#well either the empty has gotten comfortable (?) or it has passed for now

[masked-and-doomed]

How did I end up here

[angstywaifu]

Assassination Attempt

Bodhi x Reader

Request: Hey, I'd love if you could do a fic where the reader was part of the Reason group and has an assassination attempt made on her at Basgiath after, with Bodhi comforting her and being overprotective.

Either with the reader and Bodhi being an established couple or with mutual feelings for each other (but neither have confessed).

TW: Mentions of blood and death.

Masterlist

I should have known my time was coming. Everyone else still at Basgiath had been assassinated or had an attempt made on them. Everyone but me. I should have been more aware, should have been smarter about walking around on my own. But I wasn’t. And now my head was throbbing, blood sliding down my face from where my head had been smashed against the mirror. Blood pooling under my hand where I apply pressure to the wound in my side. But I had gotten away. My assassin lying on the floor of the bathroom with the dagger they’d used on my shoved in the side of their neck.

There would definitely be a trail of blood leading from the bathroom I was hobbling away from. One from the blood I had definitely stepped in. And the other from my various wounds. All I had to do was get to this room. But with how heavy my eyelids were starting to feel, I was definitely pushing my limit. Definitely racing against the clock to get to his room.

Just a few more doors and I’d be there. My foot catches on a lip in the floor, sending my stumbling into his door with more force than I intend. A loud thud echoing down the empty hall. I wince, hoping I haven’t woken up anyone else. I know I’ve definitely woken him if he isn’t asleep, but I still raise my hand as I lean against the door way, knocking lightly on his door the same way I do every time so he knows its me. Two long knocks, followed by three shorter ones.

Seconds later the door is thrown open, his familiar brown eyes meeting mine. His usual smile graces his lips, but it falters immediately as he sees the blood running down my face. His eyes travel down my body, going wide as they see my hand clutching my side in an effort to stop the bleeding. As his eyes meet mine again I know my race against the clock has ended, my eyes finally giving into the tiredness wanting to claim me.

“Y/N?!”

I don’t know how much time has passed, but I know a lot of time has passed. I was attacked just before midnight, but I can tell its definitely morning now. The familiar sounds of movement meet my ears from whatever hallway is outside where I am. And the warmth of the sun hitting my face from a window lets me know it is definitely well past my usual wake up time.

I go to shift, but something has a strong hold on me. No not something, someone. Strong arms holding me in place. My movement causes them to stir, pulling me tighter against them. It’s then I realise my head is not resting on a pillow, but resting against a very solid chest. The familiar subtle scent of cinnamon and cedar, mixed with the common scent of leather and smoke lets me know whose chest I am lying on. Whose arms wrap around me in a tight embrace.

Bodhi.

I slowly open my eyes, and am met with the inside of Bodhi’s room, only confirming who lies beneath me. His chest rising and falling at steady rate, clearly still fast asleep. A far cry for the way my heart rate is picking up. Great, just great. Here I was, lying in the bed of the boy I’d been hopelessly crushing on for the last few months. I should be over the moon. But I was very sure that he did not harbour the same feelings I did. Treating me no different to Imogen or Violet.

I had no idea if Bodhi was a light or heavy sleeper, but I was about to find out. And find out I did. Almost as soon as I go to sit up, his grip on me tightens as he pulls me back down.

”Where do you think you’re going?” He grumbles sleepily, his morning voice making me want to melt into a puddle.

I angle my head to look up at him, but see his eyes are still firmly shut. “I was just going to go back to my room.”

He opens his eyes to look down at me, eyebrow cocked in a way so similar to Xaden. “You aren’t going anywhere unless its with me.” He growls out as his arms tighten around me.

The commanding tone I rarely hear in his voice lets me know I do not have a choice in the matter. Where I go, he goes. I mean I can’t blame him, I literally turned up at his door in the middle of the night, bleeding from multiple wounds.

”What were you thinking walking around alone in the middle of the night with what’s been happening?”

I shift my gaze from his. Honestly I had no clue. What was I thinking? It was stupid. All our friends had been attacked or we’re dead because of War Games last year. I knew my time was coming. I should have been smarter. His fingers grasp my chin, angling my head to look back at him. There’s a fire in his eyes I’ve never seen before. He’s angry. Shit.

”I-I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m sorry.” I stutter out.

His brows furrow before letting out a sigh as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Just promise me you won’t do it again. If you need to go anywhere after curfew or when everyone’s gone to bed you come get me ok?”

I reach up and cup his cheek, brushing my thumb over his cheek. He quickly leans into my touch, surprising me as he angles his head to kiss my palm before looking at me. This time the fire in his yes is gone, replaced by a longing I can’t quite place.

”Because I can’t lose you Y/N. I don’t know what I would do if you died because I wasn’t there. The moment you need to go anywhere you come get me ok?” He mumbles out.

”I promise.” I say with a nod, smiling softly up at him which earns me a smile back.

Bodhi shifts underneath me, rolling onto his side as he pulls me against him. Tucking my head under his chin as he nuzzles into it. As he pulls me into him, I rest a hand atop his chest, finding his heart beating just as fast as mine is. I can’t help but smile at the little hope the man holding me tightly might just have the same feelings I do.

[gwenphobic]

COWBOYS ARE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE.

(arthur morgan x pianist at a saloon!male reader)

a/n; sorry for not posting for so long!! gwen stacy x black cat reader will return but rn i’ve had this worm stuck in my head for a min so hold on on that. STAY with me now, this one is good i swearr

You’ve never found it especially appealing, the way cowboys hold themselves and yip and yell about. The way they loiter and accidentally make themselves family men. It’s always been quite annoying though you imagine it is what you would’ve been had your parents been present. Nonetheless, it is not envy you hold toward them but.. annoyance. Yes, that red warmth in your stomach and heat on your face is pure annoyance. And nothing more. Of course.

Your town is small, of no concern. It would never even be dotted out on a map, it is so unimportant. You’ve always imagined what it would be like to leave but have never had the strength. Your place is here at town saloon, fingers dancing around the keyboard. The man who’d taken you had been saloon owner Pete Carter who’d taken your street urchin mind and managed to shift it into something greater, or well, something that makes money. Perhaps, this is why your faith is so strong.

The heat of the day beamed even on your face and flooded the floorboards of the saloon. You sigh. Still, the saloon will open and still will you play away. An Irish woman came in for she was new to town, new to America in a way so obvious. Not much people were here, only the town drunk and a few of the working girls. You sat down with her as she weeped softly, her curly brown tresses falling into her eyes. Her face was bent and curved to her age. She was a mother, you knew and had seen her son and daughter around town often. Trailing upon her like ducks to a mom. Her son was sweet and her daughter, proper. Both young, you didn’t believe either were a day over 6.

“Sir,” she cried, accent thick in her mouth. You rubbed her back before taking her hands. “Yes?” you replied. The mother sighed as she stopped her tears. “I need to write a letter home, but I’ve made no sense of the alphabet. Please do help me, sir,” she said and prayed, “Please know to write.” She looked as desperate as she sounded. She continued, “My Mam has passed, and I don’t know— I need to send my Da a letter. Oh, please, sir!” You shushed her and went to find a piece of paper. That afternoon you’d spent helping her craft a letter home.

As you sent her off, the saloon wasn’t quite full but neither was it empty. A few sat in drunkenness, others sat in a buzz. Some old, some young. It was a comforting feeling, a saloon not so full but neither so empty. You adjusted yourself when you heard it. The sounds of immature folk coming into town. The hooves of horses didn’t stumble as the clambered onto the dirt road. You could feel your stomach tighten with annoyance. Cowboys. Or rather, outlaws. Nonetheless, both were strangely irritating to you. The leather, the boots and all the self-confidence. Can anyone really blame you for holding such disdain? You roll your eyes and sit on the piano bench, beginning to play a tune.

Eventually, the attendance of the church extends and the more proper day drinkers leave. The last to leave is Old Charles McDonald, the union soldier with a limp and a missing tooth. He’s especially fond of his granddaughter who helps him around. He said, some days, he feels crazy. You remember nearly everyone who comes into the saloon, everyone who shares their tale with you. Why would anyone want to forget such history? You begin to help clean up before the sound of jangling spurs throw you off. You froze, completely froze. You turned around;

And there, your worst annoyances stood, an outlaw with two others trailing just before him.

You hid the grimace and continued to wipe down the windows. He wouldn’t be the last cowboy to come out tonight. You just knew the cowboy was walking with some sense of self-importance. You’d only gotten a glimpse but found yourself reflecting on the man’s looks, body. His sandy blond hair and nice tanned skin. Those shining eyes that you were almost certain were a shade of blue or green. You swallowed. He must be popular with the ladies, you came to the conclusion. He’s attractive, alright? Even you can admit that. You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling.. insecure of your appearance. But insecure isn’t the right word, maybe just.. very oddly aware.

“Play a good one,” the man shouted out, his more pale friend snorted while the tanner one huffed. You scowled. You’ll play what you want, not what some insolent outlaw wants to hear. Your fingers find the keys and continue the same tune you’ve been playing. The outlaw can deal with it. Faintly, you hear the drunken footsteps coming closer. The saloon is bustling with business now, outlaws and working girls all circulating about.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice was faintly reminiscent of a southern accent. He was pretty, his eyes at least. All green and.. nice. You shook the thought away and returned in a hardened voice, “Hi yourself.” The man looked a little embarrassed if not.. nervous. He looked down, his hat shielding his face. “You, uh, you play real nice,” he complimented and a fill of warm crowded inside your stomach. You returned, “Thanks.” You continued playing as he spoke, “I hope.. Uh, we ain’t causing too much trouble for ya.”

You wanted to say something mean, or snarky. Usually, you would. But staring at this.. outlaw— he’s an outlaw, remember— you couldn’t help but fumbling out, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Y’all ain’t no more trouble than a few drunkards.” He smiled nicely. Really, it was a nice smile if you ignore how beat up his teeth seem to be. “Alright,” he drawled, “good.” The sound of the piano and chattering of the saloon kept the scene from being awkward. “I’m Arthur,” he added like it was an afterthought. You told him your name. “That’s a nice one,” he said and looked as if he was about to say something else before one of his friends called him back over.

“It’s alright,” you said, “go.” Arthur smiled a little brighter and touched your shoulder. “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he said lightheartedly before stepping back and returning to the bar. You could feel your face all warm, you inhaled. What was that feeling? Hate, maybe. But hate doesn’t make you all flustered like that. He didn’t even do nothing! You grimaced.

It was gonna be a long night.

[yuquinzel]

❛ ‧˚ IDLE TOWN — mikage reo.

notes ⨾ hurt / comfort, [ 1.6k wc ] i basically wrote this for practice but I'll post it bc i need feedback + my first attempt at actual angst so idk here have some reo angst i promise i'll make up for it with fluff later :P

you are leaving, for good. and reo knows he cannot stop it. 

pause. rewind. he came back home three hours ago, everything was fine. or so he believed. he took note of your silence much quickly. you were talking, yes— but you were silent. he finds silence in your empty glances, less words and more hums for responses. you speak but your words are nothing more than incoherent blurbs of sound. you're silent when he asks you about your day, because you do not ask him the same.

he knows you well. too well to simply brush this of a result of exhaustion. the room he is in is cold, he winces because he does not find you in his arms and because that means you must be cold too. he knew to give you space, sometime to collect your thoughts as he does his.

but an hour or so has passed, reo wants to see you now. he can never always leave you to your thoughts for long lest you need a second voice to become the comforting reminder of not being alone. but if he's being honest, then this is more of a selfish act than a serving one. maybe more than you, he does not want to be left alone with his thoughts.

“hey,” a caffeinated sort of anxiety washes over him when he enters your shared bedroom. the air isn't awkward, but it is not comfortable either, “what're you up to?”

you are still silent, preferring a low and dismissive hum instead. he sits himself on the edge of the bed, hesitant as the way you'd approach a storm. he waits for eleven heartbeats— he knows because he can hear his heart— you don't say anything.

“talk to me, something's on your mind.” reo says. he feels your gaze scan him over, you are searching for something in him. that's the most of a response he's gotten out of you tonight. he hopes you find whatever answer you're looking for, an answer you've decided you won't find in his words. 

“i don't know reo, i just— i'm exhausted.” you're lying. he can tell, you don't sound exhausted. you sound defeated. he also knows you are not lying to him, but to yourself. but he does not know what to say, maybe— maybe you still need time. it's okay, he reminds himself. we're okay, it repeats in his mind.

“then let's just get to bed, ’kay?” he can taste the desperation in his voice, it lingers like a bitter aftertaste. why he feels so unsure, he does not know. all he knows is that he doesn't like this — whatever this is — it's hollowing him out from the inside. 

his hand instinctively comes to brush back the strands of hair behind your ear. he freezes when you recoil. “i— i'm gonna sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.” his heart stammers in his chest like your voice. you don't give him the luxury of a momentary pause, instead quickly standing up on your feet.

reo's just as quick. his hand envelopes your wrist, you wince a little from the harshness of his hold. “w-what? — no, you can't do that.” his voice is a little raised, long gone is the tenderness he always brings with himself. he's scared. he knows you are too. he looks at you, in hopes of a waver in your composure. you have been oddly calm this entire time, it settles uncomfortably in his stomach.

“i'm not asking you reo, i just need to be alone. just— just let me be.” there's a finality in your meek voice, reo winces at the biting tone.

but he's firm on his words, “this isn't fair, y/n. something's obviously bothering you and instead of talking to me like an adult, you're just giving me the fucking silent treatment? well, shit. i can't read your mind. talk to me— you always do.”

you have to look away, “i'm not doing this with you right now.” you wrestle your wrist out of his grip, walking out of the room with heavy steps that reo follows all too quickly— but you don't really walk into the guest bedroom as he'd feared. you stop. reo sucks in a deep, cold breath. 

“what do you want from me?” your voice unfurls in shades of hurt, exhaustion and defeat altogether. reo furrows his brows, his heart beginning to pick up its rhythm, “no, what do you want from me? what did i even do wrong?”

“where were you today, reo? what was your day like?”

your question takes him aback, confusion weaving through the lines on his forehead. “what — you already know that, i texted you i had plans. you read my message, you replied.”

he pauses when a bitter, short-lived laugh leaves your lips. “right, you still don't remember.” your voice feels as empty as your null expression.

“we had a date today, reo. the date you promised to make time for, the date which was an apology because you haven't been home lately. that date — you forgot in favor of hanging out with your friends.” you are breathless now. reo can so clearly see the tears collecting in your eyes, and he also knows you're trying to keep them from falling. he knows you too well, after all.

reo feels lost. his shoulders slack in defeat, his thoughts blur altogether trying to make sense of your words. a heavy, stinging lump claws at his throat. it scratches him from inside until his voice bleeds in the form of quick and staggered breaths, “why — why didn't you say anything?”

this is where the tears trail down your cheeks, reo feels the ache to wipe the damp trails they leave in their wake. but he wills himself against it, he can not. he's afraid you'll burn if he touches you and he's not really ready for that. “i waited — i thought you'd remember. i was waiting for you.”

you don't wipe your tears yourself. because reo has always done that for you. he regrets his prior hesitance, and reaches out his hand to caress the side of your face. you're kind with that. you don't step back, you let him pad his thumb across your skin. he's grateful. 

“i'm sorry,” he says. its heavy, but he doubts it carries much wait. “i'm sorry, i — i'm sorry. i'm such a fucking idiot. it just— ” he stammers, voice stuck in his throat. reo feels like he's choking on his words. he knows there's no way to undo the hurt, he knows you won't just forgive him with a few worded apologies. he knows he does not deserve it either. it took until your silence for him to finally hear you. it took until you decided to leave, for him to realize he would give up anything to make you stay.

“i don't want your sorry's reo, i'm tired, i — i want to leave.” a shaky exhale leaves you. next you're walking towards the main door instead of the guest bedroom. reo's feet are stuck to the ground. he swallows back the rising bile in his throat.

“no, wait, it — it's midnight, y/n, love, we still need to talk —”

“what's there to talk about now? what can you say besides you're sorry?”

you are leaving, for good. reo knows he cannot stop it. 

but still he finds his feet following your steps. he finds his hand grasping your in attempts to get you to just wait, just— just listen. he finds his knees strike the earth, and although he's scared, he looks up at you once more. he finds himself at a loss for words yet with enough urgency to say something — anything — that it scorches his lips. 

