#apologies if none of this is coherent

[paintpanic]

Res AU Joronia drawings. Character rambling and bonus doodles under cut.

This AU takes place a good while after the events of Triple Deluxe happened. Since then, Taranza's mostly recovered mentally from everything. He was able to move on from his grief and (somewhat) forgive himself. Now that Joronia's in his life again, seemingly back to her former self, some of those wounds he'd thought were fully healed have started to ache again. He still feels ultimately guilty for what happened to her.

He's thrilled that Joronia's been given a second chance at life, but is somewhat wary deep down. This feels to good to be true, that she's just back with seemingly no strings attached. The other shoe could drop any day now, and he could lose her all over again. Fearing this, he wants to make the most out of what could be a short time to be together again with his friend.

Joronia senses that there's a distance between the two of them now that wasn't there before. It shouldn't be surprising; he's probably still hurt from what she did. Other people definitely are. She's determined, though, to work hard to make it up to everyone she's hurt, and to prove to them (and herself) that she's not really like that, that she's capable of being better.

The Mirror's influence twisted her mind and her perception of reality. It made her feel like she was inadequate, and that everyone else were enemies to be subjugated. Now, she's supposed to be normal and better, but she still feels like there's something wrong with her head. She still doesn't feel good enough, and it still feels like everyone hates her. It's hard to trust herself. She's not sure if it's some lingering effect of the Mirror, or if there's just something inherently wrong with her now. She's scared.

She's afraid that something will happen, that she'll revert to how she was as Queen, and that she'll hurt Taranza again. Someone who'd always helped her, who'd stuck with her even when she was absolutely horrible to him, and who's kindness she's relying on again now, staying at his home as she worked on getting her life back together. She's a burden on him, and she always has been. She hates it.

Still, her deepest, most selfish wish is that they could be real friends again.

---

These two need to have a long, honest discussion about their feelings toward each other and themselves. Both of them are absolutely terrified about that prospect, though, because they each think that the other secretly resents them to some degree. If they actually talked through it, they'd quickly realize that they both want the same thing.

[dragonseeds]

what are your thoughts on rhaegar and lyanna?

oh i love them! there’s all this talk of them haunting the narrative and they do, but i’d take it further and say they are the black hole at the center of the story. the choices that they made, starting with lyanna’s decision to defend howland reed and what that meant to both him and rhaegar, who was very likely at his lowest point at harrenhal after the ruination of his careful plans, touched or changed the lives of every character and plot line in the series. the story itself is such a fun mashup of tristan and iseult, lancelot and guinevere, helen and paris, the fall of camelot and all of arthuriana really, the classic trope of the princess in the tower and the dragon and the knight: all of that in one couple and we don’t get to experience any of it with them. we can guess and speculate, but we can never truly know them. we experience their story only through the memories the people who survived the war they ostensibly kicked off, and those memories are all heavily colored by trauma, guilt, nostalgia—alternately faded and sharpened by time. it’s this incredibly fun and brilliant reconstruction of some of the most enduring tragedies in folklore and mythology and i adore it.

hate beyond articulation the way asoiaf.tumblr.edu approaches their relationship and the individual characterizations of both of them, though. just absolutely some of the most insufferably sanctimonious disingenuous decontextualized analysis i’ve ever experienced—much of that coming from people viewing this through a historical lense instead of a thematic one. like, imagine approaching the battle of the trident as “rhaegar is a bad person for fighting for his father who was evil! he lost the moral high ground with that one” as opposed to “rhaegar as a character exists to fail and die; he was the last dragon, carrying the unbearable weight of his family’s legacy and the burden of the prophecy for which they conquered westeros: the end of his life is the end of the targaryen dynasty. he must fail and he must die, so that dany and jon can grow up free of that weight and that power. daenerys gets to redefine what it means to be targaryen on her own terms. she and jon separately and unknowingly do the things that he thought he had to do—the things he was conceived and born to do—but never knew how: they do it because of their circumstances, because of the people that they have grown into, because they believe it is their duty, because they have the power to do it.” also, like, re: interpretations of battle of the trident, is there maybe another battle that occurs later in the series that is exactly the same thematically and contextually? where perhaps a character who was missing for a while shows up on the eve of battle, knowing that the opposition is right and their cause is just but that his family will die if he doesn’t fight with them? anything that adds an extra layer of meaning to what happens, aside from dany’s own connection—which is not as thematically similar but is still incredibly meaningful. like i certainly don’t think there’s any one interpretation of a character or story, but the worst ones are consistently applied to rhaegar.

and then with lyanna in particular, it’s like people cannot stomach her or find her sympathetic as a character unless they’re wallowing in her eternal victimhood. the constant dismissal of the importance of lyanna’s actions and what they meant to rhaegar is pure misogyny, by the way. her choices and her agency, the inherent meaningfulness of the struggle for both of those things in a system that seeks to reduce her to her body and the use men can make of it—all of that is important. the person she was and what that meant to people was important, but from the way i most often see her discussed, it’s like her gendered death is the only thing that matters. it’s okay to lament her because she got crushed by the wheel. if she hadn’t, if she wasn’t a victim to write flagellatory meta about, she would be a hypocrite, someone who needed to learn a lesson—as difficult for some of these people to relate to as dany or rhaenyra apparently are.

like, it’s just wild to me because her kindness to howland reed and her choice to defend him, to disguise herself as the knight of the laughing tree and risk her life and reputation to fight for him—is the answer to and the embodiment of one of the most thematically significant questions in the series. we see it most prominently in dany’s chapters because she asks it directly: why do the gods make kings and queens if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves? that’s what lyanna did, when no one else was doing it: she had more honor than any knight at that tourney or any man sitting on the small council, and it meant something to rhaegar. like what about this is hard to understand? i think he must have idealized her immediately: she must have seemed like something out of a song or a story to him, and rhaegar was a singer, a songwriter, a bard: he knows how stories are supposed to go—how to finish a song, or at least he thought he did.

bran, who also loves stories, says it himself: “and the mystery knight should win the tourney, defeating every challenger, and name the wolf maid the queen of love and beauty.” like obviously bran has some critiques i cut out, but he has the ending right—only the wolf maid was the knight, and she couldn’t have won. in the feudal gender prison, women are rewarded for being beautiful and their worth is derived from that and from what their bodies provide. she should’ve won the whole thing, but the system doesn’t allow that, so rhaegar—in a fit of single-minded capital r romantic hero idiocy—dedicates himself to winning the tourney to honor her in the only way he can: the only way the system allows him to recognize her. it was the worst possible move he could make at that time because of the romantic connotations, but i love him for doing it, as stupid as it was and even though there is no way it didn’t hurt and humiliate elia, or make him look terrible when he desperately needed to make a good impression on the lords of the realm—it’s just such a Moment. being reminded that there’s good in the world—feeling hope in the face of endless abject overwhelming despair—how do you express gratitude for that? the idea that he could only doing it by hurting someone who didn’t deserve it and making himself look like an ass is fucking awesome. i’m genuinely so sorry for people are incapable of enjoying that. could not be me!

but that’s just my interpretation of what happened at harrenhal. like i said, part of why i like them so much is that we truly don’t know. while i love darker relationships in general, the idea that he crowned her at harrenhal because he wanted to impregnate her then does not work for me. it’s a popular theory, but it renders some of the very few contextual clues we are given about what happened meaningless. for one, he didn’t know that elia wouldn’t be able to have more children at that time. this was discovered after she gave birth to aegon, and that is the point at which the question of the third child appears to have become a motivating factor for him. i personally think he left for the riverlands to consult with the ghost of high heart—the one whose prophecy is the reason he was born, the reason is parents were forced to marry, the reason his family burned alive the night he came into the world—and ran into lyanna somewhere near harrenhal. it’s possible he had been in contact with her prior to this (how? without her family knowing? what are the logistics of that?) but i think it’s just as likely it was pure chance. i really like the idea that his crowning her queen of love and beauty caused lyanna’s father to set a date for her wedding to robert or talk of moving it up, maybe even suggest a double wedding at riverrun, which would have almost certainly caused her to balk. either way, high heart is located between harrenhal and riverrun. arya also stops there while she’s kidnapped by the brotherhood without banners on the way to ransom her to her family at riverrun, and they trade songs to the ghost for her dreams and prophecies. i think it’s worth noting because arya’s journey in the riverlands mirrors lyanna’s right down to her “death” as arya stark when she leaves for braavos, paying the ferryman’s fee with the coin jaqen h’ghar gave her—just as jon’s journey at the wall mirrors rhaegar’s in many ways right up until his own death.

i also don’t think rhaegar and lyanna eloped because they were in love—this is implied by lyanna’s famous quote—but that they did come to love each other deeply, which is suggested by the way they died: her roses and him saying her name. notably, rhaegar did not leave the tower of his own volition—someone had to come and get him with news of war, which is hilarious because i think the tower of joy is right in the middle of like three major battles of the rebellion? like quite frankly, if he didn’t love her or care for anything beyond the prophecy and if she didn’t love him despite how badly things went wrong, then where in their story is the heart in conflict with itself?

i do want to clarify that i love the tower entrapment and the power imbalance aspects of their relationship as much as i love (what i interpret as) the genuine respect for each other that grew into love: it’s really the tension of those disparate elements that interests me. a dragon can love the maiden, but he’s only ever a dragon—still liable to hoard her like treasure or burn her up and rip her open trying to be gentle, to protect. that FUCKS, sorry! love is sweet and hopeful, but it’s also at exactly the same time horror, consumption, destruction.

idk it’s myopic to act like the beginning or the ending of their relationship—of their lives—is the summation of it. i think people want their story to be easy when it’s not: a clear case of a villain and his victims where everyone knows who to root for and no one has to think too much about things that are difficult or uncomfortable, questions where there probably isn’t an answer that doesn’t hurt someone. what a sad, tedious way to approach any text, but specifically this one. i’ve sometimes seen it suggested that if their story is romantic then it’s an endorsement or justification of all the “bad” things that happened because of it, and that’s also stupid. grrm as an author is never going to be someone who tells us how to feel about anything: he presents these characters and situations, often as a means of exploring certain facets of the human condition, and each of us has to come up with our own answers and find our own meaning. i don’t think he always knows what he means, or what those answers are, you know? but for me rhaegar and lyanna are one of the most fascinating parts of story, and whatever the truth is—if we ever find out—i can’t imagine a scenario where i don’t love them or find them really interesting and wonderfully sad.

[basicallyjaywalker]

The timeline and history of Ninjago is weird and fluid: an essay

So recently I reblogged a post asking what people thought the length of the time skip between S2 and S3 was and it got me thinking about the weird chronology of this show.

Disclaimer: i have only seen up to S8 because I'm a hack and a fraud but I do still follow fandom and have seen enough clips I think to gain an understanding of how the ninja are portrayed and characterized in later seasons. I welcome and deeply appreciate those of you who are more caught up on the seasons adding to my points and pointing out where I'm wrong on this post! Who knows maybe in 15 years when I do catch up I'll make a follow up

Basically, the conclusion I have after years of thinking about this timeline way too much is this:

The time twins completely screwed up the timeline

Only slightly joking, but it does feel like the divide between S7 and S8 (coincidentally also when the design change took place) is when the writers had to retcon a lot of old ideas because the show was moving in a new direction spurred by an increase of popularity from the movie and by desires from the people supervising the shows creation.

My main points for this are as follows

The ninjas age

How old the country of Ninjago is

The depiction of the passing of time itself

So let's examine these one by one and let me tell you exactly what I think caused the chronological fluidity of this show

Wait... How old are the ninja?

The answer to this question depends on who you ask. Some people say they're in their late teens, that they're early adults, or that they've got to be hitting the mid 20s by now. Personally, I'm of the latter camp, but depending on which season someone is viewing, any of these can be true.

In the post I talked about at the start, I mentioned that S1-S4 felt like the ninja clearly grew older and matured as time went on. They went from blowing off training to play video games in S1 to dealing with the ramifications of trauma in various, independent, adult ways in S4. Yes, they can still be super immature and goofy, but let's be real adults are like that irl too. Now they seem to stall out on dramatic progression in S5-7, but they generally maintain the same level of maturity as before.

Now again, I have not watched the following seasons, but the general vibe I have gathered is the ninja seem to almost... Regress? They seem to go back to S1 levels of maturity. Teenagers! I mean Lloyd specifically seems to be more of a typical teenage boy archetype whereas beforenhe was portrayed as almost more mature than the ninja. Additionally, there's an interview wherein someone on the team confirms they're supposed to be teens (if anyone can find it I'll be forever in your debt).

This weird regression happens in the later seasons, and while I can't pinpoint where, to me it feels like a result of how they were portrayed in (you guessed it) the movie!

Small aside: I also haven't seen the movie but ik it's non canon and very typical Lego movie silly fun fluff. I like what I've seen and think the whole narrative is super cute. Plus movie aus are adorable. Moving on

Now I have no way of backing this up but I would be unsurprised if the movie brought more people to the Ninjago franchise as a whole and acted as a soft reboot after s8. We get the new redesigns, new garmadon brought back specifically to be able to mirror movie garm, and teenage ninjas including our favorite magical boy with daddy issues--Lloyd.

Basically, the ninjas almost have a parabola of maturation, starting off very young and dumb in s1, maturing into very adult people by S4, but slowly regressing after the rebrand to match the new style.

And funnily enough, none of this goes against an official canon. The ninjas ages are never stated, really, only implied. Really, they could still be in their mid twenties or early teens at any point. Even if you argued that they wouldn't be teachers or able to own stocks in a company or etc etc etc, you can also argue that the laws in Ninjago may not be the same, it may be through Wu or another adult, it could just be that they're the ninja and really no one is gonna question them on that. The canon itself is kinda wobbly which brings me to my next point:

HOW OLD IS NINJAGO?!?!

HOW IS NINJAGO THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD HOW ARE THERE MULTIPLE GENERATIONS OF EMS HOW PLD ARE GARM AND WU HOW OLD ARE THE NINJA HOW OLD ARE THEIR PARENTS HOW OLD IS ANYONE WHAT THE HECK--

--Are all thoughts I've had when trying to piece together the timeline of this world because let's face it: it simultaneously seems to be very new and very old. "Long before time had a name...' HOW LONG WU. HOW LONG.

When I was watching S7 I specifically took note of when it was said that the Serpentine war was 40 years ago. It felt weirdly recent, as before when the serpentine were discussed and depicted they seemed to be an ancient race. So ancient, in fact, that it's mentioned in s1 that they're just "an old wives tale, meant to keep kids from poking their noses where they don't belong'

Now don't get me wrong, temporal perception is weird. Things that were 40 years ago can feel super old, I'm approaching 20 years old and things from when I was born feel like ages ago. Still, 40 years does not feel like enough for something as intense as an entire war to be forgotten. Ray and Maya fought in that war, so presumably Ed, Edna, and Lou all lived through it. Wu was literally present for the banishing of the Anacondrai generals, so how tf did it fade into obscurity?

Then there's the EMs themselves. In S4 Garmadon explains that they were the FSM "guardians" and that their powers are passed down through generations. This does give an answer to the origins of the ninjas powers except. No, wait, I have more questions now. Firstly, how many generations? We know Garmadon is the son of the FSM, so presumably if the first generation of EMs are contemporaries of the FSM, then we're on the third. Okay, that's less confusing. With three generations, we can explain how the EMs separated, the master of earth who was most definitely not Lily in a flashback in S4, and even the odd comment Nya makes in S5 about powers "skipping a generation" with people from the second generation not getting powers from their relatives while others do. We could possibly point to Zane as an example of this, as it could be possible that the master of ice seen inna flashback is his grandfather and Juliens father, with Julien having no shown elemental powers.

So with all of this in mind it makes complete sense that Ninjago is less than a century and a half old, allowing about 50 years for each generation.

So, I ask with great exhaustion, how the FUCK has all of it's RECENT HISTORY become LEGEND????

I would like to reiterate my point about the serpentine, but also see pirates (who had to have also been contemporaries to the FSM which begs the question WHY piracy in a barely established nation), the devourer and ouroborus (devourer specifically was around 60 so years ago to bite Garmadon, also how did the serpentine tribes just FORGET a whole city in 40 years or less between the war and being freed), the ideas of EMs as a whole???? (Specifically how did Kai, Nya, and Cole not know or at least have an idea Abt their powers bc it feels like they each had enough of a connection to an elemental parent for a MENTION to be made), etc etc etc

Now I will go on record and admit this point could just be explained by the fact that for a country that is say, 150-200 years old, things that happened 100 or even 50 years ago FEEL ancient, relatively speaking. Really most of my issues are just gripes of why and how and decisions made and could be picked apart easily. However, that idea, that things just FEEL ancient, despite being recent, brings me to what is going to be my favorite point

Tick Tock.

Throughout this incoherent ramble disguised as a coherent essay, I keep coming back to one excuse for each of my issues: nothing chronological is stated for certain (save for the Serpentine war date), merely implied. The ninjas ages are never stated, just implied over time. The actual age of Ninjago is never stated, just implied. Hell, NO ONE's ages are ever stated, just implied. Wu and Garmadon are simultaneously dad aged and ancient. Garmadon specifically is both an ancient demon lord and also the ex husband to a very private and very human museum curator and also the absent father to a boy who is simultaneously like 16 and 20 something.

Except, I get hung up on one thing the longer I think about it, which is that the show seemed to be a chronological passing of time at first.

I mentioned it again earlier when talking about the ninjas ages (can you tell that a lot of my confusion and frustration comes from that) but they do seem to age and mature over time. They have arcs and maturation that sticks. Lloyd does too. Id argue Nya does as well despite the fact that she's woefully overlooked by the writing a lot (I'll get to it in the love triangle essay) going from the "little sister" doing whatever she can to prove herself to a woman still fighting that omnipresent idea that she's lesser or different from her male teammates because of her gender. Hell, in s7 they specifically talk about how Wu is aging and will die someday soon--hed been time punched, but still.

The time skips add to this. Between s2 and s3 there seems to be a large leap-- new Ninjago city wasn't built in a day. So do S3 and s4 with the ninja splitting up and Jay having enough time to establish a hit tv show like... that had to take a few months at least???Same with s4 and s5 and steep wisdoms founding.

