#the physical and emotional fatigue are a Lot tonight

[straydogged]

I'm so. so so so tired

[5starluvr]

Prime

Paring: Kim Seungmin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Violence, blood, arguing, mentioned injuries

Wc: 7.5k

A/n:I’m sooo sorry for putting this series on hold.I’ve been really overwhelmed with life and I’m pretty much about to fail two of my courses BUT I’m finally done with all my exams so I’ll hopefully start posting again!

Spider Kids

The rain hammered against the penthouse window, blurring the glittering cityscape of Seoul. Inside, Seungmin, still clad in his battered Spiderman suit, winced as he peeled the clinging fabric from his damp skin. Fatigue gnawed at him, a familiar ache after a night of battling supervillains and rescuing civilians.

Across the room, Y/N sat on the plush sofa, her face a mask of worry etched with the faint lines of past arguments. Her normally vibrant eyes were dull with unshed tears. Seungmin knew this look. It was the look that followed every close call, every late-night return.

He joined her, the silence between them heavy. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, her voice tight. "Seungmin, how long can we keep doing this?"

Seungmin's heart sank. He knew this conversation was coming, but it never got any easier. "Y/N, we've talked about this. People need me."

"And who needs you?" she countered, her voice rising. "Because all I see is a man who walks out the door every night, not knowing if he'll come back!"

Seungmin winced. He hated seeing fear in her eyes, fear that was entirely his fault. "I know it's scary, but-"

"Scary?" she interrupted, her voice cracking. "Seungmin, I can't plan a future with you if I'm not even sure you'll have one! We were supposed to get married, start a family, remember?"

The weight of her words settled on him, heavy and suffocating. He longed for that life, a normal life with her by his side. But the city, the people, they were his responsibility. He couldn't turn his back on them.

"I can't give that up, Y/N. This is who I am."

"And who am I?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Am I just the woman waiting by the window, praying you come home safe?"

Seungmin felt a surge of helplessness. There were no easy answers. He wasn't just Seungmin, the man she loved. He was also Spiderman, the city's protector. He couldn't abandon either part of himself.

"There has to be a way," he pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. "We can figure this out together."

Y/N looked at him, a flicker of hope battling the weariness in her eyes. "Can we, Seungmin? Because right now, all I see is a future filled with fear, and I don't know if I can face that anymore.When do we get our turn at normal?"

He felt a pang in his chest. Normal. It was a word that felt increasingly distant, a forgotten dream in the face of his duty as Spider-Man. He reached out, his hand hovering over hers, but she pulled away, a silent rejection.

"There's no normal for us, is there?" she whispered, a tear tracing a glistening path down her cheek. The vulnerability in her voice cracked the dam within him. He pulled off his mask, the familiar weight a heavy burden tonight.

"There has to be a way," he pleaded, his voice rough with emotion. "We can figure this out. Together.I promise"

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his.

Defeat gnawed at Seungmin's insides. He knew a solution wouldn't magically appear overnight, but the weight of her words pressed down on him. "Look," he started, his voice thick with emotion, "This is a lot to unpack. Let's just go to bed and think about it tomorrow, yeah?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes clouded with a mixture of exhaustion and unshed tears. They climbed into bed, the silence deafening. Seungmin could feel the distance growing between them, a physical manifestation of the emotional  chaos they seemed to be standing on opposite sides of.

He lay on his back, staring at the rain-streaked window, his mind a whirlwind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a soft voice broke the silence.

"Seungmin," Y/N mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. He turned his head slightly, just enough to see the outline of her form in the dim light. "You know I didn't mean what I said with bad intentions, right?"

Seungmin's heart ached. He knew. He knew her frustration stemmed from love, a fear of losing him.  "I know," he replied, his voice equally soft. He reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before gently placing it on the space between them.

The touch seemed to bridge the invisible gap.  Y/N spoke again, her voice laced with a hint of desperation, "I just… I want a life with you, Seungmin. A normal life, where we can plan for the future without this constant fear hanging over us."

He understood. The fear was a constant companion, a shadow that loomed over their every happy moment. Scooting closer, he took her hand in his, the warmth spreading through him. "I want that too, Y/N. More than anything."

He pulled her gently towards him, his arms wrapping around her familiar form. The rain continued its relentless assault outside, but here, in the sanctuary of their bed, a fragile hope flickered.

"Maybe," Y/N murmured, snuggling closer, "maybe there's a way to have both. Maybe there's a way you can be Spider-Man and we can still have some semblance of normal."

Seungmin squeezed her tighter. He didn't have all the answers, but the sound of her voice, and the warmth of her body, filled him with a renewed sense of determination.  "Together," he echoed, his voice firm.

The next day the city lights bled a pale orange into the pre-dawn sky as Seungmin swung through the through the city, his heart heavy despite the cool air. He landed silently on the rooftop of the discreet skyscraper that housed the Sect Hero base.

Inside, the usual morning bustle was fading as  he found three of his teammates around a holographic strategy table, coffee mugs clutched in their hands.Chan was frowning at a projected map while Minho was cleaning his weapon with meticulous care and Han leaning back in his chair, eyes glued to a glowing tablet.

"Rough night, Spidey?" Han greeted, his voice laced with a knowing smirk.

Seungmin sighed, pulling off his mask and running a hand through his already messy hair. "You could say that." He slumped into a nearby chair, recounting the argument with Y/N the night before.

Chan listened intently, while his brow furrowed further. Finally, he spoke, "This is serious, Seungmin. Maybe it's time to consider expanding the team. Someone who can cover for you when things get hot."

Seungminsoffed. "No. This is my city. I won't be replaced."  His voice held a defensive edge that surprised even himself.

Minho, ever direct, snorted. "Being replaced isn't the point, Spider-stuff. It's about having a safety net. We can't have you constantly burning the candle at both ends." His gruff voice softened slightly. "You gotta think about Y/N too, right?"

Seungmin knew they were right. But the thought of another ‘Spiderman’ taking care of his city, his responsibility and taking his place, felt like a betrayal. "There's gotta be another way," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration.

Han places a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Seungmin, Spiderman," he said, his tone serious, "We get it. You're Spider-Man. You feel this intense responsibility. But you can't be a hero if you're constantly sacrificing your personal life. Maybe it's time to get creative?."

Seungmin stared at them, their concerned faces reflected in the holographic map. He knew they were right. He just had to figure out what "creative" meant in this situation

"Creative, huh?" Seungmin mumbled, rubbing his temples.  "Any brilliant ideas bouncing around those genius brains of yours, Einstein?" he challenged Han, a hint of teasing returning to his voice despite the weight of the situation.

Han snorted. "Actually, yeah. You ever heard of the Hero Academy program? City's been running it for a few years now. Trains rookies with basic hero skills, teaches them the ropes. Maybe one of them could be your..." he air-quoted, "...wingman."

Seungmin scoffed. "A rookie? Seriously? How much help would that be against, say, the joker or something?" The very thought of some inexperienced trainee fumbling around during a major villain attack sent a shiver down his spine.

Minho chimed in with a raised eyebrow. "Look, Spidey, even a rookie could handle the smaller stuff, the muggings, the petty thefts. Frees you up for the bigger threats.Don't be an idiot, Spider-stuff.”

Han sighed “plus we're not suggesting you throw some newbie against the Demolition Duo. But a rookie could actually help you in the long run dude."

Seungmin crossed his arms, a stubborn crease forming between his brows. "Look, I appreciate the concern, guys, I do. But this is my city. I know these streets, these villains, better than anyone. It doesn't feel right letting someone else take over, even for a little bit."

Chan chimed in, his voice calm and soothing. "We understand, Seungmin. But maybe there's a middle ground here. Maybe a trainee program within the sect itself? Someone you can mentor and train."

Alright, alright," he conceded, dragging a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'll look into it. But," he added, a glint in his eye, "don't think this means you get out of any training sessions, Einstein."

Han playfully swatted his arm. "Hey, I do my part. Besides, who else keeps your fancy web-shooters calibrated?"though their playful banter was cut short by a sudden blare of the alarm system. A holographic map flickered to life, displaying a pulsating red dot over the location of the attack. "Looks like The Magpie's back at it," Chan announced, his voice grim. 

Seungmin rose, his mask already halfway on panic rising in his chest. "I'll handle it."

Minho grunted. "You sure, Spidey? Looks like a big operation. Maybe you should take someone with you, especially considering…" He trailed off, a knowing look in his eyes. Seungmin's gut clenched.

He hesitated for a beat, the memory of Y/N's worried face flashing in his mind. The urge to confide in them, to explain the situation, warred with the need to be strong, to prove he could handle things.

"Nah," he said, forcing a smile. "I-I’ve got this don’t worry”

He knew it wasn't the wisest decision.  But right now, the thrill of the chase, the familiar adrenaline rush of being Spider-Man, felt strangely comforting. With a quick nod, he shot out the window, disappearing into the pre-dawn sky. His teammates watched him go, a mix of concern and understanding etched on their faces. They knew Seungmin was stubborn, but they also knew him better than anyone.  They knew the city was his responsibility, his burden to bear. And they knew, deep down, that tonight, that burden felt heavier than ever.

The city blurred beneath him as Seungmin swung through the air, a knot of dread tightening in his gut with each passing second. The memory of the pulsating red dot on the holographic map mocked him, leading him straight towards his own apartment building in the heart of the financial district. It was The Joker , alright, but the location of the attack sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over him.

He wasn't just worried about stopping the villain anymore. Fear, sharp and cold, gnawed at him. Was Y/N home? Had she woken up to the commotion? Was she safe?  Images of her worried face, her tear-filled eyes from the night before, flashed before his eyes. The guilt of leaving her alone, of not being there, threatened to consume him.

He pushed the panic down, focusing on the task at hand. He had to get to her. He had to secure the building before The Magpie could get to any valuables – and most importantly, before he could get to Y/N.

 Was Y/N home? Had she heard the commotion? The thought of her witnessing a villain attack, let alone being caught in the crossfire, sent a jolt of terror through him.

He pushed himself harder, the familiar cityscape morphing into a blur of concern. He could almost hear Y/N's voice, laced with fear, echoing in his head. His guilt gnawed at him. Maybe he shouldn't have brushed off Minho's suggestion of backup. Maybe having someone by his side wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Especially tonight, when his focus was fractured, his heart a tangled mess.

The tension crackled in the air as thick as the morning fog clinging to the city. Seungmin landed with a silent crouch on the fire escape overlooking his apartment building. Every muscle in his body tensed, straining to pick up any sound of a struggle, any sign of The Magpie's thievery.

Silence. An unnatural silence that prickled his nerves. He crept closer, his spider-sense tingling with a strange unease – it wasn't the high-pitched screech that usually warned of The Magpie's nimble fingers. He peeked around the corner, his heart leaping into his throat.

There, perched precariously on the ledge of Y/N's open window, was a figure that sent a jolt of confusion straight through him. It wasn't The Magpie's sleek black and white. Instead, a flash of purple fabric caught his eye. A sickeningly wide, painted grin stretched across the face of the figure fiddling with a crowbar – The Joker.

Seungmin's breath hitched. The Joker at his apartment building? This wasn't part of the plan. Panic clawed at his throat. Had he gotten the wrong intel? Was Y/N even home? He had to get to her, now.

The image of Y/N's worried face from the night before flashed in his mind. The guilt of leaving her alone, facing a villain like The Joker, was a weight he couldn't bear. He pushed the panic down, focusing on the task at hand. He had to secure the building, get The Joker out of there, before he could get anywhere near Y/N.

A surge of anger, hotter than any he'd felt facing The Magpie, coursed through him. The Joker was unpredictable, a walking, laughing nightmare.  This wasn't just about stopping a criminal anymore, it was about protecting his city, protecting Y/N.

He was about to launch himself into action, a battle cry forming on his lips, when a soft sound stopped him cold. A voice, muffled but unmistakably the Joker, drifted from inside the apartment. He was singing?.  It didn't make sense.  The off-key singing abruptly cut out, replaced by a terrified gasp. Seungmin's heart hammered against his ribs. Y/N! He lunged for the window, his spider-sense screaming a warning he barely registered.

A chilling chuckle drifted out, followed by the Joker's voice, dripping with amusement. "Well, well, well, looks like the little songbird decided to join the party!"

Seungmin froze mid-leap. Through the window, he saw Y/N pressed against the far wall, her face pale with terror. The Joker, a manic grin plastered on his face, held a wickedly glinting switchblade to her throat. Strapped to the back of her chair, a bomb – a crude mess of wires and a blinking red light – sent a jolt of pure dread through him.

"Seems like Spidey wasn't the only party crasher, sweetheart," the Joker taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "But fear not, this little device strapped to her lovely chair? It's rather…sensitive. One wrong move, one little gasp for air from you, and well…" he trailed off, gesturing dramatically to the window with the switchblade. "This whole building goes up in a glorious fireworks display!"

Seungmin landed back on the fire escape, his mind racing. He couldn't move recklessly. One wrong step could spell disaster. "Joker," he said, his voice strained but firm. "Let her go. This isn't about her."

The Joker tilted his head, chuckling softly. "Oh, but Spidey, that's where you're wrong. This little game? It's all about you! See, this building? It's crawling with my little surprises, just like this lovely lady's chair. One wrong move from you, and boom! Instant confetti shower for the whole neighborhood!"

Seungmin's breath hitched. The entire building? Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced it down. He couldn't let the Joker see his fear. He had to play this smart. "What do you want, Joker?"

The Joker's grin widened. "Ah, the age-old question! Now, where's the fun in just telling you? Let's just say, Spidey, this little game is going to test your webslinging skills to the absolute limit!" The Joker's laughter echoed through the night, a horrifying counterpoint to Y/N's whimpers. Seungmin gritted his teeth. He was trapped. The city, Y/N, it all hung in the balance. He had to find a way out of this, a way to disarm the bombs, a way to save everyone , to save her . But how? He looked at Y/N, her terrified eyes pleading with him. He wouldn't let her down. He wouldn't let the Joker win. "Stay here," he mouthed ,despite the tremor in his hand. He knew fear could cloud judgment, and he needed her clearheaded. "I'll get you out of this."

Y/N gripped her chair, her voice barely a whisper.  "Be careful, Seungmin." Then, with a burst of speed fueled by adrenaline, he shot a web at the ceiling and launched himself through the broken window, back out into the morning ky.

The city lights bled a pale orange over the rooftops, casting long shadows that danced with the rising smoke from the flour explosion.  Seungmin's spider-sense thrummed a frantic warning, guiding him towards the source of the Joker's distorted voice – the building's central air conditioning unit, a metal Container perched precariously on the roof.

As Seungmin neared, a chilling cackle erupted from the vent shaft.  "There you are, Spidey!  Come to join the party?"  The Joker, a grotesque figure dusted white from head to toe, emerged from the vent, a manic glint in his eyes.  In his hand, he clutched a remote detonator, a cruel smile plastered on his face.

Seungmin landed with a crouch, his eyes narrowed.  Panic threatened to engulf him, a chilling image of Y/N strapped to the chair flashing in his mind.  He had to act fast, but recklessness wouldn't save the day.  He needed a plan.

"Let's cut to the chase, Joker," Seungmin said, his voice laced with a steely calm that surprised even himself.  He needed to appear in control, to throw the Joker off his game.

"Oh, Spidey, so impatient!" The Joker taunted, waving the detonator playfully.  "Let's just say, they're scattered like confetti throughout this lovely building.  One press of this button, and boom! Instant city-wide confetti shower!"

Seungmin knew the Joker thrived on chaos.  He had to take control of the situation.  "Why are you doing this?"  Seungmin demanded, hoping to distract him, to buy himself some time to formulate a plan.

The Joker tilted his head, a chilling seriousness replacing his usual theatricality. "Because, Spidey, sometimes the world needs a good reminder of how fragile it all is. A little chaos to wake the people!"

Seungmin gritted his teeth.  He couldn't reason with the Joker.  He needed to act.  But how?  His eyes darted across the rooftop, searching for anything that might give him an advantage.  A discarded metal pipe glinted in the faint light.  An idea sparked.

With a flick of his wrist, he launched a web at the detonator.  The Joker reacted with lightning speed, swatting the web away with a manic laugh.  This was it. This was his chance.

The fight that ensued was a whirlwind of movement, a deadly ballet high above the sleeping city.  The Joker, despite his age and seemingly flimsy physique, was surprisingly agile.  He dodged Seungmin's web attacks with ease, lunging at him with surprising ferocity.  His long, purple coat flapped wildly.

Seungmin used his spider-sense to his advantage, anticipating the Joker's every move.  He dodged a wild kick, using the momentum to propel himself past the Joker.  He grabbed the discarded metal pipe as he flew by, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The Joker spun around, a twisted grin on his face.  But before he could react, Seungmin launched himself back at him, wielding the pipe like a bat.  The Joker, caught off guard, barely managed to block the blow with his arm.  The metal clanged, sending a jolt of pain up Seungmin's arm, but he ignored it.

This wasn't just about neutralizing the bombs anymore. It was about revenge for the terror the Joker inflicted on Y/N, for the city he threatened to tear apart.  Each blow of the pipe was fueled by a righteous fury.

The Joker, surprised by the ferocity of Seungmin's attack, stumbled back.  He recovered quickly though, a manic glint returning to his eyes.  With a shrill laugh, he lunged at Seungmin, grappling for the pipe.  They both went tumbling to the ground, A tangle of limbs and grunts, they rolled across the rooftop gravel. Seungmin landed with a harsh thud, the metal pipe clattering away from his grasp. A searing pain lanced through his ankle – a misstep on the uneven surface.  The Joker, fueled by his own twisted sense of amusement, straddled Seungmin's chest, his cackle echoing in the night sky.

"Looks like the spider got caught in his own web, Spidey!" he shrieked, raising a gloved fist.

Seungmin gritted his teeth, the city lights blurring at the edges of his vision. He couldn't give up. Not with Y/N still in danger, not with the fate of the city hanging in the balance.  He focused, pushing past the throbbing pain in his ankle.  With a surge of adrenaline, he bucked his hips, sending the Joker tumbling backwards.

Scrambling to his feet, Seungmin ignored the white-hot stab of pain with every step. He had to disarm the Joker, disarm the bombs.  His spider-sense thrummed with a renewed urgency, guiding him towards the discarded detonator lying precariously close to the edge of the rooftop.

The Joker, regaining his footing, let out a frustrated yell.  He lunged at Seungmin, a switchblade glinting in his hand.  Seungmin barely dodged the swipe, the blade whistling past his ear.  He couldn't afford to get into a close-quarters fight with a weapon like that.  He needed to use his agility to his advantage.

He launched himself into a series of web-slinging maneuvers, zipping across the rooftop, the Joker hot on his heels.  The night air whipped past Seungmin's face as he dodged the Joker's lunges and wild throws of the switchblade.  His injured ankle screamed in protest with every jump and turn, but he pushed on, fueled by a desperate hope.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind.  He shot a web at a nearby water tower, propelling himself upwards.  The Joker skidded to a halt at the edge of the rooftop, his face contorted in rage.  Seungmin hung precariously from the web, dangling just out of reach.

"Come on down, Spidey!" The Joker taunted, his voice echoing across the rooftop. "Let's finish this!"

Seungmin gritted his teeth.  This was it.  He closed his eyes, focusing his spider-sense.  He felt a faint vibration in the air currents, a subtle shift in pressure.  The air vent!  The Joker must have used it to access the rooftop.

With a renewed surge of determination, Seungmin launched himself back towards the building, aiming for the vent cover.  He landed with a thud on the metal grating, the stale air of the ventilation system rushing over him.  He ignored the sting of scraped skin and pushed open the cover, squeezing himself through the narrow opening.

The Joker's surprised yell echoed from above.  Seungmin tumbled down the ventilation shaft, the metal scraping against his already battered body.  He landed hard on the floor of the control room, coughing and gasping for breath.

He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.  There, in the center of the room, stood a complex web of wires and blinking lights – the central control panel for the building's air conditioning system.  And nestled amongst the wires, a red button – the activation switch for the bombs.

Seungmin knew he had to act fast.  He ignored the throbbing pain in his ankle and scrambled towards the control panel.  But before he could reach it, a chilling laugh filled the room.

The Joker, having squeezed through the vent opening, stood behind him, a twisted grin plastered on his face.  The switchblade glinted menacingly in his hand.  "Well, well, Spidey," he drawled. "Looks like the party's come to you.

The Joker's cackle filled the cramped machinery room, echoing off the metal walls. Seungmin's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He had almost reached the control panel, almost disarmed the bombs. But the Joker, with his manic agility, had outsmarted him again.

"Game over, Spidey!" The Joker shrieked, raising the switchblade high. But instead of lunging at Seungmin, he darted towards the control panel. In a flash of green light, the Joker slammed his gloved hand down on the red button – the activator .

Seungmin's blood ran cold. He had failed. The neighborhood , Y/N… they were all doomed. Despair threatened to engulf him, but a flicker of defiance sparked in his eyes. He wouldn't give up. Not yet.

With a surge of adrenaline that ignored the throbbing pain in his ankle, Seungmin lunged at the Joker. He tackled him to the ground, a desperate gamble to buy some precious seconds. They grappled amongst the wires and flickering lights, a chaotic struggle fueled by fear and determination.

"You'll never win, Spider-man!" the Joker shrieked, his voice distorted with rage. But Seungmin, fueled by the image of Y/N's terrified face, wouldn't be deterred. He fought with a ferocity he didn't know he possessed, momentarily pinning the Joker down.

"Get out of here!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. Y/N. He had to get Y/N out of here. He knew the explosion wouldn't be immediate, maybe a few seconds, maybe a minute. Enough time… perhaps.

The Joker, momentarily stunned, stared at him with wide, manic eyes. In that brief moment of hesitation, Seungmin saw his chance. He shoved the Joker off him, scrambling to his feet. Ignoring the searing pain in his ankle, he sprinted towards the ventilation shaft, forcing himself through the narrow opening.

Back on the rooftop, the pre-dawn light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. He pushed through the pain, his lungs burning, his vision blurring. He had to get to Y/N. Now.

He burst through the broken window, coughing and gasping for breath. He found Y/N still tied to the chair, her face pale with fear.

"Y/N!" he rasped, stumbling towards her. "There's no time! The bombs… they're set to go off. You have to run! Don't look back!"

Before she could even speak, he used his remaining strength to whip out a web and slice through the ropes binding her. With a final look, etched with a mixture of love and fear, he pushed her towards the broken window.

"Go!" he screamed, his voice hoarse. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back. He wouldn't let her see him afraid.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then with a tearful nod, she scrambled through the window and disappeared into the pre-dawn sky. A choked sob escaped her lips, but she ran, not daring to look back.

Seungmin watched her go, a wave of despair washing over him. He had failed. He hadn't been able to save the city, hadn't been able to save himself. He closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

But just then, a powerful shove sent him sprawling across the roof. The Joker, a manic grin plastered on his face, stood above him.

"Seems like playtime's over, Spidey," the Joker taunted, his voice laced with a chilling glee. "Let's see how you do in the grand finale!"

The world seemed to slow down for Seungmin. The city lights shimmered below, a distorted reflection of the chaos swirling within him. Despair threatened to consume him, the weight of his failure crushing him. He was injured, alone, facing a madman with a detonator that could tear the city apart.

Yet, a spark flickered deep within him, a defiance fueled by the memory of Y/N's tearful face as she ran. He couldn't give up. Not yet. Not while there was even a sliver of hope.

Seungmin forced his eyes open, meeting the Joker's manic stare. A plan, desperate and risky, began to form in his mind.  "You think you've won, Joker?" he rasped, his voice laced with a bravado he didn't quite feel. "Look closer."

He gestured weakly towards the sky, where the faintest light of dawn was beginning to peek over the horizon.  "The sun's rising, Joker. You hate the light, don't you? It exposes the flaws in your little game."

The Joker's eyes narrowed. He hated being outsmarted, hated anything that disrupted his carefully crafted chaos.  Seungmin pressed on, his voice gaining a hint of strength.

"Maybe," he continued, "the bombs are just a distraction. Maybe the real game is proving you're not afraid of the light. Prove it, Joker. Press the button again. Show everyone you're not a coward hiding in the shadows.Cut the time."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed the Joker's face, a chink in his usual manic facade. Seungmin knew he was gambling, pushing the Joker's fragile ego to the limit.  But it was their only chance.

As the silence stretched, the tension crackled in the air.  The Joker's hand hovered over the button , his face a mask of conflicting emotions.  Was he considering it?  Seungmin held his breath, his injured body screaming in protest.

Suddenly, the Joker threw back his head and let out a loud, barking laugh.  "Oh, Spidey," he cackled, the sound echoing across the rooftop. "You are a cunning little spider! Always trying to play mind games. But you underestimate me!"