“please don't— please, i know i fucked up, i know.” he begins, and you're not so cruel as to walk away this time. “i know i can't say anything besides that i'm sorry, i'm so sorry i made you feel like you weren't important. i'm sorry i promised to do something about it and broke it. i'm so sorry i love you so much that i'm still too selfish to let you go—” you shiver with the slightest tremor in his voice, the crack in rushed breaths that's so very uncharacteristic of him. “— but stay. please stay, y/n. let me show you that you deserve better. please. i don't want to lose you, not like this.”

“reo, get up.” you breathe, voice still as shaky. reo's scared. he's scared to have said something wrong, scared that he pushed you even further way. scared that he has already lost you. but he gets on his feet back up. 

it takes a few uncounted heartbeats before you speak again, “you promised reo, after you'd barely been home the entire month. and i waited like an idiot— i love you, so much that i don't know what to do with this anymore.”

reo consumes you in his embrace. it is nothing firm or strong, but just something to keep you close. it's grounding. reo feels all your breaths as they come and go, “we can figure it out. we'll talk, about everything. like we always do. you said we make a good team right? we can — we can talk about it in the morning.”

reo is afraid you'll disappear if he lets you go now, and you're finally holding on to him as well.

“i'm exhausted reo,” you whisper this time. but you are holding on to him, with something akin to the sincerity and the hope of being held the same way. so he does. 

“i know, i love you. it's okay,” reo hums, he feels breathless. “we'll figure it out in the morning, yeah?”

it takes a weak nod from you to make his shoulders relax, all the worry lines of his forehead unwinding and as he rakes his fingers through your hair — he hopes it does the same for you. it has always calmed you down. he hopes that hasn't changed.

this is where he hooks an arm under your thighs, the other so gently wrapped over your shoulder as he lifts you up in one swift motion. you cling to him. reo is grateful. 

he knows you have much to talk about. but when you let your head fall to rest on his chest, when you tell him you like the sound of his heart, when you still say you love him as he lays you down on the bed, the warmth pooling the sheets as much as your eyes — he knows the two of you will be alright. 

you stay — and that's all reo cares about.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

i don't really like this :D but okay anyway i hope you did + I'm tagging @venusbby @inariezaki @hyomagiri @rinnahhhh @kyoghurts @luvether and i still believe taglists are scary ^_^

[manias-wordcount]

heyy!! ive been feeling kinda down these past few weeks and was wondering if you could make a roy mustang x reader hurt/comfort oneshot (if you're still writing for fma, ofc) that has been depressed for a few months, they're hiding it from him, but it's been getting worse so he starts to notice (?) and also discovers that they've been feeling kinda useless and suicidal... you can continue the rest (wow that was long 😅)

if you don't feel comfortable doing it, it's completely fine :) i really like your writing!!

Suffering in Silence (Roy Mustang x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲'𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘆'𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗼𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘁 ��𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗹. 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗣𝗧𝗦𝗗 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Now that he’s moved to Central, he’s been busy. And that’s been good for you, as awful as it sounds.

Most nights, you’re curled up in bed before he comes home. Most days you’re just barely stumbling out of your room before he leaves. And you always send him off with a kiss goodbye and the sweetest smile you can muster. You always do. Because you don’t want to make him worry in the rare moments that he sees you. Because you know that will only make him worry in the long moments he’s away. And you don’t want to be a burden. Nobody wants to be a burden. So you keep up appearances on the outside. You smile on the outside/

But tonight, you don’t remember your dream. Though you know it must have been something horrible.

And it’s no surprise either. Your sleep has gotten worse and worse over the months. It’s seeped into your daily life. Melted into the cycle. You toss and turn at night only to wake up feeling more empty and lost and scared and hopeless in the morning. You struggle to get more than a measly couple of hours of rest at a time only for it to show up in the way you walk and talk and carry yourself. It’s like you were bitten by something that depleted all of your energy and your self-worth. Even now, you feel it sinking its teeth into the remains of your facade. The very thing you’ve kept up for the past few months to ensure that no one was worried or felt burdened by your sinking feelings of despair. But tonight, you found that you don’t remember your dream. But you know for a fact that it must have been something horrible.

Otherwise, Roy wouldn’t have ripped you from your sleep and held you to his chest like you would disappear if he loosened his grip.

The old you would have been so confused. The old you would have wondered if that alarmed look in his eyes and the shaking you awake was the result of a particularly bad PTSD panic attack. The old you would have held him back, feeling helpless to do anything except utter sweet nothings about how he’s at home with you- far, far away from anyway. He’s been doing well over the years, but you know he hasn’t been one hundred percent since the war. But that’s what the old you would have thought. That’s what the old you would have said and done. But that’s not you right now. It’s not.

Because the you right now is just curling up in his lap as he pulls you impossibly closer. Because the you right now is crying and clutching at his uniform, while your mind can’t help but wonder where everything went wrong.

“ You need to tell me what’s wrong,” He murmurs to you, lips just by your ear. You shiver as his breath passes as it, and squirm as the metal pins and buttons of his uniform dig into your skin. Even still, he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t relent with you. He just takes off his gloves and wipes at your tears. He doesn’t complain when they fall on a heap by his feet. He doesn’t complain when the stray tears that he missed press against his neck and roll down without fault. He just holds you. Just like you used to hold him. “You were crying in your sleep, sweetheart. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, you shake your head. You’ve had dreams that led you to cry in your sleep before. Waking up with wet stains on your pillow wasn’t an uncommon thing for you. Not completely, at least. But you didn’t want to let him know that. You couldn’t let him know that. It’s bad enough that the first thing he came home to tonight after a long day at work was the sight of you sobbing in your sleep. But to let me him know more? To let him in after you so desperately tried to keep him away after all this? You just couldn’t stomach the thought. So you did the only thing you could do.

You denied it.

“ N-nightmare- ” You stammer out, sniffling in between the words. But Roy isn’t stupid. He’s been around the sun with you in his life for long enough to know that what you said isn’t everything. And because he’s Roy- because he’s your Roy, he’s quick to point that out too.

“That’s not what this really is about, is it?” He bites out harshly- voice barely above a whisper. His tone makes the tears fall a little bit faster, but the hand curling around your waste and drawing small patterns into your night shirt does offer some semblance of comfort. 

Because his hands are warm. Because His body is warm. Because it reminds you of the sun. It reminds you of all the day you met him. Of all things sweet and comforting. Of times when you could sleep and dream without crying. It reminds you of when things were better. When you were happier. When something wasn’t digging into your soul and taking everything for itself with no way to stop the slow, slow, leak that plagued you. “There’s something more. I know there is.”

You shake your head at his words. You aren’t ready to speak yet. You don’t trust your voice. You don’t trust your words. You don’t trust your mind or your heart. Hell, you don’t even trust the fact that you seemingly and randomly spiraled into a depression far greater than the man who literally acted as an attack dog for a civil war. It’s not fair to Roy. But the world was never fair to anyone, now was it?

You hear him sigh when you shake your head, but you don’t offer any more words for the time being. So he doesn’t either. Instead, his grip on your body relaxes and he places you back on the bed before moving away. Your vision is blurred with tears as you watch him stand up from where he was sitting on the edge with you. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spied the time on the clock from across the room. It tells you that it’s nearly two in the morning. And that information makes you feel a pang of guilt so hard you can’t help but suck in a deep breath as even more tears threaten to flow.

But Roy was having none of that.

He was quick to hush you- a hand reaching out to wipe at your cheeks once more with the type of gentleness you know only you get to see. With his other hand, you see him working through his uniform. Taking off his overcoat and pulling off his boots all to leave them in a messy pile by the floor. You tried to say something- tried to warn him that he’ll only regret this decision when it comes time to wash and press this particular overcoat again. Or that he’s forgetting all his training as a soldier and to never disrespect the uniform. But your voice cracks before you can get more than a sound out. And your lips quivered before you could move them into the shapes that you wanted to.

And he’s back in front of you. Pushing you to lay down on the bed as he crawls in right after you, and holds you to his body once more. He tucks your head into his neck. He circles his arms around your waist. He peppers your face with little tiny kisses everywhere. On your nose. On your forehead. Your cheeks. Your eyelids. Your everything. He holds you.

So you hold him back.

Seconds pass. Minutes pass. Hours pass. How many? How long? You don’t know. All you know is that he’s holding you now. And that you’re holding him. Your legs are tangled in between his. At at some point, your fingers found their way into his dark hair. Threading through his locks and running the tips of your nails against his scalp in a way that you think is probably more comforting for you than it is for him. And for the first time, in a long, long while, you feel grounded to this world. Not perfect. Not great. Not even good. But you feel better. He makes you feel better. 

He makes you feel. 

He makes you feel something that isn’t emptiness. Something that isn’t fear. Something that isn’t sadness. Something that isn’t complete and utter despair. Something that isn’t the persisting loneliness that appears when you are and are not alone. Something that doesn’t threaten to consume you. Take you away from yourself. Take you away from your world. Your happiness. He makes you feel better. Not perfect, but better. And right now, that’s all you can ask for. 

“ I’m losing you, aren’t I ?” He says at some point throughout the night. You don’t know how he figured it out so easily. You thought you had been hiding it so well. But when you heard the low, almost defeated rumble of words, you knew you couldn't hide it anymore. Because it was the type of sound that shoots straight to your heart. And he’s the type of man who won't stop until he sees things through- until he finds the truth. “ I’m losing you. ”

You try to shake your head again, although you know it’s futile. But instead of calling you out for withholding the truth for the umpteenth time tonight, Roy just sighs a deep sigh and leans in real close to press his lips against your nose once more. You can’t help the soft laugh that managed to bubble up inside you at the small, comforting actions. Nor could you help the slow smile that started to spread as he closed his eyes and brushed his nose against yours. 

“ You have to tell me when you feel this way .” He tells you, and you already know you have no room for argument when the hands around your waist squeeze you in a way that ensures to both of you that you won’t be slipping away from him anytime soon. But to be honest, you’ve already started drifting off. Starting feeling soft and safe and protected. So much so that you can’t imagine trying to break free from his arms. How could you do that to him? How could you do that to yourself? “ I can’t lose you, do you understand ?”

The truth is, you don’t know. You don’t know when you decided that suffering in silence was the right way to go about this. You don’t know when you decided you wanted to stop seeking him out for yourself and only for appearances. 

You don’t know when you forgot that to have and to hold and to love and love harder aren’t just things you say because they felt right in the moment. But rather they are things you say because you meant every word and every feeling and every bit of happiness they brought on. 

But he hasn’t forgotten. 

“ I won’t lose you. Not to anyone. ” 

Not now, not ever. 

“ And certainly, not to yourself. ”

Not even a little bit.

[stizzysupremacy]

post-canon Stizzy concept: Izzy showing up at the inn like a year later (maybe he never got gut-shot . I like the idea that he faked his death). Ed is gone, having gotten bored enough to have himself another little menty b and has fucked off to follow a new whim, some new life path that Stede had no interest in walking. (so they broke up. Again.) Stede is now running more of a boarding house instead of an inn because of course those two losers chose a rundown shack in a sparsely populated area that does not have enough people passing through to sustain an inn. Stede’s kinda quietly surviving, doing an okay job of it, and convincing himself that it’s the right place for him because obviously his grand adventures at sea didn’t work out for him so it’s time to stop dreaming big. A monotonous existence isn’t so bad, really… is it? At least he isn’t leaving dead bodies in his wake anymore. (Yeah… he is doing Not Good)

Izzy has to convince Stede that he’s not useless. That he’s actually, sigh, a pretty good Captain by certain standards. Imagine Izzy trying to walk the line between his own stoic reticence, and actually saying nice encouraging things to the man that he hasn’t hated in a long time but is still so used to insulting. Izzy wasn’t even good at hyping up Ed who he legitimately adored admired. But fucks sake, he can’t let Stede just spiral into hopelessness, bury himself alive on land when Izzy knows that Stede has a sailor’s soul (even if he knows piss-all about proper sailing).

So Izzy stays at the boarding house. Maybe it’s fully booked because it’s tiny and can’t possibly have more than like a couple rooms, so Izzy has to stay with Stede. (#onlyonebed) In classic Stede fashion Stede does not ever talk out his problems and actively avoids the subject when Izzy tries to… so Izzy has to move slowly to gain Stede’s trust and bring the man out of himself. He helps out around the place (quietly doing the chores Ed used to bitch loudly about), supports Stede in his interactions with other people, even is actually polite to the other guests when Stede asks him not to scare anyone off. (Izzy wishes he had thought of that. If he had just scared ppl off immediately it would be easier to convince Stede to leave an empty ‘inn’). They spend many an evening in each other’s company, and obviously they talk. Bonner isn’t going to shut up entirely, even if he won’t talk about what matters. They get to know each other really well actually. Stede never felt a need to impress Izzy the way he was desperate to impress the famous Blackbeard. and Izzy isn’t like Ed, he doesn’t mold his personality to the people he is with, so he doesn’t share Ed’s insecurity about being liked or disliked for his real self. So there’s really no reason for either of them to hold back or hide anything. Neither of them could have guessed how easy it was, how comfortable they were able to be with each other. How well they mesh when they don’t have the task of managing Ed or the pressures of surviving a sea-faring life to get between them.

Also this mildly-depressed-Stede has let his beard and hair grow out and that really does something for Izzy.

[melkyt]

Vagrant!Law that earns money here and there doing a live blog about his travels. Its his mid-lif crisis era

And

Perpetually Homeless Luffy who couch surfs from city to city. He mostly volunteers here and there.

They meet in a support group where Law goes for either rehab or grieving reasons.

Luffy goes because he is either supporting a friend, or for simular reasons to Law. Not something he is going to talk that freely about, Luffy not to talk about his own problems. He is there chatting, being his excitable self, helping people who need it. Alot of people in these circle see him as a son, and know that there is something he is grieving in his own way.

Law, since he is just passing through, and needs the 'checkmark' in his book that will help him manage his own pain. Hearing peoples stories and helping them with telling stories of his own travels is how he relaxes, and people in these circles understand when he cant say the whole truth and sometimes just let him talk. He is more honest then he would be anywhere else as these groups are anonymous with fake names, and he will be gone before long. Nobody knows him as the Trafalgar Law who lost his family, and the one foster parent that cared.

He is just another man who the world fucked over, same story, different face.

Luffy though, doesn't see him as that. He looks deeper past the image Law puts on for the world. Not because he is trying but because that is who he is. He looks at everyone to who they are, brings out their very soul. It is hard to lie to that smile, and as they spend time, Law opens up more then he has to anyone.

Nights at the support group, turn to nights going out to an arcade, a movie or just going to get some food. They spend more and more time together until Luffy dissapears, leaving a hole where he was. Law tries to ask but the fleeting nature of these meetings means that nobody knows who the kid that made the place brighter was

Law thinks about letting the connection fade away. That is a common story on the street, faces come and go. Law was planning to dissapearing in much the same way. Yet Luffy does not leave his mind, they have gotten so close, maybe even something close to love. Feelings that Law thought himself incapable off, that his heart was to broken to even humor it.

Yet here he is, wandering the streets at night hoping to catch sight of that bright smile that brought him such joy.

There is nothing, just the darkness he knows to well. Darkness that brought him comfort but is now a suffocating curtain around the world.

Still there is nothing and Law has to move on to the next city as his money runs low, and he is not looking to get a job or settle down even if the city brought him someone who brought hope that things can get better someday.

Law pays for the ticket on auto-pilot, ready to leave a piece of his heart behind in this place.

Then there is a shout, drowned by the whistle of the train. Law glances around, he does not see the source. It is his mind playing tricks.

Thent it comes again.

And it is his name. The name only Luffy uses for him.

The platform is empty.

Law frowns, did he wish to see Luffy again so much that he is hallucinating the man?

The shout comes again. Law follows it to the far bridge that is above the train to let people cross. It has a smooth roof, and on that roof lands a bike from a nearby hill with a thud.

Law can feel the panic as the bike lands on the train, and keeps going, its wheel spinning as Luffy pushes it forward. He goes flying through the air. The wheel burns as Luffy pulls on the breaks just before impact. It tilts forward.

For a moment everything is still. Time seems to stop.

Law holds his breath.

Then the wheel gives in and Luffy goes tumbling heels over head. "Ouch ouch"

"You alive?" Law leans over the idiot that he has fallen in love with.

Luffy chuckles and nods, he has a few bump and bruises and is in one piece (lolol). "Hi, Traffy, heard you were leaving, had to catch yah"

"Could have answered my calls" Law rolls his eyes, helping him up with one hand. "What happened"

"Got into some trouble, thought id just go with you since Im skipping town anyway" he laughs. Luffy does not elaborate more on that, and Law familiar with the concept of less questions the better, doesnt pry.

