#moving the magnets around for fun when he was bored

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

i just spent my morning learning the 9-1-1 magnet theory lore and now i can’t see straight

[envy-of-the-apple]

Earth Kills Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun

Synopsis: A retelling of Sun Eats Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

[iid-smile]

hidden inventory students: headcanons

gojo, geto, shoko, haibara, nanami

gojo can scream in the most high pitched way ever. this usually happens when his ego gets to him during a mission and gets snuck up on from behind.

gojo has ripped his pants multiple times on different occasions. the worst one is when a girl he was flirting with dropped something, so he squats down and just like that, and rip right down the middle. he was wearing bright pink boxers with a pizza pattern btw... sometimes, he's not even shy about it.

gojo has the worst balance on trains. he has to lean against something or sit down because his legs shake like crazy. will always fall on the person next to him when the train stops, slow or fast it doesn't matter, even if the train doesn't move anybody else.

gojo frequently sends geto selfies with the most weird things. burnt food, ant's nest, inside of a truck, you name it.

when nobody's looking, geto pins back his bangs. he keeps a hairclip that shoko gifted him in his pocket, because he refuses to admit that they actually do get in the way.

geto has horrible back pain but the best posture. sits straight up as if he's been taped to the back of a chair. when he's walking? um... that's a different story.

geto matches other people's energy. it's not over the top, but he can adapt to all sorts of personalities and humour, both negatively and positively. it's most apparent with gojo and haibara. his whole entire mindset can change depending on who he's talking to.

geto has more haircare products than anything, not even skincare comes close. ask him about a particular shampoo or hair oil, and he can manage to go on a twenty minute rant about why you shouldn't buy it. never gives recommendations though (gatekeeper)

shoko laughs embarrassingly loud on purpose when anybody makes a bad joke. she does it most when guys try to catcall her or ask her out. also does it to gojo, but more as a joke because she likes how sulky he gets. it's actually kind of scary how she laughs too...

shoko hides her real cigarettes in a fake/candy cigarette box. may or may not keep an emergency lighter in there as well, but she doesn't know it's complete out. she does this so yaga doesn't find out she smokes.

shoko naps all the time during boring classes. poke her, shout in her ear, she will not wake up until something subconscious in her brain hears the school bell go off.

shoko prints off every photo she takes with a classmate. she sticks them on the wall of her dorm room, and separates them by person. the ones with utahime and meimei are put where she can easily see them and decorated with stickers. always puts a pink heart next to gojo's face for special reasons.

haibara is so overly positive it pisses people off. he always sees the good in people, so if a thief tries to rob him, he willingly hands his stuff over, because he always gives to "people in need". he gets upset when the thief gives him his stuff back and walks off.

haibara frequently compliment on how much people eat. we know his type is girls who eat a lot (i think) so he gets happy when somebody around him is just enjoying food and letting loose. doesn't really care if said person finds him weird, and he always buys them another little side dish or dessert.

haibara always looks out for other people. if he's in a crowded place like a party or amusement park, he always manages to find people at unexpected times and ask if they're okay/having fun. always checks the infirmary room just to make sure nobody's injured.

haibara is a natural magnet to children. somehow knows exactly how to play and communicate with them. maybe has siblings of his own, because he seems like the kind of guy that is the oldest of 5+ siblings yet still manages to have younger brother vibes.

nanami never poses for pictures. if he has to be in one via peer pressure, he stands straight, arms to his sides, and a grumpy look on his face (🧍‍♂️)

nanami spends a lot of time doing his hair. i know it doesn't look like he would, but he does. he uses a bunch of hairspray, so those strands do not move AT ALL. it's actually so hard and stiff if someone tries to touch it. because he puts so much, he has to wash his hair every day. legend has it that nobody's seen what his hair with no product looks like.

nanami has the worst attitude to those younger than him, but is so respectful to elders. like, it could be a whole 360 to what he's usually like. 90 degree bows, formal language and everything. bonus! shoko actually teases him the most about this.

nanami loves everyone in the group. dear, dear nanami... he's never open with his feelings. i don't think he could genuinely imagine his life being any more interesting than it is now if he hadn't joined jujutsu tech. it's not obvious, but he's always wishing the best for those around him. (we all know how that ended cough cough)

[pretzel-box]

Heeey :D requesting if you can, have fun with this ! what if Sebastian during scavenging runs into reader who bored/ nervous started to sing to try and keep calm . And it's like haunting eerie but sweet . For examples the song " ili ili tulog anay " by Jakegatemusic mostly the woman singing.

The rest of the story up to you :3

Tags: GN!reader, can be interpreted as established relationship or platonic

Words: 1k

Sebastian Solace was no stranger to silence. In the depths of the facility, where the cold steel walls pressed in and the air was heavy with the stench of decay, silence was a constant companion. It followed him like a shadow as he scavenged through the ruins, searching for anything useful to bring back. Sometimes it was broken only by the faint hum of the facility’s failing lights or the distant groan of shifting metal, but more often than not, it was oppressive and thick, the kind of quiet that felt alive in its stillness.

He liked it that way. The quiet allowed him to think, to focus, to keep his mind sharp while he moved from room to room, scavenging in the darkness. Silence was familiar. Comforting.

But today, as he moved through the halls, something was different.

A sound—soft, distant, but unmistakable—reached his ears. It was barely there, almost blending with the eerie creaks of the facility, but it was different enough that it made him pause. His hand hovered near his weapon, eyes narrowing as he strained to hear it again. His senses were sharp from years of survival, trained to pick up on any anomaly in the soundscape. Yet this wasn’t the metallic clank of a faulty door or the hiss of a steam vent.

It was singing.

Haunting, delicate, and just on the edge of his hearing, the voice floated through the corridor like a ghostly angel. The sound wasn’t mournful, but it carried a sadness—an eerie sweetness that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Whoever was singing wasn’t trying to be heard. The voice wasn’t loud or confident, but soft, as if it was meant to be kept to themselves.

Sebastian’s sharp instincts told him to move forward cautiously. Singing, in a place like this, where the air was thick with danger, was practically a beacon for trouble. Whoever it was, they were either incredibly brave, incredibly foolish, or too far gone to care. And either way, he couldn’t just ignore it. Not when the sound pulled him like a magnet, filling his mind.

He moved quietly, his movements light on the steel floor, as he followed the voice down the darkened corridor. The melody twisted and turned, echoing through the halls with an eerie beauty. The words were unclear—either nonsense or a language he didn’t recognize—but the tone was clear: this was someone trying to stave off fear, trying to keep calm in the face of the unknown.

As he got closer, the voice became clearer. It was still soft, trembling slightly, as if the singer was trying to keep their nerves in check. There was a lullaby-like quality to it, a rhythm that was soothing despite the unsettling backdrop of the facility’s decay. And finally, as he turned the corner, he saw the source.

There, sitting on the floor with their back against a wall, was you.

You looked tired—worn down by the endless scavenging runs and the constant threat of danger. Your gear was slightly askew, and your hands were clenched tightly around your knees, as if holding yourself together by sheer will. But despite the exhaustion in your posture, your lips continued to move, carrying the haunting melody through the air.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too lost in your own little world, trying to keep the fear at bay through the song. There was something strangely endearing about it—this small act of defiance in the face of everything crumbling around you. You were singing to yourself, to the darkness, to the silence that loomed just beyond the edges of your fragile calm.

For a moment, Sebastian simply watched, caught off guard by the sight. He had expected many things on this run, but not this. Not you, sitting in the dark and singing like a ghostly lullaby was the only thing keeping you grounded.

The melody swirled in the air, wrapping around him like a strange, comforting blanket. It was beautiful, in a way he hadn’t anticipated—haunting but sweet, eerie but pure. It didn’t belong in a place like this, and yet, that’s what made it so striking.

Finally, you became aware of him. Your eyes flicked up, startled, as your voice cut off mid-note. A brief look of panic crossed your face before recognition set in, and you relaxed, though only slightly.

"Sebastian…" you breathed out, the remnants of the song still lingering in the air between you.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the nearby wall, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You sing when you’re nervous?” His tone was casual, but there was a hint of curiosity beneath it, something softer than his usual gruffness.

You shrugged, your face flushing slightly in embarrassment. “I… yeah. It helps. I didn’t realize you were nearby.”

“I wasn’t far,” he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. “But you’re lucky nothing else heard you first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “I know. It’s stupid, but… it makes the silence feel less… overwhelming.”

He nodded, not in agreement exactly, but in understanding. He knew all too well how the silence could get to you, how it could play tricks on your mind. And in a place like this, where the walls felt like they were closing in, any little act of defiance felt like a small victory.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The eerie quiet returned, but it was different now. It wasn’t as oppressive, not with the memory of your voice still echoing in his mind.

“You have a good voice,” he said after a while, almost as an afterthought. “It suits you.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the compliment. “Thanks,” you murmured, a little taken aback.

Sebastian pushed off the wall, his usual air of stoicism returning. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you start serenading the entire facility.”

Despite his words, there was no sharpness in his tone. If anything, it was lighter than usual—perhaps even a touch amused. And as you followed him out of the corridor, your steps falling in line with his, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d actually enjoyed hearing you sing.

Even if he’d never admit it.

[infinity-mars]

Play With Me

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!reader 

Word Count: 8.5k+

Rating: Explicit Smut (18+ only) 

Summary: You go out for a night of fun and encounter an alluring cowboy that does everything he can to capture your attention.

Also posted on my AO3 !

You loved to dance. Those moments when your heart fluttered in your chest made you move like you could fly, relishing in the feeling of power it gave you. You weren’t particularly graceful or always on time, but there was a certain magnetic thrum in the air that bent you to its will all the same. 

From outdoor dance clubs to private velvet-roped lounges, discothèques, raves and rooftop bars, you’ve tried to see it all with your friend Kate by your side. 

The cool air nipped at you both as you finally walked inside the club, the heat of passing bodies a welcome feeling. The lit room had a hushed glow as people made their home for the night in plush seats off against the far walls. 

You imagined that the venue was similar to what Alice saw when she went down the rabbit hole and found herself in Wonderland. The bar certainly had the right name, you thought, the people walking around just as colorful as the children’s story. 

The bartender was quick and you were thankful, even though the drink he made was weaker than you preferred. Vodka burned as it hit the back of your throat, aided by the scoff that found you at the man chatting up your friend. 

Kate always had a thing for slightly pathetic men, like she could eat them alive. You were used to her routine by now, her colorful storytelling one of your favorite things to listen to over your morning coffee.

Honestly, you were both horrible together: you pitied the unsuspecting bystanders that listened in. Laughing at an old story she loved to tell at your expense, you didn’t see him at first. 

You wish you could go back to the moment he came crashing into your orbit, not noticing the person on your left until he made himself known. 

“Now what is a pretty bee like you lookin’ so bored all the way over here?” a gravelly voice spoke, the man’s lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. 

Your eyes looked over before your brain could catch up, and what you saw certainly sidetracked whatever thoughts had possessed you before. Wearing a black leather jacket that swam in the neon light of the bar, he almost seemed to glow in a classic white shirt that tapered on his slim waist.

“I’m enjoying myself just fine thank you,” you retorted, taking a generous swig of your watered down drink to hide the rush of nervous energy that possessed you. You were used to beginning the chase, and it caught you off guard to be taken by surprise. 

How refreshing.

 A small grin flickered across his face at your answer. His dark hair and broad shoulders only made him more mysterious, the lolling drawl of his voice making you curious despite yourself. 

Men would approach you with the fashionable audacity they all liked to carry around with careless hands hoping for a quick fuck. Sometimes you’d indulge yourself, but the enjoyable heat of another person wasn’t worth it if they never shut their mouths. 

Your vibrator and weighted blanket made sure of that.

You were undecided if this man fit into that category though.

“That’s not what I see.”

“Hmm, what do you see then, if you know me so well?”

The man shifted his foot and leaned in closer, the subtle spice of his cologne clinging to his suede collar. The way he wore it was effortless, and you wanted to grab onto his jacket to either bring him closer or shove him back, depending on what he said next.

“I see a woman that’s bored out of her mind trying to convince herself she’s not, drinking alcohol not worth the proof on the bottle,” he explained, voice dipping lower as you turned to fully face him, finally meeting eyes that never strayed from you.”You want more than whatever junior over there could ever offer someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Oh honey, I know I walked into that one with both feet. You’re just fishing for compliments now, aren’t ya?”

“Mmm, are you going to tell me what I wanna hear or are you going to buy me a drink?”

“The shit they mix here ain’t what you deserve, I saw that bartender mixing those drinks. Take a sip of this darlin’, and tell me I’m not wrong,” the man tempted, readily extending a sleek silver flask to you that was attached to his belt buckle. How scandalous .

The promise in his expression emboldened you. He had taken a drink from the flask himself before offering it to you in invitation.

“What’s life without a little risk?” His eyes seemed to ask.

You took the chance, the warmth from his hands lingering on your fingers as you took the flask from him.The delicate gold choker on your neck glinted in the light as you swallowed.

Taking a swig, you absorb the flavor. He knew his alcohol, and from the confidence of his statement nothing less than top shelf mattered. You could certainly respect that, wondering if his lips would have the same taste if he kissed you.

“You’re not wrong, it’s very good. I’ve always been partial to whiskey myself.”

“Just good? What you have in your hand is a rare share of Statesman Whiskey, made straight from the source in Kentucky,” he retorted, almost offended if not for the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Something you had said passed a test you weren’t yet aware of.“Even as a Yankee you must understand the quality of that. I knew you would.”

“You caught that, did you?” 

“I don’t miss a thing, and you have most certainly caught my undivided attention.” 

You shifted completely to turn your back on your friend and her man of the hour, uninterested in the conversation that no longer included you. 

This man was right about one thing: you had been bored, and hopefully he would measure up for the evening. He didn’t shrink at your gaze.

It was nice to be approached for once with an interest that could mirror your own. 

“I don’t know how you fit that ego of yours inside this place. This doesn’t exactly look like your scene if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles at that without taking offense and coyly tips the brim of his hat in your direction, smiling with a flash of tongue at your choked laugh that's just for him. 

“Let’s just say I’ve gotten a lot of practice over the years. Even more talking to gorgeous girls like you. A buddy of mine wanted me to check out this new place to meet up sometime for work .”

The queer way he said that wasn’t lost on you, but you figured it was just an inside joke of some kind. 

