#insomnia is a curse fr

[nyancrimew]

Are birds going chiirp chiiirp chiiirp chiirp and tweet tweet tweet a good time to sleep?

based on when ive been managing to sleep the last like two months id probably say yes

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter FIVE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, minor injury, mentions of smoking, obscene amounts of pen-twirling and cryptic conversation. || sfw. 3.3k words. reminder that characters are aged up (bc tiny high schoolers ain't playin' in the NBA in any universe) and megumi & yuji & co. are only a few years younger than gojo.

FUSHIGURO’S PRESS SCHEDULE is wiped for the rest of the Phantoms series before you even get back to the hotel, and you and Nobara have mediated press releases and fielded questions about his condition—and Gojo and Hanami—back and forth for hours. Fushiguro will be out game four, but he’ll be fine, and Gojo has not been suspended from upcoming games. According to Nobara, Twitter is relieved to hear it.

The internet’s also blowing up over Gojo and Hanami’s almost-fight. You scrolled through Twitter for all of five seconds before someone said something along the lines of satoru gojo grab me by the shirt like that fr and you considered deleting the app entirely.

You’re trying to forget about the whole thing, or at least be pissed at Gojo, but there’s a part of you that can’t help but fixate on how protective he was of Megumi. It’s not like Gojo didn’t know the consequences of getting into a fight. Was it just that his need to put Hanami in his place, to stand up for Megumi, outweighed the threat of suspension?

Not wanting to keep Ieiri up (not that she’s sleeping, but on the off chance that her insomnia isn’t raging tonight, you aren’t looking to ruin it), you make yourself at home in the floor lounge area to finish your work for the night. You wrap up the Nike contract and send it over to the rep.

You waste the rest of the night away with the usual post-game rituals of paperwork and emails and calls, and only when you’ve closed your laptop and are about to head back to the room does Gojo poke his head into the common room.

“Hey,” he says, and it feels weirdly simple.

“Hey?”

Gojo takes this as an invitation, dropping into the chair on the opposite side of the table, boneless with the day’s exhaustion. He’s got a nondescript Nike tee and a pair of gray sweats on, and he’s ditched the headband so his white hair is falling haywire over his eyes.

For a second he says nothing, and then he glances at the pen on your notepad and picks it up, twirling it between two fingers. You roll your eyes.

“What’s up, Six?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking care of the Nike contract. And Fushiguro’s press schedule.” He clears his throat, like there’s something else he wants to say, and you wait him out. Without meeting your eyes, he says, “And I’m sorry for losing it on the court today. I know that, uh. Makes things harder for you. And Kugisaki.”

You freeze. It’s an unexpected gratitude. You’re starting to find that the apology, though, isn’t so unexpected. He’s been doing an awful lot of apologizing lately. It’s honestly stopped taking you so off guard. “Uh. Yeah, no problem. Just doing my job.”

“You’re good at it,” he says, pointing your pen at you. “Your job.”

“Thanks.” You laugh a little. “How’s he doing?”

Gojo hums absentmindedly and tosses the pen into the air, catching it with his other hand and resuming twirling it between his fingers. “Better, I think,” he says. “He’s with Yuji. Sleeping. Freaked him out a little, I think.”

Bits of your conversation from the locker room flash through your mind. Gojo’s hesitation, his anger, the questions upon questions building up in the back of your throat, the buzzer interrupting whatever answer you might have received.

“You’ve been… a little off, lately.” You bite your lower lip, debating whether to broach the topic. But his too-bright eyes are already trained on you, inquisitive, and the words are leaving your mouth before you know you’re saying them. “I mean, is it just playoffs? Or is there something else going on?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. You don’t often see Gojo speechless.

“It’s—ah, didn’t mean to worry you, Miss Manager.” He grins, covering up whatever emotion he was about to display with charm, that typical Gojo arrogance.

“Gojo.”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know.” You just look at him, waiting out the deflection. He sighs. Drops the pen back onto the notepad. Taps his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“It’s just San Diego,” he confesses after a moment. “I mean, you know. And Yaga doesn’t want us thinking that far ahead, but I can't help it. I just have this gut feeling they're making it to championships. So if we're really gonna win this thing, it's going to be us against them.”

“Not too late for Manhattan to whoop your ass,” you say, but you’re not serious and he knows it. He cocks a brow and snorts. “What is it about the Curses? Just that they know the way you play? That you’re on bad terms?”

Gojo grimaces. “It’s not necessarily that we parted ways on a bad note. More that Geto’s gonna do some weird psychological shit to trip me out, me and Gu—uh, Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro.” You tilt your head, examining, searching, and decide to push it just a little. “Earlier, in the locker room—what were you going to say?”