There's a strong sense of the passing of time that feels... Different when looking at the new seasons. I won't say the passage isn't there, just that it feels... Frozen? In the same way that a show like Pokemon is. The protagonists are the same age, despite the fact that their surroundings and lives change. They are constant even if their world is not. And that feels like the product of something completely different.

Ninjago will never end.

In the beginning, I think it was clear there were two seasons planned. Rise of the Serpentine and Legacy of the Green Ninja. S2 had a nice happy ending and a photo finish even!! Then we had S3, but it still felt like it was final. The loss of a friend, but the characters finding a sense of closure still. But then we had S4... Which left with a cliffhanger for S5. Which paved the way for S6. And after that... Well, Crystalized was what, S15? And now we have DR so who Knows when this franchise will truly end? Not to mention the seasons slowly getting longer and longer --

I think the crazy chronology we ended up with was the result of Many Cooks. As the franchise's fan base grew and the demand for more and more content grew with it, more writers came in and left. There was no more telling how long this series would go. We needed new villains to fight, new stories to tell, so came the retconning and, over time, the tighter chronology seen during those initial seasons faded because if we keep aging the ninja, how old would they be? Too old. We need to keep them at a place where the target demographic can look up to and relate to them.

Now don't get me wrong, I love Ninjago, I love how big this fan base is (I remember being on Quotev and Wattpad and Pinterest and YouTube in the S3 era SCOURING for any new fanfics or art or fan content, now I just scroll the Tumblr tags and find new stuff all the time) and I love that the series has lasted this long and continues to feed my autism fun colors and silly jokes and insane storylines to latch onto. These criticisms aren't meant to damn the show, hell they're pretty flimsy considering I'm not even halfway through the series relatively speaking and thus can't really use that as evidence for or against me. They're just a culmination of many thoughts I've had while watching the show and trying to build my own AU with OCs using as much of the canon as possible. I would LOVE to wake up someday and find someone has reblogged this rebutting all of my points.

As it stands though, ninjagos chronology is fucked. Why? Because what was initially a short, fun Lego show grew so massively popular that today we have a new Netflix spinoff? Continuation? Still being made today and so the writers had to change gears and make it so that could happen without the ninja becoming grandparents.

It is one thirty am and I have to wake up in 5 hours. Stay tuned for an even less coherent essay on why I hate the love triangle. Spoiler alert: none of it is nyas fault and my trait of evisceratinf the things I love w criticism is about to be set upon Jay my kin

[kitwilsonsass]

i’ll stop being a depressing text post andy soon but

just long, long dramatic introspective stuff i need to get off my chest re: this past week/moving forward

it’s been officially over a week now already

and i’m very much.... starting to feel the guilt

not the ‘i should have done more!’ guilt, though i am cringing every time someone tells me i ‘gave him a great life’ or anything of the sort, because it will never feel that way to me. even if KNOW how much i tried to do, it won’t ever feel like it was enough or even good.

the guilt of ‘as much as this hurts, a weight has also been lifted’

the fact that i had been watching his chest when he was asleep to see if he was still breathing since i was 16, convinced he wouldn’t last long. the fact that i have given up so much of my own life to be here for so many years. the forced interactions with people i hate. the remarks he’d make about how it ‘should have been him’ (and.... to sound awful... it should have) and how he wished he was dead already. the drinking.

i don’t like the word burden, because it wasn’t a burden. for all his shit, and as south as things went, he was my dad and i have great memories and i love him. i chose to do what i did and keep doing it. but i would be lying if i said i hadn’t considered from time to time what things would change *after*. and i would be lying if i said i didn’t think those changes, would for the most part, be positive.

i’m going to be very lost for awhile, and weirdly lonely. i know that. it will get dark. i’ve been doing this for so long i don’t know what to do now. i hate looking at the room he used to confine himself to because it’s empty. i walk in the door expecting him to be there, always there, like a piece of the furniture, and he’s not. the only purpose i had for a long time is gone. the constant.

so i’m just doing... whatever i’d normally be doing when i’m not dealing with the papers, and the phone calls, and the awkward social stuff. sitting on the computer, watching tv, laughing about bullshit.

but aside from a few slight teary moments, i haven’t cried since i got home that night. and i know part of that is because physically, i just couldn’t anymore. i can’t now. and i know that, once the initial couple weeks pass, and everything quiets down, and it becomes all the more obvious that he’s never going to be here again settles back in, that things will probably be emotional again.

i keep having a moment of ‘this feels bad, but this should feel *worse*.’

it shouldn’t be so easy to be doing normal shit.

but it’s not.... i don’t know.... unfamiliar? i’m still doing things mostly independently. the way i work around them is just different now. and i knew it was coming for so, so long. even the past couple weeks i knew i needed to start mentally preparing for shit to change.

and i know despite the guilt, and the hurt, that things *will* be better in some way for this. because i can have my life now. and for better or worse it will be, for the first time, *my* life.

and i also know.... he went to the hospital for a reason, despite his stubbornness. he knew it was too much. and i think he knew i couldn’t deal with the extent of what was going to happen if it continued. and i don’t think he wanted me to have to.

i think he kept telling people not to hang out in the hospital at his expense for a reason.

there’s always gonna be the voice in the back of my head reminding me of him being drunk after my mom passed, saying i didn’t seem like i cared because i didn’t seem upset. wondering if he would think that now. (of course NOW i’m crying, stupid waxing poetically on this garbage site nonsense.)

but i do think he knew at the end and didn’t want that for me.

of course there’s a bunch of... other stress now. i’m going to need some income, which i haven’t had since The Before Times. with a still not great knee. gotta pay the bills, and fix the car more, and keep this house liveable (for now. i’m not making any rash decisions. i know just packing up my sad excuse for a life and trying to take off immediately is a horrible, braindead idea.) i know the world/my trash immune system is still a concern as well. and i can’t just go back to what i was doing immediately, at the same capacity, because of bs business politics.

i’m still going to give myself a few weeks. i can afford that. and i’ve done the math on what i absolutely *need* for the time being.

and my aunt bought me a washer, my brother bought me some groceries, claims have been made about fixing more shit in the house. fuck, an internet friend i barely exchange two words with every few months anymore fucking *called* me last night to ask if i was doing okay. i’m not saying this to brag, i’m saying i’m lucky to have support that i honestly so often doubt exists and i want to remember it when shit gets tough.

but i also need time to grieve in whatever form that takes after the initial bullshit is done so i don’t rush into things and then completely fall apart out of the blue. i’m lucky enough to feel i have that time, and force myself to try not to worry too much too soon, even if it is constantly there in my mind.

i think it’s going to be the weird stuff for a bit. stuff like going to the dentist the other day because i couldn’t reschedule again and being asked what i do for work and saying ‘oh, i don’t right now. i was a caretaker until saturday.’

going grocery shopping and not instinctively grabbing the same five things that were always on the list every single week and therefor not having a fucking clue what to get.

just trying to remember it’s okay for that shit to be weird. it’s okay to not be a trainwreck 24/7, but to sometimes be one over the smallest things.

the thing he told me once that has always stuck with me, back when he knew me better than anyone somehow before that all changed, was ‘you know, you don’t have to be brave all the time.’

i’ve been trying to be brave for so goddamn long. through so much fucking loss.

i just need to remind myself that it’s okay to be a fucking mess for a bit, in whatever form that takes. do what needs to be done, but be okay with whatever comes. accept fucking help and not be afraid to ask for it. sleep all goddamn day if i have to. and learn to fucking take a moment to breathe without worrying how it will come off to people who don’t know what i was always coming home to. i’m not fucking perfect. i never was, i never tried to be, and i certainly won’t be now. but i don’t have to be.

i just gotta forgive myself for it.

for a lot of things, really.

[yuwuta]

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love. 

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta <2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.  

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.  

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”  

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.  

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.  

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.  

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.  

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.  

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.” 

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.  

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.” 

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”  

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” 

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.” 

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again. 

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets. 

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—” 

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away. 

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.” 

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it. 

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be. 

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them. 

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?” 

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both. 

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!” 

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.” 

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her. 

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there. 

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate. 

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him. 

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands. 

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.  

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him. 

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her. 

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table. 

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.  

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”  

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together. 

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.  

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you. 

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.” 

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?” 

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself. 

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

��Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?” 

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?” 

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that? 

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you? 

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?” 

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.” 

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely. 

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen. 

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen. 

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway. 

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars. 

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in. 

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute. 

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly. 

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling. 

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels. 

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.  

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.” 

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well. 

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.  

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.” 

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him. 

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not. 

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.” 

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile. 

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity. 

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite. 

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona. 

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you. 

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain. 

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met. 

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long. 

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have. 

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you. 

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan. 

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation. 

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•��•◍)❤ 

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed. 

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type. 

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall. 

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription. 

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.  

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.  

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly. 

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.  

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck. 

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.  

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.  

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms? 

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.  

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”  

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”  

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji. 

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody. 

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother. 

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body. 

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.” 

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji. 

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?” 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!”  

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.”  

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask.  

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little. 

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else. 

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn. 

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can. 

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else. 

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin. 

Believe that, Itadori. 

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through. 

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo. 

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that. 

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely. 

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way. 

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together. 

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again. 

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.” 

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse. 

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.” 

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.” 

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you. 

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.” 

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him? 

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.” 

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.” 

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone. 

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?” 

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?” 

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?” 

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him. 

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest. 

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words. 

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you. 

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone. 

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick. 

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one. 

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers. 

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it. 

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.” 

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control. 

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You’re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life. 

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop. 

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.” 

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good. 

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you. 

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?” 

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, “Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours. 

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over. 

[starboye]

pairing: noah beck x male reader

request: Seems like a golden good boy but actually be the dirtiest roughest sex you’ve ever had

warnings: smut, overstimulation, fainting, fluff, cursing, rough sex, and that's it I think

to the public your boyfriend noah was a respectable guy, he opened all you doors for you, tied your shoe, or helped anyone with anything they needed but behind closed doors he was the most ravenous horny man you'd ever been with.

right now he had you splayed across his bed, hole sloppy and loose from the continuous poundings and you barely able to think of a coherent thought "you like that don't you" noah huskily says smacking your ass with his large hand "yes" you spit out at the feeling "so loose for daddy huh" he deeply says easily sliding his fingers into your hole.

"fuck, please noah" you whine gripping his forearm trying to push his fingers out of your sensitive hole "hey no touching" noah sternly orders grabbing your hands and locking them above your head with his free hand "then can I please cum" you ask desperately, your cock all red and swollen begging for release "I don't know if you can" noah teases "please I've been suck a good boy" you brokenly say with tears daring to drip from your eyes.

"just a little longer" noah says pulling his thick fingers out your hole and slamming his dick back in, he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders to get even deeper in your warmth as you can do nothing but babble incoherently while your fucking into his mattress.

"your so good for me" noah smirks watching as you take him so well "cum for me" is the only thing that manages to bring you back to reality, the glinting hope that you can finally get release after what feels like hours of torture and after a few more thrusts from noah into you, you cum all over your chest, each spurt of cum being bigger than the last till you eventually finish.

although noah has came almost four times he still rides out his high, not being able to let go of such a beautiful flesh light like hole, sucking him in with your spongy walls and taking every thrust with such persistence "noah..." you trail off blinking in and out of consciousness due to overstimulation.

after some time your flat out faint as noah continues fucking into you not noticing your unconscious state "here it comes baby" noah grunts loudly as he tightly grips your thighs which will definitely leave marks to be found in the morning before he cums and fucks his fifth load into you.

loud huffs fall from his mouth as his chest heaves up and down trying to catch his breath "how was that" noah asks but you don't answer "babe" noah questions tapping your cheek lightly to wake you up but you still don't answer "y/n" he says with loads of worry throughout his voice as he leans down to listen is you have a heartbeat.

he breaths a sigh of relief to hear you still breathing just knocked out cold from the fucking "I really gotta learn to control myself" noah says under his breath scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the tub, laying you in it as the water fills it up, he coos sweet words as he cleans your fucked out body of the mess he basically made.

after washing you he puts you in one of his oversized shirts and shorts before laying you back in the now cleaned bed, the next day you wake up to a note from none other than noah himself as he lays next to you, tightly wrapping his arms around your waist, the note states "I'm so so sorry for fucking you unconscious last night and I hope you forgive me but I also hope you enjoyed last night" you lightly giggle at the note, noah was never the best apologizer but it was still an effort you thought was pretty cute.

noah may have always fucked you so rough the night before that it's always hurt to sit down or even walk but at least he made it his goal to sweetly apologize to you in the morning, you turn and kiss noah softly before nuzzling into his burly chest "I forgive you" you say falling asleep in his arms.

[night-raven-tattler]

First kiss, what bliss... maybe...

Summary: Neither you nor your partner have had your first kiss yet. What kind of shenanigans would that information bring?

Characters: Cater, Jamil, Vil × GN!Reader (separate)

Warnings: misunderstandings

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Facing Cater after what happened felt like the hardest challenge you've ever gone through

Curse Magicam and curse couple tags and couple selfies, curse all of it!

The memory was fresh in your mind, making you cringe at the situation

You just wanted to take a cute selfie with your boyfriend, like any normal person

And you thought it would be funny and cute to kiss him on the cheek mid selfie

But he happened to have the same idea...

And your lips unceremoniously clashed over each other

As if the situation wasn't very embarassing already, Cater's reaction made it worse

He awkwardly laughed while scratching the back of his head, then left the room in a hurry

Horrible feedback for your first kiss, really

Were you that bad at kissing? But you didn't even have time to be bad, it was barely anything but his lips landing on yours

Sevens, even thinking about it made you feel like your face was on fire

You cursed all teen rom coms for lying to your poor teenage heart as you buried yourself under your blankets

But soon enough your phone started buzzing like crazy

One, twice, thrice

Twenty times

You picked it up to check what was going on, when you saw none other than your boyfriend spamming you with apology texts

"i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry"

His apologies only made you more confused

"wait why"

You could tell he was trying to pick between keysmashing his way to forgiveness and trying to find a coherent response as the loading chat bubble appeared and disappeared on your screen for a few minutes

In the end all he sent back was one text

"nvm i'm coming back to ur dorm stay there"

You undug yourself out of your fluffy pity party and, before you could process properly the situation you were in, Cater knocked at your door

You combed your fingers through your hair before taking a deep breath and opening the door

Just to see a Cater just as frazzled as you were

"I'm so sorry I didn't know what to do I wanted to be cute-"

"I was so stupid, I don't know what came over me, I panicked and-"

You talked over each other, then stopped and sunk into a bit of an awkward silence

Not even your conflict solving skills were on your side today

"Uhm, Let's just... I mean, can I come in?"

"I will let you in... before Riddle hears you used 'can' instead of 'may'."

Cater's eyes widened before he snorted, and a small smile blosommed on his lips

"Alright, don't mind me~"

His sing songy delivery came out slightly tense as he hesitated before stepping into your room and making a bee line to your bed

Another awkward, albeit shorter, silence took over the room before you sighed

"Cater, I'm sorry. I wanted to be cute and kiss you on the cheek, I'm sorry if I overstepped something or-"

"Oh, no no no! That's not it at all!"

Cater's cheeks grew redder than you've ever seen them

"You have nothing to apologise for! It's just..."

His eyes went from your face to the floor, then to the lamp on your nightstand

"It took my by surprise, and I was not prepared at all, and I reacted very poorly... It was so much different than what I thought our first kiss to be."

He reached out to his hair and started playing with a strand, something you noticed he did when he needed something to do with his hands

You took a seat next to him on the bed and sighed

"To be honest... I have no idea how I wanted our... first kiss... to be like... Since that was my first and all."

Cater's eyes widened and he snorted

"Yours too?"

Hearing his words, you turned to face him, and saw an expression hard to read

"Wait, what? Really?"

Cater nodded

You snorted, then burst into laugher

He had no idea why, but Cater also joined in with his own confused giggles

"So both our first kisses kinda sucked. Man...!"

Cater lied on your bed, obviously more relaxed than before

"...Well, at least I know I'm not the only victim of the lies about the romcom first kiss."

"You know what they say about misery loving company!"

You lied next to Cater, thinking about how ridiculous everything was

And you were glad to see Cater back to his more relaxed self

"So... No hard feelings, then?"

His question made you giggle

"None. Only if you promise me a proper redo, though."

Cater turned on his side, prompting his head on his arm

"Totally! Not right now, though. My heart had enough of a workout today."

"Same..."

You spent the rest of the day watching cute videos on his Magicam feed

The atmosphere turned back to normal once again, and you almost forgot about the incident

Until a few weeks later, when Cater was finally ready for the proper redo

『••✎••』

You were leaving Sam's and checking items off of a list, making mental notes to yourself

Ingredients for chakli and shankarpali? Check. Enough paper to make origami jasmines until your hands hurt? Check.

The permission slip from Kalim that allowed you and Jamil to stay out of the dorm for the night? Check. The contracts from Azul binding your friends to the responsibility of keeping Kalim in check while you and Jamil are away? Check

Were your preparations a little extreme? Maybe, but you had a very important goal in mind

Several weeks prior, you were bestowed with a very valuable information: Jamil never had his first kiss

Neither did you, but you wanted to do something about it

After a lot of shifts at the Mostro Lounge, you finally were able to put together the perfect date

A picnic under the stars in the garden of Ramshackle dorm, where you could create the perfect opportunity to give your boyfriend the first kiss he deserves!

You skipped on your way to your dorm from excitement and prepared everything for the special night

But whatever deities ruled over Twisted Wonderland decided that it would be funny to cause an unpredictable downpour on the very night you were planning to be out

All Jamil could do to help your disappointed self was to help you gather your things and resume the "picnic" in your dorm room

Despite him trying to comfort you, you still had a hard time recovering, as the night you were so emotionally invested in was ruined

Jamil sighed as it sunk in that the issue was deeper than he thought, and he made you sit down with him

"This wasn't just a normal date, was it? Talk to me, Reader."

You sighed and grabbed Jamil's hand

"I'm just... really disappointed, I guess. I worked really hard to make this date special! And this stupid rain ruined the night. I'm sorry..."

