace slipped out of the green goblins reach.

I turned around for a moment. I needed a minute of relief to take a breath.

Instead, I was greeted with three dead bodies on the ground. They all wore matching white armor with futuristic guns beside them.

I’ve never seen a dead body before. Let alone three all beside one another with their murderer behind me.

My skin instantly became flush and pale. My heart stopped pumping blood throughout my veins and my body froze as the realization of immediate danger crossed my mind.

Once again I became a shell of myself.

I was just a small fish in a large sea of uncertainty.

I slowly turned back to the knight. My confidence had been diminished and he noticed.

He simply stood feet away from me, unfazed, as he watched me. His body was stiff and his shoulders tensed up. The alien sat in his arms comfortably.

The weight of impending doom consumed my body. I felt cold and alone like a lifeless tree stump in the middle of an abandoned forest. My vision filled with warm tears, but I didn’t dare let them spill down my cheeks.

The world I knew felt miles away and the thought of never returning to my family became prominent.

Are they worried?

People don’t just disappear on my planet.

“I….just…where am I?” I choked on my own breath as I spoke timidly.

This man was no joke. He wore armor for a reason. He had multiple weapons, on hand, for a reason. He was able to kill three men effortlessly for a reason.

He wasn’t playing around and I wasn’t going to toy with my life.

This wasn’t a game.

Grogu started to whine as his little hands reached for me. His babbling grew more urgent. The Mando continued to analyze me silently.

Moments of dead silence filled the space between us with the exception of Grogu’s attempts to speak.

Silence seemed to be the only constant that I could rely on.

“The Outer Rim.” The warrior finally stated.

He was so fucking vague.

“What does that even mean?” I shook my head, “I need more than that.”

The space warrior tilted his head, “You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of the Outer Rim?”

I shook my head.

Honestly, I had no idea what to say. My mind was a blank board erased of all thought and knowledge.

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked.

My voice cracked and highlighted raw fear from within. More tears flooded my eyes as I spoke. I didn’t want him to notice, but that was off the table. He already knew how weak I was.

The man shifted his weight to his right leg, “I was told to bring you in alive.”

“What does that even mean?” I almost shouted out of confusion. A hot tear slipped down my cheek. I felt it trickle down my chin and stain my shirt.

“Look. I don’t typically talk to my bounties. This is just a job. I bring you in and get paid. Nothing more and nothing less.” The warrior stated coldly.

He seemed to be a veteran at his job. He had a system and wasn’t going to break it for me.

With that, he took a step towards me. My eyes were glued to his frame as the space between us grew shorter and shorter.

I finally noticed my own reflection in his armor. My hair, which had been up in a bun, was full of knots and dirt. The combed back hairstyle was now a tangled mess. It looked like a mop on top of my head. My face, typically clean and maintained, was covered in dirt and smoke. My clothes matched the dirty aesthetic I was sporting.

In an unknown world- I was the alien. I stuck out like a sore thumb in government provided cargo pants and white tank top.

More silence consumed us until Grogu’s whines amplified. His little fingers reached for me as if I were his lifeline.

“Grogu enough.” The warrior demanded with a rough voice.

He was fed up with how his day was going, and I didn’t blame him; I was, too.

But the kid didn’t stop. His whines turned to an all out tantrum like when we were back on the ship just hours ago.

“Dank Farrik.” The man angrily sighed under his breath, “Grogu.”

Dank Farrik? That’s a new one.

I watched the two closely. Grogu continued to reach for me as his big eyes welled with tears. Before I could even blink, the kid jumped out of his father’s arms and into mine.

I couldn’t help but gasp.

Again, the kid magically appeared in my arms. It was quick and precise.

I wish I could describe it better, but he literally gravitated towards me.

Magic.

Kind of like a graceful frog only if the frog were a wizard and learned how to float in air.

He was quick, too. It all happened within the blink of an eye.

Stupid and cliché sounding, I know, but it was the truth.

The child’s cries finished, though, and his familiar warmth snuggled against my chest. His hands quickly found my necklace once more.

What was so special about the necklace?

“Does he do this often?” I asked blankly. I instinctually started to sway back and forth to ease the child more.

Grogu’s big head found comfort against my collarbone. His left ear squished against my skin as the other stiffly stood in the air.

The warrior looked confused as he stood silently in front of us. He shook his head simply, “He’s stubborn, but never like this.”

I nodded slowly and then rested my head atop of Grogu’s. He was a sweet baby full of love and curiosity.

I was still full of fear, though. My body was overheating from panic. I started to feel nauseous and honestly wanted to throw up.

The weight of being in an unknown world was more than terrifying, but Grogu had the ability to ground me. He needed love and care. He was way more important than me at the moment.

“I won’t hurt him.” I said softly, “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

The man nodded, but didn’t say a word. I could tell he was on edge.

“You’d kill me if I did anything to him. I remember.” I added.

After being threatened more than once, I knew the stakes.

He only nodded.

—————

I’m not sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours.

I sat with Grogu under the largest tree I had ever seen. If I had to guess, it stood at least 400 feet in the air with long branches that grew for miles.

Half of the tree was dressed with red and orange leaves while the other half was exposed to the elements. The bark was thick and rough as I leaned my back against it for support.

The tree reminded me of home due to the subtle beating I felt against my back. The planets heartbeat was enough connection I needed for the time being.

Grogu continued to babble happily in my lap while his father mended the damages of his spaceship.