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s long as Gojo searches for the right words, one hand tapping an anxious rhythm on the tabletop. You flick the pen so that it rolls off the notepad, stopping in front of him. Chuckling, he picks it up and resumes using it to occupy his hands. “You were right. That we didn’t play together in college. I, uh, actually met Megumi before he was in college. He was… like, the best point guard I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Recruited all over the place.” He sighs. “Not by our university, though. Probably—for the best.”

There’s a lot to this story, to this history. You know it the way you know Ieiri’s smoking out the hotel window right now—unseen, but inarguable, and not yours to comment on.

You’ll take what he can give you, for now.

“I was on a scouting trip when I met him. The trip was actually for the other team, but I’d never seen a point guard like that.”

Fair enough. Megumi is genuinely one of the best players you’ve ever seen.

“And I asked him about going D1, and he said he couldn’t.”

Couldn’t. What possible reason could he have behind that? Did he not think he was good enough? “But he did go D1,” you prompt.

“I… guess I kind of did him a favor?”

“What does that—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” Gojo blurts, like he wants to talk you down before you can accuse him of something. “It’s just that it’s not my thing to tell, you know what I mean?”

You sigh. “Yeah. I do.”

He drags a hand across his eyes. “I got closer to him than I meant to. Him and his sister, actually. Her name’s Tsumiki.” He smiles softly. “The sweetest girl. And we kept in touch throughout his college career. And then he was drafted here.” He shifts in his chair. “And I was traded here.”

Megumi told you himself that’s not the full story. And you were there when Gojo broke things off with the Curses. It wasn’t some simple trade. But you don’t push. He’s already told you more than you anticipated. You feel like you’re on the cusp of some revelation, some conclusion, but you don’t have all the pieces and you know Gojo won’t—can’t—give them to you.

“I think he feels like he owes me,” Gojo confesses quietly, staring at nothing. “Even though I always tell him he doesn’t owe me shit.” His admission is soft, almost like he doesn’t realize you’re listening.

His gaze snaps back to you.

“It sounds kinda stupid, and I know they’re not that much younger than I am, but they’re like… I don’t know. Family. So when Geto pulled that stupid shit with the Curses, I just—” He drags a palm down his face. “Sorry. I know they were your team too. I don’t mean to… like, try and put ideas in your head about them. It’s fine, seriously.”

Another sorry. You study him for a long moment, him looking more out of his element than you’ve maybe ever seen him, aside from that day with Geto. “Is that why you haven’t told me?” He looks down. “You didn’t want to influence my feelings about the Curses?”

It’s actually such an absurd, but weirdly considerate, line of thinking that you scoff out loud. “You know I left them, right? Same as you.”

“Your contract was up.”

“Gojo, I hated it there,” you say, surprising yourself with your own candor. “They were assholes. It was…” You trail off, wondering whether you should admit it. That it was worse when Gojo left.

You shrug. “This team is better than I could’ve hoped for.” You grin. “But I did not follow you here.”

“Oh, sure you didn’t,” he teases, and whatever unease sat in the air between you before melts away.

He throws the pen up in the air again, and this time it arcs forward. Your hand shoots out to catch it at the same time as his, and you suddenly find yourself staring at Gojo’s hand wrapped around yours, the pen tight in your fist. His hand almost entirely encompasses your own, and his grip is loose enough that you could shake it off if you want to.

He’s warm.

You’re about to say something when you look at his forearm, and realize that the skin has turned a mottled yellow. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re wrenching your hand out of his and grabbing him by the arm, pulling him closer to you, examining the rapidly darkening bruise.

“Did Hanami do this?” And you’re surprised by how angry it makes you. “Jesus, Gojo.”

“It’s fine,” he says softly, and he doesn’t try to pull away. You meet his gaze, strands of white falling into his eyes.

“It’s not.”

Time feels suspended around you, the heat of Gojo’s bruising skin on your palm, his eyes locked onto yours like there’s something worth reading there. You clear your throat. “You’ll just have to kick his fucking ass, then.” You let go of his arm, watch as he pulls it back to his side, drops the pen on the table.

“Guess so.”

“Rest up, Six. Phantoms won’t beat themselves.”

“Won’t they?” Gojo chuckles and rises from the seat, tapping the table in a farewell before taking his leave.

“Gojo?” He stops in his tracks, tilts his head like a confused puppy. It’s almost endearing. “Thanks,” you say. “For telling me, I mean.”

He grins, a surprised little smile. “Thanks for listening.”

When he’s gone, you stare at the place he was sitting, the pen he was twirling in his fingers. Thinking about the person you thought he was, the person he might be.

You’re so goddamn confused.

—

Hanami is starting for the Phantoms. That’s their first mistake.

You’ve seen your team pretty divided on a breadth of issues, from which pizza joint to eat at last night to political stances to play strategies. But the one thing they’re unanimous on is that nobody can hurt Megumi Fushiguro and get away with it.

Toge starts in Megumi’s place, which means Ino subs out pretty quickly so that Toge and Yuta are on the court together. But Ino doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in as he swaps out with Yuta to tell you, “I think they might kill Hanami by the end of the half.”

