#im losing it about this a little. i want to wring his neck

[payasita]

one cob's No Big Deal is another man's Worst Nightmare

[lotte-s-web]

OH MY GOD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED UR ASK 🫧ANON IM SO SORRY BUT PLS I KNOW I SAW IT😭😭 ur so right though about hobie having a thing for loser nerds its augh

₊✩‧ ❝hobie x loser!reader❞ headcanons ✩‧₊

₊˚⭑ warnings: nsfw, gn!reader, teasing, penetrative sex

He’s such a sucker for loser nerds, such a sucker for you. He’s addicted to the way the simplest of things get you riled up so easily, how he can do so little and watch it affect you so much.

He loves flustering you, loves teasing you by interrupting your rambling and asking you to repeat yourself, leaning in closer to “hear ya bett'r.” He just finds it so cute when you stutter over yourself, losing your train of thought ‘cause of how close his face is to yours. he loves the way you have to grip at yourself to keep your composure from faltering. He knows he’s being mean, he knows he’s being an ass, but god, he can’t help it that you’re so pretty when you’re a bit embarrassed.

He loves touching you, loves knowing how it ignites an uncomfortable warmth at your core that you desperately try to ignore. It’s never a big gesture either, just an arm draped around your shoulder, his knees knocking against yours. he pretends he doesn’t notice how your breath hitches, how your thighs rub together as you try to carry on with the conversation without thinking of the way his skin was brushing against yours. 

To both of your surprise, it’s you who makes the first move. It’d be a bold move on your part, but in reality, the teasing had just gotten too much for you to bear. you couldn’t go on like this anymore, your heart thumping wildly at having him brush against you lightly, having his breath tickle your ear whenever to confide in you what he thought of your outfit today. It was really the little things that had your chest feeling like it was about to burst, you couldn’t do it anymore.

He watches you stumble over yourself as you try to get out how you like him, wringing your hands together in an attempt to channel the panic thrumming through your mind. He’s patient, waiting for you to say what you need to say before taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up to kiss you, sealing the deal before you can go back on your confession. He presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and you melt, making him smile as he slips his tongue past your eager lips.

Being with him doesn’t make him any less teasing though, if anything, it just makes him more intense. he’s meaner, more teasing, his hands growing more brazen in their attempts to rile you up. 

He’ll rest his head on the junction of your neck and shoulders, murmuring in your ear about how good you look as his hands go to hold your waist. He’ll toy with your clothing when you’re out with your friends, pulling you against his side and continuing on with the conversation as you try to keep yourself from molding into his warmth. You both know he’s doing it on purpose, know he likes seeing you cave into him, and as much as you’d want to detest it, he knows you like it too.  And he’s not above using it in the bedroom, not above taking advantage of the way you’re so willing to please him no matter how embarrassed you were about it.

He loves seeing your eyes when he’s fucking you, loves the way it’s in your most ruined state that he gets to see just how much you admired him, how much you worshipped him.

He holds your cheeks to keep your eyes on him when he’s fucking you in missionary, watching as they look up at him as if he had hung the stars in the sky. he almost laughs at you, close to calling your devotion pathetic.

He has you on your knees in front of a mirror as he gives you backshots, watching your face contort at each calculated thrust of his hips as his tip hits just right against your sweet spot. He holds your face up by the neck, applying just the right amount of pleasure to make you dizzy. He tells you to keep eye contact with him as he wrecks you.

You watch him in the mirror as he uses his free hand to pull your hips back against him with each thrust, your whines growing in volume. He has you absolutely cock-drunk, going cross-eyed and shuddering violently as you cum around him with a loud cry. 

You catch your breath together once everything has subsided, his cock still sheathed within you as you both pant like dogs. He brushes his lips against your cheek and sighs, wrapping his arms around your torso. 

“Ya’d do anythin’ f’me, wouldn’ ya?” He asks, turning your head with a gentle grip on your chin, moving you to face him. The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know, anything.

a/n: 🫧anon IM SO SORRY I DELETED UR ASK MY BADD AGHHGSHDSH HOPE U LIKED IT THO😭😭 ๋࣭ ⭑ tag/s: @eyesxxyou

[yukimiyaz]

ok fang i am. so sorry but i had so much to say so i am going to just. put it here JEBSJD

“Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly.” this line had me blinking and nodding and i really like it. i like this opening. i like this analogy so much, i like how you’ve described this perplexity. very very nice to me

“Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby. He’s very, very intrigued by that.” OH. OH YEAH. YEAH I LOVE THE EMPHASIS HERE……..

“Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.” this will be the death of me oh my god. ‘it really is a clever little thing’ OH MY GOFSJWID???????

“You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s.” this made me snort so loud this is so funny PLEASE poor dumb goj

“He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere.” god…… GOD THIS LINE IS JUST. UUHGHH. so perfect. sosooooo perfect for him i’m gonna lose my mind this is it. IT!!!

“It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.” learning about himself through reader like she’s the fucking instruction manual to his soul this made me claw my bed sheets. fuckkksjjwdjdj

“It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen.” shutup. SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUPPPSISJD

him paying the rest of the dog fees stop. IM FUCKING LOSING IT HELLO OF COURSE HE DID. OF COURSEIWHSJDD

“Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles.” kill me now. just put me out of my misery i beg this just stripped me of my clothes and robbed me of my lunch money WHATSBDBD

asking about heroes and the admission of falling and the “is that so?” what the FUCK FANGSIEHEJDHDHDJD IM GONNA HURL OHHSHEHEJDHD

“(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)” GOD he’s so FUCKING FULL of himself i want to wring his neck i want to stare at him for hours i want to suck him down like a straw

“He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.” what a sick fucking bastard GOD

PLEASE THE “are you a celebrity?” i giggled. and the follow up of “Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say.” OOOUHGHH. the rough contrast between them even with this newfound connection is so riveting gahhh

THE EMPHASIS ON VULNERABLE. WHAG THE FUCK. WHAT FHE FUCKEJWHSDJ FANG U MAD MAN I AM SHAKING U BY THE SHOULDERS PLEADE. PLEASEEKSHDD

““I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. “ nothing to add just this is. this is so ……….,,.

“Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head.” god this is clawing at my skull i’m going to gnaw through my hand. “it only feels natural” HELLO. OF COURSE IT DOES. IM SO UNWELL

“Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.” i’m throwing myself off of a bridge .

the anxiety in the prompt box stuck out so well to me idk i like it. i like the detail here. i love this. ur so good

curse in the form of a dog oh my god. OHHHSKUWEJDJDJ I AM like the crazy guy w the plot points and hair ripped out meme this is me THIS IS SOSOEHEJD

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” / “Doesn’t matter. I just do.” HELLO. HELLOOOSJEHEJ this is so. god it’s just so him. he does simply because he does. blunt. no explanation. no justification. no care for normalities. goooooddddddd

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” / “What are you talking about?” / “The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCKSKHSSK

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” i’m going to fucking kill myself what the FUCK oh my god. it’s goj. it’s gojo it’s fucking him im gonna scream i’m gonna hurl

“He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes.” god he’s so calculating and enticing and plotting it’s just so unnerving i want to pick and pry his brain apart

“There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.” i want crawl inside of his skin. i’m so sorry i want to defile him even worse than he defiles reader . sorry

“Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light.” this is so nice. so very nice if nothing changes this will probably be my favorite line from here omg. i’m obsessed. this wording this cadence i’m >>>>

him trying to keep an eye on her at school is both hopelessly endearing and endlessly creepy and both drive me so insane

“Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved.” i think i just blacked out a little at this line. Sorry

“Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts.” WHAT THE FUCKSHWWIDHSJS I AM GOING FERAL. SORRY. SORRY IM DROOLING SORRY. THIS IS SICK HES SICK IM SICK I WANT HIM

“You….knew?” / “Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” hes so fucking. ugh. UGH?!!&/$::!

“In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. / But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.” i love this. this is so good. so so so good

“And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound.” OH MY GOD. THIS LINE TORE MY HEART RIGHT OUT OF MY CHEST PLEASE. PLEASE I THINK THIS MIGHT ACTUALLY BE MY FAVE LINE IT IS DOINF SOMETHINF SO TERRIBLY AWFUL TO ME ….

“Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.” sick. SICK SICK SICK

“(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.)” fang .

“Honeytraps are more ethical than nets.” HELLO. YEAH UHM YEA ?!/?/&:!:

“Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.” THE NOISE AND LOOK ON MY FACE AS I READ THIS MY EYES ARE BUGGING MY JAW IS DROPPED I CANT EXPLAIN THE VISCERAL FEELINF INSIDE OF ME AT THIS TIMING AND PERFECTION. HELLO ..

“did you know?” I KNOW IM SPIRALING. ACTUALLY

““Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,”” i need to lie down. I NEED TO LIE DOWN SIX FEET UBDER ACTUALLT HELLO GOJO LET ME HAVE AT U FOR FIVE SECONDS IM GOING FUCKIN INSANE

“A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone.” this made my bones feel heavy i am going to . keel over

““Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement. / “Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,” / Gojo hums. / “I don’t think that’s a bad idea,”” HEY. HEYY????,!!? I DONT THINK THATS A BAD IDEA?????? idk if this is what u are implying so if it isn’t PKEASE tell me to shut the fuck up but the way i am reading this is gojo’s half hearted thought of reader thanking god - thanking HIM - because that is the role he has so eagerly stepped into and robed himself for just for the sake of reader’s precious little life and i am going to claw my EYES OUT OVER IT

FANG……fang beloved i am so enraptured by ur writing always but there is something about this fic that is so . mind wracking that it is genuinely keeping me so on edge. i’m so enthralled and intrigued and compelled by every single line and every single thought in gojo’s head and every single line drawn. oh my fuck i cannot wait to get to read the second part. i know i will only fall in love w this story further. ur so good. so so so good. ugh

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

[fweasleyswhore]

Let Me Take Care Of You - G.W.

a/n: this popped up in my brain and I wanted to get it out, this is with George because I felt like he fit the idea a bit more also i deadass haven’t written smut before like not as a joke haha funny so im so sorry if this is ass

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!Reader

summary: Reader confesses her feelings for George after the disaster of Bill and Fleur's wedding and spend a night together for the first time, which they can only wished would have happened earlier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: Slight dom!George, slight sub!reader, mostly passionate smut, 18+ themes

The night was winding down. It was a beautiful ceremony, candles were floating around in the tent giving off a soft glow. A few straggling couples slow dancing. I was sat admiring the tent and the company when I felt a presence behind me. I looked up and my heart skipped a beat. George stood behind me, his hands placed in his pockets and the goofy grin he adorned everywhere was plastered on his face despite the bandage wrapped around his ear. 

I turned in my chair so I could see him better. “Hey, George.” I beamed up to him. 

“Hello, darling, would you want to dance?” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to me. My breath hitched in my throat as I nodded and he pulled me out to the dance floor. I had liked George since I met him, he always seemed to bring light in my life that I lacked, but I had never acted on my feelings. I didn’t want to lose him. 

“You look beautiful tonight.” He whispered in my ear as we slowly spun around the room. His hand was placed on the small of my back, the other interlaced with mine. My free hand rested on his shoulder, our fronts were pressed flush together. I felt my face heat up at his words and our proximity. 

I put my head on his chest and locked my arm behind his neck. “George?” I said softly. I decided now was a good time to tell him how I felt. I needed to. I wanted to say this, look back up at him and kiss him. He hummed and I felt the way his chest rumbled as he did so. “George I think I lo-” 

My words were cut off by a loud crashing noise. I whipped around to see the cause of the crash. In the middle of the dance floor was a blue light. 

“The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.” As soon as it had spoken it was gone. The tent went quiet for a moment until flashes of black smoke started appearing. I watched as Ron, Hermione, and Harry apparated away. I grabbed my wand I had placed in my dress pocket and held tightly onto George’s hand. 

Bill grabbed Fleur and started dragging her away. I watched a death eater begin on them. 

“Stupify,” I yelled and he shot back into a table and collapsed. 

“Y/N, we need to leave, there are too many.” At George’s words, I looked around, wizards and witches were fighting or apparating away. I looked up to him and nodded seeing as there wasn’t much we could do other than get hurt. He grabbed my hand tighter and started bounding towards the Burrow. We started a protection spell on the house once we got there, it finished with enough time for everyone to get in. 

Bellatrix Lestrange stood outside, I saw her from the kitchen window pacing outside. “Where did Potter go?!” She screamed. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at us or her henchmen. Soon enough all the death eaters disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. 

Molly was sobbing at the kitchen table, Arthur was consoling her. Fred was having Ginny clean a cut on his leg. Bill and Fleur weren’t around, I assume they apparated somewhere. Lupin and Tonks were arguing about if it was worth it to apparate home. 

I couldn’t find George. My eyes scanned the area once more but I couldn’t find him. I felt my eyes tear up as I turned back to look out the kitchen window. I tried to remember if he had left the house after we cast our spell. Deep in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him walk up behind me. 

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and gentle. I whipped around and immediately jumped on him. He returned the gesture, his arms wrapped around me and pulled me up so my feet were off the floor. I wrapped my legs around him to pull him closer afraid that if I didn’t he would disappear. 

“Where were you?” I whispered harshly into his neck. 

“Making sure my ear wasn’t bleeding. Y/N are you alright?” His grip on me tightened. I felt him move away so I pulled my head up to look him in his eyes. His eyes were scanning my face looking for a sign of injury. 

Then I felt like it was the right moment. I unwrapped my arms from around him and cupped his face. His eyes stopped scanning my face as they looked directly into mine. I let my eyes flicker to his lips and then back to his, he repeated my action almost like he was communicating the same words. 

I closed the gap and pushed my lips onto his. He kisses me back with no hesitance. His grip on me tightened, one of his arms traveled down to hold my thigh and support me. Our lips moved a few times, finding a rhythm with each other. Once we did it was a new experience. George sucked and bit on my lips as we kissed causing me to let out a soft moan. I ran my hands through his hair and tugged lightly earning a soft groan from him. 

We pulled away to breathe and he set me on the kitchen counter. Suddenly remembering his family was there I looked around making sure no one was watching our moment before I put my eyes back onto him. 

“Do you know how long I wanted to do that?” He asked with a slight chuckle. His hand found my thigh and he pushed up the skirt of my dress to draw small patters above my knee. 

“Why did it take you so long?” I panted out. He was making it harder to catch my breath. 

“Tonight I watched my family fight to stay alive, and I realized that there is so much happening right now,” He gulped as he showed his vulnerability. “Y/N, I want you. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember and I don’t want to fight this without having you beside me.” His eyes moved from the floor to my eyes and I saw him, the real him. He wanted to be loved, he wanted to share his love, and with the war building up he was afraid he was never going to be able to do that. 

“George I can’t imagine fighting this without you. I can’t imagine my future without you.” I grabbed his hand that was on my thigh as I said this. With each word I said I watched as his scared expression molded into a smile. 

“Really?” He whispered. 

“Definitely.” I replied. His lips were back onto mine and we shared a short but passionate kiss. 

The rest of the night we helped clean up. I helped Arthur get Molly to bed where he stayed with her then I helped Ginny clean up Fred’s leg and set him up a temporary bed on the couch, not wanting to climb the steps to his room. Once everyone was taken care of I found myself in George’s room. I wasn’t staying in here but I wanted nothing more for him to hold me while I fell asleep. 

The door creaked open to a very disheveled George. His purple and white speckled shirt had been rolled up his arms, the vest piece completely gone, his tie hung loosely around his neck. 

“Hey.” He spoke gently once he noticed me. I was sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Hey,” I replied taking him in. “I’m sorry, I know you're tired I just don’t want to be alone tonight.” I began to wring my hands in my lap, waiting for him to tell me to leave. 

“I was hoping I would see you again tonight.” He made a few strides and sat next to me on the bed. I leaning into him immediately, resting my head on his shoulder. He snaked an arm around my waist and we sat like that for a few minutes. I turned my head so I could look at him. 

“George, I don’t know what this war is going to take from us.”

“Hopefully not my other ear.” He butted in. I couldn’t help but laugh, he pulled me closer as I did. 

“I was trying to say that from here on out I want to be with you, I-I want to be there when you go to sleep and be there when you wake up. I want us to have little moments with each other when we can, I have spent the past few years wanting something with you and I won’t continue without letting you know. I don’t know what that kiss meant to you downstairs but that was everything to me.” I spoke slowly and I stared at my hands. I was too afraid to look at him in such a vulnerable moment. 

“That’s all I want. That kiss downstairs was my future Y/N.” I picked my head up to look at him grinning wildly. 

“I’m your future?” I asked sheepishly. 

“You’ve been my future for the past couple of years, the plan at least. Y/N I’m in love with you.” I threw my arms around his neck and tossed myself into his lap. I peppered kisses on his cheeks while smiling. Pulling back I looked at him, he was smiling back at me, his eyes were looking into the darkest parts of me but he was smiling. I knew I would always be safe with him around. 

His hands began to rub into my sides gently. He leaned up, closing the gap between us. Our kiss was slow, methodical, and passionate. It quickly escalated into more hungry and fast as we continued. Without thinking I rolled my hips into his earning a groan from him. We broke apart. His face was flush, lips parted and slightly swollen as I bet mine was too.

We stared at each other for a moment trying to gauge each other and plan what to do next. Keeping eye contact I rolled my hips again. His jaw clenched and his hands tightened on my hips. 

“Do you want this?” He asked. His voice was deep and husky. His eyes were dark and it sent shockwaves through my body, straight to my core. 

“I need you, George,” I whispered back. That was all it took for him to tighten his grip on my hips and kiss me again. The kiss was hot and fiery. I began to grind into his lap again causing us both to groan. I could feel him harden beneath me as I rolled my hips into him. I continued to roll my hips, throwing my head back as he nipped and sucked at my neck. 

“George...” I moaned out his name, I could feel him smirk against my neck. 

Before I could prepare he flipped us over, I was laying on my back and he hovered over me. 

“You’re so beautiful Y/N.” My face began to flush as he looked at me with pure adoration in his eyes. He began to pepper kisses onto my face and the butterflies in my stomach dispersed as I began to laugh. 

“Are you sure?” He asked pulling back to look at me in my eyes. 

“Yes George, please,” I whined, I could feel the familiar feeling in my core that felt both like butterflies and sinking. I desperately needed his attention on my body. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” I nodded and he attached his lips back to mine. His hands traveled down my body, he pushed up my skirt up my thighs and it pooled around my hips. I broke the kiss and pulled it up above my head. Looking back up to George he took me in, trailing his fingers around the lace of my bra my breath hitched much like his own. My heart rate sped up as his fingers trailed down from my breasts and to the waistband of my matching lace panties. 