“You know that a honey bee can sting when it's threatened right?” 

The way he widened his stance in victory as you focused on him was intentional, the insufferable action the kind of cockiness you usually wanted to smother with your own if not for the way it oddly suited him. 

“Oh, that doesn’t deter me one bit. I’m sure your sting is just as sweet. I happen to like that.”

The grin peeking out from beneath his mustache looks genuine. You’re intrigued, looking at him now in consideration. As you checked him out from head to toe, one thing stood out rather prominently. 

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me right now?” 

New York might be a concealed carry state but he looked like one of the only men on the premises actually packing heat in all of the ways that matter. The well fitted dark blue denim hugging his thighs left very little to the imagination. 

He was tailored to torture you inch-by-fucking-inch.

“Why don’t you come dance with me for the next song and find out?”

Oh you definitely wanted to shut him up. Preferably with something else to keep that mouth of his busy. 

“No.”

“No? Give me one reason why not and I’ll leave you alone. You can take someone else home tonight and leave ol’ Jack behind.”

“So that’s your name then? Jack,” you reply. His eyes droop at the sound, half lidded and unhurried in the way he examines the way you say his name. 

You finally introduce yourself, like you hadn’t been bantering with the man for a while now. 

Like you hadn’t been imagining what he would look like after spending a night with you, scratch marks down his back a parting gift that'll make him think of you every time he moves.

“If you are so obliged, it’ll be the name you’ll be screaming later and that’s a promise,” he vowed, chewing on a mint he popped in with a cheeky wink thrown in your direction. On any other man that would be a turn-off, but you looked down and saw the way his hands clenched around nothing as you observed him. 

Jack was his own harbinger of surprises it seems. 

The second of silence that follows sears under your skin, charged and frantic for more friction. A quick reply caught on your tongue that you held in, keeping it for later: never let it be said that you didn't like flirting with delayed gratification every once in a while.

“How do you know that I don’t have someone already waiting in my bed for me?” You asked. Jack’s eyes were arresting, lingering lower on your chest for a few moments before looking into your own to answer you.

 He gave a satisfied hum when he found whatever he was searching for.

“I think the way you’re staring at me is all the answer I need.”

You’ll give him credit, he was saying all of the right things. Or at this point, you wanted them to be, your attraction only tipping in his favor.

“Now what is a Southern boy like you doing here? Not to be a cliche, but you’re a long way from home.”

“Oh, I’m just like anyone else. I work at the Statesman New York office, traveling a lot when I’m needed elsewhere. What do you do when you’re not talking to vagrants like me in strange bars?”

“I’m a romance novelist, dabbling in a lot of things really, you know how it is.”

“Hmm, now that sounds interesting. What words must form on that clever tongue of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you flirted back. 

He began speaking again, the story he launched into exotic and altogether hard to believe, but it wasn’t the words that reeled you in. It was his large hands waving temptingly close that distracted you. You could care less about the time he almost died in Marrakesh after offending someone’s wife.

You’d commit the story to your memory later when the pleasant haze of him faded away.

His tale came to a close as you glanced down and laughed at the stereotype that for some reason didn’t surprise you.

“Can you even dance in those boots for anything other than a two step?”

“I can do a lot more than that.”

“With your shiny belt buckle and Stetson I’d almost think you’re compensating for something,” you teased. A flash of delight lit up his face at your observation, the smirk he sent your way something just north of sinful.

“Everything is bigger in the south darlin' and besides,” he trailed off, hands coming to slowly cage you in against the bar but not quite touching you. “Let’s be honest here, we both know you like what I’ve got underneath.”

You lean forward, a breath of air suspended between you as your mouth almost ghosts over his. Maneuvering out of Jack’s reach, you reach up and take the hat off his head.

You had no doubt he would have stopped you if he had actually wanted to, those large hands of his able to easily overpower and hold you down. 

You suppress a grin at the thought.

Putting the large hat on your head, you brushed out your unruly hair to make it stay firmly in place. His eyes unfocused for a moment before looking at you with renewed intensity, his jaw ticking to the side as he takes you all in. 

You loved the chase, but at that moment you were tempted to end the flirtation and leave the bar to see if those fingers would fill you up as well as they promised. 

“Come on, show me your moves," you dared, steeling yourself as you joined the growing crowd beginning to take over the dance floor. He convinced you. "Do your worst, Jack.”

A remix of one of your favorite songs set the pace as it moved through you. The bass was rich and dark in your veins as you danced, Wonderland falling away in the fury of bodies all around you. The charge that flitted low in your abdomen was one that threatened to crack you in two as Jack brought you back, your ass grinding into him after each beat.

It would be so easy to turn around and let yourself melt into the heat of him.

 But riling him up sounded like a lot more fun. So when the beat shifted so did you, one hand removing the hat from your head as the other reached behind you to bring him down to your level. 

“You know, there’s a saying I heard before that if you steal a cowboy’s hat you’re either fuckin’ or fighting, and darlin’ I don’t have any weapons on me right now. So what’ll it be?” He asked, his voice against your ear making you lean into his palms. 

You felt like smoke, weaving around him as you continued to dance.

“Mmmm, doesn’t a combination of both sound just as good?”

The reactive tightening of his fingers on your hips was just what you needed. The both of you were lost, the music loud enough to cover up how hard your heart was beating.

Jack runs his nose along your neck and jaw until he nips at the vein, the heat of his breath making your own decision for you.

Turning, you reach up and finally kiss him. It wasn’t a quick affair, the push and pull between you both a fight to see who would give in first. You wanted to memorize the feeling, imagining the burn of his facial hair on your thighs as you rode his face. 

You’d even wear his hat while you did it if he asked nicely. 

He tasted like mint and mussed hair dangled in front of his eyes, lightly brushing your forehead as you mingled together. 

You were both insulated in the crowd, kissing each other until you were hardly even dancing anymore. 

Ready to leave the liquor and low lighting behind, you stopped Jack in his tracks. Backing him into the wall of the hallway you ventured into, you did so firmly, hands holding him hostage as you clung to the lapels of his leather jacket. 

The hunger he saw reflected in your eyes pinned him in place, and that alone made him want to ruin you. 

Leaning up in your high heeled boots so that you could kiss his cheek, the remaining lipstick you wore smeared onto his skin like a brand, the red lip print left near his opened mouth telling him that you were dangerous.

Better yet, his favorite kind.

“Follow me cowboy,” you rasped, leaving goosebumps in your wake as you lightly skimmed over his skin with your teeth. The fever consuming from now was one he hadn’t felt bubbling in his blood ever since his last mission months ago.

 He craved it.

Jack vaguely connected that you were an unstoppable force to his immovable object, ready to crash into him like the paradox you were presenting yourself to be. 

When he had clocked you from across the bar earlier he had admitted to himself that you weren’t the usual type of woman he jumped to charm into his bed. You had looked wholly unimpressed with your surroundings before, swirling the ice in your drink as the yuppie next to you preened like a toddler with a captive audience. 

The oncoming storm he’d read in the lines of your body told him another story, however, one that swept him into you and past the redhead that had been trying to catch his attention since he’d walked in. 

The shadow of something wicked had made Jack eager to align your passions with his own.

Impatient at his composure as he thought of this, you hooked two fingers into his belt loops and tugged him off the wall and into you, that jolt he felt from before electrifying below his skin as you pressed against him. 

Reaching down and lightly cupping one of your hands over the denim of his jeans, you felt him squirm the longer you dared. 

 His dark brows furrowed at your forwardness, wanting to taste you again.

Your hands were firm on him, brokering no argument for the sly agent to persuade you with. He admired your drive, easily taking the momentum from him and twisting it to your desires. You kept surprising him, and by the way you delved into his mouth you weren’t afraid of showing him this side of you.

You wanted him to say something, anything, so this time you squeezed with intent, the hiss in your ear headier than the alcohol on his breath.

His cock twitched under your hand, and god it was power . 

You enjoyed him like this: slightly wild but contained, a groan threatening to break through clenched teeth as you felt him up in public so casually. 

You kiss him possessively in that dark room, drinking him up and daring him to consume you in turn like he promised. He might have approached you first, but you were going to finish what you both started.

It was desperate and messy and loud but neither of you cared.

A couple walked close to the both of you, forcing you to break from him in the narrow hallway to let them pass. Your absence made Jack swiftly reconnect himself with your body, his large hand sliding down into the pocket of your jeans to roughly squeeze your ass that had been grinding on him only moments before. 

Leaving his hand where it was, he used it to direct you outside into the street. The nighttime air filled your lungs with relief, cooling the sweat that dampened your neck.

“You're positive you don’t wanna go back to my place? I can assure you the view from my floor is nothing to scoff at.”

“While that might ordinarily be tempting, Jack, your apartment doesn’t have any of the toys that I like to use,” you retorted. 

You could already imagine flashes of the night ahead of you at your apartment. 

“A pity then, I just know that you pressed against my floor to ceiling windows when the sun rises would be a pretty sight indeed.”

“Let’s enjoy tonight and plan on that for next time.”

Shame was not an emotion that Jack entertained often and he wasn’t about to start now, leaving your lipstick where it sat proudly on his face. A few people stared at him in the street, but no one stopped your brisk pace. 

At the last crosswalk he pinched your ass in retaliation when you turned to kiss him harshly, nipping his chin as you leaned back onto your heels. As if you were dry kindling struck by lightning, his hands trailed flames in their wake, each touch only hastening your steps forward.  

Exposed brick, industrial lighting, and high ceilings were what attracted you to your building when you first moved to the area. Your small loft on the upper floor gave you the privacy you craved, the cityscape around you comforting in the way it always kept moving. 

While waiting for the elevator Jack untangled himself from you to lean against the wall on your right. He stood there appreciating you as a few of your neighbors walked around the lobby, Jack tipping his hat to them as they passed.

You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it at some point to kiss him earlier.

“Prettier than a peach,” he murmured, his hand reaching to smooth over his mustache in thought. He was earnest, the mood shifting into something unnamed as the elevator dinged. You huddled into him as people came and went.

"You know," you began, "I'd look even prettier with your hands wrapped around my throat."

 He coughed into his hand, not wanting everyone else in the lobby to see how tight his jeans suddenly felt. You laughed.

You both stumble into your apartment, the size of Jack overwhelming as he backs you into the closed door. His mouth was persuasive, like a switch was flipped now that you were both away from everyone else. 

He left bruising kisses on your neck, completely unyielding in his quest to mark you wherever he could reach. His hands were on the back of your head, holding you in place as he gripped your neck just so. 

For a long suspended moment you were frozen, wanting to regain the ground you refused to lose. But hell, could this man kiss the thoughts from your head. 

Then, all at once, heat spreads through you, thawing you into action. 

Holding onto his jacket with your fingers you tilt your head back with a breathless chuckle, making Jack look into your eyes. You take up one hand and grip his chin, the other drifting to caress the lipstick mark you shamelessly left on his cheek. Pressing down on it with more pressure to show you meant your next words, you wanted him to listen. 

He smirked into your touch, a cocky sort of grin showcasing his dimple that felt entirely warranted as your breath stuttered in your chest. 

“Go sit on the couch,” you ordered. Kissing you once more before moving away, a filthy moan left you as his tongue darted out for a taste. His eyes didn’t look away until you turned your back, shedding clothes in your wake until all you had left on was the lace you were wearing.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Sure thing baby, pour me a bit of whatever you’re having.”

You didn’t leave him for long, reappearing with strong liquor and the type of lingerie that made you feel like you could eat a man’s heart in the marketplace like Beatrice once said.

The warmth from the drink you’d sipped in the kitchen enveloped you as it licked up your chest— you were in your element now.

Grounded in your body, you took a deep breath. 

Emerald lace and satin embrace you, assured in the sway of your hips as you walked over to your cowboy. Handing him his drink and swiftly straddling his parted thighs, you let him take you in.

 You don’t know when he became “your cowboy,” but it sounded right, for the night at least.

Say what you will, but Jack was flexible with a change in plan. He just had to bide his time, finishing the finger of bourbon left in his glass before setting it aside.

The way you spilled out of your lingerie had him drowning in you. Champ once told him that he was an adrenaline addict, chasing every mission that got his heart racing. He wasn’t wrong—you couldn’t function as a successful Statesman agent without a dash of daredevil in you.

And he just loved the way you moved.

His mouth descends on you again, leaving you once to gulp in a desperate breath before attacking with renewed vigor. 

He hoarsely spoke your name, and it was the best thing that had left his lips all night. You wanted him to say it again but this time underneath you, unbidden and desperate at the way you pulled it out of him. You slid your tongue into his mouth and brought up a hand to roughly yank at the hair on the sides of his head, until he bowed his back and leaned into you for a moment.

“Is this what you want?” You asked, snaking your hand underneath the cup of your brassiere to shove it aside and caress your breast, a groan breaking through your composure at the way Jack bucked into you. Though his breathing was measured and even, his lips parted at the sight of your nipples pebbling in the cool air. 

“You know, when I saw you at the bar I knew I had to talk to you, take you with me when I left,” he murmured, quiet in his admission as it rang true on his face. 

“Mmmm, honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but...you’re in my apartment at the moment, on my couch no less, drinking my bourbon,” you answer just as quietly into his ear. You graze over it teasingly with your teeth just to see him shiver. “And I’m wearing a matching set right now. So who really took initiative tonight, hm?”

Jack laughed almost in disbelief at your words, his body responding for him. It’s an honest sound, one that makes you kiss him deep enough to taste his tongue in the back of your throat.

Ultimately what you saw in his eyes was patience. And that was hotter than anything else he could have done. 

 You sigh his name, letting your head fall forward as he seeks out another kiss from you. 

“This is just the preview. I want it all, and I know you do too,” he breathed against your lips. “Now are you going to let me touch you, or do I have to watch you fuck yourself on my thigh before I can taste you? You can only tempt a man so far.”

“Is that a threat or a challenge I hear?”

“I did promise that you’d be screaming my name, and I take that job very seriously. You'll hear no arguments from me.”

“You sure you can handle me like that, cowboy?”

Jack was wavering somewhere between wholly aroused and perversely indignant. No one questioned him like this, in the bedroom or otherwise if he could help it.

 He hated how it turned him on like this. 

You’re not sure what emboldens you to tease him; your resolve only heightens the longer he looks at you, as if you could spill over into him and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“I have never been more sure than I am right now.”

He knew how to fire you up. In many ways, you were both quite similar.