Jamil raised an eyebrow

"Special? Were you preparing something for a special occasion?"

You hated how perceptive he was sometimes

You looked away, and your reaction to his question was all the confirmation Jamil needed

He still waited for you to tell him, regardless of how embarassed you grew with every second of silence

So eventually you caved after what felt like a whole hour of silence

"...You know how you told me you haven't had your... your first kiss?"

Jamil listened to your explanation with a growing blush on his cheeks

"I wanted to make it memorable! I haven't had my first kiss either so I thought it would be great to make it great for the both of us! But then it started raining, and it made the food all soggy, and I just wasted three weeks of my life for a stupid contract with Azul and my friends to make sure Kalim doesn't accidentally start an international conflict while I'm trying to smooch you!"

Your little rant left Jamil speechless

You were expecting some sort of snort or sarcastic remark, but you heard... nothing

So you turned your face to look at Jamil

And he was deep in thought, eyes not even looking at you

His mouth opened and closed a few times

Jamil's face never settled on an expression for too long, his conflicted feelings coming to the surface

The silence was making your nervous, but it was obvious Jamil was weighting his words very carefully

"Reader, I don't need a special setting for you to show you care about me."

"I know you don't need it, but you deserve it! You work so hard all the time and you never get the praise you deserve, I wanted to spoil you as much as I could and give you an unforgettable memory..."

Jamil was rendered completely speechless

And, when your words finally sunk in, his face started burning like a campfire, and he pulled his hood over his head

"You... You are impossible..."

Your hand was still holding his, and you gave it a squeeze in reassurance

The silence that befell on you was just a bit awkward, but you gave Jamil time to recover emotionally

A few minutes passed when he pulled the hood off and asked you to make a pillow fort with him in your room

"I can't let your efforts go to waste, not after... after everything you've said."

Despite your disappointment, you'd never say no to a night with your boyfriend

So you took the chairs, Jamil took the blankets and pillows, and you set up a pretty nice fort

It wasn't the starry sky you imagined yourself sitting under, but maybe Jamil was right

You didn't need anything fancy to have a special moment

And the way he was clinging to you while you were running your fingers through his hair was even more special to you than anything

You chuckled to yourself at the visage of Jamil Viper, the most tense and closed off teen you know, completely making himself comfortable in your embrace as if your body was made to hold him and cherish him

He raised his head, his attention caught by your chuckle

Maybe it was the way Jamil looked more relaxed than usual or the way that he was simply looking at you, expecting nothing but to satiate a small curiosity

But Jamil looked really beautiful to you in that moment

And kissable...

"This is kind of embarassing... I really wanna kiss you right now..."

Jamil smirked at you

"I thought you needed a meteor shower and a full course meal to get a kiss."

"...Never mind, you ruined it."

You were sure he wouldn't let it die until you actually kissed

A problem you could solve really easily

You started plotting another plan; this one was simpler, and it involved just you making him look at you and leaning in a little closer...

『••✎••』

"Did you have any voice acting roles animated movies and stuff?"

Vil contemplated your question for a few seconds while he applied some skin cleanser on his face

"A few, yes. I prefer when people experience my presence fully when I act, but I don't mind bringing a different type of character to life if I like the project."

You were in Vil's room, using your priviledge of being the partner of a Housewarden to spend the night with your boyfriend without the need of a formal pass

As fair as Vil was, he didn't mind your daring actions as they amused him

To pass the time while Vil prepared himself to go to bed, you decided to play 20 questions

"Do you prefer open ended media or do you like to know what comes out of the fate of the characters?"

Vil was good at asking questions, as they really made you fall deep in thought

"Hmm... I think both are pretty great. It depends on the setting the most. An open ending works well with a thriller movie, but I like a proper ending for a romcom."

Your boyfriend hummed at your response

You watched Vil as he reached for his serum, and you caught a glimpse of a smile on his face

"Smart answer. That's the beauty of media, it allows you to tell different kinds of stories in different ways."

Vil opened the serum bottle and let a few droplets fall on his face

"Have you had your first kiss for a role or in real life?"

"Neither."

"Wait. Really?"

Vil snickered at your reaction as he met your eyes through his mirror

"What, is it really that shocking that I haven't had my first kiss yet?"

He was something else: usually people would be embarassed at the prospect of having to admit they haven't had their first kiss at all

"Kind of? I assumed that... well, I know that people who've been acting for as long as you have been exposed to a lot of things before the proper time."

"I can't deny that. I could say that I had a lot of people making sure I never did anything too... extreme."

Vil grabbed his moisturizer, and you had no idea how to feel about losing count of the products he has used so far

While he applied the product, Vil smiled to himself mischievously

"What about you? Have you had your first kiss?"

Your cheeks warmed up in embarassment

"No..."

Your reply was followed by an awkward laugh, and it drew a chuckle out of Vil

For the first time in a while, Vil got up from his chair and sat on his bed next to you, leaning closer

His closeness to you and your confession made your cheeks grow hot

The floral scent of his freshly applied products and the teasing glint in his eyes made you dizzy

"Oh? Is that so?"

Your confusion suddenly vanished as you realised what Vil was about to do

Were you about to kiss?! Right now?!

Vil leaned in very close to your face while you panicked and tried to figure out what to do

He kept a distance of barely two centimeters for a few seconds

Then he kissed your nose, making you confused

"You've been able to go on this long without your first kiss, you'll be fine waiting a little longer..."

You were shocked as Vil backed away with a smile on his face and cheeks dusted pink

It finally dawned on you: he was only teasing you

He only laughed when you gave him a swat to his thigh, wordlessly accepting your offense as warranted

The audacity of this guy...

"You really though I'd allow our first kiss to be anything less than spectacular? My line of work has been advertising a life changing moment, and I feel it's my duty to... live up to the hype."

Your indignation, as lighthearted as it was, refused to allow your pride to be wounded by such teasing

You raised yourself from your spot and, with a courage fueled only by impulsivity, you put your hand at the back of Vil's neck

You pulled Vil close to your face, action that earned you a gasp from your beloved

Almost all courage left you but you still continued with your plan: you waited a few seconds before pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth

"Your... line of work also has teasers and trailers, right? Consider this one of them."

Vil was more than shocked; to your surprise, he seemed awestruck by your actions

A lovely pink took over his face as a proud smile bloomed on his features

"Maybe I will."

『••✎••』

[koenigami]

fucking finally. tags : pure fluff, fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers trope wc : 1,5k synopsis : one single word is sometimes enough to change everything a/n : oh how i missed writing for my baby boy

"Come on, set for me!" Bokuto's heavy arm hooks around your neck as he pulls you into his side, the grown man looking at you with big bright puppy eyes. "Pleeaaase, Y/n."

You sigh at his antics, and eye the net across the street. Initially, this was supposed to be a calm evening walk with your best friend after you had picked him up from practice. Yet, you must admit that it is your own fault for thinking that you can combine the words "calm" and "Bokuto" in one coherent sentence. The weak smile you offer him as you exhale defeatedly is enough for him to sprint over to the sand volleyball court, and pull a ball out of his duffle bag.

He guides you to the other side of the net, enthusiastically explaining how to toss him the ball, how to dig it once he hits it, reminding you to keep a proper stance -

You scoff. As if you haven’t spent half of your free time observing him like a hawk during games and practices. You wouldn’t call yourself good at volleyball per se, but for an amateur you’re not too bad either.

And so your little play time goes on like this for a little while, the ball flying back and forth between the both of you. And before you know it the sun has almost set, painting the sky in a reddish orange hue.

"Kou, it’s getting late. I think we should head home." You tilt your head as you pout at him, stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. You'd be lying if you said that you weren't a little out of breath.

"Hm? Don’t tell me you’re already tired." He grins mischievously. You know what he’s doing, because if there’s something worse than his puppy eyes, than it is him using your ego against you. He watches you flip him off before you get back into position as he mumbles to himself. “That’s my girl.”

The dull sound of Bokuto’s palm slapping against the ball sounds through the empty court as you watch it hurtle towards you at a speed that you usually only get to witness from the sidelines. With the little reflexes that you have, you manage to duck and dodge the ball. It whizzes past your ear like a bullet before it slams into the sand, right before the end line.

Besides the few birds chirping and cars passing by, you don’t hear any other noise as you stare at him, shock clearly written all over your face. "Damn." Bokuto rubs the back of his head sheepishly, a nervous smile stretched over his face. He fucked up. "What a service ace, huh?"

And that’s it for you. The exhaustion that you’ve been feeling after such a long day turns into irritation, and you don’t even offer him a last glance when you simply turn around and stomp off.

"Shit." He quickly gathers his stuff and hurries after you, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he clumsily makes his way across the sand. Were you always this fast? "Y/n, wait. I swear, I didn't realise I hit it that hard!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him deflate visibly when he eventually catches up with you. He pleads for your attention, to look at him as he talks to you and apologizes, or at least acknowledge his presence. Yet you simply look ahead of you and do none of those things as you keep a petty pout on your face. All while trying to ignore his way too adorable face.

"Oh, come on. I said I was sorry." He all but nearly whines while he wildly gesticulates with his arms as if to prove his point. Something about the way you're ignoring him doesn't sit right with him. If it were anyone else, he'd probably laugh about it but when it comes to you? Bokuto's not sure how to explain it to himself but your cold shoulder feels like a bullet wound in his chest. You, who always laughs at his silly antics and remarks. You, whom he has the best insider jokes with. You, who has never made him feel like being too much.

"Babe!"

It slips out of his mouth, and he briefly has to check his surroundings to make sure that he's not in a fever dream. Because why the heck would he say that? His wide eyes fall to his hand and the way it shakes the slightest bit before he cards it through his hair and down his face. All those years, he managed to keep his silly little crush at bay, since having you as a friend in his life is better than not at all. Yet, all it took was one single slip up to ruin everything.

He fails to notice that you have long since frozen in place, the gears inside your head turning as you wondered whether you might have heard him wrong. You have not.

"What was that?" His eyes are focused on the ground beneath him, though he can't help but cringe as he clearly discerns the teasing and mischievous smile in your voice. Of course you won't let him off that easy.

"What was what?" He laughs nervously, rubs the back of his neck, and you notice how his eyes seem to wander without ever meeting yours. All your previous annoyance has faded away at the sight of Bokuto standing there, nervously playing with the cords on his hoodie, and reminding you a little of his younger self.

You bite back the growing smile on your face as you walk back towards him and step into his field of vision, not giving him a chance to escape you. Because something inside you decides that this is probably the only chance you'll get.

Your heels raise off the ground as you lean over towards him. So close to him, you notice how good he smells. He must have taken a quick shower after practice. Warm, a little prickly from the light stubble along his jaw, and so so right. That's how the short peck you give him feels before you're already walking backwards with a bright grin on your face while eyeing his shocked expression.

A laugh bubbles up your throat when you see realisation hit him of what you just did. Yet you don't expect him to recover so quickly, because your laugh soon dies down as he shoots you his own challenging grin before taking slow tentative steps towards you.

Then you run.

Your hear his loud stomps as he's immediately on your feet while calling out to you, boasting about how you can't just do something like that and run away, about how he's going to get you, that you can't run forever. And you know that you can't. You've tried for so long to escape your feelings, and this time it seems like you failed big time. And apparently so did he.

"Kou, wait no!-" Shrieks and giggles sound through the almost completely empty street once he catches up with you right in front of your apartment building. His hands wander all over your sides, your stomach, your neck- Once Bokuto ceases his tickling assault, there's nothing left but the sound of your quick breaths, chests heaving quickly while you both just stare at each other with adoration, longing, relief. So many emotions and neither of you is sure what to do with them.

"Shit, I think my heart's going to jump out of my chest." He admits with a sheepish chuckle, and grasps your hands as he guides it up to his chest. Your palm slides over the soft fabric, and then you feel it. It's beating so fast that you wonder whether it should worry you. "Can I-"

His words die on his tongue as the tiny little voice of reason inside his head tells him that it might be too early. Maybe it's neither the time nor the place, and another tinier voice in his head, called insecurity, tells him that you're just playing with him, that-

And for the second time that evening, you take his breath away when you mould your lips against his, ever so softly and gently as if you yourself were testing the waters and making sure that this is truly something you both mutually want. But his eagerness is proof enough. His tongue leaves a wet trail along your lower lip while his hands grip your waist tightly in a way that makes it seem as if he was scared that you'd slip through his hands and disappear forever into nothingness.

Only when your lungs start to burn with the lack of oxygen, you eventually part, still so out of breath yet maybe a little more maddly in love than before.

"So- babe, huh?" You tilt your head and speak so quietly as if you were telling him a secret. His fingers smooth down your hair, trying to tame the strands that have been messed up by the wind, and during his little attack.

"Oh, you have no idea." Bokuto rasps, his nose wrinkles the slightest bit as he shoots you a handsome grin before his lips find their way on yours again. He's finally got you, and he's sure to never let you go.

[skippingstonez]

in The Minish Cap at the beginning during the festival if you interact with a specific woman she says 'they say the Minish bring happiness...I wonder when they will bring me mine'

Inspired by that, can I request that you write something about Four comforting Reader or lifting their spirits?

So I uhh, think I may have gone a bit hard on this one cause oof the beginning...it's rough. That being said Four is very comforting so just know it gets better! (Also, I'm apologizing to Wars now for making him the 'bad guy')

Unexpected Happiness

(Four x Reader)

Warnings: Depressive thoughts, suicidal ideation (? I think that's the right term, correct me if I'm wrong)

There was a crack, then a cry as the ground gave way from underneath you. 

A moment of weightlessness before you collided into dirt and stone. Skidding down the walls of the dark tunnel before coming to an agonizingly sudden halt. The world spun around you, a high pitched ringing in your ears that pounded at the pressure in your head. You laid there, with what you could only hope was mud, seeping into the back of your tunic. Rocks and broken pieces of wood digging into your skin, adding to the overall discomfort that was your existence.

The worst part was how unsurprised you were. 

Even as your muscles ached, bruises forming deep beneath your skin and a warm liquid trickled down your leg. None of it compared to the numb void filling your being. 

Nothing had been going your way. 

From countless, sleepless nights that left you tired and unfocused. Regularly losing petty bets to Legend. Misplacing your bag of potions and fairies conveniently before getting attacked and injured by a lizalfos. Getting lost while exploring, falling ill, saying the wrong things or simply messing up in almost every way imaginable.

It seemed to all lead up to yesterday. When getting separated from the group led to an intense scolding by Wars, in front of everyone. It hadn't even been your fault. It's not like you controlled where the portals spat you or anyone else out. A fact you had kept to yourself in the onslaught of being told how irresponsible and foolish you were.

Day after day, after day you waited for things to turn around. Sure, some days were better than others but after so long you came to the simple conclusion that you must have done something. Something so awful that it put you straight on Hylia’s personal shit list.

You took shallow breaths, slowly assessing yourself beginning with your toes and moving upward to your knees. Then your fingers all the way up to your shoulders. Moving each joint and limb to determine its current functionality. By some miracle, nothing seemed broken. Though the intense stabbing around your hip suggested that something had lodged straight through your layers of clothes and made itself at home in your skin.

There was something, some noise beyond the ringing in your ears that your brain couldn't quite make out. It felt familiar, made you want to reach out to it.

You rolled onto your side instead, groaning in pain as you curled into yourself. You peeled open your eyes long enough to see the broken remains of the floorboards scattered around you. Each piece doubling, or tripling in numbers that all swirled around, making your brain hurt even more from the dizzying sensation. 

You shut your eyes, holding your head as if it would break into similar pieces. Coherent thoughts struggled to break through the thick fog that surrounded your brain. Survival instincts begged you to move, to reach for your bag, call out for help, something.

A warm wetness slid down the slope of your nose. It's small droplets disappearing onto the ground of mud and rocks.

A noise. A shout, you realized, rang out. Louder than before but still much too far away to make out what was being said.

Or maybe it was you who was too far gone. Your brain, perhaps now too damaged to comprehend simple sounds and words. Just another thing that had gone wrong. You ignored the sound, sniffling at the tears tickling the tip of your nose. Surely if you couldn't understand you wouldn't be able to respond so what was the point in trying?

Because you need help! 

True. With the amount of pain you were in, you would need help if you wanted to get out of here. 

But, 

Did you want out?

What was even waiting for you out there? More portals and monsters? More mistakes and misfortune that put you and those around you in jeopardy? More pain?

Your friends! Your friends are out there and there looking for you!

Were they? Wasn't it your ‘friend’ that had gotten angry at you? Everyone else had just stood there, listening to him tear into you. Was it because they agreed? Had they all realized how truly useless you were? This was their chance. An opportunity to be rid of you. To continue the journey without the constant worry of your mistakes.

They wouldn't! They-

“(Y/N)!!!”

The shouting from before continued, getting louder and clearer with each cry. It sounded so familiar, like you knew the voice yet couldn't recall who it belonged to.

“(Y/N) Please! Are you down there!?”

The voice echoed through the area. Concern dripping off every word as it continued to call out to you.

“Guys they're not answering! (Y/N)!?”

Your mouth opened, a small part of you wanting to reach out and answer. You laid there, unable, or maybe just unwilling to do so as your mouth snapped shut.

“Uugghhh it's too dark, I can't see anything! I'm gonna go down further, see if I can find them!”

You knew you should be thrilled at the prospect of help, but you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore. 

Getting rescued or simply being left stranded down here, it all felt the same to you. You were simply done trying. Content that whatever would happen was simply the way things were going to be.

You curled further into yourself, letting the numb fog continue to spread through you. Everything felt too tight, like your skin was constricting in on itself. A lump forming in your throat that suffocated even the quiet sound of your still too shallow breathing.

A small thud, followed by the sound of boots squishing in mud as a yellowish hue poked at your eyelids.

“(Y/N)! Guys I found them!”

Hands gently grabbed your shoulders, pulling you to lay on your back. Calloused fingers dancing over your face. Whoever it was took in a sharp breath. Maybe you were worse off than you initially thought if the person was recoiling at the sight of you.

“(Y/n) are you okay? Can you hear me?”

A face appeared in your mind at the sound of his voice beside you. Was that..that was Four, or at least you were fairly sure. Why did he sound so worried? 

Oh right, you fell through the floor.