He pulled on the waistband of them, letting it bounce back onto my hips. Leaning back he pulled his shirt and tie over his head. I took him in, his toned chest and stomach eyeing the ginger trail of hair that could be seen down both. 

He undid his belt, pushing down down his trousers while maintaining eye contact. I watched him until my eyes flickered down to the tent in his underwear. I could hear him chuckle as I eyed his length, my eyes widening as he grew under my gaze. 

He moved again to sit in front of me on the bed. His hands moved up my legs and rested on my things, lightly kneading them, his lips soon followed. He repeated his assault on my neck on my thighs, nipping and sucking until he reached my covered core. 

His eyes flickered up to mine as he halted his actions. I nodded permitting him to continue. His hands came up and they traced my lips causing my breathing getting heavier. He pushed my panties to the side and reached out to delicately lick my clit. I dropped my head back and let out a loud moan. 

“My family is in the house you know.” He laughed against my core, his breath fawned over me sending shivers through my body. 

“Sorry.” I whipped my head up to see him smiling at me. 

“It’s ok, I want to hear you.” He said and summoned his wand. He placed a quick silencing spell on the room. “Don’t hold back darling.” My face heated up at the nickname and I quickly nodded. 

He turned his head back to my core and started to aggressively lick and suck at my clit. I couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from my mouth as he continued his attack. His fingers came up, tracing the entrance to my core adding to the pleasure I was feeling. I reached behind myself and unclipped my bra to massage at my tits. 

He inserted a finger into me making me exclaim as he pumped it slowly while curling it. He pulled his face back to watch me as twisted and pulled on my nipples, adding to the overwhelming feeling crashing around me. 

“So pretty.” He fawned. I didn’t have time to have to be flushed at his comment as he inserted another finger into me making me scream out his name. He gently licked at my clit now and again as his fingers mercilessly pumped into me. Curling his fingers to hit that one spot over and over again his attention picked up on my clit. 

“George, I, f-fuck! I’m gonna...” I breathed out. The ability to make words passed me as my legs began to shake, the familiar feeling of a knot filled my stomach and my eyes clenched shut. 

He hummed onto my clit, acknowledging my plead and that was enough to send me over the edge. I came hard and saw stars as he continued his attack, milking my orgasm for all it could give him. He pulled his mouth away, soon after pulling out his fingers, massaging my shaking legs as I caught my breath. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asked. I looked up at him, propping myself up on my elbows as I looked down at him. The tent in his underwear looked bigger as ever and his chin was glistening with my arousal. 

“Please.” I nodded. I grabbed him and pulled him on top of me. One of his hands propped him up while the other cupped my face as we kissed. Our tongues fought each other for dominance, I moved my hand down and palmed him through his boxers. He let out a groan which I used to my advantage to explore his mouth. 

He moved his hand from my face to grab my wrist. I halted all my actions and watched as he pulled his cock free of his underwear. My eyes widened at the sight of him, I felt myself grow wetter and rubbed my thighs together at the sight. He pumped himself a few times as his eyes raked over me, chuckling lightly to himself.

“Needy, are we?”  He taunted. He started to move his hand slower around himself, his eyes were dark as they looked into mine. I wiggled under his stare again letting out a whine. 

“George, I need you.” I managed to breathe out I heard him groan at my words. 

“As you wish.” He crawled on top of me, I linked my legs around his waist. My breathing intensified as he trailed his lips up my torso until he was trailing his lips along my jaw. He nipped and sucked behind my ear causing me to let out a breathy moan. I could feel him pressing against my entrance so I shifted my hips needily trying to take him in. He lifted his head and looked at my face as though he was committing it to memory. 

“Please…” I whined. He smiled down at me and reattached our lips. One of his hands found mine and he pulled it above my head, interlocking our fingers and leaning against it. His other hand trailed down my body until he found my hip, holding it steady. Our lips were still pressing against each other when he pushed into me. I moaned into his mouth causing him to pull away and smile at me. He continued to push into me, filling me up to the hilt. Being quite large, I involuntarily clenched around him trying to adjust to his size. He groaned and placed his head in the crook of my neck. He peppered kisses to my neck and didn’t move, letting me adjust. I felt quite full, in a good way, the stinging sensation I felt at first passed quickly. I ran my free fingers through his hair, beckoning him back to me. I kissed hard signaling for him to start moving. 

Slowly he pulled out halfway then pushed back in with more force. I moaned out his name as he repeated these actions, each time thrusting into me with more force than before. Hoisting my leg around his shoulder he continued his pace, this time hitting that spot deep inside of me that made my toes curl and my lungs lose the air they once retained. I was a moaning mess, saying George’s name like a mantra. Each feeling was both too much to handle and not enough. The familiar feeling of a knot was building up in my lower stomach. My legs began to shake and my breathing sped up as I felt myself tighten around him making each thrust leaving me feeling more full. 

“George, p-please, I need…” His hips snapped into me cutting off my sentence and turning it into a moan. He trailed his hand up and cupped my face. He picked up his pace causing my whole body shake begging for release. 

“What do you need baby?” His voice was husk and sent shockwaves through my body. As he continued his brutal pace and didn’t grant me my release I felt tears prick my eyes as it all became too much to handle. 

“F-Fuck, please George. Please.” A few tears fell as I tried my absolute hardest to hold back from falling apart. 

He leaned his head down and nipped at my ear. “Go on darling, cum for me.” He whispered into my ear. At his words I let myself fall apart, shaking and clenching around him. He continued to thrust, slowing down and stuttering until he filled me up, thrusting a few times as the aftershock of my orgasm made me spasm and let out a few small moans. 

He slowly pulled out of me and laid on top of my chest. Picking up our intertwined hands he placed a kiss on the back of mine. Brushing my fingers through his hair I tried to catch my breath. 

He rolled over and pulled me with him, now resting on his chest I could hear his heartbeat go back to a normal rhythm. 

“Y/N?” I hummed as a response, waves of fatigue fell over me and I traced small patterns onto his pale chest. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you, not anymore.”

I smiled at his words, shifting slightly so I could look up at him I beamed. “That took too long to happen,” He nodded eagerly and I laughed at him lightly. “I just mean I’m ready to fight for us.” 

He grabbed my hand resting on his chest and interlocked our fingers yet again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

We fell asleep, tangled together breathing in each other and I never felt more complete than I did at that moment. 

[serararku]

Dancing in the Sand Pt 3

The sun had ducked beneath the horizon by the time Zevi made it to the designated area at the edge of the territory. Just like Era described, the half-sundered boulder concealed a crevice only a young kitten could run through. Between the dry shrubs clinging to life rested the path he was instructed to follow, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He half-expected an animal had made its home in the widened opening halfway through this secret passage, but what he found was far more intriguing.

A small clay pot filled with hastily made arrows sat along what looked to be an old campsite; half of them were of terrible quality, with the others not even finished. A pile of rocks cut and sharpened sat in the corner of this little hovel. But the paintings are what held his attention the longest. There were two Miqo'te standing side by side with the sun shining over their heads; one was short with black hair and blue eyes, and the other was disproportionately tall, with long white hair and an over emphasis on its bright orange eyes. There was no doubting it- this was Era’s doing when she first left her tribe to search for S'tage. This place was cut off from the elements, meaning these paintings would last for decades… perhaps even much longer. She had to be down here for a few days in hiding to make these drawings, as well as all the projects she started but never finished.

"Would she do this for me?" A thought crept along the back of his neck to whisper doubt into his ear. "If I were captured… would she devote this much energy to save my life? If he returned from beyond the grave… would she run off with him?" R'zevi couldn't decide if it was the dropping temperature of the desert night or his waning confidence that was responsible for the chill running up his spine, but he could no longer ignore this dreadful cold. But he wasn't here to sit in this cave to witness the obsessive adoration his lover once had for another man. With nothing else left to look at, he promptly turned to leave this place behind.

As soon as he stepped out of the narrow passage and into a wide clearing between the crags the hair's on the back of his neck stood up; immediately he stopped and looked upward, locking eyes with a band of tribal women wearing beige leathers for camouflage, and armed to the teeth with stained bone spears and longbows. They stood along the edge of the cliff, their eyes glowing dimly against the backdrop of the starless sky. Was he caught? Was this a search party he was supposed to avoid? Zevi’s mind was abuzz with questions with limited ways to find answers. They knew this area far better than he did, so running was probably not a good idea. On the other hand, Era would likely never forgive him if he fought them, especially if he managed to wound, maim, or even kill any of them. Against his better judgement he remained perfectly still, his pale blue eyes glimmering right back at them. This silent staring contest would have to continue until one of them made a move.

“It’s alright. This is the one she promised.” A voice called out in that familiar huntspeak, provoking Zevi to turn his head. A tribal woman stood beside a bed of flowering cacti, armed with only her flowing brown hair and glowing green eyes. It was like looking through time to stare face to face at Era twenty summers into the future. He knew they would look alike, sure, but he expected her to have some features from her father; the resemblance was almost uncanny. She looked up at the women and nodded, sending the hunting party away to give them some privacy. “Come closer… we have much to discuss.”

Zevi’s ears flattened for a moment as he warily watched the hunting party move away. Gradually his ears lifted as it seemed that the party had no intention of doubling back. Satisfied that he wasn’t about to take an arrow -- or worse, to the back, he turned his attention to the woman before him, taking a few cautious steps in her direction. “S’yuun?”

“Yuun is fine. You must be Zevi, yes?” She calmly smiled, seemingly relaxing once she heard his voice.

“Yes, my name is Zevi.”

“Wonderful.” Once she was close enough to touch, she began to circle him, poking at his chest and stomach inspectantly, before running her fingers along the scars and muscles on his arms; she seemed to be grading him. “So you’re the one who convinced my daughter to abandon her duty for so long, hm?”

He watched as she sized him up, his brow furrowing for a moment while she touched his form; he’d expected an inspection of some kind, but this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. “Convinced?” He repeated, indignantly. “I was concerned for her when she decided to return, to visit the tribe, but I never tried to convince her not to go. Era’s will is her own and I’ve known that from the beginning.” His gaze continued to follow the older Miqo’te, cautious -- but trying not to be overly guarded.

Just as Era warned, her mother had a poor grasp of personal space. She reached up to run a hand through his hair, traced his jawline with a finger, and pressed her palm against his chest in several places. Zevi struggled to resist pushing her hands away; she was making him feel more like a prized pig or a slab of meat than an actual person. Even worse, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care how uncomfortable she was making him. “That’s not entirely true. Era is governed by her emotions. Just like her father.” At last her inspection ended when she wrapped her arms around her waist, and he could breathe easy- for now.

“She...can be a bit emotional at times, yes...” He admitted.

Yuun didn’t seem to hear him while she practically undressed him with her eyes. “Plenty of scars and muscles. And not bulky, ugly muscles. Lean. Practical. A real body befitting a real man… unlike our Nunh.” She then motioned for him to follow her, but she didn’t walk far. Just a few paces away she unfolded a fur blanket and draped it along the ground. She sat crossed-legged before patting the blanket beside her. “Have you… come to kill him?”

Zevi waited for her to sit before easing down onto the blanket, with an eyebrow perking at the comparison. His ears tilted back as his brow furrowed - he’d had these talks before. “It’s not my intent, no. Era doesn’t seem too keen on sharing, and when I left my tribe I made the decision to live in the Free Cities, rather than attempt to become a Nunh -- I hear the life expectancy is a bit better for Tias there.”

“How peculiar…” Yuun’s smile was soft but fleeting. “I have three sons. One is still with us, too young to yet survive on his own, and two sons out there training to become Nunhs. A part of me hopes they succeed… but the chances of that are… very slim. They were frail kittens when they were born, and…” She trailed off to wring her hands together. “I wish they had the courage to leave this life behind. Maybe… they’re in your tribeless cities with lovers of their own?” Her voice was more hopeful than factual, as if she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

“Maybe they did make the decision to give the Free Cities a go - there are many Tias out there, quite a few of them with families of their own. So it is a possibility…” He trailed off, swallowing roughly and lacing his hands together, unable to stop the frown that formed as she spoke of the choice he knew was inevitably going to come.

Not eager to dwell on the idea of her dead sons any longer, she cleared her throat and promptly changed the subject. “Well… if you’re not here to kill Vahli, then there’s only one way this ordeal will play out. My daughter will be found out eventually, and she’ll have to make a choice. Her family… or you.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, his hair long enough to cover his eyes. “I know that. I’ve always known that there would be a choice. First with Tage, and now with her family. I’ve never hid my wishes...for her to stay with me, have a family with me...but as I said, Era’s will is her own. Whatever she decides I’ll stand by - even if that means watching her leave.” He exhaled sharply before looking up once more.

Yuun couldn’t hide her laughter, or perhaps she didn’t even try. “Hahahah! If you think Era wouldn’t choose you over us, you haven’t been paying attention! This is bigger than a fawning obsession for a man she’s never mated with. What you two have is real, is it not? You have given her what no Nunh ever could. Happiness… happiness and the freedom to pursue it.”

Zevi blinked slowly. “I...yes, it’s very real. I just want her to be happy - whatever that means. I’d very much like for it to be with me...I enjoy our time together and she makes me happier than I can remember being. But I also know she loathes the idea of losing you. We’ve...briefly talked of the future before, of children...and the one damper on the conversation was the thought that you wouldn’t be able to see them.”

Yuun turned to watch the flashes of lightning far off in the distance, falling silent for a few long breaths. “I would love to be there when she gives birth to her first kitten. To hold my granddaughter in my arms… or grandson.” Her gaze flicked to Zevi for an instant as a smile danced along her lips again. “But I know she would never be happy as a tribewife. The bloodlust of her father courses through her veins. She’s a warrior, through and through.” Yuun eventually turned her body to face Zevi directly. “I want you to do something for me.”

He watched her for a moment, before letting his gaze get pulled away by the distant lighting - a small smile gracing his features as he recalled another impactful thunderstorm not all that long ago. His attention was pulled back as she spoke of ‘tribewives’ and he tilted his head as she turned to face him. “What’s that?”

"Protect my little kitten. Be her voice of reason when next she does something reckless." Her stare was piercing. "And I want grandkittens. Lots of them. I may never see or hold them myself, but… knowing she is happy will always be more important."

Zevi nodded as she spoke, turning to focus on Yuun once more - rather than watching the distant lightning. “I’ll do my best...in all regards. And maybe...one day...you will get to see and hold your grandchildren. I mentioned we talked about children - but we did note it might not be for a little while…”

Yuun didn't seem to mind, simply shrugging and turning back to the storm. The wind was beginning to pick up, tossing her auburn hair aloft before she reached up with both hands to tame it. "When she left us to chase after that dead man, I was convinced my oldest daughter would never return, or worse- get herself killed out there. Many nights I had nightmares of her laying in a pool of her own making, calling out for me as she faded away. I don't expect you to understand the loss of a child, but… it was all I could think about for moons on end. And just when I thought I had grown numb to the pain, I turned around and she's standing there smiling like she never left." She gave Zevi a side glance before continuing with, "Knowing she's alive and happy is good enough for me. Take her far away from this place when the time comes, Zevi of the Raptor Tribe. She deserves a peaceful life… you both do."

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair - a nervous habit. “I’ll take care of her, Yuun. I never felt at home with my tribe. I didn’t feel at home in the Free Cities. I didn’t know what home was until I met Era.” He paused, before his ears folded back a bit. “I...didn’t mention my tribe. How did you know?”

She gave him a playful smile before reaching over to trace her fingers along his chin to wipe away any comfort he had built up since sitting down alongside her. "Your markings gave it away. It's difficult to tell at a distance… but up close it's obvious." Yuun licked her lips before continuing. "More than a few Tia from your tribe have come to challenge our Nunh." She leaned over and took his hand to trace the markings on her own face. "See? Every woman from the Zu Tribe has the same markings. We check those to ensure a bought tribewife or upcoming Tia isn't from another sect… to prevent inbreeding."

“That...doesn’t surprise me. The fact that there have been more than a few Tias from my tribe. There were quite a few Nunhs when I was growing up who didn’t last very long. My father was one of them.” His brow furrowed and he hummed thoughtfully, as he lowered his hand. “I never paid any attention to the markings, but then again - I didn’t have any intention of remaining with the tribe, so I suppose I didn’t need to.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck before glancing out towards the storm in the distance once again. Yuun must have noticed the tonal shift when he mentioned his father; and she had just the thing to distract him.

"The love for my children is boundless. However the intimacy between two kindred spirits is something I will never know firsthand…" The woman casually untied her fur wrappings, letting what little clothes she wore slide down her figure. She then turned to gaze at him with a familiar hunger in her eyes, as naked as the day she was born; and when she reached out for him, she draped a leg over his lap to straddle him.

It took a moment for Zevi to process what was happening. His eyes widened as she settled herself onto him, the action effectively knocking him from his shock induced stupor. He’d known there might be an attempt - he’d been acutely aware of just how close the older woman was as he’d sat down on the blanket. "Lay with me like you do with my daughter.” Her voice was soft and eager now, but it sounded more like a command than a request. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and it only made her devious grin grow. “I want to taste true love for myself. These desert nights are so cold… won't you warm yourself inside me?" Yuun didn't even wait for his reply before she pressed her breasts against him when she leaned forward, her hands slipping between them to undo his belt.

He blinked hard several times and swallowed roughly, but he reached down to still her hands before the belt could be removed. “Yuun...no.” He looked up with a face flushed red, his gaze locking with hers. “I love your daughter, and I made a promise to her. I won’t break that promise.”

She paused from undressing him, but didn’t make a move to get off him. "You know what she had to do in order for our Nunh to listen to her, yes? Was that not fair to you? Why should you keep a promise when she did not?" She slowly brushed her nose against his, and brought her alluring voice down to a whisper. "Tell me you don’t want this..."

“I know...what she did with the Nunh, yes. She told me the day she returned.” He gave a shaky exhale as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I was...angry, hurt - on some level I still am-...but I knew it was a possibility when she left.” His ears flattened against his head. “I almost expected it, to be honest. She wanted to see her family again, and there was going to be a price to pay. But that...that was Era’s choice. When I give my word, Yuun, I do my best to see it through. I gave Era my word - I won’t betray that trust, even if she betrayed mine.”