He raised the detonator high, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Perhaps the light bothers me," he hissed, "but the thought of all those screaming people… oh, the beautiful symphony of chaos!"

The Joker shrieked in excitement , his eyes burning with amusement . His grip tightened on the controller , his manic grin replaced by a snarl.  Seungmin knew he wouldn't hesitate to press the button now.

With a surge of adrenaline fueled by a desperate hope, Seungmin launched himself forward.  He ignored the searing pain in his ankle, his only focus on the Joker and the detonator clutched in his hand.

He tackled the Joker with a cry, sending them both sprawling across the rooftop agap. The controller flew from the Joker's grasp, clattering across the gravel.  Seungmin lunged for it, his fingers brushing against the smooth plastic.

Just then, a powerful kick landed on his injured ankle, sending him whimpering in pain.  The world tilted on its axis.  A sickening crack echoed in the night air as his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.  Agony lanced through him, momentarily stealing his breath.

The Joker, fueled by rage, scrabbled towards the object .  Seungmin reached out with a web strand, the last reserves of his strength leaving him. But it was too late.  The Joker snatched the detonator, a malevolent glee twisting his features.

With a maniacal laugh, he slammed his thumb down on the red button.  A harsh digital voice echoed through the night air.  "Explosion sequence initiated.Time cut in  half. Two minutes and thirty seconds remaining."

The Joker's laughter died in his throat, replaced by a look of sudden terror.  He hadn't meant to activate it so soon!  Panic flickered in his eyes for a brief moment before a twisted grin returned.

"Oops," he cackled, a hint of hysteria in his voice.  "Looks like playtime's over for everyone!"  He turned on his heel and darted towards the edge of the rooftop.

Before anyone could react, the Joker launched himself into the air, a purple He turned on his heel and darted towards the edge of the rooftop.

Before anyone could react, the Joker launched himself into the air, a purple

parachute blowing out behind him like a monstrous cape.  Seungmin watched, a mixture of pain and horror gripping him, as the Joker drifted away, a chilling echo of his laughter trailing behind.

The Joker's manic laughter echoed in Seungmin's ears even after he disappeared into the night sky. A digital voice, cold and unforgiving, filled the air: "One minute and fifty seconds remaining."  His ankle throbbed like a trapped bird, and a shard of bone jutted out from his wrist at an unnatural angle.

Y/N… where was Y/N?  Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced it down.  There was no time for fear.

Scrambling to his knees, the world tilted sickeningly.  Ignorance was no longer an option. He had to disarm the bombs. The control panel… it had to be in the ventilation shaft.  He forced himself to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

But with each agonizing step, a terrible truth settled in his gut.  He wouldn't make it.  The pain, the distance… it was all too much.  He was a broken machine, and the clock was ticking too fast.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but a primal instinct for survival flared within him. He couldn't save the city, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him.  His eyes darted towards the open window behind him, the jagged edges a stark contrast to the blinding light above.

The digital voice chimed again, a cruel reminder of his dwindling time: "One minute and fifteen seconds remaining."  His breath hitched.  He wouldn't disarm the bombs.  He couldn't be a hero this time.  But he could try to live.

With a surge of adrenaline fueled by a sliver of hope, Seungmin lunged towards the window.  The broken glass tore at his clothes and flesh, a fleeting pain compared to the agony already coursing through him.  He launched himself through the opening, the wind whipping past him, a chilling song of finality.

He barely registered the screams from bellow , the blinding flash of light that engulfed the building, or the earth-shattering roar of the explosion.  The world became a blur of colors and pain, a cacophony of sounds fading into a distant echo.

Then, blessed darkness.

Seungmin blacked out before he could even feel the impact. He was a broken man falling and had no control anymore.

——-

The harsh fluorescent light felt like a blowtorch to Seungmin's eyelids. A dull throb pulsed in his head, a metronome keeping time with the sterile beeps of nearby machinery. The sterile scent of disinfectant stung his nose, a stark contrast to the acrid tang of smoke that clung to his memory.

He cracked open an eye, wincing at the sudden intrusion of light. His vision swam, the white ceiling a dizzying expanse. Slowly, the room came into focus. Sterile white walls, a heart monitor with its jagged green line, a vase holding a single, wilting carnation. He was in a hospital room.

Memories flooded back in a sickening rush. The building, the glint of chrome seconds before the world went red, the heart-stopping noise , the jarring impact… then nothing.

His throat felt like sandpaper. He croaked out a weak, "Hello?"

A strangled sob cut through the sterile silence. Y/N sat beside the bed, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent tears. Seungmin's heart lurched. He turned his head, panic clawing at his throat.

"Y/N?" Her name came out raspier than intended, but it was enough to draw her gaze up. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glassy with unshed tears, met his.

A choked cry escaped her lips as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his hospital gown. The scent of her shampoo, a familiar comfort, filled his senses. The world faded away, leaving only the frantic beat of his heart and the tremors wracking her body.

"Seungmin," she choked out, her voice thick with tears. "I… I saw the news. They said the explosion...and I saw the fire…" Her voice broke, replaced by another sob that tore through him. "And then they mentioned Spider-Man. Seungmin, I thought… I thought I lost you."

He winced, the memory of the near-death experience sending a fresh jolt of pain through him. He held her close, whispering reassurances into her hair. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here. I'm alright."

She pulled back slightly, tears glistening on her cheeks. "But you could have… You could have died, Seungmin." Her voice rose, laced with a raw desperation. "What would I have done without you?"

He cupped her face with his uninjured hand, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "I know," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't just stand there. People were in danger…you were in danger."

Y/N's eyes searched his, a mix of worry and a simmering anger swirling within them. "I know you," she said softly. "You're a hero. But you're also my hero, Seungmin. And the thought of losing you…"

Her voice trailed off, a single tear rolling down her cheek. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, the vulnerability in his eyes echoing the fear in hers. "I promise, I'll always try to come back to you."

She took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just… promise to be careful, okay? For me? Don't you dare scare me like that ever again." There was a desperate plea in her voice, a fear that transcended just the potential loss of a hero.

He squeezed her hand, a silent promise hanging between them. The world outside the sterile walls might be filled with danger, but for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the hospital room, they had each other. And that, for Seungmin, was all that mattered. Yet, a nagging guilt gnawed at him. "Y/N," he started, his voice barely a whisper.

"Shh," she hushed him, nuzzling closer. "Just rest. You need to get better."

But he couldn't let it go. "I need to tell you something," he confessed, his voice thick with guilt. "About… about me,the Spider-Man thing."

"So,uhm…" Seungmin began, his voice still a little raspy. He squeezed Y/N's hand, finding comfort in her warmth.  "Remember how we were talking about Spider-Man and how scared you were?"

Y/N sniffled, wiping away a lingering tear. "How could I forget?" she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

"They suggested I… train someone," he explained, his voice hesitant.  "An apprentice, someone who could learn the ropes and help out with the smaller stuff, the muggings, the petty thefts. Freeing me up for the bigger threats and eventually maybe…take over?."

Y/N listened intently, her brow furrowed in thought.  "That could be good," she admitted.  "You can't be everywhere at once, Seungmin. And maybe having some backup would ease your mind a little."

He reached out, taking her hand in his.  "It's not just about my mind," he confessed.  "It's about being there for you too. I don't want to put you through this constant worry every time there's trouble."

Y/N squeezed his hand back, her gaze filled with understanding and unwavering support.  "I understand," she said softly.

Seungmin squeezed her hand, a silent vow echoing in his heart. He was Spider-Man, the protector of the city. But he was also Seungmin, and Y/N was his rock. Together, they would find a way to balance his heroic duties with the life they shared.

"Finding an apprentice won't be easy, though," he mused, a thoughtful crease forming on his forehead. "There's a lot at stake. They need to be trustworthy, brave, and quick on their feet."

Y/N tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well, you wouldn't need to look very far to find someone brave, would you?" she teased, nudging him playfully.

Seungmin chuckled, his heart swelling with warmth. "Maybe not," he conceded. "But there's more to it than that. They need to be able to keep a secret, understand the risks involved, and be willing to put themselves out there for people they don't even know."

"Sounds like tall toddler ," Y/N admitted. "But you know your team better than anyone. They wouldn't have suggested it if they didn't think it was possible."

Seungmin nodded, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. "They're right," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "Maybe this is the answer I've been looking for. A way to be Spider-Man and still be there for you."

A curious glint sparked in Y/N's eyes. "So, where exactly do you find these… apprentices?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.

Seungmin chuckled. "Actually," he began, "the city runs a program called the Hero Academy. It's for aspiring heroes, people with potential who want to learn the ropes, develop their skills, and maybe even one day join the ranks of the city's protectors."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A Hero Academy? That sounds… official. I always thought heroes were more like, lone wolves, you know, brooding on rooftops."

Seungmin laughed. "There's definitely some brooding involved," he admitted with a playful wink. "But there's also a lot of training, teamwork, and strategy. The Academy would be a great place to find someone who's already dedicated to the cause, someone who understands the responsibility that comes with being a hero."

Y/N pondered this for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So, you'd be training someone who already has a basic understanding of heroics? That could be good. Less time spent teaching them the difference between a fire escape and a villain's lair, more time focusing on the real threats."

"Exactly," Seungmin said, relief washing over him. Not only did Y/N seem okay with the idea of an apprentice, but she also understood the logic behind it.

"So, what's next, Spidey-teacher?" Y/N asked, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

Seungmin grinned. "Next, I guess, is a little visit to the Academy. Maybe they have some promising rookies who wouldn't mind learning from the best." He winked, earning a playful swat on the arm from Y/n."And you know I’ve been at it for a while,plus being a hero is amazing, but…" Seungmin trailed off, squeezing her hand gently. "Sometimes, a guy just wants a normal life. You know, the kind with… events like this, when you and I have to worry about our future…."

A soft smile tugged at her lips.Y/n understood. The adrenaline rush, the constant danger, it wasn't something most people could handle forever.

"Are you saying...?" she prompted voice barely a whisper.

Seungmin met Y/n’s gaze, his eyes filled with a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm saying, maybe after a few more years, when things have settled down a bit… maybe it'll be time for me to hang up the webs."

Her breath hitched. "For good?"

"Well," he continued, a playful glint in his eyes, "there's always the chance a supervillain decides to crash our retirement party, but…" his voice softened again, "mostly for good. I want a life with you, Y/N. A real life, where we can build something together, a family…"

The unspoken question hung in the air.Y/n’s heart hammered against her ribs, a joyous counterpoint to the city's soft hum below. Leaning forward, she closed the distance between them, whispering the answer he longed to hear, "Yes, Seungmin. I want that too."

Seungmin closed the remaining gap, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and full of yearning. It was a soft exploration, a taste of what was to come. The taste of coffee and something deeper, a connection that transcended their years of friendship.

As the kiss deepened, a spark ignited, sending a jolt of electricity through both. It was a kiss filled with the unspoken words of love, relief, and a future brimming with possibilities.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers . His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, held a universe of emotions. "I love you, Y/N," he breathed softly.

Taglist: @juskz @blackhairandbangs @sxnset-angel @emossssss @hanjsquokka @feelikecinderella @starlostastronaut @kpopsstuffs @lixxpix @jinnie-ret @bangchans-angel @puppyminnnie @michelle4eve @kpopsstuffs @skzswife @saiko-skz @quailbagutte @briqnne @ilychee08 @dollce-exe

[elizabethplaid]

daily notes - aug 29, 2024

-- Washed, dried, and folded a load of laundry all on my own. Still have a backlog of clean clothes to put away. But little accomplishments are still important.

-- Lately, I've been eating dinner in the kitchen, watching videos on my phone. I've also been wearing a t-shirt and pj pants, instead of the usual tank top and shorts. It's just for a couple hours at most, but it's a slow test of my sensory limits.

-- Feeling light-headed after dinner, along with pelvic pain (mittelschmerz).

-- Slept a lot today, with Moscow waking me each time. We had some nice cuddling, but she wants to eat my computer cords.

--Things are weighing on my emotions a little tonight. It's probably because I'm tired and might be getting sick. This sensory nonsense has been going on for like 6+ months now. It's not as intense as it was, thankfully. It's the fatigue of time, of not understanding my body, of confronting all these old emotions. It just wears me down.

-- I want to go to Dunkin soon, as I've heard they should have pumpkin spice treats available. I may be a basic white girl, but I'm also a slag for comforting treats. I'm also a cheap date. *thumbs up*

-- I'm having such a tough time deciphering these bodily sensations. It feels like what leads up to a UTI, but I'm not having the other symptoms yet. Just keeping an eye on things for now, trying to keep my hopes up.

--- If it wasn't for all the sensory nonsense this year, I probably wouldn't feel as doubtful as I do. These sensations come and go, just like all the other weird sensations.

-- I have my annual physical in early October, so about a month from now. I plan to talk about all the sensory nonsense. My body is aging, so that could be a factor in how my body is reacting. I know counseling work is the big reason behind most of this - that I'm trying to re-associate my brain with my body, after many years of dissociating.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Kirsty angst hurts but the headcanons? 🥺🥺

TW: Medical content, eating disorders, alcoholism, drug abuse/addiction, miscarriage, abortion, emotional abuse, not very Paris or Gilmore (Emily, Rory, Lorelai) friendly

feels like i'm still missing stuff but like oh well

Kirsty was born with underdeveloped inner ears, she has always had moderate hearing loss (undiagnosed) but when she gets a head injury in the s2 car accident, it becomes more severe and finally gets diagnosed

Whenever Kirsty is really stressed or overwhelmed, she goes into a deep cleaning overdrive until she physically can’t anymore and just ends up laying on the floor wherever she was last working

Kirsty starts wearing hearing aids when she's 17, she gets her first cane at 18 but doesn't need it all the time, and as an adult she gets a second cane (she gets the floral cane in high school, the chair cane as an adult)

Kirsty suffers from a lot of chronic pain from dance (especially hips, knees, and ankles) and is almost always using at least one hot water bottle when she’s at home, as well as even more general chronic pain

Kirsty also struggles with chronic fatigue, she struggles to force herself out of bed most days which is a significant factor in her coffee addiction, though even then it doesn't help very much.

Kirsty has Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome, which is an abnormal heartbeat. It's present from birth but it's common to not exhibit symptoms for a long time – in Kirsty’s case it first flared up the summer after s2 but with cutting back caffeine and getting treatment for her anxiety it got under control before much testing was done; she’s had a few episodes since then but it doesn’t get really bad again until season 7 where it leads to surgery and more long term heart issues

She doesn’t realize it until her s7 heart issues but she’s absolutely terrified to die

She's allergic to latex and mushrooms

Kirsty has had an eating disorder since she was eight years old – this isn't including the fact that she is autistic and very particular about her food as well. It was the result of Emily's constant criticism of Kirsty's appearance and eating habits, and a bit of Kirsty's major control issues spiralling

She started taking anxiety medication in New York, but has kept it a secret because she knows that both Emily and Lorelai would react very negatively

Kirsty battles with alcoholism and drug addiction for most of her life. It starts in her freshman year of high school – originally with alcohol and smoking but then she also starts smoking weed (doesn't particularly like it but it makes her less socially anxious at parties) and starts doing coke. She is able to get mostly sober but has some relapses over the years.

Kirsty has five children, four pregnancies, and two labours. Her first pregnancy is before season 1, she gets an abortion (Chandler is the only person who knows, she tells Logan a couple of years later but pre-Yale). Her second pregnancy is either through s3 (in piece) or just after graduating Yale (my way/most AUs). Her third is in either s6 (in piece) or s7 (my way), she miscarries. And her fourth is when she's in her thirties, the labour almost kills her. She has twins the first time and triplets the last.

She also struggles from postpartum depression. She's mostly okay the first time, throwing herself into preparing for Yale helps to distract her, but it's very bad with the triplets

Kirsty absolutely adores the snow. She loves rain too, but snow is as magical to her as it is to Lorelai.

Kirsty is also always cold. So while she loves snow, she does end up suffering a lot because once she gets cold, she really struggles to warm back up, but she'll curl up under blankets with her hot water bottles and tea/hot chocolate and look at the snow out the window

Kirsty fractures her ankle in Presenting Lorelai Gilmore ( only in My Way ), she also fractures her wrist in Teach Me Tonight. She gets a severe concussion in Teach Me Tonight as well, and cracks at least two ribs, and has a spinal injury and another severe concussion from Forester pushing her down a flight of stairs in Keg Max

When Kirsty has her bad heart flare up in s7, Colin and Finn drop everything to move into the apartment and help out – in both verses, as does Jess (in My Way, he already lived with her in Piece) and Tristan (in Piece, he already lived with her in My Way), and Logan tries to come back to New Haven as often as possible

Kirsty is the absolute worst��when she’s sick!  She does not take care of herself and will keep going until the collapses!  She’s very self sufficient and will insist that she’s absolutely fine, no matter how bad things actually are!  It’s very difficult to convince her to let anyone help, or even to get her to admit that she’s sick — it started when she was a child because of her refusal to miss a dance competition over being sick, so she would just take as much cold medicine as she safely could and just kept dancing, and she’s carried that well into adulthood

(and in more serious cases, of which she’s definitely had some, her deep rooted fear of hospitals and doctors absolutely leads to her doing anything to not have to actually see a doctor, she also really is deeply deeply terrified of doctors and if she has to go to a hospital or doctor's office she will have at least one panic attack, regardless of whether or not she's the patient)

Kirsty is very prone to dissociative episodes and goes nonverbal when they happen, it's her brain's way of protecting her from her anxiety – they're set off the most by Emily, Lorelai, Forester, and Christopher

Kirsty is the reason that Paris doesn't get into Harvard. She calls Kirsty the R slur (in front of half their grade and multiple teachers) and Kirsty flips her shit and immediately goes to Charleston, throws a bit of a fit, he’s just kind of like “sucks to suck”, and looking him in the eye she picks up the phone on his desk and calls Emily. needless to say, he backtracks quickly and suspends her, and removes her as editor of the paper (I’m sort of considering having this be in s3 during the student council mess bc then she could also be removed as class president)

Kirsty is beyond pissed to end up in a quad with she and Rory at Yale, and is trying to petition to be able to move rooms. Ultimately, after Emily decides to redecorate the dorm without permission, Kirsty gets a note from her therapist saying that for her physical and mental safety/wellbeing, Kirsty will no longer be living on campus (Kirsty also threatens to sue them and to sell the story to the press) – she gets herself an apartment and doesn't tell anyone where she lives

Kirsty has endometriosis. Her periods are very irregular and very painful, it's also one of the factors in sex being extremely uncomfortable for her, and causes her severe nausea

Kirsty has (at least) three service dogs over the years, starting in s7! They're all introduced here!

When Emily is mad at Kirsty, she burns childhood photos of her (Richard has learned to have his own copies of every photo) and says she’s having a funeral for her granddaughter – side note, Kirsty has significantly more of a relationship with Emily growing up than Rory did. Emily pays for all of Kirsty's dance fees (lessons, shoes, travel, competitions, costumes, etc, plus is the one to take her to New York every year when she does Nutcracker) but in exchange, Kirsty visits her once a week (usually Sunday afternoons), is a very involved DAR member, and helps out with every event that Emily hosts

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

7th Dimension | Gojo Satoru Multi-Fic (Chapter 8)

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 7.9

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD VERSION/LINK (I am entirely ahead on this site now. 7th Dimension on Wattpad has now accumulated more than 10 chapters even before I published this one tonight. There are minimal scenes back in the previous chapters which has been altered there, so sorry about to those who only read my updates through Tumblr because there might be some differences in Satoru’s characteristics which has been changed on Wattpad already, yet y'all are bound to read the altercations in further chapters. Heehee.)

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: A day spent with Satoru had built and concocted rainbows and butterflies. Until he had to pull out another mischievous stunt beneath his blindfolds that ticked you to the bones, leaving you in a flustering mess and with a broken promise that you've believed him to be ignorant of. Or so you thought?

Warnings: Gojo being Gojo. Quick story tellin' upon what happened during the intimate apparel moment you had with him that he has forced you in back on the previous chapters. LMAO. Maki Zenin has been introduced in this chapter. Gojo wouldn't be physically present for this chapter and on the next too. But he has his scenes. Heehee. Y'all better miss him when he comes back. We're giving the spotlight to his students for the mean time. Y/N, Y/L/N means the input of your name and then your last name. It's just for one dialogue mentioned by Megumi, though. Heehee. Megumi GIF's! <3 

A/N: Here's chapter 8 that I promised! If y'all have any suggestions for songs that are fit for 7th Dimension, please don't hesitate to comment, message or tell me! I'm open for any songs to listen to whenever I'm writing! <3 Thank you so much! Also wanna include a playlist chapter for this fanfic book we have. <3 

7th Dimension Taglist: @dailystsg (Send me an ask or message if you want to be added or removed, bb’s!)

FEEDBACKS HELP A LOT FOR A WRITER. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MAKE MY HEART TINGLE AND SQUEAL, ISTG. 💙 I DO APPRECIATE THEM ALL. Your feedbacks and kind words makes me forget the fatigue that I'm in!

SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS WITH EVERY CHAPTER I WRITE. I ain't a professional writer! I'm just a potato-hoe! LMAO.

Words: 6.8k+

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits, also those posted are not mine especially the GIF's. (I dunno how to make GIF's 😭) (Other Megumi Fushiguro GIFs are from ydotome here on Tumblr! <3 Credits to the users!) I only own the plot of 7th Dimension. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. OG characters are created by me and will be stated during my brief author's notes. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be for the sake of the story.

"GO-JO SA-TO-RUUUUU! WHERE-THE-HECK-ARE-YOU-HIDING?!"

Per vowel had been a heap of emotional amalgams. Those of which considered sentiments of a shamed woman. You've run an expectation from the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer, wrapping your mind over the experiences and bond you had with Satoru Gojo. His arrogant and cheeky character being brought to light after such an enthralling engagement of a day. This mental picture you had of him bordered with rainbows, bliss and dreams---that was merely fictitious.

For the reason of one stunt he mischievously pulled today. Those impressions had been thrown in the dumps, tied along through wraps of dark, sable plastic bags and had been chomped by disgusting rats.

A fantasy that should've been considered as your hapless delusions.

He'd made you eat crow, his actions placing you in a seat filled with abash and realization that those conceptualization will forever just be a folktale ought to be a thorough fib and a shaggy-dog story.

In account of Satoru's stunt that he just pulled under those foolish clothing that covered his damn heavenly eyes, you were going ape. The anger seen from Inside Out that was shown and created by Disney had been an elaborated representation of who you are right now. The Tiny-Chan who'd went berserk and trying to pin-point where your target was.

You were obviously the victim here. It wasn't Satoru, no.

Hence, standing in the middle of a large track and field wasn't enough to track down the menace. Once you were in a towering---tiny rage and in ones chagrin, the determination was set unrelented. By hook or by crook, you were ticking this down on your bribery notes you had for Satoru. Alongside, thinking of his broken promise as another of your protection rackets you had for him.

"I'M BURNING YOU ALIVE, YOU ANNOYING BLINDFOLDED IDIOT! JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!"

In the midst of rousing from your day. The sunlight irradiating panels of warm beam across your face despite of remembering how you've left it closed last night. Your wonderment quickly has been given an answer to when you've been greeted by your stuffed cat toy who was neatly placed on the end of your bed. You were still sleepy-eyed, blinking through your awakened slumber. Blurry vision adapting along a morning you've hoped to be peaceful even just for the time being.

Just for at least the moment you haven't stepped foot outside Satoru's dormitory room because he might be lurking around somewhere.

Yet, the hope has just been a chasm of shattered dreams when your prized possession named 'Toru' had such a patterned, flowery piece of Granny-panties worn across its head; delineating it as a form of blindfold---much to his sheer jolly and persistent belief that you've chosen the white cat in hopes of remembering him when he wasn't around. It stretched across its poor head, squeezing it as if 'Toru' was being suffocated.

Death from Granny Panties it was then.

Waking up to that alone was enough to consider why you've even thought that Satoru was capable of holding a green flag alongside the red.

But, you were caught raising the red flag and probably screaming his full name on your pillow when you've seen a pre-recorded device that rested upon the bed-side table. Curiosity killed the cat---it even spoiled the broth; the fantasy of a dream you've wished to have once you've pressed play.

Thus, through gritted teeth, you've listened. The device being placed on your ear and you've felt a mixture of emotions rush through you. "Now, now. Don't be shy---," Satoru's recorded voiced inflamed the ignominy of a half-meant blague, egging on to the reaction he had gotten since that train escapades you both had. Not gonna lie, but he'd gotten you on the first half of his pause. His silvery pitch stimulating that warmth spreading through your belly when the second half of his pre-recorded message had your fingers tightly clutching onto the device like you were bound to hurl them away.

"---Feel free to wear it, Tiny-Chan. Hehehe. Don't miss me too much, alright?"