He buys a ticket for Luffy. Not asking if he has money or not. It will be tough on food till his next paycheck but it is worth it if he gets to spend time with his sun, that might be bright as ever but more trouble then he realized.

[sakuyomihana]

⋆˙⟡ Tangled Threads Of Hearts ⋆˙⟡

Hello everyone~! Chapter 3 is finally out!! Apologies for the long wait~ As usual, a big thank you to all the readers who have supported this series since day 1! I hope to be able to continue this series and finally accomplish a small dream of mine. Thank you for supporting Tangled Threads Of Hearts~ *Disclaimer: This is an original work done by me. Pls do not steal it or repost anywhere else. Thank you and have a happy reading day~!

Chapter 3: Reunions & Longing

Year 2023, Spring

Location: Xianzhou Luofu, Divine Cloud Estate

  Two months have passed since you started your first semester of the year.. Over the last two months, you had gotten better acquainted with a certain silverette and were now the bestest of friends. Even your other friends had gotten along with him pretty well, thus making outings with your mutual friends group more livelier and often. Today just so happened to be a chill day for you to relax at home, since it was the weekend and you had completed all of your assignments. Sprawled out comfortably on the couch in the living room, you were scrolling through whatever social media apps that you had on your phone with Mimi laying next to you on the ground below.

The house felt a little empty minus the ticking sound of the wall clock that kept you company. Both of your brothers’ weren’t home today, with Jing Yuan being at the enterprise and Yanqing was out at his tuition centre. You were supposed to be glad that your affectionate older brother wasn’t home, however, you felt a little lonely today.. Not that you would let your brother know of this. The servants of the house were all smiling and stifling their laughter in amusement at how adorable their young lady was acting today. Of course, you pouted whenever they pointed it out. To add on to your misery, there were no new messages or calls from your dearest friends, leaving you to your lonesomeness.

Groaning, you toss your phone aside and face planted on the couch. As if acknowledging how you are feeling, the lion nuzzled its snout into your hair and licked your face.

“Ahaha! Mimi, that tickles!”.

The lion let out a happy grunt, happy that it had successfully made you laugh. Taking the chance of having this big floof ball right here, you decided to exact your revenge from all the jump scares that he had caused you. Nuzzling into its fur, you took a big sniff of its comforting smell and cuddled it. The lion squirmed and whimpered as it tried to escape your clutches, but to no avail. In the end, it succumbed to your endless teasing. Servants passing by were all laughing at the lion’s failed attempt of escape, nonetheless they were happy to at least see you back to your usual self. You were no different from your brother in displaying your affections, that was something that you agreed on.

It was then you felt your phone vibrate beside you.. Ceasing your attack, you let the poor lion go and picked up the device. After what seems to have been an eternity since you last received a text message from someone, there was finally one now. You thought it was from either Caelus, March or even Seele, informing you about the latest gossip that they have heard from their peers but it wasn’t. To your surprise, it was a text from your dear friend and rising superstar, Robin.

“ Robin <3

 Robin:

Hey there, [Name]! 

It’s been a long time since we last met, how are all of you doing?

You:

Hey there, Robin! 

Yeah, it sure has been a really long time since we last met! My brothers’ and I are all doing well, Gepard too. What about you?

Robin:

That’s great (＾▽＾)!

Yes, brother and I are both doing well too!

Actually, I wanted to ask if you are free to hang out sometime soon.

You:

Glad to see that you are both doing well~

Of course, we can hang out any time!

Robin:

Wonderful (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ ~ ”.

You had met Robin back in middle school, alongside her twin older brother, Sunday. The both of you hit off pretty well, with her kind and outgoing personality, you instantly became the bestest of friends. Much unlike her brother who was unapproachable and had this condescending air around him. When you first met the halovian siblings, you thought they looked absolutely stunning with their little wings sprouting from behind their ears, their halo glistening under the sunlight and the aura they exuded was of high society. 

You may be of high society yourself, however you don't see yourself compatible to be friends with them. It was not until Gepard, who was the only friend that you had at the time, pushed you to step out of your comfort zone and talk to them. Robin, being the sweetest girl that you have ever met, immediately jumped at the opportunity to be your friend whereas Sunday, who under the guise of a polite smile, gave you the sting eye for trying to approach his beloved sister.

Just then, the sound of the door opening plus the scattering of footsteps snapped you out of your reverie. Sensing the familiar presence from around the corridor leading to the living room, you immediately leaped out of your seat and jumped straight into the person's open arms. Your brother was taken aback by your sudden action but there was a rush of affection in his heart, he was happy, delighted even. Chuckling as he hugged you back, he finally felt at peace. Nothing else mattered at this point..

A few minutes later…

“[Name], were you that lonely without me at home today~?”.

Jing Yuan decided to tease you a little, in turn, he received a whack from you. He chuckled again as you finally lifted your head to look at him with a tiny pout evident on your lips. He knew you were gonna deny it later, so he chose to ruffle your hair affectionately.

->>>>>>>>>

  Earlier today, your brother had received an invitation from the Family to attend a party hosted by the Dreammaster in Penacony. Knowing that you had friends there, Jing Yuan wanted to bring you along. He decided to get off work early today and invite you for a little date to choose an outfit for the event. Coincidentally, that was what Robin had messaged you about.

“Sure but…”, you started hesitantly.

You were grateful that Robin had reached out to you, however, you feel yourself unworthy of attending such a large scale event that was meant for business partners to attend. You couldn't see yourself mingling with the crowd, let alone stand there side by side with your brother who was more well known than you were.

“Brother, are you sure that I can attend such an event with you? I’m far from having made any contributions to the banking enterprise..”.

“Nonsense, my dear. You are far more than worthy to attend it with me, besides, you have Robin there with you no?”.

“Yes.. but..”.

“*sigh* [Name].”, he said firmly.

You expected him to be disappointed with your actions, so you kept your head low.

“[Name], look at me.”, he placed a gentle hand on your head.

Timidly, you slowly lifted your head and was greeted with a forlorn, yet gentle smile. Gently patting your head, he turned his gaze towards the setting sun outside.

“Brother?”.

“[Name], you do not realize how important you are, both to me and the enterprise. Your presence in my life was what made me able to keep on moving forward no matter what obstacles I have to face, in order to give you the happiness that you deserve. So [Name], don't think so lowly of yourself. This big brother right here would be nothing without you as my backing and support.”, he pulled you into a comforting and loving hug.

Melting in his embrace, you felt your eyes start to blur. Closing your eyes, you reciprocated with a squeeze of your own.

“Mm.. Thank you, brother.”, you said with a silent ‘I love you’ echoing at the back of your mind.

“Haha. No, rather it should be me that's thanking you for having grown up into such a refined and beautiful young woman. Thank you, for staying by my side all these years. Father and mother are surely proud of the person you have become.”, he lightly chuckled.

The heartwarming atmosphere that made every servant in the house tear up was then interrupted by none other than your younger brother, who had just returned home from his tuition centre.

“Big brother and big sister, what are you guys discussing about? And I want to join the hug too!”.

Jing Yuan and you couldn't help but laugh at the sudden interruption, before indulging the boy’s request.

A few moments later..

“Robin <3

You:

Hey, Robin.

Yes, I’ll be attending the party with my brother. Looking forward to seeing you then.

Robin:

Splendid!

I’ll let my brother and father know! See you there~ ”.

->>>>>>>>>

Location: Penacony, Dewlight Pavilion

  Hearing a light chuckle across from him in the living room, Sunday curiously looked up from the book that he was reading.

“Dearest sister, may I inquire on what has your attention?”.

“Oh, pardon me. I was conversing with [Name] over text, does Brother remember her?”, Robin explained.

“Ah yes, Mr Jing Yuan’s little sister.”.

Of course, he remembered you. How could he not. The young lady who he failed to recognize at the start as the younger sister of Xianzhou Luofu Banking Enterprise’s head and showed you unruly disdain for conversing with Robin back in middle school, despite the sheer resemblance. He shook his head and bit back a chuckle from the memory.

“[Name] said that she’s going to be attending the party too! I can’t wait to see her again~”.

Seeing his sister beaming with happiness, he couldn’t help but let out a smile.

“I’m sure that she will be delighted to see you.”, Sunday reassured her as he placed the forgotten book on his lap.

“Honestly.., I was worried that she would turn down the invitation.”, she started hesitantly as she stood up from her place on the sofa and walked over to the window behind her.

“And why is that?”.

Placing her hand against the cold glass surface of the window, she stared back at her own reflection and placed her clenched fist against her chest.

“I know that [Name] tends to view herself lowly as compared to others, she’s always like this… That’s why I am glad that she had agreed to attend.”.

Knowing full well of what she meant, Sunday closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. You were truly different as compared to everyone else that he had ever met in his life, maybe it was because of your upbringing and background. Being the youngest of your family at the time, you had witnessed so many despair and hardships. You only had your older brother to look up to and at a young age, he took up the failing family business and brought it back to its former glory. Sunday never knew what your parents were like, but he could sense that they were kind and gentle like you were.

In fact, before he discovered who you really were, he had at some point grown accustomed to your presence and grew to like you over the years. He has Robin to thank for letting his view of you change for the better, if not he will feel conflicted with his emotions. Considering how similar the situation was for both you and him in the past, he fell deeply in love with you. He wishes to keep both you and Robin safe from the harshness and cruelty of the world, he wishes to give you a better life that you deserved, thus he seeked further guidance from his adoptive father and current dreammaster of Penacony, Mr Gopher Wood. However, he knew it was going to be difficult to get your brother to agree to this relationship as the man did not particularly seem to like him. He could easily use the power bestowed upon him to force your brother to change his mind, but he decided against it as it felt underhanded to use a tactic like this. He wanted Jing Yuan to genuinely like and approve of this relationship before deciding to court you, if all else fails, not to worry as he always plans ahead to ensure that nothing goes wrong.

“Robin, do not worry. I’m sure that with you by her side, she will have no reason to not attend.”.

‘And mine too.’.

He will make sure of that, one way or another. He wishes to see you again after all…

->>>>>>>>>

Location: Xianzhou Luofu, Divine Cloud Estate

  It was finally the day of the party... You were currently dressing up with the help of your personal maids in your room. With your maids being the biggest supporters of the operation on helping you find a beautiful husband, they were practically prancing around your room to find the perfect outfit from your newly replenished wardrobe. You have your older brother to blame for this. A few nights prior, your brothers’ and you had gone out into the city to find matching outfits for the party. It had originally been a small date between you and Jing Yuan, however, your younger brother had asked to tag along. Of course, who could resist the adorable little pout that Yanqing gave when Jing Yuan said he couldn’t go. Thus, the date that was meant for two became three.

Now back to the issue at hand, your beloved older brother had personally asked your maids to doll you up as beautifully as possible. Extravagantly if you might add. Sighing, you just let them do their thing, since you have already promised them to let them do as they please. Laid out before you on your bed were the dresses that you had newly bought, amongst them there was one that you particularly like. Seeing that your maids were taking a while trying to decide on which one to pick, you suggested the one that you had your eyes on. No harm in trying right?

“Xiao Lan?”.

“Yes, milady?”.

“How about this one? I particularly like this design.”.

All of a sudden, their eyes lit up with a flash of inspiration.

“But of course, why did we never think of it?! It suits the lady to a tee~”, Xiao Xue exclaimed in excitement.

The other two nodded in agreement at the realization.

“We should hurry and let the sire kn-”.

“That won’t be necessary.”.

You smiled at the maids as they looked at you in confusion. Well, that was true actually. When you were picking your outfits that day, your brother had been eyeing this dress for awhile since you had entered the store. Not to mention, Yanqing too. Upon mentioning it, your brother immediately asked you to try it out in the changing room and lo and behold did you look beautiful in it, as if this dress was made just for you.

You knew that your brother would obviously pick an outfit that matches with this dress and you were not disappointed with the outcome.

->>>>>>>>>

  ‘Knock, knock!’.

Coupling with a few gentle knocks, your brother’s voice could be heard from the other side of the door.

“[Name], may I come in?”.

“The door’s open~”.

With a soft click, the door swiftly opened revealing Jing Yuan and a pouting Yanqing standing in the hallway. Chuckling as he pushed the young boy in, your brother signaled for your maids to leave before gently picking up the dress that still laid on your bed. Casting a glance at your brother’s getup, you snorted an amused chuckle at how lazily his blazer, shirt and tie were done.

“Dear brother, are you in such a hurry to see this sister dress up in thy beautiful dress that you had bought to match with your own?”, you teased.

Deciding to play along, Jing Yuan held up the dress and gestured gentlemanly towards the full length mirror that decorated the wall next to your walk-in closet.

“Why yes~, dearest sister. I wanted to dress you in this magnificent dress with my own two hands and help out with styling your hair for the occasion. Am I not allowed to do such honors?”.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he faked a hurt expression. ‘This big baby~’, you thought. Placing a finger to the bottom of your lips, you feigned a thoughtful expression.

“Hmm.. Then, what about Yanqing?”.

The pouting boy finally looked at you and Jing Yuan at the mention of his name, realizing that he needed to say something, he quickly turned his head to the side desperately hiding the blush that had crept up to his cheeks as he whispered.

“I-I… wanted… t-to… help o-out.. big sister too..”.

‘Aw..’, you and Yuan both internally squealed out how cute he was.

“C-can’t I?’.

“Of course, you can~”, you cooed.

“What about me?”.

“In exchange, you let me redo your tie for you and make you look more handsome and presentable~?”.

“*chuckles* Deal~”.

Silently apologizing to your maids who supposedly wanted to help you dress up, you promised to make it up to them. Letting your brothers dress you up, Yuan with the dress and hair, Yanqing with picking the accessories and lastly, getting your makeup done by Fu Xuan. Fu Xuan, your brother’s fiance and also your soon to be sister in law, had come over to accompany or rather babysit your younger brother. She and Jing Yuan had both gone a long way back, meeting in college to working side by side in the current Luofu Banking Enterprise as partners and lovers. Just a year ago, he proposed and she accepted, making her his fiance. Although she was usually swarmed with work as the COO, otherwise known as the chief operating officer, she still made time to drop by and visit the family. You honestly love her since the day you met, with her being the only one tolerable and also with the ability to remain steadfast towards your brother’s antics. Despite her strict and up-tight personality, she was still gentle and caring on the inside. They may quarrel sometimes but they both know what’s in their best interest and make up afterwards.

Arriving just in time before your brothers’ can touch the makeup materials on your dressing table, Fu Xuan shooed them out of the room and worked on the final touches of your outfit and your makeup.

“There.. All done.”, she said as she finished applying a light pink lip gloss to your lips.

Proud of her work, she got you to open your eyes and allowed your troublemaker brothers’ back into the room to witness her masterpiece. A small gasp escaped your lips as you stared back at your own reflection.

“I-is this… truly me?”.

As if on cue, Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan both said the same thing.

“Yes, it is. This is not an illusion, [Name]. It is really you in all your glory.”.

“You look absolutely stunning, my dear.”.

“Big sister looks so beautiful..”.

That was all it took to give you the confirmation you needed. A stray tear slipped down your cheek, tears began brimming at the corners of your eyes. You did not intend to cry, however it felt like a dam had burst as you finally let loose of the feelings that you had kept inside for so long. All these years of constant downplaying on yourself, never truly understanding what people had seen in you and outside of you. You thought that they all were just being polite, as you were the sister of a renown figure in the business industry. You were indeed both beautiful on the inside and on the outside, the you now made you more radiant than ever before.

“Oh come on, you are gonna ruin the makeup that I had painstakingly put on you! Come now, dry your tears. You would not want to show up at the party with puffy eyes and ruined makeup do you?”, despite her sharp tongue as she chided, you know that it was because Fu Xuan deeply cares about you.

With comforting words, you finally managed to smile. You truly felt loved and blessed to have such a wonderful and loving family…

->>>>>>>>>

Location: Penacony, Grand Theatre

  Decorations adorned the once empty theatre, chatters could be heard from all four corners of the building. Busy greeting guests from all around the world who have come to attend the party, Sunday had a perfectly crafted smile etched on his face as he conversed with guests after guests. Although tired, he still remained professional and composed, afterall he would not want to disgrace the Oak Family’s name. A couple of distance away, was his younger sister who was also effortlessly engaging with the crowd. Robin was supposedly performing on stage tonight, wanting to let her get some rest, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Brushing past the crowd without letting a single crease form on his pristine suit, he was about to reach her before his attention had shifted to something else or rather someone from afar. Golden irises widened in astonishment, as if time itself had just stopped. The young woman he had once known, had become even more breathtaking and elegant than before. The dress highlighted your curves perfectly, the light makeup enhanced your natural beauty and the light pink lip gloss made your lips look more plush and kissable..