A warm smile lit up her face as she stared into his eyes, eventually pulling her hands away from his waist to caress his chin. "My, my… you are a strange one." She then looked hungrily at his lips, silently contemplating whether or not she would push him onto his back and sleep with him anyway; instead she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, before lifting her leg and to slide out of his lap. "I won’t tempt you any further." Yuun assured, running her hands through her hair one last time before she began reaching for her furs. "But I should warn you about that other Tia. He had no such restraint to reveal how he felt about my daughter." Her bright green eyes flashed in his direction again once she pulled her clothes over her head. "He loves her, I think. A different kind than you two share, but just as passionate. Safe travels… and thank you for humoring me."

Zevi relaxed as she slid off of his lap and dressed before his gaze narrowed in her direction. “...What other Tia? K’thalen??”

Yuun simply shrugged, visibly disappointed that her night would end with far less excitement than she had planned. "I didn't catch his name, but he's certainly of the Hipparion Tribe. Dark skin and yellow eyes… does that sound familiar?"

He nodded as he focused on fixing his belt. Era had the same air of disappointment when he told her no; yet another personality quirk she inherited from her mother... “K’thalen. She was living with him when we met and was intimate with him for a time.”

"People don't change so easily. Passion doesn't burn out at the snap of one’s fingers." With a gentle sigh and a subtle frown, Yuun reluctantly rose to her feet to begin preparing her trip back to the heart of her territory. "Era may be obsessed with you, but that doesn't mean her previous lovers have let go of their desires. Just some food for thought."

He stood, casting one more glance out at the horizon and the distant storm. Appropriate. “We’ve discussed Thalen. Part of the reason she moved into my apartment was because of the...of my discomfort with her living with him.” He frowned as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. Yuun on the other hand simply pretended she knew what an ‘apartment’ was. “...I wouldn’t expect other’s passions to fade overnight. Maybe it’s naive - but I trust her, Era - to be honest with me about what she wants...even when it’s painful to hear. If she wanted to be with K’thalen, she would be.”

Yuun silently stalked Zevi while he was distracted by the distant lightning, before running her hand down his arm and across his stomach to feel his muscles again; if she wasn’t attracted to his body, she certainly would have fooled him. "My daughter isn't the one you should be worried about. Men are driven by their desires… and even the best of them can succumb to their cravings. This Thalen seems harmless and kind enough, but the desire for her remains."

Zevi gave a long, slow exhale - focusing on what she was saying rather than the trail of her fingers. “The warning is duly noted. I can’t stop Thalen from wanting her, but I can do my damnedest to make sure that Era’s needs and desires are met...that she doesn’t have the need to look elsewhere to be satisfied…”

She turned away to pull the blanket off the ground before casually suggesting, "You could always challenge him for Era's affection. If you think you can take him, it would make him think twice about pursuing her when you're not around… or you could eliminate all doubt entirely and kill him."

He frowned as he glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I will do what I have to in order to protect Era, but she is also able to choose and take care of herself. Thalen can pursue - but that doesn’t mean she has to give in to his requests or desires. Ultimately, it’s Era’s choice to make.”

“It is her choice.” Yuun repeated, smiling briefly. Her sharp whistle carried far over the Thanalan wastes, as if she was calling something… or someone. Out of the darkness a lone woman came running, armed with a scimitar and small round shield. “Unfortunately this is where we have to part ways, unless you’ve changed your mind?” She gave Zevi a playful wink, but she didn’t wait to listen to his refusal again. “Chaje, I am ready to leave.” The stranger undressed Zevi with her gaze as well- he was beginning to notice a trend around here. She gently took the woman by the arm to usher her back to her territory. Yuun glanced over her shoulder one last time and waved, choosing to depart without muttering another word.

Zevi watched them leave, his form finally relaxing. He had played this scenario over and over in his head for the full week before tonight, and he was still woefully unprepared for what actually happened. Yuun was, in an uncomfortable number of ways, just like her daughter; she knew what buttons to press to get a reaction out of him. A fully developed woman straddling him while completely naked was not something he was prepared for as well; still his heart was pounding against his chest and his face remained vibrant red. That was perhaps the biggest difference between mother and daughter. Yuun was bold and definitely not lacking any confidence.

He could stand there like an idiot all night trying to process what just happened. A part of him-- a throbbing part, couldn’t help but wonder what would be happening right now if only he had taken Yuun up on her offer; but he had officially worn out his welcome, and he needed to leave. A sigh slipped from his lips before he turned to make his way back, following the same route that he’d used to arrive at his destination.  

---

Collaborated with @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[randomoranges]

the plot: actual Legit Things Happening in the BG taro: too self absorbed to worry about those. 

also, the song mentioned in this part is real. i removed the name of the artist because someone might google the artist’s name and then make a bigger and further association with past weeb me and im still not ready for That lamao. (it’s nothing Big or Bad or whatever. i was just really obsessed with this show as a young tween and i still feel second hand embarrassment thinking about it to this day.)

however, this song, i could never find a link to downloand it or whatnot. it had been on some persons website but i couldn’t download it from there and when i searched i could never find it. i think it was finally this summer or last summer that i tried again and i finally FOUND IT.

also i swear in the word doc, i legit had a little music note emoticon next to the line; look. 

So Totally OP!

Part 13

 I backed up into a wall and glanced at Jake, silently asking him to save me and confirm that he too had just witnessed this atrocity. Jake also wore a traumatized expression. Not only was this man ugly as my grandmother’s wrinkled prunes, but he was too obsessed with money and that was what made him scary. Why had she hired this – abomination?!

 -

“Get away from me! I just got my hair done and might I add, Jake you’ve really outdone yourself. Now please, I need my personal space. You’re in my perfect bubble right now.” Daniel didn’t seem to understand English. He just continued yapping about money and savings. This man was a total disgrace to society!

 “All right, I’ll try to say this one more time, if you don’t get away from me, I’ll make sure that OP loses 1,100 dollars instead of saving it.” I tried instead. Maybe, if I spoke his language he would understand. Immediately, the man closed his big mouth and he left. Maybe he hadn’t really been there. Perhaps it had been a nightmare.

 “Thank you for getting rid of him. Director, what is the meaning of this? I thought you despised that man.” Jake asked the director. And they even knew each other? This girl seemed to know everyone! And no one of quality – except for me, obviously.

 “I had no choice. They wanted me to hire him. He was at the meeting and there are some – financial issues – I figured he was the best man for the job.”

 Jake did not seem pleased. Somehow, I felt as though I shouldn’t have been here, as if I was eavesdropping on something, but I guess they needed my beauty in order to remember why they were here. Something good to keep their morale and such.

 “But you him. You do remember what he did to The Shoe that Fits, right?” This didn’t seem like a friendly conversation. What about beautiful and elegant words?

 “I’m not stupid Jak. Of course I remember, but I was forced to take him. It’s the only way. I told them about the past and they told me that if I had proof they would replace him, but for now because I’m only sixteen almost seventeen, they think I can’t make my own decisions.”

 In a blink of an eye, Jake’s personality changed. “Oh why I ought to wring their fat necks until they let you run your own company! Haven’t you given them enough proof yet?”

 The director sighed. They had completely forgotten about me! I felt so neglected.

 “I appreciate the thought, but this is my own battle. I’ve got to go anyways, later.” She got up, kissed his cheek as though it was secondhand nature and left. I couldn’t believe it! What about me? What was I, dirty laundry?

 “And what was that?” I just had to ask. This couldn’t be.

 “A memento. You know, just because I’m gay it doesn’t mean that I don’t care for her. She still is one of my closest friends. I still care for her. It’s just a token of affection like when you greet people. Your jealousy won’t get you anywhere, Taro, remember that. And don’t worry, I won’t tell her that you like her.” He winked at me before disappearing in the darkness. I didn’t have anything to say. It seemed as though my brain had stopped working for an instant.

 “I do not like her!” I yelled back for my own sake, even though he was already gone. Like I had previously said, ladies fell for me, not the other way around. I didn’t even know her name for crying out loud! So why did I feel this way? Could it be that I was starting to fall for her? Too bad I didn’t have two appendixes… I could have blamed it on that.

 --

 The next morning, I got to the studio early because I had concocted a brilliant plan to find out more about Daniel and a bit more about the director. I had my I-pod on as I walked into the building, blasting one of my favourite songs from one of my perfectly crafted playlists. The title was only too convenient for such a day; Handsome. It was the perfect song to start the day right. I felt so darn handsome! I could have turned the ugliest of things in celestial beauties.

 You’re handsome…

 I was lucky to find the director sitting at her desk typing away on her laptop. Now, it was time to put my perfect plan into action. I put my things away and walked to her desk. I sat on her desk and leaned over so she could see me in the eyes. I smiled at her and she looked at me with quizzical eyes.

 “Good morning director, I have a proposition for you that you can’t refuse.” I gave her one of my charming smiles and she simply continued looking at me, almost annoyed.

 “Yes Taro, go on.” She even seemed to have one of her forced smiles. This was all about to change!

 “How about you and me go out together on Saturday for your birthday? It is Sunday the big day isn’t it?” Her stunned expression was what I needed as an answer. I smiled wickedly, before waltzing out of the room putting on Handsome on full blast. You’re handsome…

PREVIOUS: XII CURRENT: XIII NEXT: XIV

[everybodyloveshippos]

i finished thrawn treason in one day so i documented my thoughts

FIRST OFF: thrawn and eli barely hung out or like....had any kind of talk which sucked but....cest la vie...i guess i had hoped for like...a tearful flower-field running into each others arms reunion (so did eli lol)

--

Eli: wow. A year has passed I am so excited to see Thrawn I wonder what he will say.... what will I say??

Thrawn: good day lieutenant vanto.

Eli: GOOD DAY LIEUTENANT VANTO??!!!! GOOD DAY???!! I WAITED A YEAR FOR A FUCKING GOOD DAY ???

--

Thrawn: (exists)

Ar’alani: (annoyance tinged with fond exaspération) I’m going to wring your neck

--  

How ronan sees eli+the chiss:

--

Faro: Eli is probably dead

Eli: hey can I use ur office

Faro: sure eli-wait.

--

Ronan: I’m not a monster.

Faro:, in a very mocking way: Of course not.’ hfskjd faro girl she is so Tired

--

Thrawn, crying: I’m trying to enact a multilevel plan but these stupid idiots keep getting in my Way

--

Eli, who has thrawns journal, the last entry of which details that he sees Eli as a friend: I wonder if Thrawn considers me a friend....

This part was so sweet and kinda sad tho eli desperately wanting to be special, or know that Thrawn is special

--

Oh eli I missed ur absolute tired brand of sass

--

Omg Eli has a friend... she’s so cute....I love her also the chiss showing emotion is great like aralani holding the crying little girl DaMN!!

The chiss finding humour in Eli’s bad chenuh LMAOOOO then he gets good at it they’re like okay not funny anymore :(((

--

So far I’m glad it’s less “Thrawn is Good and does the right thing” and more “Thrawn does what he wants and has never followed a rule in his life” the younger sibling energy Is Unparalleled

--

Eli: can someone PLEASE praise me

--

Faro: I see. (narrator voice: she did not in fact, see)

--

Ronan: listen-

Eli: no YOU listen

Me: AHHHH FUCK IT UP ELI

--

Lieutenant Agral is baby

“GOT em!!!”

 - lieutenant agral, 2019

--

Krennic and Ronan: wears a cape

Literally everyone: I’m about to end this mans whole career

--

Dayja: people in authority love capes so . We’ll be fine. (Dayja is there for like 3 chapters and somehow has More chaotic energy than fucking anyone else)

deathtroopers: im waffle this is pik, we love to kill people

Kresh: “Thank you lieutenant, I feel much better resting now in the comfort of your wisdom and experience” FGSHD HE JUST MURDERED ELI RIGHT THEN AND THERE HUH

Everybody: Thrawn you can’t have divided loyalties

Thrawn: watch THIS 

--

Eli: IF SOMEONE (THRAWN) DOESNT COMPLIMENT ME IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES IM ABOUT TO LOSE IT

--

The way this was written it could have been Thrawn but I think it was aralani SHE SMILED AT FARO!!! Nice. we love to see it. tbh they had more interaction than THRAWN AND ELI :(((((((

Didn’t want to get my hopes up but I wish Thrawn and Eli hung out a little more in this book Lol OR AT LEAST SAID GOODBYE TIMOTHY PLEASE....

RONAN U ABSOLUTE LEGEND USING UR CAPE AS A WEAPON ICONIC.....

--

thrawn u gotta stop sending ppl to the acsendancy .....

ALSO  cant wait for the book about eli and ronan hating eachothers guts and havign to work as a team and then coming to repsect eachother and then....maybe fall in lo(i get killed before i finish the sentence)

 OKAY but fr i WILL keep pushing my “ everyone has the hots for eli” agenda

umm yeah thats all 4 now bye 

OH WAIT I FORGOT RONAN SAYING SORRY TO ELI WAS SO FUNNY HE COULDNT UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY WERE SAYING LMAO WHAT A DIPSHIT

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but for just one day let’s only think about love

(a gift for my darling wife @notveryglittery!!! you mentioned wanting more fluff, and i have delivered! i hope you enjoy it, princess!) 

summary: it's the eve of their big day, and roman and patton want everything to be perfect. luckily, they've got their best friends in the world helping make sure everything goes smoothly - and who could ask for better friends? (OR: an absurdly fluffy royality wedding fic written for my lovely wife dani!)

pairings: romantic royality, background romantic analogical

word count: ~5759 

(cw: the briefest anxiety in the beginning, tooth-rotting fluff)

read it on ao3!

“Why did I let you talk me into wearing a white tuxedo?!”

Roman drapes himself over Logan’s couch, knocking his best friend’s newspaper out of his hands as he flops into his lap. Logan stares at him, unimpressed.

“I did not talk you into anything. On the contrary, I attempted to tell you that wearing a white tuxedo was a terrible idea.”

“Why didn’t I listen to you?!” “I have been asking myself that question since you met me. However, the reason you gave me for your current misstep was, and I quote.” Logan presses the back of his hand to his forehead and drapes himself against the back of the couch. “I have to wear a white tuxedo!” he gasps, imitating Roman’s voice and mannerisms to a truly creepy degree. “Only a white tuxedo will offset my perfect golden tan and make me appear to glow when the sunlight strikes me just so! And since Patton always calls me his sunbeam, it seems only fitting that I should be truly radiant for our wedding day! Though not as radiant as Patton of course - ah, my lovely fiancé! How have I gone more than six whole seconds without mentioning -”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Roman grouses, shoving at Logan’s chest to make him stop. Logan sits up, adjusts his tie, and leans over Roman to get his newspaper off the ground. Rather than reading it, however, he folds it neatly.

“What is this really about, Roman?” “I’m regretting my fashion choices, Logan! Obviously, I -”

“Roman, be honest with me. It is not the suit which troubles you, is it?”

Roman sits up, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. He looks at Logan, dark chocolate eyes hidden behind his bangs. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Not to the average eye, perhaps. But we have known each other since we were approximately fourteen months old, Roman. There is very little that you can hide from me.”

“Geez, Lo, don’t I have any secrets?” Roman jokes. Logan rests a hand on his knee.

“Of course you do, Roman. But your insecurities, your . . . your fears should not be something that you attempt to hide, from yourself or from me. Please do not misunderstand me - I am not attempting to pry into your life.”

Roman quirks a half-smile. “I know, Lo. I know you’re just worried.”

“Tell me, then. What is troubling you? You . . . you are not getting the proverbial ‘cold feet’ about your impending nuptials, are you?”

“No! No, no, I absolutely don’t regret accepting Pat’s proposal! I - I love him, Logan. I love him so much, he . . .” Roman twists his engagement ring around his finger. “Patton is the best and brightest thing in my life. He genuinely loves everyone and everything so much, and he’s so kind and - and -”

“I understand,” Logan says. “I did not think that was the case, but it was necessary to eliminate it from the realm of -”

“What if it’s fucked up?”

Logan blinks. “I . . . I do not understand. Could you please expand on that statement?”

“I love Patton so much, Logan. You don’t even understand, I - I could live without food, without water, without oxygen, without anything as long as I had Patton with me. He’s so important to me and - and I just - what if something goes wrong tomorrow? What if there’s a hurricane? What if Emile loses his voice? What if someone drops my suit in a vat of grape juice, what if Virgil’s shop catches on fire and Patton’s dress is destroyed, what if Virgil ends up in the hospital, what if Patton doesn’t want to marry me, what if he stands me up at the altar, what if -”

“Roman!” Logan says. He shifts his hand from Roman’s knee to holding Roman’s hands, which have begun to grip painfully at his hair. “You are engaging in cognitive distortions which are sending you into a spiralling panic attack. Look at me, Ro - it will be alright. I am going to count for you.”

Logan’s voice is quiet and measured, breaths even and steady as he counts. He looks at Roman, who does his best to maintain eye contact. “That’s it, Roman. Take deep breaths. We are optimizing your oxygen circulation in an attempt to engage your parasympathetic nervous system. The process of counting out your breaths will -”

“Thanks, nerd,” Roman rasps softly. Logan smiles, squeezing his hands.

“Of course, prep.”

“I’m not - it’s not that I don’t want to marry him, Logan. It’s the exact opposite - I want to marry him so much that I’m terrified by the prospect of the wedding being anything less than perfect.”

“Realistically, nothing can truly be perfect,” Logan says. “Much of what exists in this world is inherently flawed -”

“Thanks, Lo, that makes me feel worlds better.”

“I was not finished. Much of what exists in this world is inherently flawed, and therefore striving for perfection is unrealistic. However, this does not mean that we cannot strive for excellence. I may not be able to guarantee a perfect wedding, but I can guarantee that I will do everything in my power to make sure that it goes as smoothly as possible. You are my best friend, Roman, and I will be here to support you in every capacity that I can.”

Roman laughs, once, before lurching forward and throwing his arms around Logan’s neck. Logan, knowing Roman better than perhaps Roman himself, has already braced himself for impact, catching Roman and holding him. One hand slides up to scratch the curls at the nape of Roman’s neck while the other rubs Roman’s back in broad, firm strokes. These are the motions that have been proven to be the most soothing when Roman gets like this.

“Thank you, Lo,” Roman whispers, and his voice is so choked that if he were speaking to anyone other than Logan, he would be completely unintelligible. “This - I - you - you’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Roman,” Logan teases. “I had assumed that was why you asked me to be your best man.”