You should probably oppose murder as a general moral standard, but at the moment you kind of just want to see him get absolutely decimated.

There are a number of players you really haven’t seen angry before, Toge most of all—he’s not a vengeful person, not petty, but now he’s playing like Hanami has always been his rival, like he wants to drive him into the court and kick him while he’s down.

Gojo stays on Hanami’s heels like his giant, leering shadow. He’s making comments out of the corner of his mouth, and you don’t even want to imagine what kind of shit he’s saying. Hanami can barely move around on the court, let alone get a shot in, and you can see his frustration building.

Eventually he gets fed up and shoves his shoulder into Gojo’s chest to get past him with the ball, and the ref fouls him. Gojo grins for the entire duration of the free throw, practically dancing to his place on the court.

You’re trying to hide your grin, and by the look Nobara’s giving you, it’s not working.

She texts faster than anyone you’ve ever seen. Apparently she’s keeping Megumi up to date, because Yuji made him stay at the hotel and said if he turned on the TV with a concussion he’d sing “the concrete jungle wet dream tomato song” the whole flight home.

“Are you doing this in a group chat?” you ask, leaning over her screen. It’s called fushiguNO, and you laugh at loud as you realize it’s only Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi.

“It’s mostly me and Yuji. Fushiguro just lurks and dislikes every text with his name in it,” she says.

Over the course of the first quarter, your guys whoop Hanami’s ass. They’re pulling every trick in the book to make his life hell without getting called. It only works sometimes—Yaga has to tell them to cut back when they start running up fouls, especially Gojo, though there’s really no heat behind his voice. It’s just a practical matter. He wants to see Hanami get his ass beat just as much as the rest of them.

After halftime, the Phantoms coach pulls Hanami and doesn’t put him back on. It feels like even more of a victory than the 79-56 score.

As third quarter starts, most of the usual starters aren’t even on the court—they’re toying with the Phantoms. Kusakabe lets Junpei on the floor for more time than he’s ever gotten. You catch a few Phantoms fans slipping out early. There’s no coming back from this.

Gojo probably hasn’t had this little playing time in years, but he doesn’t seem to mind, at least as long as Hanami’s off the court. The point deficit has gotten so insane he could take a nap on the floor and it wouldn’t matter.

Anyway, the Sorcerers fucking sweep.

They win against Manhattan, four games in a row, and just like that the first round is over. It’s hardly a competition. You watch the Phantoms fans file out of the stadium dejected, their home team knocked out of the playoffs before they could really get going.

Ino grabs you by the arm and tugs you into a sweaty team huddle, a few of the other guys doing the same to Nobara and a very reluctant Ieiri. “Semis!” Hakari shouts, and the rest of the team echoes it, jumping around and putting each other in headlocks and being all-around obnoxious boys. Yuta hugs you and you smile, and then Nobara has Megumi on a video call, and then Yaga herds the team out of the gym with a barely-repressed smile.

“Baltimore!” Gojo hollers, coming to walk alongside you. “Gojo City. What do you think of that, Alley-oop?”

“Charm City,” you correct.

“That’s what I said.” He winks.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’m glad we have a fucking week before we have to fly back up to New England,” you say, but you can’t help grinning back at him. The week will be full of practices and film studies for the team, but you’ll at least have a bit more free time once everything is set up with Baltimore. You might even make it a whole day without seeing Satoru.

Oh, shit.

Shit.

When did you start thinking of him on a first-name basis?

“We swept specifically so you could have some free time,” he lies, and you chuckle.

“Giving yourself an awful lot of credit there.”

“That’s what he does best,” Kento drawls from Gojo’s other side, and then Ieiri catches up to you and shoos the boys off.

“Get your asses changed and out the door,” you call after the guys. “We have a flight to catch!”

The team disappears into the locker room, and you, Ieiri, and Nobara catch a cab back to the hotel. You settle the bill, make sure everyone’s luggage is accounted for, and find yourself doing a headcount on the team jet within two hours—an impressive turnaround, by their standards.

You throw Yaga a thumbs-up and head to your seat beside Ieiri, tugging your laptop from your bag to work on the short flight home.

You do not envy anyone who has to fly with a concussion.

Megumi spends most of the flight home with his face tucked into Yuji’s shoulder, headphones on and nose scrunched against the air pressure, and Yuji doesn’t stop rubbing reassuring circles on his shoulder the entire time. Yeah, you’re pretty fucking sure there’s something going on there.

Beside you, Ieiri is way too invested in a sudoku puzzle while you work furiously on your laptop, scribbling notes in the margins of your planner and reading up on the Wolverines.

After an hour or so, Ieiri gets up to go to the bathroom. You’re considering sprawling yourself over her vacant seat when Gojo slides into it instead.

“Well, excuse you.” You close your laptop before he gets any ideas about messing with your work, turning to him expectantly. “What?”