“(Y/n)? Shit…okay focus Link…uhhh okay, breathing…thats gonna be a problem but…atleast everythings intact?”  You could only listen as he rambled to himself. Checking you over for any obvious injuries.

“Come on,” He pleaded, “why aren't you waking up? Wake up! Please wake up!” He chanted, repeatedly tapping the side of your face.

You were awake. You were painfully awake despite every part of your body wishing that you weren't. You just wanted it to all stop. To be left alone to whatever hell Hylia wanted to inflict on you.

“Damn it, where's that fairy? I swore I had one!” The hands left, likely looking through his bag for something to help you. 

It felt selfish to let him waste a fairy on someone who wasn’t even trying to save themself. Getting yourself to speak up however would be a battle within itself.

For Fours sake, you repeated to yourself as you pried your mouth. If you couldn't do it for yourself you could still try and do it for him. The lump in your throat felt like solid stone, letting only the faintest whisper escape.

“fo..four?”

“(Y/N)! Oh thank Hylia! Are you okay!?”

Damn that felt like such a loaded question right now.

Using all of your strength you cracked open your eyes. Four's face hovered above you, illuminated by the small lantern by his side. His eyes focused on yours, green and violet specks waiting for a reply.

The sight made your throat burn. Vision blurring as tears built up in the corners of your eyes. Four's hand found your face, thumb wiping away the few that slid out.

“Hey, it's gonna be alright. I'm right here okay? I’m gonna get ya out of here.”

“why…” 

Four tilted his head, “Cause I'm pretty sure you don't wanna spend the rest of your life in a cave?”

Lips beginning to quiver, tears poured down your face. “It doesn't matter what I want…”

“Woah,” he said gently “(y/n) what do you mean? Of course it matters”

You shook your head, the motion only aggravating the pain. “no, it doesn't. Everything I do just…I just make things worse!”

The lump in your throat cracked as words began pouring from your mouth. “Just go…I'm better off down here where I can't mess everything up. I mean, what's the point of trying if I can't even walk across a floor without messing it up somehow!?”

It was like your whole body shattered. The pain, the struggle, all of it came rushing out of you in a waterfall of tears. Your hands flew to your face, trying to pretend that you could still hide it all away. Pretend that Four wasn't here to witness yet another one of your failures.

“Wars was right…” you choked. “I'm just a screw up..”

Hands tugged at your wrists, pulling them away from your face. They pulled further, slowly helping you sit up until you rested against Four’s chest. His arms wrapped around you to hold you close as you cried. He put your head on his shoulder, letting your face fall into the dip of his neck. 

“(Y/n) I'm so sorry. I should have said something yesterday because nothing he said was true. None of it was your fault and he knows it. We ALL know that.”

There was a bite to his voice as sharp as his hold on you. His eyes were a shimmering mix of blue and green that reminded you of the ocean.

“The Captain is an ass and just let his worry get the best of him. You are NOT a screw up and ohhh when I get back up there the Captain better-” Four trailed off, mumbling off rather colorful words he would be having with Wars.

He inhales sharply, slowly releasing his breath as you cried into his shoulder.

“That aside, You're in pretty rough shape.” He whispered, “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Everything”

“Oookay not the best question” He huffed lightly. “The board in your hip doesn't seem too deep but we need to take care of it before it gets infected. Is there anywhere else that hurts more?”

“H-head…” 

“Mmmm…it might be a concussion if you hit your head hard enough which, given how far you fell is more than likely. A potion should still be able to help though along with anything else.”

You whined as your face was pulled from his neck, tears still flowing freely as you were laid back down. There was no real warning before Four pulled out the plank, leaving you shouting out in pain. Something smooth and cold pressed to your bottom lip, urging you to open your mouth. You loosely grabbed at the bottle, taking a few sips of the bitter liquid. Four pulled it away once satisfied you had drunk enough, then helped you sit back up to let you continue to rest against him. 

The pain dulled soon enough, leaving only the numb discomfort in its wake. Four held you close to him, his hand running up and down your arm soothingly. Your injuries may have healed but you were bone tired and still had no desire to move from where you still sat on the cold ground. The only warmth coming from the small lantern and Four's form wrapped around you.

“Have I ever told you about the Minish?”

You knew he was just trying to distract you but you went along with it. Giving a small shrug as your tears soaked into his tunic.

“The r-really tiny…mice like people?”

“Eehhh close enough. Anyway, they are really well known in my era. They actually played a big part in my first quest.”

You peeled your face away just enough to look up. His eyes shining a brilliant redish-purple as he continued on.

“Because they're so small though, most people haven't actually seen them. But they're known for bringing luck and happiness to everyone they do meet.”

“Is that true?” You asked quietly, wiping your sleeve over your face. “That they bring happiness?”

Four nodded, a hand coming up to run through your hair. “In a way. The Minish thrive off of bringing joy to those around them but they can be quite sneaky about it.”

You hid your face into his shoulder. Hopefully hiding the new swell of tears in your eyes.

“Oh…I, I dont think they exist in my era..”

“What makes you say that?”

You shrugged, trying to play off the tightening in your chest. “Cause if they do, why do I feel so miserable?”

Arms tightened around you with a deep sigh, letting his head rest on top of yours. “Do you wanna know what I think?”

You nodded.

“I think it's bullshit.”

Your head shot up, staring at him in confusion. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said but hear me out.” He grabbed onto your hands, holding them in his lap.

“What I said is true, the Minish love to help and bring joy to people when they can. But they don't magically just make you happy. Happiness is something you have to find for yourself. The Minish more or less guide you to it.”

Four paused, his eyes swirling between a mix of green and red as he bit his lip. Something he only does when he can't quite make up his mind.

“I..I think they led me to you.”

The admission took you by surprise. The concept that you could be someone's happiness felt so…bizarre. Regardless, the grief on your heart loosened. It was still there, laying heavy on your mind but you felt like you could finally breathe again. It was a small step, but it was a start.

“I know things have been hard on you lately but…by the Three (Y/n) you make me so inexplicably happy just by being you.”

His lips pressed against your forehead. It's warmth spreading across your face and up to the tips of your ears

You wincing slightly at the way your head spun and you didn't know if it was from the adrenaline or the concussion.

“We should probably get you out of here.” Four got to his feet, offering you his hand. “You ready?”

Part of you still said no. Not wanting to face the others and a potentially ‘worried’ Wars again. You took his hand anyway and slowly got to your feet, letting yourself finally look around at your surroundings for the first time since your crash landing.

From what you could see, the cave wasn't very big but it had been a much longer fall than you realized. The fact that you were even standing was a tender mercy. The small speck of light coming from above only noticeable from where it stood out against the dark, mossy covered walls.

“Shit…I think I hit my head harder than I even realized.” You chortled, swaying on your feet as Four helped steady you. “How did you even get down here?”

“Rancher’s hookshot” He said, casually showing off the borrowed item. He slipped it into his hand, raising it upwards before it shot up, latching onto whatever was awaiting at the top.

—------ 

Getting back up turned into its own ordeal. With your strength still gone, Four had carefully situated you on his back. His power bracelet activated to keep a firm grip on you just in case.

He took it slow, reeling the two of you up carefully. Every shake and stutter of the chain made him tighten his grip on you. Pausing for a moment before continuing the descent up. Once close enough, Time reached through the opening and pulled you up the rest of the way, Twilight doing the same for Four.

He waved off Twilight and Wind’s concerns, insisting that he was fine. Time and Wild crowded around you, taking it upon themselves to check and make sure you were alright while the others tried, and failed, to give you space.

Four didn't take his eyes off of Wars

He didn’t miss the way you kept eyeing the scarfed hero, as though awaiting yet another stern scolding. It took everything he had to keep Blue from tearing the man apart right there and then. The memory of your sobs and broken voice, agreeing to all the offhanded insults he had thrown at you only adding fuel to the fire that Green and Red were desperately trying to reason with.

The Captain did eventually step towards you and Four got straight to his feet, a hand planted firmly on Wars chest to keep him from getting any closer. To his credit, Wars didnt look angry. He genuinely looked concerned but Four wasn't about to take any chances with any of them saying the wrong thing. Not with how fragile he knew you really were at the moment. 

“A word. Captain.”

Wars cocked his head curiously but followed after Four silently until they were out of earshot.

“What do you need, Smithy?”

Four took a deep breath, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “The only thing you are going to say to them, is a fucking apology.” He spat, “And then you are going to leave them the hell alone for a bit.”

Wars eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Four what-”

“You weren't down there, Wars.” His own voice shook, holding back the own stinging at his eyes. “You didn't have to hear the way they cried or how they wanted to just be fucking left down there because of something you said!”

Wars was still for a while, taking in what Four had just told him. His gaze solely on the ground beneath his feet as he tried to compose the right words. “I'm sorry. You're right I shouldn't have yelled at them yesterday. I…I didn't think they would take it so..”

“I know you didn't mean it.” Four heaves deeply, trying to put a reign on his own feelings. “And it's not all your fault, it just was sort of a final straw for them with all the shit they've been getting lately.” 

Four took a few steps back, peeking around the corner where he could see Time still helping you get cleaned up.

“Just…you need to apologize to them. Not right now but…perhaps later tonight when this whole thing has calmed down a bit.”

Wars nodded, leaving Four to walk back to the group alone. He found a spot next to you, sitting down close enough to be within reach but not overwhelm you.

“Doing okay?”

You nodded, a faint smile as you looked at him to mouth a small “thank you”.

He scooted a bit closer, ignoring the glances of the younger heroes as you laid your head back onto his shoulder.

“Anytime. I’ll always be here for you.”

______

You are loved! So please take care of yourselves and reach out if you need help <3 If anything, know this author is rooting for you!

[0xstarzx0]

DARK RED

Rafe Cameron S3x Reader

CLOSE COMMAND

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: Rafe found you and he’s planning on keeping it with him forever.

TW: toxic behavior, manipulation, control manipulation, threats, violence mentions, victim’s reprimand. !The reader is considered a weak-minded person, which explains her behavior towards Rafe! Mention of abortion. Insult

______________________________________________- [PT2]

6YEARS LATERS 

You watched your sons play happily in the streets of Chicago. You no longer lived as a kook, but you were happy with your children.

Music echoed through the streets as the boys were with their friends while you sunbathed peacefully.

"Mom, look what I can do!" said Elijah, making animal shadows with his hands.

You laughed and applauded, Dean coming to sit next to you.

Dean and Elijah are twin brothers.

Dean physically resembles you a lot. His eyes are just a little lighter than yours and his hair is not as wavy as yours.

Elijah strongly resembles Rafe, with the same hair, eye color, complexion, smile, EVERYTHING.

But in terms of character, they are completely different. Elijah inherited your character, while Dean has Rafe's character.

They are too young for you to say which one reminds you more of Rafe, but either way, you do your best to make sure they don’t become like him.

"When is Harper coming?" asks Dean with hint of frustration in his sad expression.

"She's coming at six-" Dean cuts you off. "How late is she staying with us?" You shrug your shoulders.

Tonight, you're working as a waitress for a high-end event in the north side of Chicago. You don't know what time you'll be home as these events can go on sometimes until three in the morning.

"I don't know Dean, but I'll make sure to come home as soon as possible," you say, gently stroking his hair.

"You always say that, but you come back super late!" The little blond puts his head against your shoulder.

It pains you to hear that because it’s true; sometimes in order to make sure you can make ends meet, you find yourself working overtime.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Dean hugs you with his little arms. "I love you, mom." You stroke his back. "I love you too, baby."

✯

The event had been going on for over an hour now, and the floors in the luxurious hotel where you were at began to fill up.

You stood up straight and tried to be as pleasant as possible. The atmosphere is enjoyable for the guests.

Each of them flaunts their wealth or talks about business. You recall the parties of this kind you used to attend with your family.

None of them were missed by you, you greet a woman as she starts talking to you.

She's quite attractive, with her medium-length black hair and her brown almond-shaped eyes. She acts as if you were the best friends in the world.

However, she doesn't do anything except talk about her life, there’s no coherence in what she’s saying, but you say nothing.

You hope to get at least a tip of $150 at this point.

She looks away from your eyes for a moment to look over your shoulder and smile. She waves her hand, probably attracting someone.

You begin to turn around to leave when you freeze. Bad memories come back one by one to the surface. Your heart beats so loudly in your ears that you can no longer hear.

You apologize and head to the bar, setting down your tray and run to the bathrooms. Rafe was there, he was right in front of you.

He still looks as charismatic and threatening as before. You walk to the sink and splash some water on your face.

And if he had recognized me? Will he make me pay? Will he be angry that I've deprived him of his children for so long? No, impossible that he’s recognized me.

You lift your head and find yourself face to face with him in the mirror. A satisfied smile on his face. You swallow hard and look at him.

His blue eyes are still as beautiful as ever, his shaved hair gives him a charm.

"It's been a long time." He says, locking the door. He advances, and you back away.

He straightens his tie and looks at himself in the mirror. "How's my child?"

You freeze in fear, the stress is at its peak. "I had an abortion." You gasp for air. He chuckles and looks at you. "You ran away just to have an abortion?"

You look at him angrily. "What do you want Rafe?" You tremble and he finally looks at you. "I know my children are somewhere in the streets of Chicago. Judging by your appearance, they must be in the South Side."

"Fuck off, Rafe!" You yell at him in anger. Rafe comes closer and looks at you with anger. "There are people who have disappeared for less than that Y/N. I suggest you lower your damn tone."

Rafe leans forward and tilts his head slightly. "I missed you." He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You shudder at his touch.

"You broke my heart by leaving. How could you do this to me after everything I did for you." He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

There was a time when you would have apologized on your knees, but not anymore. "You were violentwith me."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "That happens in every relationship, it’s nothing serious." You look at him, shocked.

"How did you call them?" He asks, folding his arms across his chest. You furrow your brows. "What?..." he massages his temples. "The twins, what have you named them?" You tremble, how does he know?

"I don’t know what you mean." Rafe sighs loudly. "Do you really think I’m here by accident?" You frown, he takes out his phone and unlocks it.

He puts it on the sink, for the past five months he'd known where you live, your job, your friends, and most importantly, where his children were.

"I don’t blame you for leaving, Y/N, I’ve spent every day for the past six years thinking about you and the kids." He grabs your chin and forces you to look him in the eyes.

"I’m going to change, I promise, just give me one more chance to show you how I can be a good father for our kids." He caresses your cheek. "For our family."

You would like to scream at him, tell him to leave, but Rafe isn’t stupid. He knows that you won’t because you feel too guilty that the twins don’t have a father.

"Alright..." You say, looking into his eyes. "One and last chance." Rafe smiles and kisses your forehead. "Promise."

Rafe hugs you tightly and gently runs his fingers through your hair.

Rafe knew you were going to say yes, he was sure of it, and anyway, if you had refused, he would have made sure you wouldn’t be allowed near the children anymore.

Having money works that way.

Rafe knows it will take some time for you to no longer be afraid of him, but he will wait because that is what soulmates do. 

They always forgive their other half.

______________________________________________

Hello everyone!

And yes, after several months without news about this fan fiction, I finally write the end!

I'm sorry if the end hasn't pleased you, I don't like it too much either but I tried to do what I wanted the most. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask them to me in private or in request, I'll answer with pleasure <3

taglist 🏷️ :

@rafemotherfuckingcameron @macchili18 @devotedlyelectronicartisan @julesandro

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[babybearnation]

Alpha driver!male reader (i headcannon that you get ur first rut/heat at like 13ish till then you smell like milk) who while being an alpha most of his life (reader is around 27) has only had one rut and that was his first one, charles(omega) lando(omega) and oscar(alpha) are concerned when reader goes into a rut and he literally can't think in a staight line (like eyes blank and no thoughts, Except him moving his hips into a pillow) and is in alot of pain when not touching atleast two of them, they take reader to a doctor they give him something while there so he's atleast coherent for an hour which leads to him explaining to the doc that this is in fact his second ever rut he's had in his life, after the doc get the info he tell lestappiatri that they need to help him if they want him to survive since most similar cases don't make it even with two partners, it ends up with them having an entire 2 weeks where 2 of them are fucking helping reader and the other is taking a break or getting them all food whenis slightly more coherent and able to eat (though those times don't last long before reader's begging to fuck or be fucked)

🥺🥺🥺

–🍑

apologies in advance, i have a feeling this is gonna be bad

omega!charles leclerc x omega!lando norris x male!alpha!reader x alpha!oscar piastri

cw: suggestive

you'd presented as an alpha at the normal age but, unlike normal, that very first rut was the only you'd had for about ten years

you were dating two lovely omegas as well as a wonderful alpha, but because of how new your relationship was, it took a while for your three boyfriends to realise that you didn't have ruts

until you fall into your second rut ever and your boyfriends rapidly learn the truth

luckily, it was very shortly after all the drivers were given free time for the off-season so you weren't being a potential inconvenience

charles, oscar & lando aren't sure what to do, watching you rut blank-eyed and mindless into a pillow over and over in a way that make oscar's unswelled knot twitch in pain

you always hissed when left with one or none of them in the room with you, so they took turns leaving to get things for you

after speaking to and arranging for a doctor to come over, charles tries to offer his body to you but you couldn't move to do anything about it and ultimately, charles backed off

the doctor comes over and gives you something to clear your rut for a small period of time

he asks you questions and charles, lando & oscar are horrified to discover that this was only your second rut

in an almost nightmarish situation, the doctor told you that you would need all three of your boyfriends help to have even a chance of avoiding falling really sick once your rut faded

the doctor prescribes you a rut-supporting medication before leaving, clearly aware that the momentary rut-supressing meds are about to wear off in only a handful of minutes

charles, lando & oscar aren't sure what's going to happen to you now but they take the remaining minutes of you being aware to get you to drink some water and eat a few slices of toast, concern evident in their voices and gazes

once the meds had fully worn off, however, you were insatiable all over again, falling back against the sheets and touching yourself over and over until lando nudged your hand away and sunk down on your cock himself, providing you that sweet, sweet relief you needed

charles leaned forward and kissed you, guiding your fingers to his slick hole, hoping it would help as well

oscar decides to play with your chest, wanting to be involved but not entirely sure what else he could do to bring you pleasure

neither of them were sure how long this would go on for but they were willing to get through it all with you because they loved you and couldn't understand how horrifying a situation like this must be to experience

and get through it they did because, before long, your rut finally passed and you were a coherent, yet very apologetic, alpha once more

your three boyfriends were instantly comforting you, promising that it was okay and hopefully, with the new medication, you'd fall into a steady rut rhythm

and you did! the medication timed your rut with lando's heat, that way you never went into it during the f1 on season

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[sweetbans29]

Friendship Bracelets - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: After getting out of a 2-year relationship, your friends encourage you to get back in the game by putting your phone number on some friendship bracelets for the Taylor Swift concert. You decided to make just one and that one ended up on the one and only Caitlin Clark.