The spacecraft was big and old. Smoke, what I assumed to be from an accident, escaped into the air from the open door.

The Mando checked every nook and cranny from the inside out. He was patient and paid great attention to detail.

Every five minutes he checked on us to make sure I did not run off with his kid.

I didn’t try to escape, to be honest. Leaning against the tree was the closest to comfort I had felt all day, and if we’re being completely honest, I didn’t want to risk my life.

Grogu was enough proof that that man had empathy. He also said he wouldn’t kill me.

“I was told to bring in you alive.” Looped in my head over and over and over again.

What does that mean? Maybe I would finally have the answers I had been looking for.

Maybe I could go home.

I felt optimistic for a moment and tried to hold onto that feeling for a little bit longer even if it was childish.

Laughter filled the still air as I bounced the green alien in my lap. I couldn’t help but smile as his laugh grew more and more.

“Time to go.” The familiar voice spoke out of nowhere and caught me completely off guard.

“…where did you come from?” I stood up and looked at the man, “sneaky.”

I could tell he rolled his eyes under his helmet. He looked down at Grogu and I.

Grogu grew tired from his laughter and was half asleep in my arms. His hand gripped my necklace.

The warrior shook his head, “just…hold him for the time being. I can’t handle another tantrum.”

“Okay. I can do that.” I replied softly. I inhaled fresh air and followed the warrior to his ship.

My steps were deliberately slower, though. I felt my heart rate grow faster in my body. Anxiety and stress filled the rest of my form.

I hesitated to board the ship.

The space warrior turned to make sure I was following, but when he noticed I stopped, he said, “you don’t have a choice.”

I gulped hard as pressure filled my head and chest. The Mando stood at the ramp of the ship and waited for me to board.

I glanced at the man, then towards the ship, and back at the man.

“You don’t have a choice.” He repeated himself with urgency.

I forced myself to walk up the ramp and into his ship once more. Grogu’s hushed snores caught my attention, but looming doom drowned any ounce of hope I had left.

Part One: The Favor

Part Two: Reality

[freesia-writes]

What do you think Gregor would be like on a first date, especially with someone who hasn't dated in years and maybe feels a little unsure of themselves?

Awwww yeah, let's go on this one! :D Buckle up, reader -- you're going on a date with our favorite amnesiac! I'm putting them on Pabu (or Santorini, take your pick) just because Gregor deserves a beach vacation after his years on that empty sand planet.

No content warnings. It's frickin adorable. ;) And it totally got away from me so it's 2.5k words...

*insert Gregor giggle*

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You take your hair down again, for the eighth time it seems, letting out a frustrated huff that it seems to be defying your every wish. Glancing at the clock, you feel the anxiety begin to rise, and you make one last attempt at twisting your hair into a half-decent updo. Standing in front of the mirror, you smooth the front of your clothes, studying yourself top to bottom with a critical eye. Why did you agree to this, again? Well, you didn't, you suppose, but you did make the bet, which you lost, and here you are. You cringe as you remember your friend's laughter as he reassured you, "Don't worry -- he's not like the other clones."

Whatever that meant. Either way, it had been ages since you'd been out with anyone, choosing instead to enjoy your quiet life of career, nature, and home. Yet, to spice things up one week, in an impulsive moment of bad judgment, you had taken your friend up on his bet and had wagered a blind date. Deciding this was as good as it's gonna get, you grab your bag and head for the door.

It's a warm, breezy evening, and the enticing smells of a wide variety of dinners being prepared makes your mouth water as you walk through the winding paths of the village. Built on a mountainous island, everything is condensed and vertical, with a seemingly endless maze of walkways and alleys. Your friend made the reservations for the two of you and told you to look for a "guy with eyebrows". You can't possibly fathom this going well, and you realize as you make your way to the restaurant that you're working yourself into a fuss. You reach the doorway and, taking a deep breath, decide to try to let it all go and just see what the night holds. "Try" being the key word.

You enter the restaurant, a rectangular building set on the side the mountain with a bar in the middle, tables scattered throughout, and a balcony along the edge that provided a handful of tables with spectacular views of the houses below, all the way to the water that stretched out into the horizon. You pause in the entryway, scanning the tables for anyone seated alone, and start to feel concerned as you see none. A sudden burst of laughter erupts from the bar, catching your attention.

A man with dark hair, cropped short on the sides but longer and swept back on the top, claps two Pantorans on the back, enjoying a few last chuckles with them, before turning to look around the room. Well son of a Hutt... there's the eyebrows, arched in curiosity. He's a clone, alright, but has an odd way about him. His movements are slightly erratic, and he seemed to be the life of the party a second ago but is now shifting awkwardly on his feet. It's got to be him. You take a deep breath again, and make your way toward him.

"Are you... Gregor?" you ask, once within hearing range, and he whirls to face you so quickly that you're almost startled.

"Depends who's asking!" he says, and a little giggle escapes that seems wildly out of character... well, for any other clone you've met thus far. "But I sure hope you're the one I'm supposed to meet here!" You can't detect any hint of sarcasm or flattery in his voice; it just sounds like a genuine statement. You've been rehearsing a million different scenarios leading up to tonight, anticipating all types of characters, but this one's got you baffled so far.

"Well, if you're Gregor, you're stuck with me!" you say, trying to sound playful but immediately wanting to cringe.