You were actually kicking your feet underneath the duvet like a spoiled and pettish kid.

Satoru even stoked your infuriation up. His stunts never ended with that. He was known to be ambitious, having this certain desire to top off more than what was expectant of him. You've thought he would've been lenient towards you, perceiving that mercy he had for his students had already been a special prize earned for you.

Yet, you were wrong.

Satoru had taken all of your underwear that has already been washed and were newly bought by him. The embarrassment you've gathered with every type of intimate apparel that he had criticized and joyously taken part in. Others being handpicked by the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer as if he acted that he would get a fortunate stroke of serendipity over seeing you in it.

You've convinced yourself that he was the financer and let him sort what he thought would float your boat.

His choices were safe because he'd taken at least every type and choice along the basket you've held. From an intimate apparel that you would surely wear till the peppery hot ones. Downright naughty and obscene enough for you to think twice, making you stop in your tracks as you've did a double take; a double-check on the apparels alone.

The blistering heat traveling towards your face when you've given each a thorough inspection, your expressions pulling your face into a blend of horror and embarrassment.

It was entirely surprising that despite of how he was haphazardly selecting which was which, the sizes were actually damn right.

Because the perverted idiot has coaxed you into telling your vital statistics to him.

He even got to the point of slipping a risquè lingerie without even being aware of it until it was finally in a heap of intimate apparels that the cashier has randomly dropped off in one go which earned a whisper grumble of your native language once you've deliberately took a side-step to hid behind Satoru's gigantuan height to cast a shadow upon your humiliation.

If only you were in your dimension---you wouldn't have been this much of a beggar.

This third stunt he pulled sent you in a fit of rage because he has left you with nothing but those Granny-Pannies he had worn over Neko-san. How maddened you were after seeing the drawer that were once filled with new set of undergarments after having a neat, calming shower and expecting that he wouldn't make your hackles rise more, you've completely underestimated the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive.

Gojo had left you nothing but those granny-pannies and a bra that matched with the pattern of it. Highly remembering that you had not bought nor had the possibility that he had slip them in the basket aside from the coveted lingerie you had no idea in.

Which resulted why you screaming your lungs out in the middle of Tokyo Jujutsu High's Track N' Field like a berserk woman, hunting down Satoru through high and low, knowing damn well that he teleports wasn't helping the idea that he did not want to be seen nor remembered the promise he made in the middle of your supposed to be slumber.

"Tiny-Chan!"

You were seated on the side of your bed. Ready to have the nap of your life when Satoru suddenly popped in like a bubble in front of you. The blindfolded man-child just used his teleportation abilities like he had already been using them from the start without prevarication. He was now garbed in his usual Jujutsu uniform. His Stygian blindfolds over his eyes as if he had work or had been working after that rendezvous you've had with him, this succeeding ventures had been after the meeting he had with that particular principal and the old man he was pertaining to back at the time being.

"What the---really!---don't you know how to knock, Satoru?!" you've held onto your chest, your heart beating fast and not knowing if it was because of the fact that he surprised you or was it because of his unsolicited presence around the room.

It was probably both. Since you weren't entirely acceptant over the idea that people had the privilege to pop around and second was the actuality that his presence alone had been too compelling for the heart that he was inured to this unwelcomed invite to his---well...---own quarters.

"Oi, Isn't this my room to start with?" Satoru retorted, sending the question back in a beguiled, contemptuous resonance of his voice. He'd brought a finger, pointing towards the ceiling to quip his sarcasm as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "---You're technically the trespasser here."

You've opened your mouth to speak but called a halt to it, giving him a shrug of your shoulder instead. This period of lethargy taking a toll on you, worn to a frazzle to even retaliate to his accustomed teasing here and there.

Again, this came forth to be the new normal for you when you've began to exhibit your presence from the moment you've stepped foot on Satoru's dimension. If earth---the one you lived in for years had everyone adapting to their dilemma of habituating to COVID-19's new normal--- Perhaps, in the actuality of Satoru's world, he was the plague needed to be adapted.

Such a wonderful, stellar, headache of a plague indeed.

"Whatever. It's like...past midnight already. What do you want?"

Satoru was wasting his time---your time---into hemming and hawing before actually being forthright, gaping up at the ceiling and trying to mentally word out what he wanted to say with a lingering hum. "Hm..." he trailed off, a thick finger situated under his chin while he began to mule over the idea he had, "I want breakfast tomorrow."

You've given him a lethargic blink of an eye, those random conversations and discussions you had with him seeming to bore inside your mind that you had to mention again, "I remembered you told me you knew how to cook on your own."

Hence, the white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer was---obviously---proud at that. Satoru even told you and by meaning of telling, he gladly emphasized that he could do a lot of things---Anything. Gojo bragged to make it clear, which is why it was making you wonder why you were being asked to cook for him aside from his sweets that he has always been selfish of, keeping them all for him to take and devour.

"Yep! Hehe. Your ruptured head's recovering then! I'm glad you remembered how I could do a lot of things!" Satoru chuckled. You've never noticed that he feigned the awkwardness that seem to strain along his words with a laugh, like a kid being caught for lying or for whatever he wanted to actually say.

"It's because you just basically told me about it this morning when we were out for shopping," you raised a brow, wanting him to continue further. A solid reasoning that could get you to say yes as you added, "---What's in it for me if I do so?"

That sounded like a curt query. The first dulled reply he had gotten out of you today. This out of the blue visit he had was eating away at him. Satoru was mentally blaming your obstinate reasoning over all. Whether you had trust issues, he had no idea. It appeared like you always needed evidences through your words---his words---to believe a fact. He seemed to be dwelling this casual conversation too much with you because of a timbre that he had an aversion to but he just could not get the proper words out of his mouth verbally tonight.

Did he do something wrong?

The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer began to putter around his old room, wandering towards a vacant area within his chambers that his own, impulsive footing has brought him in before he could even come to realize. He'd graciously leaned on the wall with the need to cross his arms in his snazzy posture.

"Well, I just want you to cook breakfast for me. Although, I'm not craving for anything sweet tomorrow. Perhaps, after. I probably would. So, what do ya' say, huh?"

Reveling more in such a sapped state made you more nonchalant than ever. The most offhand chatter he ever experienced with you. It made his lukewarm conversations he had with Nanami Kento sound better than this enervated discourse he was having. Had he visited you in a wrong time then? Were you sick? Had you experienced another mindwrecking headache again?

What was he even saying? His mouth forced the urge to frown from his concealed, latent thoughts. Another discovery, one that left him slightly perturbed through that sheltered cage he never wanted to rattle. Though, he'd also learned and caught sight of your bare, fretful toes shaded beneath the ends of your Pajamas that were of a flurry, grazing against each other as time passed by with him.

You were knackered and anxious at the same time.

"Kay, Satoru."

Satoru blinked from beneath his blindfolds, his hands that were now inside his pockets seeming to cease from aimlessly touching the fabrics and his possessions inside when he'd heard that totally bushed out whisper of yours, the bonny obedience---an off the record finding that he'd somehow perceived to be oddly captivating have dragged that significant heat towards that deepest parts of him.

It traversed towards bizarre points ought to be tinted in hues. This fuzzy feeling of his scattering in positions he was not ready for. An intricate sentiment that was filled of recondite senses; more so than what a battle of Jujutsu could ever bring him in.

"Kay? As simple as that? Uh---Alright, alright. You're not complaining this time? Not even a single one? No rebuttal or anything?"

He'd taken a fat pause, seeming to be taken to a spot that made his side unfavorable when it never---ever---happened before. Satoru knew he should've thought twice despite of not acquiring the said word from the dictionary. This whole weary discussion he was having had been purely adverse from his rash decisions of his inability to catch some z's since the last few months.

It had become dreadful. Tiring to be honest because the longest snooze he had was at least a maximum of two to three hours tops.

He was entirely aware that you were in your most jaded condition. Definitely a shedload of your pooped state that Satoru has encountered for the very first time. You were slothful upon blinking, cutesy as he ever did inattentively identified while waiting for him to say anything else. Was it this unsettling feeling that left him uncomfortable now when you weren't talking a lot?

Satoru Gojo wanted you talking. He was bent on for you to throw things at him. A tissue paper, a pillow or anything at least, much to his surreal proclivity. The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer subtly desired for your piqued retaliations for his rash, annoying gestures and habits.

Yet, this wasn't what he has mentally pictured to be in when he had impulsively welcomed himself to announce his presence to your fatigued form.

"Don't forget to save a portion of meal for you too." Satoru added as a matter of fact, not getting the right words out of his mouth that earned an indistinct, shaky grin from the latter.

A tottering grin?

It was a far-fetched idea. One that was impossible for the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer but he felt it.

You raised both of your brows, certainly leaving you skeptical into thinking that you would cook only for him when it wasn't even his precious sweetmeats to begin with, "You think I'm going to cook only for you? Hey, I've learned from my mistakes over how you're not bound on sharing yours. You're an uncharitable, guy."

He chuckled underneath that subtle, miniscule, waver of his breath, "You sure know that only happens with my sweets, Tiny-Chan." pause. "---says the penny-pinching, parsimonous girl who's cheap as heck when it's not even her money to begin with. Look at all these bags scattered around." Gojo simply flicked a wrist to gesture towards the chaotic paper bags, those that were of a higgledy-piggledy mountain of them casted off on one corner. His slovenly speech continuing on, "---yet, to think that you're calling me uncharitable?"

"Oh, hush. I'm done arguing about that tonight. I'll deal with you tomorrow. Kay? Sweet dreams!" It was short. Blunt. Impassive which had been contrast to that keyed up heart dancing to the Macarena when Satoru had visited you during the night, unprompted.

This contrasting fusion inhabiting more to your jaded silence that waited with bated breath. You were trying to finish the conversation with him, his presence that has always created rattles after rattles for your heart. Every minute of the day and every time you were adapting, it seemed like it was becoming easier to control it all through an exterior, a veneer composure masked from the outside. But, in all sincerity---you were internally rickety whenever he was around and whenever you were entirely conscious of him.

With all possible haste, you've pulled the hem of the duvet over your head, turning your body away from the Jujutsu Sorcerer who tarried a bit longer than he intended to. He'd deliberated towards your answer that went straight over your shoulder, literally and figuratively. He'd stared with wonder, caught from the rude awakening that you've tried to cease in between the nightly discussion you were having with him.

Guess Satoru had to goof off on other things instead to surpass this insomnia he was having.

"E-Eh? But---you're gonna' cook breakfast for me, right?" his mouth was unable to fight the frown off his face from being shunned to the side, thwarted by the brief end of a conversation that he was experiencing from his Tiny-chan. He'd impatiently waited for a little while before gaining nothing but your intentional silence in return, "---It's a promise then! Goodnight! See you tomorrow! Hehe!" Gojo sent a feigned, final beam before he'd clasped his hands together, popping off like a bubble like how he'd popped in as quick as how he'd appeared was as brisk as how he had left.

You'd breathed out a sigh of relief, stretching out your folded, rubbery legs from the fetus position you were in once you were tucked in your own bundle of unpigmented color of a duvet.

Satoru simply did not want to eat alone. This anomalous instinct of keeping you around at all costs, seizing you under the tutelage of his influential existence. He actually had just taken a fancyto have breakfast with you and his attempt over saying the exact words were futile to his damned surprise.Though, he was satisfied over the results of this unwanted visit he planned because it still had you cooking for him, brewing another planned bonding and schedule of a rendezvous he'd covertly anticipated for.

Until his world needed him again and again, aspiring to pour cold water over this morning meal he had in mind.

"Megumi."

Maki Zenin, currently a second-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High. She was born as a non-sorcerer in one of the Big Three Sorcerer Families and has been constantly mistreated which lead to her own ousting from the Zenin clan. She held onto her wooden stick made to use for training that hung over her shoulders. Her hazel peepers criticizing your form over the middle of the wide-reaching field, a nameless woman who was screaming where the heck was Gojo Satoru hiding.

Megumi sat along the cemented stairs, watching you with an impassive expression on his face. Probably judging why you were screaming in the middle of it all and was musing the cause through your rampage that was certainly out of the blue.

"Zenin-Senpai." he acknowledged her with a lethargic drawl of his voice. He was inert upon blinking to himself when they were a witness of those child-like stomps you were giving to the poor ground as you peered up at the sky. The next yelling filled with native phrases they couldn't decipher.

"Thought, I told you to never call me that," pause. "---There's a mad, foreign woman screaming the blindfolded dumbass's name like a haunted prayer."

Maki stated as a matter of fact, another one of Satoru's students who doesn't seem to respect him as a person due to his renowned very goofy attitude of his, even as he was her teacher and senior. The young second year student pondered upon who you were, "What did he do now?" she'd taken a pause, scrutinizing you from head to foot through her eyeglasses that allowed her to see cursed-spirits. She'd considered your height and judged your existence to be more on the younger side, "---Is she a new first year?"

"Huh?" Megumi was caught off guard at that as he had given Maki a glance, shaking his head to correct her, "---No. That's Eigo-San."

"Eigo-San?" she'd responded in utmost curiosity for the sobriquet given, her eyebrows furrowed enough to express her befuddlement.

"Y/L/N, Y/N." Fushiguro continued further, stabilizing the context of his information with the right details as he played with fingers, keeping them together as they've given you both their gazes. Gojo's name being repeatedly called out loud in the middle of all in piqued repetition.

"---A woman who happened to come from another dimension. No identity other than a name."

Maki has given him a glance of the dubiety for such a ridiculous viewpoint and theory. This source of amazement never to be expected by such an occurrence that was bound to happen, "Expect that you'll be seeing her a lot. She's always with Gojo-Sensei. She doesn't have a choice because she doesn't have anyone else aside from him."

She had her mouth ajar for a moment, trying to get that whammy of an information gradually taking its process inside her brain before she gave Megumi a grin, "That happens now too? Travelling from one world and to the other?---" pause. "---Is there actually another dimension aside from the one we're standing on right now? The world sure is changing then." Maki drawled the end of her words a little, disbelief framing her face as the wind hits her face. The short ponytail for her sage green hair that she'd fixed for herself swaying along the breeze of Tokyo Jujutsu High.

"It's only Gojo-Sensei who she understands miraculously. Though, he speaks the same language as we do. Then, vice versa. It's weird to say. Very." Megumi added another fact for her to get to know you better and be accustomed by the possibility that you would be seen around by hook or by crook. Sooner or later to be introduced to her because you were somehow always with their teacher 24/7.

"Any abilities she could wield?" she asked, curious and wondering if Gojo had taken you in the institute because you had a potential.

Maki was sure you had at least the idea of the Jujutsu Society or even the possibility you could train an ability. She hoped to train with you as well, probably play around a bit as she found you lowkey adorable for such guts over cursing Gojo's name like a haunted prayer as if you could even get to touch him physically. Never expecting such exasperation coming from someone so miniscule.

"Probably Gojo-Sensei's attention. She gets it all. He bugs the heck out of her whenever he could. If she's around, it's as if she's the only one he sees. Finally, someone who could keep him distracted besides annoying us all whenever he wants."

Maki snickered to herself. Well, that was an ability she'd never expected. It was a skill indeed. Probably a talent sent from the heavens above because everyone damn knew and was damn sapped from the sensei's constant need upon creating ruckus upon ruckus.

Everybody would get to have the break they deserved then.

"---Aside from that, none. She's a non-sorcerer but not an aspiring Jujutsu Sorcerer. Also, she seems to act like an idiot just like sensei from time to time." The people that Gojo antagonizes nonstop were probably applauding and cheering for your existence, perhaps kneeling before you like a gem sent from above, Maki silently thought to herself.

All those thoughts inside her head has been kept to herself as she silently listened and comprehended to Megumi's school of thought, humming to his response as she nodded, "Hm. Her existence is interesting then."

She thought he was done with his notions until Megumi decided to add more to his theories. The hearsays that begun since the moment you've been transferred to their world as Ijichi somehow had accidentally slipped an information out or two when he'd explained their latest assignments for them. During the middle of his drive, Kiyotaka run his mouth off before he could even realize that Megumi were critically analyzing through it all.

"But, I've...somehow gotten a gist of why she's being kept around, I suppose." he dragged on, hearing you scream another of Gojo's full name out in the heat of the sun, "---Gojo-Sensei believes that this woman might be a clairvoyant for the Jujutsu Society. I have no idea why so."

Maki's ears instantly perked up at that.

Without doubt, that sounded like a functional ability. Another skill that could be considered impressive somehow. Did you also have cursed energy? She had no idea over how your fortune telling worked and thought it through if there was one in the Jujutsu Society who held such.

"Eh? Think she knows my future then? Should I ask her? Would she be quick to give me an answer?" Maki smirked, skeptical that she wanted to have her palm be read by you because of her undying curiosity.

"---Does it require any amount of cursed-energy to be used?"

Megumi shrugged to himself, sighing at the less than fifty percent that it wasn't possible as of the moment, "No. I doubt she's bound to know even that. I don't have an idea upon how it works for her. It's like she doesn't also understand what's happening at all. Gojo-sensei never tells a thing. Plus, she has an intense amount of amnesia that he's trying to help her with,---" he murmured under his breath, making it sound like you forgotten how to use your abilities. Never knowing that your abilities---this ability he was saying actually only supported sketches and not actually being read through a tarot card or lines on a person's palm if it was seen solely as how normal people perceived fortune-telling to be within the conventional aspect of it, "---if he's even helping her..."

Maki pulled a face before she shrugged to herself, leaving the issue alone to the first year students who initially knew you from the start. You've held a permanent scowl to your face. It felt utterly blazing due to the anger and humiliation you were feeling. The intimate set being worn right now underneath your clothes because of Gojo's ruse to wedge you further into this displeasure he had stowed you in.

Maki Zenin noticed you were coming for them, starting to saunter near. Primitively deciding that you were walking to have a conversation with her second nephew who had already been talking to you and had exchanged discussions every once in a while. She'd completely wanted to avoid you for now, perhaps because of the language that she was not fluent with.

"The girl's coming this way." she simply stated, making Fushiguro grumble from how he was being caught in a conversation with you again, a grimace on his face when you began walking towards them while Maki was preparing herself to skedaddle, "---Eh. You handle her. Panda and Toge's probably at the entrance already,"

Panda and Toge were already at Itadori's room. She knew that and even told Megumi about it. That was when he knew that his aunt was lying and just wanted to avoid having a discussion with a foreign person she didn't know yet.

Upon garnering a closer distance, approaching Megumi and a young woman with a tall, athletic built that has instantly kept you beady-eyed for her appearance and stature. You've given the green-haired woman a look. She had fringes of her sage green hair over her forehead with smaller strands which framed her cheeks, another beauty just like Nobara whom you had no idea why she was all acting hostile for your presence since the moment you were both introduced.

You had no idea but this woman who began to advance forward, technically about to pass by just screams the capacity and the prospective into becoming stronger than she intended to.

Until the moment you've blinked an eye, you've felt as if a large stone was enough to keep your mind stumbling from the short, quick image. The sudden agonizing pain that pooled along your temples from a blurred, fuzzy scene along your head that was ought to be interpreted to obfuscate what it really meant. It was colored. One which appeared to be of concrete reality.

A woman who had her skin incinerated and flawed but was strong enough whom had a weapon on her hand. Accompanied with circled glasses and shortened black hair, partnered by a black uniform and a cape that was attached to her shoulder blades.

You've ceased along your march, not being called out through words but acknowledged by the green-haired girl with a subtle indecipherable smile. Those thoughts in the back of your mind, wordless to begin with as it echoed from within, "That's strange. She wasn't even short haired to begin with."

Was that her in the future? or was it a different woman?

You've felt warm, liquid pool along your nostrils. Before you could even realize it, this tiny amount of crimson fluid began to drip down in a creeping pace. Hence, that was the moment you've known that the woman you've seen inside your head was indeed, her.

She didn't seem happy at all from that particular picture and you had no idea nor have any theories about what happened and why she ended up that way. You've kept your mouth shut. This thorough dwelling making you mentally muse on the idea if it was needed to be told to Satoru when he wasn't even around to start with.

Was she one of his students as well?

"Are you okay, Eigo-San?"

You've heard Megumi asked. As genuine as he wanted it to sound to be. The impassive tonality still hinting more to this unfeigned side he was sporting on. He had begun to walk your way, catching you off guard to say the least as the first year student was being the person who'd actually approached you right now to initiate a conversation.

He'd turned the volume of his phone to the highest as Megumi used Google Translate for you. His clothed arm that was garbed in his accustomed Jujutsu clothing. The descendant of the Zenin family outreached to keep his cellphone closer to be heard and patiently waited for the translator to speak, keeping you under tabs as you have been wiping your nose in discreet. Though, he had already seen it despite of your desire to conceal it from the latter.

Was it because of the brain damage you've had and it wasn't entirely healed yet? Megumi thought to himself, keeping his hunches to his head.

"I'm...fine. It's just the after effects of the...accident, I suppose." you've began, making it sound like you were trying to convince yourself and not him. You've eyed the green haired woman who was now out of sight, continuously patting your bleeding nose with the back of your hand, lucky that it stopped as it wasn't an ample amount of liquid which needed any tissue or handkerchief. It wasn't the type where it could be considered as over the top. Just a minimal amount.

"Who was she? The...girl with the ponytail?"

Megumi blinked to your sudden query, brushing it off like it was nothing, clueless for those unforeseen nose bleeds and for what it meant behind it all aside from Satoru who knew damn well now that it consisted of the idea that you were seeing something that would be of use or had been images from their dimension in which he highly believed of, or that---in which he self proclaimed---to be a result of his attractiveness that was too hot to bear.

"Ah. She's my aunt. Her name's Maki Zenin."

You've given it a subtle nod of understanding. Wordless as you ever been when you've felt the pain finally fading away. Maki Zenin. Her name does ring a bell somehow yet you had no idea where and why.

It definitely sounded like Sushi though.

"Where is he?" that 'he' that you were pertaining to, Megumi instantly knew who it was and minimally elucidated for you.

"Gojo-Sensei? He went on a business trip." he phlegmatically responded. Nevertheless, subtly scrutinizing you from beneath his thick eyelashes that you were oblivious for because of his indelible, impassive expressions.

"But, he promised---" you started, your face falling when you realized that he would probably take longer than expected when Satoru was concluded to be in the midst of whatever business trip he was taking.

Was this rendezvous he planned could even be considered as a promise or a demand from the latter?

Your words were discontinued and Fushiguro wondered why it was. He decided to prod further upon the topic of why you were screaming like a banshee in the middle of Tokyo Jujutsu High, "Did he do something by the way perhaps?" Megumi eventually changed the topic, reading through your expressions that you weren't going to continue your previous sentence, "---You've been screaming his name at the top of his lungs in the middle of the institute."

Thus, suddenly you've felt your face began to rocket through this flustering heat when you've remembered the reason in the first place.

"Well---Satoru---and, Well...I---We---ugh---we had---well---we---" you've stumbled upon your words, ending with a nervous giggle that the Shikigami user eventually had criticized and given a weird look to it.

He had gotten the wrong idea of putting two and two together. Especially since the part where you pointed out that shaky, embarrassed 'He' and 'I' again and again through the sentence formed and declared for him to hear. His accusations definitely a wide off the mark from the veracity of things.

You've seen Fushiguro's mouth mold into a tight grimace, the most expressive you've seen him in that instigated to your perusal, your mouth pursing through this odd expression he was having. His face gradually turning beet red and you pondered why.

"Have you eaten breakfast, Megumi?" you changed the topic after a long awkward pause between you both. The embarrassment dying down from the speechlessness that has occurred, but it was giving the impression like your humiliation passed on towards the black-haired first year student.

Megumi was dealing with this sudden awkwardness that you were unwary of, "Huh?" he questioned, doing a double take as he was holding onto the upper part of his uniform jacket, pulling them further to his mouth, taking a grip from saying anything more.

"---Hm."

Your discomfiture was now changed into sheer curiosity for whatever he was thinking. You've given him a knot of your brows, a smile beaming on your face as you were spontaneous to decide for him, "That was a no then! Come on!" you've began to walk back towards the path back to Tokyo Jujutsu High, passing by the juvenile upon trudging up the cemented stairs that he has been sitting on beforehand.

You've heard no footfall coming from behind, instigating that the first-year Jujutsu Sorcerer was pensive over the whole turn of events. Spinning on your heels and paving to give your attention at Megumi who was on a deadlock, standing still upon where he stood. You've second look behind when he didn't plan to move. With a persuasive and enthusiastic wave of your hand, you've tried to prevail on the idea further.

This abrupt goal of sharing time together with one of Satoru's trusted students, coming through a forethought of seeking answers to your undying curiosities of what was really happening to their world. The accurate ones that were to be gainful rather than the terse statements and jokes you were constantly receiving from Gojo whenever you were intrigued by the whole Jujutsu thing.