He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. “I can’t spend time with my super lonely manager?”

“Ieiri left two seconds ago.”

“A long time to be in solitary confinement,” he says solemnly, leaning back and making himself at home in Ieiri’s seat. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I was working, until someone decided he needed attention.”

“Working on what?”

Resigned to the conversation, you maneuver yourself so you’re leaning against the window, one foot up on your seat. “Stuff for Baltimore.”

“Ah. Don't even worry about Baltimore. Non-issue. We'll win."

"So humble," you mutter. You glance at the printed bracket clipped into your planner, noting how the rest of the Eastern Conference is shaping up. "Well, they're higher seeded than you. Watch yourself."

Gojo waves his hand like this is irrelevant. "We got 'em. And then we'll play the Samurai, and it'll be great."

You do really want to play the Savannah Samurai. They've already won three games in their own series. Technically, you won't know if they sweep until tonight, but there's really no world in which they lose to the eighth seed. You played with their manager in college, Ieiri's friends with their trainer, and there are a bunch of connections among the players, too—trades, college teammates, even family ties.

"Hey, you know how Itadori’s half-brother plays for Savannah?” You nod. “Well. According to Yuji, he says their trainer is very not thrilled about the possibility seeing me again. Which is absurd, I think. I am an angel walking God’s green earth.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And so charming.” He nods, like you’re the one who said it and he’s just agreeing. “Just giving you a heads up that Utahime hates me. So you can defend my honor in the conference finals.”

“Bold of you to assume we don’t have a secret Anti-Gojo society already.” You’re well aware Iori Utahime isn’t Gojo’s biggest fan. You know they went to high school together, and you’re honestly just impressed she hasn’t killed him yet.

Gojo gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

“She would,” Ieiri says, standing beside Gojo with arms crossed and brows raised. “I don’t recall inviting you.” She glances over Gojo’s head at you. “Do you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Shokooo,” Gojo protests, but she jerks a thumb over her shoulder and he sighs dramatically and vacates her seat. He grins at you. “Don’t miss me too much.”

You scoff as he retreats back to his own seat, probably to bother Kento. Ieiri sits down beside you and gives you a weird look.

“What?”

She just smirks and goes back to her sudoku.

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan

[amunyan]

Love me, not him - 6A

After a lot of storyline with Mereoleona, this part of chapter 6 will follow the route of Fuegoleon again.

(You came here when you avoided the fight or if you rejected Mereoleona earlier. Or if you read everything… like I also would in these create-your-story-thing…;P)

 It’s just a fluffy flashback, but enjoy :)

Wordcount: 2,129

 

The moon was still high in the sky, but hiding behind some clouds.

You were lying in your bed, unable to fall asleep. Insomnia had taken over and your thoughts were on a rollercoaster since Mereloeona wished you a good night and left.

You thought about the events of the day... or at least tried so. But your thoughts always drifted away to him, to Fuegoleon, while you snuggle deeper into your blanket.

As you were lying there, missing him more with each passing day, more memories came back. One of them; the long night you spent with him...

"It was a while after my failed confession, when he became the Captain of our squad", you mumbled while starring at the ceiling.

 

You knocked on the office door, unsure of the reason for your visit. But there was no answer.

"It's late," you noticed. "God knows why he wants to see me at this unholy hour. Besides; we have hardly spoken since my failed confession some time ago..." You become worried, thinking that Fuegoleon might throw you out of the order for this. "Maybe he hates me now. But I did well during the last missions. Oh dear. Why am I here?" You asked yourself again, expecting the worst. Not even considering how absurd your thoughts were as you began to knead your hands restlessly and bit your lower lip. You thought about just leaving, but you forced yourself to try again and knocked on the door a second time. Again; no answer.

"Good", you said to yourself and were about to turn around as you could hear something after all; hectic noises, slurping on the floor, then a rumbling, followed by cursing. Then the door swung open.

"(Y/N)?!?" A bright smile appeared on Fuegoleons stressed face as he saw you.

"Are you okay, Fuegoleon?" you asked worriedly. Not only the loud noises but also the dark circles under his eyes worried you.  "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I didn't," he replied guiltily. "That's why I need your help."

You didn't understand what was going on and how you, of all people, could help him. Even less so when he dragged you into the office, closed the door and grabbed you by the shoulders. The young leader of the Order looked into your eyes. "I can only ask you, (Y/N), for this favour. So please help me."

"Huh?"

He let go of you to touch his forehead in shame and averted his eyes. "I didn't expect to have to deal with so much paperwork when I took over the order. While working on reports and planning missions, as well as the actual bookkeeping, I made a mistake. In trying to correct it, and looking for similar reports and other notes that might help me, I unfortunately caused this..."

You looked past him into the room, which was flooded with papers and fallen books, as well as other things that completed the chaos. A chaos you never expected Fuegoleon could cause.

“It’s embarrassing for someone like me”, he said with a low voice, full of guilt.