"Lovely!" he claps his hands together, inviting you to the table on the corner of the balcony; it's still relatively early for dinner, so the place isn't too busy, and the tables nearby are empty. But as you get closer to the table, you notice a small bouquet of flowers on one of the place settings, tied neatly with... a napkin?

"Ah, yeah..." Gregor says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I have no idea how all of this is supposed to go, but I saw those on the way here and picked them for you... off people's porches!" He giggles again, and you find yourself relaxing a bit, put at ease by his unapologetic glee. "But I didn't have anything to tie them with, so... I'll cover for you if you want to steal the napkin," he winks.

"That's really sweet," you say with a smile, and he beams back at you, plopping into his seat and scrambling back to his feet just as quickly with a little muttered "oops", instead coming to stand behind your chair, beckoning you to sit and carefully pushing the seat in behind you as you do. Now you're uncomfortable again, feeling suddenly as though you have no idea how to act in these situations after all.

The waiter comes, dressed to the nines, holding a bottle in his hand with a white towel draped over his arm. He holds it out to the two of you, eyes moving slowly from you to Gregor, lips pursed in the snootiest expression you've seen in a while.

"Oh! Yes please!" Gregor says enthusiastically, pushing the two crystal glasses on the table toward the waiter, whose brow drops at such a plebeian reaction. He removes the cork with a flourish (and a little "ooh!" from Gregor), then pours a tiny bit into your glass, straightening up expectantly.

"Aww, no need to be shy!" Gregor chimes in, taking the bottle from him and filling both of your glasses to the absolute brim. "We're good for it!" He grins and gives the waiter a thumbs-up, but the only response he receives is a stifled look of horror as the server slowly hands him a menu. Gregor plunks the bottle down onto the table, taking the menu and opening it excitedly.

You do the same, stifling a chuckle of your own, and try to focus on the food options, but you're distracted by the steady stream of muttering coming from behind your date's menu. Peering over the edge, you see Gregor not only reading the options aloud, but providing quiet commentary on each of them... to himself. You almost want to be critical of it, but it's so endearing that you instead discover a warm and fuzzy feeling growing in your chest.

Snapping his menu shut, Gregor returns his attention to you, catching you by surprise. He smiles, tilting his head and regarding you warmly, "So... eh... tell me about yourself?" he invites sheepishly, saying it more as if he's asking if it's the right thing to say rather than actually asking you.

You find a smile on your own face as you launch into what you hope is a very exciting and thrilling account of your career, interests, and story so far, realizing perhaps a bit too late that you've been going on for a while. You drop off rather quickly, stammering an apology, and his face changes from attentive listening to puzzled confusion.

"Why'd you stop?" he asks, with genuine curiosity.

"I... eh... I was kinda going on and on," you admit.

"Well I loved it all!" Gregor replies, and you are surprised to see that he means it. He opens his mouth to continue when the waiter returns, a distasteful look on his face as though he's just swallowed a Bantha hair when he sees that Gregor has repurposed the bottle into a vase for the small bouquet he brought for you.

"And what will you be having this evening?" the server inquires, turning to you first, and you panic, realizing you hadn't actually finished reading the menu. Surprisingly perceptive, Gregor chimes in, "We'll take two of this, please!" He points to the menu and gives the waiter a cheerful nod, followed by a little wave as the stern little man strolls off toward the kitchen. "I hope I wasn't out of line there," he says to you, eyebrows curving up in an impossibly concerned expression.

It all happened so fast, you're not quite sure what to say, but his authentic consternation is so charming that you can't find anything but reassurance, "No! I'm not normally one for surprises, but I guess we'll see if you have good taste!" You've impressed yourself with your witty response, and you smile with a bit more confidence now.

"Excellent, excellent..." Gregor muses, raising his eyebrows and lowering his chin a tiny bit, "I hope you like womp rat stew!"

"What?" you say in shock, unable to fathom that they'd serve something like that here... or, well, anywhere... but your dismay is short-lived as Gregor bursts out into another giggle. You're unable to suppress a grin, and you give him a look of mock sternness.

"Oh, excuse me," he says in response, putting his hands up in surrender, "I'm forgetting my manners." He returns his hands to the table, looking up at you from those expressive eyebrows, and invites you to continue your story from where you left off.

The food comes, empty plates go, and the two of you find yourself lost in conversation. He listens eagerly to your stories, asking questions and seeming to delight in every last detail. You finish your glasses, feeling warm and rummy with bellies full of food and brains sparkling with the slight influence of drink. The conversation turns to him, finally, and you are highly curious to hear what has brought him to this point.

"Ahh, that's quite a story," he says, shaking his head, "but I believe our time here is up!" He stands, beckoning you to join him, and you feel anxious immediately. Did you talk too much about yourself? Was he calling it, just like that? You thought you'd been having a great time, laughing and chatting, so this was an abrupt surprise.

Speechless, you follow him to the doorway of the restaurant, and he offers you an arm, which you take, feeling slightly reassured at the gentlemanly gesture. Without asking, he begins walking, guiding the two of you along a myriad of paths toward the water, talking about a few local birds that he apparently found hilarious. It takes you far too long to realize that he's not walking you home, and you kick yourself for getting all paranoid for nothing.

"So," Gregor says, strolling with ease next to you, "I was a Clone Commando for the Republic..." and he proceeds to tell a nearly-unbelievable account of war, defeat, death-defying survival, amnesia, remembrance, and explosions. You feel shocked that he let you talk for so long when he's got a story like this, and you share as much, earning another one of those little chuckles that you're coming to enjoy quite a lot.