Roman makes an indignant squawking noise. “You are my best friend, too, you know.” He feels Roman nuzzle just a little into his neck.

“Love you, Lo.”

“I love you, too, Roman. If it will make you feel better . . . I have made an Excel spreadsheet to deal with potential outcomes.”

Roman pulls away from him, snorting in laughter. “Of course you did.”

“If you do not want it -”

Roman wipes his eyes, giggling. “Don’t be stupid, I know how many hours you must have poured into that. Let’s see it, then.”

Logan can’t help grinning as he picks up his laptop. “It’s color-coded.”

“Of course it is. I’d expect nothing less from you.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, I swear to whatever deity exists out there in the great unending cosmos of the universe, if you stand up from that chair one more time, I am going to yeet my fucking pincushion under your ass.”

Patton, who’d been halfway out of his chair, promptly drops back down into it, giggling nervously. “Sorry, Virge, I just -”

“You’re nervous about this dress because it needs to go well. I know.” Virgil pokes their head out from behind the folding screen where they’re working on Patton’s wedding dress. “You do trust me to know what I’m doing, right?”

“Of course I do, Virgil! There’s a reason we’re partners in Fabricadabra!”

“I still regret letting you name it that.” Virgil ducks back behind the screen, muttering to themself. Patton can only see the vaguest shadowy outline of them moving around the mannequin on which his secret wedding dress rests.

“You’re just as good a seamster as I am, Virge, I trust you to work on all of our orders! It’s just that - that you’ve never hidden something you’ve made from me before.” Patton looks at the floor, wringing his fingers together. “I know you want it to be a surprise and all that, but I get married tomorrow!”

“I know, Pats. I’m not, like, working on the seams or anything! I’m just doing finishing touches! I don’t want you to see it before it’s completely done because I want you to have the experience, tm.”

“Did - did you just say the letters ‘TM’ out loud?” Patton giggles.

“Absolutely I did, it was for the fucking -”

“Language!”

“ - freaking emphasis. This dress is the most gorgeous thing I have ever created in my life. This dress has been labored over - SLAVED over - for months. This dress contains my blood! My sweat! My tears! My -”

“Virgil!”

“Sorry, Pat, but you get my point! This dress is the most important thing I’ve ever created. It’s my best friend’s wedding dress. I want it to be perfect when you see it for the first time. I want you to see it in all its glory - I want you to see it perfect.”

“Virge, honey, you know I’m gonna love it no matter what! It doesn’t have to be a Dior gown, it’s going to be special to me because you made it! My best friend, my partner in business and in crime, my best - human!”

Virgil pokes their head back out, arching a perfectly done eyebrow. “Did you just call me your best human?”

“Well, yeah! I didn’t wanna call you my best man, cause you’re not a man, I -”

“Bold of you to assume I’m human, Patton.”

Patton laughs. “Does ‘best enby’ work, then?”

“You are too much sometimes,” Virgil chuckles, shaking their head as they duck back behind the folding screen. “You can call me whatever your gay little heart desires as long as it’s not ‘maid of honor’, Pat. I’m really not that picky.”

Virgil falls silent for a few more minutes. Their shadow moves more rapidly around the mannequin, and they alternate between muttering to themself and humming to themself. Patton recognizes about half of the songs they’re humming, and tries to sing along where he can.

“Patton, I love you, but you are so far off key you might actually be in another one.” Patton rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, fiddling with the fraying lace hemming his skirt. “Shouldn’t be much longer, just finishing up a little bit on the sleeves and the neckline.”

“How much overtime did you pull to finish this, Virgil? Have you been sleeping properly? Eating enough? Drinking enough water?”

“I have consumed the life liquid, yes.”

“Virgil!”

Virgil’s head pokes out again. Patton squints, leaning forward to see how much makeup is covering the dark circles that normally reside beneath their eyes. “Pat, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’ve pulled a couple all-nighters. But I’ve done my best to avoid them, and I have timers set on my phone to make sure I eat and drink water on a regular basis. I’m practicing self-care.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Patton says softly.

“I know, Pat. I just hope you’re proud of my work, too.”

“Virgil, whatever this dress looks like, I promise it’s going to be wonderful. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you made it for me! And I know how hard you work and how detail-oriented you are and how super good at your job you are! I know you worry a lot about how good your stuff is, but I know it’s amazing!”

“Pat, stop, you’re gonna make me blush too hard for my foundation to cover.” “Why would you wanna cover up your blush, Virge?”

“I have an image to maintain! I am a cold and emotionless void!”

“You’re the cutest little gender-non-conforming void spawn I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil sticks their face out, cheeks and ears a bright rosy pink. “Patton, you are ruining my image right now.” Patton smiles unapologetically. “Come see your damn wedding dress already.”

“Language, kiddo, I - you’re serious?! It’s done, I can come see it now?!”

“Well, it’s as good as I’m gonna get it, so you might as well come look. Plus, I need you to try it on before the wedding to make sure you’re completely happy with it.” Patton almost trips over his own feet in his rush to get out of the chair as Virgil pushes the folding screen aside. All the air in Patton’s lungs leaves it in a single rush of breath.

“Well? You gotta tell me if you like it or not, Patty, I - Patton?” Patton’s eyes are brimming with tears, hands pressed over his mouth as he stares at the dress. The bodice is gold, with flowy, see-through sleeves of thin, delicate lace. There’s intricate needlepoint along the neckline and the waistline, with delicate floral embroidery on the bodice itself. The skirt is full and flowing, a gradation of blues. It’s so light it’s almost white at the waist, flowing into dark midnight blue at the hem, and the train is embroidered with stars and flowers. The layers of the skirt are varying colors of blue and white, and Patton is starstruck.

“You . . . th-this . . . Virgil, I . . . I . . .”

“Do you not like it? It’s too late to make, like, major changes, but I could theoretically change the - whoa!”

Patton throws himself at Virgil, sobbing openly and pressing soft kisses to their hair and cheek. “Oh, Virgil, it’s perfect!”

“You - r-really? You - you don’t think there’s anything wr-wrong with it?”

“The only thing wrong with it is that you think there’s something wrong with it! Virgil, it’s perfect, it’s everything I could ever want in a wedding dress! I couldn’t have done a better job if I’d designed it myself!”

“Yeah, there was no way in hell I was letting you design and make your own wedding dress, Pat. That would just be cruel.”

Patton hugs Virgil’s skinny little frame close to him, shaking with happy tears and soaking the sleeve of their hoodie. “Virgil, I could not have asked for a better wedding dress. Or a better wedding dress designer. I love it so much, I love you so much, I -”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I love you, too,” Virgil grumbles. They still kiss the top of his head before pushing Patton away. “Come on, Pats, you gotta try on this thing so I can make last minute alterations. With any luck, you’re only gonna get married once, so let’s go!”

*~*~*~*~*

“Where did you learn to tie a tie, the sandbox?”

Roman looks helplessly at Logan, red silk tie tangled around his hands and fingers. “That - Lo, what does that even mean?” Logan laughs, leaning against the doorframe. He’s already dressed in a tailored black suit, dark blue tie knotted snugly beneath his throat, hair neatly slicked back.

“It means that you are attempting to knot your tie with the skill and grace of a five year old in a sandbox. Was that not clear?”

“No, it wasn’t, Lo,” Roman grouses, standing up. Logan takes in his appearance - half-tucked-in shirt, unbuttoned vest, tie loosely slung around his shoulders. “But I appreciate it.”

“Roman, come here. Let me help you, alright? You’re going to look great.”

Roman tucks his shirt in and buttons his vest, letting Logan straighten and smooth his suit before taking the tie in his hands and beginning to tie it. “It still amuses me that you cannot tie one of these properly, Roman.”

“Hey! For all you know, I am the god of tie knots. I just pretend I don’t know what I’m doing so that you’ll keep tying them for me because I know how happy it makes you.” Logan smirks as he knots the tie, carefully adjusting Roman’s collar to make sure it lays flat over his tie.

“I would be inclined to believe you, but I know for a fact that you spent fifteen minutes prior to my arrival here standing in front of the mirror flailing that tie around pretending to be Amethyst.”

“Rude!” Roman screeches.

“Why? I am correct, am I not?”

“You’re right, but you shouldn’t say it!”

“On the contrary,” Logan says, “I am correct, and therefore I absolutely should say it.” He pulls his hands away from Roman’s neck, smoothing the lapels of his tuxedo jacket down neatly. “You may inspect my handiwork now, although I daresay you will find no fault with my knot. And even if you do, I can rest secure in the knowledge that it is infinitely better than anything you could manage.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the most intelligent being that has ever lived, we get it,” Roman says breathlessly, staring at himself in the mirror. “I . . . th-this is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Roman. It really is. You are going to marry Patton today, and it is all going to be perfect.”

Roman’s hair is curled, falling neatly around his face in soft waves and ringlets that perfectly frame his eyes. Despite his penchant for dramatics, his makeup today is remarkably subtle. His eyelashes are darker and slightly curled, with minimal glitter on his eyes and cheeks. The boldest thing about his face is his bright red lipstick, perfectly matching his red silk tie.

“You look amazing,” Logan says. “I am proud to stand at your side as your best man.”

“Thanks, Lo,” Roman says, tipping his head back to knock gently against Logan’s shoulder. “But you can’t do that - not yet, anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re not wearing any makeup.”

“Roman. There is a lifetime ban on you putting any sort of products on my face. You know this. Need I bring up -”

“Lo, please? I promise I won’t do anything too dramatic, and it’s not that I think you look ugly without it I just think it would complete the look! Please, please let me do this? For my big day?”

He bats his definitely-mascara’d eyelashes, and Logan sighs. “I reserve the right to veto the look if I think it is too ‘out there’, Roman.”

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Twenty minutes later, Logan is blinking at his reflection in the mirror to clear the phosphenes from Roman furiously blotting foundation against his face. True to his word, Roman has not done anything too dramatic - Logan recognizes minimal contouring on his cheeks, shimmery silver eyeshadow, the barest trace of eyeliner. He looks . . . he looks good.

“Do you like it?” Roman worries. “I can take it off if it’s too much, I -”

“Roman, I - it is - satisfactory,” Logan cuts him off, trying not to sound choked up.

“Damn it, Lo! You’re gonna make me cry with all your compliments, and if my mascara runs I’ll kill you I swear to God.”

“With your penchant for crying at emotional situations, I’m impressed that you think you’re getting through this wedding without wearing waterproof mascara.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, if you don’t stop moving I’m gonna take your eye out with the mascara wand!”

“It’s rude to threaten someone on their wedding day,” Patton giggles. “It’s not a threat!” Virgil snaps. “You’re so damn ticklish and fidgety that I’m gonna end up accidentally stabbing your eye out! And then Roman’s gonna kill me to defend your honor and Logan’s gonna help because he’s been Roman’s friend longer than he’s been my boyfriend and -”

“Virgil! Calm down!” Patton says. He gently takes their hands, careful not to let the mascara smudge on his gloves. “I’m sorry, I’ll sit stiller. More still? I’ll fidget less, I promise.”

“Do you not trust me to make you look good?” Virgil asks, in a small voice.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course I do! Just look at you!” Patton gestures to the beauty-guru level makeup on Virgil’s face, from their silvery-purple-black eyeshadow to their dark purple lipstick to the way their cheekbones shine just a little more than the rest of their face. “You’re the best makeup person I know! But don’t tell Ro I said that, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Pat, I know better than to injure Princey’s precious ego. The last time I did that he pouted around for a whole week until I apologized. Not that I meant it - I was right the first time.”

“Hey, be nice,” Patton warns. Virgil shrugs, quirking a smile.

“Sorry, Pat. I know how much Princey means to you. If it makes you feel better, I don’t hate him like I did when we first met. Him not being a dick about my pronouns helped.”

“I told you he wouldn’t have a problem.”

“I know you did, Pat. Now hold still. Emile’s gonna be here to pick us up at any minute, and you need to be ready.”

Patton lets go of Virgil’s hands and obeys, letting them work their magic on his face. He doesn’t see the point in wearing excessive makeup every day the way Virgil does; he likes having his freckles on full display, and he doesn’t mind showing the occasional acne scar or blemish. But Roman had mentioned wearing makeup on their wedding day, and he hadn’t said that Patton had to but he thinks he would feel weird if Roman had makeup on and he didn’t.

Plus, Virgil really likes doing makeup, and they’ve apparently been planning what they’d do for his wedding for years now. Patton would hate to let all that work go to waste.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon,” Virgil says, gently dabbing at Patton’s face. “If Emile gets here before I’m done, he can just wait.”

“I don’t want to make him wait too long!” Patton argues. “He’s doing us a huge favor by agreeing to officiate the wedding!”

“Please, Pat, you didn’t even have to pay Emi. He just loves weddings. He’s a loser like that.”

“Don’t you like them too, Virge?”

“I will admit that over my dead body, and I am denying any candor in your statements,” Virgil says, smooth and practiced. “Now blink onto my finger, I’m almost done.”

Emile shows up right as Virgil is preparing to put Patton’s lip gloss on. “Virgie! How’s my favorite twin?”

“I am your only twin, Emile, and I hate that nickname,” they grouse.

“Oh, look at you! You look so pretty!” Emile coos. Patton is inclined to agree; Virgil is wearing a silver button-down with a black vest, and a tie the same rich purple as their flowing knee-length skirt. Tall black boots lace up to just beneath their knees, and they have flowers matching the ones in Patton’s bouquet woven into their French-braided hair.

“Thanks, Emi. You look . . . adequate.”

“Oh, Virgil! That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!” Emile squeals, twirling around to show off the flaring of their pleated pink dress. “You’re doing such a good job with Patton’s face! Did you paint his nails, too?”

“Well, someone had to do it,” Virgil grouses, but based on their tone Patton knows that they’re pleased with their twin’s praises, smiling shyly as they focus on carefully applying his lipgloss. “Pat, smack your lips together, and then you’re just about ready to look in the mirror.”

Patton does as he’s told, looking down at his feet. His toenails are painted a bright, cheerful yellow, and he wiggles his toes where they poke out of his sandals. Virgil’s intricate wedding dress fits him perfectly, and beneath his gloves his fingernails are painted sky blue with swirling red-and-gold designs. Finally, he looks up into the mirror propped on the nearby table and sees Virgil’s makeup.

“Oh, Virgil,” he whispers, putting his glasses on and seeing his face in sharp, striking clarity. “I don’t care what you said about the dress, I’m paying you extra for this.”

“Pat, you don’t have to -”

“It’s happening, Virgil, whether you like it or not,” Patton sniffles, and then he’s hugging Virgil tightly.

“Hey - careful, Pat, your makeup hasn’t set yet! And you’re gonna wrinkle our clothes, and -”

“Shut up and take my love, Virgil.”

“Y-yeah, okay . . .”

It takes Emile another seven minutes to shepherd them out the door and into the car, but Patton catches the secret proud smile gleaming on Virgil’s face as they help him get his train into the car.

*~*~*~*~*

The church where they’re getting married is small. The wooden beams bracing the ceiling arc like the beams in the hull of a ship; when they’d first inspected the venue, Logan had gone on some sort of tangent about the historical and symbolic significance of the beams. Roman hadn’t bothered listening, too busy whispering and giggling with Patton and looking at all of the mosaics and stained glass and gilded paintings.

Now, standing at the altar, Emile at his side and Logan at his back, he tilts his head up, up, up to look at the ceiling. Dimly, he remembers Logan’s voice saying, “It is meant to represent the hull of the ark, the ship that supposedly carried two of every animal to safety during the Great Flood of the Christian mythos. The thought in designing the church to mimic this boat is that it will carry the members of its congregation safely to heaven.”

Privately, Roman hopes that this marriage will carry his and Patton’s relationship through the rest of their lives. He knows the divorce rate in America, he knows how likely it is that the average marriage won’t work out. But he refuses to let himself go down that road. He loves Patton, and Patton loves him. They’ve discussed their future a million and one times - he knows how committed he is to making this work. This is going to be the start of the rest of their lives.

His cousin Thomas is up in the choir loft, gently cracking his fingers and running them lightly over the gleaming keys of the organ. Roman can see Virgil waiting in the first pew, gazes out across the sea of faces belonging to his and Patton’s friends and families. Thomas looks down at him from the choir loft and cocks his head to the side, asking if it’s time. Roman looks down the aisle and sees two silhouettes waiting behind the opaque glass doors, glances up to Thomas, and nods. Thomas begins to play, letting a few instrumental bars pass by before he starts singing, voice rich and strong.

The door opens, and Roman loses all the breath in his lungs in one swift, silent rush.

Patton walks down the aisle slowly, timing his footfalls perfectly with the beats of the song. There’s a shimmery veil over his face, held in place by a glimmering silver tiara with sparkling gemstone flowers. Roman hasn’t even seen his face yet, and already he knows Patton is gorgeous.

The dress is stunning; he can see Virgil beaming, and he makes a mental note to slip a hundred dollars into their pocket before the night is over. He knows exactly how hard they’ve been working on this secret project, and how long they’ve been working on it, too. He’s seen Virgil’s handiwork, of course, wears their neat, precise stitches in a lot of his clothing. But that’s mostly minor tweaks - hemming pants here, fixing a torn sleeve there. This is the first time he’s seen one of Virgil’s original creations.

If this dress doesn’t get them catapulted to center stage of New York fashion week, Roman is going to sue the entire fashion industry.

The top is all delicate lace and intricate embroidery, clever flower patterns and flowy sleeves. But it’s the lower half that’s drawing gasps and exclamations from the wedding guests. There’s a pure white ribbon wrapped around Patton’s waist, tied neatly in a bow behind him. The skirt starts off pure white, but as it descends it becomes pale blue, growing deeper and darker and fuller and richer as it heads toward the floor. The train is a midnight blue, so dark it’s almost black, with shimmering stars and flowers sewn in. It’s only because Roman knows Patton asked for one that he knows what he’s looking for, but he finds it quickly - the train is detachable. Patton hadn’t wanted to change into a separate outfit for the reception, but he couldn’t very well dance with a full train behind him.

Virgil really is the cleverest designer that Roman’s ever met.

Patton reaches the altar right as the song crescendos to its climax, and Virgil carefully slips up to stand behind him. His beloved’s face is obscured by the veil, but Roman can tell that Patton’s wearing makeup. Virgil probably did that, too.

Roman owes them so much money.