You were staring back at Megumi when he was just silently staring at you, unable to tell what was running inside the young man's mind from all the apathetic spirit he was relishing on, "Sea-Urchin! Let's go then! I'll cook something for you!" pause. "---are you really this slow?!"

"Says the one who's extremely and quickly exhausted with just twenty steps away upon trying to run off from Gojo-sensei." The black-haired juvenile mindlessly thought on the back of his mind as he could recall the first time he had seen you all petrified after the tree-branch incident. 

Fushiguro began to wander towards you with thorough speculation. You were garrulous from complaining how unrushed he was. He strolled alongside once he approached near, his phone now laying upon the palm of your hand as you've randomly talked about a lot of your randomized perceptions, jibber-jabbering through it all that you've even got to the point of telling that Gojo did not take a fancy over his Shiitake mushrooms in which the first year student was slightly staggered to know.

You were in the midst of your footslogs with the sea-urchin when you've heard Nobara call in such a boisterous volume from a distance.

"Fushiguro!" Kugisaki hollered with knotted brows, a fixated grimace warped along the exteriors of her pretty face, those tangerine colored eyes of hers landed on you, getting a gist she was not delighted enough to be around your presence at this certain moment.

There was something with you. This comfortable but irritating feeling. From the beginning that Satoru has introduced you and announced your existence to be all over the place---basically, on every side where their Sensei would be. Since the Hatagaya cursed-spirit incident, his students were positive that you were of someone that would be held accountable for whatever he needed or see to be of benefit if he made it clear to aid you away from cursed-spirits.

One ought to be perceived as someone who needed saving. It was probably that idea in which Nobara felt the revulsion for. A whole contradiction to her character as she was known to be a confident and brash young woman with an unshakable personality who takes great pride in being both a pretty girl and a strong fighter. How futile you were in a world where women needed to be strong.

It just had to be a woman like you that was transported to their world for no reason that Satoru's students could ever predict of as they were impervious of the shrouded rationality that fate has bestowed upon you that Satoru was totally keeping behind closed doors even with the trust that he had for them.

Although, this privy comfort being familiar somehow made it displeasing for her. She just couldn't grasp around it or why she was even having the need to feel this particular way. Though, it was no use for her to blame you because you were---a person who shouldn't have been teleported to their dimension from the start.

Kugisaki Nobara had caught up to the both of you, passing a glance as if you weren't there and deliberately stood beside Fushiguro, avoiding to graze clothes with you as she has bothered to ask the first-year student. This query obvious to be sent towards her friend.

"Can I come with?"

"Expect that you'll be seeing her a lot. She's always with Gojo-Sensei. She doesn't have a choice because she doesn't have anyone else aside from him." I'm cackling with this. Megumi's being sassy again, huh? you didn't have to be so---HAHAHAHAH 

Also, don't worry. Nobara's going to warm up to Tiny-Chan soon enough.

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED EVERYONE! LOVE LOTS FROM YOUR MAMA TATA! <3  

SEND AN ASK OR ANONYMOUSLY FANGIRL WITH ME? HEEHEE

[non-electrical-outlet]

11/29/24 - Convenience and Limitations

I like using Tumblr as my journaling medium, it's convenient due to the UI and nostalgic due to my high-school years. The problem though is that it is still online, and undoubtedly prone to information/data broker nonsense and thus it cannot feel completely private. This is an issue when it comes to matters on which I want to journal AND want to keep private. I had a post, a while back, that was liked by some unknown other tumblr account, and ever since then I've been less inclined to journal regularly on here.

The obvious solution is to have a word document for my more sensitive thoughts and feelings, but then I lose the nice continuity and having all my entries in one place. Of course, as I wrote that sentence, the additional solution of simply making an additional entry here on such days that say "see document" or something would fix that. I think that's what I'll do.

...

I haven't been journaling recently, for the past week at least. It seems that I have less strong emotions that need processing, and so I haven't been feeling the same strong urge to journal based in the discomfort of my emotions. My motivation for writing an entry tonight is that it's a habit I want to work on, and have made it a daily to-do bubble on WaterDo. I've been skating by in life for a while now, for the past year at least. Ever since taking the job with Tyler and taking up my old bad habits, I've been putting in the minimum amount of effort necessary to maintain my progression through nursing school. It's not a moral failing, it's smart really; Why expend more effort than necessary to complete a task?

The problem with that line of thinking, however, is that there's more to my life than just nursing school. Yes, graduating nursing school and getting a job will mean making more money than I ever have before, but there are other areas of my life that need work. I want to be in better physical health (nebulous goal, elaborate), mainly in terms of fatigue and sleep. I've had trouble with sleep for as long as I can remember, and honestly I think it started with my first iPod in middle/high-school, my first screen in bed. From there, between more newer screens and social media, puberty and school schedules, and all the energy drinks, no wonder I've been sleeping like shit and emotionally dysregulated for most of my life. For the first time in memory (marijuana-related impairment notwithstanding), I'm aware of all these things and want to do/be better.

It's important to remember that, though I've been skating by in terms of academics this semester, I've been putting in a LOT of work as far as my personal development and emotional growth. I've even got some peer-reviewed unified protocols from Children's to work on when I've got even more time and bandwidth. I've definitely earned all the lazy time I've spent this week. BUT ALSO I definitely feel uncomfortable with the lazy time.

I have the bandwidth to do more, and the rest of the semester should be a relative cakewalk. I'm ready to do more, to keep working on myself. I'm ready to keep moving forward in life, and take on what new challenges come my way. I'm ready to stop doomscrolling and lamenting the social injustices I care for but cannot do anything about, I'm ready to start thinking about my future in more detail and make plans for the good life I know is within reach.

It's time to start thinking and reflecting deeply on what I want for my life, formulate concrete steps and intermediary objectives to get me where I want to be, and then do them. Build a set of habits that leads me to growth. Do the thing.

I'm already off to a great start.

[crisishauntline]

It is fucking heartbreaking to sit next to the person you love as they wordlessly unravel. It happened again today, like it’s played out many times before: her hand limp in mine, shoulders shaking, breath catching on choked sobs, not saying a single word. And I just sit there feeling like an asshole, all my questions, pleas, and offers of support hanging uselessly in the air.

I hated getting out of the car with her still in that state today, hated how the door slammed while she was mid-sob. But I needed tonight to myself. I had actually intended to write a song for her for her birthday, but haven't had time to work on it due to the amount of time we spend together, and the proportion of that time we spend fighting or afraid of fighting. Anyway, she told me she would be ok for the night, then called me an hour later to ask me to come over. I went against the boundary I’d set, as I’ve unhelpfully taught myself to do, and went. Oh, and did I mention she lives two blocks from me now?

Today’s unraveling started during our couples therapy session. Lately she has been feeling very nauseous, achy, fatigued, and emotionally overwhelmed by all the chronic bad feelings. She’s also acknowledged sadness and fear about the relationship in light of her chronic health issues, but hasn’t wanted to share much with me. Both of us seem to feel misunderstood or unheard, no matter how hard we’re trying to explain and listen. We really are trying. What’s hardest for me to navigate—and to express kindly—is that she always occupies the role of the victim in any conflict we have. When I feel disappointed by something she’s done (or more often than not, won’t or can’t do), the cause is usually her pain, illness, or fatigue, which means it would be unfair of me to blame or be upset with her. Even if I do have cause to be frustrated (like with her drinking), I know she won’t have the emotional and/or physical capacity to adequately address the matter in those moments. So over and over again, I have to just let things go without being too disappointed, always being patient and calm and understanding and humble, and if I do bring it up, process it as quickly and apologetically as possible or she will think I hate her and want to leave.

Conversely, when something I do causes her pain or anxiety, she rarely has the reserves of energy, mood, self-esteem, etc. to either let it go or process it with me quickly. Instead, even small stumbles can send her over the edge of despair and require hours of talking, weeping, cuddling, and massage to work through. This time the hurt was that she had to wait for me in the driveway for 20 minutes, after a long day and when she was in pain, because I didn’t see her text saying she’d arrived, or notice how much time had passed since she told me she was coming. I should have responded better, with an apology and promise to do better, rather than immediately following my “sorry” with saying she should have just called me. But I also remember after some previous time blindness incidents that I’d asked her to call me in situations like this, though she swears that conversation never happened. But let’s say she’s right, and I was fully in the wrong—is this really an offense that warranted hours of tearful discussion and confused silence to work through?

I am tired of holding so much of her pain while feeling so clueless, constantly guilty, and alone in the relationship. I am also more disappointed than I want to be that she can’t give me the kind of comforting touch that I give her. I fucking love receiving massages, being held, getting fucked to completion. I love giving her those things, but every time I do I can’t help yearning for her to give them in kind. Most of the time, she just can’t, so bringing it up would be cruel and pointless.

She has been expressing more gratitude for the intimacy and acts of service I bring to the relationship since the big turnaround, which means a lot to me. But the fact is that being close to her is no longer for closeness’s own sake. It is more about giving her love, safety, and comfort than sharing them. She says there’s nowhere she feels safer than in my arms. I so wish I felt the same about her. I did, at least for a little while, right when we got back together. When I was worried I’d need too much caretaking from her, that I couldn’t ask her to carry the despair I was feeling in addition to her own struggles. I think I was right.

[brick-van-dyke]

// vent, personal

TW: psychological and emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mention of threats, family issues, ableism

So for the last few days I think my mum's been in a really bad mood and she's gone back to this really screwed up bad habit of using me as an emotional punching bag and making fun of me / making snide remarks about me when she's feeling off.

I have several mental illnesses and (suspected) chronic fatigue, she knows this, but still she keeps making fun of how I'm unable to do things all at once, miss deadlines, can't always do physical tasks as easily as others, etc. I'm basically just this walking butt of a joke and she's always found it hilarious (I sure don't find it that though) to point out how """useless""" I am and how I can't do shit everyone else (as in: "she") finds "easy".

Twice in a two she's done this in the past three days and I'm so fucking tired of how she just suddenly flips around and decides to be spiteful and nasty towards me for literally no reason and for things she KNOWS aren't purposeful/ my fault.

"Knowing you, you'll only be able to do it once I'm at work because it takes you so long" thanks. Way to remind me that I can't do a bunch of shit at once like you can because I need breaks in between things or I fucking faint or snap emotionally! "You really should have a shower, otherwise you shouldn't go [to my friend's place]" after I showered barely a few days ago KNOWING I struggle with showers and that I was tired and in bed all fucking day thanks a lot! This is one way to make me feel even more tired and make it HARDER TO DO THESE THINGS. What does she expect?? Making me tired and feeling worse and like shit will "motivate" me to somehow "cure" my fucking disabilities as if I can snap my fingers and with a few insults suddenly I can do shit?? That's not how this works.

I've told her before that this makes me uncomfortable too, but she just replies with "you shouldn't be so fragile" and tells me to suck it up basically. It's annoying for one, sure, but it also hurts a really sore spot with how she used to be a lot worse when I was younger and I developed a huge fear of being abandoned/ thrown away after she and my dad split and how she used to threaten shit when I was younger. Little me viewed the split as him being "thrown away" because I didn't understand why and had overheard arguments previously where my dad had been called useless by her. Basically, this is just rubbing it in even more and hurting way more than she realises it does. Actually I don't even know if she doesn't realise, maybe she does but I want to at least be optimistic here.

I hate feeling useless and I already feel frustrated due to not being able to do the things I want to do due to said disabilities listed, she's just continually rubbing it in for her own satisfaction and to have a laugh. It makes me feel like she thinks my only use to her is cheap entertainment and besides that I'm fucking useless and she finds it fulfilling to laugh at that as if I fucking choose to have these issues which limit me to this degree. I'm frustrated and angry, and tbh just overall very tired of this bullshit. I wouldn't make fun of her like this, but it's suddenly justified because she thinks she's entitled to me and I can't have a say in how I'm told fucked up shit that makes me want to fucking die or disappear from her life/ stay tf away from her?? Then she gets mad when I distance myself from her because of this. History fucking repeats itself and she never learns.

Anyway. I'm tired as fuck and I'm angry, so I'm not gonna even be able to sleep to avoid thinking about this, sooo tonight is gonna suck. Can't wait for tomorrow to just have some time alone where I can just rest without anxiety or anything. I just really wanna be by myself and be able to let out that anger and frustration with art and music and not having to please anyone or look any particular way or just... put any emotional labour into anything. I'm just tired and need a rest from my mum's bs rn.

[stormwinddeliveries]

Day 3 5/15

Journal Entry: *Noodles hand writing is immaculate. Near calligraphy.*

Today was better than yesterday. Even if I felt the worst today than I did yesterday, somehow, surprisingly. Considering I did feel actually awful yesterday. Though I suppose that was more emotional than physical. This one, how I'm feeling right now, is certainly more physical than emotional. Which is why its both a better day and a...worse day? 

Morrigan is sick and really didn't sleep well last night. If she slept at all, really. Then with Jasper still recovering and my body not seeming to be kicking my own cold, or whatever it is, as much as I'd like it to? My body is just fatigued beyond its limit. Which is good I haven't been drinking because boy, would I feel so much worse and bogged down if I had been. I just wish the two felt better, and everything finally worked out for longer than a day or two at max. 

No one from the Faire showed up for the market tonight. Normally I would have peddled my bread and stuff but I was feeling too gods awful to even humor peddling my own wares. While I was saving the spot for the Faire however, someone I knew from Westfall showed up. I pulled a gun on him. He pulled a gun on me. We laughed. His lady got real weird and angry that he talked to me at all. Spinning this whole thing about some fucking jealous nonsense I don't understand. Granted I don't really get jealous women. Or women who try and gaslight their partners into doing shit through that kinda behavior. Toddler behavior, bad. 

The guy also offered me work since I mentioned I didn't have fifty-six gold to drop on a cloak like his woman did. But I declined the offer. Mostly from the look he gave but also knowing that nothing good comes out of Westfall unless its good brought by your own hand. So I feel rather proud of that for myself. Even if shortly after that I up and just left the market area cause his lady was almost thrown out and I was too tired to deal with her all out yelling. I hate when people cause issues in public thinking its charming or something. 

Then I think I full on fell asleep outside the Lamb on the wall. Couldn't tell you for how long I was out, but I certainly was gone to the world for a good little bit. When I woke up I went on a walk, and ran into Miss Alice along with some few other friends. She introduced me to one of hers AND I got to hold a slime pet...thing. Someone had! The slimes name was Jim and if anything happens to Jim I'm killing everyone and then myself. 

Around there I went to the clinic to get my throat and stuff looked at. The doctor person said they were pretty sure my tonsils are infected, and they gave me medicine to take. Saying I should be feeling better by tomorrow. Hope it isn't like that medicine that makes you poop cause it kills all your inner gut stuff. I fucking hate that medicine. 

After THAT, I went back to the group of friends. As they all trickled off to go to bed, my friend Flowers and I were the sole few that remained. Which means it lead to us kind of just...talking. We talked about a lot of surprisingly deep stuff. About his old work, elections, his role in society, our own experience with drinking. He gave me three sticks of chewing gum to entertain myself with! I don't think I'm going to chew them, but instead, keep them as anxiety mementos to hold in my pocket. Like how I use carrying around this journal as a way to distract my hands when I'm reading for something. It all couldn't come at a better time too, because, well. 

I normally don't make it longer than three days. This being the third lets me know that this sobriety thing is about to get way, way, way harder. I'm certain everyone thinks the hard part has started or something. But really my own threshold for time hasn't even begun. I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for Jasper, Morgie, my friends...I would have likely drank yesterday. Drank today. Might have even drank tomorrow for all I know.

Lynn

[luveline]

can we please have some more remus fluff? maybe something similar to the baby fever universe with lots of physical affection and cute banter <333 love u and ur writing !!

love you! remus gets a neck massage in a modern au of the bfu, affection + banter aplenty ♡ fem!reader | 0.7k words

"Remus. Handsome. Angel baby sweetness," you say softly. You mean each one, but you've adopted an almost pleading tone.

"Yep?" he says quickly, pulled out of his laptop. "What?" 

You placate, "Oh, it's nothing urgent. Sorry to, uh, freak you out." 

He clicks a bunch of things you can't see and then closes the lid. "It's okay. I'm all yours." 

You smile indulgently, always so enamoured with him and how he's so enamoured with you in turn, and sit yourself on the armrest of the sette where he's curled up. 

"You're holding all that tension in your shoulders again," you say, rubbing your hands down the fronts of your calves and giving him a concerned frown.

He rolls his shoulders back and groans softly. His arthritic joints suffer worse each day for his bad habits. 

"You want me to-" 

"No, it's okay." 

"I don't mind." You stretch your hands out toward him with a gentle smile. "Turn my way, baby."

He moves with a fake reluctance and sits between your legs. You on the armrest and his back against it, if anyone saw the two of you they might laugh. Remus leans into your reach and wraps his hands around your ankles as you begin. 

You start with some affectionate smoothing. Palms flat, you stroke lines up the slopes of his shoulders and then the back of his neck, his skin hot and his muscles tense beneath. "You're really very tense," you say sympathetically. Your chest gives a little pang for him.

"I didn't notice." 

You believe him. His life is half pain, sometimes more, and you doubt a knotted back is at the top of his list of ailments. 

You kiss his neck and rub at the invisible mark with your thumbs. "Tell me if I hurt you too much," you murmur. 

He laughs infectiously. "Yeah, okay." 

It has to hurt a little to work. You wince at his small sounds, rough inhales and then, to your guilty delight, relieved moans. 

"There?" 

"Yeah." 

Circles. You massage until your fingers ache and Remus has melted completely, his cheek pressed heavy to your inner thigh. 

"What do you want for dinner tonight?" 

He nestles his face into your pajama trousers. "You're not making dinner again." 

"Remus." 

"You've made dinner every day this week." 

"You haven't been very well, handsome. Not sure if you noticed." 

"You can't make dinner every day. It's not right." 

You love him, you don't care about dinner. But he does, so you say, "I have been craving something."

"Yeah?" 

You trick him into ordering a takeaway. That way, he won't cook and he won't feel guilty about it either. 

You hum happily when he leaps to agree. Your palms skirt over his traps and linger at his collar, fingers sliding under the neckline of his shirt. "Feel better?" you ask into his ear. 

Remus pulls your arms further down until you're hugging him from over the shoulders, bedecking the crook of your elbow in slow, warm kisses. 

It's hard to explain, but love like honey moves thick and fast all over you. A rush of it, everywhere, familiar and never any less sweet. It's close to overwhelming. 

You bury your face in his neck and kiss kiss kiss. "Love you." 

He turns to wrap an arm around your waist, face cloudy with fatigue. "Do you?" 

You stroke the hair from his face. "No, I was lying." 

"That's sick, to mess with a man's emotions like this." 

You pretend to cough on him and then kiss him some more. "Say you love me back," you mumble against his head. 

"Or what?" 

"You're the sick one." 

"Sick as a dog for my baby," he says, saccharine. "I love you." 

"Doesn't feel the same when you make me beg for it." 

"Thought you liked to beg?" 

You squeal at his implication, embarrassed and entertained at once. He's funny, you'll give it to him, but his amorous teasing will be the death of you, especially when he'll be sleeping soundly by nine tonight. 

"Think you're so funny," you say crossly, fingers in his hair and scratching. 

He only groans. Scratch nine, he'll be in bed by six. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet. 

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork. 

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face. 

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross. 

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it. 

Well, you love him for a lot of things. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.” 

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.” 

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.” 

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around. 

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.” 

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice. 

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.” 

“Can I do anything to help?”  

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”  

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young. 

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter. 

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away. 

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either. 

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles. 

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option. 

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart. 

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer. 

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.  

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —” 

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.” 

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face. 

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness. 

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish. 

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.” 

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully. 

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?” 

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.  

“Except they’re babies,” you add. 

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You swallow hard. “For what?” 

“Being honest.” 

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.” 

“Yeah. It really is.” 

He’s quiet again. 

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this. 

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here. 

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real. 

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.    

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe. 

You’re asleep before the next commercial break. 

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why. 

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.” 

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.” 

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.” 

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now. 

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up. 

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence. 

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black. 

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it. 

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator. 

This is crossing a line, and you both know it. 

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.  

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes.”  

Maybe you’re both trembling. 

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel. 

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

More Criminal Minds fic is here. 

[akaashisupremacy]

Yes, Always

Summary: Having broken off your engagement for an arranged marriage with Gojo, your relationship is in shreds. As you and Gojo try to pick up the pieces, what does love look like?

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: Mostly fluff, lil bit of domestic angst, exes to friends to lovers (wc: 1.8k)

“How on earth are you still bed when the sun is setting? Gojo Satoru dramatically bursts into your apartment. The door flings open and you’re sure the knob dented the wall. 

You don’t even blink. His theatrics rarely faze you anymore. You shift on your bed to face the wall. 

You don’t have energy for this. 

Gojo knows you since your childhood. You hadn’t always been so easy to tire. But Jujutsu work was a lot. It accumulated fatigue that  drained you physically and emotionally ever so often. 

“You cancelled on Ieri, I knew something was up and I was right!” he placed his hands on his hips. He walks over to you.

You yawn and ignore him. 

Gojo opens a window and pulls out your covers in response. 

“Hey!” you yelp. 

“You go shower while I make you something to eat.” he commands. 

You continue to ignore him. 

He tries to haul you off the bed and into the tub. 

You finally sit up, crossed beyond words. He kneels down so he can look up to you.

“You need a warm shower. It will help you feel better, I promise.” he says firmly, “Get yourself some fresh clothes. I’ll run you a bath.” His tone is is a mix of stern and gentle in away you don’t hear often. 

You grudgingly get up and do as he says. 

You drag yourself off the bed and into the bathroom. As you body soak in the hot water, the fatigue peel off and you feel re energised. You look up at the steam that floats around you. 

Your reverie is interrupted by the kitchen noises.

Why was he doing this? You thought to yourself. This wasn’t like him to cross the boundaries of your home and to check up on you. Sure you were dating, but coming over was way too cozy for Gojo who only ever dated casually. 

You walk out in new clothes, hair still dripping wet. 

Gojo had set up a pot over a portable stove on your dinner table with some food already boiling away. The smell of dinner on the way was already wafting in the air. 

“Thanks for doing this.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his chest. 

Gojo resists the urge to pull away or look extremely nonchalant. He’a never been good with commitment or sincere expressions pf affection. 

“The water was nice.” you added. 

He carefully plants his hand your nape and press your forehead on his lips. You body is still warm from the shower. It still shocks him how close he can hold you. 

“If you like the water so much we can go swimming in the summer.” he nods, “I’ve always wanted to go to Okinawa and go diving or snorkeling.”

You briefly pull away, “If we’re still seeing each other.”

He hesitates, “We will.” 

“How do you know we’ll last till then?” 

“I just do.” he pushes. 

“Sure,” you take tour arms off him.

Gojo is not good at commitment. It is hard for him to sustain his interest in any one person, which you’ve accepted when you began dating him. Your set-up isn’t even exclusive. Why was he kidding himself? 

Now that you’ve detached yourself from him. He heads back to the kitchen counter. 

“Because this is the hardest I’ve tried.” he replies softly, “I’m concerned about you you think and how I make you feel. I don’t think I can take the weight of disappointment if things spiral a second time.”

You look at him as he prepares so vegetables. Gojo was your technically your ex-fiancee. You thought the break-up freed him. Maybe you weren’t completely right. 

This is your second shot of your relationship. Why are you surprised that he’s trying so hard? Why is it difficult for you to believe in his sincerity? 

“Okinawa sounds nice, I want some oysters.” you reply, taking out some bowls and chopsticks. 

“I want to see you in a bikini.” He smirks. 

You instinctively throw a towel at him. He dodges with a grin. 

As the meatballs begin to cook, you both take a seat. Gojo recalls his conversation with his student earlier today. 

“Yuuji,” Gojo called out as he enters the kitchen, “I need you to teach me how to make meatballs. I’m bringing them over for a friend.” 

Itadori Yuuji is busy cutting up some mushrooms. Must be hotpot night again for the students. 

“Here take this, this is ready made.” he pulls out a container of meatballs from the fridge.

“Aren’t you going to teach me how o make it?” Gojo asks his student, slightly perplexed.

“You look like you’re in a rush. I can teach you another time,” Iatdori smiles congenially and waves his hand. He causally takes the meat and scallions from Gojo’s bag and begin prepping them for his meal. 

“Is this for you ex-wife?” he causally asks his teacher. 

Gojo snorts, “Ex-fiancee. Yeah that one, they’re not feeling well today. I’m going to drop off something to eat.”

“I think it’s kind of nice you’re a second try.” Yuuji grins good naturedly. 

“The first time wasn’t really a try. Our engagement was arranged.” Gojo packs some other things onto a bag, “Our marriage would have ended in flames if we had pushed through.”