‘Insolent!’, he thought at the last minute. Successfully reeling himself in, he had his wings covered his already rosy cheeks as he tried to calm and composed every fibre of his being to not snap out of control.

‘Goodness, gracious..’, he could not believe that just your presence alone was able to break the facade that he had held up for so long. He could not believe himself either.. That was how deeply he had already fallen for you, your presence today had reignited the dormant feelings within.

“Brother? Are you alright?”.

Snapping out of his reverie at his sister’s voice, he cleared his throat.

“*ahem* I am fine, dearest sister.”.

Still albeit concerned, Robin decided to just leave her brother be. More importantly, there was someone who she was excited to see again. In truth, she knew who had caught her brother’s eyes at that moment. Back in their final year of middle school, she had an inkling that you were the one who had tugged on Sunday’s heartstrings and she was proven right by the many encounters where her brother seemed extremely engaged in his conversations with you. Chuckling at the fond memories, she then turned to give her brother a push.

“Robin..?’.

“Come on, let’s go greet them!”.

Standing amongst the crowd of renowned business partners, you felt a little small at the immense pressure that was thrown at your face when it comes to greeting them as you have never met them before. Leaving the conversations and introductions to your brother, who happily indulged, you stayed close by and occasionally nodded and spoke when the conversations veered towards you. More often than not. Sensing that you had grown slightly uncomfortable, Jing Yuan politely excused you and himself from the conversation and led you to a quiet corner for a breather.

“That must have been too much for you on your first social event. I’m sorry, [Name].”, your brother apologized for not getting you out of it sooner.

“Mm, I’m fine. I should be the one that’s saying sorry in these circumstances, I caused you to cut a potential business deal short.”.

“Nonsense, taking care of you and worrying for your safety is second nature to me. There’s no need to apologize, besides I did not like how that man was eyeing you since the start of the conversation.”, you could hear the annoyance in his voice as he scoffed at the offender.

After a short reprieve, you managed to convince your brother to get back to mingling with the crowd and chastised him to stop worrying about you as you were sure that Fu Xuan is waiting for some good news on new business ventures. Leaving you to your own lonesomeness, you stayed away from the crowd as you slowly sipped on the glass of mocktail in your hands. Noticing that your glass was empty, you were about to get up for a refill when a pair of familiar hands handing you another glass filled your line of sight.

“..Robin?”.

“Hehe~ It has been a long time, [Name]!”, the halovian before you exclaimed.

Nostalgia overtook your senses as you immediately pulled her into a tight hug, not caring how others looked at you in this very moment. Reciprocating your action, Robin returned with one of her own. Off in your own little bubble, you failed to recognize the other halovian standing behind her.

“*ahem*”, the said male cleared his throat, gaining your attention.

“A-ah, I didn’t see you there.. My apologies, it has been a while, Sunday.”.

“It’s quite alright.. Either way, it’s a pleasure to see you again, [Name].”.

Smiling teasingly at you two, Robin nudged him closer and pulled all three of you into a hug.

“R-Robin?!”.

“W-woah?!”.

The hug was albeit awkward, however, he was glad that he got to hold you close. Something about it brings him peace and calms his nerves from the sudden contact. The three of you then broke off and began chatting like old times. Occasionally, one twin would leave to tend to some guests and the other stay when their presence was required, in hopes of keeping you company and to an extent, spend some alone time with you. You were grateful for it and was bemused by their actions. After a few rounds of to and fro with Robin leaving the group, the lights in the theatre finally dimmed. A stray light flashed towards the centre of the stage, a loud round of applause resounded across the room as Robin took the stage.

“A very warm welcome to everyone who has taken the time to attend this special event today. I hope that everyone of you has enjoyed your stay thus far and please look forward to this special concert that the Family has prepared for you! Thank you!”.

The next couple of minutes flew by like a blur, as performers performed one after the other. Finally, it was Robin’s turn to shine. As her gentle voice filled the theatre, everyone in the crowd began slow dancing to the beat. Your brother had opted to look for you, rejecting any offers to a dance, as he wanted to do it with you. However, he was beaten by a certain halovian. He may dislike the man but it didn’t matter if you were fine with it.

“My lady, may I have this dance?”.

“S-sure.”.

Initially, you were shocked that Sunday had asked you for a dance. You thought that he would not mingle with you, but on a closer thought, you had forgotten how much closer the two of you had gotten since the day you had met, thanks to Robin. The thought that currently sticks out the most was, ‘Is it alright that I’m dancing with such an important figure in Penacony?’. Shaking the thought away, you turned your focus back on the dance, wanting to enjoy the moment tonight.

“Is there something bothering you?”, he inquired.

“It’s nothing. I just want to enjoy the night.”, you wondered if he could read your mind.

“Is that so? Then, I hope that this night will be a night to remember for you.”.

Making small talks as you let the halovian take the lead, his steps matching yours to ensure that you do not injure yourself. You danced with him a little longer before your brother whisked you away, proclaiming that he is your next partner as the current song came to an end. The time spent with you may have been short but it was fulfilling, such as having your lingering warmth etched upon his skin..

End of Chapter 3: Reunions & Longing.

********************

[airiat]

northern sky, five. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist | beginning}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

ch. summary: a date. this is like that.

{ao3}

five. {1.8k}

Your favorite client is sitting in your chair. You’re painting thin stripes of bleach in her hair, tucking them into neat foil packets. She’s been talking your ear off for the past half hour about her son, her husband, her nagging in-laws. But you find it a comfort. You like thinking about other people’s lives. It’s something to imagine that isn’t your own storm. 

“They tried staying with us for three weeks this time,” she’s saying. “Can you believe it? Acting like they don’t have their own house.”

“Hm. No, that’s not right,” you commiserate. 

“At this point, maybe they should just let us take it since they never seem to wanna live there. It’s so much bigger than ours.”

“Yeah, yeah, they definitely should.”

“Maybe one of these days, we’ll just show up there with our suitcases. See how much they like it.”

You laugh, dip your brush into the bowl of bleach, find it almost empty. “I’ve gotta go mix more of this. Just a moment.”

You leave with the bowl, head to the room next door with all your product. You set the bowl on the counter when you arrive and pull out your phone. You and Joel actually did exchange numbers this time, mostly under the pretense of you letting him know when to pick you up. He doesn’t seem like that much of a texter but has this BlackBerry that he seems to be constantly irritated with, muttering about needing it for work. Still, when you find the screen of your iPhone empty, a little pang of disappointment hits your chest. You shake your head and shove the phone back into your jeans.

Upon your return, you find her barking angrily into her phone, but she snaps a farewell when you begin working on her hair again. 

“That was my mother-in-law,” she says but doesn’t elaborate. “Hey, not to be nosy, but I saw you get dropped off by a man in a truck. What’s the story?”

In fact, she is nosy. But you’ve always appreciated that there is someone who would care enough to know anything about you. And she has gotten to know you over the years, all five of them. Probably one of the only people in this little town who knows anything about you. Probably one of the closest resemblances of a mother you have these days.

“Just this guy I started seeing,” you answer. There’s a flood of words in your mouth, but you hold back. 

“Oh, look at you, now!” she exclaims. “Well, tell me more. What’s his name? How did you meet him?”

You never lie to her. She could tell if you were, anyway; she’s known you too long. But you never feel any reason to. She never passes unfair judgment. “We met at Lucky’s,” you say. “He’s from out of town, actually. From Texas. His name is Joel.”

“How interesting. What does he do down there?”

“He has a construction company. I think. I…actually don’t know a lot about him.”

“But he’s dropping you off at work?

“Well, he’s staying with me, but we’ve actually only really spent maybe two days total together.”

“Sounds a little fishy to me, honey,” she says honestly.

You scowl, tap the brush against a new foil maybe a little too hard. “I swear it’s not. His last name is Miller. He has a brother, a sister-in-law, and a nephew in Wyoming. A daughter going to college in Boston.”

“A college-aged daughter? How old is this man? He’s not secretly married, is he?”

“No, of course not. He just has a daughter. And he probably had her young, too; he’s gotta only be early forties.”

“I think these are things you should be asking him.”

“I don’t know if I have any right to. Maybe it’s not like that.”

She meets your eyes in the mirror, gives a sly smile. “If that mark on your lip is from what I think it is, I’d say you have every right.”

You flush, foolishly didn’t wear lipstick today, but also didn’t think anyone would put the pieces together. You hurry to change the subject. 

“He said he drove here from Austin. Just for me. Said he could barely make it two weeks before he needed to see me again. Is that–?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Can’t make a man do anything he doesn’t want to. And they’ll pound mountains down for what they want.”

“Maybe he just likes me in bed.”

“Sure, maybe. And that’s fine as long as you’re also getting something out of it.”

A wistful reminiscence of this morning: his brown eyes searching your soul, the way he’ll cradle you against him, his gentle way of talking to you. “He treats me well.”

“If you have that, then you can have anything.”

“As long as that’s what he wants.”

“And you, too,” she says. “But also know this: sometimes things end. But that doesn’t mean it was for nothing.”

You nod as though you agree, but the very thought makes your body run cold. You don’t know what you’d do without how Joel makes you feel. Maybe it would be like having no air to breathe. Maybe it would be something that you’d have to drown in bottles. But all you say is: “I’ll remember that.”

~*~

When you finally climb back into Joel’s truck at the end of the day, it feels as though you have been away from him for a year. Actually, it was a short day, only six hours. You still missed him. You did. But now that you’re here again with him, you’re at a loss. Do you kiss him? Hug him? What are you supposed to say?

“Hi,” you say, sitting back in the seat and folding your hands in your lap.

“Hey,” Joel says back. “Work good?”

“Yeah, just felt like it went by pretty slow.”

He twists around in his seat, puts his hand on the back of yours as he reverses out of the parking spot. Butterflies flip in your stomach. He may as well be touching you. 

“So, I was thinkin’,” Joel says once he’s on the road. “Maybe I could take you out somewhere tonight. Drove around town some while you were gone. Saw at least one restaurant, a movie theater of some sort. Could be a proper date.”

“A proper date,” you echo softly. “Been a while.”

In fact, it’d been about three years. You’re too reclusive now. And the pickings were always slim, to begin with.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Me too.”

But the butterfly wings are fluttering frantically now. This is something more. This is like that.

“Okay, yes, a date. I’d love to.”

You see the brightness of his smile out of the corner of your eye, and then he’s reaching into your lap to slip your hand into his. Holds it all the way back home. And you’re floating; the only thing that keeps you from touching the clouds is the roof of his truck.

When you make it back, walk through the front door together, it all feels right. Like this is one of thousands of times. Like you have been doing this for twenty years. Of course, he wouldn’t leave when you’re gone. Only now has the thought even re-entered your mind. 

“You wanna go lay down for a little while?” you ask him. “Kinda tired.”

He’s hanging his coat up on the rack, looks over at you. “Sounds good.”

You kick off your pretty little heeled boots–the ones that you never really wear anymore because of all the walking you do. The ones you’ve always loved so much. 

“Hey, why don’t you wear those tonight?”

You hide your smile. “Maybe I’ve got something even better.” You don’t give him a chance to answer before you’re walking back to your room, and there you’re ripping off all your dirty work clothes, plunging into bed.

Behind you, you hear Joel’s belt coming undone and then his outermost clothes coming off. He slides into bed with you, chest against your back, arm wrapped around your waist. You sigh and sink into him, but sleepiness doesn’t find you. Questions linger in your mind. The ones you can now ask. 

“Joel?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How old are you?”

His soundless laugh rumbles against your back. “You only askin’ me that now?”

“Well, I didn’t know if I could. But we’re going on a date now, so I figure….” The words come out of your mouth, and you realize how dumb they sound. You’re glad you’re not turned to look at him. Your face would be red.

“Darlin’, you’ve known me in all those other ways, and you think I wouldn’t tell you my age? I’m forty-two.”

All of his years fall fluttering like orange autumn leaves. The kind that you’d make a pile of and lay down in, fall asleep in. All of his years wrap you up warm in a blanket, the same way his arms feel around you now.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Yes.”

“What happened with Sarah’s mother?”

This answer does not come with laughter, with the reassurance of something that should have been obvious. It comes only with a long silence. Then, stilted, “We’re not together anymore if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“Okay.” A whisper is all you can manage. The rusty nails of shame pin you down.

“It’s alright that you asked, just—” Joel swallows thickly. “It’s no easy answer.”

You turn in his arms, push your head under his chin, face into his neck. “You don’t have to tell me, now or ever.”

The shape of Joel’s grief is a third person wedged between you. It’s a specter, all crooked limbs and gnarled bones. It reaches down his throat and chokes the space where he might let the words pass. It tells him that if he speaks, he will splinter. It wraps him in stony arms and convinces him that the world will be cold from now on. You can feel it, you can know it, because you live with the cold sidled up against your back. Yours is a wild animal, something like a scared doe.

“I want to. It’s just–”

“I know.”

A pause for his own understanding to bloom.

“You’ve been livin’ with something, too.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to tell me, neither.”

“I–”

All of it. An attempt to reach out to something beyond. All of it an attempt to strike a match against wet and crumbling logs in a stone circle. To chase out the dark and the cold and the sharp teeth. All of it. An invitation, a hand held out to another frightened voice in the fringes. Try it. Try to make it light with me.

[koumeowkami]

🪐 no celestial ; kanallen

— chapter three

"Kanata was a poor little angel that heaven couldn't help. He'd always been a tough one, not trusting anyone but his little brother Nayuta, the only person that ever made him feel love. Growing up by themselves, he did everything in his power to protect his sick brother, things that dirtied his holy hands. "It's for a good cause though", he thought. But it wasn't enough, and Nayuta died soon after.

Kanata's soul was completely spent. He became unable to feel love, and adding to his dirty dealings that soon were found out, he got cast out of heaven. Fallen on Earth with his wings blackened, he felt so lost and empty he thought he could've just died.

But a random encounter with a very annoying, persistent, stupid redhead human boy would've made him discover love again."

1430 words

genre: supernatural, hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

previous ✧ next

Allen was finally back to his apartment, tired and with his mind clearly elsewhere. It was almost 3 AM. While he was trying really hard to be as quiet as possible, the lights in the living room were suddenly turned on.

"Where the hell were you!?"

Standing there was Anne, arms crossed and a scowl on their face. Hajun was behind them, looking immovable as always.

"Do you have any idea how late it is? I thought you fell asleep in front of your laptop!" Anne whispered-shouted, getting closer to Allen looking at him inquisitively. They might look cute and all but God, were they scary when angry.

"Sorry... I just took a detour when coming here. Tonight's soft breeze is so relaxing..." Allen replied, smiling softly with his head lowered. For some reason, he couldn't tell them about his encounter in the park. Well, he'd probably never see Kanata again anyways, would he?

Anne kept looking at him weirdly, as if they were trying to spot a lie, but in the end they accepted his answer. "Well nevermind, it's too late for a discussion now. We have school tomorrow so we'd better head to bed" they said yawning, and went towards their room. Hajun, who had been silent the whole time, got closer to Allen. "Don't go wander so late ever again, alright? Because if you don't get up in time for class the next day, we're leaving you here" he whispered, flashing a smile that made Allen gulp in fear.

"Understood."

Probably half an hour had passed, and Allen still had his eyes fixed on the ceiling of his room. He just couldn't stop thinking about what happened that night. For some reason, he was instantly attracted to that kid, as if he was put under some spell. He felt like he couldn't leave him alone. Behind the rage in those galaxy-colored eyes he saw so much suffering, one he couldn't ever imagine. Behind that steel barrier he put in front of his heart, he could feel his loneliness. He wasn't able to understand why Kanata would force himself to deny that despite everything.

Frustrated, he got up and sat in front of the window, gazing at the shining moon.

"How can I go beyond that wall of yours?"

— ☾ —

"...Allen? Hello? Earth to Allen!"

With a gasp, Allen paused the music in his headphones and raised his head from his songwriting notebook. He was faced with a pouting Anne, who was sitting across from him at one of the university's cafeteria tables.

"Huh? What is it...?"

"Look, I know you always get invested when doing anything that has to do with hiphop, but you've been really out of it for the past week. I've been calling you for five whole minutes!" they said, exasperated.