"Well, that's what got me here, but it's definitely not who I am now," he says, still smiling but voice taking on a somber tone. "I mean, my voice wasn't the only thing changed in the explosion; I took a pretty hard hit to the head, you know. So sometimes I get a bit... forgetful." His bouncy composure has softened a bit, revealing perhaps a bit of shame?

You turn your head to look at him more fully, temporarily stopping the leisurely stroll, and discover an expression on his face that moves you to the core. His animated eyebrows have settled low across his brown eyes, which are downcast to the ground in front of you, and his lips are together in a firm line. You feel compelled to speak, though wildly unprepared.

"Well... Who are you now?" you ask, almost cringing again as it comes out. It sounded better in your head, and you begin to try to come up with something better, but he looks at you with a gaze that takes the words right out of your mouth.

"I... I don't really know," he says, with a chuckle that seems more reflexive than intentional. "I guess I'm kind of starting over, in a way." He is suddenly pensive, eyebrows working overtime with all the thoughts rushing through his mind, and you feel another warm rush in your chest at his unguarded truthfulness.

"For what it's worth," you say, feeling emboldened, "I think you're delightful." You hope it's encouraging, because you struggle to wrap your mind around what his existence must be like, but it's also honest, you realize -- you've completely let your guard down and have been thoroughly enjoying your time together.

He smiles, dropping his eyes with a bashfulness that makes you want to squeeze him, and squeezes your hand against his side with the arm you've been holding onto. "I might say the same about you!" he answers, a bit of his playful spark returning, and the two of you continue down the last cobblestoned staircase to the water.

The sun has set and the sky is glowing with a tranquil twilight. Pink and blue hues cast everything in a dreamy glow, and Gregor leads you to a large piece of driftwood, sitting in the middle of it and patting you a seat next to him. You join him, leaving a good few inches between you, and enjoy the warm sea breeze in silence for a moment.

He shifts awkwardly, moving his hands from his lap to the log behind him, then back to his knees, then folding them together. He finally sits up, turning to you, and holds your gaze as he slowly folds one arm in toward himself like some kind of weird praying mantis before extending it out behind you. "Eh?" he says, hovering his arm over your back, one eyebrow arched and a closed-mouth grin on his face.

You smile, scooting closer to him and nestling up against his side, and he takes that as a yes, wrapping his arm around your shoulders with the most endearing little "ha!" you've yet heard. He runs his other hand through his hair, gazing off into the distance as though he's conquered the world. He continues to surprise you with his quiet contemplation, content to simply enjoy the beauty without any need for words and also without it feeling awkward in the slightest.

The cold fog starts to roll in, so he walks you home with your hand snugly tucked into the crook of his arm. The chatter is lighthearted, playful, calm... You feel more relaxed and delighted than you have in as long as you can remember. As you approach your door, a bright blue that contrasts the white arched stucco all around, he gently unfolds his arm and takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips to place the most tender kiss on the back of it.

"I... ah... I hope we can do this again," he admits, eyes large and eager. "And again, and again..." he laughs.

"I would love that."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Author's Note: Did I just fall in love with Gregor?!

Just might have.

Thanks a lot, @drafthorsemath ;) <3 <3 <3

[that-squishy-robot]

All I want to do is write angsty Sith Luke fic. All I get are brain chemicals that don’t do their job to keep me focused. Anyway, here’s what I’ve got. -

Mandalorians were a very tenuous people. Luke would give them that. Although he was frustrated that they always showed up where they weren’t wanted. 

This was an Empire controlled planet, therefore it should be protected by Darth Vader forces. However, instead of the storm troopers Luke had sent to the planet, it was a rag tag group of Mandalorians. He wasn’t sure what exactly happened to the storm troopers, but it likely wasn’t good. Even with the Empire’s alliance with what was left of the Jedi, nearly everyone hated storm troopers. 

Of course they hated force users too. Which is why the Dark Side and Light Side had to coexist. They kept each other in check. 

Mandalorians on the other hand were their own group, and did not listen to anyone. They were frustrating. Specifically this group, as they were led by Boba Fett. A Mandalorian that had once worked for Vader. Luke had never liked him honestly.

The planet had begged for help from the Mandalorians, as they had been taken over by a nasty group of pirates. Luke only knew about this, because his storm troopers intercepted the message. It was to be expected. Most people didn’t want to make deals with the Empire. 

The leader of the planet should have though. The Mandalorians were losing badly. They had put up a good fight, but the pirates had stolen equipment and the home advantage. 

Luke gave the Mandalorians roughly about ten more minutes, before they were all taken out. He hopped down from the roof of the building he’d been using to get a good view of the chaos. 

He’d chosen this one specifically, because Boba Fett’s right hand man had been using it for cover, as he sniped off pirates. 

Luke wasn’t going to let this planet be destroyed, and there was no way he’d let the pirates take it over. However, he’d let the Mandalorians believe that. It was easier to get what he wanted if they did. 

Mandalorians were useful to have around. Luke knew he could find a use for one. At the very least it would provide him with a bit of entertainment. 

The silver one had been his favorite so far. He stuck out compared to the rest of his group. The only one with unpainted armor. Any time Luke had come across the group, that particular Mandalorian would be the first to run into the battle and the last to leave. It was admirable in a way. Although, he was a self sacrificing dumbass. 