“Don’t worry”, you answered softy and shacked your head. “It’s no shame to make a mistake. Everyone does. It’s similar to what you always say. The shame comes with not learning from them and with no improvement. I know what I am talking about. I made too many along my way...” You paused for a moment and took a deep breath, before you looked at him with a soft smile. “I’ll help you to fix this mistake.”

"Thank you." With relief in his voice, he wanted to hug you. But when he was already standing in front of you with his arms half outstretched, he changed his mind again and just cleared his throat. You noticed that he even blushed a little.  Although you felt a little sad about this, you couldn’t help smiling.  

“Fuegoleon is such an organized and competent person. Always friendly and also a strong mage. But this side of him, his vulnerable side, he only shows me. As if he knew I wouldn't judge him. As if he knew he is safe with me…”

Over the next few hours, you went through all the paper chaos together. You reassembled documents and reports that belonged together, put them in a logical and chronological order and threw away things that were no longer needed.

"That took much longer than expected," he noted.

You nodded. "But most of the work is done now.  We just have to sort the files back into the shelf and clean up here." As you were about to start, a loud yawn escaped you. Just as you were about to apologize, Fuegoleon yawned too. With an awkward grin, you looked at each other as the young leader suggested: "How about tea? Or better; coffee? We still might sit here for a while."

"Good Idea. I will go and get some." You put the file in your hands into the shelf and were about to go, but Fuegoleon stopped you by blocking the door. "Don't worry - I will. Take a little break, (Y/N)."

"Afraid that you will make a mess again in the few minutes I get us something to drink?” You couldn't help yourself from making a little joke.

"Maybe ", he answered quietly, smiling a little embarrassed at you, before leaving you alone in the office, but you didn't mind.

"He's such an accommodating guy. I'm so glad he likes me. Even though..." The same moment you congratulated yourself on being a happy little mushroom, the self-doubts came back. And with them, the nagging question of "Why?" "Why does he still like me? Why is he asking me for help? After my failed confession and the fact that I never really wanted to see him again. Why is he still so friendly towards me?"

While you ponder these questions, you sort back a few papers and reports on the last missions. "Maybe he really likes me as much as I like him? Maybe we..."

Another yawn undercuts your train of thought. "Fuegoleon is really taking his time. Maybe..." You sit down on the small sofa in the room. “He ordered me to take a little break. Not a bad idea at all – I am really tired by now. It’s past midnight and the past day was full of hard training and work.” The sofa was so warm and soft, you couldn’t help but lying down on it "I'm just resting my eyes until he comes back..." Knowing that this was a complete lie, you closed your eyes and fell asleep in no time.

"I don't know how long I slept on that sofa. But I know I dreamed of him. Sneaking a kiss from me..." Even though you know that Fuegoleon would never do such a thing - kissing a sleeping girl is a reprehensible thing, by the way - it made you giggle a little. No. "He did something much sweeter..."

Without realising it, you wrapped yourself more tightly in the blanket. You hugged it like a soft toy and buried your nose in the fabric. Although it certainly didn't smell like your beloved...

"He gave me his cloak. Covered me up.... I can still remember the scent, warm and sweet, but also a little spicy. Like cinnamon with a fresh hint of ginger..."

When you woke up again, you felt safe and sound. Like being in a warm hug. The smell of cinnamon rose to your nose. A smile flitted across your lips as you opened your eyes. You couldn't tell why you felt so safe, neither how long you had been asleep. But the second you realized Fuegoleon was already back, doing the job he'd actually told you to do, a panic started in your head and you rumbled to your feet. Still wrapped in what you think is a blanket.

"Oh no. I'm so sorry, Fuegoleon. I fell asleep and..."

"Don't worry", he said friendly. "I've finished the work a moment ago."

"What?"

He nodded, putting back the last file of documents. “Also, I told you to take a little break and rest. Everything is alright.”

With a gentle smile on his face and half-open eyes, an expression full of gratitude, he came over to you. "I must thank you again for all your support, (Y/N)." He sit down beside you.

"Oh no, nothing special." You looked away, blushing, still feeling guilty about your little nap. "It's the least I could do for you."

"Nonsense." You jumped as he raised his voice for a moment. "It's not part of your job. But... but you always help me without hesitation. Just one of the many things I appreciate about you. So..." He paused for a moment. "I'm glad you came tonight. I thought I had done something wrong to make you angry. You hardly spoke to me the last few weeks. But you are here now. And that makes me so happy..."

His words pierced your heart a little. They made you want to tell him again how you really feel about him. How much you truly like him. That your feelings even went beyond this. That you were never angry with him. That you were never angry with him. You were only embarrassed that you were always so quiet and had difficulty expressing yourself. For a split second, your courage grew. But when you noticed that Fuegoleon suddenly seemed nervous and even blushed a little, you bit your lips. Unsure what to do, he made you even more insecure when he spoke again. "So... I wonder if I could ask you something, (Y/N)?"