"Are you okay? You haven't even had your lunch yet" Hajun pointed to the ramen sitting beside the notebook, "We have class in fifteen minutes, so hurry up please. I don't want to be late because of you." he said, sipping on his coffee.

"Don't worry, I'm okay! It's just that I'm having trouble with this one... I haven't gotten much sleep lately either" Allen smiled, "I'm gonna finish lunch quickly, you guys can go already!"

Anne and Hajun took their bags. "We're waiting for you in the hallway, alright?"

"Sure thing! See you there!"

— ☾ —

Hajun and Anne walked, an awkward silence filling the air.

"So..." Anne started, looking at the boy beside them, "Have you also noticed something weird about Allen, lately?"

"Of course I did. He's awful at lying and keeping secrets, he wears his heart on his sleeve after all." Hajun said, "It all started when he came home late the other day..."

"Yeah. He always looks like there's something on his mind but he won't tell us! Ugh, it's so frustrating!" Anne pouted again, slightly gripping their hair, "I know he doesn't want us to worry... but if something is troubling him I don't wanna leave him alone!" they said, closing their hands in a punch, resoluted.

"Oh Anne, you're so cute~" Hajun teased playfully at the little display of protectiveness from Anne. "Shut up! I know damn well you'd do the same for him, even though you pretend not to!" they replied while crossing their arms.

"I wonder?" he giggled, while his eyes confirmed Anne's words.

— ☾ —

"Guys, I'm gonna head out for a bit to breathe some fresh air! I'll be back for dinner!"

Allen sprinted towards the park. There was one in a million possibilities that Kanata would still be there, but he wanted to see that with his own eyes. He hadn't stopped thinking about their conversation for the whole week, he tried to pour his feelings on a piece of paper like he always did, but something was missing. He thought that seeing Kanata would've cleared up his mind a bit.

The park was already almost empty when he got there, most people were already heading back home or going to eat somewhere; he immediately reached the most hidden part, where he was sure Kanata would be hiding, then wandered slowly to catch him, but to no avail.

"Tch. You're here again."

Allen turned around, eyes widened.

"You're still... here?" he said, looking over at the boy. His once white clothes got dirtier than the time before, his long hair a bit tousled, his eye bags bigger, his skin paler. Allen's heart was hurting. "Why does he keep doing that to himself?" he thought.

"Not that I could be anywhere else. I'm too tired to walk around this huge city" Kanata sat on a bench, "Didn't I tell you to fuck off, the other day? But you still came to me... you're really that stupid, huh."

His piercing gaze intimidated Allen slightly, but he still stepped forward. No matter what, he had to make his words reach the boy.

"Well... I just wanted to see you. You've been on my mind for a while" he said shyly, looking somewhere else, "And I still have a promise to keep after all. I really wanna understand you better."

"The only thing you gotta understand is that I wanna be left alone and yet you keep annoyin' me and bein' a creep. So I'm gonna tell you again, fuck off."

Allen looked at him properly and clenched his fists. There it was, that huge wall in front of his heart again. He didn't want to forcefully pry into Kanata's past, but he also didn't like standing there and watching him suffer. That boy surely didn't deserve it, despite what he said.

"I'm not going anywhere. Why do you want me not to get close to you? I'm not scared of you..." he got a bit closer, approaching him steadily but still not too much, "And no matter how much you push me away, I'll come back, 'cause I know deep inside... you don't wanna be alone. I know the loneliness in your heart, I know the pain-"

"...You don't know shit about me!!"

Kanata stood up, gritting his teeth. He pushed Allen, who only moved slightly. "Who do you think you are? Thinkin' you know me oh so well to make such stupid assumptions. You don't know all the shit I went through, the reasons why I ended up like this..." he said shivering, "You don't know why I deserve... all of this..."

"All I know is that you don't deserve it! I can feel you're not a bad person, and no matter what you did, there's always a second chance! The world is full of possibilities!"

"You're so naive it's pathetic... is your head filled with flowers and butterflies? Only the gifted ones are given second chances. If you've gone once through the mud, you're stuck in the dirt forever." Kanata wasn't looking at Allen anymore, the latter's eyes too intense they made him flinch. "Wake the fuck up, Suzaku. This is the real world, a fuckin' pile of garbage!"

Allen's gaze softened, but still let his tenacity flow out. "Well... if you put it like that, then I'm gonna prove you wrong. I will be the one to give you a second chance!" he said smiling proudly, "How about you move in with me and my roommates? Don't worry, we'll give you lots of personal space! The apartment is big after all and-"

"...He said what!?"

"Anne, you should lower your voice..."

Allen heard some not so muffled voices behind the bushes and immediately turned around.

"Anne... Hajun...!?"

[taegularities]

You know what? I will feel so empty without them. Discovered them in March 2022 (yes one of my biggest regret in my life). Since then i never once stop talking about them to my friend, i was harrassing her lmao giving her daily updates even if she doesn’t care. I once said that i only breath rnb but i can also say today that i breath bangtan.

Bangtan help me filled a missing piece in my love life? In some way, they were helping me to escape reality. Before knowing them i never once dated someone (still don’t) and to think that i have to face back reality, by confronting the mores of our society and by hoping to find someone who is gonna help me filled that gap, well, yes it hits hard. I am affraid of a lot of things regarding love and relationships in general. I don’t think i have issues nor that i am insecure. With years i started accepting to love myself but i still know that it isn’t enough. Because a part of me says otherwise. An ex friend of mine, once said to me that i was waiting for a partner to accept myself because what i needed was insurance. I feel that it is true. At the same time I might think that « the one » will never appeared to me if i don’t love myself enough. How can i love someone else if i am not even able to love myself? Men that i allowed in my life, played me or didn’t fit my standards. Am i wrong with that? Am i wrong for not giving them a chance to know me or to like me? The more i grow up the more i feel lonely in that society. I felt the lack of affection a lot before bangtan and now that they are gone, i am back to square one. I know that at some point of my life i will have to settle with someone and detached myself from them. For now i don’t have that someone and don’t have them until they are back. But more serioulsy this society pressure me a lot, makes it hard to be fully happy… Not me being so dramatic, i am so sorry. Wanted to vent a bit… tough day. Hope yours wasn’t too harsh tho <3

hi bby. i wanted to be in a headspace where i can answer this properly, but even now, i am at such a loss for words bc i so know what you mean. don't worry about joining 'late' – one idea this fandom has always agreed upon is that you find bangtan just when you're in need of them. i'm not sure how they do that or what the magic behind it is, but they always come into our lives when we need them the most.

and yeah, that's why all of this hurts so much, too! i remember crying my eyes out when last year's festa came out and they announced their hiatus. right now, i feel like it's not quite sinking in that in a few days, they'll all be leaving and be gone at the same time, and it's a harsh reality to cope with. but you know… i find comfort in the thought that they love us just as much (more even, lbr). time is going to pass for them as it will for us, and i promise you they'll be thinking of us every dang moment, so the love, at least, never fades. we'll try our best to be healthy and live our best lives and then come together when they do!! in the meantime, we have each other, so i hope everyone sticks around and holds each other's hand!!

i understand how scary love can be. discovering that people can be kind and so generous raised my standards, too – the boys really did. it's gotten so hard to find someone who fits those expectations, but yk… at some point, we will definitely need to detach ourselves from the idea that every man will be like them. we shouldn't settle for anything less, but we shouldn't reject everyone either who isn't just like them. that's what i've been going with.. the thought to never be able to settle is so freaking scary, but i promise you will!! one day, you'll find someone who fits you just perfectly, and you'll be happy, babe, i can tell you as much. and be as dramatic as you want to be, bc gawd, we're allowed to hurt! i just hope your days get better and that you feel okay as soon as possible. sending you all my love and the tightest hugs, axelle 🥺🤍

[wordsgood]

this long post is originally posted on my writing blog, random pattern generator.

I don’t remember where, but I came across some article about how to write blog posts if you’re trying to grow your authorial platform. Of course you have to write about writing, but, according to the article, no one wants to read about what you’re writing. You have to write advice posts for the readers, instead.

I might have advice that people would want to hear if I already had a book or two published, or if I already had some kind of platform. But since I don’t have either of those things, what do I have to give anyone besides the kind of generic advice that thirty people have already written about in actual books about writing, and that 300 people have already blogged about for free? Characterization, in media res, save the cat, five tips to make your villain more formidable? I don’t have anything of substance to add to these conversations. I’m not a beginner by any means, but I haven’t achieved the kind of success that would make me qualified to advise anyone.

Except, maybe, in one area: the “does my writing really matter?” area. Not that I’m hugely successful there, either, but I’ve gotten over a pretty rough dry spell in the past few years. I thought I’d lost my calling for good, but here I am, a year or two later, keeping a spreadsheet of my various WIPs’ daily word counts. That’s a comeback story of sorts. That might count for something.

I don’t think it would be honest of me to comfort anyone, though.

The thing about having this question - “am I worthy of this craft that I love?” - leeching uncertainty, self-hatred, and lethargy into your atmosphere is that, in my experience, no one can answer it for you. It makes you think you need validation from other people. And, of course, it never hurts to have people in your corner; you may need other people’s words to keep you hydrated while you cross the desert. But no one can carry you across. There is no Sam Gamgee for this particular trek. It’s just you and whatever god you own.

You can receive the kindest, most well-meaning, supportive words, and there’s every chance in the world that they’ll dry up in your ears before they can ever reach your head. The Question has locked you up like a princess in a castle or Amontillado in the wall or Ariel in the pine and there might not be anything that can reach you until you erase the question mark for yourself.

I won’t pretend that’s easy. It took me a long time and a couple very hard conversations before I finally got out of the desert.

Right here is where the script dictates: But I broke through anyway. All it took was trying hard enough, long enough - I will not elucidate what ‘trying’ means; Just Do It - and now I’m free and happy and whenever I doubt myself now I just look back on how I beat The Question already and it doesn’t have any power over me anymore, and all you need to do is keep trying, too, like me.

This is where I’m supposed to say, It’s hard work, but it’s worth the effort.

Screw that. It wasn’t worth the effort. Nothing is worth how much and how long I let The Question hurt me and hold me down. I’m not far enough out of the desert to pretend like I’m fine now, that it doesn’t still hurt even when I’m finishing novels and getting my 1-5 kudos per week on AO3. Some part of me died in the desert and it’s not coming back.

So, no, I’m not going to tell you - should you be uncertain, desperate, hurting, empty, any or all of the above - that I think your pain is only temporary or that your struggle is worth it. If that’s what you need to hear, you can find other people who will be happy to pass on that message. If you need to hear that all you’ve got to do is just keep trying, just keep going, just keep hoping and believing, you’ve come to the wrong place. When I was in the desert, hearing that kind of encouragement was the opposite of encouraging. I was tired. I had already spent months or years trying, going, hoping. I’m sure, now, that the effort wasn’t made in vain, but hearing that I had to keep trying to get where I wanted to be - well, there’s an or else hidden at the end of that sentence. That was the encouragement of someone who’d already made it out of the desert and was floating by in a hot air balloon, having forgotten how it felt to have your feet in the sand and a sword over your head. Keep going, or else. I’m not a child, I wanted to tell them. I’m no writing noob. What do you think I’ve been doing but trying? What else have I been sobbing over my keyboard about?

Here’s the only thing that gave me an inch of peace: T.S. Eliot and the book of Leviticus.

T.S. Eliot may be obvious - I’ve already made at least a couple blog posts about how I basically live my creative life by Four Quartets - but Leviticus is a little newer. Not the whole of the book, but, specifically, the concept of the year of Jubilee, every fiftieth year, the year of release. And specifically the part of the year of Jubilee that deals with letting fields lay unsown. You let the land alone. You let it lie fallow. Don’t touch a spade or toss a seed. “It shall be holy to you”: a holy abandonment.

You can try for as long as you can hold out, but you may well reach a point at which it doesn’t matter. The tank is empty, the field is dry, the stone is out of blood. You have to stop trying or you’ll break something vital, like a bone or your faith in yourself.

You know what’s coming now:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth.

Darkness and stillness will be the light and the dancing. Your neurons will flash again in the darkness and your thoughts will dance again in the stillness. The seed will grow when it’s buried like the dead.

That’s what got me across the line in the sand: the idea that I didn’t have to keep trying. I didn’t have to prove what I was or what I wanted. My God knew that already; in some deep place, so did I. None of that mattered, though, when I had given all I had to give. Some people may be, but I am not a bottomless well, and I’d drunk myself dry. I didn’t need to try harder or work longer; I needed to exist without effort, so that the well could refill. I needed to wait, not with hopelessness, but without hope. Even hope takes up precious energy that you need just to put one foot in front of the other.

I needed to spend months doing crafts with my hands, reading books and watching movies and shows and listening to music and looking at nature, not trying to write. I didn’t need platitudes about how everything would eventually work out, because that would be hope for the wrong thing. I needed rest. I needed to lie fallow.

That’s the thing about The Question. Am I worthy of this craft that I love? cannot and will not be answered definitively by other people. It can barely be answered by you. If you thought the answer was yes, you wouldn’t be asking. If the answer were no, you wouldn’t be doing your craft. (I’m talking about writing for myself, but I’m sure people have asked themselves The Question for every conceivable calling or career.) But if you’re asking The Question of yourself, you’re tired and scared and in pain, your faith is flagging, because you’re driving on close to empty. You’re asking because you want the answer to be yes but you don’t have it in you to believe it.

I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to believe it, or even try to. Your craft will outlive you; it will not cease to be when you let it go. For whatever it’s worth, you’ve got my permission not to be graceful about your fallowing; you don’t have to look starry-eyed to the future or speak of “this season of difficulty” or whatever the religious or self-care language might be this month. Forget your craft. Forget writing. Screw it. You shouldn’t feel obligated to enjoy this time, or make it Instagrammable or TikTokable. It sucks. End of sentence. It can feel like the ending of your life and I don’t believe in guilting people into feeling optimistic or positively about such things.

I’m not here to tell you that you’ll get everything back twice over, that you’ll look back on this time and laugh and be grateful, that you need to do or prepare for anything, that you’ll one day float back over the desert in a hot air balloon as a wiser, more enlightened individual. If you’re asking, Will I ever write again? or When does the creative urge come back? I’m not going to say, Oh, of course it will, just be patient, it’ll come back one day. Just keep going. I don’t know you, I don’t know your life or your future. Maybe it won’t. Maybe that chapter is closed for you. Weigh the possibility in your mind; what’s your reaction? Fear, relief, agony, all of the above? It doesn’t matter. Your emotions will most likely not be a good compass to follow. That, in some way, is the point: there’s no good compass at all. We all drive by the light of our grubby headlights.

What I do believe, even at my lowest point, for myself and for you, is that no love is ever wasted. If you’ve loved your craft, if you still do even in the desert, even in the stillness and the darkness, then it wasn’t and isn’t for no reason. Whether you find your way back to your craft or you move on to something else once you’re out of the desert, you’ll carry what you learned and how you loved either way, and there is always value in that.

I’m taking your face in my hands and repeating it until you believe it: love is never wasted. Neither is time in the desert. I’m not saying that you should try to find some amorphous beauty in a painful time, that if you aren’t grateful for it or productive through it then you aren’t suffering properly and thus don’t deserve what you want, but I am saying that the dry spells don’t disqualify you from your craft. They are, unfortunately, a part of the creative life. Will you ever write, paint, animate, carve again? Maybe, maybe not, I’m not going to make you empty promises. But a yellow light isn’t a stop sign, and the struggle may well be temporary. You won’t know until you do.

That’s my anti-advice for those who may be struggling with their art: it might be your fiftieth year. It may be time to stop trying so hard. It might be time to do a Yoga With Adriene or two and see if candle-making is for you. It might be time to write three thousand angry, bitter blog posts about how it feels like you’ve spent your life thus far on a hopeless dream. Drop your pen, your paintbrush, your needle, your sculpting tools, your power tools. Let your soul grow wild; let your well refill. Don’t tell yourself that the art will be back, don’t hope for the wrong thing, don’t let internet platitudes and toxic positivity convince you to spend energy you don’t have.

Breathe.

Sit.

Wait.

No matter the answer you find at the end of the desert, love will wait with you.

[naoa-ao3]

Lights Out

A black out in London during a snow storm brings out an obsolete part of the city, unique to the annals of history and of course, it's on the look out for John Constantine.

Sometimes being owed a favor or two can make all the difference in getting you home. John ventures out for a pack of smokes and as usual get's a whole lot more.

In 1973 they introduced the three day week in order to to conserve electrical power and all across the U.K. the lights had gone off.