Warnings: Swifties lol, this is like a major cliche but I do not care I am also going to change the order of the setlist to make this fic work better please don't come after me, cheating (not involving Caitlin)

Word Count: 2.3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: This is nothing other than a figment of my imagination.

2 years. 2 years down the drain. 2 years you gave to this guy only to be left heartbroken and angry.

It had been two weeks since you found out your long-term boyfriend had been cheating on you. Something was off with the two of you for a few months before you found out but when you did it all clicked. That was no excuse for what he did, it honestly only made you hate yourself for not ending it when things started to change.

When you found out, you left quietly.

He was expecting you to lash out and make a scene. He expected you to break things and hit him and show all signs of what he did had an effect on you, at least any sign that you were affected. You gave him none of that.

When you found out - you packed up your things while he was at work and left without as much as a note. He tried calling and texting you for the better part of a week before you finally decided to meet with him.

The two of you sat down at a local diner. You barely looked at him as he tried to come up with any sort of excuse. It was miserable. when you were done sitting there watching him struggle, you finally spoke.

"I don't want to hear any of it. All I want is an apology and I will be going my own way. That is the least you can do for throwing away the last five years," you say making direct eye contact with him now.

He sits there, speechless. He tries to find words and you sit there watching him try to form an apology. Before he can form any coherent response, you get up and walk out not wanting to give the man in front of you any more time.

The next week was a rough one for you. You were incredibly thankful that you have a solid group of friends who have been nothing but supportive. They watched over you like a hawk, making sure you were always with someone and were kept busy.

That leads you to sitting at your friend's kitchen table, listening to Tayor Swift, snacking on some Chick-fil-A all while making friendship bracelets for the concert you guys will be going to in a few days.

You are focused on getting the beads threaded on the string in front of you when your friend hits your elbow causing you to spill all the beads you just put on.

"Cas! I was just about to finish this one," you say frustrated as you are on bracelet 20. Your friends told you you had to make 50 before you could even think about leaving the table. You gather the beads you were just using and begin to start making it again.

"I'm sorry!" She says as she grabs a nugget. One of your other friends chimes in after looking at your pile of bracelets.

"You know, it might not be the worst idea to put your number on some of those bracelets." She says as if you didn't just get out of a long-term relationship. You just give her a look.

"This could be good!" Another one of your friends yells as she points at you. "You will be in a stadium full of girls, singing their heart out to Taylor Swift - it has been a minute since you've been on the fun side." She says referring to your last relationship being Jacob, before him, you were dating a girl and were so much freer.

"Guys, it has literally been 2 weeks. It hasn't even been a month since I have been single. Let a girl heal," you say getting annoyed at your friends.

"Come on, it doesn't have to be serious. This could be a good distraction for you!" One friend says. Another pitches in, "Ya! That's actually a good idea, just something fun, a little distraction!"

"I am not going to put my number on a beaded bracelet," you say. "That seems desperate and I am not desperate, I am healing," You whisper the last part.

"Come on, just a few." You are now being passed the number beads. You make no move to grab them.

You know your friends mean well but this was a little much. They were lucky you were even going - the thought of going to a TSwift concert right after a breakup is daunting.

"No." Is all you say.

"Yes, you are going to make a few, you don't have to give them out if you don't want but if you make them then at least you have the option." One of your friends says.

"Fine, I will make ONE that has my number," you say so they would all shut up. "But I have no plans of handing it out."

The rest of the night is spent finishing up the bracelets. You made so many bracelets, you felt like your fingers were going to fall off.

The day of the concert is pure chaos. Your friends wanted to get there like 10 hours early to get in line for merch and make sure you have plenty of time to take photos. You follow along with your friends, letting them do whatever they want before the concert starts. YOu are a Taylor fan, but not nearly as much as they are.

Once you all make your way to your seats you are on the end of your group of friends. The group of girls next to you is already sitting. You take a seat next to a girl in a light sage dress. You say a quick hello as you get yourself situated.

Part of your group decides to go grab drinks and snacks while you opt to stay and watch over everyone's stuff. You tell them to grab you a drink and whatever looks good.

You sit there looking around at all the girls wearing their Taylor themes outfits and getting to have the time of their lives. Meanwhile, you are just trying to survive the night.

"Hey, I dropped my chapstick, would you mind grabbing it?" The girl next to you says.

"Ya, no problem," you say and lean down and grab the little stick that made its way under your legs. You pass it to the girl next to you who you notice is now alone. "You're friends also head to get snacks?"

"Restroom," she says with a little laugh. "Yours go to get snacks?"

You nodd also letting out a little laugh. "Can't leave the stuff alone."

You introduce yourself as you are about to be screaming song lyrics right next to this girl all night.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Caitlin," she says.

The two of you enter into some small talk and learn you both attend the same school. It is big enough that it doesn't surprise you that you haven't seen each other before. What once started as small talk, turns into talking life. She tells you how there are some big decisions that she is going to have to make coming up - she keeps it pretty vague but mentions it has to do with her career. You mention your recent breakup and how you the guy cheated. Her hand comes to yours as she apologizes that you had to go through that. You give her a small smile and tell her it was for the better.

She sat there listening to the most beautiful girl in the world talk about how someone treated you like trash. All she wanted to do was hold you and show you what love really is. It seems cliche that she is having all these thoughts at concert with a girl she just met but they way you talked about life had her thinking anything is possible.

The conversation continues as you talk about growing up and how you both chose to go to Iowa for school. You learn she plays basketball and you tell her you dance. She slides the comment of how you should come to one of her games. Of course, you say yes, not thinking anything of it.

Both of your groups of friends get back around the same time and you both turn back to conversations with them.

When the concert starts you get mesmerized by the performance. Everyone is standing and singing along to all of the songs.

The first time you cry is when Taylor sings The Archer. You try to hide it to the best of your ability. Your friends are too into the concert to notice which you are thankful for but as your arms wrap around yourself to provide any sort of comfort, you feel a hand come up and give your arm a little squeeze. You look over to see Caitlin's hand on your arm, rubbing it with her thumb. The part of you that once felt so empty, is now a little fuller.

Neither of you say anything about the little moment. You both just continue to enjoy the concert.

It is during Cruel Summer that you are back screaming at the top of your lungs. When Taylor gets to the bridge you grab Caitlin's hand and use it as a microphone, pretending you are on stage. She just laughs at you and takes in the sight of you living your best life. At the end of the song you pull her in so you can say something.

"I would apologize but I am not sorry at all," you say with a laugh. She leans over to your ear.

"Please never even think about apologizing for that," is what she says with a little wink. You just look at her and shake your head with a smile.

The night continues with you singing with your friends, both the ones you came with and the new ones you met at the concert.

The next time you cry is during Tolerate It, your friend that you came with brings you into her side and just holds you. While she is holding you, you feel a hand come and take yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze while rubbing her thumb against your skin.

You don't know what it is about the girl but her comfort is one that you haven't felt in a while. It is peaceful, not forced. She brings a calmness to you and you haven't known her for more than 2 hours. Anyone else would be mortified with your sea of emotions - going from screaming at the top of your lungs to sobbing about your cheating ex-boyfriend but not her. She has embraced it all and continues to embrace it.

It is during You Belong With Me that you notice she is looking at you more than usual. You decide to sing it with her and turn to her during one of the verses. By the time the chorus comes around, she is singing it right to you. You sing along trying to not let the words of the song cut too deep.

She is the one to grab your hand during this song and belt out the words to the bridge. You just watch her in awe, seeing her let loose for what you feel like the first time this evening.

At the end of the song, you put your hand on her shoulder to help steady yourself as you reach up to whisper in her ear, "That was adorable, carefree looks good on you."

She leans back down to you, "You make it easy."

The rest of the night is filled with singing your heart out and making little comments here and there to the girl next to you.

One of Taylor's final songs is one that you have been waiting to hear all night, Enchanted. She does a beautiful acoustic version that has you whispering it along with her. You don't know when it happens but Caitlin takes hold of your arm and turns you to face her. Caitlin is now singing with you (to you). You can't take your eyes off of hers as her hand doesn't leave you. Caitlin, in nothing above a whisper, is singing the bridge of the song hoping that you know she is not just singing the song but means every word.

"Please don't be in love with someone else, please don't have somebody waiting on you." She sings looking right into your eyes.

Who in the world would have imagined this, a beautiful girl singing Taylor songs to you at a Taylor concert. Picking up the pieces of your heart all while only knowing you for less than a day.

When the song comes to an end, you don't know what overcomes you but you bring your hand up to her cheek and just stroke her cheek with your thumb. You then bend down and grab your bag, looking for something that you buried it in before the concert.

You find what you are looking for and give it one look before grabbing Caitlin's wrist and putting the bracelet on her. She gives you a slightly confused look, not understanding why you pulled the bracelet out of the bag and didn't take it off your wrist like you had with all the other girls around you.

You give a nod down for her to look at it and she does. When she sees the bracelet you gave her contains 10 digits on it, she instantly smiles.

The concert comes to an end and everyone begins clearing the stadium. You say goodbye to your new friends, making sure Caitlin is the last of them.

When saying bye, you bring her into a hug.

"I am not ready to jump into anything, but you are truly incredible and I would love to get to know you more. I only made one of those bracelets and wasn't planning on handing it out but you are something special." You say and begin to release her. She doesn't let go of you but rather squeezes you tighter.

"You are worth waiting for," she says, and your heart rate increases. "I will take it as slow as you need.'"

She releases you and you just smile at her.

This night marks a new beginning, one that you can't want to dive into.

AN: Yes, there will eventually be a part two. No, I do not know when. But I promise it will come. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

[moonrisecoeur]

SUB LEON THOUGHTS YA SAY? can't stop thinking abt overstim with him. just making him cry pretty tears yet he doesn't complain or ask you to stop bc he loves being used and touched by you. poor silly puppy

first off HI BESTIE THANK U FOR SENDING THIS >.<

secondly, awwhhh he’s so cute though, just imagining him getting overstimmed… think i’m feeling re4 leon for this one ^-^

he’s all stoic most of the time right? he’s a little softer around you, but most of the time he’s cool and composed, he can control himself. at least he thinks he can.

i think leon would just really like to be used like this because like he doesn’t have to do anything but just sit there and take it. there’s no mission he can possibly mess up or someone to be disappointed in him. all he has to do to be good for you is writhe and whimper like he already does so well!!

“p-please, baby, i- fuck- know i can’t handle it—”

“oh i know you can, sweet thing,” you mutter to him, enjoying the way his body trembles, knowing the power you had over him in this moment.

he’s just so lost in that submissive headspace, it’s so pretty to watch. he can’t put any coherent thoughts together, he can barely open his eyes to see you, his sweet lover. he can’t see properly, it’s all blurry from the tears in his eyes.

he heaves and hiccups through his sobs as you shush him, comfort him when he’s this mentally out of it, “shh, darling, it’s okay. let it out. know you need to cry, it’s okay. let me see your pretty face covered in tears, see your pretty eyes all wet.”

he gasps, crying out that he’s gonna cum again. you haven’t been counting but you can judge by the fact that he looks like he’s on the brink of passing out that he’s had enough.

…but then again, leon has told you before he’s okay with you pushing his boundaries, pushing him further and further. he likes it when you both know he can’t handle any more, and you still force his body to take it.

so you continue, but watchfully look for any signs that you need to stop. you find none, “good boy, taking your orgasms so well.”

he doesn’t respond, too fucked out.

“don’t even have it in you to respond to me? that’s not very polite of you, baby.”

this wakes him up, brings him back to reality. he tries so damn hard to say something, anything, and nothing comes to his mind, so he ends up babbling his apologies, crying for you forgive him.

“it’s okay, sweetheart. know you’re going through a lot right now,” you’d giggle, and his heart still leaps when he hears that sound, “how about you give me one more? you think you can do it?”

he shakes his head, no, god no, i’m literally going to black out, he thinks to himself. up to you if you force him to take one more, or show mercy. 🫶

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pendulum

Chapter WC: 11,047

Chapter Tags/Warnings: author does not understand the Force and is doing whatever the hell she wants (threatening), angst

A/N: There are so many things I could say about this chapter but none will adequately capture the process I went through to get this out of my head and onto the page. I apologize in advance for the heavy handed use of metaphor. And for the everything else.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

You wake to the sound of birds and a bright stream of sunlight shimmering through your window, and you immediately roll over and shut your eyes. You've only slept for a handful of hours, and the idea of waking up is almost too much to bear. But the sunlight continues to shine through the blinds, and the birds continue to sing, and the more you try to ignore it, the more awake you become.

With a resigned sigh, you force yourself to sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist. The movement causes the room to spin, and you blink hard, waiting for the sensation to pass. When the world finally settles, you look around the room and find the bottle of water and the pills on the bedside table.

You swallow the medicine and gulp down the water, and once the pain has faded and the nausea has passed, you push the covers aside and get to your feet. It’s not the worst hangover you’ve ever had, but it is the worst one you’ve had in months, and the thought alone is exhausting. You're not even sure how you made it back to the Temple from the barracks without falling over.

Your usual morning routine takes longer than usual, but by the time you step out of the refresher and dress, the fog has lifted from your brain. Once you’re presentable, you grab your comm link and check for messages, and you smile to yourself when you see the few you and Rex had exchanged last night.

You: Made it back to the Temple. We only stopped to vomit once.

Rex: Thanks for letting me know. Rex: We?

You: Booker. He’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.

Rex: [Image attached] Rex: Echo too. Rex: He says hi, by the way.

You: I’m impressed he’s still coherent.

Rex: That’s why I made him ARC trooper.

You’d fallen asleep after that, and now, in the light of day, you can't help but feel a little silly. The conversation was short, and yet, it had left you smiling, and the warm, tingly feeling in your chest is back.

It's strange, the difference a single day can make. Yesterday, you were determined to distance yourself from him, to forget your feelings and put a stop to the budding romance before it could start. Now though, all of those feelings are back, and they're stronger than ever. 

The mere thought of Rex sends your pulse racing. And the idea of him loving you in return, of a relationship or a future together, is almost too good to be true. You have no doubt that the reality is much less pleasant, and that the situation is far more complicated, but the hope inside of you refuses to go away.

A small voice in the back of your mind tells you to stop this, to not risk it. But the other voices, the ones that want Rex, and love him, and crave a relationship with him, are louder. And right now, the voices telling you to move forward are the ones you're listening to.

But as much as you want to run off and find Rex, to talk to him and sort this out, you need time to think. There are too many questions and too many uncertainties, and the last thing you want is to make things worse. And there's always one thing that helps you think.

You: Still up to spar this morning?

Booker: can’t Booker: dead

You roll your eyes and type a reply.

You: You promised.

The minutes tick by, and the three dots appear, disappear, and reappear, before finally disappearing altogether. When the screen remains blank, you sigh and shove the comm link into your pocket. Looks like you'll be finding something else to occupy your time.

The halls of the Temple are quiet when you step out of your room. The early hour and the weekend mean that the place is deserted, and you make your way to the training room with only a handful of encounters. A couple of younglings are in the hall outside the library, their eyes wide as they watch you walk by. You give them a small wave, and they bow their heads and scurry away, their voices fading down the corridor.

When you reach the training room, you're surprised to find it just as silent as the rest of the Temple. It feels strange, wrong even, to be here and not have the place buzzing with activity. Even the lights seem dimmer than usual, the sunbeams streaming through the windows a poor substitute for the usual overhead lamps.

You used to crave the silence, doing everything you could to avoid the bustle and noise, but the quiet is uncomfortable now. After so many months at war, surrounded by people and chaos, the emptiness seems strange. Almost lonely.

You shake your head and step further inside, and a quick scan of the usual spots tells you that the training room is, in fact, completely empty. There are no signs of life, no indication that anyone has been here today, or will be for a while. Just you, the dust, and the silence, the tidiness a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the last battle.

The last battle. You glance down at your hands, your eyes tracing the scars on your palms. The memory of the power that coursed through you, the heat and the energy, makes your fingertips tingle.

You don't understand what happened. This thing inside you doesn’t seem to want to leave, no matter how much you want it to, no matter how much meditation or positivity or mindfulness you try. 

You’d foolishly thought it would fade after your conversation with Rex on the Resolute, that coming to terms with your emotions and your past would help you. And for a while, it had seemed to. You'd been calmer, more at peace, and the anger had seemed easier to manage. But the last battle, the sight of your men in danger, had caused it to come back in full force.

Maybe it will never go away. Maybe this thing will stay with you forever, no matter how hard you try to suppress it. Maybe it's who you are now. A Jedi with a temper, a warrior with a short fuse, a general with an unsteady hand. A person with too much anger, too much sadness, too much of everything.

It's not a comforting thought.

The last time you were here, you’d sparred with Obi-Wan. You held your blade to his chest and nearly killed him. And he forgave you, because that's what Obi-Wan does. But neither of you had ever forgotten how close you came to falling. How easy it would've been for you to snap and lose control.

How easy it still could be.

The memory makes your chest tighten, and you press a hand against your sternum and force yourself to inhale. You didn’t do it, you remind yourself, and you didn’t kill Dooku as Obi-Wan had feared you would. You didn't chase after him and try to strike him down, or fall prey to his false promises.

Instead, you'd turned your back on him and left.

A small part of you regrets the decision, but the larger, more rational part knows it was the right choice. It's what a Jedi would do. And as much as you don't feel like it sometimes, you are a Jedi. A Jedi Master. You made a commitment to the Order, to the Force, and to the galaxy. And you can't give up on that just because the anger is hard. Because the pain is too much. Because the memories are too raw.