“Of course.” You answered right away, looking at him. Hoping, he would make a move now and tell you how he feels towards you. Like hoping for the best, but not expecting it would ever happen.

"I'm not sure if I'm even allowed to ask you this. If this isn't a bit forward of me. But..." He paused again and turned away uneasily. One could clearly see his struggle. But not the absence of his cloak.

"Maybe he really...“ You allowed yourself to hope a little.

"Would you mind helping me out with these things? I mean - the paperwork." He slowly turned back to you, rubbing his bright red cheeks.

"Oh?" You sounded more disappointed than you wanted to.

“But helping him out from time to time is a good excuse to see him more often. To get closer…” You thought to yourself.

Meanwhile, Fuegoleon seemed a bit ashamed. As if he really thought he was asking too much of you. But you placed your hand on the top of his.

“Of course, Fuegoleon. I will help you. I'm glad you have so much faith in a clumsy little person like me..."

“Don’t make yourself small again. You are reliable, (Y/N). Just believe more in yourself. Please. And thank you for your agreement. This means a lot to me.  But it's late now. Let's discuss the details tomorrow. Should  Shall I accompany you to your room?  You seem sleepy."

"Oh no, it's all right," you smiled and snuggled tighter into the so-called blanket.

As the two of you left the room, wishing each other a good night and about to walk in the opposite direction, you didn't watch your step and tripped over the fabric of the blanket.

You closed your eyes after a startled scream and waited for yourself to hit the ground when you felt Fuegoleon's strong arm wrap around your waist. Concerned, he asked you if everything was all right.

"Yes ... But ..." At that moment you realised that the blanket was Fuegoleon’s cape.

Torn between joy and being flattered and the horror and shock of having damaged his new cape, you don't know what to do.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered. "I didn't realise it was your cape until just now. And now I've broken it..."

"Don't worry. It's not a big deal. I'm glad you're okay."

"I'll fix this for you. I promise." Your voice was full of determination, but also full of guilt as you looked into his eyes while tears welled up in your eyes.

"I managed to repair the cloak for him. Although you could clearly see that my skills were very bumbling if you looked closely, he always wore it with grace. And I was able to sleep in his coat for a few nights. With his scent in my nose and the feeling of a warm embrace..."

You rolled onto the other side of the bed and looked out of the window. The moon had stopped hiding.

"I miss him so much..." you thought with tears in your eyes and hugged the pillow tighter.

[yum-zlurplie]

goodnight everyone

like fr goodnight go to sleep if its night for you.. DO IT!

I will hit you! -jokes- go eep now

Sending prayers to those with insomnia -like me- f*cking hard to sleep with this b!tch of a brain why did we need this anyway?? Arent we like.. Designed to sleep? We have a function in which if we close our eyelids for long enough we shut down why would our brain not do that???? Those f*ckers lied to me!

Ps: sorry for the large about of cursing in this lol-

[acircusfullofdemons]

I know shared/extended universes have been done to death at this point but I have this Curse you see (aka I was a MCU fan for 7 years. no im not ashamed of this I think [most] of those movies are genuinely good fight me). I say this because my 3 main paracosms (Phantasmagoria, Mad as a Crow, StoryBook City) are connected. Like, not only are there alternate versions of some paras that exist in each universe (Calypso, Jervis, and Phineas are all Alternates/technically the same person in this regard) but each paracosm exists within the other.

"Mad as a Crow" is a comic book series held in a comic book store that False Moon canonically visits at the end of Phantasmagoria. Like Calypso has read about Jervis & is probably like "he just like me fr".

"StoryBook City" is actually a show called "Toybox Tutors" -- a children's show where each spokesman is a teacher & all the other Fables are students. Jervis & Alice grew up watching it and it canonically sparked their interest in Alice in Wonderland thanks to how Phineas & Alice were portrayed in that show. I think it's also a show Blair watches frequently because that would be perfect.

"Phantasmagoria" is a game....I haven't worked out the specific details but I think Eddie worked on part of "Fade into Insomnia" (since i sometimes imagine it in the style of those rpg horror games) before getting fired and becoming a criminal.

I haven't really worked out how Phantasmagoria & MaaC appear in SBC yet. It's not like they don't exist I just don't know how they do.

[dangraccoon]

A Hunch

Week 2 ~ "at ease" ~ midnight snack ~

Word Count: 960 Content: insomnia/sleepless, SUGGESTIVE so 18+, kenobi is a shameless flirt and a tease, cody is a disaster gay and a hopeless romantic (me fr tho) and rex is about to be so done with cody's bullshit

@clone-wars-winter-challenge

Despite the extended time he’d actually have, despite the relative comfort his bunk provided, despite the quiet of the ship, and despite the pure exhaustion that came after the adrenaline of battle wore off, Cody couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried almost everything he could think of. He adjusted the temperature of his quarters. He went for a walk around the ship. He took another shower. He tried cyclical breathing. He set his datapad to play white noise. He read a few chapters of a holo-novel Bly had recommended. He thought about going to the medbay to ask the late-shift medic for a sedative but decided against it.