Restless and insatiable. 

Purposefully running your hands down his chest only to stop your exploration at his belt, the rumble in his chest was one of approval as you scratched at his abdomen through his shirt. 

You enjoyed yourself when pleasure could mix with a bit of pain, and you had an inkling that Jack did too. You wanted to deny him, reduce this enigma of a man into a begging mess before the sun came up. But your own need to be touched by him won out, and damn him for kissing you like that—as if you were the antidote to a fatal poison he had drunk in an effort to forget you. 

“You can touch me, Jack, but there’s something I want to do first.”

You meet his gaze for a brief moment as you pause in this position on top of him, being perfectly still when all you wanted was to hold him close until there was no space for questions or distractions.

An understanding passes between you both. Your body buzzes with nerves, synapses firing as all thoughts focus on the man holding you.

He grabs at your hips, whispering encouragement in your ear as he guides you to settle flush against his lap with your legs on either side of him. The zipper of his jeans and his belt buckle rubbed into your clit hard enough to make you shiver.

“ Fuck… ”  

Jack  scrapes his teeth over your jaw. Barely there. More of a breath across your cheek than anything. 

You reach back and unlatch your bra, throwing it away as he cups each breast in his calloused hands. Arching into his attentive mouth as it reached your skin, you threaded your fingers in his hair, messing up the hat flattened strands and tugging on them harder when he bit down teasingly. 

Letting your nipple go with a wet plop, he leaned back into your hands on his head.

“God, I am so fucking hard thinking about licking into that pretty pussy of yours, bet you taste real good,” Jack groaned. You answered in kind, kissing him again to swallow his words.

This was just the warm-up.

“I’m going to cum just like this against you, but if you move any more then I won’t be quite so kind later. Wanna make you earn it. I’m a generous lover, Jack, but a fair one,” you simpered, grinding almost cruelly against the hardness of him that you could feel throbbing through his pants. “You want me to be nice, don’t you?”

“Oh darlin’, I’m sure you’re sweeter than a saint,” he grunted, words stuttering as you brought his head up closer to yours, lips touching but not quite. Rotating your hips, you sigh into his mouth as you move against him. 

True to his restraint so far, he kept himself in place, his breath hot against your cheeks as your pace quickened. 

“Mmmm, can’t wait to have you inside me,” you sighed, his muscles straining beneath your fingers. Shuddering at the feeling of him under you, your first orgasm was creeping closer as it began trickling down from the tips of your fingertips. “D-don’t want you to cum until I’m done with you.”

Jack’s mouth opened partly in awe as you grinded on him with even more force. 

He had a hidden strength to him, and by the way his arms flexed around you he could have easily moved you under him at any time. The fact that he didn't demand it was arousing.

Fuck you were wet.

Tilting his head slightly, he enjoys the view of you on his lap using him for your own pleasure. Your tits bounce as you move, and he’s torn between telling you how perfect they are and moving just slightly to bury his face in your softness. He whimpered silently as you pulsed around him, able to feel it over his clothes as you threatened to unravel.

“Oh, look at you,” he exclaimed, voice a low rumble that stokes the fire in your belly. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, come on. Take what you need from me.”

He says your name once, fervent and taut, barely able to keep himself in check. The fact that he was still almost fully clothed made him need more . You were all warm skin and curves and he wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him.

He tensed his thigh and shifted slightly but you didn’t notice as you rode out the waves of pleasure rolling over your clit.

It was exquisite and hurried and not the end goal but you didn’t mind. You had wanted to see if he would listen to you. If he could take what direction you gave him. It was an entirely different high you’d surprisingly discovered in your twenties, having a man in your control, making him beg with just your body. 

And yet, Jack did not beg for himself. The look in his eyes was expressive enough. Still he didn’t move, and that was what finally pushed you over. 

Gasping in shock, your orgasm softly washed over your skin. He eagerly watched, memorizing the way your mouth hung open at the feeling of him grabbing your hips with bruising force to drag you over him once again.

When you finally opened your eyes Jack was already looking at you, and you did not shy away. His hair was tousled from your hands, lips swollen, eyes bright—you savored him like the Kentucky whiskey on his breath. 

“Mmmm, you were so good for me,” you praised, voice heavy in your mouth as you recalled how to speak.

As you came back down he chased your lips, taking his time to touch you the way he could now that you’d fallen into his chest. His mouth was a wanting, wretched thing, tracing a path from your lips to your chest. 

You pulled back for a moment. “Do you want to switch to the–”

“I’m not done yet,” he interrupted, bringing you back into a heated kiss that had you whining into his hold on you. He slips his tongue in your mouth and seems to slow time licking into you just so, making you shiver. 

His hands were frenzied in the way they glided over all the flesh he could reach. 

You would torture him no longer.

His blunt nails traced over your spine, and you wanted to ask him to do that again. 

“Now you are a rare gift, my dear,” he hummed into your mouth. “I would hate for you to be tired already.”

“Oh, you don’t have to question my stamina,” you slyly answered. Even now you are still hazy in your bones, tethering yourself to his firm grip on your ass. “Worry about your own.”

The chuckle that leaves him is telling, and you clearly feel his frustration rolling off him now that you can think in complete sentences.

You kiss the corner of his mouth and swiftly hop off of his lap, trembling for a moment as you right yourself. There’s a slight damp spot from where you were sitting on his white shirt that had been hanging over half untucked from his jeans, but you’re too drunk on endorphins to feel embarrassed. 

You did that .

Your heart stuttered for a moment at the raw ache you saw in his face. Hooking your fingers in the slim waistband of your panties, you then cast them aside. 

It felt like an afterthought after what you had both just done, but the way Jack looked at you was anything but unappreciative. 

What you inspire in him is so erotically charged that he is momentarily struck dumb by what you do next.

Falling onto your knees you look up at him through your lashes, taking the flask attached to his belt buckle, the surface slightly wet from your release making it slick in your hands. It was silent in the apartment, the only sound Jack’s breathing as he watched you drink from the flask that he favored so much. 

You could taste yourself around the metal and lipstick and whiskey. A theme of the night it seemed.

Awareness flows down your spine at Jack’s gaze. As you take one more pull, his hands reach up to card through your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail, reaching for you with a finality that has you arching into him.  

You lead him into your room, wishing you had cleaned up a bit before tripping on the rug, laughing as you both stumble into your metal bed frame. 

“Now Jack,” you begin, bracing yourself for the next conversation you rarely walked into without some gut feeling bracing you up. “Do you have a safe word?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did he was entirely focused on you. 

“I do, pretty girl. It’s sweet tea.”

The way his mouth caressed each syllable with that slow southern drawl shouldn’t have been as damning as it was.

“How do you feel about ropes?”

The way he lit up was thrilling. He looked away with unfocused eyes, enjoying a private joke that only he knew. It was the expression of a man that delighted in his own mystery. 

You couldn’t deny that a part of you was burning to know what he locked away. He prowled with that hidden energy, and knowing what you’d experienced of him so far, you would have to work for a proper taste.

“I happen to be quite gifted with whips and a lasso if I do say so myself. I’m rather versatile in that regard. Rest assured it is not my first rodeo.” 

“In that case cowboy, I want you...to tie me up,” you said before grazing your thumb across his bottom lip. He nodded slightly surprised, with the way you had directed him earlier he had thought you’d wanted to tie him up instead.

 It wasn’t like he couldn’t escape from some ropes if he really needed to.

He had been amazing under you before, but you wanted more. You wanted him to take your body and make your need dissolve on your tongue as you cry. You wanted it to hurt.

Jack felt like you could read his mind, look into the very heart of him and learn all of his desires. Palming himself over his jeans, he imagined the warmth of your mouth and had to stop from outpacing himself.

You walked into your closet with purpose, toeing on your favorite pair of stiletto heels as you grabbed your selection of ropes from where they’re hidden.

His eyebrow ticks up at the sight of you naked with only your Louboutins on, the black ropes in your hands are just as daring. He waits for you to settle onto the pillows of your bed before methodically tying your hands to hooks in the wall on either side of your headboard.

 It took him a few moments but his knots were sound, loose enough but tight on your wrists so you couldn’t break free. You were grudgingly impressed with how fast Jack could work when he was motivated, filing it away where you could exploit later.

He throbs at the salacious painting you rendered, spread out and glowing in the warm lighting of the room. With your opened legs you were vulnerable and slick and soft. 

Jack didn’t want to wait any longer before losing himself in you.

He shifted down to lay himself between your parted legs. You swiftly stopped him with your left leg extended fully out, the stiletto of your heel digging into his lowered shoulder as he kneeled on the bed. The startled look on his face made you tease him, grinding it in a little further before moving it down his chest to stop at the length of his cock straining for freedom. 

Pressing down.

The choked groan that he involuntarily let out was painfully erotic. You wish you could record it and hit rewind.

“Hold your horses, Jack. You have far too many clothes on. Strip for me first before you get what you want.”

To his credit he didn’t jump up and frantically discard the remainder of his clothing. Like you before his expression turned calculating, methodically shifting off the bed and taking off his shirt and discarding his pants along with his underwear. All are then folded on your nightstand, neat and pricise to minimize wrinkles.  

You swallow at the way he ignores your anticipation, but it brings no relief. 

His skin is tan like the rest of him, belly soft and strong before a small trail of dark hair leads down to the base of his cock sitting heavy against his stomach. 

You imagine tracing your tongue over every inch of him seeing where he’d fracture and break in your hold, only to put him back together again when he asked.

He was incredibly distracting like that when he wanted to be.

Captivated, your eyes stop back at his chest, small faded scars criss-crossing his skin, one worryingly close to his heart that had you straining for a closer look. His muscles ripple as he moves, the veins of his arms as formidable as the rest of him. 

Jack was focused as he finally settled low on the bed, fingers ghosting over skin as he hitched your legs over his shoulders. Kissing and nipping at the inside of your thigh, he took in a deep breath and let out a little hum, puffs of air hitting your pussy as he adjusted.

He leaned his head on your left thigh and looked up at you briefly.

“You remember the safe word, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded, almost drunk at the heat of him crowding you. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes Jack, I remember it’s sweet tea. Now are you going to eat my pussy like you mean it or do I need to get myself off again?” You answered, tapping your leg down on his back knowing fully well how it would rile him up.

He grins at you savagely, leaning down the remaining space to lick a long stripe all the way up your folds. 

You buck into his mouth, your already sensitive clit coming alive again. He moves his arms to cage your hips in his hold, bringing you flush to his tongue by grabbing onto your ass. 

He was nestled between your legs, mapping your body with licks and handprints. Your half-formed praises and keening whine made Jack a mess of a man, grinding into the mattress as he drank up everything you could give him.

He loved your voice and the way it scattered into nothing when he sucked your clit into his mouth. He made no pretense at staying quiet, noisy and whole in his destruction of you.

Coming up for air, his mustache glistened, cheeks red from his own harsh breathing against your cunt. His lips were wet and you wanted to taste yourself when he kissed you. He reaches down for a moment and pumps himself harshly, tightly fisted and the sound he lets out...you feel it like a pulse.

His nose brushes you as he dives back in. If he could sink underneath your skin you would burst. 

He slides two fingers inside, your muscles clenching around him as far as he could go. Curling his fingers upward and holding them there, a hot fusion of unnamed pleasure and painful awareness zips through you. You can't help but squirm underneath him.

There it was.

Jack wanted you to call his name until he no longer connected it with himself, an uncontained force that compelled him to do whatever you wanted if only you'd say his name like that again. 

Wanting. 

“Fuck, when you say my name like that I just burn all over,” he murmured. “You gonna cum now, baby?”

You hum distractedly, the coiled tether in your abdomen snapping when he doubles down just right. He eagerly laps at you as your pussy flutters, climbing higher and higher until plunging you into nameless bliss. Each limb feels liquid as you touch down.

Jack keeps sucking and licking you without stopping and you can’t cover your mouth to muffle the whimpers that slip through. He adds a third finger and continues to move through each aftershock that bounces through your body.

“Come on. Lord—when you sound like that I don’t want you to stop. You’re not done yet, I know you can give me another one. Look at the way you take me in.”

You wanted to dodge his mouth as he sucked on you again, even the gentle way he prodded at you felt like too much. You weren’t going to beg yet, even for a man like Jack. Despite your discomfort you felt yourself stir again, weaker but no less corporeal, as he pressed down hard on your clit with a pressure that made your breathing pick up.

With effort you rocked into him once more and strained to lock your legs around his head, squeezing when he nipped at you. A handful of minutes later you were boneless and spent, legs trembling as he drew your pleasure out.

 He moaned at the feeling of being utterly surrounded, desperately sending you over again so that he could breathe. 

You couldn't think past the wall of sensation you were being held against without mercy.

This orgasm was harder than the last, a juggernaut that only built on the first. A few silent tears trailed down your face, so overcome that his facial hair burned similar to the hand shaped bruise already forming on your hip. 

You close your eyes so tightly that sunbursts bloom behind your eyes as you breathe through it.

Standing up to catch his breath, he used some of the slick on his fingers to slowly cover his shaft, aching from being hard for so long already. From the sheer size and weight of him that you can see, you’re glad for the bottle of lube on your bedside table, though you’re so wet it probably didn’t matter.

Jack settles himself over you, tugging you up into a fierce, messy kiss, teeth and tongues and harsh breaths traveling from his mouth into yours. 

You were so relaxed that the stretch of him affected you only for a moment as he buried himself inside you. The gasp when he moves catches in your throat, a ghost of all the pleasure he had given you just moments before leaving your body.  

 His voice stutters as he slowly thrusts inside of you, setting a steady pace. “Should keep you right here just like this, make you cum until you forget your own name. Would you like that? Take care of you like no one else will?”

You swear, picturing his words as they traced themselves down your body. As heavy as the feeling of Jack resting his weight on you was, you thrived on it. Your arms felt strained from being tied, but he curled around you just so, keeping you both connected for as long as possible.

Jack’s arms flexed as he adjusted to reach for you, extending his fingers until they pressed into your parted lips.

Swirling your tongue around his two fingers, you could taste yourself on his skin. He then leaned down and used them to press into your clit. It had you closing your eyes, too overwhelmed to speak through it. 

You didn't have any smart comebacks in you now.

His unrelenting tempo jostled the bed against the wall. Moving back to lean on his heels, Jack pistoning into you at this new angle was overwhelming but you simply didn’t care. He yelled out in a voice you almost didn't recognize, hoarse and wet as it ripped from his chest.