“Dearly beloved,” Emile starts, practically bouncing in place, “do you how do?” His characteristic greeting draws confused murmurs and whispers from the gathered crowd. Roman can hear Virgil’s palm smack against their face without even looking at them.

The ceremony flies by like lightning, but it feels like forever until Emile is stepping back and they’re putting the rings on each other’s hands, saying their vows. Roman pulls Patton’s glove off, smiling softly to himself when he sees the designs on his nails. He takes the ring Logan offers him and carefully slides it onto Patton’s ring finger.

“Patton,” he says. “I - I wrote this whole big speech, and I even had Logan proofread it for me to make sure it was grammatically correct, but . . . but standing here now, looking you in the eyes - well, as best as I can, anyway -” Patton laughs softly, and some of Roman’s nerves dissipate.

“I agonized over the right way to do these vows for so long, and now that we’re here, now that we’re doing this I - I don’t think it matters as much. I’ll let you read the sappy speech later, but - but right now, all that matters is that we’re here, that we’re together. I love you, Patton, and I don’t care who knows it, but I also really want everyone here to know it.”

More laughter, from everyone else this time. “You are the sun in my sky, the light of my life, the reason I want to keep being the best version of myself. I don’t know if I believe in the concept of people who are fated to be together, but if I did, I know for a fact that I would be fated to be with you. And even if I wasn’t, I would choose to be with you. I - I would always choose you.”

Patton squeezes his hand, and then he’s taking a ring from Virgil’s hands and carefully sliding it onto Roman’s finger. “Roman, my sunbeam, the day that I met you used to be the best day of my life. Whenever I was feeling sad or alone, I would think back to that day and I would remember that you were out there, somewhere, even if you weren’t with me at that exact second. And I would think about the light in your eyes when you look at me, and the way you smile right before you kiss me, and the way you take those few extra seconds to make sure our fingers are perfectly laced together. Those memories always made me feel warm and happy, like I was standing in the summer sunshine. But that’s not the best day of my life anymore.”

Roman blinks in confusion, but Patton keeps talking. “The best day of my life will always be this day, when I look you in the eyes. And I’ll choose you, and you’ll choose me, and we’ll keep choosing each other for the rest of our lives. Sorry I kinda stole the last bit of your vows, honey, but what can I say? You’ve always been the creative one between us.”

There are mixed smatterings of laughter echoing in Roman’s ears, but all he can focus on is the fire in his cheeks and ears and the water in his eyes. “Pat, my makeup is gonna run,” he whispers.

“Logan didn’t make you wear waterproof mascara?” Patton asks, but Roman can tell he’s smirking beneath the veil. “Virgil made me.”

“I told him to,” Logan whispers. Roman considers kicking him, but he gets distracted by Emile’s voice. The ceremony continues on, with Roman and Patton holding each other’s hands tightly. Roman tilts their hands slightly, marvelling at the way the multicolored sunlight streaming through the stained glass glints off their wedding bands.

“You may lift the veil now,” Emile says gently. Roman squeezes Patton’s hands once before letting go and tenderly taking the lacy edges of the veil. He rubs the soft material between his thumb and index finger before carefully lifting the veil and flipping it over Patton’s head to reveal his face.

If he still had breath in his lungs, Patton’s face would steal it from him. His cheeks are glowing and rosy, and his eyes are perfectly framed with dark lashes and subtle eyeliner that brings out his irises. He has golden-red eyeshadow artfully painted on his upper lids, and his lips are a beautiful soft shiny pink. His mouth is slightly open, and Roman just wants to lean in and press kisses against it over and over and over again.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Pennsylvania, I now declare you husband and husband! You may now kiss the groom!”

Roman gently cups Patton’s face, careful not to smudge or smear Virgil’s beautiful makeup job. He gently swipes his thumbs over Patton’s cheeks, right beneath eyes that shimmer with tears. “Hello, husband,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush their noses together. Patton pushes himself up on his tip-toes and presses their mouths together, cupping Roman’s face in return. On one cheek, he feels the softness of Patton’s glove, and on the other he feels the cool metal of Patton’s wedding ring.

His arms slide down to wrap around Patton’s waist and brace his back as he dips him, keeping their lips pressed together as wedding bells begin to ring and the congregation erupts into thunderous applause. He’s kissed Patton a hundred, a thousand, a million times, but this is the first time he’s kissed his husband, and the searing fire in his lips and butterflies in his stomach are fresh as the very first time he’d ever kissed Patton.

Somehow, he prefers this kiss to the time Logan had slapped him a high-five while they kissed.

(Later, at the wedding reception, Patton turns his back to the crowd and throws his bouquet of flowers. When he and Roman turn around, Virgil is holding the bouquet, and Logan is fidgeting awkwardly.

“Would now be an inopportune time to propose?” he asks.

“YES, because this is MY WEDDING DAY!” Roman screeches, even as Virgil shakes their head and furiously pulls Logan in for a kiss.)

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[descendantofthesparrow]

Part of your world – Harry Hook x Reader- Part 7- Savior part 2

a rewrite of @blackplaidcalum x reader that they wrote for me

summary: a who doesn’t love the Disney World, well, (y/n) especially loves descendants, and one day, as she dances in her kitchen getting ready to head out. 17-year-old (y/n) becomes part of that world, now a certain blue-eyed pirate meets the girl from a world where he is a fictional character and he has an actor named Thomas Doherty.

 warning: mention and the act of rape included in this part

 Key:

 h/c- hair color

 e/c- eye color

 h/l- hair length

 s/c- skin color

 y/n- your name

 your stuff

 --

Hook sat in his office admiring his new collection of rum, given to him by (insert bitchy name here), he didn’t have enough money to give the woman, but she was ecstatic to accept his son at payment, as many others did when Hook either didn’t have money or just didn’t feel like spending it.

So, Hook sat oblivious to the traumatic horror he was putting his only son through. Harriet and the daughter of the sea witch tried to put a stop to the basically prostitution of harry, but they failed, only resulting in Hook letting his crew give in to their desires of his son.

Smee walked in, wringing his red worn cap in his hands as he always did when he was nervous or scared. Hook raised an eyebrow and motioned for his first mate to take a seat and offered him some of his new rum. Smee shook his head, he didn’t want the rum acquired from Harry's misfortune. The poor boy, Smee only hoped that the (h/c) girl had saved the boy he thought of as a son.

“isn’t it a fine night Mr. Smee~”

Smee only meekly nodded, he didn’t think so, Harry was sold once more, and he didn’t even know if the girl had managed to save him or not.

“new rum and the boy has served his purpose once more HA!”

Smee gritted his teeth, only a degrading sentence away from quitting as the first mate and leaving.

“and to think I thought that the boy wouldn’t amount to anything~! He makes a damn good payment if I do-“

The cabin door slammed open, revealing a bleeding crew member, Hook and Smee stood to their feet, hearing the sounds of swords clashing and screams.

“what the bloody hell is going on!”

“c-captain!” the crew member panted “some-someone’s on deck kill- gnh ack” blood spilled to the floor, a sword sticking out of the man's chest, he fell to the floor. And there you were, blood splattered on your body and sword. Dripping to the floor.

“hello Hook” you spoke in a deadly voice, stepping over the body and shoving it out of the way, closing the cabin door.

“who-“ Hook sputtered “who the fuck are you! What are you doing on my ship!”

“I’m here” you snarled, “to have a talk”

Hook rolled his eyes, you were trying to scare him, it wasn’t working

“Alright then, speak wench”

You lifted your sword, aiming it at him, “you sold harry.”

Hook groaned and rubbed his face, great another one, just like Harriet and Uma, this bitch was trying to stop the selling of the boy.

“why do you care, he is nothing but a pay-“

“Harry is a fucking human being, and your son!” you snarled at him, now thinking that Hook didn’t deserve death, but something much worse.

“Alright then if you want me to stop, we shall duel” hook drew his sword in a flourish and grinned sadistically at you “to the death!” just as he was about to charge. You stopped him.

“no!” Hook stopped confused “to the pain”

He furrowed his brows “ I don’t think I’m familiar with that phrase”

“I'll explain, and I’ll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog faced Buffon.”

Hooks face showed surprise and disgust “I think that is the first time anyone dared insult me”

“and it won't be the last!” you smirked, speaking in a deadly calm voice “to the pain means the first thing you lose will be your feet below the ankles, then your other hand at the wrist, next your nose”

“and then my tongue I suppose, I've allowed this to go on for too lon-“

“I wasn’t finished!” you interrupted him, smirking, still a calm deadly voice. “ the next thing you lose will be your left eye followed by your right”

Hook rolled his eyes sighing exasperatingly “and then my ears let’s get on with it!”

“Wrong! Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why.” You smirk became sadistic and a shiver ran down hooks spine “so that every shriek of every child of seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish, every babe that weeps at your approach every woman who cries out “dear god what is that thing!” will echo in your ears.” Hook stared at you in fear “ that. Is what to the pain means, it means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.”

Hook and Smee stared at you before Hook stupidly opened his mouth to speak, “ I think you’re bluffing”

“its possible pig. I might be bluffing” you stared him down with a deadly calm gaze “ it's conceivable you miserable vomitous mass, im only standing here because you lack the courage to step forward”

Hooks face burned at the implication and rushed forward swinging his hook at you, and with a flourish of your sword, you cut off his forearm, Hook screaming in pain.

“AHHHHHH YOU BITC-“you pointed your sword at his neck.

“drop

Your

Sword”

Hook shakily dropped it and you motioned him to his chair “have a seat~” he quickly stood and sat in his chair. You motioned to Smee and said, “Tie him up.”  Smee quickly followed your orders and tied his soon to be ex-captain up.

“make it as tight as you’d like”

Smee finished and looked at you, you gestured to the door.” Now leave, go see Harry, he's on the revenge”

Smee nodded and whispered a thank you, before scurrying off.

You closed the door after him, turning back to hook, he shivered under your gaze, “what-“ he squeaked “what are you going to do!”

You smirked and raised your sword

“to the pain”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH”

---

Uma paced the deck, Smee had arrived about an hour ago, and you had left an hour and a half, and from what Smee told her, you had taken down almost the entire crew, leaving one survivor, the cabin boy, and had cut off hooks left forearm.

Uma had to admit, she was impressed. But also extremely worried, she knew of Harrys growing crush on you, which she had noticed started just a little bit after you had stolen the trophy, and if you didn’t come back, Uma didn’t want to think of what Harry would do.

But her worries were erased when you turned the corner and walked the gangplank. She rushed forward but stopped when she saw the blood coating you, Hooks hook gripped in your left hand, face softening when you saw Uma

“hey”

“uuhh” Uma droned “hey, soooo” she gestured to you “you have fun”

You shrugged and walked to the shared room, when you entered you saw Harry talking to Smee, wearing a baggy sweater and pants, blanket curled around his shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bed, he saw you and gasped your name

“(y/n)” you smiled at him and grabbed your clothes and walked into the bathroom, “I gotta get this blood off, be out soon”

Harry frowned and turned to Uma and Smee, “wha’ is she talking about’ ?” Uma shuffled in place, Smee wringing his cap.

“wha’ happen’ ? wha’ (y/n) do?”

“she uh” Smee mumbled, “she uh, your father is”

“she fucking messed your father up” Harry's jaw dropped, and he harshly swallowed and shakily asked “wha’ she do?”

Smee and Uma shrugged, Harry understood, they wanted (y/n) herself to tell Harry what happened.

Smee patted Harry's shoulder and exited the room, Uma following him. Harry sat in the room, the sound of the shower echoing through the room.

‘she’ Harry thought ‘went after my dad?’ Harry buried his face in his hands ‘for me’ tears burned at Harrys eyes ‘why?’

The door opened and you stepped out, clean and free of blood, hair damp, trying your best to dry it with a towel.

You saw Harry sitting on the bed and you walked over to him and stood in front of him.

“Harry?” He stopped shaking and looked up at you through his lashes. “are you okay?” Harry sat up a little, allowing you more room to get closer to him, standing between his legs.

“why?” you tilted your head, raising your eyebrow “why did ye go after me da?”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brought him into a hug, his arms going around your waist.

“I did it because I care about you, and he needed to learn a lesson”

“wha’ did ye do to him’?”

You blew your hair out of your face, “I cut off all his limbs and left him to suffer”

Harry's jaw dropped and you shrugged and poked his nose, he made a face and wiggled his nose, you giggled and Harry rolled his eyes and laid his head on your chest. You softly smiled and scratched his scalp.

He sniffed and rubbed his face on your chest, making you blush. He lifted his face, meeting your eyes, your faces only a couple of inches from each other, your breaths mingling, Harry glanced at your lips biting his own, you pursed your lips and leaned forward, Harry’s eyes fluttered slightly, you kissed his forehead (making Harry a little disappointed) and whispered.

“I swear to Calypso that I will protect you from now on”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, Harry let out a harsh breath, and you both stayed there for a few more minutes, feeling comfort in the others embrace.

Later that night, Harry and you slept in the bed, luckily it was large enough for both of you to have a side, and as Harry laid there, staring at your serene face, he realized something

…

He was falling for you.

…

And fast

--end of part 7--

comment or message me for part 8

taglist:

@namelesslosers (he does deserve the world, and im gonna give it to him in this fic and the next.👍👍)

Imma also tag @crazybutconfidentaf because I wanted you to know you get to cackle in revenge against Hook. 😜

[amoristt]

appetence. 

nathan prescott x reader

a/n: for the requesters who both wanted soumate AU’s, i combined the enemies to lovers request :3 it jus makes it easier on me . the au i chose is ‘shares the same injuries’! it’s super short, so sorry for that. i have another one coming out that it’s as... aggressive lol

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests as well as appreciating the complex character he is, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this !!!

Warning: language

Never in your life have you been the type of person for physical violence.

Never in your life have you had to hold yourself back from reaching out, taking someone by the collar of their jacket, and wringing their neck. Every part of you wants to see it through- reach out and tear them a new one with a certain primal rage you don’t know how to digest. It’s uncomfortable, it makes you restless. Never have you reached such a new level of absolute indignation.

Yet, here you stand. Hours after class has ended, atop the grass, secluded just before sunset.

Balled fists, narrowed eyes, bared teeth. You feel like an monster.

He stands before you, smug as all hell, and the look in his fucking eyes drives you crazy. He looks at you like he knows he’s better than you.

Arcadia Bay’s spoiled fucking brat.

He’s followed you all the way out here like a shadow. The obsession he has with pissing you off is criminal. It took one mistake of tripping him in the hallway because he wasn’t looking where he was going, but of course it was your fault. Of course it painted you as a target. First, it made you fear him, but much like a cornered animal, that terror turned into anger.

That anger festered, and festered, until you could no longer bear it.

Everyone has a breaking point. 

“What the fuck do you want?” You spit, and you can’t recognize your own voice. It makes you shiver. You just wanted alone time.

Nathan has the raw nerve to scoff and shift his weight. “Whatever I want.”

“You think I have shit for you?” The anger in your voice is so apparent that you think it might take him back as well. He’s silent, just for a moment, the arrogance falters. If not for the rage eating away every layer of kindness within you, you may have recognized the facade. But, you don’t. “Stop following me around like some freak. Don’t you have a father to disappoint?”

Low blow, but everyone knows Sean Prescott is just as bad, if not worse, than Nathan.

He grunts and straightens his back as if that makes him scary. It’s his personality that worries you- a dangerous mixed drink of white hot anger and ego. There’s so much of it inside him that he reeks self-importance. God, it drives you insane. But at least looking at him right now, one on one, you don’t fear his body. Those wiry limbs- he’s got height but it means nothing when he can barely keep himself up right as much as it is.

That’s the only thing that urges you on.

“Better watch your mouth, hoe.” He snaps.

You snarl. “Or what?”

The wind blows and something is about to happen. Something is finally going to happen.

He makes the first move. Up close, you can see the hue of his eyes.

His bony fingers catch your neck and you react violently, hands jutting out, pressing to his chest and throwing him back. He falters- you strike. Another shove to his chest, following by one more, and he falls to the ground flat on his ass. You can’t stop yourself when you meet him at the floor, fist colliding with his cheek, knuckles grating against his bones. It feels like there’s acid under your skin, and the way he looks up at you, shocked at your outburst, makes you realize this is just how you like it.

“Did you really fucking think you could just grab me?” You hiss, and when he tries to get up you lose your composure again. You rise, kick him- drive your heel into his back when he scrambles to his hands to knees to find purchase. If he get’s to his feet it’s over- you know that, so you keep him down. For good measure you deliver another blow to his see and the way he rolls has you satisfied. There’s so much blood- it spills down his face and onto the floor.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” He grunts, grabbing his stomach. You laugh sadistically.

“Oh yeah?” Boldly, you crouch. He’s still reeling and you’re proud at just how hard you struck him. “I know you’ve got this school wrapped around your little finger, Prescott, but leave me the fuck alone.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” He growls. There’s fire in his amber eyes and if you hadn’t been drugged on adrenaline you’d fear him all over again. He seeths. “Just you fucking wait.”

You stand and glare down at him, triumphant. “I look forward to it, prick.”

It’s only when he looks up at you from the floor does something change in his demenager. His eyes grow wide, breath stops in his chest. It looks like fear and you love it. He’s the rabbit, he’s the fucking prey and you’re the hunter trapping him in his place.

Seeing the bridge of his nose split is all you need to know it’s over.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” Your warning is nothing short of terrifying. “Or else.”

And it’s just that easy. Months of torment shattered by just a moment. By just the right force. 

His silence is your favorite sound, and it gets even better when he stays silent. He just watches you wide eyes, propped up on his elbows like you’ve finally taught him you aren’t fucking around. He’s not your friend, he’s not your enemy, he’s not even your bitch. He’s nothing.

No blackmail, no photos or snark, just fury and a warning you do intent on fulfilling.

You don’t give him a chance to redeem himself. Pivoting, turning your back to him, nothing stops you as you go.

The image of Nathan Prescott floored and cowering, looking you in the face and afraid to make a move, feels like a five course meals. It weighs so perfectly on your stomach, truly a meal for a champion. You’re so fucking satisfied knowing his reign has ended, knowing that even if he tries again you can take him down. The win isn’t even flashy- it’s just fulfilling.

Walking home, you feel like you don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you just made it that much worse for yourself, but in that moment, you don’t care. As you enter your dorm, you smile.

You’re proud of yourself- you took him down and left without a scratch.

Or so, you thought.