“Yeah, but even if you had married, I think it would eventually work out. It might take years but you clearly do get along and you’re attracted to each other. You’re both willing to put in the work.” Yuuji reasons. 

“Just people try doesn’t mean they always succeed.” Gojo mutters. Yuuji is the eternal optimist. 

“Its not gonna work any better if you don try at all. Relationships aren’t a one time task.” 

“Why can’t you just teach me? It’ll take just a little bit of time.” Gojo asks again. He slings the bag over his shoulder, ready to head out. 

“But a little bit of time is still worth something. More time together is always good.” Yuuji nods. 

“Just take it sensei,” Itadori said before he left the school, “Make the most out of today.” 

——————————————————————

After dinner, you yawn. Gojo goes over your side and sweeps you off your chair. Your legs are dangling awkwardly over his arms. This feels so new yet strangely comfortable.

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

He looks into your eyes, framed by your lashes. Warmth has returned to your cheeks. Your face is brighter than when he first came. 

You lace your arms around his neck. 

Gojo has never been to your house on a personal visit before. He doesn’t know how to feel in this new kind of intimacy—an intimacy outside of sex. It is intensely emotional for him to see you at your lowest, at home, without the trappings of your jujutsu powers or even you work coat. 

Who were you outside your jujutsu sorcerer? Who were the two of you outside of your jujutsu connections? 

“Put me down, I want to stand.” you quietly request. He relents. 

When Gojo gets up to do the dishes, you follow. You’re standing side by side, elbows bumping as a creeping sense of domesticity inches up his spine. 

Gojo prefers to eat out. Cleaning up after dinner was like breakfast after sex—too much commitment. 

“If this is freaking you out, we can stop.” You mumble, quickly reading through him “I can do the dishes and you can just go.”

He’s surprised by the exit you create for him, but he buckles down.

“I’m not running away from anything tonight.” he says. He’s shirking from extra time, not from his feelings and definitely not from you. 

He fills his ears with the sound of clanking dishes and your slow and steady breath. His time today was your anyways. Why would he take it back? Domesticity is unfamiliar, but he so badly wants to give it a shot. 

After all the dishes are put aside, you wipe his hands dry with the kitchen towel. His heart is racing, his palms sweaty. He thinks about cracking a joke to hide his tension, but decides otherwise. 

You eyes look steadily at him, as if testing him to see if he will sat or go. He takes the towel and gently dries off your hands, careful to get in between your fingers and to be gentle around your wrists. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” he remarks, “even if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m really trying.” he adds. 

“I believe you.” you nod. Some of the tension and discomfort in his face fades. 

You walk towards your room, “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

He scurries behind you, turning off the lights as he goes “Can I lie down beside you?”

You’re taken by surprise but you don’t let it show. 

“Sure.”

Gojo mostly lies on top of the sheets and he watches you tuck yourself in. You look so young like this — pajamas, no make up, no work clothes. 

You were arranged to be married by 20 and you look just that age. He notices you staring back at him, inspecting him in this new angle you’re both experiencing for the first time. 

“Did you ever think about what our first night would be like?” you ask candidly.  

He rolls onto his back and stares into the ceiling, “It would probably be awkward. I’ve thought about taking a sleeping pill to knock myself out. What about you?”

“Just the usual stuff.” you shrug. 

“What usual stuff?” he prods. 

You make a face and reply, “I guess I expected you’ll about some of my habits that I’m embarrassed about eventually.”

“It’s not the sex?” he asks surprised. 

You laugh and shake your head. When you were younger you were curious about it, but once you learned what it was it didn’t seem as interesting to you. 

“No, I thought the sex would just make me sad. Judging by the way things were going then, you’d be thinking of someone else while I give myself to you.” you turn away from him as you talk, sheepish to voice your hurt out loud and look at him in the eye at the same time, “You’d make me feel small, like my family did. For most of my life, my only value was to be married to you and I couldn’t even feel good in it.”

Your words heave silence into the room. You don’t know what expression he has on. 

“Man, I sound like horrible husband.” he murmurs. 

You slowly turn back to him. 

“But that was what would have happened if we had married at 20. That’s not us anymore.” you shake your head. 

Your faces so close your noses touched. 

“What are you doing?” he half-asks. 

You press your face to his shoulder. He pulls away a bit to get under the sheets. He wraps an arm around you and uses his other arm to turn off the lights. 

“Can I stay tonight?” he breathes in your smell even though he already knows the answer. You feel so impossibly soft against him, he feels the lull of sleep approaching. 

“Yes,” you barely whisper, “always.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel @samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l @cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan @gucci-froggy @soy1melk @dora-the-grownup@cherryonigiri

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

[magickastiel]

Somewhere Off in the Dark (Dean/Cas) 7.3k

It’s easier to be with Cas in the dark.

Dean hasn’t got to see those eyes at full brightness, boring into his soul. Instead he can just talk and not worry about the embarrassment scalding his face or the discomfort twisting his spine.

It’s dangerous being with Cas in the dark.

Gift for @jackttwist for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! ✨

mild warning for a scene during early s13 so dean is very self-destructive and doesn't care about his own life. It's along the same times as the show but if you're triggered by that, skip from: 'Dean is sick' and pick up again at: "The Empty?" Dean whispers, feeling cold' for the cute stuff!

a03 or keep reading 💖

_

Dean will never get used to waking up and seeing eyes peering back at him.

He starts awake, half-reaching for the gun tucked under his pillow before he can pull himself back. He glares and throws the blanket off his lap, immediately regretting it when the cool night air hits his legs.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says, voice dry and face impassive. He watches without shame as Dean clambers to his feet, eyes skimming over his legs, his rucked up t-shirt, the scowl on his face.

A chill shoots up Dean’s back and, not for the first time, he wonders how many pairs of eyes Castiel really has. He walks from the couch to Bobby’s kitchen for something to do with his overly observed body.

“I’ll shoot you one day.” He says over his shoulder. “That’ll show you.”

“What will that show me?”

Dean wants to be annoyed but instead he snorts with laughter. Castiel seems to have this affect on him.

“Nothin’. Forget it.” His eyes itch with fatigue and he rubs them with the back of his hand. “You want coffee?”

“I have no need for - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean turns to lean his back against the counter and almost jumps again when he sees that Castiel has silently followed him to the kitchen. He can count the number of worn tiles between his bare feet and Castiel’s shoes. He has to swallow before he speaks. “Didn’t ask if you needed it. You want some?”

The angel’s eyes travel over him again and Dean feels like an ant under the hot glare of a magnifying glass on a sticky summer’s day.

“Yes.” He says eventually.

“Right.” Coffee.

He potters about, feeling eyes on him wherever he goes. He doesn’t let his hand shake.

By the time they’re sat back on the couch with two half-empty mugs, Dean’s body has loosened as he becomes accustom to the silent scrutiny. There’s no looming threat and no harsh judgement because Castiel is as he always is – curious. Every movement is apparently fascinating to him, every sentence Dean says is worth contemplation and every sip of coffee is a new experience to mull over. Again, Dean is surprised how little it annoys him.

“You remember the first time you woke me up here?” He says after a long pause. “You threatened to throw me back into Hell. Real nice of you.”

In the dark, Dean has to rely on Castiel’s voice to judge his expression. “Yes.” The word sounds solemn, like he’s disappointed that Dean remembers it. “I did say that.”

Dean takes the last glug of coffee to think. There’s an obvious question that’s been lingering between them for the last ten minutes.

“Why did you come here tonight?” He asks and doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be.

Even though he can’t see him properly, he’s sure Castiel is staring straight at him even as he ponders his answer. It’s another reminder of how alien he is. He doesn’t have that need to look away, to hide his face as his mind races to find the right way to say the right thing. Dean envies him that.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“Apologise for what?”

When he speaks again, his tone is unnervingly soft. “Your friends.”

Ellen. Jo.

Dean’s heart clenches and he feels the urge to move, unable to sit still in his grief. His knee knocks against Castiel’s solid thigh but the angel stays perfectly still.

“I should have been with them.” Castiel continues his voice low and smooth. If it wasn’t for the subject matter, Dean might think he was being read to sleep like a troubled child. “I should have protected them.”

“Not your fault.” He mumbles and means it. It never occurred to him to blame Castiel. He’s been too busy blaming himself to consider anyone else’s actions.

“I arrived with them and I should have stayed with them. I let them down. I – I let...”

Castiel is hesitating. This is new behaviour for him and it’s dangerously human.

“I...let you down.”

Dean feels like he’s been doused with cold water. He doesn’t blame Castiel for not wanting to say that. It’s so ridiculously untrue and so goddamn weird to say that he let Dean down specifically. It’s too much focus on him, on them.

“You didn’t let us down, man.”

“You are being kind.” Castiel says in neither admonishment nor gratefulness. He just states it like it’s a sure fact. “Thank you. But I shall endeavour to make it up to you.”

“Oh.” Dean says feeling dumb and strangely warm. “Right. But like I said, nothing to make up for.”

“You are not sleeping.”

He almost gets whiplash at the sudden change in conversation. “Uh well, no, not right now. You did wake me up.”

“Allow me to clarify: you do not sleep enough.” The still air is disturbed by the rustle of his trenchcoat and the sharp clack of the ceramic mug being placed on the table.

“Kind of a lot going on, dude.” Dean says, trying to protest as Castiel pulls his mug from his hands and places that on the table too. “Uhhh, what are you doing?”

“Lie back down.”

Dean does as he’s told but frowns too. He tells himself it’s a good compromise. “You gonna stare at me until I fall asleep or something?”

“I could but I believe that will be unnecessary.” He stands and looms over the couch. He looks intimidating from down here – tall as a skyscraper and dark as a void. Dean clutches at the blanket for something tangible to hold on to. “Your body still hasn’t recovered from the physical and emotional trauma of the last week. And when you sleep you have nightmares thus reliving the pain. You must rest completely to correct this and regain your full strength.”

Dean snorts. “Oh, yeah? So what you gonna do – zap me to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Wait – ”

Two fingertips brush his forehead and he sleeps.

_

Dean can’t stop looking.

Even as Benny regales them with some batshit story, even as he eats his handful of berries, even as he wanders the perimeter of their little camp.

Cas is here.

Like, actually here.

He hadn’t let himself lose hope but it had been slipping. Just around the corner, he’d think. One more fight and he’ll be there. On and on.

And then there he was, alive and washing his face like he’d just woken up after a bad night’s sleep at a motel.

Dean’s eyes flit over to him again. He isn’t used to it yet. They only found him a few hours ago. Man’s gotta bask in having his best friend back.

“Dean? You hear me?”

He sighs and turns back to Benny who, to his credit, doesn’t even look annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. Sleeping, shifts, food.”

He snorts. “Got the gist, at least.”

“I’ll take the first shift. Gotta...” He glances over his shoulder at Cas again. He isn’t quite sure what he’s got to do, but he knows it involves Cas.

“Like that, huh?” Benny says, a slight smirk on his face.

“What do you mean?” He mutters, grabbing a stick and poking the meagre fire for something else to focus on.

“Nothin’, nothin’.” He waves a hand, but the smirk hasn’t left his face. “Just startin’ to feel like a third wheel, is all.”

Dean’s face heats unpleasantly. He knows it’s not like that but he can’t quite bring himself to argue about it. Instead he stares into the fire as Benny wanders off to rest. He feels horribly cracked open. He’s gotten used to his hardened shell – Purgatory took all the resilience he had and coated him in it. But the first sight of Cas had split him apart and now his usual racing thoughts have come rushing back with the force of a ten tonne truck. He almost wishes he could go back to how he was yesterday, pure focus and drive.

Now he feels small next to the fire, between a vampire and an angel.

He’s just one slightly shitty human lost in Purgatory.

“Dean?”

Cas joins him suddenly, with that eerie angelic stealth. Dean only just manages to stop himself from jumping like a kid. Cas sits on his left, watching him intently.

Everything is kind of colourless in Purgatory. It drove Dean insane for the first few days; everything seemed slightly off and unreal. Then he got used to it – the lacklustre trees, the blank water, even the fire looked kind of grey.

Cas’ eyes are still very blue.

It’s the first real colour he’s seen in months.

“Dean?” He says again, sounding slightly alarmed. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just...weird to see you, I guess.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “I...I suppose it is strange to see you too. I have seen you from a distance a few times. If several leviathans caught me at once, it would take me a while to kill all of them. Each time, I was very aware of how you were likely closing in on my location. Then I would catch a glimpse of you through the trees and that was when I knew I needed to get ahead again.”

“You what?!” Dean hisses, only keeping his voice down for Benny’s sake. “You mean you’ve been in spitting distance before and you didn’t say anything?! You could have...” He thinks about the sleepless nights, the desperation to find him alive. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“I am sorry, Dean.” Cas squints and tilts his head a little. Dean feels his anger dissipate. “I wanted nothing more than to join you. Together, I am sure we can conquer almost anything.” Right. That’s a total normal thing to say to someone. “But I was the one who released the leviathans. It was my responsibility to deal with them. If they got to you I would never be able to forgive myself.” His gaze drops to the fire. “I will never be able to forgive myself.”

“Don’t.” Frustration pushes at Dean’s skull, making his eyes water. “Yeah, ok. You did something pretty dumb. But you did it because you were trying to save the world. I should have...if I hadn’t been so damn caught up with other stuff. If I had just been there more - ”

“Dean, you cannot blame yourself.” Cas sounds genuinely horrified at the thought. “It was my decision and the consequences are mine to bear. All I can hope is that you can find a way to forgive me. And Sam - ”

“Sam’s good now.” Dean says quickly, half to reassure himself. “You screwed him over, not gonna lie. But at least you fixed it.”

Neither of them speaks for a while. Cas seems intent on watching the fire while Dean’s shell shatters a little more. Had he really had forgiven Cas just like that? He thought of what John Winchester would say about that. To say Cas had ‘screwed Sam over’ was a bit of an understatement. He had totally destroyed his mind. And here Dean was, casually forgiving him like it was no big thing.

It isn’t just words either. Dean really doesn’t feel any animosity towards the angel at all. Look out for Sammy. That had been drummed into him since he was four years old, when he carried his baby brother from their burning home. He still lives by it too. So it’s unnerving to forgive someone who hurt Sam. He’d been angry at first, sure. Upset, if he was being honest. He’d been hit with the double whammy of worrying about Sam and being betrayed by the only real friend he’d ever had. The only one that sticks around.

Well, that isn’t quite true. Cas always leaves but he always comes back too.

Now Dean just feels happy. And tired. He’s pretty tired too.

“You should sleep.” Cas says, softly. “I can watch over you.”

His knee jerk reaction is to tell the angel that’s weird. In any other situation it is weird. But here, he really does need someone looking out for him.

“’Angels are watching over you.��” He says, thinking of soft blonde hair and a warm smile. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “That’s what my mom used to tell me every night when she put me to bed. Guess that’s true tonight, huh?”

“I suspect she did not imagine that to come true in Purgatory while you are travelling with an angel and vampire, but the sentiment is lovely nonetheless.”

Dean can’t stop himself from grinning as he settles down, wedging his jacket under his head like Benny did.

“Do we have to travel with the vampire?” Cas grumbles beside him, sounding wonderfully like himself.

Dean raises his eyebrows against his makeshift pillow. “What, you don’t like Benny?”

“I don’t like the way he acts.” His eyes narrow, glaring at the sleeping figure the other side of the fire. “He looks at you like he wants to...consume you.”

Dean laughs and, for a moment, the clearing rings with it. “Dude trust me: Benny ain’t gonna eat me. He’s got plenty of food around.”

But Cas still looks unsure. “That’s not...” He sighs. “Yes, I suppose you are right.” He gives Dean one of those rare, small smiles as he looks down at him. “Sleep.”

Dean does as he’s told for once, letting his aching limbs stretch out next to the warmth of the fire and under his best friend’s watchful gaze.

But after a few moments, he can’t resist another look, even as his body succumbs.

“You can sleep, Dean.” Cas says, almost chastising. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Ain’t that. Just...” His tongue feels too big for his mouth and his heart feels too heavy for his chest. “Just checkin’ you’re still there, is all.”

As he falls asleep, he hears his voice one more time.

“I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

_

When Dean asks Cas where he can drop him, the ex-angel avoids his eyes and says something about being ‘between places’.

Yeah, Dean’s the worst friend in the world.

He drives them to a motel because that’s the least he can do.

He mentally berates himself on the drive there while Cas is quiet in the passenger seat. This really is the least he can do. He should be driving Cas home to the Bunker, buying him dinner on the way back. He should be apologising for throwing him out. But if he starts apologising that means he’s got to start explainingand that’s something he really can’t do. Not yet.

So he drives his awesome best friend to a shitty motel and books them a shitty twin room and orders a shitty pizza.

Once they’ve eaten in relative silence, Cas perches on the edge of one of the beds staring wide-eyed and blank faced at the television. Unfortunately, it’s not Dr. Sexy. Just some grim drama about murders and family betrayals. Like they don’t have enough of that to deal with already.

He looks small and Dean has the sudden urge to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude,” He says, busying his restless hands with clearing up the greasy napkins and tossing them into the bin. “Don’t sit that close to the TV. You’ll get square eyes.”

For what seems like the first time in an hour, Cas blinks. “Is that possible?”

Dean chuckles and settles back on his bed, kicking off his boots with a groan. “Nah, just somethin’ parents tell their kids. Dad used to say it to me all the time.” His smile slips as John Winchester’s dark eyes narrow in his mind. “Used to watch so much Scooby Doo it drove him mad. ‘Turn that TV off and do something useful! Ain’t got no use for a son with square eyes!’” He fidgets on the bed, fighting the urge to pull a blanket over himself.

“Oh.” Cas half turns away from the TV. “That seems unnecessarily harsh.”

Dean shrugs. “Just watched it when he was gone.” Had plenty of time.

“I assume you had plenty of time to watch it then.”

Huh.

Dean’s stunned into silence long enough for Cas to look over. Something on his face makes Cas look guilty.

“I’m sorry. It isn’t my place to comment on your father.”

“No.” Dean says but isn’t sure if he means it.

Cas stands, flicking off the TV and sitting against the pillows of his own bed. The quiet makes Dean realise that he’s alone with Cas in a motel room. He isn’t sure why it sets his teeth on edge – it shouldn’t be any different from sharing with Sam. So why does he feel a bit too hot under his shirt?

“Family is a complicated thing.” Cas continues, oblivious to Dean’s discomfort.

“Y-yeah.” The word sticks in his throat. “You miss ‘em? The other angels?”

In the soft lamplight, Cas’ profile looks striking as he thinks. “Yes and no. I miss the simplicity of being with them.”

“Simplicity? Can’t imagine Heaven ever being simple.”

“Oh, it’s not, not really. But I knew my place and I knew what I required to do. And I was known. Understood.”

“You think I don’t get you?” Dean asks before he can stop himself.

Cas leans back further, turning slightly to rest his head on the pillow. His eyes look almost velvet in the soft light. Dean finds himself turning a little too, cheek brushing the cotton pillowcase.

“I think you understand me more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“Oh.” Dean feels struck dumb and something inside his chest clunks. “That...that’s what friends are for, I guess.”

“Yes.” Cas smiles, gummy and a little crooked where he’s resting his head. “It is.”

Dean rolls onto his back, heart hammering as he stares at the ceiling. Cas’ eyes are still on him – he knows the feel of that gaze like a dangerous coastline knows the relentless glare of a lighthouse.

The silence drags and his fingers itch to switch the TV back on.

“Coulda got you your own room.” He mutters, almost to himself. Least I could do. “Give you some privacy.”

“No.” Cas says firmly. “This is...this is good. Thank you.” He sounds so earnestly grateful Dean almost cringes in shame. “I spend quite a lot of time alone. It’s good to have company.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

“But if you’d rather - ”

“Nah, it’s all good.” He says and is surprised that he means it. He’s counted the stains on the ceiling three times and his heart is slowing to its normal pace again.

“Dean?” Cas sounds a little slower now. “Tell me something?”

“Uh, sure. What?”

“Anything.”

“Like a story?” Dean frowns and looks over to see Cas’ eyes are already half-closed.

“Hmm.”

“Uhhh...” He flounders. He hasn’t done this since he was a kid, making up stories for Sammy to fall asleep to in the back of the Impala. “Ok. Once, this guy woke up. Let’s call him...Dan. He woke up and realised he was underground, being suffocated. So after he panicked a bit, he dug his way out and almost goddamn blinded himself ‘cos it was a sunny day, right? He walks to this old gas station and keeps thinking ‘how am I alive?’ ‘cos he’s pretty sure he was dead.”

He knows he isn’t telling it well but it doesn’t seem to matter because Cas hums again, sounding pleased this time. Dean feels his own body melting like hot wax into the bed as he watches Cas’ eyes close.

“Then he looks in the mirror and sees he’s got this mark on his shoulder. A handprint. So he’s like, ‘who the hell left that there?’”

Cas chuckles, mouth thick with sleep. Dean pulls a blanket over himself and wraps an arm around one of the pillows.

“Turns out, his best friend left it there. But here’s the thing: he ain’t met him yet.”

Dean smiles as Cas’ breathing gets even and heavy. He watches for a moment and squeezes the pillow tight against his chest before turning out the light.

He dreams of Hell but when he wakes, all he can remember are dark wings beating hard against fire.

_

Dean is sick.

He throws up until his body is shaking, until his throat is raw and his eyes are bloodshot.

He slumps down next to the toilet and takes in breaths he doesn’t really want. The cool title presses against his burning back and he closes eyes. Which is a horrific mistake.

A beam of light streaming from his mouth, from his eyes, from the hole in his chest -

His body jerks and his foot knocks the empty whiskey bottle with a jarring clatter. Yeah, that’s rule one, buddy. Don’t close your fucking eyes.

He stands on shaking legs, picks up the empty bottle and goes back to his room where he’s stashed another. Thankfully, he doesn’t pass Sam on the way. He can’t deal with the pity, he can’t deal with the logic and he can’t deal with his stupid, childish hope. Mom’s gone. Ain’t no sense in pretending otherwise. Gone just like –

Nope.

He opens his door and chucks the empty bottle down again, letting it roll off to some dark corner of his room. He scoops up the next one and cracks open the top, taking a deep swig. It hits him hard; neat alcohol on his turbulent stomach makes him gag but he perseveres. He’s exhausted but he can’t close his eyes.

So he’s aiming for blackout.

It can’t be too far away – he can’t remember when he last ate. He’s aching all over, boiling hot and he’s...

Sobbing.

“You...you son of a bitch...” He sways a little when he looks up at the dingy ceiling but he’s trying to talk beyond that. “Whydya hav’ ta...fuck!” He rushes over to the sink and throws up the whiskey he just swallowed. It burns even more on the way up.

Once he’s stopped retching, he tries to take another swig but his body won’t let him do it. He collapses onto the floor again, legs too weak to stand. The bottle clangs in the sink, probably spilling all of its contents down the drain. He makes a weak sound of protest but doesn’t move.

His eyes feel tight and dry against the salty wetness on his face. He wonders how far above him Heaven is. If he’s even there. Something tells him he isn’t. If he is, surely he would have found a way to get back.

Dean whispers his name, a private prayer of desperation. There’s still some dumb part of him that thinks he might just appear again, slightly dishevelled and annoyed at Dean for not looking after himself.

But he doesn’t.

The silence stretches and Dean contemplates hitting his head on the floor. If he does it hard enough, there’s a good chance it’ll knock him out for a while, maybe a few days if he’s lucky.

He tries to lift his head but it’s too heavy. A wave of panic rushes over him as he starts to feel paralyzed – trapped in his own body and smothered with grief.

“Cas?” He chokes, a fresh wave of tears rushing down his face. “You...you’re meant to come back. You always come back. You gotta...you gotta come back, man. Please. Please, I can’t - ”

I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to. Don’t make me.

With all his might, he rolls onto his side before he’s suffocated completely. His head spins as he turns, his stomach churns and his eyes roll back. When he finally passes out, he doesn’t see anything at all.

_

“The Empty?” Dean whispers, feeling cold.

“Yes.” Cas whispers back. He’s only whispering because Dean is. Dean feels completely normal about that and not giddy at all.

“What was it like?” He doesn’t want to know but has to ask all the same.

“Empty.” Cas says, deadpan.

“Oh ok, smartass – thanks for clearing that up!” Dean huffs good-naturedly and has to grip the railing until his knuckles turn white. He’s got so much happiness in him his body doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels energy thrumming through him and he has the sudden urge to start sprinting and laughing.

They’ve stopped at a motel on the drive back from Colorado to the Bunker. Sam is already asleep, hair all splayed out on his pillow like Sleeping Beauty. But Dean...well, Dean was dead for a couple of minutes today so he figures he’ll enjoy being alive for a bit longer. He leans on the rail overlooking the parking lot and lets the cool air fill his lungs.