“Come on Jack, cum in me,” you panted. “ Fuck , I know you’re close. Can feel you aching for it. You’ve been so patient. So good . ”

You intentionally clench around him like a vice, and it has him tumbling into his own release moments later with a startled shout.

Satisfaction seizes his veins in a chokehold.

He collapses into your chest, the both of you covered in a slight sheen of sweat that was beginning to dry in the cool air.

Whimpering slightly as he pulled out, he worked through his own lethargy to take care of you.

He leaned up and undid the knots holding you hostage. Immediately your arms flop onto the mattress, the burn of your muscles just adding to the mental catalog of sensations you take stock of. With Jack resting on your chest you card your fingers through his hair, the both of you too out of breath to say anything for a few moments. 

The weight of him on top of you kept you grounded.

Warm. Languid. Eyes drifting closed at how heavy you feel. 

“You are gonna be the death of me, woman.” 

“Mhmmm, if that’s the case then I’ll wait to tell you my proposal then. Wouldn’t wanna kill you before another round, Whiskey.”

He lifts his head from your chest at that.

“What did you just call me?” He asked, eyes unreadable as they scan your face. You didn’t care, the words light in your mouth as they leave you.

“Whiskey. You taste like it. And if you think this is the only time I take you to bed, then let me inform you: I still need to drink my fill of you.”

He scratched at his mustache for a moment in thought before he smiles, the most genuine of the night that makes his eyes crinkle with laughter. There it was again, that secret in his expression that has you eager to ask what he’s hiding.

“You’re a very perceptive person, honey. I am thoroughly surprised by you. Tell me what you have in mind when I come back.”

He jumps out of bed to walk into your en suite bathroom, his ass distracting as you watch him fumble around before returning with a warm washcloth to clean you up.  Each brush of his hands on your body is gentle, reverent even as it glides over you. He kisses where your hands had been bound, asking if he was too rough.

You almost laughed. 

You liked it that way. 

Something inside you wanted to stay in the moment, gazing at each other in the dimly lit room. Not forever, just a little longer. You imagine him walking away from you out the door, and it puts an unpleasant feeling in your gut, like you wouldn’t see him again.

You had the sneaking suspicion that if Jack didn’t want to be found he’d disappear.

“So I was thinking,” you began, finally tossing your stilettos off the bed to lay under your quilt. “I have an ungodly expensive espresso machine that makes a decent latte and fresh beans in the kitchen. How about we take a quick nap and then fire it up before round two? I heard once that drinking coffee makes the sex even better.”

“Don’t you mean rounds three and four?” He teased, that ego of his purring at the thought of how much you spasmed and shook around him.

If you weren’t so relaxed you would have probably grabbed onto his balls in response, made him swear around that crooked smile of his.

You'd learn how he liked it and edge him until he melted out of his damn cowboy boots. The thrill of him was delicious, and you hadn't gotten to take a true bite out of him yet.  

“You think you can go another round later and finally ride this prize stallion?” 

That makes you slap at his shoulder. His laugh diffused whatever seriousness lingered and you readily agreed, the both of you winding down as exhaustion hits.

 As his arms settle around you, you imagine the potential of a future with this man of mystery.

 He had barely scratched the surface of what made you wild, and you wanted to change that. Leaving Wonderland with him tonight was an event you were eager to repeat. 

[sp00kygoddessxx]

 🖤Dangerous Intentions🖤

The pirate camp was a cacophony of noise and debauchery, as Vaas and his men celebrated another successful raid. Drunken laughter and the clinking of bottles filled the air, creating an atmosphere of unrestrained chaos. You had found yourself at the heart of the revelry, sitting near Vaas himself, the man who had become both your captor and your fascination.

Vaas's wild, kohl-rimmed eyes bore into yours, a mixture of amusement and intensity flickering within them. His lips curled into a sinister grin as he leaned closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Cariño'," he purred, "you lookin' for a little fun tonight?"

You couldn't help but feel a shiver of anticipation as you met his gaze. Vaas had a reputation for unpredictability and cruelty, but you couldn't deny the strange allure he held over you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtation. "But the question is, can you keep up with me?"

Vaas's grin widened, a sinister and seductive sight. He leaned in closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Oh, Cariño'," he whispered, "I can keep up with the best of 'em."

You felt a surge of attraction to this enigmatic man, a reckless magnetism that drew you further into his dangerous web.

With a swift and unexpected motion, Vaas's hand reached out and settled on your thigh, his touch electric. His fingers traced a slow, teasing path along your skin, igniting a fire within you. It was a bold move, but you weren't one to back down from a challenge.

Leaning closer, your lips brushed against Vaas's ear, your voice a sultry purr. "Prove it, Montenegro."

Vaas's laughter filled the air, a wild and maniacal sound that sent shivers down your spine. His hand slid higher along your thigh, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. The chemistry between you and Vaas was undeniable, a magnetic pull that defied reason.

"Careful, Cariño'," Vaas said, his voice low and smoky. "You might just awaken a beast you can't handle."

You couldn't deny the dangerous allure of the man before you, and the world around you seemed to blur as you engaged in this intimate and dangerous dance of flirtation. The line between right and wrong had never been so blurry, and you were willing to play this dangerous game.

As the night continued, you and Vaas found yourselves at the heart of the chaos, flirting and teasing one another with increasing intensity. The tension between you was palpable, an intoxicating mix of desire and danger.

With each stolen glance and whispered innuendo, you felt the magnetic pull of Vaas Montenegro drawing you further into his enigmatic world. It was a world where the rules were undefined, and power and control were the ultimate currency.

But as the night wore on, Vaas's demeanor shifted, his playful and seductive demeanor turning more intense. His dark eyes bore into yours, filled with a smoldering fire that left you breathless.

"Cariño'," he said, his voice low and intimate, "you might just be the most dangerous thing I've come across in a long time."

You couldn't deny the surge of attraction that coursed through you, a reckless desire that left you craving more. The world around you had become a blur, and in this moment, there was nothing else but the magnetic pull of Vaas Montenegro.

With a final, heated glance, Vaas leaned in, his lips claiming yours in a passionate and demanding kiss. It was a kiss that defied reason, a reckless surrender to the allure of danger and desire.

When the kiss finally broke, you were left breathless and disoriented, your heart pounding in your chest. Vaas's dark eyes were locked onto yours, a mixture of desire and intensity in his gaze.

"Amor'," he said, his voice low and husky, "you've got a fire in you that I can't resist."

You could only respond with a sultry smile, your own desire mirrored in your eyes.

As the night wore on, you and Vaas continued to dance on the edge of danger, your attraction and chemistry reaching new heights. In this unpredictable and perilous world, you had been drawn into a dangerous game of desire and temptation, a game where the line between right and wrong blurred, and where power and control were the ultimate currency.

[ineedhelp-posts]

Could I ask for a Haruhi x reader playing footsie under the table during a host club meeting?

Omg. I love the way your mind works. That's so cute!!!!! Ahhhh!!!!!

Ahhh! Sorry, I haven’t posted in a while bc my teachers are evil! I have to continuously do hw! 

Plus, I just did a taekwondo test to upgrade my belt, and I sprained my ankle after spraining both last month. I think I’m a magnet for injuries.  (´；ω；｀)

。:+* ゜Reader and Haruhi playing footsie under the table during a host club meeting   ゜ *+:。 ˚◦○˚ ₓ The fluffiest fluff!, no warnings apply (sometimes Tamaki should count as one tho) ✧ₓ˚. ୭ GN!Reader ☆○o.There’s endless Tamaki slander. I love him, but he’s just so stupid sometimes :P.○☆

SHE SO PRETTY OH MY LORDY LORD--

-You and Haruhi were undoubtedly super close, dare I say the closest, perhaps in the club. You and her just clicked. Perhaps it was your endless suffering due to your carelessness, (e.g., the vase breaking, and you ruining a painting by accident), or maybe it was because you two were the newest additions to the club. Kyoya was giving his usual boring monologue about the spending, blah blah blah. Nobody was paying attention to him, anyway. The twins were playing video games under the table, and Tamaki was whining and crying and complaining like the childish idiot he was. Mori was sleeping with his eyes open, Honey was just eating cake, pretending to be listening, when he really had headphones on. 

You and Haruhi, however, were playing footsie under the table. It began when she accidentally kicked you stretching her legs, but you couldn’t just let that slide. You tapped her foot with yours, in an attempt to enact your revenge on her. She did the same to you, not letting you have the last laugh. Oh no, you weren’t gonna let that slide. Your pride wouldn’t allow it. You kicked her back gently, then quickly moved your legs out of the way so she couldn’t get you back. She stared at you, mouth agape, before mouthing “That’s cheating!” 

You shrugged before she pretended to drop a pen, stretching her legs to “pick it up”, when she really was kicking you back. You were shocked, and whispered back “No, that’s cheating!” SHe playfully stuck her tongue out at you. However, the insanity of the dumbest blond ever, Tamaki, noticed this, and immediately began his routine whining of “Heyyy! Y/n’s getting closer with Haruhiiiii! I wanna spend time with her!!! Ahhhh! Y/n’s being so meannn!!!!!!!” This dumb little- You thought, Of course, Tamaki’s the one to tattle. Right when things were getting good! We finally found a distraction, and he ruined it! 

Kyoya immediately snapped his head towards you two. “Playing footsie, eh? I know it’s boring, but you can’t just not pay attention! Look at your fellow clubmates- Ah.” He looked around, seeing nobody listening. “Whatever. I’m going to go do this on my own. Have fun, do whatever you want. I give up.” He sighed, and walked away, dragging Tamaki with him to ensure he didn’t do anything stupid. Well, at least now you get to spend more time with Haruhi, so that’s a plus!

Ahh, sorry that was so short, but that’s literally all I could squeeze out. Honestly, Tamaki in my mind is a) insane and b) the personification of a dumb blond.  Did you guys know blond and blonde and feminine and masculine?! I had no idea until my sister corrected me… :P

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 17)

Summary: Dean wakes up in the hospital to find the reader holding his hand.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Square: Holding hands @spnfluffbingo​

Word Count: 2,025

Warnings: language, a little angst, injured!Dean, hospital visit, mentions of stabbing, cuddling, kissing, implied smut, fluff

A/N: These two were a lot of fun to write and they've certainly come a long way from the bickering in the first part. I'm gonna miss them. Written for @spnfluffbingo​.

_____

Dean was basically out for the count for the first day and a half after his surgery and blood transfusion. He woke up a couple of times, but you didn’t think he would remember any of it.

It came to the point that Sam had to force you to go home and take a shower, get a change of clothes, sleep and eat before he allowed you to see Dean again. Which was only possible since you had helped bring down Dick Roman’s empire of crime and kidnapping. The FBI had found more than enough evidence at his house and the warehouse to put everyone involved away for a very long time, including Ketch.

The last time you traded shifts with Sam was a few hours ago and he said that Dean was lucid and was asking for you. He’d been moved out of the ICU a while ago now and doctors were optimistic that he could go home soon if he was feeling up to it. So needless to say, you were pretty excited when you bounced into the recovery room, but he was resting again and Sam held a finger up to his lips when he saw you. You tiptoed over to Sam who gave you a tight hug before giving you his warm chair and heading out to get some food and rest himself.

You were both eager and nervous for Dean to wake up, you didn’t know what to expect. Most of all, you wanted to see those green eyes full of light again. You wanted to kiss him, badly; you’d opened the floodgates and that’s all you could think of now. You grabbed Dean’s hand and slid your fingers between his, like you usually did when you sat with him. You really just wanted to be close to him, make sure that he was still there with you and this way he could feel you here with him even when he was asleep.

“Hey,” Dean breathed when he woke up a half hour later, his eyes opening just enough for you to see the green hue of them shining in the light. You realized you were still holding his hand and it was hot so your palm was slick with sweat. You moved to pull away, but he stopped you, "Don't let go." His voice was gravelly as he squeezed your fingers and you slid your hand back in his. "You know, sweetheart, there was so much I never got to tell you when I thought… you know… and now I finally get to say everything I wanted to, to you. But all I got is that I kinda like you, a lot... like a lot, a lot."

"I guess, you're not so bad either." You teased, playing with his large fingers and feeling his callouses against your softer skin.

“Uh-huh, that’s why you’ve been crying so much?”

“Have not,” you wiped your cheeks with your free hand, clearing away the couple of joyous tears that had escaped.

You were painfully aware of how red rimmed your eyes were, even nearly a full day later. It had been a rough twelve hours with Dean in the ICU and you weren’t about to apologize for caring, though you doubted that was what he was getting at. Probably just gloating about the fact that he got the girl. You were just happy that the swelling in your eyelids had gone down, you didn’t want Dean seeing you that upset. Although, Sam probably told him already which would make sense as to why he was teasing you about it now.

"Right... Never thought you’d get this attached, did you?" He smirked, pulling your hand up to his lips to softly kiss the back of it. “It might surprise you, but the average day at my job used to be kinda boring actually. Nothing really ever happened other than following around stuck up actresses all day. The odd crazed fan maybe… Then you came into my life and you are a magnet for trouble, sweetheart, but I’d kinda like to keep you. If that’s alright with you."

“Are you sure you can handle that level of excitement in your everyday life?” You teased and winked as seductively as you could.

“Mhm,” Dean hummed, shuffling over to make room for you on the hospital bed. He patted the open spot beside him.

“It’s my turn to keep you safe this time though."

“Is that so?” He grinned, gently tugging you towards the bed by your hand.

“You can count on it.”

You had opted for comfort over your usual jeans, since you knew you'd be sitting at the hospital for at least a few hours, but your maxi skirt wasn't entirely practical and you had to hike it up to your knees so you could crawl into the space next to him. You pecked his cheek and threw your arm protectively over him, careful not to touch the bandage on his stomach. Dean pulled you to mold into his uninjured side and you laid your head on his chest, hearing the staccato thump of his heart.

Instantly, the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders and you reached for his hand again. You held it close to your chest and felt the creases of his palm with your fingertips.

"How are you feeling?" You asked, tracing patterns over his skin.

"Like I got gutted by a pocket knife." He quipped, trying to make light of everything but you weren't finding the humour in it.

You felt incredibly guilty, remembering back to when Dick cut your hands free with his pocket knife. That must've been what he was fishing out of his pocket when Dean pinned him in the ensuite and reached for his gun. When you distracted him.