The mirror you pass by makes you halt. A line of red sticking out like a sore thumb. You eye it, step closer, and your heart picks up. This adrenaline doesn’t feel right. It’s anxiety- oh god-

“No,” You breathe, eyes frantically wide. “No, no, no.”

Reaching up, you swipe your fingers across the bridge of your nose. No blood comes back on your fingers- it makes you cover your mouth.

“Fucking- No! Not him!”

Suddenly it connects with you how quickly Nathan’s explosive anger dissolved into not fear, but shock. Absolute disbelief. You can’t picture him as the prey anymore. You can’t see yourself as the hunter, or as the cornered animal. You can’t see the satisfaction splayed out just for you. 

All you can see is the bridge of your nose.

And the gash spread across it.

All you can hear is your teachers throughout your life, all remarking the same phrase, drilling it deep into your skull since the day you were old enough to know what the word ‘soulmate’ meant. 

Soulmates, after touching for the first time, will bear the same inflicted wounds. 

You cover your entire face, horribly defeated. 

That’s how they will know they’re meant for one another. 

[deniigi]

Hello! Just about to sit down and read your newest fic, so excited about it! I had a question for you (you very well may have answered this already, so sorry in advance!), but do you have advice for writing? Advice in terms of getting start, plotting out stories, helping get the creative juices flowing? I have all these ideas but seem to lack the drive to get things written out. I know the best advice is to just write, but I'm having a horrible time starting. What do you do in those moments?

Hello my dear!

Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. The lord has blessed me with a head cold and ruined all my plans of productivity for the day, so I can finally answer this ask! I’ll talk a little bit about both how to get started with a story and then some little things that help me motivate myself.

I have started a tag for writing advice here: http://deniigi.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-advice

This is going to be a long post, sorry mobile users.

I am going to preface all of this with the understanding that I am technically a professional writer in terms of like, a handful of ways, but I have absolutely zero training in creative writing, so take everything I say with a grain of salt!

So, I personally find that, on the whole, that psychological hurdle of getting started comes a lot from the anticipation of the kind of response a story will get (how many hits, how many comments, how many kudos) in addition to a bit of anxiety or fear over  theloss of sustained interest in that story (by yourself and/or by your audience). I find that this can be alleviated by really, truly internalizing the understanding that you are allowed to write your work however you damn please, for whoever you damn please.

There will be work you write for others, and there will be work you write for yourself. Not all work needs to be published; sometimes, it is really nice to just write shit for yourself; it is a plus for humanity if you decide to share it with others, but you do not have to do that.

Furthermore, I would like to present you with this:

This is what my current folder for under fire looks like. And you might notice that there are almost always multiple drafts per chapter. Yes, I did in fact rewrite chapter four 5 fucking times, you bet your ass I did. And I’m not ashamed of it. I think the story is better for it. And that’s the important thing here: you do not need to produce a perfect draft the first time around. You will not produce that perfect draft. Accept this. Embrace this. Embrace it and your cat at the same time to really ingrain it as a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Liberate yourself from the pressure of needing to produce the perfect, most right draft and you may find starting the piece overall to be a much easier, more pleasant experience.

And along with this beautiful, uplifting spiritual advice, I also bring a practical thought: when it comes to getting started, a lot of times, people feel like they need to set the stage, yadda yadda yadda. Ha. No. Fuck that.

That’s a surefire way to bore the shit out of yourself. Start right in the middle of a scene that captivates you if that’s what you want to write. It’s a free platform. No one’s gonna arrest you if you stick Spiderman upside down in trash first thing. They might even applaud you actually, because you didn’t make them slog through some of that ‘It was the evening of the 25th and it was cold out in the streets” bullshit we all learned from Dickens.

Alright. Now let’s talk about actually getting started making words appear on paper.

So, from my knowledge there are generally two ways that folks write creatively. You have what I’m going to call the planners and then you what I’m going to call the monsters (I call them this entirely affectionately, I’m sure there’s a better word for these folks, but I don’t have it atm, all I have is a headcold). Planners are folks who sit down and work out their major plot points, who write outlines, and who create the scaffolding of their work before they set out on their magical journey. I think of these folks as architects.

And then you have the monsters and these are those fuckers who just sit down and write stream of consciously like the heathens all our high school teachers tried to teach us not to be.

I am both a planner and a monster. And a lot of that depends on the length of work I’m going for. I have never in my life planned a one-shot, for example. I just attack that as it is. I follow my heart, if you will. But when it comes to longer chaptered fics, I really do think that some outlining is super helpful.

You might find it useful for one-shots, though, I dunno. Maybe give it a try and see what happens?

The two main fics I’ve done proper outlines for are Inimitable and under fire and I actually find outlining to be immensely helpful in psyching me up to write the story (I go through and re-read my outlines when I start to lose interest or diverge too much from the plot outlined there in the actual writing. 9 times out of 10, re-reading gets me stupid excited to write all over again) and it also helps me keep momentum going throughout the plot.

Here’s a pic of some pages of under fire’s outline.

Physically writing the work is really important for me because it forces me to only put down key points/feelings/ideas I want to include, whereas typing gives me far too much room to get lost/distracted by extraneous detail. And since my handwriting is a teacher’s worst nightmare and I cross out shit and write huge with emotion, I’ll give you a little bit of what the middle page here says:

Miles-

there’s something thrumming

vibrating in his ears wherever he goes

-closes his eyes and somehow enters blackness- emptyness (Stranger Things style)

beat

beat

beat

“help.”

–BACK - everything is gone

closing his eyes doesn’t bring the space back

–it makes him panic. He doesn’t know why. His heart is pounding. He’s sweating He has a horrible feeling of doom.

beat

beat

beat

its gone.

he goes home anxiously. Pretends everything is normal.

his neck crawls

So basically it’s less of a formal outline and more of a collection of stream of consciousness feelings and screenplay directions which I’ll flesh out in the actual story.

Personally, I love writing these kinds of things because they get me pumped for the story I’m about to tell. I get to write out the key scenes and work through all the hard parts first, and then, while I’m writing, I work through the little fun details and banter and I have to write to figure out how we get from one scene to the next and I love the challenge of having to fit those pieces together. I very rarely stick strictly to my outline, (as anyone who is currently reading under fire can tell you right now), but I do try to stick to the main plot points in it and my writing is certainly better for it.

So yes. Outlining is very good, but it is even better when you do it to some kind of music. I listened to What’s Up Danger from the Into the Spiderverse soundtrack on repeat while I wrote this outline to kind of transfer some of the relentless pace conveyed in that song to the piece’s plot.

I highly recommend using music to set the mood of your piece while/before you write a piece of any length. It helps get you in the right headspace (excited or somber or angry) to write. You need emotion to write creatively. You can’t just make that happen sometimes; you need a little help.

A couple other things which might help:

1. Leave your house or the space you’re normally in. Go to a cafe and find a nice corner and have a think and a try in there. Sometimes moving to a different space helps you escape cyclical thinking patterns.

2. Write what you want to read. Don’t bother writing for other peoples’ interests; that’ll just bore the shit out of you all over again.

3. Find an atmospheric mood sound to listen to on Youtube or smth (I personally like Rain on a Car Windshield for slightly somber fics, but you might be into ocean storms or dripping caves or whatever).

4. Heat your feet. I don’t know why but I am entirely unproductive when my feet are cold. Maybe this one is me-specific, but whatevs. Heat the feets!

5. If you’re still having trouble just sitting down and pounding the story out, that’s okay! Maybe it’s not ready to be written yet. Maybe you’re not in the right headspace yet. Sometimes that’s just how it is. One story makes its way out in like, a hour, and the next one takes like, months to finally be written. We all work at different paces. We all write for different reasons.

It might help to figure out why you want to write a story before you write it. Like, if its for attention, it’s gonna be hard as hell. But if there’s an idea that you feel like is important or if there’s a mood you’re trying to work yourself into or out of, then that might be a little easier. For example, I wrote a piece called make it work which is about Fogs finding his motivation to be a lawyer and fight for justice when Kavanaugh was confirmed and I felt super helpless in the face of our present justice system. That story kind of wrote itself and it needed to be written, I feel, not just for me, but for others who were feeling just as helpless.

Writing is catharsis in that way. Maybe you just need to find out what you need to wring out of your soul.

Sorry that got very metaphysical. But I do want to stress that getting started and ending a story are the hardest parts of writing them, so you are definitely not alone if you feel like you’re ramming your head into a wall here.

I hope something here helps you, my dear!

[seraph-novak]

Eyes on You

Fic request ~ TJ is very supportive when Cyrus lands a role in the school play, but an unexpected kiss on-stage creates a huge misunderstanding.

Also available on AO3 ♥

P.S. I’d just like to thank everyone who nominated me for best author in the Andi Mack Blog Awards. It was such a nice surprise! If you’d like to vote for me to win, I’d really appreciate it, but I’m honestly more than happy with being in the top 3 with @cyrusgoodboye and @im-trash-bye. They’re both amazing writers, so please check out their stuff!

Cyrus was fiddling with his costume in the mirror when TJ showed up, his grinning reflection appearing above Cyrus’ shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted him softly, wrapping his arms around Cyrus from behind. “You ready?”

Cyrus leaned back and pressed his cheek against TJ’s chest, a shaky breath escaping his lips. “I think so,” he said. “Do I look okay?”

“You look gorgeous.”

“I’m dressed like a peasant, TJ...”

“A gorgeous peasant.”

“Wow.” Cyrus chuckled, turning in TJ’s arms to face his boyfriend head-on. “You are such a suck-up.”

TJ shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with making my boy feel good about himself.”

“I like it when you call me that,” Cyrus said, biting back a grin as he wound his arms around TJ’s neck. Their lips were agonisingly close, barely an inch apart, and Cyrus was struck with the overwhelming urge to lean forward and close the distance. But he and TJ had come to an unspoken agreement that their first kiss should be special, and a stuffy dressing room behind the school’s auditorium didn’t exactly scream romantic, so he satisfied the itch by nuzzling his head in the crook of TJ’s shoulder instead. “I like being your boy.”

TJ held him tighter. “I like being your boy too.”

“I can’t believe we’ve only been doing this for two weeks; it feels like we’ve been together for years.”

“You getting tired of me already, Underdog?”

“Of course not!” He snapped his head up, only to find TJ smirking down at him. He gave his boyfriend a gentle shove and rolled his eyes. “Stop messing with me. I’m trying to have a moment here!”

“Sorry,” TJ said, his lips tightly pursed in an effort not to laugh. “You were saying?”

“I just think it’s crazy how comfortable I am around you.” He dropped his eyes to the floor, a veil of vulnerability falling over his face, and added, “I can be myself around you, without having to worry about being judged. It’s like you’re my best friend and my boyfriend all at once.” He dared a glance at TJ. “I didn’t know it could feel this way.”

TJ hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head upwards, smiling softly when Cyrus finally met his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Cyrus Goodman.”

Cyrus’ heart skipped a beat, his breath hitching in the back of his throat. TJ was looking at him with such raw emotion, his eyes flicking down to Cyrus’ lips in a way that couldn’t be ignored. The dressing room was small and musty, and Cyrus hadn’t inhaled a clean breath since he’d come in here, but there was no denying the sudden shift in atmosphere, the quiet crackle of energy humming beneath their veins, setting the air alight with wanting... Their surroundings weren’t perfect, but in that moment, Cyrus didn’t care. He started to lean forward, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips, and then –

“Five minutes until we’re on,” a squeaky voice interrupted them, causing him and TJ to spring apart as if they’d been electrocuted.

Cyrus shot a glare at the curly-haired boy standing in the doorway. It was Noah, his partner for the play, and the smug little smile twisting his ruddy face set Cyrus’ teeth on edge. He’d told TJ about the other boy’s obvious crush on him a few days ago, but he hadn’t mentioned Noah’s creepy intention to insert a kiss into their final scene together. Despite Cyrus’ multiple rejections, Noah had remained scarily persistent, and he knew TJ would go into full Hulk-mode if he found out.

“I’m almost ready,” Cyrus said, his voice cracking beneath the thin façade of patience.

“You heard him,” TJ growled. “Scram.”

Noah puffed out his chest and straightened his back in an embarrassing display of intimidation, but TJ was unfazed. After a few moments of awkward silence, Noah surrendered with a huff and stormed out of the dressing room, spitting a four-minute warning over his shoulder as he slammed the door.  

“I really hate that guy,” TJ grumbled, his petulant tone of voice making Cyrus laugh.

“He’s harmless.”

“Not when he’s flirting with my boyfriend he’s not.”

Cyrus poked him in the chest and flashed a teasing smile. “Is somebody jealous?”

“Not me.”

“Sure.”

“Whatever.” TJ gave Cyrus’ nose a playful pinch, then kissed him on the cheek, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. “You better get out there,” he said. “Go knock ‘em dead, babe.”

Cyrus squeezed his hand gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll meet you back here?”

“Ready for our date.”

“Yep!”

They shared a goofy, love-sick grin, both of them aware of the implications of their big date tonight, and Cyrus left the dressing room with a skip in his step. They hadn’t talked about it explicitly, but they were somehow both aware that tonight was the night their first kiss would occur. It was a pretty big deal, seeing as Cyrus had never kissed a boy before, and the fact that he was almost certain he was in love with TJ only made it more important. He just hoped everything would go to plan.

A few minutes later, he was ushered onto the stage with Noah, both of them sporting ridiculous peasant outfits. Cyrus wasn’t exactly sure what the play was about – some tacky, Shakespeare rip-off by the sounds of it – but he knew his character was there to serve as comedy relief between the dramatic scenes. Every time he and Noah were on stage, they were goofing around and acting like idiots, constantly trying to wring a few laughs from the audience. It wasn’t the most dignified role he could’ve landed, but at least it would look good on his college application in the future. And with TJ clapping and laughing louder than anyone in the front row, he could hardly feel embarrassed.

During their final scene, after the hero had saved the day, he and Noah threw themselves into a celebratory hug and started jumping up and down on the stage. Cyrus didn’t feel completely comfortable with Noah pressed so close against him, but the laughter from the audience was enough to stop him from breaking character. Once he and Noah had pulled apart, the focus was supposed to shift back to the main characters to complete the final scene, but Noah was apparently still fixed on the idea of kissing Cyrus in front of everyone. The audience broke into more laughter as Noah dragged Cyrus in for a sloppy kiss on the lips, his fingers digging uncomfortably into Cyrus’ waist. For a sickening moment, Cyrus was frozen in shock, but he roughly shoved Noah away once his brained had caught up with the situation.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed.

Noah wiped his mouth and sneered. “Giving the audience what they want. I mean, listen to them!” He waved a hand at the cheering crowd. “They love it.”

“But I told you I didn’t want to kiss.”

“So? It’s not real, Cyrus.”

“It is to me!”

Noah scoffed. “Get over yourself. It’s just a stupid play.”

Cyrus looked out at the audience, his heart thumping with a combination of shame and revulsion, only to find that TJ was gone.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

He shouldered past Noah and leapt off the stage, the confused whispers of the audience following him as he ripped off his peasant jacket and rushed out of the auditorium, the cool evening air in the parking lot soothing his burning cheeks. TJ was sat on the sidewalk with his head in his hands, his knee bouncing up and down with agitation. Cyrus sucked in a breath and sat down beside him, slotting his hands beneath his legs to refrain from reaching out and touching him.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

TJ sighed through his nose. He didn’t look angry or jealous like Cyrus had expected, but sad. Heartbroken. It was awful.

“Does our first kiss not mean as much to you as it does to me?” TJ asked, his voice painfully small. “Because I never would’ve kissed a guy for the first time in front of you, even if it was just acting.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Do you really think I’d waste my first kiss with a boy on Noah?”

“Well, you just did, so…”

“It wasn’t scripted.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know it was gonna happen,” he clarified, his stomach gurgling at the memory of Noah’s rancid breath pulsing into his mouth. “I wanted it to be you, TJ. More than anything.”

The sadness in TJ’s eyes was quickly replaced with loathing. “Are you telling me he forced himself on you?”

“Well…”

“Is that what happened?”

Cyrus sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That fucking –”

“Don’t!” Cyrus yelped, frantically grabbing at TJ’s arm to stop him from storming back into the auditorium. He waited for his boyfriend to relax under his touch, then said, “He isn’t worth it, okay? He’s obviously the kind of guy who can’t take no for an answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been trying to add a kissing scene for weeks, but I kept turning him down.”

TJ pressed a fist against his mouth, clearly trying to keep the curse words from spilling out. Once he’d calmed down a little bit, he turned to face Cyrus and lifted his hands from under his legs, peppering his knuckles with gentle kisses. “Did he ever try and do anything to you? Because if he did, I swear to god, I’m gonna kill him.”

“He didn’t,” Cyrus assured him. “I would’ve told you.”

“And that’s the only time he’s kissed you?”

“I promise. You know I’d never –”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” TJ said, dropping another kiss on Cyrus’ hands for good measure, “it’s that slimy little jerk who thinks he has the right to kiss you without permission.”

Cyrus huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m never gonna let him touch me ever again.”

“He’ll lose a hand if he does.”

“You’re not gonna hurt him, TJ. That’s not gonna solve anything. Okay?”

“But –”

“Please promise me you’ll let me handle this my way.”

TJ gritted his teeth, as if the idea of letting Noah go unharmed was physically painful to him, then sighed. “Fine… What d’you have in mind?”

“I’m gonna report him.”

“Is that it?”

“TJ, you promised.”

“I know, I know. I just… That scumbag deserves more than a slap on the wrist.”

“Maybe so.” Cyrus shrugged. “But I’d rather not see you get suspended for punching him in the face.”

“A little suspension never hurt anyone.”

“TJ…”

“Okay, okay.” TJ lifted his hands in surrender, his frown tilting into a crooked smile. “I’m completely whipped, aren’t I?”

Cyrus grinned. “You said it, not me.”

“Can I at least go with you when you report him? You know, for support.”

Warm relief pooled in his gut, his heart stuttering with an overwhelming surge of love for his boyfriend. The idea of having TJ by his side made the whole thing seem a little less terrifying. “Of course you can,” he said, reaching out to cup TJ’s face. “I’d really appreciate that.”

TJ pressed his lips against Cyrus’ palm. “I’m sorry for doubting you,” he whispered, butting against his hand in an affectionate, cat-like gesture. “I should’ve known you’d never do something like that.”

“It’s okay,” Cyrus said. “You were only reacting to what you saw.”