He’s got company.

“How is Jack?” Cas asks, obviously expecting a better answer than the quick reassurance they’d given him earlier.

“He’s doing ok. I was...” Dean trails off, his good mood momentarily dipping into guilt. “I was kind of a dick to him at first - ”

“What a surprise.” Cas sighs, world-weary and affectionately irritated. Dean wants to make him sound like that every day.

“- but we’ve gotten better.” He knocks Cas’ shoulder with his. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Good.” Cas smiles at him and he has to grip the railing again.

Dean watches him stare up at the moon, the pearly light making him look as otherworldly as he is. Dean is reminded there are wings somewhere behind Cas. Broken, yes, but still there. It’s weirdly exciting that Cas isn’t human. A strange thrill shoots through him when he really thinks about it. He feels like one of those people who inadvertently tame some dangerous beast and have their photos taken with the thing sat on their couch with them. It’s that precious feeling that you’ve been chosen, that something that would normally kill you with a snap of jaws or a click of its fingers saw you and thought you were special. So it decided that it wanted you to live. That it wanted to spend time with you. That he wanted –

“Dean? You’re staring.” Cas turns back to him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly smug expression. “You usually tell me off for that.”

“Right.” Dean doesn’t stop looking. “It’s just...you’re back.You came back again.”

Cas’s expressions softens and he edges a little closer. Suddenly – wildly – Dean thinks if Cas kissed him now he’d be fine with it.

He doesn’t.

“It was suffocating.” He says instead. “The black emptiness was...all encompassing. Like no matter what I did or where I went, I would never escape the feeling of total despair. Of being painfully alone. It was like - ”

“Choking.” Dean says and swallows hard against his healing throat.

“Yes.” Cas’ fingers twitch on the railing and Dean thinks that if he moved his left pinkie, he could feel his skin. Cas’ hand drops before he can really contemplate doing it. “But I did escape.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s full of energy again, happiness buzzing around his body like a swarm of bumblebees. “You got out, man.”

“I was afraid that feeling would follow me. That I would still feel that fear no matter how far I ran.”

“And?”

“I don’t.” Cas turns to the moon again, bathed in pure light, eyes shining as bright as his grace. “I don’t feel scared at all.”

Dean blinks back the sting in his eyes and smiles. “Me neither.”

_

Dean pushes open the door with a sweaty palm.

Cas stands next to him, staring into the room with his lips slightly parted. Dean’s gaze lingers on them for moment before he drags his eyes away.

Just because Cas...said what he said, doesn’t mean he wants that. Maybe he didn’t really mean it. Or maybe he did mean it but like...friends. Best friends love each other. Of course they do. Sure, it did seemlike a momentous romantic confession made by a guy madly in love with his best friend before he sacrificed himself to save said best friend but maybe...maybe it wasn’t really like that.

“You did this for me?” Cas sounds almost tearful and Dean can’t look at him like that. It reminds too much of –

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Well, Sam helped too. Turns out he’s kinda nerdy about plants too. But I bought ‘em all and watered ‘em and...Jack got you that stuffed bee, by the way.”

Cas steps inside the room and Dean can finally look up from his feet. His eyes go straight to Cas’ broad back, casually dressed in one of Sam’s sweaters. The sleeves are too long but Cas says he likes it. He’s wearing a pair of joggers that Dean kept aside for him and a pair of socks with a hole in the toe.

“I love it.”

Dean’s heart literally skips a beat. Great, he loves it. Loves it in the way he loves –

“Wanted you to have something to come back to, you know? I know this was always kinda your room but there was nothing in here and I thought...after what you said before about the Empty...thought you’d want something good to come back to. Bright and full of life...or whatever, I dunno. Just thought you might like it.”

“It’s incredible.”

Dean thinks that’s over stating it. It’s not that good. Not nearly enough to repay his debts. Not anywhere near what Cas deserves. He deserves a real home, a huge garden, a fucking mansion with butlers and people who bow to him and call him ‘sir’. Instead Dean has given him his old room back. Sure, it’s got a few shelves up, a new rug, bedding that Jack picked out called ‘jungle dreams’, a load of plants and a tall lamp that gives everything a nice glow but it’s still the same room.

Dean has never felt more pathetic.

Castiel is an angel. Ok, barely an angel now (and whose fault it that?) but still a celestial being. He might get tired sometimes, he might get hungry and he might be able to get drunk but he’s still an angel.

He’s still better.

Better than this stupid room, better than this miserable Bunker. Better than Dean.

“Is this your blanket?” Cas asks suddenly, plucking the Scooby-Doo fleece blanket from the bed.

Oh, that. “Uh, yeah. Thought you might get cold now. Don’t want you to get numb toes or nothin’.”

“That’s...” Dean isn’t prepared for the open, raw joy on Cas’ face when he looks up. It almost sends him reeling backwards out of the door. “That’s very kind of you. You didn’t have to do all of this. It’s...”

Stupid. Stupid plants, stupid lamp, stupid goddamn blanket.

“It’s wonderful.”

“It’s stupid.” Dean blurts, feeling awkward and childish. “Shoulda done something more. Shoulda got you - ”

“You got me.” Cas says firmly. “You got me out, Dean. You and Sam and Jack...I will never be able to thank you enough. And then to come back to this room that you worked so hard on, that you filled with things you knew I would like...there is nothing better than that in the whole world. The whole of creation. To be known and to be wanted is the best thing there is.”

Fuck.

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he say to that? What can he say that would ever compare to what Cas said? What he said before –

“Right. Ok. Great. That’s...good. I’ll just...” He gestures over his shoulder to the door. Being in here with Cas is too intense, like staring at the sun or holding your hand over an open flame. “You probably want to rest.”

Cas hesitates before saying, “Yes. I suppose I should. Thank you again for this. I really love it.”

“Yeah, man.” Dean almost winces. “No worries. I’ll just...leave you to it.”

He steps back into the open doorway, unwilling to take his eyes away from Cas because he’s here, in the room Dean has imagined him in for weeks. It’s kind of annoying that Cas doesn’t have the same trouble. He turns his back, wandering towards the plants on the shelves and gently touching the leaves.

Dean lingers, like a moth perched on a lightshade.

“Are you - ” Just leave. “Are you gonna be ok by yourself? I mean, you said before that it was lonely being in the Empty. Thought maybe you’d want company?”

Cas seems surprised when he faces Dean again. “Oh. Well, yes, of course. I would enjoy you staying for a while. But please don’t feel like you have to.”

The idea of Cas thinking he’s keeping Dean against his will is laughable.

“So, er - ” He sits on the bed, fingers clutching at his blanket. “What do you wanna do? I could get my laptop and we could watch a movie? Or we could watch one of those nature documentaries that kinda send me to sleep? You know the ones with the British guy with smooth voice - ”

“Actually, I should rest. I am quite tired.”

“Oh.” Dean tries to not look crushingly disappointed. “Right, yeah.”

“You could rest with me.” Cas says, just like that. Like it’s not a big deal at all. Like guy friends just clamber into bed with each other all the time and die for each other and confess their love for each other...

“Sure.” Dean’s mouth decides for him. “We could – we could do that.”

So they get into bed together.

Cas slides in as though this is his regular night time routine, looking totally at ease in his new ‘jungle dreams’ bedding and borrowed blanket. Dean’s hands shake as he lifts up the covers and slides in too. He waits for it to be weird, waits for discomfort and his father’s face swimming in front of eyes.

Instead, he just feels warm.

They’re led next to each other, unmoving and flat on their backs. Dean’s right leg is about to fall off the bed and Cas’ shoulder looks like it’s digging into the nightstand. Maybe this bed wasn’t made to fit two fully grown men too afraid to touch.

“Dean, are you comfortable? I am not.”

He laughs and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, this isn’t great. Maybe if we...uh - ”

“What about if we do this?”

Cas’ hands are suddenly everywhere, manhandling him in a way that Dean has never experienced before but wouldn’t mind experiencing again. He ends up with his head resting on Cas’ chest, forehead pressed against his neck. His right leg has nowhere to go but to hook around Cas’ legs, entwining them together.

And Cas is holding him.

His arms are wrapped around him and not just because they haven’t got anywhere else to go. Because he wants them to go there. Because he wantsto hold Dean. Possibly all night.

Dean starts to panic.

Led like this, his ear is pressed against Cas’ chest – his heartbeat the loudest thing he can hear. What if someone breaks into the Bunker without him knowing? What if something is happening to Sam? To Jack? And he hasn’t even brought a gun with him. He squirms a little, debating on popping back to his room to get one when Cas says,

“Are you thinking about getting a weapon, Dean? I promise you, you won’t need it.”

Cas’ deep voice rumbles through his body, rocking him out of his spiralling worry so quickly Dean briefly wonders if he used some of his remaining slither of grace to do it.

“I would never let anything happen to you.”

“What if someone comes in?”

“An intruder? Judging by our current position, I assume I am the being most visible from the door.”

Dean’s fingers curl in Cas’ borrowed sweater. “You mean you’d be shot first?”

“Yes.” Dean feels his arms tighten around him for a moment. “And I believe my body would shield you from the vast majority of attacks.” He sighs and his breath tickles Dean’s hair. “Of course, if someone were to gain access to the Bunker, it’s likely they would be a supremely powerful being. That would reduce our chance of survival by quite a lot. However, if you really insist on being armed, I am confident that in the few seconds I could shield you, you could at least reach for a makeshift weapon. Whatever good it would do.”

“Right. But...” Dean doesn’t really feel comforted. “I don’t want you to...” He can’t quite say the word.

“Die?” Cas finishes for him as his fingers begin to move, leaving warm trails over Dean’s back. “No, I cannot say that I am enthused by the idea either. I have no desire to leave you again.”

“Not ever?” Dean asks and despises himself for the needy edge in his voice.

“Not ever.” His hands are moving now, big and slow in soothing motions against Dean’s back. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this. Mom, he thinks. When he was a kid. He knows he must look pathetic – six foot plus guy that’s been to hell and back being held like a baby. He should move, should pull away, wipe his eyes and tell Cas it’s time he went back to his own room.

He doesn’t want to.

“You love me.” He says instead, face burning and mouth dry.

He feels Cas smile against the crown of his head. “Yes.”

“You’re like...in love with me.”

One of Cas’ hands moves higher, fingertips trailing over the back of his neck leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Yes.”

Dean will never admit to the half moan, half whine he lets out. He buries his face in Cas’ chest and breathes him in. The smell of him fills Dean’s lungs and Cas’ arms start to feel like a weighted blanket, pressing gently on his body. It makes his eyes soft and his limbs heavy.

As he drifts off, he feels Cas’ lips brushing against his temple.

Dean wakes slowly.

He’s cocooned in softness and warmth and he has no desire to rush anything anymore – least of all to the leave the comfort of his (new) memory foam and his angel. He shifts a little, nuzzling his nose against stubble.

“I thought you were making breakfast.” Cas’ voice rolls over him slow and sweet like honey.

“Hmm.” A murmur, breathed into Cas’ neck, is all Dean can manage.

“Dean, you did promise them.” Cas says, with barely a hint of firmness. His voice is a little husky, like he’s still battling the urge to sleep.

“Oh, yeah? When?” Dean’s lips brush over warm skin.

“Last night.”

He pretends to forget. “Can’t take anything I said last night serious, Cas.”

“Oh?” He sounds a bit more awake now – that familiar dry, teasing tone creeping in.

Dean feels a pang of something in his chest so intense he almost squirms. “Alright, maybe some things were serious.”

“Hmm.” One of Cas’ hands rubs languid strokes up and down his back. “I should hope so.”

The memories come back easy and bright, playing like a dream behind Dean’s heavy eyelids. The stillness of their bedroom is punctuated by the sound of quiet voices in the living room. He grins at that, relishing waking up with the love of his life and his family just in the next room. Happy. Safe.

“Screw ‘em.” Dean says, more to himself than Cas and rubs his foot along his leg a few times, settling down again.

Cas doesn’t seem to have any objections. His hand strokes higher, fingers brushing through Dean’s hair and his blunt nails lightly graze his scalp.

Dean almost whines, his head lifting to follow the touch. He half opens his eyes again and sees a smile, unhurried and adoring. Cas leans down a little and kisses him, stubble rough and lips soft. Dean’s fingers curl against skin and his legs squeeze a muscled thigh beneath the blankets.

They stay that way for a while – bodies warm and entwined, gently greeting each other as the new day dawns. The rising sun has drenched the room in rich yellow light, soft and muffled through the curtains.

Cas’ hand is just caressing his hip and his tongue is getting hotter and more demanding in Dean’s very willing mouth when there’s a knock at the door.

“I know you’re both awake.” Sam’s voice rumbles through the door, amused and still a little sleep rough. “And don’t think we forgot about breakfast either. Eileen wants pancakes and she says I don’t make them right.”

“Not unhealthy enough!” Eileen voice calls out, a little further away.

Dean laughs against Cas’ lips.

“Alright, alright! Gimme five.”

As they slowly detangle, he catches a glimpse of silver as Cas stretches. Dean’s hand feels heavy and warm, like someone’s been holding it for hours. Dean yawns and dangles one leg out of bed, then another. He’s easing himself into the day, taking it a bit at a time.

He can do that now.

He laughs as Cas drags him in for one last kiss before he slides away, shoving his feet into his slippers and tugging on his trusty robe. His ties it around him and wanders, a little stiff-legged, to the window. He pulls back the curtains and from the bed Cas both grumbles and raises his face to meet the sunrise.

Dean watches the sun bathe him in bright light and remembers seeing him like this before. But then it was moonlight and he and Cas were at some shitty motel just out of Colorado. Not in their own house, not in theirbedroom. Dean has his first unbearably intense wave of wild happiness. It won’t be the last one today.

“I like having a window.”

“I liked having eyesight.” Cas mutters, burying himself into the covers.

Dean laughs and thwacks him on the thigh as he passes out the door. Cas’ll be up in his own time.

Four steps and Dean’s in the kitchen.

His brother is perched on one of the chairs at the little island separating the kitchen from the living room. Eileen is signing at him and he’s watching, completely enraptured, with a look of total adoration on his face. Dean would have laughed at him for that once. Now, he knows what it’s like when someone looks at him like that. Now he knows what it’s like to look at someone like that.

But he might still laugh a bit. That’s a big brother’s right.

“Mornin’!” He calls cheerily, rummaging in the fridge for eggs and milk. He emerges triumphant, plopping them onto the counter with a grin. “If the lady wants pancakes, the lady gets pancakes.”

“Best brother in law ever.” Eileen says and Sam almost falls off his seat. She just shrugs cheekily. “Unofficially.”

“For now.” Dean winks and Sam splutters.

“Right, well. Once you’ve finished marrying me off, can we get some breakfast?”

“Alright, alright!” Dean glares but he’s itching to get started. “Goddamn demanding baby. Eileen you could do so much better. Sadly, I’m already taken - ”

She laughs and so does Sam. He wraps an arm around Eileen’s waist and she plays with his hair as they all talk. They talk about Jack getting hyperactive on sugared almonds, about Claire and Kaia wearing matching suits, about Jody and Donna getting drunk and singing karaoke until they were booed off the stage.

Then Cas stumbles out of their soft-lit room; hair wild and face crumpled. He bids them all good morning in a slightly rough tone before shuffling over for coffee. He cradles his mug in both hands as he leans against the corner counter, basking in the sun with his eyes closed.

Dean watches him, aching with joy.

Being in the dark with Cas is easy. But being with him in the light is better.

He twirls the whisk in his hand and it knocks against the ring on his left hand, so new it glows against his skin. Cas kisses his neck as he passes into the living room and Dean grins, looking up at his family.

“Hey, Eileen. What’s the sign for ‘husband’?”

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | five

A/N: This is the last part of this mini series!  I know this adventure was short but thank you all for coming along on the ride :)    A quick reminder that I will be announcing my new fic, who it will feature, a small blurb, & a clue as to what to expect from it this Thursday at 7:30pm EST.  Happy reading!

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); parent death; swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                               *     *     *     *     *

“You look beautiful, baby,” Brock cooed as he adjusted his cufflinks – well, not really.  He was looking at Grace, not really caring about his cufflinks.  Seeing her stand there in her beautiful dress, her hair curled and pinned, and her delicate jewelry hanging off her ears, neck, and wrists…she was a vision.  He was so lucky.

They were about to leave to attend the Parkinson’s Foundation of British Columbia Gala.  Grace had planned virtually the whole thing, though she worked with the head of the foundation on most major decisions.  She arranged the venue, catering, got major sponsors (okay…the biggest were her uncles, but there were a lot more), organized the silent auction, and arranged the entertainment for the evening.  Everyone who attended their weekly meetings would be there.  Brock knew the Aquilinis would be there.  It was a party, yes, and a function to raise money, yes – but at the end of the day, it was a culmination of Grace’s strength after Hamish passed away.

“Thanks, babe,” she smiled over at him, taking one last look at herself in the mirror.  “Are Petey and Svea ready to go?”

Brock nodded.  “Petey’s been texting for fifteen minutes asking if we’re on our way yet,” he joked.

“You can blame it on me,” she winked.  “Unless Petey takes a good look at your hair.  Then he’ll know it was you.”

Brock laughed out loud, taking the few steps needed to stand right in front of her and wrap his arms around her.  “Hey…before we go,” his voice was low and he looked down at Grace.  “Your dad would be so proud of you for planning this.”

Grace nodded her head.  She knew.  It was a lot of work, and she completely went in head first with planning all of it and maybe, sort of taking over the entire operation, but it was worth it.  She had planned something that would raise money that, hopefully, would fund research so that nobody would have to go through what she went through.  She didn’t just want to be known as an heiress daughter of a billionaire; she wanted to be known as so much more.  An heiress who used her money to fund research projects and arts centres; an heiress who donated her time and money to worthy causes.  She once told Brock that she knew she wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but that she thought she had a big heart.  She hoped this was the start of others in her community, and in Vancouver, realizing that she had a big heart.

***

“Grace, this is amazing,” Svea couldn’t help but say astonishingly as she took yet another look around the giant room, decorated to the nines with flashing lights and impeccably dressed people chatting and drinking and dancing.  Svea knew Grace would be busy throughout the night, so she wasn’t trying to hog her after their limousine ride together.  But now that Svea got her alone, she had to verbalize it again, just like she did when she walked in.  “Like, I don’t think you understand.  It’s incredible.”

“Want to let me plan your wedding to Elias?” Grace winked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh shut up.”

“There she is!” the women both heart Elias yell.  They turned around and saw him and Brock walking towards them, both with drinks in their hands.  “Grace, this is so cool.”

“Thanks Petey.  And thanks for donating your jersey.”

“Anything for you.”

Grace focused her attention on Brock.  “Esther wants us to take a group photo with everyone before everyone leaves,” she said, and Brock nodded his head in agreement.  She looked at Elias.  “If I get everyone together right now, do you mind taking it?”

“Like I just said Grace, anything for you.”

***

Fatigued, physically and mentally exhausted, but still somehow feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Grace climbed into the limousine with Brock, Elias, and Svea at the end of the gala so they could go home.  They dropped off Elias and Svea first, naturally, and Elias had to wake Svea up as she slept on his shoulder throughout the ride.  It left Brock and Grace alone in the limousine together, hands clasped together as the driver drove through the streets of Vancouver.

“You did amazing tonight,” Brock mumbled, his voice low and full of sleepiness but still so direct and meaningful.  “I love you so much, Grace.”

“I love you too, Brock.”

“When we have kids, I’m gonna let them know this was the night I knew you’d become my wife.”

Grace stiffened at Brock’s words, but he was too tired to notice – the small smirk on his face not disappearing despite anxiety – not adrenaline – now coursing through Grace’s veins.  She thought about the implications of his words, how he just outright admitted that she was the one for him.  She thought about her feelings for him, and if she felt the same.  She did.  But was it possible to still be apprehensive?  She loved Brock with her whole heart.  She’d never met anybody like him, and likely would never meet anyone like him again.  She loved him too, with everything she had.

But then she thought about her parents.

Her parents were young and in love once too.  Her parents were once obsessed with each other and madly in love.  Her parents had decided to get married and have a child.  Her parents had decided what Brock was laying out on the proverbial table – what Brock was so willing to give her – and look what happened.  Things didn’t work out.  Love didn’t work out.  Love was complicated.  They separated.  Grace went to live with Eliza but didn’t like it because she missed dad.  She told Hamish who told his lawyers.  His lawyers brought it to the judge.  Divorce proceedings started.  Grace went to live with Hamish.  Eliza demanded alimony for her lifestyle, to maintain it, if not to exceed it.  Eliza demanded child support.  Eliza demanded nannies, a multi-million dollar house, and expensive cars.  Hamish would tell Grace her mother was selfish.  Eliza would tell Grace how stingy her father was.  Eliza would tell Grace how her father only wanted custody so he didn’t have to pay child support.  Hamish told Grace Eliza only wanted child support and alimony so she could hire babysitters and nannies while she went to spas.  A pawn while she was at her mom’s in Shaughnessy; a pawn while she was at her dad’s in West Point Grey.  A pawn when dropped off at school at Crofton House.  A pawn at the dance studio, her happiest place.

What if she and Brock turned out the same way?

***

“You okay?” Brock asked Grace.

Grace wasn’t there.  She was somewhere else, in her mind, thinking about events long passed.  “Your father’s the cheapest man I’ve ever met,” she could hear her mom say in the kitchen as she waited for her cereal before school at seven years old.  “Cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap!  He’s always been so much work to be with, your father.  He refuses to get you a Range Rover – did you know that?  Your dad wants you driven around in some…in some…I don’t know, some Toyota.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Grace said absent-mindedly, giving her pasta a few more twirls to make it seem like she’d eat it.  “Will I still be able to go to dance?”

“Who knows?!  Your father may even take that away from you too!  It scares me, the things he’s taking away from you.”

“But I love dance.”

“Well then maybe you should stay with me.  Daddy will pay me to take you to dance.”

***

“Your mother is a piece of work, let me tell you,” Hamish mumbled as he slapped his cellphone down on the counter.  “She was always so much work to be with.  Always so much work.  Now she wants $60,000 a month in alimony.  Alimony!”

“What’s alimony?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hamish said.  “Have your teachers taught you yet what it means to be selfish?” he asked.  Grace nodded her head.  “Well your mother is selfish.  One of the most selfish people in the world.”

“Grace?  You coming to bed?” Brock’s voice was groggy as he stood in the doorway of the ensuite, his usually well-kept hair everywhere, his eyes sleepy.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Grace apologized, getting up from her seated position on the toilet lid.  “Sorry baby.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  Yeah I’m fine,” she said, grabbing Brock’s hand and leading him back to bed.

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t right?” he asked softly as she cuddled up against him in bed.

“Of course,” she said, a nervous lump in her throat.  “Of course.”

***

“Gracie…please tell me what’s wrong,” Brock said in a low voice as he tried to wrap his arms around her, only for her to flinch slightly and back away.  That hurt him more than anything.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said unconvincingly.

“Yes it is—”

“Can we just drop it,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

***

“What’s the matter with you?” Elias asked, sick of seeing Brock so gloomy and moody the past several weeks.  He’d noticed a change in him, and though Brock was usually very open about what he was feeling with him, he wasn’t this time, and Elias was…skeptical.  Well, not skeptical – worried.  This time, Brock had a girlfriend and was moody, and Elias didn’t know what to expect.  “What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” Brock revealed to Elias.

“What’s wrong?”

Brock shook his head.  “She won’t tell me.  But she…she zones out a lot, like she’s thinking about something…and it’s so intense that she doesn’t even hear me calling her.”

“What’s she thinking about?”

Brock shrugged.  “She doesn’t tell me.  She’ll never tell me.”

“Well when did it start?”

Brock thought about it.  He really thought about it.  He liked to think he was in tune with changes in Grace.  “The gala.”

“The Parkinson’s Gala?” Elias clarified.  Brock nodded his head.  “Well, could it be about her dad?”

“It’s something more,” Brock was adamant.  He knew she would be sad and would never be the same after her dad died.  That was a given.  No-one was ever the same after the death of a parent, so he didn’t blame her for that.  “It’s…it’s something more.”

***

“Is everything okay with you?” Svea asked delicately as she and Grace were shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Well – Grace was shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Svea was basically just following her around, because it wasn’t like she could afford anything.

“I’m fine,” Grace said unconvincingly.  

“Are you sure?  Because you know you can talk to me if things aren’t okay.”

Grace took a deep breath in, trying to compose herself.  Knowing what she knew about Svea’s parents and their love story, she doubted that Svea would be able to provide any…critical insight, so to speak.  But Grace tried anyway.  “How d’you know a guy is your soulmate, Svea?” she asked.