“I'm sorry." You nuzzled into him and kissed his scruffy neck. He hadn't shaved in a few days so the short hairs had gotten longer and Dean hummed at the feel of your lips. "You almost died for me,” you breathed, his stubble prickling your lips but you didn't care. You liked it even.

“I would have.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Would you rather I lie to you, Y/N?”

"No, I'd rather you give a shit about yourself." You remarked sadly and squeezed his hand. "Because I do."

You were starting to see this whole other side of Dean, a softer, more open side and you were quickly realizing he had some self-confidence issues. The guy who'd barely flinched at your insults over the past week was actually susceptible to them. Even if he was incredibly good at hiding it when he wanted to.

"Oh, you do, do you?" He smirked, cocking his brow. "I'll work on it," he conceded when you just stared up at him.

"You better because I'm gonna be watching you." You squinted at him, trying to look intimidating, but the grin on your lips gave you away.

"I mean it, sweetheart, but I'd say things turned out for the best." He smiled back at you and kissed your forehead.

You sighed contently, a fuzzy teddy bear on the table next to Dean catching your eye, "That's cute. Who gave you the teddy?"

"Ugh, that's Sam's idea of a joke. He's such a nerd, said it reminded him of me and he pinned a bandage on its stomach." Dean grumbled, grabbing the small bear for you to see.

The bear's face was noticeably grumpy and you had to admit it did resemble Dean. You half smirked and toyed with the bear's paw that read 'Get well soon!' in blue stitching.

"I think it's sweet of him," you commented naively, Dean squeezing his arm around you as he hummed.

You spent the rest of the day in bed with Dean. After forcing him to walk to the cafeteria to get some decent food and playing a card game with Sam when he stopped by to drop off some of Dean's clothes; a pair of dark sweats and a tee. Sam still looked beat, however, and you opted to stay with Dean, letting Sam get a full night's rest for once. He didn't argue when you said you'd take a double shift and you swore you saw a look exchange between the boys, but you couldn't be sure. You weren't in a rush to leave anyways and Dean seemed to like the idea of you spending the night, especially since it meant squeezing you into his bed.

The nurses didn't seem all that surprised when they came in to check on him later that night and you were curled up against his good side, sound asleep. Dean, on the other hand, was wide awake, having spent more than enough time recuperating in that hospital bed and he was ready to go home in the morning. For the time being though, he was content watching you sleep; eventually getting a couple more hours of shut eye himself in the wee hours of the early morning.

By mid-afternoon the next day, Dean was pacing the hospital room, awaiting his release forms. He had too much energy pent up and he wanted out, now. You tried to distract him with a piece of apple pie from the bakery down the block, but that only lasted so long.

"Alrighty, you ready to get out of here, Mr. Winchester?" The nurse smiled, walking in with his release forms.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, quickly going over everything with her; including aftercare for his stitches and telling him to take it easy with heavy lifting and stuff like that.

You knew Dean wasn't really listening. His mind was elsewhere and he glanced back at you with those bright green eyes you were beginning to fall in love with.

"Is your girlfriend driving you home?" The nurse asked, side-eyeing you.

"Yeah, she is." Dean answered, linking his hand with yours.

You thought you saw a slight blush in his cheeks that probably matched your own and you shied away from his gaze. Never in a million years did you think this man would call you his girlfriend. Arch-nemesis, maybe, but not his girlfriend. And you actually liked the sound of it.

Dean grumbled all the way out of the hospital. Apparently it was their policy that patients be wheeled out in a wheelchair and he didn't take lightly to that. Especially since once you were at the entrance he had to wait there with the orderly until you brought the car around. And his jaw nearly hit the ground when you did.

"Who said you could drive my Baby?" Dean asked, when you hopped out to open his door. He really did call his car ‘Baby’, Sam warned you.

"Sam had her dropped off at my place since I don't have a car and I wanted to see you. It's quite the trek out here without one." You said, giving him a sweet, innocent smile and jiggling the keys in your hand.

"Gimme the keys, Y/N, I'm driving." He ordered, holding out his hand and staring at you.

"Nu-huh, the nurse said ‘no heavy lifting’."

"It's not the same thing, Y/N."

"Too bad, tough guy." You smirked. "We can stand here all day, or you can let me drive and we can celebrate you not being dead."

"How does one celebrate that?" He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you shrugged allusively.

"Get in and find out," you put on your best come-hither voice but you were sure your face was beat red by the heat you felt in your cheeks.

"Fine, but only because you're cute." Dean pointed, giving you a kiss on the lips and letting you help him into the passenger side of the Impala.

You shut the door and ran around to the driver’s side. He looked over at you with a smile gracing his lips as you pulled out onto the road. Little did he know, you weren't taking him home... not yet. It was your turn to kidnap him, but you were sure he'd enjoy the ride. You glanced over at him and winked.

_________________________

A/N: Read part 18 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17 @iprobablyshipit91 @tigergirllolipop @stoneyggirl2 @mimaria420 @muhahaha303

[soka-writes-things]

01. trivial matters and a cocktail

𝖊𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝖘𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬

❝ 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗳𝗼��� 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀? ❞

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 a senator decides her life needs a bit of spice so she embarks on an adventure. unwillingly, of course.

the bad batch x fem!oc

all seasons

in progress

All Rights Reserved to me

back - next

chapter one!

01. trivial matters and a cocktail

WHISPERS ROSE THROUGHOUT the massive dome room as Senators talked together about trivial matters. Senator Sokanara Tanobi tapped a button on her pod, loosely holding the handles as the pod moved to conjoin with Senator Bail Organa's pod.

"Senator," she greeted with a smile. The pods bumped together gently before latching onto each other magnetically.

"Hello Senator Tanobi," Organa greeted diplomatically, not looking up from the screen ingrained into the pod, "Do you have a matter to discuss?"

Soka continued to grin at him, leaning back slightly in her pod. "Can't one come to a friend to say hi?"

A breathy snort came from Organa as he pulled away from the screen on his pod. "Oh yes, but I feel that you would have done so outside of the council meeting rather than now, so I suspect that you are up to something."

Soka's smiled brightened as she jumped up, practically leaning across her pod into the side of Senator Organa's pod as she stared up at him with glimmering eyes.

"You know me too well, Orgy." A laugh came from the younger female as a look of disgust appeared on Organa's face. "Have you no shame? Never call me that again." Organa told her sternly, glancing around briefly to make sure no one overheard her embarrassing, and frankly very suggestive, nickname.

Soka shrugged, "Teasing you is all part of the fun," she tapped her fingers on the outline of her pod, "and I'm quite bored, so I would say no, I currently have no shame."

Organa raised an eyebrow at the Senator who was tracing the curved metal lines that ran along the outside of the pod. He sighed as he presented the room with his arm to Soka, "You do realize you are standing in one of the most dignified and important places in all of Coruscant, and you are complaining that you are bored? Shouldn't you go interact with other senators instead of bugging me?"

Soka glanced up at Organa, a teasing glint in her eye. "Now," she started, "why would I go converse with people who think that clones do not deserve a place in the galaxy like us?" Organa furrowed his brow, trying to figure out where Soka was taking the conversation, "I think it's quite harming actually, to speak with people who have such low intelligence like them. I might lose a brain cell or two just by listening to their stupidity."

Organa pursed his lips, trying not to laugh at Soka's blatant roast. "Now now Tanobi, I think you should be generous when speaking about your elders like that. You are lucky that they aren't currently swarming you for your harsh words."

"Of course they wouldn't swarm me, Organa, they are so old that they can't hear what I am saying anyways." Soka put her hands to her hips in a mocking manner, swinging her right hip to the side. Organa rolled his eyes at Soka's sass, barely having to lean forward as he flicks her easily upon the head.

Soka scowled as she held a hand up to her forehead, peeking up at Organa through her lashes. "So, so cruel. Whatever have I faulted you for?"

Organa smirked at Soka, "I swear I feel like your father at times. You are just a silly child who does not understand the trouble she could be in if others had heard her thoughtless words."

Soka sighed, opening her mouth to retort, but the bell sounded, ending the break and signaling the ending of the session. Soka waved goodbye at Organa as she clicked a button on her pod, watching the magnetic force dwindle and turn off, the two pods detaching once the shield was diminished.

Soka and Organa both clicked a small orange button which turned their pods to return to its home spot in the massive wall. Other pods around them did the same, the room shining from the glint of metal dancing around the room before coming to a stop.

Soka turned to the right, noticing the young blue senator in the pod next to her. The Senator looked quite frazzled from the talk she must have just had with the other senators, causing Soka to frown in response.

"Senator Chuchi?" She asked gently, catching the young girl's attention. Chuchi turned her gaze from her pod screen to Soka's own gaze. "Ah, yes. So sorry, what were you saying?" She asked, her hands visibly shaking from anger or from nerves, Soka couldn't tell.

"Are you quite alright? You seem a bit shaken." Soka asked, reaching a hand out to comfort the young woman. Even though Soka was quite a young Senator, joining the council when she was at the bright age of 22, Senator Chuchi looked to be even younger.

A hum came from Chuchi as she thought over her answer before clenching her hands into small fists. "The other senators and I had a bit of a quarrel since we didn't agree to each others statements."

Soka bit her lip and a breezy laugh came from her. "Ah yes, those old squirts. Might I ask what you all were debating about?"

Chuchi's gaze hardened and she turned her gaze into a glare at the Senators she was talking to a short while ago. "The rights of the clones."

A smile came to Soka's face, "Ah, clones. They are quite interesting beings, aren't they?" Chuchi whipped her head to stare at Soka, a distrustful look on her face. "Interesting?" She asked, "in what way?"

Soka nodded to herself as she moved her hands into a ball in front of her. "They all look the same, harbor the same brain, or something similar to it, and some even act the same. But the interesting thing about them is that they all couldn't be any more different from each other. I've met the most wonderful clones who look exactly alike, but have such different personalities." Chuchi smiled in relief at Soka's words.

"I completely agree, Senator! They are as much as living beings as we are but some other Senators don't agree purely because they were created in a lab instead of a womb or a shell like others." Chuchi seemed super enthusiastic about the subject and it broke Soka's heart at how most people in the galaxy wouldn't be as inclusive and happy about the Clones getting recognition and rights.

The chat between Chuchi and Soka was cut short when a booming voice filled the room. "Discussions and votes for Vice Admiral Rampart's bill has been delayed to the next session and the discussion for the Rights of Clones has been pushed to the next session as well." A buzzing sound filled the room, "Galactic Senate adjourned."

Senators left their pods as the doors behind them opened, their representative space turning off and leaving a shadow as they disappeared. Soka gave a small wave to Chuchi as she too left her pod, the lights turning off behind her. Two male guards awaited her outside her space.

They looked down at their Senator, a sharp nod in greeting. Soka nodded back, her face turning to stone as some of the other... troublesome senators walked by. She watched them leave with a huff before walking in the opposite direction to find the exit.

"Blaise?" She spoke into the air, the guard on her right leaning forward. "Yes ma'am?" She turned to look at the dark skinned male, "Cancel the meeting with Senator Kobat, I wish to take the rest of the evening for myself."

Blaise whipped a pad out of his pouch and tapped away as they continued to walk forward. "And Okiver?" Okiver, the pink skinned Zeltron male, a person of her own species, looked down at her. "Could you make sure to grab Blaise and go to the diner down at the center? I wish for you and your boyfriend to have the rest of the day off as well."

Okiver's pink skin turned red at Soka's statement. Soka raised an eyebrow at Okiver's embarrassment, "Do you not wish for me to refer to Blaise as your boyfriend?" Okiver scratched his neck as he opened the door to lead them outside of the building. "It's not that... it just takes a while to get used to hearing it." Soka patted her guard on the shoulder.

"Well by the time you get used to using the term "boyfriend", you'll have to get use to the word "husband" instead." Okiver's face turned a brighter shade of red, and if his skin wasn't already pink and bright, Soka might've thought that something was wrong with him.

Soka spotted her transportation already waiting at the edge of the sidewalk and turned to her two guards. Blaise, who had already put the pad away, stared down at her suspiciously. "Ma'am, I know what you are about to suggest, and I suggest against it."

Soka sent him a fake offended look as she stopped walking, making the two stop walking with her. "Whatever could you mean? You make me sound as if I'm the one on the wrong."

Okiver sighed, giving Blaise an exasperated look. "Are you going to ask me to count?" He asked Soka. Soka twirled around to meet his eyes, "Why of course! You know me far too well." Blaise threw his hands up in the air from behind Soka, "Why do I even try?!"

Soka stuck her tongue out at Blaise as she dug her heel into the ground. Blaise rolled his eyes, copying her movement.

"Three,"

Soka drew a sharp breath, mentally preparing herself.

"Two,"

Blaise stiffened beside her, also seemingly preparing himself, despite the relaxed face he held.

"One,"

A beaming smile appeared on Soka's face as Blaise gritted his teeth, waiting for the signal.

"Go!"

Blaise and Soka sprinted forward, leaving Okiver behind them to eat their dust. With a small sigh, Okiver started walking forward, ignoring the onlookers who weren't used to the shenanigans the young senator got up to. Some people who frequented the senate knew how eccentric she could be.

Okiver forced himself to jog behind the two airheads, who were already arguing at the speeder. Okiver expected them to be arguing about who won, but instead it seemed more like Blaise was scolding Soka for something, whilst she responded with a sour face.

"You can't just run into an elderly woman without apologizing!" He exclaimed in frustration, looking as if he was only a minute away from tugging his own hair out, or maybe Soka's, Okiver couldn't tell.

"She was in the way!" Soka replied hotly, a frown gracing her lips. "And for your information I did apologize!"

Blaise scowled, "Oh yeah, like giving a brief sorry and a wave does any good."

Soka tried to stand as tall as tall as she could, as tall as a 1.8m person could against a 1.9m person that is. Soka puffed out her cheeks as she stared angrily at Blaise, crossing her arms.

"I refuse to talk to a salty winner." She stuck her head to the side, looking at Okiver. Okiver raised his hands in the air, showing he was innocent. "I have literally no say in this since I didn't see her knocking into anyone."

Blaise huffed, reaching behind Soka and putting an arm on her neck. "Whatever, stop being stubborn and get in the transport." Soka frowned, peering up at Blaise. "What if I don't want to?"