Sighing, Cody flipped the scratchy GAR-issue blanket off of him and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He stretched a little, put his armor back on, then picked up his datapad and headed for the door.

The ship was quiet as most of the troopers would be getting some well-deserved rest as they traveled to their next destination. The few he did see would stand up straight until he waved them off, barely looking up from the reports he was reading.

He eventually found his way to the officers’ mess. He keyed in his access code to the attached kitchenette to use the self-serve caf machine. As it began to brew, he perched himself on the arm of one of the chairs to continue through the seemingly endless reports that flooded his inbox.

He knew he was a capable man, a good leader, and an exemplary soldier–he had the medals and the scars to prove it–but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d truly earned his rank. Had any of them earned their ranks if they were designed to be copies?

An access code being entered on the other side of the door startled him out of his introspection. The door slid open revealing–

“Oh!” General Kenobi jumped a little, nearly dropping his datapad. “Apologies, Commander, I wasn’t expecting to find the room–” he looked up to see Commander Cody at full attention, his work abandoned on the chair.

The general’s eyes shifted from surprise to confusion, and then something akin to curiosity.

“Commander, please be at ease, or as you were,” he hummed, an air of amusement surrounding him as he watched the commander barely shift his posture. “It’s the middle of the– well, I suppose it would be the middle of the night if we were still on Coruscant.” He chuckled a little, a sound Cody found to be echoing in his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on staying up through the night cycle doing data work.”

“Oh, uh, no,” Cody muttered, cursing the uncertainty in his voice. “Not exactly, sir–”

“Commander,” he said as he unceremoniously dumped the data pad on the counter. “May I simply call you ‘Cody’ instead of your full rank?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody nodded.

“I appreciate that,” General Kenobi grinned. He turned away from Cody, beginning to look through the various cabinets. 

He watched the general as he seemed to search for… something, unable to stop his curiosity.

“What are you looking for, sir?”

“Oh, please just call me Obi-Wan,” he huffed, almost exasperated. “At least if it’s just us.”

Cody looked away, scowling slightly.

Kenobi sighed, looking back towards him. “That’s going to be an uphill battle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody replied, unable to stifle a smirk.

Kenobi rolled his eyes, turning back to the cabinet. “To answer your question, I am looking for a… midnight snack of sorts. A pre-deployment habit I haven’t been able to break.”

“I wouldn’t count on finding much beyond ration bars in stock, sir,” Cody shrugged.

Kenobi seemed to deflate slightly. “I was afraid you might say that,” he grumbled, and again, Cody struggled to suppress his amusement. “We’ll simply need to rectify this glaring oversight, then won’t we.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kenobi grabbed his datapad and turned back to look at Cody. “Something tells me that you, Cody, actually know which form I’m supposed to use to requisition some treats for us all.”

Cody’s brow hitched. “What makes you say that?” he smirked.

“Call it a hunch,” Kenobi chuckled as he stepped into Cody’s space. “I just get a certain… vibe from you.”

Cody’s heart pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure of the cause, or perhaps it was a combination of the proximity, the soft yet strong tone of his voice, the smell of GAR-issue soap mixing with a subtle hint of some kind of tea, or the downright dangerous look in his eyes. 

“A ‘vibe’, is it?” he grinned. “What else can you glean from this so-called ‘hunch’?”

“Hm, are you sure you want to go down that road?” Kenobi practically purred, slowly dragging his eyes up and down Cody’s body. “You might find it to be a little too close to that line you so love to toe, my dear marshal commander.”

Cody scoffed if only to cover the way he had to force himself to actually continue breathing. “26-D9-926 for unit usage, 56-T3-926 for… personal use.”

“I knew it,” Kenobi snickered, pulling away from Cody–who found himself almost drawn to follow him and the heat he’d generated between them but resisted. “Have a good evening, Commander.”

“G-good evening,” he breathed, unsure if any of this was even real.

Kenobi paused, turning back to him. “Oh, and Cody?”

“Yes?”

“You forgot to say, ‘sir’.” And just like that, he swept out of the room.

Cody wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but once he found himself able to move again, he picked up his datapad, opening a comm line to Rex.

This is going to be a problem, he typed out and sent as he found himself adjusting his codpiece. 

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Thanks for reading! - River

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[fr-jedicreed]

The Curse

(All dragons are in anthro forms, unless otherwise noted!)

@meat-fr​

--

Demelin had had strange things happen to her before. Sometimes dangerous strange, other times just...strange strange. As far as she could tell, this ranked up to just strange strange.

She was standing in the middle of the street in the Middle Tier of Ilthorne...with a large Ridgeback floating in front of her.

Yes. Floating.