John had been only twenty then and young enough not to be too terribly inconvenienced at the time. For him and for his friends it had been almost exciting. Blackouts and what came out at night in the darkness fed their minds and drove them to go looking for new and exciting things they could play with in that same dark.

Of course time came to pass and the black outs ended. Other headlines took over the papers and John had gone north after a few years to Newcastle and what had come after.

The blackouts seemed a world away by now. A relic from a time filled with old news and other problems. Headlines about bombs in Belfast and murders on streets, killers and rumors of a Beatles reunion that never came.

The blackouts became quaint after a time and then they were forgotten.

The night however does sometimes still weigh on John's mind. He knows more than anyone what can lurk in it and so when a winter storm brings darkness to London again in the form of a temporary black out, he also knows what to do about it.

A bottle of gin, a blanket, some candles and his trusted Silk Cuts. They're all he'll need to get through this one only just as soon as he's gotten comfortable he hits a snag.

John has run out of smokes.

You buy a carton to make sure they'll last the week and then suddenly you get to Wednesday and you're out.

It's a plot, he's sure of it as he pulls on his coat and heads for the door. There's snow on his windowsill and he grimaces as he steps out into the cold and darkness.

The moon is out but it's not so late he can't pick up another pack of smokes and so he heads to the corner shop, collar up against the wind and feet slogging through the grey mush that was once white.

London is a little eerie in the dark like this, the city has had lamps since the 1700's, her streets and turns haven't known darkness in a very long time.

He's mindful of this as he stumbles over some trash buried under the snow.

London doesn't know darkness the way other places do and it seems to him that all urban places have lost touch with the dark. They don't know silence any more either and as he walks he finds the darkness growing around him, a cloud passes over the moon and the little lights on in passing windows grow dim.

In the 70's he and his friends had had candles to burn, finally used for something useful instead of empty spells and words that didn't work.

He reaches the corner store and get's himself inside, eager to be away from the wind and under the battery powered light that's hanging from a hook on the ceiling. It doesn't cast enough light to fill the room but it's better than nothing, he thinks as he get's inside.

"You're here late." The shop keeper say's, reaching for a pack of Silk Cuts before he has to ask.

"Ta, underestimated myself and ran out." John say's, checking his wallet and paying.

"Not a lot to do this week, I've only seen a handful of people. No one wants to be out in it."

He nods. He understands. He doesn't really want to be in it either. "Well, you'll see me again before it's over."

The man laughs and the wind blows outside, reminding John that he still has to make the trek home and making him drag his feet a bit longer.

Eventually however it's late and he has no reason to stay.

He bids the shop keeper good night and sets off into the dark and cold, lighting up on the other side of the door.

Once he's away and down the street his cigarette is the only thing he can see.

It's unusual and it creeps him out a little bit, the darkness is as biting as the cold and he hurries on, eager to get back behind his own door and safely inside where he does have candles and lights of his own.

The wind blows and the darkness grows again, crisp and growling now.

He stops in the street and wonders at the dark.

Was this London of old?

But of course it wasn't. You can't have light for over two hundred years and expect a bit of darkness to put it back the way it was. No, this is something else and he can feel the city breath in a way. The light keeps the nastier things at bay and now they're stirring and he can't see a thing.

It's shocking when he realizes it but he can't see and he puts his hands to his eyes, fearing the worst before he scrapes his cheek with the end of his cig and curses. He can still see the cherry burning orange but it's the only thing he can see. Even the snow has turned black in the dark.

He takes out his lighter and flicks it open, holding it up uselessly as the chill of the night creeps down his spine.

He closes the lighter and heads in what he thinks is the right direction, uncertainty digging in it's ugly heels.

The dark is an old fear.

It's a primal fear.

There's smallness and there's helplessness and there's the utter uncertainty of your own safety.

Man cultivated fire for a reason and in the cold and dark he understands why. He understands how small mankind must have been before they'd captured the flame. How small and cold and unsafe.

In the dark his mind plays games, imagining shadows that aren't there and things that couldn't possibly exist.

He grows more uncertain as he stumbles through the snow and slush, all black now, the grey gone.

A child-like, instinctive fear is in him, telling him he's open and vulnerable in the dark, telling him he isn't safe and when he hears snow crunch behind him his heart nearly leaps into his chest.

"Someone there?" He asks, voice strange to his own ears.

No answer, only the soft sound of the wind and he thinks maybe it was just some snow falling.

He looks where he thinks the noise came from, where he can't see and gives up. It's better to keep walking and he wonders where the curb is and where the parked cars are sitting. The world is too dark. There's no moon or stars over head.

John feels like he's being played with and just wants to get home.

Where is home?

He stops in the street and realizes that he has no idea where he is. he can't see a single thing and the heart inside his chest is ready to pop.

He takes out his lighter and lights it again but it does nothing and his cigarette is out.

He fumbles for another and hears a small sound to his left.

"Need a light?" A voice asks.

He stares and then, quite suddenly a little flame appears before him, held at waist level.

There's a boy holding it, visible now in the orange glow.

John stares at him. "Where did you come from?" He asks.

The boy laughs and shrugs. "I'm always around." He say's. "You give us a pay and we'll get you home."

It's a tempting offer. The light is a relief in the dark and awful night. "Alright." He say's, thinking there's nothing else for it but the sight is just too odd. It's still hard to see but he can tell the boy is wearing rags and he's barefoot.

Maybe he should ring Childline.

He shakes his head and lets the boy lead him on, giving him his address and watching curiously.

He's experienced something like this once before and he remembers it now, a boy coming out of the shadows in the black outs of the 70's.

He'd almost forgotten.

"You know a lad named Martin?" He asks, wondering if this is the same thing.

The boy looks over his shoulder. "Sure I do. Who do you think sent me?"

He nods, feeling stupid.

London before gas and electric. A forgotten job, unneeded in the modern world. That last of the Link boys, still holding a torch for nights like these.

"What's your name, then?" He asks.

The boy glances back again. "Willy." He say's.

"Well now your friend Martin lead me down a wrong turn last time. What's to stop me from thinking you'll do the same thing?"

Willy shrugs, torch held out and up. "Nothing 'sept he feels bad. You didn't do him in like you did the thing he took you to so he sent me to make it right this time."

John rolls his eyes. The useless ghosts of a city but it's nice to be owed a favor once in a while. "You lads aught to unionize." He say's.

"We've thought about it." Willy say's with causal confidence.

He lights another cigarette and the boy turns and smiles at him again.

"Cheer up, we're almost there." Willy say's.

John wonders how he died. Link boys had had a dangerous job back then, darkness and thieves and killers all the same.

The boy turns the other way and he can see bruises now around his neck, grey fingers shining in an orange flame.

Ah.

"So how is Martin?" He asks.

"Too ashamed to show his face tonight but you know." The boy say's conversationally, his flame illuminating an unwanting world.

John nods. Timeless, really. Like London of old. There are even still link extinguishers hanging in corners and by fences and doors. Maybe boys like Martin and Willy will have to stay until the last one is removed. Maybe they'll have to stay even afterwards.

He can remember the night, not so cold but much longer ago when the city had been dark and he had been stupid and cocky.

He'd followed another torch right into an alley where something- and he'd never known what had tried to swallow him up.

He'd found a way out fast but the light had been gone after and he'd had to stumble home on his own.

That had been Martin and he hadn't paied him then, he'd been too angry but he hadn't done anything to him either. Even then John had known boys don't end up carrying links when someone loves them. Especially not for two hundred years. . .

Whatever Martin's deal with the thing he'd decided not to fault him for it.

John follows Willy home this time and at his steps the boy turns and looks at him expectantly. "This is your place, right?" He asks.

John nods and sighs, fishing out a few coins.

The boy takes them, face a look of approval and pockets them away with whatever he died with. "Thanks', mister." He say's.

"Constantine, lad." He say's. "You give Martin my best then? Keep him out of trouble?"

Willy grins and salutes him. "Will do." He say's and then the torch disappears and so does the boy carrying it and it's just John and the night and the lights out around him.

He shakes his head and heads inside, wondering at the night and the creatures that never leave. Martin and Willy and their torches still burning. Coming out each time the city went dark. . . whatever darker thing that lived with them too. . .

He lights a candle and smokes another cigarette at his kitchen table, room too dark to read and thinks of dark nights and fresh snow and the little footprints that disappear under it.

[hancfubuki]

It was normal to hear students sighing out of relief after exams were over. Joyous laughing, giggles and overly excited people could be heard across the halls of the Akademiya. A pain for his ears, definitely not his favorite season, but not because of exams. Alhaitham never cared about that, it was like a normal week to him, easily replying and passing without no issue or without the need to study hard before them. Some might say he is arrogant, others simply think he is gifted enough to fully memorize all the subjects seen during the semester and easily respond to the questions given. Whatever it was, Alhaitham didn't share that joy as he could care less about exams. Unlike others that didn't have it as easy, his senior as example. It was easy to guess his whereabouts, probably burning his eyelashes on a last minute project, encased inside the House of Daena, about to rip off the beautiful golden colored hair, overworking himself. A behavior Haitham has noticed during the few months they have been hanging out. Weird, how such an exasperating person had the energy of a magnet, causing Alhaitham to be lured towards him. A feeling he did not understand, but when his feet drove him to the library to sit on the particular spot where the smell of incense was coming from, he didn't question it.

Messy ponytail adorning his head. It easy to recognize him from miles, at least the young student is able to tell even his shadow apart. Alhaitham glances at him, taking the empty chair next to his senior without directing any words or sign of greetings towards the other. Disrespectful. Or at least that's the vibe he emanates, but the scholar is entitled enough to know this simple gesture is sufficient for Kaveh to recognize him. Opening his book, he sits comfortably until the sound of his name being called interrupts him.

"Do I really look like someone who enjoys sun?" His elbow rests on top of the shared table, using his palm as support as he rests his head on it. Teal eyes looking, quietly admiring, at the other student. Alhaitham disliked the hectic energy the other had during this season, but he had to admit the ponytail really did suit him. Having said so, his eyes quietly return to the pages of the book. A fictional novel he has been reading to pass time, definitely not his favorite genre, but a good distraction whenever he required it. "This is a good spot for reading. It's a library." Emphasizing the word, clear irony in his tone of voice escaping as his head softly shakes in disapproval. He didn't feel like going out, listening to noisy students laughing out loud and pretending they are free from school just because exams passed. It was troublesome, on top of that, he wanted to spend some time with Kaveh.

However, his attention is being disrupted again, only to feel Kaveh's face so close to his, in which he remains calm, poker face still all over his expression without removing his gaze from the pages of the book. His hair are covering them, but if Kaveh were to move the silver strands away he would be able to see how red they actually look. He doesn't say a word either, instead, he gives a side glance at the man the other is talking about. Ah... gossiping. One of Kaveh's favorite activity, and he does like to listen too as well. "I was." Haitham simply replies, eyes returning to the book as the page turns. "That noise could have break my eardrum." As that's the only thing that matters to him. "I don't think there's a mysterious situation behind it, he probably wasn't suited enough to take care of the exam and that's all. I do not remember seeing the slap, but I didn't care enough to pay attention as I only wanted to finish my exam." Though now, curiosity has gotten the best of him. There must be a reason behind it, and he is not one to solve mysteries but he does want to keep listening to Kaveh talking. "Do you think there was other motive behind it?"

Exam season just passed.

This meant most students at the Akademiya were all in high spirits, the older students partying and drinking their stress away while the younger ones were going out with friends for good food and short trips around farther parts of Sumeru to enjoy their free time while they could. Then, there were some students who were still stuck in the House of Deana, leftover projects keeping them inside while the sun shone brightly in the sky, their friends all having the time of their lives. One of those students was a certain blond senior student from Kshahrewar, long hair tied in a cute little ponytail over his shoulder and worrying his poor lower lip as he redrew the lines on his draft paper, tilting his head from side to side as he questions the plausibility of his build.

When he hears giggles of students as they pass by, he feels frustration rise to his head, pulling on his bangs and falling forward into his papers, feathered pen held tightly as he groans to himself. Oh, he's so so tired. It's not like he was stressed out like the other students in the House of Deana-- his project wasn't that important, and barely counted toward his actual grade. It was work he took up because he was promised extra credit and first pick in this particular professor's classes next semester- the true reason for his self-lockdown- if he could draft out a build using some specific styles that the professor chose for him. It didn't seem hard at first, but doing last-minute calculations, he felt like it was missing the flair that came with all his builds, trying to figure out where he could add more or lessen to make it look less tacky, make it fit the criteria necessary while looking pleasant to the eyes. It is when he raises his head, he hears the chair next to him shift, the sound of a flipped page loud in his ears.

"Alhaitham, aren't you going to go enjoy the sun? You could have at least gone reading at a better spot." So Kaveh says, but the one who had approached had been him, plopping all his materials down on the table right next to his junior. He said a quick hello and had gotten right to work, having to rush this because it was due in three days and he wanted to get it done as quickly as possible so he could enjoy the weekend coming tomorrow. Technically he was done... But the perfectionist in him refused to stop there, doing calculations in another open notebook as he decides to lower the slope and layer them instead to make it less burdensome to climb, even if it didn't look as nice. Just then, a tall man with choppy brown hair walks by their table, and Kaveh perks up, eyes following her before he leans back in his chair, blinking slowly. Oh.

"Haitham, look. That man over there with a badge from Amurta walking towards section E-15." He leans sideways so he could whisper into the other's ear, ignoring completely the fact that the boy was reading- a feat most were too scared to attempt. It's not like it was a super important book; Kaveh saw the title and it didn't look like something Alhaitham would be super invested in anyways. He's totally fine disrupting him for this. "I heard that he's the proctor who set off that alarm during the test last Thursday. You heard it too, right? The loud beep throughout the whole Akademiya. Seriously, he almost made me crush my model with how surprised I was. Actually, a junior of mine jumped so hard she actually broke her staircase and cried so hard." He shakes his head, actually feeling so bad for the girl. "I wonder what he did to get the system going off-tangent and blaring alarms when all he needs to do is just stay still and make sure students don't cheat. Have you heard what he was doing at the test site? I heard he was given a slap on the wrist and excused, but no one knows the reason yet."

"Actually, wait... Weren't you at that test site?" //@hancfubuki

[goldustwomun]

hold me while you wait (b.b.)

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x ex! pilot! reader

summary: when rooster goes down, you remember how you loved him, how that wasn’t enough, and how there was still so much left unsaid.

warnings: a whole lotta swearing, hurt, comfort, but a happy ending, ofc because i’m a little sappy bitch xx

wc: 2.9k+

note: i’ve been working on this for a few hours and i’m! finally done! enjoy my first fic EVER! it’s longer than i thought it would be but i just kept writing; likes & reblogs are super duper appreciated and please, if you have any and all feedback, send it my way! (but nicely, please, i’m sensitive) ALSO, if anyone has tips on formatting for tumblr, send them my way xx

ps. reader’s callsign is ‘honeydew’

You don’t remember how it all happened, who had told you, what you had said – only that the hollow feeling in your chest had worsened, a sense of uneasy calm spread through your very body. They were screaming your name, but you couldn’t hear it. 

So that was it? He’d gone and gotten himself killed?

Looking back, you think you might have been in shock. 

As a pilot, you learn to deal with high-stress situations. Now, if you were hurtling towards the Earth in an about-to-combust jet, you could probably talk yourself through it. Could breathe deep, count back from ten to calm the shaking of your fingers, speak the steps you needed to take to eject, slow and out loud – like you’d done countless times in training. 

If you were hurtling towards the Earth in an about-to-combust jet, you knew how to make it back to safety. 

But what you were scrambling to figure out was how to make it back from the loss, the hurt, and the words you wished you hadn’t heard. They didn’t teach that at flight school, now that you thought about it. Safety, now, was an unfathomable illusion you couldn’t even begin to hope for. It had gone down in the crash with them. 

So with no prior training for this exercise in life, it felt like a cavity eating away at your insides, and your throat stung from the bile threatening to make its escape.

You were going to be sick. Right there, in the control room. In front of Navy officers with decades of experience and the pins to show it. You were really on the verge of puking on them, in fact, if they didn’t move out of your way.

“I need to– I’m going to–” you tried to bite out, hand flying to your face as the other pushed the crowd gathered around you, away.

You legged it to the closest bathroom, emptying your guts into the basin. You don’t know when the gagging sounds pouring from your mouth turned into sobs, but the next thing you knew, you were huddled on the floor, shaking with silent tears.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He was gone and you hadn’t had a chance to apologise. It was all you could think about. Those two words that might have softened the blow, might have made the hurt a little more bearable. If he knew how you felt  – well, what more could you ask for? 