Blaise reached down and swooped Soka up bridal style, ignoring her shrieks of surprise and practically shoved her into the back seat of the transport. "You have no say, Soapy."

Soka's face burned in embarrassment as she stuck her tongue at Blaise. "Wow, so mature." Blaise responded as he jumped over Okiver's seat to get into the driver's seat.

Okiver sighed in exasperation for the umpteenth time that day, and it was only 1600 hours.  He piled into the car after Blaise and slumped in his seat, looking in the review mirror at Soka who had already gotten out her holopad to most likely message Senator Organa.

Okiver kind of pitied Senator Organa for the obsession that Soka had with him. "Soka," Okiver spoke up, "Stop bothering Senator Organa."

Soka raised an eyebrow at him, Blaise doing the same but keeping his eye on the traffic lanes.

"I'm not 'bothering' Bail." Soka said with a small laugh, handing her holopad forward to Okiver. "Apparently a defective clone batch was just reported dead. Clone Force 99, I think they are called."

Okiver had to do a double take at her words. Practically snatching the holopad from her hands, Okiver skimmed the article that Soka was reading.

"Do you know who Clone Force 99 is?" Okiver asked Soka, knowing that Blaise knew who they were due to Okiver's fanboy behavior over the batch.

Soka thought for a second, a pouty frown as she tapped her chin. "Nope." She finally said, popping the p.

Okiver opened his mouth to start his rambling session with excitement but Blaise reached a hand over, placing it on his thigh. "Take a breath first. You don't want to drown her in your words."

Okiver closed his mouth with a click, mulling over what he was going to say in his mind.

"Can I have my holopad back?" Soka asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. Okiver reached behind his head, passing the holopad back to Soka.

"So who's the Clone Force 99?" She asked, placing her pad in her lap with an innocent look gracing her face. Soka knew some details about the C. Force 99, but she knew how excited Okiver got with something he really liked, so she pretended to be oblivious so he could teach her.

"Only the best clone batch out there!" Okiver said, throwing his hands up and almost hitting his boyfriend. With a quick sorry, he turned in his seat to face Soka.

"Clone Force 99, otherwise known as The Bad Batch, is a group of defective clones. Well, they are called defective but it's just cause they have mutations." Okiver started, clasping his hands together.

"The leader, Hunter is his name, can sense magnetic waves and track things really well, and this is only just what I know of. He's the one for creating and calling plans and making sure his batch is safe and unharmed. He's also really hot-" Okiver received a light hit to the back of his head by Blaise. "Not as hot as you of course, babe." Okiver told Blaise with a smile, before turning back to Soka with a knowing glint in his eyes.

"His old second in command, Crosshair, has exceptional eyesight and is the sharpshooter of their team. He and the rest of the Bad Batch had a bit of a scuffle a while ago and instead of betraying the empire like they did, he stayed and decided to hunt them down. Really sad, but he wasn't the hottest so I'm not complaining." Soka rolled her eyes with a smile, knowing how biased Okiver could be with hot men.

"The brains of the operation is Tech, or his full name is Technically but he uses Tech. He is the one who knows all the knowledge and helps create the strategies. I'm pretty sure he's usually the pilot as well.

Wrecker, the big guy, he's the muscles. Usually people would think of him as all brawn no brain, but even if he isn't the brightest lightsaber out of the pack, he still has a lot of strategy and fun about him. He also likes to blow things up." Okiver grinned a sneaky grin, leaning over to Soka.

He cupped his hands to whisper in Soka's ear, "Tech is the cutest one but Wrecker seems like he'd be a mean guy in the sheets." Soka lurched away from Okiver, her eyes wide and face flushed at hearing what Okiver said. With a withering glare at Okiver, not trusting her mouth to say something stupid, Okiver shrugged in response. "Just saying. Wrecker is a total sweetheart though, I heard a clone say he's got this really adorable Tooka doll name Lula or something."

Soka waved her hand, "Is that all of them?"

Okiver shook his head, "They added a person to their group, Echo is his name. He doesn't have mutations like the others but when he was captured and held on Skako Minor, some.. unpleasant things were done to him and he received some metal limbs during his time there. He kinda strikes me as a babysitter who would tut over the group, but I think Hunter does that job."

Soka frowned, "People in this galaxy are so cruel, I can't believe they would do that to him."

Okiver nodded, a solemn look on his face. "And the last person, the main reason I think Crosshair left the team, is a little clone baby named Omega. Well she isn't a baby, but she's a child compared to them. I can't remember why they left with her, but they've been traveling with her ever since. I've heard whispers from Cid's contacts that she has a really good team of people in armor who do her tasks for her, so we've all just assumed it's the Bad Batch."

Soka nodded, inhaling all the new information she received. "Also aren't they rumored to have 100% success rate? How come they are reported dead then?"

Okiver's face dropped at her words, and he turned back around in his seat. "I'm not sure, but the article says they died in the Kamino storm that destroyed the cities, though Kamino was built to survive all those kind of storms. So I don't know why this one knocks them out."

Soka sighed, "That's honestly really sad. I would've loved to meet them." Okiver nodded in agreement.

"I love the sentiment and sadness and whatever, but we are coming up on your residence, Soka, so I recommend you start picking up your dress and don't forget your holopad when you leave." Blaise spoke up, snapping the two Zeltron's out of their sadness trance.

Soka sent him a thumbs up, gathering her holopad and dress into her lap.

The transport pulled in front of the Tanobi Residence shortly after. A huge white building that towered over most of the other buildings and was so huge it went into the clouds, the penthouse that is, of course. The penthouse is where Soka lived, while the rest of the Tanobi residence served as a hotel.

The doorman walked up to the transport, recognizing that it was Soka's.

"Lady Tanobi," He greeted with a small bow. Soka nodded back, slipping out of the door once the doorman opened it for her. She waved goodbye at Blaise and Okiver before following the doorman over to the main door.

Soka's feet tapped impatiently against the tile of the elevator floor as the number ticked up slowly.

75...

89...

97...

99...

100.

The elevator dinged, opening the doors to the entrance hall of Soka's penthouse.

A guard stood at the entrance, turning to the opening doors and pointing his blaster at Soka.

"Password?"

Soka looked the guard in the eyes, standing tall as she spoke, "Sokanara Tanobi."

The guard relaxed with a small smile, shaking his head. "Welcome home, Soka. I really don't see the point in the password sometimes, it's not like anyone else can get up here without the key in the elevator."

Soka waved her hand as the guard followed her to the dining room, "Just extra precautions. We live in desperate times, Joqin." 

Joqin laughed as he accepted the cocktail glass that Soka handed over. "Oh lay off it, sis. As a Senator, you are technically more safe than anyone here." Soka raised an eyebrow at her guard, who deemed it funny to call her sis just because they were of the same species.

"And also the one in the most danger if I offend anyone and they decide that I've breathed enough in this lifetime." Soka added, mixing up a cocktail drink and pouring some in her own glass before adding it to Joqin's.

Joqin shrugged, "That too I guess."

Soka knocked back her drink, swallowing almost half of it before placing it down with an aggressive clink, sighing to herself. Joqin took minute sips, drinking slowly as he watched her crumble to frustration. Whenever Soka drank, her emotions become amplified and she mostly gets angry.

"I know for a fact that you were having too much fun with Okiver and Blaise. Why do you seem like someone just pissed in your drink?"

Soka frowned at Joqin's use of words. "It's just so... unfair. I would say."

Joqin raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue as he drank some more.

Soka grumbled to her self as she picked up her cup and tipped more into her mouth, wiping her lips harshly. "Those Senators are just such pieces of bantha shit sometimes. They think their words are approved by the high or something!"

Joqin chuckled, "And?"

"And- and they don't believe Clones deserve rights like the rest of us!" Soka's fists clenched and unclenched around the glass.

She finished the rest of her drink and moved to bite the cup, but Joqin quickly replaced her glass cup with a sugar cup. Soka chewed angrily on the sugar champagne glass, her sharp teeth scraping against the hard surface and giving her skin jitters.

"So you are angry because the Senators believe that Clones shouldn't have rights purely because they were used for the war?"

Soka nodded mutely, her face twisted into a sour look. She nibbled a small dent into her sugar cup before adding more of the drink into her cup.

"Is there anything you are going to do to help the clones?" Joqin asked after a brief moment of silence.

Soka chewed at the edge of the cup, thinking over her response. "Well, I could go to 79's and try to get information on the rights they want? Some proof that they are good helping people to the society and that they deserve the rights?"

Even though he didn't really understand the ways of a Senator, Joqin still smiled warmly, trying to encourage her, "Exactly. Now get your sheb out there and make some noise."

Soka nodded, a newfound determination filling her veins. "Yeah! Yeah I think I will."

Soka gripped her sugar champagne glass tightly within her fingers. "Can you drive me though? I still technically need a guard."

Joqin chuckled, "Don't worry, I've got a spare already decked and ready in the garages."

Soka grinned toothily at him. "I'll buy you a drink there, I know you like the strawberry fizz."

"You know damn well I do." Joqin moved swiftly out to the elevator, twirling the keys on his finger. "Let's get this show on the road."

ᯓ★

and chapter one is finished! this is a bit of a doozy as these first handful of chapters are the backstory to soka's life and building up her character, though i will be going fast-ish so we can get to the main plot asap. 

as much as i LOVE writing, writing doesnt always love me and makes me write some things that doesnt entirely make sense and are a bit shoddy sounding, so dont be shy to give some CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

yes soka's character is supposed to be silly and child-like and emotional and fast-minded because she was forced to mature quickly in order to get into the senator business as young as possible, so she's going to revert sometimes and be a bit of a comedic relief. if you dont like that, then this isnt the story for you and i recommend you find a new story and not slander soka for being a bit goofy.

have a good day and dont forget to drink water! :D

taglist: @callsign-denmark

if you want to be tagged, just comment your username below and say "i want to be tagged"

[blair-jbsn1]

Silly jealousy

Pairing : Jacob Black x reader

Warnings : none!!

Summary: user was once Bi and happened to get close with Leah Clearwater, remembering the fact reader was once bi, Jacob got a bit jealous!

Word count: 859+

A/N : ignoring spelling errors, if there are any lol. + Sorry if there’s any ooc stuff, lmk what i should work on if there is!!

Once you found out about Jacob imprinting on you, things have been different, or well, some things. Jacob and you were close as always, almost inseparable due to your bond, even if there was no imprint bond, you’d still be stuck together like magnets.

You two started dating, Jacob has been your best friend for as long as you can remember, not in any world would you think of seeing him romantically, but fate had different plans. Once you found out about the legends being true and everything (including the Jacob imprinting), Jacob was the one to comfort you when you had to take everything in, need alone time? He’ll go, need a friend? He’ll be there, need physical affection? He’ll be happy to hug and/or cuddle, you’re his imprint, he’d do anything for you, hell n’ back, and comfort is included, of course.

Once everything started to settle in and make sense, you spent more time with the pack, getting close with them all, you, Embry and Quil became a little trio to mess with Jacob sometimes, definitely a favorite thing to do when you all’re bored to death, it’s always fun seeing Jacob be annoyed, in a lighthearted manner, you’d all be in big trouble if he got mad, seriously mad.

And soon, Leah and Seth joined the pack, obviously, you were glad another girl would be around, unbeknownst of Leah, Sam and Emily’s history.

Obviously, you tried befriending her, walking up to her.

“Hey!!”

You said loudly, just enough for her to hear, she turned to look at you.

“Yes?”

“You’re Leah Clearwater, right? It’s so nice to have another girl around! I’m Y/N L/N.”

You spoke, Leah didn’t seem too fond on the idea of talking to you, having this cold look on her face as you spoke, you two were very, very different, clearly.

“nice to meet you, but i’m not interested in talking, go back to your loverboy.”

Leah spat, and walked away, you hadn’t done anything wrong or anything to upset her, did you?

“Fun isn’t she?”

Jacob asked, moving from behind you to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“..is she always like that?”

You asked, looking over at him.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Why?”

“Well.. she didn’t have much good history with Sam.”

Once he said that, yoy.. kind of understood, of course it had something to do with love, atleast, that’s what you were guessing.

“..what happened?”

“Well, long story short, while Sam and Leah were dating, Sam imprinted on Emily, he didn’t want to hurt leah, but emily was the one.”

“Ooh, that makes sense now.”

“Yeah, and thanks to wolf telepathy, we have to deal with that..”

“Must suck.”

“It really does.”

Ever since then, despite Leah’s attitude, you kept trying to befriend her, wether it was concersating with her while everyone was eating, following her around, etc, you just wanted to talk to her!

And one day, she caved

“Fine, i’ll be your friend,“

“Really?!”

“Yeah…”

You were OVERJOYED, finally!!

From then on, you got closer to Leah, trying to crack her tough shell, and it was working

You two spent loads of time together, around 5 of 7 week days, honestly, it was amazing, she was great company when you pass her tough exterior, and a great friend overall, but.. it was rubbing off on you and Jacob’s tome.. you obviously felt bad, but he’d be okay, right?

Wrong.

As time went by, you could notice Jacob become even more short tempered, if that was even possible. As well as watching you two constantly, like a hawk, you felt like his gaze burnt holes in the back of your head sometimes, scary.

Not to mention, he’s been giving Leah some glares, which was really odd, he’s never done that before, what’s with the sudden beef?

As it got worse, you decided to talk to him about it.

You walked up to him while at Emily’s it was just you two there since everyone else was out patrolling, and Emily was out buying groceries.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?”

You spoke up, moving so you were in front of him.

“No.”

“Why?”

He stayed silent at that, seemed to be debating on saying the truth or not.

“..we’re spending less time together, you’re always with Leah now, it’s so ahrd to find you alone anymore..”

He caved

“Jake… c’mon, y’know i’d always make time for you,”

“I know.”

“Then why’re you so upset about it?”

“…”

Quiet again.

“..y’know how you used to be Bi?”

Oh.

That makes a lot more sense

When you were around 13-14, you came out as Bisexual, even dated a girl or two , at the time, it wasn’r a big deal for Jacob, but now that you two’re dating, he couldn’t help but worry that girllover part of you was still there, despite the imprint bond, he’d always get jealous.

“C’mon Jake, that was in the past!”

He sighed

“I know i know, i still can’t help but worry though.”

You went up to him and hugged him, hos arms around you as well, like a reflex.

“You have nothing to worry about, i’m yours.”

You reassured him, squeezing him a bit tighter.