It made him the easiest to manipulate. He’d likely do anything to protect the rest of his team. With the amount of wounded the Mandalorians currently on the battlefield, Luke imagined he’d do anything to help them. 

Luke masked his presence, so the Mandalorian wouldn’t notice him in the room. He watched him make quick work of any pirates that got to close, but it was no use. Many of his friends were laying out on the battlefield bleeding out. 

“You know.” Luke started. “They have back up posted North of here. Even if you manage to win, you won’t be able to leave this planet.”

As he expected, a very well aimed blasted bolt nearly hit his face. He turned it ever so slightly with the force, making it hit the wall instead. 

The Mandalorian clearly knew something was off about him, so he tried to shoot him again. However, Luke flung the blaster out of his hand and locked his arms to his side.

“Quick draw.” He huffed. “You almost had me.”

The Mandalorian struggled against his hold, to no avail.

Luke had to admit. He was stronger than he expected. Clearly not enough to actually pose a threat, but at least he’d be interesting enough to pass the time. “Behave, and I’ll let you go.” He noted.

The Mandalorian didn’t listen, and went for his side blaster. Luke smirked, grabbing him by his throat with the force on the second attempt. “Cute. Let me know when you’re done.” 

He didn’t get a reply. Luke would let it slide, considering the man was currently gripping his own throat, as he tried to avoid choking. 

When he was close to passing out, Luke released him.

The Mandalorian collapsed to the ground coughing in a pitiful sight.

 He crouched down next to him. “As I was…” He narrowly dodged the blade that slashed out towards him. Luke grabbed his wrist, squeezing until the man dropped the knife. “You really don’t know when to quit.” He twisted his wrist, just to the point where it could almost break, watching as the Madalorian bit a back a shout of pain.

“Fuck… What…What do you want?” His voice was still rough from being choked. Although, Luke had to wonder if it was normally that deep on its own.

“Ah. Finally you’re willing to grace me with a conversation.”

The Mandalorian didn’t say anything more, instead he was glaring at him through the helmet’s visor. Luke had to admit, it was interesting to see just how long this man could last before backing down. 

“I came to help.” Luke said. “For a price at least. You’re little group down there doesn’t have much time before they’re completely taken out.” He let go of the wrist he’d nearly broken, and stood up. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if the Mandalorian would try attacking him while his back was turned. However, he instead shakily stood to follow him towards the window. Luke could appreciate the fact he didn’t try the coward’s way out by stabbing him in the back. Although, he did move the very illegal Amban sniper rifle. Not even Luke wanted to chance that. There was a reason the Republic and the Empire had banned them.

The rag tag group of warriors was still getting destroyed out in the battle field. Luke used his abilities to save the closest ones, by snapping the necks of the pirates closing in on them. Just enough of an effort so that his new <em> friend </em> wouldn’t be distracted and worried about not holding his post. 

“You must be a good shot, for them to trust you not to let them die.”

“Who are you? You’re not a Jedi. So why are you here?”

Luke blinked a few times, trying to figure out if the man was fucking with him or not. He was the face of the Empire. Literally everyone knew who he was. If not the glowing gold eyes should give it away. 

“No. Not a Jedi.” He huffed. “Far from it, but I can fix all of this.” Luke jestered out the window. “If you make a deal with me.”

“What can I possibly do for someone who chokes people with their mind?” He crossed his arms, still glaring at Luke through the helmet. 

He’d be fun to break.

“I’m not sure yet. At the very least you’d be something to pass the time.”

“You want to make me your slave? I give up my freedom to you, and in return you save them? What kind of sick game are you playing?”

A good one, if the way the Mandalorian flinched upon hearing another explosion outside, was any indication. 

“We’ll come up with a more beneficial deal. A week every month for a year? I should be bored of you by then.” Luke said, sitting up on the open window ledge.

“Then you just let me go?” The Mandalorian asked, his voice just slightly on edge. He knew his people were outside dying, and that there wasn’t much he could truly do, other than sacrificing his own life.

“If you perform well.” Luke hummed. “Better make your choice quick. The pirates’ reinforcements just showed up.” They showed up seconds after he said it. Repurposed cruisers with blasters strong enough to put holes in that ever was in front of them. They were old and hard to get parts for. It’s why it'd taken so long for the pirates to bring them out. Now the Mandalorians were outnumbered and out gunned.

[ghostofskywalker]

Trapped, Cold, And Annoyed: Another Mission With Anakin

Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Fictober 2023 Day 8 of 31

Words: 1,020

Summary: You would think that clearly traveling in a diplomat's vessel would grant you safe passage through the galaxy. But apparently that wasn't the case, and now you're stuck in a snowy wasteland with a Jedi you can't stand.

Anakin Skywalker Masterlist

"This is all your fault!" Your annoyance echoed through the ship, making your voice seem louder and more powerful than it actually was. It had been hours at this point, and you were no closer to putting the ship back in hyperspace, let alone closer to your home planet.

But the unfortunate side effect of that metallic echo was that your companion's voice was also amplified. "How was I supposed to know that other ship was there?"

"Aren't you supposed to have the kriffing Force or something?"

"I'm guessing someone else on that ship did too, or I would have been able to sense them!"

After a frustrated sigh, you stomped your way to the cockpit of the ship, where Anakin Skywalker was fiddling with something on the control panel. The dashboard was completely dark, and you could see a wall of snow outside as it crept up and slowly consumed the ship, the impact so much more intense due to the way that you had slammed into the surface of the planet at breakneck speeds. This was supposed to be an easy journey, because no one would ever dare attack a diplomat's vessel, especially when there was a Jedi on board. Right?