Death was an occupational hazard, you knew it, he did as well before he left. But the fact of the matter is that the reality of your work doesn’t exactly sink in until it touches – no, punches you in the gut with an intimate caress. 

“Honeydew? Open the door.” It was Hangman and you suddenly pleaded with your body to pass out to spare you from any further humility. “Cyclone told us about Mav. Open the door.”

You hadn’t dared to think, let alone speak, their names. He hadn’t mentioned Rooster, either. But why would he? You’d both kept the complexities of your relationships behind steel doors. 

No one needed to know just how messy it was in there, between the two of you. How, if things had gone differently, you might have walked down the aisle with the very man you were certain was now splattered against the mountain side. 

“Fuck off Jake,” you called through the door. “I’m not in the mood for any of your usual bullshit right now.” You tried (and failed) to hide just how much your voice was quivering, raw from the grief of it all. 

You heard him inhale, as if he were readying himself, before he pounded on the door, again, only more aggressively. “It wasn’t a question, kid, open the damn door.” 

You were already glaring at him through the scratched-up metal, but you couldn’t help but comply as you reached up from your place on the grimy floor to unlatch the lock. 

He opened it immediately, took one look at you and shook his head. He said, words blunt, “You look like shit.” 

You didn’t dignify his comment with a response, instead choosing to flip him off and continue to stare intensely at the ground. God, it irked you just how much you felt like an insolent teenager. You’d spent your entire career proving to your peers and superiors that you weren’t some hot-headed Mitchell offspring. You were more than your emotions, your past, your father. 

“You need to get yourself together, Honey. You can’t lock yourself away every time someone dies. This is our job. Shit happens. Good people die. Do you think Mav wou--”

He never finished his sentence because you’d already pinned him down with a glare so fierce he almost apologised on the spot. Almost, of course. He tried again, “Don’t give me that look. You know he wouldn’t want you to–”

“You have no fucking idea what he would have wanted,” you injected again. Standing up and brushing whatever dirt had clung to your uniform away, you stepped towards the door and stopped. 

With one last glance back at a gaping Hangman, looking grotesquely clean against the filth of the walls and the decaying yellow light, you took a steadying breath, counted back from ten, and returned to your quarters. 

Neither of you know how you let it get this bad. You’d always told each other, no matter what, you’d find a way to fix things. Rooster had experienced enough loss in his life to understand the importance of holding onto those you love. 

And fuck, did he love you.

Sometimes, when you’d both managed to find the time to make it back to Fighter Town, in between unbearably long stints at different bases across the country, you’d find yourselves walking hand-in-hand down the beach as the sun set. 

It wasn’t anything particularly special, at least you didn’t think so. Plenty of couples walked down the same beach, with the same envelope of comfortable silence. 

But what you loved about Rooster, about Bradley, was that he always walked on the side closest to the water. He said his father was taken by the sea, and he wouldn’t let it take you as well. 

While you teased him incessantly for the cheesiness of it all, you’d admit, just as easily, how it made your heart ache for him all the more. In fact, the seemingly limitless capacity you had for your love of Bradley Bradshaw had almost scared you away once, but you’d learned to lean into the fear, the discomfort, the potential for it all to burn to the ground. 

What you hadn’t known then was that while you had embraced your fear, Bradley had let his control him. He stood between you and the sea out of love, but also because of an unspoken fear of his that made him want to protect you, as well. 

So when Bradley chose to not tell you about your admission to TOPGUN, an opportunity that would have made you the youngest female pilot to have been selected, you quickly understood that the love you both shared would never be enough. 

“Where is it?” 

He looked up from his phone for only a glance before returning to tap on the screen. You were already revved up and looking for a fight by then, and his lack of attention was doing little to help contain that fire smouldering in the pit of your stomach.

“Bradley, I’m talking to you.” He knew he was in trouble when you used his name, not Rooster. 

“Where’s what?” he finally asked, setting his phone to the side and walking over to you. You were rooted at the door of the kitchen, arms crossed defensively as if you were worried he’d strike at any moment. 

“The letter. My letter. From TOPGUN,” you said, voice raising. His hands came to cup your face, a habit of his that would normally force you to look into his eyes and melt. But the problem now was that you didn’t want to relax. You wanted your letter. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about, hun,” he soothed, a flash of hurt crossing his face as you slapped his comforting hands away. 

“Of course you do. Dad said they were sent out weeks ago, and when I asked the Postman this morning, he said you had signed off on a ‘top secret’ package. So where is it, Bradley.”

He sighed in defeat, looking everywhere but right at you. “Bradley,” you bit out again. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me…”

“I ripped it up,” he confessed when the silence between the two of you became unbearable. That had never happened before. The quiet that had surrounded the pair of you had always been something you relished in, but now? It threatened to swallow you whole. 

“Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. You had started crying, tears of anger and disbelief. 

“Because,” was his answer then, finally meeting your gaze. Bradley’s own eyes were more hard steel than loving comfort then. You couldn’t recognise him, not anymore.

“I’m going to need something more than fucking ‘because’, Bradshaw.”

“Because,” he tried again, mouth a thin line, and you could see in the way he shifted his weight  between his feet that he was battling with himself on whether he should tell you the truth or not. 

“We’re getting married, Bradley. I deserve the truth,” you injected eventually, despair and disappointment laced between syllables. You reached up to hold his face in your hands, now, thumb brushing across the stubble of his jaw as his hands rested, with an even, familiar weight, on your hips. 

“Because if you go to TOPGUN, I’m afraid you won’t come back,” he admitted, forehead resting defeatedly against your own. 

Your eyes fluttered shut at his confession. It was silent again as you considered your next words carefully. 

“You shouldn’t have done that. You had no right to do that. I love you, Bradley, you know I do. But right now, I’ve never hated you more.” He jerked out of your embrace, that stoniness returning to his features. He was closed off to everyone, you included. 

“You said yourself, we’re getting married, so shouldn’t you take my feelings into account? I don’t want you to go,” he fired back instantly. “Don’t. Go.”

“Of course, I care about how you feel! Of course, I would have taken them into account!”

“‘Would have’?” he questioned, incredulous. Bradley shook his head in disbelief, hands resting on his hips as he stopped and stared you down. “If I hadn’t hidden the letter from you, would you have listened to me and declined the offer?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped yourself at the last minute. You couldn’t lie to him, not when you’d just ripped him a new one for doing just that. “No. I’d have listened but I would have accepted anyway.”

He nodded in understanding, but it looked oddly like defeat to you. 

The fight had ended there that night, and while you hadn’t called off the engagement or your relationship immediately, it never got better. 

The love you had for each other was quickly lost amongst petty arguments and cruel words, until it was too late and you couldn’t find your way back to how it used to be. 

There was a pounding in your head that sounded a lot like someone banging on a door. And it took you a few minutes to focus your mind enough to realise it was, indeed, someone calling your name through several inches of metal. 

“Fucking– fuck,” you hissed, unwinding your creaking joints from the tangled sheets as you tripped your way to the door. 

You swung it open, “What is I–”

“They’re alive, out on the deck.” You didn’t recognise the officer speaking to you, nor the words spoken. But he looked important, even a little wise with the lines that aged his otherwise smooth features. 

So why was it, you thought, that he was speaking such complete, and utter, bullshit?

“I– What?” you repeated, baffled by his very presence.

“I’m speaking to you, Lieutenant. Out on the deck. Go!” he shouted now, giving you a rough yank so that you’d start walking towards the staircase on the opposite end of the hall. Your feet were moving out of fear of being trampled because the frowning, possibly wise, officer followed, hot at your heels. 

You blinked up at the sun, not yet registering the screaming crowd. At first, you thought they were screams of outrage, despair, relentless grief. They must’ve been, right? You couldn’t be the only one mourning the loss of the two most important people in your life. The thought was unfathomable.

But that was when the crowd parted after a few people had spotted you, staring dazedly ahead.  

You didn’t see them, not at first. They were camouflaged by a sea of mossy green uniforms like your own, but then your Dad looked over at you with that blinding smile of his, and you were barreling into his arms before you’d actually understood what was happening.

“Y-you’re– you’re–” you stammered out. It felt like your soul was trembling inside your body, and Pete gripped you even harder in response. You had always been an overactive child, but with that came an unbearable amount of anxiety. It was only Pete, your Dad's tight embrace that calmed you down. That hadn’t changed. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he repeated, low and unwavering, over and over again. 

“I thought you were dead.” It sounded more like an accusation than a statement, but then Pete only chuckled at his daughter’s stubbornness that was entirely his own. 

“I thought I was as well, but Bradley–”

“Bradley?” you interrupted, turning in his arms to find a beaming Rooster shaking hands, in the manliest display of affection you’d ever seen, with Hangman. 

You broke free of your father’s arms (he was already letting go, almost on the verge of pushing you towards Rooster himself – but he’d never tell you that), shoving the crowd out of the way, until you stood in front of him, panting. 

“I can explain,” he said immediately, recognising the anger in your stance.

“You can explain? You can fucking explain?” you spit out, shoving him, hard; a move that surprised him enough so that he actually stumbled a step or two back. 

“Come on, Melon, don’t be like this,” he urged quietly, the two of them entirely unaware of just how intently everyone was watching them. He hadn’t called you that in years, hadn’t dared to. It was something he used to tease you with when you were younger, and the nickname had stuck enough so that you’d been knighted ‘Honeydew’ at flight school. 

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that!” You were crying and shouting and really, if you’d known how borderline psychopathic you looked, you would have stopped yourself about two sentences ago. 

“You’re an impulsive, egotistical, reckless little shit, Bradley. I can’t– I just– I can’t believe–” Your words were moving at a mile a minute and it wasn’t long until you hit a speed bump hard enough to leave you a crying, blubbering mess. 

You didn’t waste a moment then, throwing your arms around him and burying your tear-stained face in the crook of his neck, in the only place, outside of your father’s arms, you’d ever felt safe. You were scrambling for something to hold onto before, but you’d found somewhere, someone, to anchor onto. 

“I’m sorry, Bradley. I’m so sorry,” you confessed into his skin. He pulled you back, resting your face in his palms as he finally got a good look at your flushed cheeks and snotty nose. “I heard you go down, and I heard Dad as well, and all I could fucking think was ‘I never said sorry’. You have to know–”

He’d tell you later that you looked beautiful, and you’d smack him with a pillow for lying. 

“I know, Melon, I know,” he whispered back, voice breaking under the weight of emotions the both of you were feeling so freely. “I love you, I’ve always loved you. I’m a fucking idiot because, when it mattered most, when you’d come to resent me, to hate me, I didn’t tell you.” He was crying silently and you don’t think you’d ever seen him cry before. “I love you.”

You felt the physical ache of your heart cracking open, making room in your chest for him to occupy once more. “I never hated you, how could I have ever hated you. I’ve loved you, always. Even when I was mad, I knew I would always love you.”

Rooster only held back a second longer before giving in. The shock, the hurt, the love. He leaned forward, slotting his lips, sweetly, against yours, and poured those very emotions into every press of your mouths. 

It was only then that the world around them returned, as did the roaring laughter and cheers of your peers. The surprise of seeing the two of you together, confessing such intimate feelings, had faded as your friends – Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, Bob – suffocated you with savouring hugs. 

You had more to say to him, to Rooster. But you knew it could wait. You’d find the time to make it back to the beach, to hold each other close as the tide crawls to shore. 

You knew Rooster would hold you, wait, and listen. 

Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs make me happpyy!

[workofheart]

extra help | gojo satoru

what’s a teacher to do when his student is building up so much cursed energy? help her get it under control, of course.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: smut, 18+ (minors dni), teacher/student relations (reader is of age), fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, unprotected sex (do not do this), lowkey corruption, squirting, exhibitionism (?), creampie, gojo refers to himself as “teacher” because i said so

note: barely edited, something to ease the brainrot. gojo satoru hollow me challenge. 

“Can you maybe, I don’t know, shut the fuck up?”

The jab spews out of your mouth before you can stop it. Your filter is long gone, the thoughts that pop into your head forming into verbal words without the chance to even process them. Once you hear it, you mentally slap yourself. Now you just look like an asshole.

“Jeez, no need to be a bitch about it,” mutters Nobara. She rests on the concrete steps on her elbows, appearing utterly disinterested with her head tossed back and eyes closed, soaking in the fresh air.

“I’m not being a bitch.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You kind of are,” Megumi says quietly, shrugging slightly when your incredulous expression finds his to be stoic and unmoving. He leans down to scratch behind one of his dog’s ears. His nonchalance boils your blood even further, effectively working you up past your melting point. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“...You motherfucker-”

“Good morning, everybody!”

You sigh, lips hanging open with the rest of your insult frozen where it was interrupted. From over the small hill behind you, Gojo Satoru greets everyone with a bright energy you aren’t capable of returning this early in the day. 

You try your best to shake it off. The other students wave back happily as you sulk, aimlessly stretching your arms over your head in an attempt to push out the thousand things running through your mind, not one of which you’re capable of dealing with.

And maybe it is a good morning - the sun is out, the air is cool, there’s not a breeze passing by to mess up your hair. It’s a lovely day to be training. Megumi has been walking his dogs around the field, Yuuji has been racing himself from one end to the other, meanwhile the others take turns sparring. The springtime weather is rewarding, which is why it’s such a shame you can’t enjoy it.

Gojo reaches up a hand to lift one side of his blindfold. Though he’s standing all the way over on the steps, you can see his eyes clearly, crystalline blue and staring with scrutiny. The man leans forward into his gaze, and the way he’s inspecting you soon irritates you further.

“What’s with all the cursed energy?” he asks, letting his blindfold fall over his eye again. 

Yuuji perks up at the comment from where he’s been sitting after his run, pulling out blades of grass between his fingertips. “So it’s not just me?” he pipes up, pushing himself up to his feet. He seems relieved, turning his attention to you. “I thought maybe you just had a bad day but it seems like it’s seeping off you all the time now.”

Your lips press into a thin line as your eyelids droop in annoyance, trying to think up a reasonable answer quick. Unfortunately, you don’t get the time to do so.

“I don’t need to see it to feel it,” Maki adds. She finishes tying up her laces, objectivity unmoving with the deadpan spreading across your features. Your jaw tenses. “Didn’t want to say anything in case it would make you angrier.”

“Too late!” you snap, huffing as you place your arms over your chest. The number of eyes on you has your cheeks burning, and paired with your current vexation, makes you feel even worse.

“Well, what are you angry about?” Yuuji asks. 

“I’m not angry about anything.”

“That sounds a little defensive,” Gojo comments.

“You seem frustrated, that’s all.” Yuuji looks at you with a genuine curiosity that makes it hard to be mad at him. His doe eyes couldn’t possibly imagine what the real issue at hand is.

“Yeah, she’s frustrated all right,”  Nobara juts in. Her tone is whiney and annoyed, and you hope the glare you send her will shut her up, but she acts as if she doesn’t see it, only looking down at her nails in distaste. Then comes the zinger. “It’s because she hasn’t gotten laid in months.”

“That is not true!” you yell, but the obvious rage bubbling out of you gives it away. 

“Cursed energy can build from that?”

“It would explain a lot.”

“That sounds definitely defensive.”

“Shut up!” you shout, throwing your hands over your face to hide your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Then you’re sitting back on the field, hanging your head low over your knees. Quietly, you mutter, “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

☆☆☆

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The walk here had been nerve wracking enough. Your heart had been stuck in your throat since the track this morning, if not from the sheer embarrassment of Nobara telling everyone you were sexually frustrated, then surely from the way Gojo had asked you to meet with him later in an old classroom rather seriously before walking off.

It scared you half to death upon hearing it, and just thinking about it scared the other half, so you’re hanging on by the thinnest of threads. The others comments hadn’t helped either, teasing about the frightening methods he’d use to dispel the energy, or how he’d berate you for being so stupid, or whatever else the maniac of a man had to offer.

Gojo leans back lazily in his chair, long legs thrown over the desk for his comfort and leisure. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan with his arms straightened behind his head as you close the door behind you. 

“About time you got here. Been waiting forever.”

The lights are off, but evening sun pours in through the wall of windows that look out over the courtyard to brighten the room. He tosses a small apple plush above him with a smooth flick of his wrist, catching it on its down arc with ease. It looks like a marble with how it sits in his massive palms.

“Well, this wing is on the other side of campus,” you swallow, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. That reminds you...“Why are we this far, anyway?”