“I know, but even so.. just make more time for me, i feel left out y’know.”

“Okay okay, Monday, Wednesday, Friday?”

“Add Saturday and it’s a deal.”

“Fine, Saturday too.”

[lady-assnali]

Meet You After Dark

It’s the Anarcia Knight au with an actual working title! What?! Incredible. Anyway, here’s a long part involving  white gown, a cry for help, and a healer in a spooky shack. Also, Knight Sasha! 

(Also I could not have done this without @jinkx-monswoon who talked through this with me for sooo long and helped bring this idea from the depths and turn it into something much bigger and better than it initially was going to be. And edited it when my brain stopped working) …..

“Prince James is a good friend to you.”

“Yes, father. He’s taught me how to climb the big oak by the pond and he never makes fun of me for being slow like the Duke does, and he doesn’t leave me out of any of the games.”

“One day, I expect he’ll be a good husband to you as well.”

Marcia, still with the rounded cheeks and wide eyes of a six year-old, wrinkles her nose at the idea.

“But I don’t want to marry him.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. “He’s a boy and boys are weird, and then we wouldn’t be able to play games together anymore because he’d just be a boring old husband.”

           The king chuckles, lifting his daughter onto his lap with a twinkling eye.

           “My little princess,” he coos. “I think that one day, when you’re older, you’ll start seeing things in a different light.”

…

           The Queen floats around the room with an unmatched elegance, fair-haired and button-nosed just like the princess standing before her. She smooths back her daughter’s hair in an affectionate sort of pet, crooning with delight at the radiant beauty of the heiress. The princess is laced into an elegant white gown months into the making, a delicate ornate lace with long sleeves and a bodice accentuating her lithe body. She has never looked more like royalty, and it nearly brings the mother in her to tears. The Queen, however, aptly takes over. She tuts.

           “We’re meeting within the season to discuss final plans, and then we’re to send the messages out with the official announcement.”

           “Alright.”

           “The family is coming to stay for a few days, you’ll be able to see James one last time before your wedding day. You’ll get to know his family, father will discuss with him the beginnings of plans for when you take over…”

           “Yes, mother.”

           She’s apathetic, standing in front of the gold-plated mirror while three girls flit around her with pins and string, shuffling and adjusting. She can’t stand to make contact with herself in the mirror, keeps her eyes trained on the stone wall behind it. She’s counting the loops on the curtain’s ornate patterning, lips moving slightly.

           From her place at the door Sasha watches; it’s the first time she’s seen the young, poised princess so shaken. Her skin is pallid, her face stone in an attempt to stop the quiver of her lips. Her big brown eyes are glossed over, shining with unshed tears. She hasn’t looked at herself once, not even to comment on the way their seamstresses have perfected the elegant cinch and flow of the ornate white gown she has on. Her mother stands behind her with a critical eye, doting on her daughter by making sure each adjustment is perfect. She speaks freely—as if unable to see the clear discomfort written in every inch of the princess’s body.

           She has known the princess for a good majority of her life, coming into the guard when the blonde was a bubbly, charismatic eight year old with an innate talent for charming a crowd. She’d stood guard through dance lessons, balls, banquets…she’d been able to see a bubbly eight turn into a poised eleven, a magnetic sixteen, and now a refined eighteen. The nerves on full display are not her: the one word answers, the hush of her voice, the way she stumbles over responses with a crack in her tone. Since the idea of marriage had been thrown around, she’d retreated into herself. She’d become someone different.

           They’re alone after the fitting, Marcia having asked for a few moments to contemplate the dress without the crowd of seamstresses and her babbling mother getting in her way. They’d filed out of the room rather easily, and once the door shuts Sasha watches Marcia’s shoulders finally drop. The princess takes slow, even strides around the room, the train of the dress trailing behind her like a relentless shadow. She huffs in annoyance more than once, kicking out her feet and twirling in an attempt not to tangle herself in fabric and pins. The third time she lets out an exasperated groan along with it, pressing her hand to the wall with a severely turned frown.

           “Your highness, are you alright?”

“I’m going to be okay.” She nods her head, shuts her eyes tight. “I’m delighted to marry James.”

“Mash…” It’s the childhood nickname only Sasha uses that sends Marcia into a fit. She crumbles to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. The dress billows around her and she swipes angrily at the fabric, frantically trying to sweep it away from her line of vision. She wails, open-mouthed, and Sasha is sure she’s never heard such a gut-wrenching sound.

“I can’t do it, I can’t marry him. I can’t spend the rest of my life without her. To know what it feels to have your heart opened by somebody only to have that taken away? That’s not living.”

           “Anetra?”

           “She is comfort where everything else is turmoil. From the evening we started walking I have done nothing but fall more in love with her each night, and now I feel as though I can barely contain it. I’m a coward. I do not wish to see her lose the thing she’s worked so hard for if she were to be interested in me, it would be selfish. She’s worked so hard. She loves being here. And even then, the thought of her returning my feelings is just that—a thought.”

           “Baby, you are worth every wonderful thing.”

           “And she is worth everything she’s worked for. She’s longed for this her entire life.” The gown pooled around her makes her look much like she had when she was a little girl; vulnerable and small, swallowed up by the world. Sasha kneels beside her, waiting for a moment before gathering the princess into her arms. Marcia cries, broken and weak while Sasha holds on tight.

           “I can’t love her.”

           “But you do.”

           The crumpled up blonde picks at the lace on her dress, body overcome with a lack of feeling.

           “Am I going to spend the rest of my life like this?”

           “We’ll figure things out. I won’t ever let you walk alone, Mash. You have my word.”

…

           The princess leaves her new gown hanging in the corner of the room much more wrinkled than when she had first donned it hours before. She’s exhausted, her head spinning with expectation and responsibility. She can still see herself in all of that delicate white lace through the corner of her eyes, her mother’s entire being shining with pride while she wishes she could scratch the memory from her mind completely. She refuses dinner, claiming fatigue from the long day of preparations. In reality, she knows it will be one of the last nights she will have to herself, the days until her wedding severely numbered.

           For a moment she lays still on her bed, long legs dangling over the edge, and stares at the ceiling. Every silent comfort is suddenly suffocating, surrounded by the sinking feeling that she won’t even be able to have this privacy anymore. Even if James proves to be a kind husband, the duties of a royal remain.

           She’ll have to be his.

           She’ll have to bear an heir.

           The princess bolts upright in her bed upon the thought, breathing becoming an arduous task. She clutches at her heart, beating erratically as the walls she’d been holding up around herself in the silence finally come crumbling down. Everything she’d been avoiding has snuck in through one big Trojan horse of feeling: fear, sorrow, anger.

           Anger. The princess throws her feet on the floor, tossing pillows onto the stone with as much strength as she can muster. She growls, hands balling into fists as she punches hard onto her mattress. She beats on the plush surface until her hands buzz with an unfamiliar type of pain, tender and consuming. Beads of sweat fall from her forehead and she wipes them with the back of her hand, huffing and pacing around the room. Her eyes lock on the earthy green cloak hanging on the wall by her door.

           She slips her arms into the sleeves, buries her head in the hood.

           The princess takes a cautious glance through her window and makes the treacherous descent to solid ground and the cover of the night.

…

           Marcia arrives at the clearing in the woods with a brazen sort of courage buzzing in her head. The light of the full moon as she leaves the castle grounds shifts her rage into a steadily stirred need for a solution. While she has never been in this part of the forest before, she’d heard talks of the little shack and its intriguing inhabitant. This is the healer’s home; a mysterious shapeshifter with a knowledge of medicinal herbs and a knack for playing life’s games. The healer is known to play with fate a bit, bending things with a blend of common flowers and obscure baubles and the power of the human mind. Before, the princess found the talk to be intriguing, but nothing more than a child’s tale of caution. Now, she hopes more than anything that those childhood fantasies may just have some truth to them.

           She knocks on the door cautiously, stepping back to conceal herself in the shadows. She is met with a figure as tall as the doorframe and the instantaneous stiffening of her limbs. The healer stands before her with an all-knowing smile, beckoning her in. She hesitates, but the aching of her soul has grown so intense that she takes the step anyway, following the healer into the shack. She is but one second through the door when her mouth falls open, unable to hold in her torrent of thoughts.

           “I can’t live like this anymore.”

           “Whoa, Princess. Hold on for me there, take a breath.” The healer steps toward the wall of bottled ingredients as if to protect their hoard. She is shaking, her eyes rapidly darting around the little shack, trying to take everything in. She pulls on the hood of her cloak, slightly larger than need be and concealing a good portion of her face. Her slender frame is hidden well beneath the stealthy clothing, but the healer would have known it was her even if her button nose and blush weren’t so distinctive. The healer had known she’d be arriving soon, and they’re both aware of the unspoken knowledge. Keeping her hood up is nothing more than a façade, something to help her keep at least the myth of safety.

           Vulnerable under the stranger’s stare, the princess toes the ground with her shoe and attempts the phrasing of her request again, tears following the well-worn path down her cheeks.

           “Please, please, I need your help. With full trust in your confidentiality I will only say that I have found myself in love with someone with whom I should not be. I can not continue on this path asking them to choose leaving their dream for me, and I can not imagine living in a world where I am forced to see this person every day while I am an unhappily married woman with obligations. I do not wish to live with this grief for the rest of my life. I will not survive.”

           “You’re asking for…”

           “For help! For relief! For the mending of my broken heart so that I may do my best to lead this kingdom into an era of peace and love.”

           The healer appraises her for a moment, turning their head and widening their eyes, looking her over with a fair level of scrutiny.

“And yet you seem to be unsure.” They mumble incoherently, pacing around her. Marcia wishes she hadn’t come alone. There is a bone-chilling feel about this place, this foreign concept of witchery and potions beyond healing the most common physical ailments. This is not the palace healer with his office of neatly arranged and labeled herbs and bandages. This is a shack-like living space in the midst of the pines, a handmade door leading into a dirt floor and a ceiling of strung flowers, colorful bottles lining dusty shelves.

           She pushes the thought aside immediately, even more upset with herself than before; this is a person within her kingdom, someone with a knack for the study of herbs who happens to use them in ways she is not yet familiar with. This is what she’s been working toward, a goal of promoting this understanding to her people. This all starts with her.

           “I ask for your forgiveness. I was not raised to know people outside of my walls, and I am looking to change that. If I presented myself as rude or ill-mannered, that was not my intent.”

           “You are forgiven. Now, about that problem…” The healer leaps behind a stone counter, fingers pointing along a wall of clumsily arranged bottles before settling on one from the top shelf. Blowing off the dust, they turn to hold a bottle of beautiful pearlescent liquid. It swirls magnetically when moved around, catching and keeping Marcia’s big brown eyes, longing consuming her heart.

           “What does it do?” Her mouth moves but she can barely hear the words coming out, focused on the way the light shifts the colors of the liquid in the little bottle, how it doesn’t seem to stay one hue for long. She itches to touch it, to hold the glass in her own hands, take the liquid down her throat and soothe her aching.

           “It’s an eraser or sorts.”

           “In what way?”

           “Drink this before bed while letting yourself feel what you’re so desperately trying to forget. Think of the name of the emotion, let it really settle into your heart. Think of the person; the memories you have of them that attach them to that feeling. When you awaken in the morning, those feelings will be gone. In every interaction with this person you will be left a blank slate, a new woman.”

           “I…”

           “You say this is an unwanted feeling? This will cure it. You will be left without weight on your shoulders. You talk about carrying on? This will make that possible for you. Trust me, princess. For the good of the kingdom.”

           The young princess’s eyes are still trained on the liquid, mesmerized. Digging through the pocket of her cloak she takes out a small drawstring purse and tips out several gold coins. They’re heavy in her palm as she hands them over, the breath leaving her body as her fingers finally close around the little glass bottle. Breathlessly, she thanks the healer.

           Her steps back to the castle grounds are brisk and careful.

           Anetra’s name sits precariously on her tongue, a well-guarded feeling ready to consume her.

           She’s thinking about soft brown waves pulled into a uniform updo while she hangs up her coat. She can practically feel the brush of their fingers while they walk, the frightening spark sent through her bones. The princess closes her eyes only to see the endless depths of warm brown eyes staring back at her; all of their unsaid words, glances across rooms, whispers in the moonlit halls. Her heart flutters, hums in appreciation. Sitting on her bed, Marcia finally allows her mind to wander to the possibility of it all, the unmatched happiness of Anetra’s companionship, the safety. The love.

           I love her. The words are delicate on her quiet tongue, her whisper caught by the air and dispersed in the space around her.

           I love her. She unearths the cork from the tiny glass bottle with a satisfying pop, an enticing floral aroma filling her senses.

           I love her. She takes one last look at the pearlescent liquid and holds on to the image of Anetra burned into her mind, her heart swelled up with affection. She takes the potion in one turn, deftly  swallowing it all before casting the bottle beside her on the bed. The knight’s name is a symphony in her head, a melody played rapturously over and over until suddenly, it comes to a screeching halt.

           I love her.

           Marcia gasps at the sudden pit of swirling heat in her stomach, the way it puffs up like the embers of a fire, spreading in painful, acidic flames through to her toes. She stumbles backward onto the bed, clutching at the clothes on her body, ripping at her gown in a futile attempt to feel some kind of relief. She’s thinking of brown eyes when the fire spreads to her lungs, taking away her breath with a warmth so much more violent than that of her knight’s soothing voice. She is reduced to a desperate flailing of limbs, thrashing and grabbing at herself and choking on her mute, helpless screams. Her hair sticks to the sweat of her forehead, her eyes wide and unfocused. The room spins violently around her, and she is unable to find purchase.

Anetra, I’m sorry.

The princess’s body falls slack against the mattress, succumbing to the pearlescent fire.