You can't lose control.

With a sigh, you make your way towards the center of the room. You don't bother grabbing a weapon, and you don't bother stretching, either. You hold out your hands, palms out, and take a deep breath.

Dooku said he could teach you how to control the Force, to master the rage and the pain inside you. You’re not sure if he was lying, if it was simply an attempt to trick you or rile you, or if there is a truth to his words. Regardless, his offer weighs heavily on your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to shake it. 

You’d rather die than be his apprentice, his anything, but...you'd be a fool not to consider his words. Not to at least entertain the possibility of learning how to control the darkness within you. To turn it into something useful, or at the very least, make it bearable.

Obi-Wan would say no. That much is certain. He'd say that the anger and the rage aren't worth it, that you can't learn how to use the Dark Side without becoming a monster. And he's right. But that doesn't change the fact that Dooku was right, too.

This rage is a part of you. A part that can't, and won't, go away. The question isn't if it will come back, but how often, and how strong. How far will you go, and what will it take for you to stop? Will the next time be the time that you cross the line and fall into the darkness, or will it be the time after that, or the time after that? When will it finally become too much, and what will you lose in the process?

Rex can't be the reason you stop. Or the cause of your downfall. You can't drag him into the middle of this, can't force him to be the person who stops you from going too far. He can't be the person who pulls you back, or the person who holds the leash, or the person who saves you. Because you know he would, no matter the cost. You can't let that happen. He deserves better.

And so, you'll have to figure this out on your own. Somehow. Some way.

You close your eyes and inhale slowly. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Your shoulders drop, the tightness in your jaw and the ache in your spine easing slightly.

You need to learn how to control the rage. You can't keep living like this, and you can't keep putting those around you at risk. And if you can learn how to use it, if you can use the anger to your advantage, well...the benefits could be limitless. 

The things you could do. The battles you could win. The Separatists would have no chance. Countless lives would be saved. And no more of your men, your friends would die. Rex would be safe. He'd live.

He deserves to live.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Your shoulders drop, and the weight on your chest fades slightly. The darkness in your mind, the pain and the fear, eases, and you feel yourself slip deeper into the Force. It’s a whisper of a song, a melody just out of reach, and the closer you focus on it, the clearer it becomes. It wraps around you, enveloping you in its warmth, and for a moment, everything is calm. Everything is peaceful.

Yaddle had always taught you to be the current, the wind, the water. To follow the pull of the Force and let it guide you. She told you to flow, to dance, to let go. 

And yet, there are times that the pull is stronger than the current, the need greater than the need to let go. Those are the times you need to fight, to claw, to hold onto the threads with every fiber of your being. The times that the only option is to bend, or break.

Those are the times you need to win.

The muted hum of the Force grows louder, the vibration becoming a song you’ve heard a thousand times before. But there’s a discordant note in the melody, a sharp edge that hadn't been there before. The longer you listen, the more pronounced the discord becomes, and the harder you have to strain to hear the music beneath it.

It doesn’t feel like a gentle breeze or a quiet river. Instead, it feels like a torrent of water, a wave ready to crash down on unsuspecting ships. Like the moment of silence between the lightning and the thunder, the anticipation heavy enough to make the air tremble.

This is not the Force you know.

This is something else entirely.

And so, you don't let go. You grasp the threads and pull, tugging and yanking and ripping until the current changes direction, the waves rising higher and higher. Until the Force is yours, the power filling your veins, and the rage is under your control. 

You need to break free of it. You need to tear the power apart, destroy the thread and shatter the current, and find the other side. And once you do, once you have control, you can turn it into something more. Something stronger. Something that doesn't hurt.

You hold the darkness in your hands, and for a moment, you can feel the lightness. You can feel the power, the potential, the possibilities. And with a single thought, a single spark, you could have it all.

This is what it's supposed to feel like.

It's the feeling of the first bite of food after days without eating. Of the first drink of water after wandering the desert. Of the first kiss after a lifetime of loneliness.

It's a feeling of rightness, of certainty, of power.

It's a feeling that terrifies you.

Your eyes fly open, and the training room disappears.

Instead, you’re standing in the courtyard in front of the Great Tree, the sunlight shimmering through the golden leaves. You close your eyes and breathe in, the scent of the flowers surrounding you, the air cool and sweet. You can hear the birds singing, the distant hum of traffic, and the soft murmur of conversation. And behind it all, the low buzzing of the Force. It's a familiar melody, a calming song, and you let the tune wrap around you, soothing and soft.

You watch as a leaf floats down from the Great Tree, drifting lazily through the air until it hovers right in front of your nose. You grab for it, but it floats just out of reach, and you let out a frustrated sigh and reach again.

"Come on," you huff, your arm stretching out. "Stay still."

It moves faster than you expect, dancing through the air, and no matter how hard you chase it, you can't quite manage to catch it. You move forward, your steps clumsy and awkward, and you can hear Yaddle laughing.

"Be the leaf," she instructs. "Feel the currents and the breeze. Be the leaf."

"I am," you groan. You stumble and nearly trip over a root, your fingers missing the leaf by a fraction. You growl and chase after it. "It's not fair. You're cheating."

The accusation only seems to amuse her more. You glare at her and chase after the leaf again, and again, and again. It floats just out of reach, hovering in front of you before moving higher and further until finally, it's lost in the branches.

You stop running and look down at Master Yaddle, pouting, and she lets out another laugh. She shakes her head and holds out a hand, and the leaf returns, fluttering down and landing gently in her palm.

"You will catch it," she tells you. She moves closer, and you instinctively kneel to meet her eyes. Her small, three-clawed hand rests on your shoulder, the touch warm and comforting, and the gesture is enough to make the pout fade.

"When?" you ask, and she tilts her head, her expression thoughtful.

"When the time is right," she answers.

She holds out her hand and the leaf floats from her palm into yours. You watch it spin and dance, the sunlight glinting off its edges, and the sight is breathtaking.

"But I'm ready now," you protest. "I can catch it now. I know I can."

Yaddle closes your fingers around the leaf, squeezing gently before letting go. Her hand rests against your cheek, her eyes soft and full of warmth, and she smiles.

"Not yet," she tells you, her voice quiet. She pats your cheek, and the wrinkles deepen around her mouth as she grins encouragingly. "One day, my Padawan, but not yet."

You get to your feet and look down at the leaf, and with a deep breath, you let it go. The breeze catches it, and it spins and dances through the air, disappearing into the branches of the tree. The world seems to shift underneath your feet, the sun becoming brighter and the sky bluer.

You blink and look around the courtyard, but Yaddle is nowhere to be seen. You turn in a circle, searching, but there's nothing but the flowers and the trees and the grass. It's just you, alone.

"Master?" you call out, your voice echoing through the courtyard. "Master, where are you?"

The birds sing their songs, the breeze rustles the leaves, and the sunlight shines through the branches. The world is bright and vibrant, but the longer you stand there, the more you feel the emptiness around you.

You're not sure how long you wait, or how many times you call her name before you hear her.

"I am here," she says quietly. "I am always here."

Her voice comes from somewhere behind you, and you whirl around, searching desperately for the source. But the clearing remains empty.

"Where are you?" you ask. Your eyes scan the flowers and the leaves, the ground and the sky, but there's nothing.

"I am everywhere," she tells you. Her voice is soft and gentle, the words almost a whisper. "I am with you."

A sudden breeze blows through the clearing, the wind causing the trees to sway and the flowers to ripple. The shadows seem deeper than they were before, the light dimmer, and a shiver runs down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself to ward away the chill, and the warmth seems to seep from your bones, the cold settling deep inside.

"I'm afraid," you confess, the words tumbling out. "I don't want to lose control. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to go too far."

There's a pause, the silence thick and heavy, and the fear builds inside you, threatening to choke you.

"What do I do?" you plead. Your hands are clenched into fists, the knuckles white, and the trembling intensifies. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not again. Please. I can't...I can't hurt them."

Your voice cracks on the last word, the plea breaking into a sob, and the tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest tightens, and a choked gasp escapes your throat. You can feel the darkness clawing at the back of your mind, the rage and the fear swirling together.

In front of you, a leaf falls. It drifts to the ground, landing at your feet, and you stare at it, unable to move. The golden surface seems almost iridescent, the edges sharp and glittering, and the longer you look at it, the more the darkness seems to creep in.

You force yourself to look away, back up to the Great Tree. You watch as another leaf falls, then another and another, the leaves spinning and dancing, until a shower of them is raining down. They fill the clearing, covering the flowers and the grass, and the sight is so beautiful that it's almost painful. 

Your hand reaches out to try to grasp the nearest leaf, but the current is too strong. Your fingers slip past the surface, passing through it as if it was made of smoke, and you pull back with a frustrated cry.

"Master Yaddle!"

You're not sure where she is, or how to reach her, but the desperation inside you is overwhelming. You spin in a circle, the panic rising, the world seeming to tilt beneath your feet.

"Master, please!" you beg. "I don't understand! What do I do?"

The world seems to shift around you, the colors fading, the darkness creeping in, and you watch helplessly as the leaves are swept away. The flowers wilt and shrivel, the grass turns brown, and the tree is nothing but a skeleton, the branches bare and brittle. The darkness surrounds you, enveloping you, and the weight of the despair is almost unbearable.

You close your eyes, hoping to block it out, but the vision remains, the darkness filling your mind. You can feel the tears rolling down your cheeks, and a sob escapes your throat.

And through it all, the words echo.

"I am always here."

The darkness seems to shift and twist, the shadows turning into something else. You open your eyes, blinking against the sting, and the world has changed. The courtyard has vanished, and in its place is a crumbling cityscape, the buildings reduced to rubble and the streets littered with bodies. The air is filled with smoke and ash, and the screams of the dying fill the air.

A battle. You're in the middle of a battle.

And above you, a shadow looms.

You look up, and a choked cry escapes your throat. Streaking across the sky like shooting stars are hundreds of missiles. Their paths arc towards the planet, each one leaving a trail of destruction and chaos behind it. The sight is almost impossible to comprehend, the sheer volume of firepower sending a wave of nausea through you.

You close your eyes and press a hand against your mouth, trying to keep from vomiting. When the sensation passes, you take a shaky breath and force yourself to look up again. The missiles are still coming, still falling, and the realization that there's nothing you can do hits you with an almost physical force.

This is beyond you. This is beyond anyone.

Fire falls from the sky, each impact sending shockwaves through the air. The ground trembles, and the buildings shake, and the screams become louder and louder until they're all you can hear. The pain is everywhere, the agony so intense that it threatens to overwhelm you. You can feel it inside you, in every fiber of your being, and you can't imagine the pain it must be for everyone else.

You can't imagine the agony.

There are hundreds of voices in your head, a cacophony of pain and despair, and the emotions are so raw, so visceral, that it's a struggle to even stay standing. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel the suffering of the dying. It's a feeling so deep and so painful that it threatens to consume you, and the only thing keeping you from drowning is the thought of what will happen if you give in.

The thought of what will happen if you lose.

You look down and watch as cracks appear in the ground, fissures spreading outward in every direction, toppling buildings and swallowing people whole. The planet seems to tremble beneath your feet, the very core shuddering and shaking. You can feel the tremors vibrating through your bones, a pain that threatens to split you in half.

And underneath the sound of the screams, you can hear a voice calling your name.

It's a familiar voice, and it fills you with a sense of comfort that's staggering. But there's something else. Something that seems to pull at you, a tug on the edges of your awareness.

"Come home."

The words echo through the destruction, and the pull becomes stronger, more insistent. You can feel it inside you, a yearning so powerful that it's almost a physical pain. The pull seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, the voice wrapping around you and whispering in your ear.

It's a voice you recognize. A voice you love. A voice you trust.

"Please," the voice begs. "Please, come home."

The pull is irresistible, and before you can stop yourself, you give in. You follow the voice, allowing it to drag you down and down and down, until the world around you changes.

The pain and the anguish fade, the screams quieting and the cries silenced. You can feel the heat of the missiles against your skin, the flames and the ash burning and choking you, but the sensation is muted. It's as if you're watching the battle from far away, removed and distant, and the only thing that matters is the voice calling your name.

The voice begging you to come home.

"Rex," you whisper. The name is barely audible, the word more a sigh than anything else, but it's a relief. He's here. You're not alone.

The pain of the battle, the devastation and destruction, seems to lessen. The world falls away until all that's left is the two of you. An endless void stretches out in every direction, and the only things that exist are his voice and the pull inside you.

The voice becomes a face, the words a body, and Rex appears before you. He's standing in the middle of the darkness, the only solid thing in the void, and the sight is like a breath of fresh air. But the look of desperation on his face is terrifying. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and the agony on his face nearly brings you to your knees.

"Come home," he begs. His voice breaks, the words raw and hoarse. "Please, come home."

He reaches out to you, his hand trembling, and his fingers brushing your cheek. The warmth of his touch seems to burn, the sensation so overwhelming that it's almost unbearable. But it's the look on his face that hurts the most.

"Please," he whispers.

He's not real. He can't be real. But the pain on his face is real. The agony in his eyes is real. And the way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the world, is real.

The voice and the pull and the need. It's all real.

This isn't a dream. This isn't a nightmare. It's something else. Something worse.

You can't bring yourself to move, can't bring yourself to speak, can't bring yourself to do anything but stand there. You know instantly that this isn’t a man burdened by the loss of a battle or the pain of a war. This isn’t a man grieving a friend, or a brother, or a comrade.

This is a man who has lost everything.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and the breath leaves your lungs.

He's in pain, and it's your fault.

Rex's shoulders sag, and his eyes fall shut. His fingers trail along your jaw as his hand drops, and he lets out a shuddering breath. Another tear rolls down his cheek before he forces his eyes open to meet yours.

You feel it the moment his heart breaks.

It's as if a knife has been driven into your chest. The pain is sharp and intense, the ache so deep that it's a struggle to draw a breath. The agony is like a living thing, a monster clawing its way through your ribcage and tearing at your heart. The world seems to blur and darken, and the only thing that's real is the agony.

It's an agony that has no end. It's a torment without reprieve. It's a torture without mercy.

And it's all because of you.

You want to scream, to cry, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness. But you can't do any of those things. Because the look on his face tells you that he already knows.

Rex's hand shakes as he lifts his blaster, and the weapon seems to hover between you, aimed directly at your chest.

"Please," he whispers again.

The single word holds a lifetime of pain. His eyes meet yours, and you see the resolve there, the acceptance. The determination. And despite the sorrow and the despair, you can see the love in his gaze. The love that he's been trying to hide for months, the love that has grown despite his best efforts.

And it's the love that will kill you.

Rex loves you, and he's willing to do anything to save you. Even this.

You don't know what to say. There's nothing you can say.

You love him too. You've loved him for months, and you will continue to love him for the rest of your life. No matter how short that might be. No matter how much time you have left.

You don't want him to suffer. You don't want him to carry the weight of your death. But more than anything, you don't want him to have to choose between you and himself. Between his duty and his heart. Between what's right and what he wants.

Between his brothers and you.

"Do it," you whisper. "Save me."

His hand shakes, the barrel of the blaster inches from your chest, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. He's hesitating, and the last thing you want is for him to hesitate.

And so, you do the only thing you can.

You lift your hand and place it over his. The metal is warm against your skin, the barrel pressed against your sternum. Your fingers close around his, and you squeeze gently. 

His eyes meet yours, and despite the pain, the tears, the sorrow, you offer him a smile.

It's not the ending you'd hoped for. It's not the ending you'd planned. But it's the ending you're willing to accept. Because if it means saving Rex from the pain, the suffering, the loss, well...that's a price you're willing to pay.

He loves you, and you love him. And that's the only thing that matters.

With a final sigh, you close your eyes and squeeze his hand.

"Okay," you whisper.

The blaster goes off.

When you come to, the first thing you notice is that you're lying on something soft and plush.

A bed. You're on a bed.

It takes a moment for your vision to adjust to the light. When it does, the sight of the Temple is a relief. The familiar walls, the dimmed lighting, the muted humming of the Force. It's exactly where you're supposed to be.

The second thing you notice is the dull ache in your chest. It's a small pain, almost unnoticeable, but the discomfort is still there. You lift a hand and touch your sternum, and the memory of the blaster shot comes rushing back with a sharpness that's staggering.

A blaster shot. Rex.

No. No. No. It's not possible.

You sit up quickly, pushing past the pain and stumbling out of bed. Your legs are shaky, and the movement sends the world spinning, but you force yourself to keep moving toward the window. You need to see. You need to know.

Your hands fist around the curtains, and you yank them open. Sunlight streams through the window, blinding you momentarily, and you blink hard against the brightness. When the spots fade and your eyes adjust, you look down at the courtyard, and your breath catches.

Everything is the same. The flowers are blooming, the leaves are turning, the sun is shining. Speeders and ships are flying overhead, dots against the bright blue sky. The air is warm and sweet, and the Force is calm. Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. Everything is the way it's supposed to be.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. The nightmare was just that. A nightmare. Nothing more.

Except...it had felt real. Too real.

Your heart pounds, and you grip the curtains tighter. You can still feel the pain in your chest, the phantom ache of the blaster shot. And the way Rex had looked at you, the despair in his eyes, the pain in his voice. It's not something you can forget.

You don't want to forget.

Because it's not just a dream. It's a warning.

Your eyes open, and your gaze falls on the Great Tree. The leaves are dancing in the breeze, and the sunlight is glinting off the golden surface. But the sight is no longer calming. It's ominous. It's a reminder.

You take a deep breath and let the curtain fall. The world is calm, the Force still, but the dread lingers.

“You’re awake.”

You jump and turn, your eyes falling on Obi-Wan. He stands just inside the doorway to the bedroom, his arms folded across his chest. He's dressed in his tunic, his robe draped over a nearby chair, and you realize that you’re in his quarters.

"Obi-Wan, what are you—" You try to step toward him, but the room spins, and you reach out for the window sill, your balance unsteady. He's by your side in an instant, his hands gripping your upper arms and keeping you upright.

"Careful," he warns. He keeps his hold on you until the dizziness passes, and you manage to regain your footing. When he's satisfied, he releases you and steps back, his eyes scanning your face.

The concern on his face is unmistakable. You know him too well, and after all the years of friendship, you can read the worry in his expression. But it's the fear in his eyes that's the most startling.