But of course, you had to be paired with the one Jedi who you couldn't stand, the one Jedi who always manages to find trouble in the galaxy, and then he goes and crashes the ship. You were already expecting things to just worse as time went on, just because that's how much the galaxy seemed to hate you right now.

You had spent a good bit of time on board his flagship and with his troops, and while you were immensely fond of the 501st, you could not say the same thing about their general. Anakin Skywalker may be (unfairly) good-looking, but you and him had never gotten along. He had an inflated ego with subpar abilities, and you had no problem calling him out when he suggested things that were crazy or outlandish. It was only thanks to his Captain's ideas that you were able to successfully deliver aid to several planets that needed it this time around, so you were understandably upset when you found out that it would be him that would provide security for your transport back home.

You had bitterly thought things would go sideways when you were first briefed about the assignment, and you had been right. Another hour passed, and there was still no sign that the ship was any closer to being fixed than it was when you first crashed. And as the suns on this snowy planet began to set, you were starting to grow chillier and more tired by the moment.

You could hear footsteps approach where you were camped out on the opposite side of the ship, and then Anakin's voice broke your train of thought. "I have good news and bad news."

You looked up at him. "The good news better be that we're leaving this Maker-forsaken planet within the next hour."

Silence.

You knew what that meant.

"The earliest we can leave is tomorrow morning," he said. "We need to wait for the battery on the temperature system to finish charging."

You nodded. "So what's the bad news?"

"In order to make sure neither of us are dead before we are able to leave, we need to conserve body heat."

Now it was your turn to be silent. If he meant what you think he meant, and you were pretty sure there was only one way to take his statement, you'd have to cuddle up with the man you couldn't stand from the moment you met him, and you did not want to do that. "Are you sure there's no other way?" you asked, trying not to annoy him any further. You did want to live, and if that meant doing something you'd rather not think about, then so be it.

"If there was I wouldn't be suggesting this right now," he said, clearly a little bit annoyed that you even asked.

So here you were, curling up into a ball on the ship's cot, with the only blanket on board covering both you and Anakin. You were just grateful that the cot was built for multiple people, and that the two of you fit (fairly comfortably) on it. To be clear, that still meant that this whole situation was incredibly uncomfortable, but at least you weren't hanging off the side of the bed.

You tried not to think about the man laying next to you as you drifted off to sleep, but it was nearly impossible to ignore. It certainly didn't help that he was like a human furnace, and the chill was really starting to set in your bones. Several times you caught yourself instinctively moving closer to him, and you had to pull yourself back. You weren't that desperate yet.

He was fast asleep, clearly not having the same moral quandary that you were. At one point you felt his arm across your body, and it seemed that he was trying to nuzzle closer. If you were anywhere else right now, you might have slapped his hand away and sent a cutting remark to really drive home your opinion, but this time you couldn't bear to ruin the moment. Besides, he really did help warm you up.

Part of you hoped that when you woke up and resumed your journey tomorrow morning, that things would be at least slightly better between you. Because as much as you traded insults and you called him unimpressive, he was still a pretty good Jedi, and he clearly cared about his troops and friends. You hoped that eventually the two of you could move past the way you acted right now, no matter how unlikely it seemed that he would ever feel anything but contempt for you.

In the last few moments before you truly drifted off the sleep, you could have sworn you heard him whisper your name, but you couldn't tell for sure.

Besides, you were too tired to really register it. 

- the end -

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[batmenstrualcycle]

reflections; maki x reader

:two men and a deal

:master list

note: filler chapter 🫡

(January, 2007)

A deal had been made. Two men were agreeing upon something; a universal event that never led to anything good.

His eyebrows had been furrowed every day since 2002, his lips were pursed into a constant frown. His sour expression was a default; no one had ever seen any other look grace his piercing eyes and hard lips. He looked like the very definition of a main character in every romance novel ever written; dark hair, dark eyes, dark attire. He looked like a Greek god statue, his skin looked smooth as if he was carved from marble. His attitude was nothing of the sort of his skin; he was quiet, though he was rough with his words whenever they were required. He sought to rebuild his clan—the Hatake clan—and restore it to its true glory. He planned to start doing so by having a son.

His plans were ruined on a fateful day in 2002. He was overjoyed to run into the room, his hand gripping the doorframe to turn in and spin himself in the cubicle. His wife laid there on the hospital bed with a tired look on her face, her skin glistening with sweat as it stuck her hair to her forehead. She was smiling down at the newborn in her arms. Strange; it wasn't as loud as he expected it to be. He'd walked over and looked down at the baby, expecting to find an heir to his role as Head of the Hatake clan, only to find a baby girl in her mother's arms.

“That stupid Gojo isn’t here…” an older man grumbled, frowning slightly.

Perhaps if the man had listened more carefully in Biology class then he would know to make his testosterone interact with his wife multiple times in the first 6 weeks of her pregnancy. Perhaps he would have a baby boy to teach how to fight and how to be a clan leader, a role model, like he was. He wouldn't be sitting here in a clan meeting with Naobito Zenin on this rainy day, with his arms crossed and his hands resting in the sleeves of his haori to keep them warm, where the sky and the sun had been covered and hidden by dark gray clouds filled with rain that would prey on the fields of Kyoto.