[wilsons-limped-husband]

As I saw others do

And so preper for the doom

✨Facts about me (a lifeless writer)✨

Name Gregory James but I also go by William and Tyler (or for fun jimmeh)

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Nationality: Romanian

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MBTI: INFJ

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I'm a transmasc, queer (I'm just confused), grey-aromantic

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Pronouns: he/him

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Sports I practice: figure skating

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Fandoms: Sherlock, HouseMD and Star Trek, Hamilton (both the historical and the musical), Stargate:Atlantis, Dead poets Society

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The ships I ship: Too many to count

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Fave colors: grey, white, black

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Bored most of the time so I'll either reblog, post hella random thoughts or just exist and piss of everyone

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I have a House ask blog (go check it out) : @ask-dr-lawsuit-magnet

And a Moran (from Sherlock) ask blog:

@consult-sebmoran

And a writing side blog:

@a-world-with-many-words

And a side blog for nothing on my tablet

@startrekker2011

I also have a vent blog (plz don't look at it):

@suicide-tendencies-perry

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My moots (tell me if you want to be removed):

@asclexe

@h0l0gramglasses

@maybemoltenlava

@fangirlshipper

@deanbane

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Random shit 'bout me

My Spotify

⭐️ alone only child, please talk to me i love chatting

⭐ I'm a sad theater kid 😭😭

⭐️professional idiot, certified yapper

⭐pulled so many suicide moves I'm starting to think I need therapy, but I won't tell anyone about them

⭐I realized I was trans when I was 2 or 3 years old (how the hell, don't ask)

⭐Actual writer (writing my second book but, shhh)

⭐I'm bored like always and I have a lot of free time in my hands

⭐I'm 170cm (I think this means 5'8")

⭐I'm constantly wearing headphones so please don't take offense if I'm wearing a pair when I'm talking to you. I just want to cancel some of the noise that's around, not you ml

⭐ my tag for my stuff: #greg j. rambles , #greg j. answers #silly 🥝 , #pinga

⭐ if I don't answer your ask, it means I like it a lot and want to keep it as a memory but I usually do

If you got here you should know that I sign my anon messages with:

-T.

(Shhh.🤫)

[stuckinuniformdevelopment]

@albertbutyoucancallmebert

(Previous) Bert smiled and giggled along with Teddy as he told his story. “Hehe, usually it's the top bunk that gets fought over! A fight I've won many times. By pushing my friends down from it. Hehe!” He noticed when Teddy fiddled with his shirt. What was that? Was he messing with the lightning bolt design? Or was something under there? He squinted and was about to ask about it when Teddy asked his own question about moving closer to Bert’s sleeping spot. Now distracted, Bert looked at the area around his sleeping nook and the space between the center counter and the computer station, where their chairs were. He took a while to respond, but only because he was thinking about the logistics of building a blanket roof in that area. But eventually nodded. “Hm, yah it could work! I mean, look at all the tools at my disposal.” He pointed up at the tool apparatus that hung from the center of the ceiling. “I could attach clamps to the arms and bring them closer to our seats and suspend the roof from those. Then I could switch Bob to a screen lower on the wall and pin the edge of the blanket to the surface above it with magnets, so we can watch Bob IN our fort! And then!...” Bert paused, then rubbed his head and looked back at Teddy. “Orrr we can just go with your plan and set it up later. Much easier and simpler, heh.”

Teddy loudly laughed in his own distinctive way while pressing one hand to his mouth. “It was. Glad I didn't live with little you. Although yelling at each other and occasionally coming to blows wasn't much better.”

Then he paused and smirked back at Bert. “You wouldn't either. I was a vicious, spiteful kid...”

When Bert squinted he could see that whatever was in Teddy's hands was above the lightning bolt. If his glass was good enough he'd realize that it may be a solid object.

The longer it took Bert to respond the more nervous Teddy got. Bert was probably finding a good sleeping spot for him but... Well, as long as there was a shadow of a doubt his fear lingered.

Teddy clenched his fist and narrowed his eye in determination. All he had to do to drive that worry away was to prove that it was wrong.

After a bit Teddy stepped next to Bert to better follow his gaze. Then he glanced at him, relaxed his shoulders, and walked into the area he (now they) were studying.

If Bert looked over before Teddy passed him he'd see that only one hand was still by where his bowtie usually was. And he was idly rubbing a small object between his fingers. Far calmer than the constant readjusting, tugging, and clutching he did when he was really anxious.

Teddy squinted as he scanned his surroundings while gradually— likely unconsciously— drifting towards his current focus. Soon he settled near the chairs and put his hand on his chin as he formulated the details of his plan.

He had almost finished mentally testing its structural integrity when Bert spoke. Then Teddy turned around with the usual alert, excited expression that usually came when Bert had something interesting to share.

As Bert explained his own elaborate plan Teddy returned to drifting around the area. Only this time he briefly glanced over to see where Bert was pointing every time he mentioned a new component, and headed to it.

When Bert started to backtrack on his wonderful idea Teddy shook his head and speedwalked up to him. Then he grinned as he said, “That sounds fun! Who would pick the most boring option over an amazing blanket fort?”

[nancypullen]

82 Days Until Halloween!

That has nothing to do with this post, I'm just excited about it. Eighty-two days, some of which will be spent on vacation, will fly! I have absolutely nothing to post about, there's nothing happening at Casa de Pullen. I wake up, make the bed, do my stretches and stuff, scoop the kitty litter, sometimes start a load of wash, and then head downstairs. Rinse and repeat.

I'm fortunate that I get to look out of this window while I make breakfast. Hummingbirds and bumble bees zip around the blooms and it's the best show in town.

I'd planned to cut down some of the sunflowers that are already drying and drooping, but the yellow finches have arrived and love them. I can't deprive them of their favorite treat. Brace yourself for some out of focus bird pictures. This was snapped from inside the car as I pulled in from the grocery store. There's a little yellow finch lunching on those sunflowers by the porch. I waited to get out of the car so I wouldn't scare him away.

I do sometimes snip one of the flowers to sit in this sweet bud vase (a gift from a kind friend in TN). Sunflowers are so cheerful.

I moved the hummingbird feeder to the front flower bed so that I can enjoy their antics while I sit at my desk making whatever I'm making that day. Turns out it's very hard to get a photo from inside, through a window and a screen, of a very fast birdie. There he is, hovering just over the feeder. There are a couple that battle for the hooch and they're fierce!

As you can see, nothing much has changed. I'm still watching birds and bees. There's a fat woodchuck that wanders around our yard occasionally, that's it for wildlife. This guy...

loves hanging out at our house. Pardon my muddy garden shoes, and yes, that's a bowl of water that I put out for the our visitor. It would have been rude not to offer refreshments. This is like a flashback of how my romance with Willie started. Apparently I'm a magnet for big ol' chunky boys. His collar says he lives two houses down, but I think we're due some child support or at least daycare fees. Who am I kidding? Send me all the cats. I'll feed them for free and love them until they beg for mercy.

Other than bird, bee, and cat watching, I've been busy making earrings and trying to get ready for Artisans on the Choptank. It's going to be embarrassing if nothing sells. You'll all get boxes of earrings for Christmas. I also painted the vanity in the Halloween bathroom. Flooring goes in tomorrow - hooray! The master bath vanity is just a creamy color, but since the Halloween bathroom is a more whimsical, jolly sort of room, I went with a shade of greeny-gray. Best of all, I found pumpkin knobs to add to the doors!

Here's the vanity color...(pardon my mess)

and these are the knobs (you can see them on the counter).

How cute is that? I'll be so glad to have these bathrooms finished. I want to paint for fun again! I'll share pics of the completed bathrooms tomorrow when the banging stops and the dust settles. So there you have it. My very small, probably boring to others, life. Quiet days, but they're filled with creativity, and that makes me content. We'll have the grandgirl for the weekend so things will liven up around here soon. We're taking her to Workhorse Farm to pet kangaroos and meet camels. Then we'll hang around the house and let her swim in her "mermaid lagoon", we'll have popcorn and movie nights, and we'll be thoroughly exhausted when we give her back. It's a good kind of tired. I hope that you're enjoying a balance of fun and peacefulness. We need both, don't we? A lack of either takes a toll. I'm off to soak in the tub and look at that ugly floor for the last time. Sending out loads of love. XOXO, Nancy

[arthurdrakoni]

Hover Car Racer might be aimed at kids, but don’t let that dissuade you. It is a high-octane thrill ride that can be enjoyed by all ages. This is my review.

Hover Car Racer takes place in the not too distant future where transportation has been revolutionized thanks to magneto hover drives which draw power from the Earth’s magnetic field. The sports of racing has also been revolutionized by hover technology, and hover car racing draws millions of viewers and captivates countless nations. The book follows a fourteen-year-old hover car racer from Australia named Jason Chaser. Jason has just lost one of the biggest races of his life, but he’s also attracted the attention of former racing champion Scott Syracuse. Before long Jason and his little brother Bug are whisked away to the International Race School in Hobart, Tasmania. Jason and Bug are about to be in for the ride of their lives.

Yeah, if you’re thinking that this book kind of sounds like Harry Potter meets Speed Racer, you wouldn’t be too far off. That having been said, it doesn’t make the book any less enjoyable. What makes Matthew Reilly such a talented writer is the way that he is takes concepts that seem cliché and manages to make them feel fresh and exciting. He may write books that are primarily intended to be fun and entertaining, but it’s clear that he puts a lot of hard work and effort into his books.

This book had been on my to-read list for a while, and I’m certainly glad that I finally got around to it. If you’re sick of books that spend too much time on filler, padding and introspection then you’ll enjoy this book. Everything that happens has some significance in advancing the plot. The plot and action moved by like a speeding hover car, but it never felt rushed or poorly paced. This was a really fun book, pure and uncut fun. Blame it on all of the Mario Cart I used to play, but I’ve always had a soft spot for racing stories.

What I liked about Jason wasn’t so much what he was as what he wasn’t. A lot of people’s complaint with Speed Racer is that Speed is a boring invincible hero who is guaranteed to win no matter what, but that’s not the case with Jason. He has to actually work for his victories, and there are just as many times that he fails as when he succeeds. This makes all of the races genuinely suspenseful sense there’s no guarantee that Jason will come out on top. It also makes his hard work and victories feel genuinely satisfying.

There’s a ton of references to classical works scattered throughout the novel. For example, we’ve got a hero named Jason who pilots The Argonaut, flies through two clashing icebergs and towards the end of the novel he retrieves a Golden Fleece as part of the final race. Jason falls in love with a girl named Dido who ultimately proves to be a distraction on his quest. Later we see a Greek racer who pilots a car called the Arion, after the horse of Heracles, and there’s a few other references as well. You don’t have to catch any of these references to enjoy the novel, but it gives you a little something extra.

There is an audiobook version narrated by Sean Mangan. Initially I wasn’t quite sure if it would work out, since Sean is American and Jason is Australian. However, I’m happy to report that Sean more than delivers. He really does a great job bringing all of the characters to life. I guess it makes sense that the producers didn’t go with an Australian, given that Jason and his family are pretty much the only Australians in the entire book.

All in all, Hover Car Racer is a high-octane thrill ride powered by Rule of Fun and Rule of Cool. If you’re looking for a science fiction take on racing, this novel can’t be beat.

Have you read Hover Car Racer? If so, what did you think?

Link to the full review on my blog: https://drakoniandgriffalco.blogspot.com/2017/02/book-review-hover-car-racer-by-mathew.html?m=1

[oh-phineas]

Boulevard of Broken ACLs | Self Para

Date: 19 August 2023 Warnings: Mention of surgery/medical stuff (not graphic)

Phineas begins his recovery.

Cheating death is supposed to feel a lot cooler than this, Phineas reflects as Patrick The Physical Therapist guides his leg in the correct motion for the five hundredth time that day. It’s actually pretty mundane. One minute, you’re being hauled to your feet by a girl you kissed at a party one time, being dragged through burning streets while your life flashes before your eyes, and the next you’re spending three hours a week in a rehab gym staring at the ceiling while a grad student chatters on about cricket. He came to Swynlake for adventure, and he’s pretty sure being snatched from the jaws of Hades (the mythical one, not the ex-mayor) is supposed to count for that. But he almost died, and all he got was this shitty Swynlake General Hospital Physical Therapy T-shirt. 

He tells himself that he can make the best out of any boring situation, that this is his superpower. That he never needed to travel the world because everything he ever needed was always in his backyard. And maybe that’s the worst part of all of this: that Phineas is supposed to be the eternal optimist, and he didn’t even get it that bad compared to some people, and still he feels this deep, awful, burning feeling that he is trapped. 

“Whoa, dude, slow down,” Patrick chuckles as Phineas races through his points-and-flexes. “What’s the hurry?”

The hurry is that Phineas wants to be out of here thirty minutes ago, but instead he just smiles. “Not in a hurry,” he says through his teeth. 

“Alright, well, you gotta take it slow to get the full benefit. It isn’t a race!”

Nah, it isn’t, because if it were a race, at least it would be fun.

The fact that he has the meeting with his doctor later to determine the next step feels like a fake milestone. It’s the end of a week of prehab, but it could be the beginning of more weeks of it, if the doctor recommends surgery. And if he doesn’t, there are still dozens of weeks of Patrick’s company ahead. Nothing’s really going to change, Phineas reminds himself as he goes into the exam room. 

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.”

Of course. There’s always good news and bad news.

“Why don’t you just tell me the good news?”

The doctor chuckles. Phineas was kind of serious, honestly. He didn’t want any more bad news. But he was a responsible adult or whatever, so sure, he’d do the prehab, he’d do the surgery, he’d shove the instructions that the doctor printed out for him into the bottom of his backpack and actually dig them out later and show them to his parents and let them stick it to the fridge with a magnet. 

The surgery is set for three weeks from today, putting it squarely between the freshers week party and the networking event. Phineas considers texting Ed and Pip about it, then changes his mind. He doesn’t want either of them to think this will impact anything, because it won’t, because Phineas is determined not to let it. He considers texting Fawn, but then the remembers the announcement about the forest, and feels silly bothering her about this.

His parents have already moved onto talking about the plan for dinner, so while they’re not watching, Phineas hobbles out to Jolene on his crutches and drags himself into the back seat so he can prop his leg up. The car blinks to life hopefully.

“Ain’t nothing gonna break my stride Nobody gonna slow me down. I’ve got to keep on moving.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not funny,” Phineas grumbles. The dials spin mischievously, and then slow down. And then slowly, the volume climbs, like Jolene isn’t quite sure this is the right call.

It’s an old Green Day song. Phineas remembers jumping around his room and singing it a lot when he was younger and angry about all the things he didn’t understand, all the things he couldn’t disappear with optimism. He’s surprised Jolene even comes up with it. At first, he’s singing along quietly, but by the bridge, he’s practically yelling— and it feels good. 

He collapses back into the seat, breathing hard. “Thanks, Jolene,” he says. 

The lights just blink in response, and next up is an angry Fall Out Boy song. “Oh, fuck yeah.”