You open your mouth to speak, to assuage his worries, but the words don't come. You're not sure what to say, not sure how to explain. Not sure if you even can.

Instead, you take a staggering step towards him, and before you can stop yourself, you're wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. He tenses, clearly startled by the gesture, but after a moment, he returns the embrace. His arms are tight around your shoulders, and he presses his cheek against the top of your head.

"You're okay," he murmurs, his voice low. "It's over."

The words send a wave of relief through you, and you cling to him tighter, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. You inhale slowly, the air filling your lungs, and the pain in your chest fades slightly. It's not gone, but it's bearable.

It wasn't real.

Slowly, the trembling in your limbs fades, and the pounding in your chest subsides. The anxiety and the fear fade, replaced by a dull ache and a sense of exhaustion. You sigh and rest your forehead against his shoulder, allowing the last of the panic to drain away.

Obi-Wan pulls away, his hands settling on your shoulders.

“How are you feeling?" he asks.

You think about the question, the memories of the vision still fresh in your mind. The pain and the suffering. The fear and the desperation.

"I'm okay," you answer, the words barely audible. "Just tired."

He nods and releases his hold on you, taking a step back. He gives you a once-over, his gaze traveling over your face and down your body, and he frowns.

"What happened?" he asks as his eyes return to yours.

"I..." You trail off, the memory of the vision sending a shiver through you. You wrap your arms around yourself and shake your head. "I don't know."

You close your eyes, trying to recall the events leading up to the vision. You remember waking up, alone, and walking through the halls of the Temple. You remember reaching the training room, and...the rest is a blur. You don't remember falling asleep. You don't remember anything. Just the darkness and the pain and the fear.

And the blaster shot.

Your fingers touch the spot where the blaster would've hit you, and a flash of memory comes rushing back. The image of the courtyard outside, the golden leaves of the Great Tree shimmering in the sunlight, and Yaddle's voice.

Her voice.

The memory is faint, barely more than a whisper, and you can't quite grasp it. But it's there, like a shadow at the corner of your vision, and you can feel it. You can hear her.

And for a moment, the pain in your chest eases.

Obi-Wan's hand squeezes your shoulder, and you open your eyes and meet his concerned gaze.

"I found you in the training room," he tells you, his voice quiet. "You were unconscious, and I couldn't wake you. I had to carry you here."

He pauses, his brow furrowing, and his gaze becomes more intense. "What were you doing there?"

The question sends a jolt through you, and you take a step back, breaking contact.

"I..." You pause, your mind racing. Your arms wrap around your torso, and you take a shaky breath and shake your head. "I can't remember."

You're not sure if it's a lie, or if the words are true, but either way, it's a poor answer. Obi-Wan's expression changes, his gaze sharpening, and his jaw clenches.

"Try," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, and he leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the determination there, the stubbornness. He's not going to let this go, not until he gets the answers he's looking for.

"I was...meditating," you begin slowly, the lie rolling off your tongue. "I was trying to connect with the Force. I...wanted to understand."

His brow furrows, his gaze never wavering.

"Understand what?" he asks.

"Myself," you admit. "The anger and the...pain. I wanted to understand."

His gaze softens, and he sighs, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He looks away for a moment, his eyes focused on the floor, before his gaze finds yours again.

"I think I know," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He sits on the edge of the bed and motions for you to do the same. You settle beside him, and he turns towards you, his gaze searching, his hands twisting in his lap. "You felt the darkness. Didn't you?"

You look down at your hands, at the scars on your palms. The memory of the battle, the fight with Dooku, the vision, the blaster shot, it all swirls in your mind, flickering past your vision like a broken holo.

You close your eyes, the pain in your chest throbbing, and you nod.

Obi-Wan shifts, and you open your eyes to find him staring at the wall, his brow furrowed. His expression is contemplative, and the lines around his eyes seem deeper than they were before. There's a sadness in his gaze, a pain that goes beyond the physical, and his mouth is set in a thin line.

"What are you thinking?" you ask.

He shakes his head, his expression turning pensive.

“What happened on that planet? With Dooku?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but the words send a wave of anxiety through you. “You never told me the details.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the memories flashing through your mind. The anger. The rage. The darkness. It had been overwhelming, terrifying. It had taken every ounce of strength and willpower not to give in. And even though you'd won, you'd come close. So close.

Too close.

You shake your head.

“We fought. He nearly killed me, and Rex and Jesse saved the day,” you say, your gaze fixed on your hands. “There isn’t much else to tell. I'm not sure why you're bringing this up now."

"Because I've been thinking about what happened on the Resolute," he tells you. His voice is quiet, and there's an edge to it that hadn't been there before. A sadness. An anger. "How convenient it was for a hyperdrive malfunction to lead you to the exact place Dooku was hiding."

“He wanted to kill me,” you counter. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the frustration bubbling up. You know where he’s going with this, and you can’t help but feel defensive, protective of your secret.

"No." Obi-Wan shakes his head. "He wanted to turn you."

The words land like a punch to the gut. He isn't saying anything you don't already know, but hearing it out loud, the implications and the potential...it's too much. You stare at him, speechless, and he stares back.

"What are you accusing me of?" you finally manage.

He's silent for a moment, considering his words carefully. His eyes are dark and troubled, the lines around them deepening, and he sighs.

"Nothing," he answers quietly. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" you echo, your tone incredulous.

"When I found you in the training room, there was something wrong. The Force was...out of balance," Obi-Wan tells you. His gaze never leaves yours. "There was something dark. Something wrong."

You open your mouth to speak, to deny, to defend, but he continues before you can get a word out.

"I know you've felt it too," he says, his voice softening. "I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it."

You look away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The truth of his words stings, and you can feel the guilt and shame rising up, threatening to drown you. He's right. You have felt the darkness. You've seen it, felt it, and tried to ignore it. And now you’re trying to hide from him. But he's not going to let that happen. He's not going to let you hide.

"Obi-Wan," you try again. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can't seem to look him in the eye. "I don't—"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off.

His voice is sharp, the words like a slap to the face. You flinch, and his expression softens.

"Did Dooku tell you how to access the darkness? How to harness it?" he asks quietly.

"No," you say immediately.

"Are you sure?" he pushes. "Because you seem to know more than you're letting on."

You hesitate, and his expression hardens. You look down at your hands, the scars seeming to burn. The darkness inside you pulses and writhes, the rage and the pain simmering just beneath the surface. It's a struggle to keep it contained, to not let your emotions win out. And Obi-Wan sees it all.

"Tell me the truth," he demands.

You swallow hard and look up at him. His gaze is intense, the blue eyes piercing, and you can't bring yourself to lie to him again. You can't hide anymore.

"I've always had it," you confess, your voice hoarse. "The anger, the darkness. I've always had it, but now it's worse. I'm more connected to the Force than ever before, and the power is incredible, but it's overwhelming."

You pause, taking a deep breath, the emotions churning inside you.

"It's getting harder and harder to keep it under control," you admit quietly. "I can't ignore it. I can't pretend it doesn't exist. And I can't let it go."

His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the understanding, the acceptance. He doesn't blame you. He doesn't hate you. But he's worried. You can see the concern in his eyes. He's scared for you. Scared of what you might do.

"Dooku tried to make me think he could help me, but I'm not stupid," you tell him, your voice stronger now, more determined. "I can feel the darkness, and I can see the effects it's having on the galaxy. The war is tearing everything apart, and the violence and hatred are everywhere. I don't want that for myself."

"Good," Obi-Wan says simply.

"But..."

You pause again, your throat tight, and you force yourself to continue. You need to say this. You need to confess the truth of what happened on that planet, and you need him to understand what's at stake.

"I nearly lost control," you whisper. You can feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the memories flooding back. "When we fought, it was like I could see every weakness, every fear, and I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to end his life."

"And you didn't," Obi-Wan counters softly. "That's what matters."

You shake your head.

"I could have. I came so close," you mutter. You let out a bitter laugh. "Or I would've died trying, anyway. If Rex hadn't been able to convince me..."

Your voice trails off as you recall the memory of his words, the plea, the desperation. The same words mirrored in your vision, and the understanding that comes with them.

You could have destroyed him. You could have embraced the darkness and brought about his demise.

The thought is a sobering and horrifying reminder of just how close you'd come to losing control. Of how much destruction and devastation you could have caused. Of the power you possess. And of the danger that comes with it.

"That's why you have to stop," Obi-Wan urges, his tone gentle, but firm.

"I am trying," you say.

"Not hard e—"

"No," you snap.

The word comes out sharper than intended, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the rising tide of emotions. You close your eyes and count backwards from ten, your jaw clenched tightly, the anger and the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The last thing you need is another argument. Another opportunity for the darkness to take hold.

When the feeling subsides and the urge to scream passes, you open your eyes.

"No," you repeat, more calmly this time. "I am trying. I'm doing everything I can to resist the darkness. I'm meditating and training and trying to strengthen my connection to the Light. I've let go of my need for revenge, and I've been forgiving and compassionate, and none of it is working."

You look away, focusing on the far wall, and you force yourself to keep talking. You have to explain. He has to understand.

"Every time I think I've finally gotten a handle on things, something happens and it slips out of my grasp," you continue, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Like on Bothawui. I didn't lose control. Not completely. But I could feel it. The anger. The hatred. And the part that scares me is how natural it feels."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise in surprise at that admission, but he says nothing, letting you continue.

"It's like a reflex," you say quietly. "Whenever someone attacks me or threatens someone I care about. It's just there. Waiting for an opportunity."

Your hands clench into fists, and your nails dig into the palms of your hands. The pain is a welcome distraction from the emotions roiling inside you, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"That's why I'm trying so hard," you say, your voice calmer now. "I'm trying to control the darkness, not embrace it. There has to be something, some kind of balance I can find."

There's a long silence, and the only thing you can hear is the beating of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears, and the steady inhale and exhale of your breathing. The anger has faded, but the fear remains, the terror of the vision, the nightmare, coming back in full force.

"There's something else," you whisper, your eyes opening to look at him. "Something you should know."

His brow furrows, but he doesn't interrupt, allowing you to continue.

"When we fought Dooku," you begin hesitantly, the memory of the battle still fresh in your mind, "He said something."

"What did he say?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice low.

“He said things…things I know now not to be true, but they made sense at the time," you admit, the words coming out in a jumble. "That the Order is corrupt, the Senate, the entire Republic. That the Council is using the war to increase its power and influence. That they betrayed me, kept things from me, used me."

"And you believed him?" Obi-Wan asks, disbelief coloring his words.

"Yes," you answer. "For a moment, I believed him."

You pause, the guilt and the shame rising up, threatening to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to keep talking. He needs to know. He has a right to know.

"When we fought, he tried to get me to join him. And he seemed like he knew all the buttons to push, all the things I wanted to hear," you explain quietly. "He was good. Too good. Like he knew exactly what to say and do."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That Dooku's been watching me," you tell him. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable reaction. "That he's been planning this since the start."

You close your eyes, expecting anger, denial, rejection. But none of those come.

"I know," Obi-Wan's voice breaks through the silence, and your eyes fly open, meeting his steady gaze.

"You what?" you ask, shocked.

"I know," he repeats. "And I agree."

"How? How do you know?"

"Master Windu and I have suspected as much," he admits quietly. "The Separatists have always been aware of our strengths and weaknesses. We've tried to keep the details hidden, but there are times it's difficult to keep information quiet."

You stare at him in shock, the revelation leaving you speechless.

"Dooku has spies in the Senate, in the GAR, and likely in the Jedi Temple as well," Obi-Wan explains. "The fact that you were attacked during a classified mission was a concern for the Council."

"I...Why didn't you tell me?"

"We weren't sure how you'd react," Obi-Wan answers truthfully. "It seemed prudent to investigate further."

It takes a moment for the implications to sink in, the realization that the entire Council has known and has been keeping the knowledge from you a struggle to comprehend. You take a shaky breath and close your eyes again, the anger and the betrayal washing over you in waves, but there's something else underneath it. Something darker. Something more dangerous.

The seed of doubt, planted by Dooku and watered by the Council's secrecy, is taking root, and it's not going to let go easily.

"If the Council has known that I'm being watched and targeted by Dooku and his allies," you begin slowly, "Then why have I been kept in the dark? Why haven't they told me?"

Obi-Wan sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly, and he looks down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"We were worried you would act impulsively," he answers after a moment, his voice low and resigned. "That you would be reckless, and the consequences would be dire."

"Well, you were wrong," you snap. You stand up from the bed and turn away from him, pacing the length of the room. "I figured it out on my own. And I kept my head down and focused on the mission and the war."

"You did," he concedes, his eyes following your movements. "And that's admirable."

"But you don't trust me," you continue, not giving him a chance to say more. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"We trust you," Obi-Wan says softly. He stands and steps toward you, his hand resting on your shoulder, forcing you to stop and turn towards him. "I trust you."

"You don't."

"I do," he argues, his voice firm, the conviction in his words ringing true. "You are the most important person in my life, and I trust you implicitly."

"But the Council—"

"The Council is worried," he admits quietly. "They are concerned for your safety. And their concern is warranted. You are a powerful Jedi, and you are a valuable asset to the Republic.”

You close your eyes, and the images flash across the backs of your eyelids, the vision replaying itself over and over again.

The blaster shot.

Rex's grief. The destruction you're capable of causing. The death and the despair.

The way he looked at you.

It was a warning.

A warning of what's to come.

"You are strong," Obi-Wan tells you quietly. His hand slides down your arm and grips your hand. "You are capable of incredible things, and the Council recognizes that. But you are also human, and you are vulnerable, and they are worried that Dooku will use your strength and your weaknesses against you. Especially after your outburst over your investigation into Master Yaddle's death."

Your eyes fly open at the mention of Yaddle's name. The memory of her voice is still echoing in your mind, and you can't help but wonder if this is somehow connected. If she's reaching out to you, trying to warn you. Trying to stop you from destroying everything and everyone around you.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan adds after a moment. "I wish the Council could have been more forthcoming. But the fact remains that you are an asset in the war, and they can't afford to lose you."

The words sting, but there's no malice behind them, no anger or resentment, and you know that he's telling the truth. That the Council is scared of what might happen if Dooku and his allies managed to turn you away from the Light.

You are an asset.

A weapon.

A tool.

Nothing more.

"I understand," you say softly, the resignation in your voice matching his. You pull away, the distance between the two of you seeming like a gulf, and you shake your head. "And I don't blame them."

Obi-Wan gives you a small smile, and he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "That's a relief."

You grab his wrist before his hand can fall back to his side, and you hold his gaze, the intensity in your eyes matching his.

"But I need to know that you believe me," you say quietly. "That I'm doing everything I can to resist the temptation."

His expression softens, and his fingers twitch, but he doesn't try to pull away. He nods and squeezes your hand gently.

"I believe you," he murmurs.

The words send a wave of relief through you, and a bit of the weight on your shoulders lifts. It's not much, but it's something.

You let go of his wrist and step away. Your hand drops to your side, and you turn towards the window, looking out at the courtyard below, the leaves dancing in the wind, the sunlight glinting off the golden leaves.

"What happened in the training room…” you start slowly.

Obi-Wan's arms are folded across his chest as he comes to stand next to you, and he leans against the windowsill, his eyes on the courtyard. "What is it?"

"I...had a vision," you confess. "Or a dream. I'm not sure. But it was bad. Really bad."

You can see his brow furrowing out of the corner of your eye, and he turns towards you, the worry in his gaze unmistakable. "Tell me."

You hesitate, the words stuck in your throat. You can still feel the weight of Rex's grief. The pain and the anguish. The way he had looked at you. And the way he had pointed the blaster at your chest and pulled the trigger.

Your hands grip the sill tightly, the stone biting into the skin of your palms, and you tell him everything. Yaddle. The destruction of the city. The darkness. Rex. The blaster shot. Everything.

"It felt so real," you finish. Your voice is shaking slightly, and you can feel the tears threatening to fall, but you manage to keep them at bay. "I could feel the pain. I could feel the fear."

Obi-Wan's silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks.

"Do you think it's a vision of the future?"

"I think it's a warning," you reply. "It has to be."

He nods.

"I agree," he says quietly.

The words send a shiver through you, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It's not a relief, not really, but it's a validation of sorts. A confirmation that what you're feeling is real, and that it's worth fighting against.

"And I think..." you begin hesitantly, the memory of the blaster shot still fresh in your mind. "I think Rex is the key."

"The key?" he asks.

"In the vision," you explain. "Rex is the only person who can stop me. He's the only person who can save me."

"From yourself," Obi-Wan concludes, understanding the implication of your words immediately. At your nod, his brow furrows, and his hand comes up to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "Are you sure about that?"

You hesitate. Are you? You think back to the way Rex had pleaded with you, the desperation in his voice, the way his hand had shook as he'd pointed the blaster at your chest. The same way he pleaded for you to leave Dooku behind and live instead of killing him and dying yourself.

It's everything you'd feared and more. Rex doesn't just hold your leash. He holds your life in his hands. If you can't control the darkness inside you, the anger and the rage, the potential for destruction, Rex will have to be the final defense. He will have to be the line in the sand.

You can't let that happen.

"Yes," you finally say. You swallow hard and look down at your hands, the scars standing out starkly against the skin. "I'm sure."

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head.

"Well," he says. "That complicates things."

"It does," you agree quietly. You can feel the anxiety and the fear rising up, the dread settling in the pit of your stomach. But you push it back, forcing yourself to stay focused, to keep the fear at bay. "But I'm not going to let that vision come true."

"No," Obi-Wan agrees firmly. He places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "You're not."

You nod and take a deep breath, the confidence in his voice bolstering your resolve. You're not going to let the darkness win. You're not going to become the monster in the vision. And Rex isn't going to have to pull the trigger.

"You have my word," you say quietly. "Whatever it takes."

"I believe you," Obi-Wan replies. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," you murmur. You close your eyes and lean into the embrace, the warmth and the safety a welcome comfort. You allow yourself a moment to enjoy the feeling, the fear and the anxiety fading, before pulling away and looking up at him. "I...I'm sorry. For everything. For keeping this from you. For lying to you."