He appeared out of nowhere, and just started floating in front of her, just...chuckling. He was cross legged, and had his arms folded over his chest. While he seemed intimidating, Demelin wasn’t too afraid of him. Just...curious. After all, no one else was stopping to see this strange dragon. So why could she see him?

“Congratulations, my dear, you are now cursed.” said the Ridgeback, turning to her, as he grinned, sharp teeth flashing, “Be prepared for a lifetime of misfortune and trouble!”

Demelin watched him cackle for a moment, letting his words sink in, “...Okay...”

He blinked, before looking at her, “Hey hey, just...’okay’? What sort of reaction is that? I just told ya you were cursed! Cursed!! Does that not mean anything to you? C’mon, throw me a bone, sweetheart!”

“Don’t call me that.” she said automatically, before shrugging, “You just appeared before me, and said that I’m cursed. How am I supposed to react??”

He blinked, before sighing, shoulders slumping, “Like...I dunno...” He sat up straight, looking fearful, his voice going up a few pitches, “Oh nooo! Cursed? Who would do such a thing to lil’ ol’ me?” He slumped again, “Or...” Sitting up straight again, he started fake crying, “Why, oh why me? Why am I destined to be cursed? Oh noooo...!”

Demelin just gave him a look at the schematics, “Well...you do make a good point. Who would curse me? I’m just a worthless writer, so...”

The Ridgeback paused, before giving her an almost...concerned look, “...You okay there, girlie?”

“I’m Demelin--”

“Specter.”

“Nice to meet you. Anyways, I’m just....tired.”

The Ridgeback--Specter-- looked at her for a few moments, before nodding, “Yeah, I feel that.”

“Feel?”

He reached down, grabbing a smoky trail that she just now noticed was attached to her. A smoky aura was surrounding him, some that looked like hands, as they wafted out, “I’m attached to you, sweet cheeks. I’m forever a part of you, now.”

“Don’t call me that.” she said, again, “And back to what we were going at before... Who would curse me?”

“See, that’s the thing! No one!” said Specter, snapping his fingers with a grin, “I was created, and floated away. But because I didn’t wait to be assigned to anyone, I was given an ultimatum; either find someone to attached to and curse, or just disappear into nothingness. And, I dunno about you, but I don’t wanna die.”

“Curses can die?” asked Demelin, tilting her head.

“Yeah, in a way.” shrugged Specter, “But you were the first one I laid eyes on, so...ta-da! You are cursed by me! Specter!” He cackled, looking rather proud of himself.

Demelin was just tired. Now she had to deal with this annoying curse, on top of everything else. A book that was selling rather well, an upcoming deadline for her next book, her ongoing battle with insomnia, and other troubles. She watched Specter for a moment, who was looking at her expectantly. Again. What did he want? And what did he mean that he was going to curse her? Was he the curse? She never heard of curses being personified...

This was too much. She just wanted to nap.

“I’m tired.” she said, as she tried to walk away. But apparently Specter was attached to her, as he started following, still floating.

“Where we going, sweetie?”

She ignored him, though the nickname irked her. If he continued...

“C’mon, talk to me, dearie. Sweet cakes? Hunny bunny? My dearest dear--”

Having enough, she took her satchel, and swung it around, aiming for him. Only it went right through him, and she hit the back of some poor Snapper’s head, pretty solidly, too.

“Hey!” he snapped, giving her a glare.

“I-I’m so sorry!” she squeaked, holding her satchel close to her, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

The Snapper swore, grumbling as he rubbed the back of his head, before walking away. Cheeks flushed, she noticed, she had a crowd, before quickly turning on her heel and getting out of there. But as she went, a cackling followed her. A shadowy form of a skeletal Ridgeback floated beside her, but she knew that voice anywhere.

(art by @meat-fr​ !)

“That was fantastic!” Specter laughed, “Did you see his face? Amazing! Ooh, yes cursing you is going to be a hoot!”

Demelin sighed, tiredly. She barely recovered, before Specter zoomed out of sight, only for her to trip over something, having her sprawling on the street, her satchel opening and some papers scattering.

Panic filled her, as she quickly snatched the papers up, not caring about her dirty clothes. She heard Specter cackling, only for him to trail off, no doubt sensing her panic, “Hey, whatcha got there?”

“Pages for my next book.” said Demelin, counting the pages, and sighing with relief, before putting them in her satchel, “I’m a writer, remember?”

“Ah...” There seemed to be some sound of...regret in his voice? But he stopped cackling, so that was a plus.

Getting back to her feet, Demelin dusted herself off, as she continued down the street, “So...only I can see you?”

“When I’m like this, yeah.” said Specter, “But in my other form, I can physically manifest myself, and have others see me. But, most of the time, I can only be seen by you, so be careful how you speak, otherwise you’ll be seen talking to yourself.”

Demelin sighed, rolling her eyes.

Something told her she was in for quite the trip...