Svea was taken aback.  It was quite the loaded question to lead with.  “I’d say it’s when you can picture the rest of your life with them.  At least that’s one aspect to it.”

“Can you picture the rest of your life with Elias?”

“Yes,” Svea answered automatically, because she could.  It was as friends, sure, but she still pictured the rest of her life with him.  “Can you picture the rest of your life with Brock?”

Grace paused.  Her response wasn’t as quick or forthcoming.  “Yes.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“There was a pause there,” Svea said.  “But what?”

“But what if, like, things change?” Grace asked.  “What if the love doesn’t last?  What if it breaks down?”

“You mean like your parents?”

Grace didn’t want to glare at Svea – she really didn’t, because Svea was one of the sweetest people alive – but she did.  She glared at her.  “No,” she said forcefully, trying to cover.

“Love always lasts.  True love always lasts.  Look at Elias and I – I mean, we’ve loved each other our whole lives—”

“You and Elias won’t even hold hands or kiss each other,” Grace said angrily, unable to control her emotions at this point.  “You won’t even admit you love him romantically.  How the hell is that love?”

Svea just stared at Grace, unable to formulate words.  Tears welled in her eyes too, and when Grace saw them get red, she hated herself even more.  She hated herself already for making Brock worry, for not telling him the truth, for hiding things from him; now, she hated herself even more for making Svea emotional.  “I’ve gotta go,” she said, leaving quickly, unable to look back at Svea as she left her in the middle of Holt Renfrew alone.

***

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong right now or I’m leaving,” Brock said sternly, his voice raised.  Both of their voices had been for the last while now, since they were fighting.  He looked at Grace as she stared back at him indignantly from across the kitchen.  “We can’t have a relationship if we don’t communicate – if you don’t tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is it something I did?  Did I say something?”

“It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“There’s nothing wr—”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

Grace stayed silent.  She could feel herself going red.  She could feel the emotions in her bubble up.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer.  “Leave.”

Brock furrowed his brows.  “Excuse me?”

“Leave my apartment now.”

Brock stood stoic in spot.  “You don’t mean that—”

“LEAVE!” Grace screamed at the top of her lungs, taking every ounce of strength left in her to not cry.

They were in a standoff.  Brock stood stoic.  Grace stood stoic.  Staring at each other, waiting for the other to move.  Neither did for a while, waiting it out to see who would crack first.  She didn’t mean it, Brock kept thinking.  She doesn’t mean it.  She doesn’t mean it.  But with every second that passed, with every heave of Grace’s chest, with every moment of silence signaling her refusal to budge…

Brock cracked.  

He picked up his keys, gave Grace one last look, and walked out the door.  

***

It was a few agonizing, excruciating, unbearably lonely few weeks later when Brock received a phone call in the middle of the night.  2:38am.  His phone’s ring blaring throughout his empty apartment.

“Hello?” his voice was groggy, tired, exhausted.  

Silence.  

“Hello?” he asked once more, louder this time.  If it was any one of his teammates he’d knock them dead the next time he saw them – Petey especially.

The voice was small and defeated when it finally did speak, asking Brock the question, “What if we end up like my parents?”

Brock was wide awake now.  He got up in bed dramatically, holding his phone against his ear so tightly that he could hear the charger fall out of the electrical socket.  “Gracie,” the shock was evident in his voice.  

“Will you come over?” she asked.

Brock threw the covers off his body dramatically.  “I’m on my way right now,” he said.  He’d drive his car in his slippers if he needed to.  

“Be careful.”

“I’m coming.  I’ll be there soon.”

***

“C’mere,” Brock said the millisecond Grace let him in, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her into a hug as she clung to him like he’d float away and wrapped every limb she had around him.  He’d made it to her apartment in record time, speeding through the streets of Vancouver to get to her.  It was probably dangerous, but it wasn’t like there were other cars on the road at 2:45 in the morning.  “Talk to me Gracie.  Talk to me,” he urged as he felt her tears against his skin.  

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck.  “I’m so—Brock, I was so bad.  So bad.”

“Shhhhh shhhh shhhh, don’t,” Brock cooed.  “Just tell me what’s wrong.  What’s going on in your head, Grace?”

“Brock…” she began, swallowing her tears before continuing.  She pulled away slightly so she could look him in the eye, wiping her own red ones with the palms of her hands.  She knew she looked awful, but she also knew Brock didn’t give a shit.  “I just miss him so much.”

“Your dad.”

Grace nodded quickly.  “Every part of me misses him.  But then I started to think about how awful he and my mom were during the divorce,” she explained.  And to Brock, that said everything.  Grace told him about it ever since they met – the general, the specific, the nitty-gritty details – and it was awful.  To have that whirling around in her mind would have definitely affected her.  It all made sense to him now.  It all made sense, knowing she never wanted to go back to that.  “And I got scared…I got so scared.  I just kept remembering how bad it was.  So on the night of the gala when you said—”

“So it was something that I said—”

“Nonononononono,” she vehemently shook her head, bringing her finger up to his lips to silence him.  “No no no no no.  I—Brock—I love you with every part of me too.  But…but what if we end up like my parents?  What if we fall out of love?  What if it—what if it ends badly?  What if we ended up hating each other?  They’d always say things like it was so hard to be with one another and—”

“Is it hard to be with me?” Brock asked, not wanting her to go any further and knowing that at this point, he needed to intervene.

“NO!  Never!” she exclaimed.  She never wanted Brock to think that ever.  She cradled his face in her hands.  “Being with you feels natural.  It feels like it was always supposed to be this way.  It’s so easy.  It’s so peaceful.”

“Then that’s how it’ll always be, a peaceful easy feeling,” Brock whispered.  “What’s there to be scared about, baby?”

Grace shook her head, tearing up again.  “Nothing when I’m with you.”

“We won’t end up like your parents because we’re not your parents,” he said.  His words were so simple but they hit Grace like a ton of bricks.  “We’re different people.  I love you more than anything, and the thought of hating you—Grace—I—it’s never, never crossed my mind.  I never could.  You give me everything.  Do I give you everything?”

She nodded.  “Everything.”

“Then I’m gonna keep giving you everything.  And I’ll do it till the end of time, Gracie.  Because I love you.  I can’t picture myself with anyone else.  I can’t…I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”

Brock’s words were loaded – she knew that.  “I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”  Grace nodded.  The sentiment was so serious, but so right.  When she really thought about it, would she have wanted to experience this pain with anyone else besides Brock?  No.  He meant the world to her.  And that’s how it was always going to be.  “I’m so dumb,” she shook her head at herself.

“You’re not dumb.  For what you went through, it’s a legitimate worry,” he reassured her.  “But I promise you, I promise you, I’ll love you with everything I have and you’ll love me with everything you have, and we won’t end up like your parents.”

Grace was overcome with emotion.   “I love you so much, Brock.”

“I love you too,” he leaned in to kiss her, once, twice, then again and again.  When they stopped, he wrapped his arms around her body and lay down on her couch, bringing her body down with him.  He wiggled out of his hoodie.  Then he pushed her body down slightly, and that’s when Grace knew exactly what he was doing.  She lay her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.  

“Can you feel it?” he asked softly.

Grace nodded.

[hungarianbee]

sightless but steady

A/N: I wanted to try my hand on Warritt the All-Seeing for a while now. Writing a blind character who’s not *really* blind is both fun and a challenge. I have a lot of feelings about the Viper witchers, and so I snuck a lot of headcanons (about Ivar, Warritt, Letho, Auckes) into this piece. You can read about them in detail at the end of the fic. TW for: mention of non-descriptive torture

It is a relatively quiet night at the Blood Gate Keep. The young adepts went to sleep hours ago, safely tucked away in their quarters. To the average witcher, Gorthur Gvaed lays dormant, echoing the silence of its occupants.

But not to Warritt. In his room, the Viper bundles himself in furs, sitting in front of the lit hearth with his back to it. The fire’s heat seeps into his bones, touching his exposed neck, and he tilts his head back into the sensation. To him, the keep always feels just a tad cold. It’s nothing, compared to the Bear’s Haern Caduch or the Wolves’ Kaer Morhen in winter, but the Vipers’  mutations keep their temperatures lower than the other school’s.

As he flicks his fingers, his magic activates the Supirre Sign again, keeping it steady with years of practice. Just like that, the night comes alive around him.

Beneath the sound of the firewood cracking, he notices that there are rats in the walls again, scratching at the stones with their tiny claws. He makes a mental note to alert Evil-Eye to their presence later, then moves on. A floor beneath him, Gerring of Kharkiv is playing with his knives, just as usual. The fast tack-tack-tack reverberates in Warritt’s ears as the knives embed themselves in the wooden surface of the upturned table. A mouser’s yowls break it up, and he pushes the Sign further, taking note of the steady heartbeats of the snakelets. As he concentrates, he feels several that are too fast to be asleep. Auckes, he thinks. And Letho.

Warritt shucks his furs, taking one with him and folding the rest on his unused bed. With a reverse Igni, lowers the temperature of the hearth, leaving the wood smoldering. The smoke of it settles in his barely open mouth, sticking to his palate. Throwing the fur over his shoulder, he opens his door, just as Ivar Evil-Eye takes a corner in his direction, the scent of blood and iron trailing after him like an avenging wraith.

Up until this point, the Viper Grandmaster was pacing his office, as was his bad habit, then changed course, and took a detour around the Keep to the snakelets’ sleeping quarters. To air his head, most likely, and to make sure that everyone was safe. That Letho was safe. There is a lot of weight on the witcher’s shoulders that he refuses to share with them, he knows. Some days, when the pacing gets agitated and Warritt can hear his rapid breathing when he talks his way over an issue, he thinks that this will be Evil-Eye’s end. A fire can only burn bright for so long without kindling.

“Master Evil-Eye,” he greets quietly.

The thumping of Gerring’s weapons stop. A shift of skin on fabric as the man looks up, breathing carefully steadied. He’s listening. Warritt minimizes his Sign to the palm of his hand. He’s been told the yellow glow is quite noticeable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Evil-Eye shakes his head to himself, but breaks the motion midway. A heavy sigh. “I can’t deal with the brats tonight,” he admits. His tone is weary. Warritt tries to imagine what his expression must look like, but it’s been too long and the visuals appear murky in his mind. Something that might match the scents of frustration and fatigue. After all, Evil-Eye doesn’t have to hide from him; he can’t see. Then, the taste of ash ignites, becomes spicy with rekindled rage. “Did you know about Letho of Gulet?”

He can’t even finish the sentence as Warritt flashes his fangs at the leader. The hiss that leaves between his teeth rattles in his throat. “No! I would have stopped Daibesyck. Any of us would have. And you know that.”

In his rise of emotion, his Supirre sputters out. He casts it again with one hand, the other going up to rake through his curls.

Evil-Eye stands still, like a statue. Then a new tension enters his shoulders, and he turns away. “I’ve dealt with Daibesyck,” he states. Disdain colours his voice. “The worm wanted me to thank him. To acknowledge what a marvelous achievement he did, finding the perfect subject for his little successful experiment.” He breathes through his venom. “I paid him in kind. He stopped screaming a few hours ago.”

Warritt’s face tightens, even as dark satisfaction courses through him. He knows. He heard. But it wasn’t aimed at him; it’s a confirmation for their little eavesdropper. This time tomorrow everyone will know that they are one mage down.

“How’s he?”

Evil-Eye cracks his neck to the side. “He’s feverish, still. He asked for you.”

“Then I will be there.” And that’s that. Warritt lengthens his steps, taking the fur beneath one arm, the other still pulsing with Supirre. The Grandmaster matches him until they reach Letho’s quarters, where he lags behind, stopping just by the door.

The blind witcher makes his way to the bed. The scent of sickness leaves a sour note on his tongue, but that’s not his main concern. Because in this close proximity, he’s sure of it - Letho’s usual outline changed.

As he climbs into the bed he bundles the furs under Letho’s bald head, hoping that his own scent will ease the young witcher. A stone sits in Warritt’s stomach; last time he’s been in his presence, the kid had a crown of soft curls. His calloused hands slide on broad, impossibly muscled shoulders that emanate a heat that is uncharacteristic to witchers, then cup the back of Letho’s neck gently.

“Letho,” he calls, and the snakelet twitches under him, turning towards his chest. He can barely fit. A soft sound escapes him, almost a sob, and his hands come up to shield his still sensitive eyes. Warritt immediately releases his Sign to plunge the room in darkness, shushing him. “It’s Warritt, bud. I am here, just as you asked.”

“Warritt,” Letho parrots back, slurring. Without the Sign, Warritt is not prepared for the fingers prodding at the heavy scarring by his eyes, but he lets it happen anyway.

With impossible strength, Letho pulls Warritt down and curls his arms around him in a constricting hug. Warritt stifles his wheeze, breathing through it, and he presses closer still, wrapping himself around the kid as much as he can, tucking him under his chin and tangling their legs. One of his hands comes up to squeeze Letho’s nape. The pressure seems to calm the young witcher, and he mindlessly bites down on Warritt’s leathers on his shoulder, just to hold him still. Warritt notes absentmindedly that Evil-Eye slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Letho’s breathing evens out, slipping into an uneasy sleep. His muscles twitch and release, and Warritt rearranges them so he’s plastered to the snakelet’s back, hugging him tightly, not minding the cold sweat.

“Auckes,” he calls softly. He hears the creak of soft leathers in the rafters as the boy shifts warily. He drops down, landing without difficulty.

“Bloede,” the little snakelet curses in Elder, silently but with feeling. “How did you know I was here? You didn’t even use your Sign.”

“Language,” Warritt chides. “You were so loud I could hear you from a tower away. You were lucky Master Evil-Eye was in a cordial mood, he would have had you for breakfast.”

“Not true,” Auckes sulks.

The boy’s radiating disbelief warms him. He gestures with one hand, beckoning, and Auckes slips onto the bed, curling over Letho. The boy shakes a little and Warritt scents the residue of distress on him, so he presses a warm hand between his shoulder blades, drawing slow circles.

Auckes presses into his touch, then blurts out. “If I asked you, would you shave my head?”

Warritt doesn’t stop his motions, despite his surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

For a long moment, Auckes doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fist in Letho’s sleeping shirt. He smooths the soft material between his fingers anxiously. “Letho cried ,” he whispers it like a secret, and his tone belies his astonishment. Letho never cries. “He saw his reflection, you know.”

“I don’t know, Auckes,” prompts Warritt gently, lying through his teeth. “Why would he be upset because of that?”

“He’s big. And bald. He tried to hug Serrit and hurt him. Twas an axi-” he trips on the word in his haste, then tries again, slowly. “Ac-ci-dent. He didn’t mean it, I know. It scared him. And Serrit said that he wasn’t mad, so it’s okay.”

Warritt hides his sad smile, endeared by Auckes’ sharp perception and big heart. “Aye,” he breathes.

Another beat passes between them.

“I want you to cut my hair, so Letho knows it’s okay, too. That he’s not alone.” Auckes’ voice is so very small, like the breeze in Tir Tochair’s sheltered meadows.

Warritt’s throat constricts. His fingers follow the thin braid that hangs on each side of  Auckes’ face, then cards into his soft ponytail.

“Alright,” he rasps. “Alright.”

--------- * ---------

Note: Auckes canonically can speak really good Elder. The little curse word “Bloede” can be translated to “bloody hell”.

Headcanons:

Warritt is the big-brother of the keep - he’s both a blind badass and the resident kidwrangler (and everyone clearly knows it)

Warritt is a genius - this is kiiind of canon, but regardless: he has an unorthodox thought process; he likes thinking outside of the box, and that’s how he isn’t bothered by his blindness and modified an already existing Sign (Supirre in canon; and also Igni in this fic)

Vipers are not shy of physical touch, on the contrary! - a little bit of cutagen here; Vipers like to coil up together in almost constricting hugs. Even those who haven’t gone through the Trials adopt this habit; the physical touch (hugs) is something they can claim as their own good thing

Letho went through the Grasses twice, like Geralt (aka twicegrassed) - compared to the rest of the School, Letho is an outlier. I explained his proportions with him surviving the Trials twice

Ivar was unaware of the further experimentations, and he flipped - a hc i adopted from @lookoutrogue. Ivar himself went through multiple Trials, that’s how he ended up with his mutated eye. My throwaway mage OC, Daibesyck was tortured to death because he went over the invisible line Ivar carved, hurting one of his own and disrespecting his authority

Auckes shaved his head in solidarity for Letho - originally i thought he would have done it when he was older, but tiny Auckes said no, i wanna do it now

Gerring of Kharkiv wasn’t supposed to appear, but he didn’t budge. So I guess now he’s an insomniac old witcher who likes to waste time and furniture with knife-throwing *shrug*

[madyxtothemax]

The Pit Stop - Part One with @MyArrowBends

Atticus: 

-After a few days, the roads and sights began to blur together. Each truck stop was the same. The coffee all tasted the same and the bathrooms were all equally disgusting. I had enjoyed the solitude at first, but was now beginning to get a little stir crazy, and despite having bought a thicker foam for the bed, it still wasn’t the greatest sleep I’d ever had. 

As I crossed into California, I found myself craving human interaction, and more important than that, I had decided one way or another I would be sleeping in an actual bed tonight. As I gassed up at another same looking, shitty coffee making gas station, I didn’t bother checking google for any nearby hotels, figuring I’d stop when I grew tired and see what was close at that point. 

The hours passed and the sun was inching down toward the horizon with a speed that my van couldn’t seem to match. Dusk had settled and on the horizon I could see a cluster of lights that belonged to a city. I wasn’t sure which one it was, it didn’t matter. I had stopped paying attention to the names at this point since I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I would know when I was ready to stop and until I felt that feeling, I’d keep driving west. 

As the city lights grew closer, that same feeling of from earlier in the day returned. I was ready to find a motel for the night, maybe even somewhere I could grab a drink and a greasy burger. The potential for brief human interaction had a grin pulling the corners of my lips up. 

Still, I avoided searching something out on my phone, wanting to see what I could find on my own. Exiting off the freeway, and making my way toward the city, my eyes searched the buildings as I passed them by. Disappointingly, nothing much seemed to be open...at least nothing that grabbed my attention or sparked any interest. I wanted to find something local, I wasn’t interested in any kind of franchise. Those places were not geared toward any kind of interaction, speed and efficiency was their purpose. 

Finally after a few turns bringing me deeper into the city, I spotted a neon sign. The bright OPEN flashing in the door was the only invitation I needed. Admittedly, I wasn’t paying proper attention because I was still needing to keep an eye on the road, but as I pulled my van over to the sidewalk and looked up at the sign to fully read it, I couldn’t stop my laughter as it filled the quiet around me. 

A tattoo shop. 

I was not a collector of skin art, even though I liked it, I had never really felt a desire or pull to permanently mark my body with any sort of image. But I could see people inside, and I could go in and look around. I could get that human interaction I was craving even if I had zero intentions of getting a tattoo. Yeah. I could do that. 

Twisting the key in the ignition to turn off the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt and made my way toward the door, noting the time on the door before opening it. I paused to check the time on my phone...they weren’t too far from closing. Perfect. Just enough time to have myself a casual conversation with someone about something I’d never follow through on before finding myself some food and a bed to sleep on.-

Madyx:

<I’d woken with it, the unshakable intuition alerting me that something was on the way. Something for me to attend to. Something significant. Someone to benefit from my unique abilities. Something to shake up the doldrums of a monotonous wave of months. 

As the hours in the day had passed like any other with a few window shoppers, bookings and not much more, whatever I had been anticipating hadn’t materialized. My intuition wasn’t normally so off, in fact I momentarily wondered if I’d pissed off the wrong people and lost my privileges. But, nah, I couldn’t shake it, even as the hours ticked down to less than fifteen minutes before the neon went dark. 

Having just finished with the people who’d shown up to book a session with Jordan, I was relegated to the idea I’d served as a glorified personal assistant for the day. Hell, I hadn’t even done a single piercing, let alone expressed anything in ink. At least Jordan would be pleased with what I’d lined up for her; a lot of people looking to lose their memories and oh-so-many willing to accept whatever consequences came with those choices.

I had my back turned as the group of three left, the bell chiming their exit. Oddly, the shop didn’t feel empty; I wasn’t alone after all. 

Turning, I was unsurprised to see a guy had wandered in just as the others had left. First impression was strong: he looked road weary, like he’d been places, but he wasn’t weighted by fatigue - nope. He wore whatever travels he’d been on with an earnestness. He wasn’t unkempt, but it looked like he hadn’t had a shave in a few days, and there was nothing that could have been done to conceal that he was damn gorgeous. I’d need to see more skin to know if there was any ink hidden under the clothes, and there were no visible piercings… visible being the operative word… 

Right.

I detoured my thoughts from veering in the direction of the gutter and noted the feeling that surfaced during the day had morphed into something more tangible. 

Well then.

I walked his way, which conveniently enough, was in the direction of the sign that was about to go dark. He, whoever he was, already had an unspoken invitation to stay as long as he liked.> 

Hey man, anything I can help you with? 

Atticus: 

-As I stood at the door, hand gripping the handle while sliding my phone into my back pocket, I looked up in time to see three people headed my way. I swung the door open and held it for them, offering an easy smile as they passed and spoke with an excitement I suddenly realized I wanted to feel. Seeing it on others left me no choice but to notice that I was heavily lacking that type of emotion in my own life. Sure, I had bought my van and felt the excitement and when I hit the road, it was there. But it was surface level excitement. 

I wanted to feel the rush of doing something impactful in my life. I still wanted to have some kind of human contact, and while my opinion and lack of desire to ink my skin hadn’t changed in the thirty seconds it took for me to hold a door open and walk inside the shop, I was definitely more open to suggestions. 

The guy who was working had his back to me. That was fine, he was busy and I had all the time in the world to wait to be noticed. Rather than doing something obnoxious like clearing my throat, I turned and began to look at the flash on the walls. Each page was neatly framed and hung with obvious care. Not a single one was off kilter. It made me smile. Anyone who paid this much attention to detail truly cared about what they did. I was envious of their passion.

I didn’t even have artwork that had hung on the walls in my office back in New York. Maybe if I had, my attitude toward being stuck behind a desk all day would have improved. Likely not. 

As I scanned a page filled with anchors, ships and pinup girls, a voice was directed at me. I had been so lost in my head, I forgot my entire reason for stepping into a shop I had no business being in. Turning my attention on the guy, I paused at his question. Shit. Instant attraction. I couldn’t remember the last time that had ever happened. My dick twitched as if to say, SURPRISE I still work! I felt completely disarmed. A fraud. An imposter. I couldn’t help the laugh that was two parts guilt and one part eagerness. 

“...anything I can help you with…”

Was there anything he could help me with? ...yes there certainly was, but I really didn’t want to admit that or what my initial reaction to him had been. My eyes searched his face first and then his gaze as it remained on me. His eyes were warm and welcoming the way my beloved hoodie felt each time I put it on. 

I was taking too long to answer but he didn’t seem to mind considering I was one of those assholes who showed up 15 minutes before closing. Remembering my entire reason for coming in here, to have a conversation with someone, I lifted my hand to the frame on the wall I had been looking at and grinned lazily at him, one side slightly higher than the other as I answered his question with one of my own.- Do you know who drew these? 

Madyx:

<The closer I got, the better my last call was looking. He appeared to be admiring what he saw on the wall which was a lift to my confidence after a day of nada. I was starting to pick up on the energy he was throwing off, and it was coming through strong. He was rife with a quiet excitement, like he was flirting with epiphanies and on the edge of taking chances. I was feeling it on a vibration much higher than my norm. Instant clarity. I relaxed into myself after his arrival helped me shake that unrequited anticipation I’d battled all day.  

When his eyes flicked off the art on the wall to me, I was ill prepared. His steel-blue irises were rimmed in navy, and subtly backlit; his gaze flecked with mischief. The cut of his jaw was a visual temptation outfitted with an infuriatingly attractive amount of scruff. His laugh broke me out of my preoccupation. It was telling, but only thanks to my extra sensory skills. 

His grin though… that was what slayed me where I stood. Crooked and slow, even stretched his lips were full and fetching.  Literally, I couldn’t have hand-picked the features of my non-type type more perfectly. He was exactly what I liked in a guy, at least physically. 

The lift of his hand to indicate the frame on the wall brought up my stare. A confident grin preceded my answer.>  

That would be me. But those are some of my more generic samples. I’ve got a book you can check if you’re in the market. Unless you’ve already got something specific in mind? 

<My eyes raked shamelessly up and down his body, taking stock of the canvas, before heading home to his eyes. I didn’t have to wonder if the charge I was feeling between us was legit. I knew it. If he had come for some ink and a fuck, I’d be happy to indulge his pleasure, even if it wasn’t in store for me… there’s no way I wouldn’t enjoy it.> 

Atticus: 

-The weight of this guy’s stare left me feeling some kind of way. At first, I thought I might be getting one of those he’s into you vibes, but then he answered my question and doubt began to creep back in. Maybe he was one of those people who were far too perceptive and he could smell the scent of wannabe all over me. 