“Yeah, but still… I was an ass.”

“I forgive you.”

“You sure?”

Cyrus scooted closer and rested his head against TJ’s shoulder. “I understand why you were upset. We’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to kiss, and Noah just stole it from us… But it doesn’t have to mean anything, you know? It’s not like I kissed him back.” He glanced up at TJ, deliberately batting his eyelashes. “In fact, I don’t even think it counts as a real kiss if only one person is doing the work.”

TJ smirked, apparently catching on to Cyrus’ plan. “What constitutes a real kiss then?”

“I’ll show you.”

And with that, he lifted his chin and kissed him, sinking into the soft sensation of TJ’s lips against his own. The parking lot wasn’t much better than a dusty dressing room, but Cyrus didn’t care. The gentle brush of TJ’s hand against his cheek was nothing like the sharp grip of Noah’s fingers; it was careful and earnest and full of love, and Cyrus couldn’t get enough of it. He tangled his fingers in the back of TJ’s hair and pulled him closer, and TJ responded by wrapping an arm around his waist and scooping him onto his lap. It was a slow and exploratory sort of kiss, the kind you can feel all the way down to your toes. And if breathing wasn't such a necessity, Cyrus would’ve happily spent the rest of the evening mapping every inch of TJ’s mouth.

“See,” he said, once they’d reluctantly pulled apart for air. “Still special.”

“It was perfect, Underdog. But I still wanna punch Noah in the face.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He snuggled against TJ’s chest with a contented sigh. “If I had an ounce of physical strength, I’d wanna punch him too. But I’d much rather go on our date than spend the rest of the evening in a jail cell.”

TJ’s laughter ruffled the top of Cyrus’ hair. “I don’t think they’d throw us in jail, babe.”

“Do you wanna take that risk?”

“I wanna take you out.” He smiled, gently nudging Cyrus off his lap and helping him to his feet. “A future Oscar-winner deserves a decent night out.”

Cyrus snorted. “I don’t think my performance was that good.”

“Are you kidding me? I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

“I think you’re a little biased.”

“Yeah.” TJ grinned, slinging an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders as they walked off into the night together. “You’re probably right.”

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

Submitted by: yumiponypup

So they aren’t ocs but I wanna go off on 5 islands and the ThunderClan Bros so…

Lionblaze and Jayfeather were part of FireClan (they ended up there after they literally washed up on the shores) and immediately was questioned, mostly by curious kittens too far from home. So of course they take em back (follow would be a better word actually)

After the question of “where did you get the kits” and a very thankful Deputy and Queen, they accept the offer to stay. Jay set to work trying to figure out steps and falls into the lake in the center of camp.

He’s fine tho dont worry he didnt go under just slipped. (Its more of a blue hole tbh)

Anyways. Lionblaze is made an apprentice again (this is like right after Last Hope so before Alderheart and the other new kitties) so he can learn about how to be a warrior in FireClan. Jayfeather is flattered, but declines, preferring the role of grumpy doctor (also the med cat needs to learn how to sort help this poor molly)

But then a few years pass.

Jay ends up leaving.

Lion is not happy, they cant track his scent that well with the rain limiting the search. (Plus flooding concerns)

The gathering comes around, there’s an old/new clan there.

Take a wild guess who the leader is. (Here’s a hint his name starts with J)

Lion is torn between relief that he’s okay and wringing his neck for doing such a thing.

Jay got his 9 lives so its obviously approved by the stars.

Later on the rogues came and wrecked everything and made the clans lose a lot of cats. Leaders losing many lives.

The new clan (WillowClan) hit the most for lack of numbers.

The final battle in the Gathering place arrives.

FireClan loses both Leader and Deputy. The deputy was thankfully smart enough to pull cats aside and address who would lead them should they fall. Lion ended up being next as the previous two immediately tried to murder everyone below them in the order.

So now he’s the one in charge (ah heck) and chances a glance to where Jaystar was.

Of course he would help him. He’s all Lionblaze has.

Sorry… *had

After the smoke clears and the rogues driven out, they list off the survivors and the lost.

Lionblaze wishes he didnt leave in the first place but he couldn’t hear his name. Grief can make cats do some very stupid things.

Like run all the way to a literal zombie cat island (which is gonna be saved for later)

Gets the sense knocked into him (literally) talks to an actual Lion (not Lionheart but he’s there too) and gets a semi informal 9 lives ceremony while running from the undead. Jay of course along side him calling him out for not staying with his clan.

He chooses his new deputy. Finds the rest of his clan and family (Bramblestar is mysteriously not around and there’s a faint scent of death but honestly so does the rest of the place)

He’s considered a good hearted (if a little mouse brained) leader and makes sure that everyone feels included. We dont want a repeat of Jay.

Later became the face for clan mental health and makes sure there’s at least someone there who knows what to do if something happens that isn’t physical.

Anyways Ill talk about the Zombie Cats later (and Maybe ReefClan/CraterClan because im love them they’re my weird babies)

Sorry this is long, unorganized, and not ocs but i had to share.

---

so is jayfeather the...villain?

[angstalottle]

Voltron Pre-School

Sorry for the late birthday gift @foxyjoy-art

Part 1:

Ever since the summer began to end Keith dreaded one thing, and that was sending his little brother Shiro off to his first day of school.

After an accident that killed their parents two years ago, Keith had become Shiro's guardian and decided it would be best if he held off on sending the toddler to mainstream school just yet.

It wasn't that Keith didn't think Shiro couldn'tselect handle the work, after all he can read and write just fine, the problem however was that the accident had taken his arm along with their parents and Keith was hesitant to place him into a room of screaming toddlers that may latch onto his disability and tease him for it.

However Shiro was almost five and social services were breathing down Keith's neck, he knew he had to get Shiro into school as soon as he could or risk losing him forever.

This didn't stop him though from taking his time to pick the best possible school.

After a many a sleepless night Keef finally settles on a special needs school for disabled children, even if it was just for a year it would be a good way to slowly introduce Shiro into school life hopefully in a more gentle and understanding environment.

In the end Keith still needed his roomate Lotor to actually make the call for Shiro to have a taster day.

“It will be fine.” Lotor sighed as he leaned against the doorway of his room bouncing the half asleep Shiro on his hip. As a lounge singer that worked nights he rarely emerged from his bed until well past midday, today however he was fully dressed in casual jeans and shirt with his long white hair hanging over one shoulder in a neat plait.

“Hes sensitive though… maybe this was a bad idea?” Keith was nothing short of full panic mode. His hair stuck out in every direction and his attempt at dressing somewhat presentable with a white button down and red tie was ruined by the wrinkles at the bottom created by wringing the material nervously.

“It's not, now shut up, brush your hair, i'll be in the car.” Lotor rolled his eyes leaning down to grab Shiro’s backpack containing nothing more then some paper, crayons and his lion plushie affectionately named Black after the ribbon tied messily around her neck.

Keith watched as Lotor left their small two bedroom house and wondered what he did to deserve such a great roommate who could put things simply enough that even he had no choice but to listen to them.

Keith took an long slow breath as he looked in the mirror and smoothes his hair down. “It will be ok, he will be ok.” He muttered to himself.

He preferred to avoid mirrors since the accident, gaining a long scar across his face and neck wasn't the reason however. It was because he looked so painfully like his mom that it made his heart ache to see her eyes staring back at him.

“Dont worry mom… dad…. I'll look after him.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Pulling up to the small preschool made Keith uneasy, he wanted nothing more then to tell Lotor to take them home where shiro was safe from all the children wandering the playground contained behind brightly coloured fences that barely came up to Keith's thigh.

“Out.” Lotor commanded leaning over and opening the door for Keith making the message clear.

Keith shot Lotor one last desperate look before he freed Shiro from the child seat and placed him down out of the car.

No sooner had the doors closed did Lotor speed off, even with the knowledge that he would be back in twenty minutes to pick Keith up, it still seemed like he was making a run for it.

“Keef?” Shiro pulled on his brothers sleeve.

“Y-yeah buddy?” He asked kneeling down as to be eye level.

“Where are we?”

Keith sighed, this was the moment he had been dreading. The moment where he would have to explain that Keith would be leaving him here for the day, everyday from now on.

“That is school, we’re here to see if you like it or not.” Keith tried his best to smile but judging from Shiro’s less than thrilled expression he hadn't quite managed it.

“Mr Kogane?”

Keith was thankful of the distraction “yeah that's me” he stood up and extended his hand to a tanned woman that could almost pass for the female version of his roomate.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, I'm Allura i run the school.” She shook his hand before offering it to Shiro who promptly hid behind Keith's legs.

“Sorry” Keith placed a hand on Shiro’s head “He’s shy.”

“It's quite alright, my son won't say a word around strangers but soon as he warms up to someone the trick is getting him to shut up.” She chuckled as she gestured for the two to follow.

Shiro looked up at Keith as if asking not to, Keith wished he could grant that request. Instead he had no choice but to take his little hand in his and follow Allura into the school.

“So we cater to a variety of disabilities here with facilities designed to accommodate them. We have a sensory room, a soft play area, a physio center and a top of the range class room.” Allura pointed out each of the locations as they walked through the brightly coloured halls.

Childrens artwork covered the walls and a small handrail about toddler height lined the hall on both sides.

“Shiro only really has his amputation and being behind a couple years to be honest.” Keith admitted as he peaked inside a room to see a group of children lying on the floor watching as colourful lights were projected onto the ceiling above them.

“Ah yes Lotor mentioned it on the phone, i've placed him in the physical disability class for those a couple years younger than him, but we can adjust that later on if he needs to be moved up or down.” Allura answered easily.

This place almost seemed too good to be true, a top of the range school that could really help Shiro, there had to be some kind of catch.

“About tuition. I don't think i can afford this place.” Keith admitted watching sadly as shiro peered around almost excited.

“There is no tuition.” Allura replied as a small girl came running out of a classroom holding a crudely drawn picture of a robot. Bright green hearing aids poked out through her hair. Allura smiled as he took the picture “thank you Pidge this is loverly.”

The girl squealed happily before running back into her class.

“What do you mean there's no tuition… A place this fell funded must be-”

Allura held up her hand “My father was the founder of the Voltron corporation and when he died he left me a very large inheritance. I spent most of my teen years wasting it on parties and travel. Then when i was twenty i was pregnant. My little boy changed my life and made me realise i wanted to help people. At first i planned on just opening a homeless shelter. But there was a fire and… i couldn't save my sons sight but i can make sure he has every opportunity to an education that an able child has.” Allura stopped in front of a blue doorway.

“Just because my son was born into money doesn't mean he deserves help while children without won't get any. There are no costs because i see no need to hoard money that could never be spent if i had a hundred lifetimes.”

Keith couldn't believe it. This woman was a literal angel on Earth. “I… i don't know what to say.”

“Why not goodbye? This is the classroom.” Allura jerked her head towards the door.

A weight seemed to settle in the pit of Keiths stomach as he realised it was time to leave his little brother all alone in a strange place with strange people.

Allura as if sensing his panic took Shiro’s empty hand and gently pulled him away from Keith.

“Hey Shiro, i heard you like lions right?”

Shiro nodded placing his thumb in his mouth after pulling his hand free from Allura.

“Well i know another little boy that loves them.” She slowly opened the door revealing a small playroom with six children all running around and playing while one boy with tanned skin and a blue shirt was sat in a corner surrounded by lion plushies.

“Whys he alone?” Shiro asked quietly.

“Well the other children don't really know how to play with him because he can't see.” Allura explained softly.

Shiro frowned as if he were solving a complex math problem “Then they should just talk to him!” Shiro declared with a nod.

Allura smiled as she shot a look up at Keith “well why don't you?”

Keith expected Shiro to refuse and come running to hide behind his big brother. However he again nodded and practically ran towards the other child.

“Works every time.” Allura grinned as he rose to her full height and placed her hands on her hips “Your little brother is a natural hero. He sees a problem and he fixes it, no better problem then a lonely child.”

“How do you know the other kid will be nice to him or even want to be his friend?” Keith asked nervously wondering if he could run past her.

“Because Mr Kogane that's my son Lance and you will be pressed to find a more gentle and loving child then him.

---------------------------------------------------

Shiro ignored the greetings from the other children as he plopped down on the cushions in front of Lance.

“Hey im Shiro i'm five.”

Lance lifted his head in the direction of the voice and smiled “Im Lance i'm four next month” he declared proudly as he felt around him eventually finding a small blue plushie and hugging it close to his chest.

“The nice lady said you can't see so im gonna talk to you so you don't feel lonely!” Shiro grinned scooting closer.

“I'm not lonely…” Lance spoke in a small voice rubbing his cheek against the soft fur of his toy. “do you want to play lions? This is Blue.”

Shiro nodded pulling black from his bag and began to describe every little detail of her to Lance with the biggest smile on his face.

As Keith watched from the doorway he smiled. He couldn't remember the last time Shiro had looked so carefree, like a child and not a patient.

“Shall i prepare the enrollment paperwork?” Allura asked.

Keith swallowed the lump in his throat “y-yeah… i think he will be very happy here.

[writing-in-riverdale]

Twin Andrews - part one

( a rosie original )

riverdale x oc

a/n: im re-writing my first and favourite small series ‘Twin Andrews’! i feel like it needed a reboot so now that i have the inspiration im going to try and redo the entire series from scratch!! please read along it’d mean the world. also i’ll be doing a taglist so if you’re interested let me know. yours forever, ro 🦋

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

“I’m nervous.”

YOU admit to your brother as you shift on the uncomfortable leather seats in Archie’s pick up. The truck reeked of testosterone it was a concoction of lynx and sweat. What you assumed was a day old bag of pops containing an almost eaten cheeseburger and stray fries wasn’t helping with the smell either, the small green tree hanging from his mirror doing nothing to dispel the horrible stench.

”You’ll be fine,” He promises. You glance over at your brother, taking him in for the first time since you landed; it’d been 3 years away from your twin. You were 13 when you left, just entering high school. You honestly felt lost without him, like a piece of you was somewhat gone, but it was here in Riverdale the entire time.

Archie was exactly eight minutes older than you, and he liked to remind you of that every chance he could. You both inherited the same fiery red hair as your mother and the chocolate brown eyes from your father, he was almost a head taller than you, but you both seemed to get your sportiness from your mother. Although you were quite the clutz, you still enjoyed sports, unlike your born-to-be-a-football-star brother who was praised for his golden footwork.

You turn away from the redhead as your breath seems to hitch in your throat, your heart taking an audible jump when it pounds through your chest as you take in the surroundings. It was only 7 pm on a Sunday night, but the air was nippy and the sky was already a shade of black - sprinkling with stars. The tall street lights and the neon red sign illuminating the small car park was enough to tell you that you were at Pop’s famous chock’lit shoppe.

“If this isn’t a blast from the past,” You sigh as cars litter the car park. The diner seemed to be bursting at the seams with customers, some spilt outside - cigarettes hanging from there mouths. There’re so many varsity jackets that you lose yourself in the crowd.

“It looks really busy, maybe Betty couldn’t get our booth and went home?” Your brother turns into an open spot, shutting off the ignition as he twirls his keys in his palm. He had that wicked smile playing on his lips, and you knew that there was no way he was letting you stay inside this truck.

“C’mon, Red, she’s excited to see you,” You let out a small breath and unclip your seat belt, sliding out of the car and into the cool night air. The sound of the jukebox and peoples’ overlapping conversations travelled through the small carpark as the door of the diner swings open and closed.

As the two of you make your way toward the door, you grow nervous. You can feel gazes already falling upon you, your flaming red hair drawing unwanted attention to yourself, not to mention that your brother is wearing a bright blue jacket and happens to be one of the most popular kids at RHS. You realised that sneaking into town unnoticed wasn’t going to go as well as you had hoped.

The small, gold bell rings as Archie pulls the door open; he ushers you in and you step into the warm diner, the smell of burgers and bacon hitting you square in the face. Your stomach made an almost inhuman sound as your mouth waters at the aroma coming from the kitchen. You had no idea you were hungry, but now there was no way you were leaving this place without a greasy cheeseburger and fries.

Pop, the man himself, moves toward the front counter; he looked exactly how he did three years ago, a little tired and overworked but he still had that glint of imagination in his eyes. You almost think he doesn’t recognise you (you were a little slimmer than usual, tanner and your hair had gotten quite long). But your thoughts were short-lived when he passes the counter and envelops you in a tight hug, giving you the warm Pop’s smile that you’d missed over the years.

“What will it be, Miss Andrews? The usual?”

You share a smile at your brother, before nodding at the older man, “Two of the usual sounds amazing.” Pop nods, scribbling down the orders and then rushing off into the kitchen.

You scan the room looking for a familiar face, until your eyes settle upon a familiar blonde ponytail. You stop in your tracks as you stare at the fair skinned girl, nervousness growing a pit in your stomach. You hadn’t seen her since you were 13, and you’d never even got the chance to say goodbye before you were ripped out of the small town life and thrown into the city.

What if she hates me?

Had it been you, you would have hated it: leaving for 3 years without a single call or text, never knowing what had happened or if you were even okay. You were surprised that she even wanted to see you after all this time.

She sits there in all her glory, Miss Elizabeth Cooper. She looks thinner and she’s wearing makeup, not a lot but enough to notice - wringing her wrists and glancing constantly out the window. It’s like she’s looking for someone: for us.

You start to walk towards her booth, excitement and worry bubbling up inside of you as the distance between the two grows smaller and smaller. Smaller and smaller, until you’re pulled to a halt, your chucks squeaking against the clean white tiles beneath you and drawing a crowd as the sound screeches through the crowded diner.

“I didn’t tell her you were coming,” The words fall out your brother’s mouth and you swivel toward him, a million emotions swarming through your brain as you look at the pale boy - seeing a hint of guilt on his face. Before you get the chance to escape before anyone else notices you, a small voice from behind you made your shoulder slump in defeat.

“Lydia?” You hear her whisper in disbelief, she wasn’t sure if her mind was playing a trick on her or if her best friend with the cherry red hair was here - standing a few meters away from her in your signature chucks. After years of radio silence, there you stood.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breathing unsteady. You couldn’t believe that your brother had tricked you into coming here. You thought forgiveness was on the horizon, but she looked just as distraught as you felt.

“You haven’t called me Lydia in ages,” You try a tired smile, watching as the eyes of the blonde dart between you and your brother - almost like she was waiting for you to just disappear. Almost like she was afraid to say something or make any sudden movements, otherwise you might vanish.