"And this...Hatake...you're sure they're competent in fulfilling a woman's duties? Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry?"

"I'm positive," the man— Isamu Hatake— dared to spare his daughter a side eye, looking down at the girl with a glare. He couldn't stand looking at the girl—he couldn't stand himself, knowing he'd been getting excited over a failure. He couldn't stand the girl. That girl had taken away his hopes of having an heir. 

After his daughter was born, his wife nurtured the girl, took care of it, fed it, put it to sleep for as long as she could tolerate her husband's disapproval in her. While she was cradling and feeding and changing diapers, she was carrying the weight of Isamu's anger and frustration and disappointment over her shoulders until the weight was too much, and it broke through her bones and pierced her heart. She'd took her own life on a fateful day before Isamu could try for a boy—nobody would ever know why, but Isamu came to the conclusion that it was because of you. 

He'd cursed you, swearing that you'd always and forever ruin everything you ever come in contact with. Everyone you'll ever meet will suffer from knowing you. Everything you'll ever touch will lose its value from the skin of your cursed fingertips. The air you breathe will be filled with a toxicity that will make your life miserable. The food you consume will fill your stomach with knots that will make you crouch and kneel to the pain. The water you drink will be poisoned with a hex that promises you of being unworthy of love from any person, or even a pet. Your very existence will taint the earth you walk on, and only will the planet be at peace when you draw your last breath, and that cursed heart of yours stops beating.

"Their culinary skills are exceptional. They are obedient, never one to talk back. They know the consequences if they ever do." Isamu narrowed his eyes at Naobito pointedly, as if he expected the old Head to already catch on. Naobito simply nodded and smirked, his beady eyes drifting towards you standing next to Isamu with your hands clasped in one another, your back straightened and your face neutral. No smile had ever graced your lips your entire life—five years of an indifferent expression.

"Very well. And you are aware that their cursed technique is in our hands, now?"

"Yes. Do what you please with it, Naobito. They're nothing but a mere servant and a weapon. Not worthy of any humanization."

"I see." Naobito looked back at Isamu. His nimble fingers twisted his stringy mustache, rubbing it between his index finger and his thumb. "I'll keep the brat. No word about their existence shall grace your ears from this day forward. Do we have a deal?"

Isamu glanced back at you one final time. Not even looking at your full profile, barely even looking at your side profile. You didn't deserve his full gaze. You took his wife away from him. You took his hope away from him. No woman would want him after already bearing a child. A child that will soon be erased from his memory.

He looked at your hair, how it barely went past your nape. Your eyes, empty and neutral. Your mouth, tightly sealed shut with your lips. He looked away in a hurry to ease his eyes on anything else but his cursed child, looking back at Naobito. His sixty year old hand sticking in front of Isamu.

Isamu slowly reached his own hand up, his heart pounding in his chest once his flesh met wrinkles and bones. He slightly grimaced as they shook hands, sealing the deal and finally getting the weight off his chest.

You stood there, silent. Your face was like a statue. Silent. You didn't move a muscle, not an eye blink, not a finger twitch.

Silent.

Silent.

Silent.

The two men stood up from their seats, still shaking hands. Isamu held awkward eye contact with Naobito, squinting his eyes to signal he was ready to stop. Their hands released each other, and their arms fell to their sides.

Isamu tilted his chin up, looking ahead as he turned to leave the room. As he stepped out, he felt free. He felt several pounds lighter, he felt younger. He felt better, knowing that retch— you— his servant, was out of his life.

You'd been given away to some man from the Zenin clan. Not even the Head wanted you, it seemed. Or maybe he already had enough servants given the population you saw on your way to the room—all the stares from the people you saw lingering in the hallways. Men and women alike. Different genders, different roles, all pairs of eyes staring at you with the same look on their faces: disgust. You were the only child of Isamu Hatake? The only man who made his bloodline known again in the Jujutsu world, had a daughter— you? 

The man's name was Naoya, you learned when you were forced to find your way around the Zenin estate and to his room, which was leagues bigger than the one you were given back at the relatively small compound that was the start of the Hatake Dynasty. He had a smug look on his lips that never seemed to go away; you would think it was drawn on him, the way his lip were always turned up into that smile. It wasn't a pretty one, not to you at least. You thought he looked like a snake. His eyes were narrowed (though you think that's a natural state), like he was judging you and everyone else and wasn't even trying to hide it.

You served under Naoya for the rest of your time at the Zenin estate (which was just short of 9 years). You'd gotten used to all the glances of curiosity and disgust from the same pairs of eyes, the same questions running through people's brains and making a thought-train: was that really the only other Hatake descendant? They could hardly believe it; a direct connection to the clan, a hobbit working away under the thumb of the Zenin clan. Every day was hell on Earth. Pushes, shoves, insults and names thrown at you, as well as dishes and utensils and other items found in a household. Plates and bowls that you'd washed with your bare hands (they didn't bother giving you gloves—whatever wet food your fingers touched were probably getting under your nails) had been tossed and chucked at your head. Every toss was missed, either hitting a wall or crashing through a window. Forks and knives that you scrubbed and scraped on your fingers landed right in the wood of the wall next to your ear, sending a tremor of fear down your spine and planting your feet right where you stood. This was the life Isamu wanted you to live for tainting his own life with the embarrassment of only having a girl instead of a boy.