No, I didn’t have anything in mind. I wasn’t interested in getting a tattoo, which was how I felt before I opened the door. I just wanted to have a conversation. Seemed the only way for me to do that without him getting annoyed that I was wasting his time so close to the end of the day was to keep looking at his work. I could do that, wanted to, actually. 

I shook my head, answering as honestly and non-committal as possible as his gaze hit me with a pointed once over. All right. I knew that look. I had given it out a time or two myself. I felt more confident as I found my voice again.- 

No. I don’t have anything specific in mind. I’m not exactly the type to just fill my skin with ink. -I paused and considered how my words sounded then quickly added to it so as not to insult the guy who clearly had no problem filling his own skin with ink which I suddenly wanted to check out every bit of.- I mean, not without research, that is. I’d love to see your book. 

-As he guided me to where a few different books sat on top of the glass countertop, I noticed each one had a different name on the spine. The one he gave me said Madyx. I grinned at him again and flipped open the cover. There were pages of photos of tattoos done on people. Some pages had drawings, too, and I took my time looking at each one. The silence between us was comfortable and easy. When my eyes landed on a particularly colourful image that took up someone’s entire back I paused to study it.- Wow. This one must have taken quite a while. Your work is incredible, Madyx. 

-I chanced a glance his way as I said his name so he knew I wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass, before looking back down and flipping another page. I was beginning to feel like I was leading him on knowing I wasn’t going to be in town long enough to commit any kind of time like that, even if I did want ink. Which in the three minutes since I last asked myself, still hadn’t changed. I couldn’t pull the trigger on something that permanent. Plus, a tattoo that large would have taken more than one session, I knew that much. As I shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out how to let him know I was sorry to have wasted his time, the light caught something below the glass counter. It was a showcase of sorts filled with what I assumed was body jewelry. My stomach lurched and adrenaline surged through my veins. I’d always been interested in getting a piercing, maybe...it was far less permanent than ink and wouldn’t take even a fraction of time.- 

Do you only do tattoos? -Sliding the book to the side a little, I checked out the display of hardware with more than the curious interest I had previously given to his artwork.- 

Madyx:

<Gorgeous seemed to be stalling. I sensed a reluctance I couldn’t quite define. I was starting to think it was definitely his first time, or maybe he was just feeling out the idea. BULLSEYE. He admitted as much by answering that he wasn’t the type to fill his skin with ink, but I wasn’t offended, nope. His eyes seemed to reflexively land on my own collection of pieces, and I wanted to invite him to gawk with those blues all he wanted. 

I didn’t care if he didn’t want any work only that it might end up in him leaving sooner rather than later. I was not down with that. I almost missed when he caught his self-perceived fuck up, but was nearly punch-drunk when he took me up on the offer to check out my book. Normally I wouldn’t waste someone’s time if they weren’t actually intent on letting me scratch my artistic itch, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave and, duh, same page. 

I handed off the book and he seemed to be truly checking it out. There was an excitement for me, one I hadn’t quite tasted. It was a thousand flavors, custom made...meant for me. Yeah, this was hitting way below the epidermis, into the bone, and below the belt, too. When he stopped on the page he did, my gut twisted in the best way, he just so happened to land on the favorite piece I’d ever laid down in ink. It had been inspired by Klimt’s “The Kiss” per the patron’s request, but with several liberties worked into the artistic elements. Instead of an obscure male and female, it was clearly two males. It had morphed from a symbolist piece to something more sci-fi and steampunk.  There were three dimensional aspects and an inordinate amount of intricate details, like any provoking piece, it begged look after look. In total it had taken 36 hours in six sessions. I would have got lost thinking about it if something else hadn’t caught my attention - my name. The intention in his tone was unmistakable. Now we were getting somewhere.

I didn’t even care that we didn’t discuss that tatt he’d stopped on, it was logged into the distant past when his attention shifted to the display of body jewelry. I walked to the opposite side of the counter, light shining up from the backlit case, we were closer to face to face and hell-to-the-yes; I saw the change in his posture. We were REALLY getting somewhere. 

I handle the piercings, too. <clearing the space of the books for the full view> But before we get to that, we need to level the playing field. Got a name or should I just call you gorgeous? 

Atticus:

-Generally speaking, I was not always very quick to pick up the cues when someone was flirting with me. It usually took a couple of are they or aren’t they moments before I caught on and then properly joined in on the exchange of the flirting game. Tonight it only took me two of those moments. First when I caught sight of him looking me over and then again, just now when he called me gorgeous. 

My grin at Madyx was instant and interested as I answered, holding out my hand to him for a shake, as proper dudes do.- Atticus. 

-When his hand slid into mine, I gave it a solid squeeze, and chanced a light brush of my thumb over the back of his before releasing it. His hand was warm and slightly rough on the palm, not at all unpleasant, the kind of hand that knew how to do hard work and wasn’t afraid of it. Not at all like my paper-pushing, then couch lazing hands. The most work mine had been doing lately had been flicking a signal indicator for left and right. 

As I returned my attention back to the display of body jewelry, I briefly thought about the other places I might enjoy the rough grip of his hands and damn near groaned. My dick was more than on board and before I could pitch any kind of tents of embarrassment, I considered piercing the damn thing just to get it to go back down. As far as ideas one might think about to initiate a cooling down effect on their body, this one should have worked for bringing my semi back to completely flaccid. Should have. 

It didn’t. 

The more I imagined Madyx jamming a needle through my most sensitive flesh, the more my pulse quickened and the more I discovered that I liked the idea. Fuck. Guess my body had decided for me. I now only needed to man up and tell the guy what I wanted. Vocalization time. If I couldn’t ask for the damn piercing, I did not deserve to have his hands on me, and that, judging by the sinking pit my stomach had just become was not at all what I wanted. 

Given how everything else I had done since rolling into this town has been on impulse decision making, I let my mouth run without much consultation with my brain, and hoped for the best.-

I’d like to be handled. -Welp. That was a wide open innuendo of his own words that couldn’t be taken back now. Guess I wasn’t going with my usual subtle approach, then again, nothing about this encounter was close to my usual.- A piercing, maybe two? Do you have time tonight? I noticed the sign said you were closing right away. I can always come back tomorrow if you need to close up and get out of here... 

-I wouldn’t keep him if he had somewhere else to be, but I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, I was too afraid of losing my nerve or even worse, waking up having decided I suddenly wanted an entire back piece devoted to body piercings. I shuddered at that particular thought before shaking my head, waiting to see if he was game for some over time before I even broached the topic of where I wanted him to pierce me.-     

Madyx:

<There was the grin again, but this one drew me in like it was baited with something addictive. I wanted a taste. I also wanted to hear him say my name again, that was until he told me his. 

 Atticus. 

As if I wasn’t already in deep shit with the grin, he had to go and share a name with one of my favorite literary characters. I wanted to roll it around in my brain on a loop, then say it out loud so I could see how it would feel in the slide off my tongue.  I swallowed thickly and dropped my hand into the one he offered for a shake, setting off a chain reaction I had in no way expected. 

Our hands fit like they belonged to each other, his warmth matched mine but his skin was smoother, more pliant. My eyes hit his just as I felt the subtle stroke of his thumb on mine. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and an electrifying buzz scaled my spine, then split and radiated north, east, south and west. My heart started to race in an erratic beat against my rib cage. When heat balled in my gut and prickled along the underside of my dick, it finally registered what was going on. Pleasure had always been my gift, but I had only played delivery boy and spectator so I hadn’t immediately recognized my receptivity. And it was specifically something about him…. I could feel his desire commingling with mine, the energy and tension between us behaving like a magnet...SNAP. 

Shit. For the first time in my life I was on the other side of the glass I’d always looked through. He was human, it shouldn’t be possible, but his singular, innocent touch had been undeniably thrill inducing. My mind and body were both fully engaged. If it wasn’t for the loss of his hand and his next words, I probably would have stood there in silence like a mooning asshat…. Lost in his eyes and all that.

But, HELLO, he wanted to be handled. I crossed my arms casually over my chest and couldn’t suppress the sideways smirk that came on quick. I’d handle him all he wanted, and with curiosity layering on top of the attraction to him, I wasn’t going to be shy. 

I kept getting hit with solid signals from him, they were unlike anything I’d ever felt, and somehow I knew he was also outside of his norm, but completely natural.  My attention perked when he brought up piercings and something about coming back tomorrow. 

Time to perish that thought. 

Shaking my head, I dropped my hands in a wide sprawl on the display case, leaning towards him.> 

I’ve got the time and my place is just upstairs. So what do you want, Atticus? <The question was meant to be overt and open ended. And if I loved learning his name… saying it packed a thousand times the punch.>  And for the record, I’d love to handle you. <It was shameless and I was not at all sorry.>

Atticus:

-He lived upstairs...I laughed at the immediate thoughts that came to mind then shook my head slowly, speaking quickly before he could get any kind of insulted.- 

Seems for the moment we are neighbours, Madyx. -The hand that had just held his, because of course I would now be differentiating my hands by whether or not they had touched him, lifted and I thumbed over my shoulder to my van parked out front. As his eyes moved to where I had indicated, I stared at the way his lips curved up at the corners and my fingers twitched at my sides wanting nothing more than to touch him again. 

Since it was generally frowned upon to yank a guy I’d just met over the counter and kiss him without giving him any kind of forewarning or chance to stop me, I cleared my throat and attempted to redirect my wayward thoughts back to what we had been talking about. He’d asked me a question and the proper thing to do was answer it. What did I want? 

I knew what I wanted… HIM. But that wasn’t what he’d been asking no matter HOW suggestive his voice had sounded to my ears.

In my early twenties I had looked into piercings, researched all the types and varieties a guy could get as a means of using the knowledge to impress this one chick I had liked when I overheard her talking about how hot guys who had them were. It even worked, up to a point. Turned out, simply knowing about piercings was much different than actually having them, and when she discovered I didn’t actually have any, her interest in me wavered and she quickly moved on. At that point, I didn’t see the need to get anything done since I had started out wanting to impress her, my intentions had been shallow, and lacked the intent to follow through. But now...now, my intentions were less fueled with wanting to impress someone I was attracted to and more about self-discovery. 

Tonight, the idea of getting a piercing made me feel more alive than I had in years. It was the right reason to pull the trigger on this. The gut churning excitement was the same I felt when I had called the number on the FOR SALE sign that had been hanging on the window the day I decided to buy my van. I was immediately grateful to the chick of my early twenties for having inspired me to do all that research, even if her rejection had been a blow to my fragile, immature ego. 

Was I being impulsive now? Absolutely. But I already knew I wouldn’t regret this which was why without any uncertainty colouring my voice, my gaze found Madyx’s and I grinned confidently as I told him exactly what I wanted.-

I’d like the first two rungs of Jacob’s Ladder. 

-I knew what I was asking for, and I hoped like hell the nickname for frenum piercings hadn’t changed in the years since I had done all that research. If it had, I fully expected him to laugh in my face and tell me to get my wannabe ass the hell out. I held my breath, and counted the thuds of my pulse as they wooshed in my ears feeling less and less confident in my answer as the seconds passed by that it took him to speak.- 

Madyx:

<There were several impulsive words trying to fly off my tongue, but I was biding my time. I glanced past him when he indicated he was my neighbor, noting the tell tale silhouette of his VW bus. Currently nomadic, likely sleeping on a less than comfy mattress in the name of experience.  The mentality someone must possess to live on impulse was a turn on, and it worked in my favor. Without knowing it, he was feeding me information and arming my artillery with all kinds of weapons to extend the night…because without explanation, I just wanted more with him. More time. More touch. MORE. 

Atticus was setting off signals like flares in a moonless night, the attraction was undeniably mutual. I knew it, but did he? He would, I wasn’t letting him out of my company without shooting my shot. . My sensory grid was lighting up in a bright spectrum of greens, this was something fae only experienced in the rarest of circumstances. I knew what it meant but couldn’t delve into all that mythology on the spot. 

Fuck that. I was just going to go with it. 

And then he said it. What he wanted. 

I knew there was more by the way his eyes flicked over my lips and the unequivocal energy that told me he was using restraint. 

My brows shot up in reaction. My grin stretched a little wider. My dick bucked in my jeans clearly in support of this development. I toed the line of professionalism in my day to day operations, but this was beyond that. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting his cock out of his pants. With a casual swipe of my tongue between my lips, I opened the case, pulling out the options so we could get down to business. I knew he wasn’t going to run. I’d bet on it.>

You have piercings I can’t see? Or do I get first honors? 

<fingering a few of the barbells to draw his eyes down, even though I loved the heat of them on me> Are you thinking the same size for each? Or a descending size?  Grooved balls? <I smirked, couldn’t help it>  Smooth? 

We’ll get to gauge when I see what we’re working with, Atticus. 

<I loved his name too fucking much and still wanted to say it a thousand different ways just to know how it felt on my tongue, lips and in every incarnation. And yeah, I wanted him to know I had his dick on my mind, front and center. With every tick of the second hand, the tension was on the rise, and I was thriving in anticipation of reaching the breaking point.>

Atticus:

-Just as my lungs were beginning to burn for fresh oxygen, he spoke, and I exhaled slowly, controlling myself from letting out a sigh of relief so as not to let on how unsure of myself I had been feeling. There was no laughter or smirking from him that told me I had used an outdated slang. Excellent. I was starting to feel less and less like a poser with each follow up question he asked. He was very clearly taking my request seriously though I was not blind to the less than subtle moments of flirtation he was allowing to slip out with each exchange between us. And I was about to let him see my dick. I almost laughed. I held it in. Barely. 

It was my turn to speak. Right, he needed answers. I could give those. With a grin and a rub of my hands together I chuckled as I got the first question squared away.- No. I don’t have any other piercings. You’re my first, Mad. 

-My eyes dropped down to the tray of hardware he removed from the display case, ears working overtime to hear each of his rapid fire queries that I was delayed in noticing I had already shortened his name from Madyx to Mad. Both suited him, but if he was about to get face up in my junk without it being sexual I figured it was all right for me to shorten his name without expressed permission, that was how nicknames were supposed to happen anyway.- 

Size. I hadn’t really considered that when I went and got overzealous with my request for two piercings. -Laughing low, my eyes moved between the various sizes of barbells he was showing me before making up my mind with ease.- 

I want them to be the same. As far as accessories go, I’m a bit of a minimalist and the idea of gradually increasing seems a bit pompous if not arrogant to me. I can only imagine the size needed at the base if I went and got the great idea to complete the ladder. FUCK. -A shudder of regret for future me shot down my spine then ricocheted straight into the tip of my dick. All previous arousal swifty vacated my body and in a hurry. Decision made.- Yeah. definitely the same size. And smooth. 

I also know enough from my research ages ago to know I won’t be looking to stretch out the gauge, either. No matter how fast these particular piercings tend to heal, I don’t want my dick to become a branch of a Christmas tree, sagging under the weight of a too heavy ornament. God, can you even imagine?! -The mental images that began to fill my mind had me laughing again.- Otherwise, any other decisions needing made, I will heed to your expert opinion. 

Madyx:

<I caught his exhale and something about it felt like he was relieved, as if he’d just confessed a long held desire for the first time, and maybe I wasn’t so off the mark as he answered that I was his first. I didn’t have time for a smart ass remark about popping his cherry because of what he said right after. 

Mad. He called me Mad. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as if a hand had ghosted upwards, calling it to attention. The sensation carried up into my scalp, and even to the tips of my ears. How was it that something so damn simple was so affecting with him? It wasn’t the first time since he walked in my shop, and the longer he stayed, the more I was convinced there was more of it in store.

I took him in as he weighed his options out loud, none of his choices surprising me. I figured he’d want something understated,  but I didn’t want to assume out loud and then have him reveal his elaborate plans for a rainbow ladder with alternating barbells down the back of his cock. That would have been a grave mistake! 

I laughed my ass off when he referenced a Christmas tree sagging under the weight of a heavy ornament from sizing up the gauges, unable to stop myself.>

If the piercings look like too heavy ornaments and your dick a limp tree after piercings, then someone doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to proper technique. 

You’re in good hands, Atticus. I promise you that. <I flicked my eyes up to hopefully catch his, and thankfully I didn’t miss my target.> First, proper frenum piercings need to hit at the right depth to avoid that unfortunate look. Second, and counterintuitively, because of the skin, we’ll want to use a heavier gauge. With a lighter weight, during the healing process, it would push towards the surface, also resulting in the wrong appearance and a damn inconvenient dangling effect that could lead to unfortunate zipping incidents. 

<Laughing, it was a feat to drop my eyes from his as I started selecting options to suit his taste>

You’ll want to consider width dependent on your head. Sight unseen, I think this brushed steel goes with your vibe. 

You also have options when it comes to the size of the balls. <smirking, I laid a few out> You don’t have to decide standing here, we’ll bring them over to my station and you can see what looks right to you. 

You ready? Need a beer? Something stronger?  <My mouth on your cock to ease any nerves? I kept that last one on lockdown, lifting a brow, as I anxiously waited for his reply>

Atticus:

-My previously lost arousal was swiftly returning, and reaching tenting trouble territory when Madyx promised I’d be in good hands. Wouldn’t I just love to be in his hands. I stared at them while he sorted through the barbells, selecting some he thought would work. Long fingers, nimble and sure in their movements. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now was not the time to learn I had a kink for hands, I’d never felt that way before, maybe they were just his hands I was lusting after, particularly when paired with this whole conversation that felt heavy with an undercurrent of attraction. I couldn’t deny it was flowing in both directions. He was making it pretty obvious, where I would have normally brushed it off as him being friendly in the beginning, I’d have to be blind to not see it now. I was damn sure seeing it. 

Things were about to get very awkward if I didn’t get control over my body. I was a magnet drawn to a piece of metal, desperate to move closer, to obtain that satisfying click when the connection was finally made. 

What was my life right now? 

How could, of all the places I decided to stop on a whim have this guy right here, and have this kind of mutual attraction happen so effortlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that way toward someone and have them return it. Years, for sure. Many years. My eye was not exactly particular, it checked out chicks and dudes equally, but it took a lot to make me want a second glance.  

Then he had to go and talk about ball sizing while smirking at me. I was starting to suspect he was playing with me. Cat toying with a mouse. Taunting my dick with his innuendo, coaxing it to come out of hiding and play his game. Did I want to? DUH. There was no denying how much I wanted to do just that. 

But how does one go from piercing consultation to...Hey, you give me a boner, wanna hook up? Yeah…..no. He was hot, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was hit on all the time. Likely every day. I was certain of it. I didn’t want to be just some lame customer who was looking for an after hours special with the good looking tattoo shop guy. 

Could I be any more of a cliche. I prided myself on being nothing of the sort...well I kind of was with my current on trend living in a van and travelling lifestyle. The only points working in my favour there was that I hadn’t documented a single moment of it outside of the memories in my mind. I wasn’t the next Van Guy with the Instagram worthy morning shots overlooking the ocean while holding a cup of coffee and casually displaying my abs for more likes. A thirst trap, I was not. I had higher standards than that. 

Questions were being sent my way. Was I ready? What a loaded thing to ask, I laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as choked off to him as it did to my ears.- Yes. I’m ready. I’m good on the beer, for now. I think. 

-I laughed again, this time it felt a little looser passing over my lips and I looked down at the tray of jewelry once more then looked back up at him, eyes finding his. Before I could stop myself, words tumbled out without much control over the content or how they’d be received, now was not the time to have shame or embarrassment, I needed to know if the situation in my jeans could be salvaged.- I once read that when getting dick tattoos, you had to be hard the whole time. Is the same true for piercings? 

Madyx:

<The energy smacking me around was nothing I’d ever come across. Fuck. It was inexplicably intense, like we were plugged into each other and exchanging a charge. I was still mind-blown by what he was putting out. His subconscious and deep-seated pleasures were stimulating mine, as if they were dependent on one another. When I caught moments of him looking at me, my body reacted and my heart was thumping, driven by the physical and not so physical. I shut-up the internal analysis as much as I could and focused on what was in front of me. 

Atticus was definitely anticipating, his excitement laced with nervousness inciting my extra fae receptors into overdrive. He covered pretty well, but his flustered laugh made me want to drop my jeans on the spot. I was stoked he’d declined the drink, especially since he’d slipped with the “for now.” Bingo. That was enough to confirm he wasn’t looking to bolt after I got up and personal with his cock. 

The jewelry out, I let my attention land squarely back on him while he entertained what I’d displayed. It gave me a chance to scope the strong, lithe line of his back, and the sharp cut of his scruffed jaw. Hell, with every fresh recognition of his attributes, his hotness was intensifying right along with my craving for a thorough taste. While I had this fuck-me revelation, he was quiet, probably thinking about the dual-punctures I was about to put through his cock.  I knew something was coming but the smirk that happened when he asked his question could not be helped.>

I’d like to see someone keep it hard through an entire inking. It only needs to be up for the stencil portion of the tattoo, after that there are creative ways to stretch a dick for the shading. As for you… <pursing my lips then rubbing them together> I’ll get the job done either way, as long as I can pinch the skin, I can pierce it. Generally, there’s more to work with when it’s not at attention. Chew on that and follow me.

 <My smirk widened just before I broke eye contact and grabbed the tray of jewelry.  Cocking my head in the direction of my station and the chair that would have him slightly reclined when he planted ass in it. I set the tray down and waited for him to get situated while I snapped on my gloves. When I turned around,shit, my eyes went straight south where it was hard to miss what was happening behind his zipper and before I could blow it, my eyes shot back to his. I couldn’t seem to stop doing that. I also couldn’t repress the urge to set him at ease and give him something to grab onto during this prelude to a pierce. 

Playing it cool, casual, intent on finessing my approach, I took a seat on my stool, which kept us at eye level with one another. I knew he wanted this in my bones, but I was feeling the nerves from the risk of it. I stepped over the edge and took the cliff dive, the words passing over my lips as I felt a rush from the free fall.> How about you don’t leave after we’re done with business. <It was a question, but the way it came out sounded more like a statement. Unintentional. Organic. Assured. I dropped my eyes to his cock before they raked back up his body...to his suckable throat...his full lips...and back home to his grey-blue eyes.>

Atticus: 

-“Chew on that and follow me.” Shit. He knew. He had to. There was no way he couldn’t tell I was already sporting wood. When he turned his back to me and headed to his station, I tried to chill myself the fuck out. Naturally my eyes landed on his ass and the fire that was in my veins ignited to an inferno and I knew there would be no way to get the blood to vacate my cock. This was going to be embarrassing for at least one of us in a couple of moments. 

Did it matter though? I was just passing through town, at least that had been the plan when I entered the shop. I came in here looking for a conversation with another person and now I was about to leave with some metal accessories. I shook my head as I took a seat on the chair he wanted me in and took a few deeper breaths trying to slow the thundering of my heart. 

I wasn’t shy about my body, never had been, but damn if I wasn’t worried about how he’d react when he took notice that I was more than eager to have his hands on me. Could I explain it away with a joke about being a masochist? Maybe, but it wasn’t true, not by the definition of the word. 

As I spent precious time fretting in my mind he had turned around from setting down the tray and...YEP. I watched as Mad got himself an eyeful and like the professional I already figured he was, his gaze moved right past my crotch and straight up to my face. 

He didn’t laugh. Or smile or even make a comment. The flirting that had been so natural halted. I didn’t know what to do with that. I was suddenly feeling overheated in my hoodie while worry about insulting him began to cycle through my mind, of course that was when things started to chill out for me in trouser tent town. I reconsidered the whole masochist angle again just to try and break the silence but shook my head to myself. It wouldn’t matter in a day or two or a week. I’d carry on with my drive and he’d have a story to tell his coworkers tomorrow. I was fine being a laughable story. 

Before I could find something casual to say, he sucker punched me with that line of staying after he was done and I briefly wondered if he was trying to throw me a bone because he felt sorry for me. I didn’t think so. The tension between us had been palpable from the start. I nodded at his non-question.- Yeah. I’d like that. Though we both know you already know that I would. 

-I laughed low as his eyes did another sweep and the previously cooling jets fired right back up again. Jesus. When did I become a thirteen year old boy seeing his first dirty magazine. I reached up behind my neck as I sat forward in the chair and pulled my hoodie off over my head, draping it on the arm of my chair, leaving me in my well worn white tee that was underneath. 

There was no point in trying to hide shit, the elephant in the room had been noticed, spoken about and well acknowledged, not to mention Mad was about to shake hands with the trunk. I blew out a breath, feeling all embarrassment sliding away as easily as I had taken off my hoodie, and grinned at him.- Let’s get to you shoving some needles through my family jewels so we can have that beer you mentioned.