The diner seems to go silent, watching as the two of you staring at each other, not knowing what to do. You feel self-conscious and suck in a depth breath, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Betty or the millions of kids sitting in the neighbouring booths.

Your brother breaks you from your trance as he moves past you and toward the girl, wrapping her in a tight embrace. He pulls away, proceeding to give her an ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was bringing your best friend back’ look.

“She had no idea you didn’t know,” He defends you. Your brother was always good like that; he had your back no matter what. Call it big brother intuition. Betty moves her bright blue eyes toward you giving you the ‘get your ass over here so I can hug you’ look.

You feel a slight weight lift off your shoulder and you walk over to the blonde, throwing your arms around her neck in an embrace.

God, had you forgotten how good Betty’s hugs were.

Tears prickled in your eyes as you take in her scent. She smelt like strawberries and sweet perfume, and it reminded you of your childhood spent dancing around Betty’s bedroom.

“It’s so good to have you back,” She whispers. You can hear the shakiness in her voice as she pulls away, dabbing at her under eyes before straightening herself up looking to see if anyone had noticed her cozy embrace with the Andrews twin. You give her a small sad smile.

“It’s good to be back,“ You let yourself relax as the three of you slide into the booth, the touch of your skin hitting the red leather seats feeling familiar and comforting. You can still feel Betty’s gaze on you as she sits down next to you, blinking to make sure you were still here.

You find a large grin stuck on your lips as you soak in the happy atmosphere. It’s what you missed the most about Riverdale; the nights like this, in Pop’s with friends and copious amounts of fries. The diner looks the exact same as it did when you left. It held a lot of memories, both good and bad.

Your eyes wander over to the table diagonally from where you were sitting. It was that very table that your parents had taken you and Archie one cold November night to tell you that they were filling for a divorce. You were 13 and the diner smelt like eggs and coffee, it was quiet but everyone seemed to know what was happening beside the two of you. Mum let you have dessert because she felt bad - you didn’t eat that night, or for a while after.

Your eyes continue to roam to the front end of the diner where the jukebox was perched right near the register. You remember countless days after school in which you, Betty and Archie would stick quarters in the jukebox and play ‘September’ by Earth Wind and Fire, and dance across the tiled floor until Chuck Clayton told the entire school that you danced like a loser. You were 10 and it was the first time and last time you were ever picked on. Archie simply gave him something funnier to laugh at.

Everything in this place reminds you of countless memories, enough to make your eyes sting with nostalgia. Your brother and Betty were deep in conversation when the diner bell chimed. A load of teens push through the door, filling the main floor. You glance up through your lashes and your heart races at the sight.

Betty glances up and waves down her friends before turning to you, ”I’m sorry I invited a few friends. I hope you don’t mind.” You shake your head, glancing upwards and plastering a small smile on your face. Here we go.

It was about 0.2 seconds before the brunette boy came bounding straight over to you, pulling your small frame out from the booth and into his steady frame. Boys been working out. You return the embrace, rocking back and forth on your heels.

”Well if it isn’t Lydia Andrews,” He pulls back giving you a wink before holding you at arm’s length and examining you. A thousand thoughts are running through his head as he glances at you; you weren’t the same 13-year-old girl, he knew that for sure.

”Hi Kev,” You laugh for the first time since arriving, a shit-eating grin plastering on the boy’s pale exterior. ”I can tell somebodies been hitting them gym, hottie alert!” You gawk and he rolls his eyes at your remark, taking a look at your figure. You weren’t exactly skinny back in middle school, but now you’d dropped the extra weight and you couldn’t be happier about it.

”Please, you’re the one who’s turned into a complete smoke show,” He pushes your shoulder playfully, taking the open seat next to you and mumbling a bunch of compliments in your ear. You watch a raven-haired girl squish into the seat next to your brother.

She’s definitely not small town, has to be a new addition to Riverdale. She may as well have written ‘city girl’ on her forehead in black marker.

”Archiekins, aren’t you going to introduce me?” You cringe at the nickname as the girl glances up at your brother - nudging him slightly. Kevin nods his head softly as you look up at him. Don’t ask.

”Ronnie, meet Lyd. Lyds, Ronnie.” The girl shoots her hand across the table. You wearily stick your hand out and join with hers, sharing a long firm handshake.

”I’m-”

”Archie twins?” She finishes, looking lovingly up at your brother. You nod, sensing the tension falling on the table - your best friend practically burning holes in Veronica’s head.

”Are you dating my brother?” You quiz, confusion raining over you. Archie never mentioned any Veronica to you. Would he really not tell you if he got a girlfriend? Were you really that out of touch with your twin?

”No!” Betty replies before Veronica has the chance to, her eyes wide and everyone silences at her sudden outburst. She composes herself before trying to mask her discomfort, “Ronnie is new here. She goes to RHS.”

You nodded, getting the feeling that something else was happening that you hadn’t figured out yet. Betty looked annoyed as she wondered why everyone thought Archie and Veronica were dating. They weren’t right for each other, she told herself.

”How long have you been in town?” She tilts her head, sipping her chocolate milkshake.

”Only a week, but I already feel like I’ve lived here all my life,” Her smile covers her face and you simply smile, not taking any of her words as genuine.

“You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl,” She raises her eyebrows at your remark, pursing her lips slightly. Her eyes scan you as she notices that you aren’t like your brother. You’re more different than you look.

“New York, Upper East Side,” She answers, curing your curiosity. You nod slowly.

”California,” You reply back and she nods her head, looking up at your brother - obviously not quite understanding why you’d left half your family to move to a different state.

“I moved with my mum after the divorce. My parents didn’t want to do the whole custody battle debacle so they decided half of everything, including us,” A sigh falls from your lips as you avoid any eye contact with your brother. You remember the nights leading up to the move when your parents fought over who got Archie, your mum drew the short straw.

”Well, I’d say we’re pretty lucky to have you back. Right, Archiekins?” Veronica elbows my brother as he scratches the back of his head, the tension filling the small booth. You were too consumed in your thoughts to notice that Archie had dipped his head down to whisper something inaudible in her ear.

“I’ll cheers to that,” Everyone lifts there glasses in one swift motion, clinking them together as they reach the middle. You dip your finger into the cream sitting on your shake as the others converse in conversation, too tired to make any effort.

The sounds of laughter and hollering comes for the front of the room as you watch a large swarm of blue and yellow stumble into the diner, curiosity catches your tongue as your eyes trained on the centre of the group as the teens jump their way through the booths - making a ruckus.

”Finally, something good to look at,” Kevin sits upright and nudges you slightly. You break from your trance as you follow his gaze; your eyes lock on the tall raven haired jock, your heart jumping straight into your throat as he catches your gaze, his lips turning up into a smirk and sent to you.

You feel Kevin’s long fingers jab at your sides, ”Why is Reggie staring at you?” 

Your eyes widen, ”Reggie? As in Reggie Mantle?! That’s Reggie?!” You gawk, trying to hide your rosy cheeks. Reggie got hot.

”Oh my god, he’s coming over here,” His eyes pop out of his head as he shakes your arm rapidly, he does his best ‘let’s subtly tell your best friend a cute guy is approaching you’ look.

You jolt upright, knocking over your milkshake glass and spilling it all over your denim shorts. You cuss under your breath and stand from the booth as quickly as you can, trying to get as far away from the boy before he saw you drenched in the chocolate shake.

Your efforts fail as your chucks slip on the tiles and your body goes hurtling toward the floor, only to be saved by a pair of arms. You freeze on the spot as Reggie’s large hands rest on your waistline, his warm fingers touching the exposed skin on your hips - the skin lighting on fire at the embrace. His big brown eyes bore into yours.

”Yo, Reggie,” The boy is ripped from his thoughts and he lifts you up, setting you firmly on the ground. His hands slowly slip from your hips, stuffing them into the pocket of his black denim jeans. You looked both familiar and like a stranger. He couldn’t figure you out. 

“Hey,” He whispers, only loudly enough for you to hear.

”Andrews,” He nods, glancing once at the tall redhead before looking back to you, then back to your brother. You could see the cogs moving in his head as he slowly began to recognise who you were. A laugh escaped his pink lips. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He turns to his group of friends immediately, ”Holy shits, it’s Lyd Left Feet!”

Laughter fills the small diner as the realisation that the dorky thirteen-year-old with the bad dancing was actually the girl standing right in front of them. You reach over and snatch your bag out of the booth, sprinting past the neighbouring booths making a b-line for the front door. You pushed as hard as you could with shaky arms, before colliding with another body.

”Lydia?”

taglist & feeback?: @natalieroseg @isak-lovelies @lena-lightwood @xbobaaa @shadowycomputerrecluse @tinadotexe @sadbreakfastclb @sardonic-jug @mukesbite @asexualmarauder @xxcalignosityxx @bandstripper @cherxnica @neewtmas @ninja-stiles @honeymccall @mccallpackwriter

[poklina]

so because you're a legend and i love your writing soso much i have another jimon prompt?? so i was thinking abt how jimon is actually such a power couple? (like in 2x09) and like ... i really like the idea of jace training simon and then they go on their first mission together?

hey guess what i i love you???? this has been in my inboxx for a month im So Sorry but its pretty fucking gross so i hope you like it

cocky - 2k

Simon is appallingly bad at hand-to-hand combat. He's so amazingly bad, Jace is pretty confident that if a 6th grade girl with a grudge challenged him to a fight, Simon would be eating dust under her bright pink high tops. Not that that's ever happened, of course.

(Jace is never going to let him forget that day.)

More to the point, with Simon's enhanced speed, strength, hearing, and everything else, he should be able to at least get away from a pack of rogue middle schoolers. But, it always seems to end up with him laying flat on his face while Jace hauls him up like a sack of flour. And sure, they can laugh about little Monica back at the Institute while Simon shoots them glares completely negated by the dazzling grin on his face, but when it comes to trying to fight their way out of a pack of Shax demons?

Not quite as funny then.

So, after the 5th time in a week Simon gets his ass handed to him by a rogue vampire trying steal his Daylighter ability, Jace decides he's had quite enough of rescuing his gentlemen-in-distress.

"I'm training you tomorrow." Jace huffs out shortly as he extends a hand to Simon, who is, once again, laying on his back in some alley in who knows where, New York. He grabs it roughly and Jace almost falls over with the amount of strength that Simon uses to pull himself up, but he manages to catch himself before he can.

"What? I mean, I'm flattered, but I really don't think that I'm someone that you should be focusing on -" Simon starts before Jace cuts him off.

"Simon, not even Clary gets knocked on her ass as much as you do. And while I do love you, if I have to save you one more time, I'm breaking up with you." He says flatly, but with just a hint of a grin on his face, which in turn makes a smile break over Simon's face.

"Aw, babe, I love it when you save me though." Simon fake-pouts, which results in him getting a hard punch to his shoulder, and honestly? He didn't expect anything less. "Ow!"

"Case in point. You're not getting out of this one, Si." Jace chuckles as he swings an arm around Simon and leads him out of the alleyway into the bright New York afternoon. "Man, I'm gonna have so much fun kicking your ass tomorrow."

"Hey!"

--

The training room is empty, thanks to some small miracle. Simon would absolutely hate having someone to watch his ass get knocked down approximately 15 times and counting.

A bolt of pain lances up his spine as he hits the ground hard. Vaguely, he thinks there's 16, before Jace is swimming into his vision, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

"You know, for someone with super speed, you'd think that you could at least run away." He says smugly, extending an arm to Simon, who grabs it and hauls himself to his feet with a groan. "It's almost like you like getting punched."

"Damn, you found me out." Simon says back, stretching his neck out in an attempt to try and wring out some of the pain that's settled in his muscles and refuses to leave. He screws his eyes shut for a moment before opening them to Jace's smug face, arms crossed over his chest, making him look more like a disappointed teacher than anything else.

"Alright, well, we can be kinky with that later. For now, I need to teach you how to use a sword without cutting your own hand off."

"Easier said than done, my friend." Simon retorts, grinning lazily as Jace smirks and turns towards the weapons cabinet, pulling out a short seraph blade and what seems to be - an axe? Jace turns around and tosses the sword at Simon, who just barely catches it by the handle. He can feel a blush crawling up his cheeks, and as he looks up at Jace, he can see him trying to stifle a laugh.

"Not a fucking word, Wayland." Simon growls out, swinging the sword up in front of him casually, relishing in the singing noise it makes as it cuts through the air in front of him. "And really, an axe? Isn't that a tad overkill, even for you?"

"Overkill is my middle name." Jace smirks back, twirling the blade in the air before him, eyes tracking its movement around and around and around. "And besides, it takes a real fighter to know how to handle these weapons."

"Well then, why don't you come and show me what a 'real fighter' looks like?" Simon says back, eyes glittering with a combination of mirth and dark enjoyment. He watches as Jace's eyes do almost the same thing, before he advances on him, axe swinging up in the air as it comes crashing down on Simon's raised sword.

There's a maniac sort of excitement in Jace's eyes, wild and breathtaking with every swing that comes at Simon. They aren't talking, but the way Jace smiles with a morbid gleam in his eyes says volumes. The blades crash into one another in a perfect harmony of metal and sparks, the polished steel shining almost as brightly as Jace's half-crazed smile. Even though Simon feels like he should be scared, he's not. The intensity that Jace brings to every movement and strike makes him feel weak in the knees instead. Because he's seen that sort of madness, but instead of focused on hurting him -

Let's just say that it's a lot less painful when he's seen it before.

Simon brings his blade down roughly, the metal clanging against Jace's axe just before it reaches his shoulder. Jace pushes the sword away just as easily, twisting his hands at the same time to swing it around to Simon's other side, trying to land a blow. Simon reacts just as quickly, bringing his sword in between the axe and his ribcage just before it hits. He looks up, spurred on by his success and meets Jace's eyes. They're flashing wildly, and Simon can see his arms straining to keep his lock on the blade out of the corner of his eye.

In the next instant, Simon pulls his sword away from Jace's axe and brings it flat against his side. Jace looks at it in shock, before looking up at Simon again with a mixture of pride and amusement. Without letting the blade drop, Simon steps closer to Jace, close enough to where he can feel his breaths against the skin on his neck. Slowly, he tilts his head up, nosing up the line of Jace's jaw and relishing in the small noises that he's pulling from the back of Jace's throat. He grins wickedly at the sharp intake of breath when his lips brush against Jace's earlobe, and Simon lets his head fall just a bit closer -

"Gotcha." he says in a breathy voice. He can feel the tremor go through Jace underneath him, and it almost makes him lose his cool completely.

Almost.

Simon pulls his head back slowly, letting his teeth drag along Jace's jaw line ever so carefully, and the moan that it brings out echoes through the training room before burrowing deep into his stomach. It takes every single ounce of strength in Simon's body to pull back, but he manages. Jace's eyes are blown wide open, almost black with his pupils. His face is flushed a bright, bright red, and his chest is heaving up and down as his throat works at swallowing hard. Simon's sword is still on his side, but before he pulls it away for good, he manages to catch some of the fabric and tear it open, leaving a nice hole on the side of his black tank top.

With that, Simon steps back, admiring his work. His eyes flick up and down Jace's body, gray sweats riding low around his hips, tank top ripped at the side and just barely managing to hide the flush that's crawling down Jace's collarbones at the same time. Simon doesn't think he's ever look more gorgeous.

Swallowing hard, Simon speaks again. "You should take that off." he says roughly, eyes darting to where a large swath of fabric is hanging by Jace's hips. "Wouldn't want you getting it caught...on...something."

Jace eyes him slowly, considering. Simon wants to wither under the gaze, but he stands proudly, defiant and tall and just begging Jace to come and try him. He clears his throat, and that seems to snap Jace out of whatever trance he was in.

"You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, you could've just asked." Jace says as he steps closer to Simon again, mirroring their earlier position. His forehead is barely brushing against Simon's, and yet it feels like that part of him electrified. Simon is hyper aware of every movement Jace makes; every breath that puffs out across his collarbones, every tiny shift closer to Simon. He watches carefully as Jace pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it somewhere in the room; he doesn't know even which direction it went in because Jace is right there and he is shirtless. Simon's eyes track quickly up and down his broad chest, taking in all of the thick black runes that are starting to look like targets on his chest -

"So are we still sparring? Or are we just going to stand here until somebody kisses someone." Jace says quietly, jerking Simon out of his reverie and forcing his eyes back to Jace's. The maniac look is back, but less wild this time. Now, it's more controlled, a thunderstorm rolling thick and heavy, lightning dancing down each time Jace's eyes flash. Simon likes looking at Jace's eyes; they're hypnotic. Quite possibly one of the best things about him.

"Jesus, Lewis,for a vampire, you're too fucking slow." Jace grits out right before clapping his hands around Simon's neck and pulling forward, crashing them together like waves against the break. It's messy and uncontrolled as Simon digs his hands into Jace's lower back, leaving ten finger-shaped bruise marks right on his waist. The pressure forces Jace to drag Simon even closer, mouth opening to swipe his tongue over the seam of Simon's lips. With a gasp, Simon parts, and quickly does the same.

It's breathless and fast and so fucking good, Simon forgets where he is for a brief moment, his whole world narrowing down to the feeling of how amazing Jace feels underneath him, as his hands claw down his back, pulling rough noises from the very base of his throat.

They break apart much too soon for Simon's liking, who chases the kiss insistently, even as Jace pulls back, panting and trying to take in as much air as possible. Immediately, Simon latches on to Jace's neck, sucking bruise after bruise into the pale skin just above his runes.

"Simon - fuck - stop, stop." Jace breathes out, and Simon pulls away, disappointed. It must show on his face, because as soon as he makes eye contact with Jace, he's breaking in to a wide grin, unable to stop himself. "C'mon. Let's - let's not do this here."

Simon whines from the back of his throat, and Jace's smile grows even wider, even more endearing. Simon wants to hate it. Really, he does. But, he just can't. Instead, he does the same, smile breaking wide over his mouth with just how nice it is to just be able to kiss his boyfriend without anyone around.

"Fine. Whatever. Okay." Simon says, trying to play it off as annoyed but failing miserably before lacing his hand through Jace's. Jace snags his shirt from wherever it landed, and they start to walk out of the room before a thought hits Simon.

"So, am I all trained up and badass now?" he says smugly, hazarding a glance over at Jace, who just rolls his eyes and looks at him disbelievingly.

"Simon, you couldn't be badass if you wore all leather and drove a motorcycle."

"Dick."

"I try."