He sighs, placing the toy back down at the top of his desk and resting his chin on his palm. You can feel his eyes on you through his blindfold. “To solve your problem, of course.”

“My… my problem? No, I don’t have any problems,” you say with a shake of your head as genuine as you can muster, a nervous smile flashing across your expression as he stands. His hand trails along the desk as he moves around it. When you get the feeling he doesn’t believe you, you start again, “If it’s about what Nobara said, it’s really no big deal-” 

“While you’re a talented sorcerer, you’re not a very good liar.” He comes to a stop in front of you, towering over your small frame. His head is turned down toward you but you refrain from making eye contact. Trying to maintain your composure, you look straight into his chest and then avert your eyes to the sid, looking anywhere else in the room but him - the chalkboard, the windows, the posters on the wall - that is, until he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your face up to look at him directly.

He’s taken off his blindfold, the black cloth crumpled in his palm and already tossed to the floor.

The way you’re staring at him, that desire that lies just below the fear, has his dick tenting in his pants. When he focuses, he can see the cursed energy radiating from your body, dark and cloudy as it surrounds you. “Yuuji’s right, it’s practically seeping from you,” he coos, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

He drinks in your apprehension with a sadistic sort of delight, and you don’t miss the feel of his eyes as they trace down your body. “My student is struggling,” he says tenderly, tapping his index finger along your cheek lightly. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help?” 

He eats up the way you look at him, swept away and hazy, your brain turning to mush at the sound of his voice. Heat pools in your panties, and the subtle manner in which your thighs shift against each other is not lost on him.

The tension in the air is electrifying. Leaning down to your ear, he says what’s been on his mind for weeks. “Don’t think I can’t hear you at night, touching yourself, trying so hard to make it go away on your own.”

His words leave your throat dry and stomach churning. Your face burns, thinking of him listening to your pitiful attempts to get off. Clearly, the sleepless nights of trying to cum, letting slip the small whimpers you couldn’t care to hold back, hands buried in your panties and writhing in your bed sheets, were no secret to anyone but you.

You’re almost mortified. You would be, if it wasn’t for your hot teacher standing in front of you, smiling as he remembers how pretty you sounded, offering to fuck the shit out of you to sate your frustration.

And god, just how pretty you sound. He’d never admit it sober, but the times he’s taken “random” late night walks around the buildings that have ended up at the outside of your bedroom door are far too many to count. Palming himself through his trousers, panting as he pictures you just through the slab of wood exactly how he plans on having you now.

“I...I don’t know if we should be doing this,” you mumble in a moment of clarity, gaze flickering to the window in the door that lets you see into the empty hallway just outside. Swallowing hard, scenarios of your classmates walking by, peering through, clouds your head. “What if someone…”

“They’re on the other side of campus, remember?” he teases. His fingers slide back along your jaw, brushing your hair from your forehead before settling to cup the side of your face. “You can make all the noise you want out here.”

Heat spreads through your core and inner thighs accompanied by a visible shiver, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The proximity alone is making you wet. His presence is overwhelming with the unimaginable power he holds over you.

His neck tilts down to reach you, hovering with his lips not a breath away from yours. Gojo waits. Tentative, you press your mouth to his and your eyes flutter shut, feeling him smile as his hands make contact with your hips. He’s gentle and slow, his lips pillowy and soft against yours, moving carefully as if not to scare you away.

He muffles a timid whimper with his mouth and takes the lead, kissing you harder and pulling you into a firm lip lock before spinning you around and walking you backwards toward the desk. Hesitant hands reach up to his shoulders, something Gojo senses immediately, shy hands working up the confidence to splay over his broad shoulders. He knows you so well by now - there’s a reason you’re his favorite student.

“Let me help, princess,” he insists, breaking away to quell your uncertainty. “You know I’m the only one who can.” Gojo’s voice is hypnotizing, his promises filling your head with a desiring haze.

Your tiny, timid fingers hanging around his neck, crawling up his nape as if searching for safety, have him reeling. He might just devour you, so cute and innocent and willing in front of him.

You’re melting into his touch as his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up your sides until they lay a firm grasp on your hips, sitting you fully on the desk. His touch is teasing and featherlight as he drags it up your calves, hiking up your skirt to get where he wants to be, situated right between your thighs.

“None of the other guys fuck you the way you need to be fucked, right?”

He may be cocky, but it’s for good reason.

Gojo Satoru is older, he’s experienced, he knows what he’s doing. He knows you, in fact, more than you think. Don’t be fooled - he sees you sneaking off campus, sees the texts you send to the boys in the nearest town, overhears how you talk to them over the phone when you think no one is listening. He also sees how disappointed you look every time you return from one of your escapades. 

You’re mature for your age, but no one is willing to fuck you like it. Except him, of course.

A large hand cradles the back of your head to keep kissing you. His mouth is ravishing, absolutely eating up the feeble mewls that escape you. Deft fingers unbutton your uniform with ease and slip it down your shoulders to reveal your chest as if he’s done it a thousand times.

He moves to unclasp your bra, but is surprised to meet your bare skin. He pulls back from your mouth to meet your eyes, and you already know what he’s thinking with the way he looks down at you, head tilted back with a dark mirth.

“No bra?” he inquires, rolling your perky buds between his fingers, and your lack of verbal response, that guilt in the slight raise of your eyebrows, tells him everything he needs to know. “Naughty girl. Makes me think you were expecting this.” He makes you purr like a kitten, free hand kneading at your chest, coaxing out sweet little noises that make his dick throb in his pants. 

You inhale sharply at a particular tweak of your nipple that has your body tingling, arching into him. “Sir, I-” 

His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot below your ear, just next to your jaw. The feel of his teeth gently scraping down sends chills through your shoulders and down your back, subconsciously tilting your head to the side and exposing more to him, inviting him to your body even further.

“It’s okay, you can tell me how bad you need my cock,” he says against your skin.

Your body flushes hot beneath him. A hand cups your clothed core. The friction has your hips lifting in desperate motions for more, pushing against his fingers for some kind of relief.

“Poor thing, too horny for your own good,” he says, peering down at you. He tugs at the tiny, delicate bow sewn into the lace band of your panties, a smug expression passing over his features. “But don’t worry, teacher’s here to make you feel better.”

He hooks his pointer finger underneath the center of your panties and pulls it up, forcing the fabric taught against your slit between your folds, urging a cry to fall from your lips. You’re absolutely aching for more, pussy desperate for contact as your hips buck. His opposite thumb goes straight to your swollen clit where it bulges through the thin cotton, reducing you to whines as he applies light pressure. 

“So sensitive,” he says with a teasing lilt in his tone, caught between looking at your pussy and your dazed expression. “You want my fingers?”

He knows he’s supposed to be helping you, but he can’t stop himself with how cute you look like this. He’s already thinking of just how far he can push you, just what he can get you to admit to him.

“Yes, please,” you’re begging, pulling your lips under your teeth, and how can he say no? He has no other choice but to indulge you.

He pulls your panties to the side and finally, his long, thick fingers sink inside you without warning, pushing a lewd moan from your throat.

He groans at the way you pulse around his digits. Your walls suck him right in. “Fuck, look at your pretty little cunt. Feels good, huh?”

Your mouth falls open as you nod, staring at him through half-mast, glassy eyes. Light amusement covers his face as he works your walls diligently, curling up and massaging that spongy spot he knows you like from the sounds you’re making.

“Yeah, I know it does. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, ah, need it so much,” you whine. At this point, you’d follow his every command, answer his every question, if it means he’ll keep doing what he’s doing. He connects his lips to yours again, swallowing up the noises that leave your throat, before moving down. He trails his mouth over your sensitive, flushed skin, burning to the touch as he leaves harsh, bruising marks behind. He’s kneeling down and throwing your legs over his shoulders without hesitation.

He has you desperate and shameless with how he’s making you feel. It doesn’t matter that he’s your teacher, it doesn’t matter that you’ll have to face him in class after the fact, all that matters is how hot and aching your core is, how bad you need him there to fix it. “More, sir, p-please.”

He groans at the name you’ve given him, that you’re addressing him by so earnestly. He never even asked you to, so when it spills out of your mouth so submissively, he can’t help the way it goes straight to his cock. “So polite, aren’t you? Let me hear you, be specific.” 

His fingers leave you clenching around nothing as he pulls them out of you, watching the string of slick stretch until it breaks. He slips them right into his mouth, licking your arousal off of his fingers, humming in delight. 

You’re fixated on his glossy, wet lips, entranced by the slight smile to his words. “Please, your mouth,” you plead breathlessly through a gulp. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the plush of your thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His lips ghost over the tops of your knee socks and nip at the slight pudge that squeezes out.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs. Then, he’s diving in, latching his warm, wet mouth onto your pussy. You feel yourself gush under his lips as his tongue laves harsh strokes against your entrance. He has you quivering, your hips moving on their own accord over his face.

You squirm under his relentless tongue, swiping through your slick and spreading it all over your inner thighs. He laps at your fluttering hole before suckling your clit into his mouth, hot tongue flicking over it before releasing with a playful pop.

He thrives off of the whimpers leaving your mouth. A loud moan tears from you as his fingers plunge into you again, hands shooting to his snowy locks to ground yourself. You’re throwing your head back, keening in the firm grip he has pushing back your leg, his tongue swiping at you expertly while the pads of his fingers curl up into the spot you need him at, keeping his head pressed tight to your drooling cunt.

Pointed flicks of his tongue target your clit, puffy and sensitive, and you can’t help the way your hips buck up for more, babbling nonsense. His firm muscle prods at your hole before flattening and licking wide and short strokes up your folds.

“Aw, you wanna cum, don’t you? Gonna cum for me like a good girl?”

You only have the strength to nod, eyes squeezing shut and your lips parted in choked breaths.

“Look at me,” he commands sternly, and your lids are prying open immediately, struggling to keep your gaze on him with the pleasure he’s relentlessly forcing on your body. His plump lips are lustrous with your arousal. “Go ahead. Cum.”

His eyes bore into you as your face contorts, body tensing all over as you tip over the edge. That coil in your stomach which Gojo has so masterfully built snaps like a rubber band, shattering your mind as pleasure ripples through your body. You’re still as your release surges through you, making him moan against your pussy.

“That’s it, there you go,” he says with a growl as you take your first breath after the inhibiting pleasure fades, eyes darkening as he watches you, keeping pressure on your nub with his thumb, smooth strokes working you through your high. 

He carefully helps you drop to your feet, rubbing soothing circles into your hips, planting kisses to your temples before spinning you around to face the desk. You’re wobbly, but it’s nothing he can’t compensate for with his natural strength.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he mumbles, large hands exploring the expanse of your back. He pushes you down, gentle fingers trailing up your spine until they find their hold on your hips like they were meant to be, loving how pliant you are beneath him.

The anticipation has you dripping, heart pounding as he flips up your skirt again, pussy aching to be filled. You hear the tugging of his trousers down to the floor, and a hefty exhale as he gives himself a few strokes in his palm.

His cock, hot and heavy and hard, presses into you slowly. You feel his girth immediately, cunt stretching deliciously to accommodate his size. It’s instant relief, finally the pleasure you’ve been desperate for, a drug you have to be careful of or you might just get addicted.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly, “So fuckin’ tight for me.”

You’re stuffed to the brim, focusing on how full you are, his fingers massaging the flesh of your ass as he gives you a moment to adjust. He feels his self-restraint thinning as you squeeze him. He’s gonna make you drool for him, make his cute innocent student into his little whore, make sure teacher’s the only one who touches you like this.

At first, his pace is slow and steady, sensual pumps that expertly drag against your gummy walls. You can feel his tip spreading you open, every burning curve and vein and ridge of his head as your pussy molds to him. But once your legs start shifting back for more, he speeds up the rocking of his hips, fucking you brainless on his cock. 

“How we feeling, princess?” he pants. He’s the only thing you can think about, mind scrambled from the white hot feel of being fucked so well.

He doesn’t have to ask to know - the string of heedless whimpers that you make are evidence enough, on top of the obscene squelches that echo every time he pounds into your sopping cunt. He pulls your wrists back from where they cling to the desk, white knuckled, to your sides. A strong arm snakes around your front, pinning your arms and waist close to his chest, caging you in while the other seeks purchase on your breast.

“F-Fuck, I- ah - so good, sir,” you sob, feeling your brain blank with the way his grip moves up to your neck, expertly pushing into the sides to cut off your blood flow. It’s dizzying, your pussy tightening around him for more.

And then he stops.

You’re about to whine, your walls fluttering around him, begging him to move, when his hand reaches to cover your mouth. He shushes you gently, snapping quietly towards the door. 

Someone is calling your name outside. “Hellooo? Hey Y/N, you over here?” It’s Yuuji, pacing the upper floor, walking straight down the hall and soon to pass the very door.

Your heart jolts in panic - why would he come looking for you? Why would anyone? The whole point of being out here was so that no one would come, right?

“Sorry to go back on my word, princess,” Gojo whispers. A wave of his hand creates a small masking barrier in front of the window, but it does nothing to hide the sound. “Gonna have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nod your head, wiggling back against his hips pressed hard and unmoving to your ass. He pulls out slow and thrusts back, mindful of the noise of contact. It takes all your focus to bite back your moans.

“Don’t want your classmates seeing how slutty you are for a good fuck, do you? What if they walked in, saw you like this on your teacher’s cock?”

The thought has your hole constricting his length. You can already envision Yuuji’s shocked expression as he stares you down, his respected senior, nothing more than a babbling mess as Gojo Satoru fucks you raw in an empty classroom. The man behind you holds back a laugh.

The footsteps pass without the hint of something much filthier than extra help transpiring beyond the thin walls. You think you might have even seen a tuft of pink hair whizz by in the corner of your vision - whatever the matter, he’s gone, and you can finally catch your breath.

“Dirty girl,” Gojo rasps from behind you, slamming into you roughly, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, “you - hah - you fucking love it.” 

That spring in the base of your tummy starts to coil taut, rising faster than ever. “Love it,” you choke, stimulated tears forming at your lash line, “love it so much!”

His pace is relentless, your slick gushing all around him. He’s building you up just to break you down, the only one who can help you take the edge off.

“Tell me what you want,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it to you.”

Holding you tight to his chest with locked arms, he completely covers your body with his tall stature, inescapable and confining.

“Fuck, wanna - wanna cum so bad, so bad, sir.”

His large hand trails its way over your waist, soft fingers moving down, down, until they slip right over that little sensitive bundle at your front, cool and wet, that has your breath catching audibly in your throat. 

Gojo places his mouth just behind your ear, tone soft and sultry. The pad of his index finger rubs firm circles over your swollen, aching clit. It elicits a filthy sound from you that makes his cock twitch inside you. “Right there, huh?” He feels you clench as your legs tremble beneath him.

Your climax crashes over you in hot, unforgiving waves, tightening your walls and creaming all over every inch of his length. “Come on, give it all to teacher,” he encourages through heavy pants, making your skin prickle, and it’s just what you need. A chorus of loud, high pitched, breathless moans tumbles from your mouth as you ride it out. 

You’re drenching his fingers, making a mess as your squirt drips down and coats his cock, making him growl into your hair. He coaches you through it, stringing out his praises, “Just like that, mhm, good girl.”

His eyes fall shut as your cunt suffocates his cock, feeling his hips stutter as you suck him in. With a guttural, hungry groan, he’s burying his load in your waiting hole. He snaps against you once, twice more, hard and quick as he starts to come down.

A moment passes to catch your breaths, heartbeats beginning to slow in tandem. Gojo nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and sighs before placing an affectionate kiss there. 

Your legs are jelly beneath you so he’s careful when he releases his grasp, slowly turning you around to face him and sit back on the desk. 

“You alright?” he asks, wiping away the wetness under your eyes.

It’s safe to say that you’re relieved, in more ways than one. Your shoulders feel lighter and as does your chest, like everything you’ve been shackled to has been lifted off with a good fuck.

“Yeah, much better.” There’s a tired grin to your words.

He wipes away the sheen of sweat that has collected on his hairline and reaches over you to grab a few tissues off the desk. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, dabbing up sweat and cum from where it drips down your thighs. 

“You should get some rest. I’ll get you out of class tomorrow morning if you need it. Make up an excuse or something.” He pulls up his own trousers and helps you button up your top again, then lowering you back to the floor so you can be on your way.

“Let me know if you ever need any more assistance,” he winks, patting the top of your head. He smooths down a few stray hairs, putting you back together in at least a somewhat presentable way. “My help is always available to students that need it.”

Because while all that cursed energy may be under control, your relations are far from over.