Even when things were thrown at you and insults were spat in your direction and disrespect was surrounding you, there was always a dim light at the end of the tunnel. That light, apparently, was the golden irises of another girl you'd seen walking around the halls of the estate. Her hair was an evergreen color, a color you thought wasn't natural but you live in an environment where nobody acts natural here, so you decided not to question it. Her bangs were evenly cut—stopping just above her eyebrows. You'd think she used a cutting board or something to cut them, they were so perfect. Another girl, who looked just like her and who you learned was the former's sister, her hair wasn't as neat, and her eyes were slightly darker. More amber than gold. 

They were what one would call a 'safe haven': a place where you could escape all the hurt and pain that would be inflicted by the people who are lawfully expected to take care of you. Maki—the girl with the evenly cut bangs—was the one who taught you how to read and interact with people properly instead of just bowing and nodding your head at every word. She was your first friend. Despite only having really talked a grand total of less than half a day, she was the only person you could actually say you were close with. From skipping chores and sneaking around the Estate to getting in trouble with each other. That was the highlight of your time at the Estate.

A small voice touched your eardrums—it was light, almost like a chipmunk. You curiously turned your head and looked around. The bucket you were carrying—filled with water—sloshed around with the sway of your body. Turning to search for the source of the voice was an excuse to give your eyes a break from the unforgiving sun that was setting over the horizon and was shining right in your eyes.

Another voice came from the end of the hall in the direction you were facing. You blinked in curiosity and started walking towards the direction of the sound. You slowly made your way across the hall with the heavy bucket in your hands, heaving it with you until you stopped at the corner when you saw two girls about to turn as well.

All three of you widened your eyes and looked at each other like you all were crazy. You looked between the two girls silently, your grip tightening on the sides of the bucket.

"Big sister, is that...the girl everyone's talking about?"

Your eyes lowered at the girls question. You felt a heaviness in your chest that you couldn't quite explain; it felt as if your heart was lowering in your chest. The other girl, with even bangs and even ends, looked at you with those same lowered eyes and an uninterested gaze.

"What's your name?" She asked. Her voice wasn't as light as the other girl's voice—she didn't sound like a chipmunk or a mouse. She sounded like she was older than you—she probably was.

"Y/n." You answered stiffly, readjusting your grip on the bucket. The girl looked at your hands struggling to hold on to the pail and decided to take a hold of it for you, holding it by the bottom and lifting it up.

"I'm Maki. That's my little sister, Mai," she tilted her head to the girl hiding behind her. Maki. That name struck a cord on your head and made you squint your eyes, almost like you flinched. Maki stared at you bluntly as you gently rubbed your eyebrow, almost judging you.

"Where were you taking the bucket?"

"I was going to the kitchen to scrub the floor with it," you answered after letting your arm fall to your side.

"I can help you. Those people don't like it when you waste time."

"I know," you frowned as you turned your head back to where you were originally going, the sun shining in your eyes again. You squinted in turn, raising your hand to block the blinding light from your retinas.

“Then hurry up,” Maki said, disgruntled. She brushed past you and readjusted her grip on the bucket. You watched her waddle down the hallway and to the other end, leaving you and Mai alone at that corner. You decided to follow after Maki, since she decided to be nice enough and help out with your cleaning duties.

You and Mai walked down together to join Maki, standing next to each other in the doorway when you reached the kitchen. Luckily no morbidly obese member of the clan was in the room, or else all three of you would be getting yelled at. Maki sat the bucket down on the wooden floor and looked at you both standing there, and frowned.

“Well, come on. Can’t just stand there forever,” Maki walked over to a cabinet and opened it, grabbing a few sponges and handing one to you and Mai, keeping one for herself. The three of you scrubbed down the kitchen floor with the bucket water (and with some soap that you jumped up and reached onto the counter for); you found that you much preferred doing your chores alone than with others. Especially since there was no implication that you could have company. You worried that someone would walk in and find you working with the twins and immediately yell in all your ears about it.

You found other things as well. Primarily that Maki wasn’t a very nice person—you weren’t that warm and welcoming either—she was just in a good mood. You learned that from watching her quickly scrub down half the kitchen by herself while you and Mai were busy struggling with grease stains and what not. By the time she was done with half the kitchen floor, she turned to look at you and Mai with a frown and a soaked sponge in her hand. A blind man could tell she was already annoyed—as much as a 5 year old can be. She scolded the both of you for not going fast enough and holding all three of you back; you bit your tongue to keep from talking back and instead scrubbed harder, a trail of soap behind every scrub.

After many minutes of scrubbing and rubbing and wiping, the kitchen floor was shining. There was a clear reflection of the ceiling light hanging above it, which made you feel a little proud of yourself.

“Is that all you have to do?” Maki looked at you. You figured she probably knew that it wasn’t, but she had already helped you and done half the floor, so you nodded instead.

“Yeah. Thank you for your help, Maki.”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her mouth staying shut as she looked at the floor again.

“Mai, come on,” Maki called, turning on her foot and walking towards the door. You whipped your head around and watched Maki and Mai about to leave.

“Can I ask you to help me again? When I see you again?” You ask, your light voice croaking with nervousness. Maki stops before she’s able to turn the corner, her eyes squinting from the sun shining in the corner of her eye.

“You can’t do it yourself?” Maki inquired, squinting her eyes. “Ok. See you around, then.”

“See you,” you muttered almost inaudibly, clearing your throat and watching as Maki turned the corner with her sister, leaving your eyesight.

After that day, your heart started beating a little differently all the way up until 2018.