"Don't be," he says gently. He runs a hand over your hair, his expression softening. "I'm sorry we weren't more forthcoming. It's as you said before. We're both to blame. Though I would agree it was more myself and the Council to blame than any other.”

"I can’t argue with that," you sigh. You shake your head and offer him a weak smile. "I'm still sorry."

"Me too," he says quietly. He gives your shoulder another squeeze before letting his hand drop back to his side. "And if you promise never to hide anything of this nature from me again, I might consider forgiving you."

You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "Deal."

"Good." He smiles and motions toward the door. "Now let's get you to the Halls of Healing. You need to be checked out."

"Obi-Wan," you whine, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"You were unconscious for hours," he reminds you. His voice is stern, but there's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and he gives you a shove towards the door. "I'll hear no more complaints. We're going."

"Fine," you grumble.

The two of you make your way out of the bedroom and down the corridor. You're relieved to see that the Temple is relatively empty, and no curious eyes are on you as you pass through the hallways and make your way to the Halls of Healing.

"In the interest of honesty," you begin, keeping your voice low so no eavesdroppers can hear, "There's one more thing I should probably tell you."

"Yes?"

You take a breath, steeling yourself.

"I’m in love with Rex."

You don't wait for a reaction from Obi-Wan. Instead, you continue walking, stepping into the lift and hitting the button for the Halls of Healing without pausing. The doors slide shut before the two of you, and the lift begins its descent.

"Well," he remarks once the lift starts moving. His expression is carefully neutral, but there's a glint in his eyes. "That's certainly an interesting development."

"Interesting," you repeat dryly. "That's a nice way of putting it."

Obi-Wan chuckles. "Forgive me if I'm not entirely shocked by the news."

"Not entirely?"

"I'm a bit surprised you're only now bringing it up," he admits, the teasing in his tone impossible to miss. "I tried to tell you, several times. But you insisted that the two of you were just friends, and that the way he looked at you meant nothing. As if I wouldn't recognize the way he looks at you."

"I was being stubborn," you admit sheepishly.

"You were," Obi-Wan agrees. He gives you a playful nudge. "So what changed?"

"I've always felt something for him," you start slowly. "But the more time I spend with him...the stronger the feelings have become. And last night, some of the Torrent boys let it slip that he was in love with me."

"Ah."

"It was the way they said it. Like it was something everyone knew, something so commonplace, so inevitable," you continue. You can't help but smile, a small chuckle escaping your lips as the memory comes back to you. "They were talking about him like he was this hopeless romantic, and I just...I couldn't ignore the truth of it anymore."

He hums and gives a small nod. "He does seem rather devoted."

"Yes, well," you huff. You turn and give him a pointed look. "Apparently it's been that way for a while."

"And?"

"And," you continue, "I realized I feel the same."

Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. He seems to be deep in thought, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his response.

"I'm glad," he finally says.

"You are?" you ask, surprised.

He nods and turns to face you fully, a small smile on his lips.

"I'm glad that the two of you have found happiness together," he tells you. His voice is gentle, and his expression is soft. "And I'm glad that you've finally admitted your feelings for each other."

"But the Code," you protest weakly.

"The Code is meant to guide us. To give us structure and focus. But it's not infallible," Obi-Wan answers softly. "The Code does not forbid love."

"But attachment–”

"Is not the same as love," he finishes for you. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's possible to have love without attachment. You know that well. You just have to choose to be selfless. And I have no doubt that both of you are capable of such a thing."

You let out a shaky breath and blink back the tears that are suddenly pricking at the corners of your eyes, giving him a grateful smile.

"Thank you," you murmur, and you squeeze his hand.

"You're welcome," he says softly. He sighs and looks down at your joined hands, his expression turning wistful. "I was worried. For a while. After our...disagreement about the Council's decision not to investigate Yaddle's death."

You frown and open your mouth to respond, but he shakes his head and continues, cutting you off.

"It was a difficult time for you, and I know I was a part of the problem," he tells you quietly. His thumb strokes the back of your hand absently. "I didn't want you to lose your faith in the Order. In the Light. In yourself."

You stare at him, your heart swelling in your chest.

"But you didn’t. And I'm so proud of you," he murmurs. His gaze finds yours again, and his smile is warm. "And I'm glad that, even though your path is complicated, and the journey is challenging, you're finding happiness and love along the way. It's apparent how deeply you care about each other. If this is what it takes to keep you from falling, I'll gladly give my blessing, however much that matters to you.”

"Obi-Wan..." 

You trail off, the lump in your throat preventing the words from forming. You're not sure how to respond, or even what to say. The relief and the gratitude and the love are too much, and the tears threaten to spill over. You blink hard against them and force a shaky smile. 

"You won't lose me,” you murmur. “I promise."

"I hope not," he says. There's a sadness in his gaze, and a bitterness creeps into his voice. "Nothing is certain in war. Nothing is guaranteed. Not even love."

"I'm not going anywhere," you reassure him. You step closer and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He returns the embrace, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here."

Obi-Wan is silent, and you can feel his body tense underneath your touch. There’s a tremor in his hand, and you can hear his heart pounding in his chest. His grip on you tightens, and his breath hitches. For a moment, you wonder if you said the wrong thing, if he's upset or angry. But all you can feel through the tenuous connections of your bond is sadness and grief. Regret.

Finally, Obi-Wan pulls away, and his eyes find yours. There's a weariness there, a pain that's been hidden away. A burden he's been carrying for years. He looks like he wants to say something, but the words won't come. The emotions are too strong. So instead, he gives you a soft smile, and he steps away as the doors open.

"I know," he says quietly. He looks away and takes a deep breath. "I know.”

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[le-chevalier-au-lion]

always the same question, always the same answer: rosquez [t], part 2 of did you run here?

Even the cooling vest is sticking to him with sweat. It feels fucking sweltering inside his helmet, the air thick and soupy like a swamp. To Marc’s right, they’re sliding an icepack under Pecco’s leathers, handing him another bottle of Gatorade. He can barely see the sliver of skin around his eyes, but it’s easy to guess he’s miserable.

Ages ago, on a Saturday he barely remembers, people were worried about riders’ health in this kind of weather. He’s probably given interviews about it.

But Marc—

Marc forces himself to breathe, once, twice, his lungs expanding and contracting convulsively inside his ribcage. Strictly speaking, nothing that is going to happen in his immediate future is Pecco’s fault. The weight lingers at the bottom of his stomach, though. Heavy and poisonous like lead. Dizzy. He’s never disliked his teammate, exactly, but today, seeing him is a whipcrack on Marc’s back.

It’s always the heat that gets to him first—humid, suffocating. Like a shroud.

“Hey, hey.” One of his mechanics. Marc blinks, shudders. “Are you really sure about softs? They’re going to—race simulations are saying five or six laps before they just go.”

His smile is mostly reflex. It takes him a moment to realize nobody can see it.

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” Marc says.

“Ah, alright—”

Marc shakes his head. “I don’t think the predicted drop-off is going to be a problem. We can expect especially the KTMs behind us to fall off around lap ten or so, and Fermín isn’t so confident with his breaking.” He sounds delirious, he realizes.

There’s a long, stunned glance, and things are jumbled, out of order. A kaleidoscope of explanations he’s given, again and again and again, losing coherency.

The pounding of blood in his ears rings deafeningly loud. Marc is pretty sure he’s about to have a migraine in a couple of hours, except—

Ha.

“I’m quite sure,” he repeats, scraped raw until there’s no charm left.

“If you’re confident.”

Confidence has nothing to do with knowing how things will happen. Marc laughs inside his helmet, a quiet, rotten thing, inaudible through the roar of bikes being set up and revved. He has twelve laps to—not save himself. It never works.

To have fun, maybe. One last ride before things fall apart.

But just thinking about it makes his stomach roll, revolting against him. Marc braces his weight on the bike, blood-red and ominous, his throat burning, eyes stinging.

What a joke.

His hands shake. Wet and clammy with sweat inside his gloves. It’s Valentino’s fault, he decides, justified in the spike of red-hot anger that surges through him. Things rarely go wrong in Sepang without Valentino somehow being behind it, especially since he got pulled into this shitshow. The pleasure of blaming him is petty, edged with thorns. Same as always, since 2015, since this started.

It hurts him more than it hurts Valentino.

Valentino who knocked him from his dying and rising routine. Valentino who refuses to answer his questions. Valentino who won't fucking apologize for once in his life.

The horn blows. Five minutes to start the race. His heart hammers, sick, heavy, edging towards something that might be panic. He keeps thinking about Álex. Hates, hates, hates that he's thinking about Álex at all, about shouting at him this morning because suddenly everything'd seemed too small, too grating.

Like the only way he'll get out of this loop is in a body bag.

But he's some twenty minutes away from, well, another show. T5, lap 12, as it usually is. The day will restart, everyone none the wiser about what happened to him. No pain to anyone but him.

The worst part are the ten hours after Marc dies—before the day restarts.

Valentino walks on leaden legs, like a zombie. Repetition has taught him with a whip to his back, so he walks away from the circuit.

Can’t bear to face Álex Márquez again. It feels too personal, like a razor blade lodged in his throat, to see him cry silently, hot, desperate tears into the crook of his arm, in the middle of the Gresini garage. Even knowing it isn't permanent. Even knowing he won't remember it tomorrow.

Poof, like a magic trick. Right now, though, before the reveal of a whole Marc Márquez, sleeping soundly in his hotel, there’s the nausea burning in his throat, the sickly, clammy fear of seeing disembodied legs.

A scream rings out through the circuit.

Valentino knows what it means.

Stops mid-walk to throw up into a trash can. It’s just stomach acid, no food.

He’s never hated Marc quite like this. Not in Phillip Island, not in Argentina, not every single time Marc gave an interview pretending that he was still his idol. Not even in Jerez, watching him kneel on the dust over the replays, his arm cradled close to his chest. A laugh—manic—rips out of him, and if he doesn’t keep moving, somebody is going to find him to tell him what happened.

But he wastes precious minutes trying to convince his chest to stop seizing up and his legs to start moving again. The sound of helicopter cuts through the lethal silence that hangs over the track now.

Emergency evac. Valentino crashes back into his own body.

And starts running back to the hotel as chaos descends over the circuit.

The next ten hours crawl by. Second by second by second, people knocking on his door, trying to call. Valentino is too tired to try and pull up footage from the crash, to try and divine what went wrong this time.

Nothing did, really.

Marc was fighting Pecco for the position, just an inch ahead. He lost the front, because he’s a maniac and chose a soft tire for the hottest race Sepang they’ve ever had. Had been running on soap for five or so laps. Pecco was too close. Had no room to react, though he tried.

Valentino has seen it happen before.

It’s easier to close his eyes, the hairdryer running in the bathroom. He doesn’t sleep. Just feels the time trickle past him, a barbed chain wrapped around his throat.

Just once, why can’t Marc stop fighting?

When the day restarts, Valentino can’t breathe through the anger tightening up the chain, spikes tearing into him.

Things jerk around him in flashes of color. Senseless. A kaleidoscope. Cinderella in reverse. He runs to Marc’s floor, takes the steps two at a minute.

He hammers against Marc’s door. It’s eleven minutes after midnight, five wasted trying to right himself after the universe tossed him back to ground zero, his knees giving out, his body cold and out of sync, something tugging inside him like a fishhook.

This is the soonest—

Marc yanks the door open. “Valentino?” Then: “What the fuck?”

It’s right there, locked behind his teeth, I hate you I hate you I hate you, but nothing comes out. He just stumbles into Marc’s hotel room, knocking past him. His skin is warm where Valentino touches, mostly by accident. Alive. Real. Fucking alive.

Any of these days, the clock is going to strike midnight, and Marc will still be dead.

Valentino claws at the skin of his wrist. It pours out of him, wretched, too true, and shame fills the space that the words emptied up, “Can you not race tomorrow?”

Marc blinks, sluggish. He’s leaning on the wall like it’s going to hold him up, eyes flickering between his hands and Valentino and the clock.

There is no offense at the suggestion, this time. Valentino has never done anything like this before.

Can’t predict Marc’s next move.

Except—

Marc looks—briefly—heavenward. Valentino hears himself scoff in this out of body dread, the clammy millisecond before he hits the asphalt and discovers if the crash is as bad as he thinks it’s going to be. There’s this look in Marc’s eyes, even in the dark. Hopeful. Hopeful enough to twist the knife in his stomach.

“How many times have you gone over today?”

Valentino smirks—like he has a knife tucked between his lips, joylessly, scraped raw. “Once or twice. It’s not like you ever take it seriously.”

His hand slams against his mouth. He hadn’t meant to—he hadn’t even had time to think—

Marc spits out a sound not unlike a snarl. His shoulders are hunched, and he’s shaking, shaking from head to toe, hands covering his face. When he rips them away, they are clenched at his sides. Valentino has never been afraid of being hit by him before.

“Why can’t you answer me?” He hisses. “Is it so fucking difficult? Once, just once, can’t you tell me one little truth? How many times have you gone over today?”

His scream echoes. Valentino facies it tears through like a gunshot. His ears ring.

The silence that follows is the quiet of a tomb.

“How many?” Marc asks again, because he can’t resist the pain, can’t resist forcing the broken bone until it splinters with no hope of salvaging anything. He’s still shouting. There’s this look in his eyes, dark and rabid, like he’s going to gnaw off a limb.

Valentino thinks he has frozen over.

“You know,” he whispers.

Marc runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck this,” he says emphatically.

“You know you’re going to die.” He sounds deliberate, calculated. Each time he opens his mouth, he isn’t sure it’s him speaking. “And you get on that bike anyway.”

“Christ,” Marc sighs, low and tired and—fuck him. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

Valentino laughs, three quarters reflex and a little vindication, the laugh he gave Uccio when he cornered him in Phillip Island, ten years ago, Marc’s weird telemetry being brandished like a knife. “I know that you apparently decided to die every day for months now.”

Marc bursts over. “I don’t decide to die!”

“Then why don’t you stop it?” He’s shouting too. Valentino hasn’t shouted in an argument in fucking years, loathes doing that. To speak is to fill himself with blood, the wound ever-flowing.

“Stop it?! What the fuck do you mean?”

“Don’t go out, don’t race, stay alive. Or are you so obsessed with wining and getting that ninth title that it never crossed your mind to lie down?”

It’s only five points between him and Pecco. He would try again and again to fix it on the bike—isn’t the one who has to go through those ten hours.

Marc pushes him, stumbles back himself. His teeth are wrenched, but a small, wretched sound still slips out. He sounds animalistic when he speaks, “Are so obsessed with your lost tenth that you can’t see I’ve tried? I don’t want to die!”

“Am I supposed to believe this?”

“Hell if I know the shit you tell yourself,” Marc snorts, an ugly thing. Valentino gags. “But go on. It’s not like I can stop you, and it’s not like I give a damn. I’m not the one who needs to deal with this.”

“Prove it to me,” Valentino grinds out. He barely hears himself.

Marc sits on the bed and starts laughing—starts cackling. Hysterical. Right until he starts choking on it, a noise that rakes over Valentino’s nerve endings. Everything suddenly aches. He wonders if the days restarting mean the exhaustion gets rolled back too. Doesn’t remember the last time he managed to sleep.

Every second is—

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Prove it to me,” he repeats. The words come up like bloody petals lodged in his chest. “Prove it to me that you’ve fucking tried to not die at least once.”

The mania bleeds out of Marc. He gets serious, suddenly. Stone-faced. Hollow.

Valentino has seen footage of it happening dozens, hundreds of time. The folded set of his hands, in front of his body. His wide, doll-like eyes. Sepang, Sepang, it’s always Sepang.

“Valentino,” he says, very calmly. He kicked me, “get out.”

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 16: Love is… Staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can’t tear yourself away from them just yet (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 464 | Rated: T for Steddie's state of undress (wink wonk) | cw: None

Tags: Waking Up, Sleeping In, Cuddling

'Mrmphf'

Eddie shuffles closer to Steve’s still sleeping form, his partner’s snores only a soft whir as he lies peacefully on his stomach, his strong arms spooning his pillow. 

Regrettably (or unfortunately) they have lives and schedules that don’t exactly accommodate laying in bed naked together for the rest of time – if only...

So Eddie braces himself, embarking on the totally foreign role of Human Alarm Clock and he leans over his boyfriend.

“Baby…” he coos, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and practically blanketing himself over his bare back.

“Mrmphf.”

He presses a featherlight kiss his favourite little mole on Steve’s shoulder blade in apology. Steve hums contentedly and slips his arm out from under his pillow to take Eddie’s hand and hold it against his warm, bare chest.

It’s a touch crushing under their combined bodyweight but Eddie still giggles against Steve’s skin, unable to stop himself from freeing his fingers enough that he can graze the tips through Steve’s chest chair.

At that, Steve shifts with an almost grind into the mattress, grunting.

“Stevie…” he continues, quirking a brow as he cranes his neck to get a fraction closer to Steve’s ear.

Even wide awake, his hearing isn’t the best, let alone when he is half-asleep and most definitely still tired from all the naughty business they’d gotten up to a little too late in the evening last night.

Eddie thinks he should probably chide himself, insist on warning Steve of their impending tardiness. But who cares about duties like serving a deader-than-disco day shift at Family Video, or hiking down the road to the mechanic to deal with whatever car trouble some little old lady is having when they can have all of this?

“Mrmphf!”

Now that one was a little aggressive.

“Time to get up,” he says through a huffed laugh.

“Five... more... minutes,” Steve mumbles, at least mildly coherent this time.

His face is squished into the pillow so much it has given him pink and pouty fishy lips. Despite his knitted brow and sleepy demeanour, Steve still looks impossibly cute – soft as his body remains lax, pliable and completely at ease.

Everything this gorgeous boy of Eddie’s deserves.

“Sadly, I’ve already given you five extra minutes of beauty sleep, sweetheart.”

“Mrmphf...” a little sad as he adds a nose scrunch.

“Fine!” Eddie relents, settling down to rest his head on the middle of Steve’s back.

He closes his eyes at the sound of Steve’s heartbeat – the feel of his steady breathing. In and out... In and out...

They are going to be very late for their respective day but for now, Eddie cannot bring himself to care. Call him greedy, but he just wants Steve all to himself – at least for another five minutes.