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vagabond-umlaut · 1 month ago

Text

ramé

love.

a word everyone spells as l-o-v-e, except one certain young sorcerer – to whom it appears h-a-p-p-y, to whom it appears h-a-v-o-c – to whom it appears the shape of the letters of your name.

you, on the other hand, forget how to spell when the same word is before you – a fact which, your admirer reckons, would have been a major problem were he not he – that is, were he not the one and only 'gojo satoru'.

and thus begins, the plan.

and thus begins, the six steps to catch one's crush's eye — by the six eyes.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

tags: set during gojo's past arc; childhood friends to lovers; pining-since-forever!gojo; oblivious-since-forever!you; tooth-rotting fluff; adorable banter; height difference; all your friends ship satoru & you; they all are very tired of you both as well; satoru & you-hashtag [not-canon-yet] relationship goals; angry protective gojo; hell lots of teasing; misunderstandings; arguments; angst with a VERY HAPPY ending

wc: 12k+ (i'm genuinely so proud of this, guys(gn) :D)

notes: decided to republish my most popular fic so far to celebrate my blog crossing 1000 followers! tysm for all the love and support u hv shown me, besties!!! <333 btw, jjk isn't mine. dividers by @/inklore. hope u enjoy reading this!

|1/6| overhaul your wardrobe.

a low whistle leaves gojo as he appraises himself in the mirror.

snow white hair neatly trimmed with short bangs, sunglasses from gucci giving a peek of his transfixing blue gaze, a fitting tom ford white shirt paired with black slacks and designer shoes, and, to top it all off, a perfume by bleu de chanel he bought especially for today...

there's no way in hell you won't find him attractive today.

with a smug smirk, the first-year swings the door to his dorm wide open, ready to astound the two waiting outside with his insanely good looks - and pauses, boisterous shout dying within his throat.

"'toru!!" you exclaim as you jump off the balustrade you were seated on and rush to him, a wide grin splitting your face into half. "surprise, i caught an earlier train!"

in spite of the shock, the boy feels his lips lift in a smile.

it's been nearly a year since the last time the two of you were face-to-face; you're still as beautiful as you were then.

"hey shortie," the words leave him in a whisper as you wrap your arms around him - only for a pained 'ouch!' to escape him a second later. massaging his side where you pinched him, the boy watches you step back with a scowl. (faux, of course.)

"call me that one more time and no one can save you from my wrath."

"wrath?" chuckling, gojo bends a bit to be your eye-level. you narrow your eyes at him. "you think that can scare me? the gojo satoru?"

"it sure can," folding your arms across your chest, you throw him a smirk in the next instant. "if it makes me share all the mochi i bought with ieiri senpai and geto senpai, and not give you the tiniest bit of it."

eyes widening behind glasses, a gasp escapes him. "you wouldn't!"

"i would," you answer, the same smirk as before still on your lips.

gojo backs off.

you're nothing if not awfully determined to make your promises see the light of the day. if he continues pestering you, the young sorcerer knows he'll actually not get a single morsel of those delicious sweets.

"you know what," a familiar voice cuts in through his thoughts and the boy twists to find his best friend walking towards him. sending him a discreet wink (which he deems is 100% suspicious), suguru reaches your side and continues, "satoru here was really excited about you coming to meet him."

"oh, is it so?" your smirk gives way to an angelic smile. gojo wishes it was directed at him instead of that long-haired bastard.

"yeah," said bastard meanwhile agrees with an overeager nod. "shoko and i too were really excited to meet the girl our friend is so infa-"

a tense silence befalls the corridor when suguru abruptly stops in the middle of the sentence. gojo swears if you weren't standing there, in front of them, he would have murdered his friend in cold blood today.

"infa-?" you prompt, smile dropping a little as your confused gaze darts from one to the other. gojo forces a chuckle out.

"it's nothing, don't you worry," he tries to draw your attention away, when shoko swoops in, like the savior she is (gojo decides to buy her one month's supply of cigarettes) and inquires, "hey, you haven't seen satoru in months, right? any change you find in him?"

that seems to be the trick. a curious glint shines in your eyes as they travel up and down his figure - appreciatively for sure, the boy says to himself. you too seem to have a liking for expensive things, after all.

after two seconds of close inspection, you turn to shoko with a bright smile. gojo's soul goes soaring at the sight in the clear skies above.

"nope! he's the same old 'toru i've always known."

gojo's soul crashes down upon the earth, splintering at the impact.

his two classmates give him a look before shoko asks again, a mild disbelief to her tone, "you really don't find anything new about him? like, maybe he has grown taller? or maybe, more handsome?"

"anything else which you never even expected, maybe?" suguru pipes in from beside him. gojo shoots him a grateful look, all past offenses already forgiven and forgotten.

a beat passes before you shake your head. "nope. nothing about him is new. though, when you speak about unexpected..." you trail off with a contemplative look.

shoko encourages you, "when we speak about unexpected-"

"i never expected you to be so pretty," you finish the sentence for her with a small smile. gojo's jaw drops to the ground. okay, what the fu-

"oh," shooting him an amused smirk, shoko faces you. "and why is it so? why did you not expect me to be so pretty?"

"it's not my fault," you reply, sending him an accusatory glance as you continue, "when i asked 'toru if his new classmates are good-looking, he said they aren't. he said you all look really plain."

"do you find me plain or handsome?" suguru butts in, ignoring the blue-eyed glare boring holes into the side of his head.

"you're plain," the short reply comes in an instant from you - and even in the midst of his gloom for going unnoticed, gojo finds it within himself to smirk at his best friend's withered face.

in the meantime, you continue speaking to shoko, unperturbed.

"yeah, so imagine my surprise when i met you at the torii gates earlier today. with such a stylish bobcut, cute face and flawless skin... i really thought you were a model, ieiri-senpai."

you pause for a second - undoubtedly to catch your breath from that non-stop chatter; gojo knows your habits like his own by now - then ask the girl who's watching you with a pleased expression, an excited grin threatening to bloom on your face, "are you a model, senpai?"

said senpai lets out a chuckle in response.

and despite feeling dispirited (and very, very jealous of that shoko for hogging all your attention), the white-haired boy cracks a fond smile, watching you be so cheery.

yeah, you certainly are one very dense dumbass.

but, he too is gojo satoru - and he will get his feelings across to you.

|2/6| display your strengths.

being a show-off is what gojo's the best at - besides yearning for you from afar, that is.

a wide grin stays on his face as he watches you approach him, a tad ahead of your classmates - two boys, nanami kento and haibara yu.

being in the first year, neither of you three can take part in the kyoto sister-school goodwill event - that doesn't stop you all from being spectators, though - which is what's enough for the gojo's plans.

a call of his name drags him away from gazing at you - you look good in that tee of his, you accidentally shrunk in the laundry - and twists back to find his teacher frowning at him.

the second-year finds it hard to wear the same grin. "yo yaga sensei, what's up?"

the man lets out a long-drawn sigh.

"don't overdo it, satoru," he says - the boy opens his mouth, ready to retort with a quip - only to be stopped by an unfamiliar expression overcoming the teacher's features.

it's a horrific insult of a smile, the young sorcerer realizes after a beat.

yaga, meanwhile, continues with that same expression, "i too was young once. i can understand what you're going through now - which is why i won't stop you from showing your talents to her or whatever. just... remember no one should die."

a quiet nod is all the boy manages in reply, too overwhelmed for a bit by the fatherly care yaga insists on giving him despite the annoyance suguru and he equally insist on being to their sensei.

with a pat on the shoulder, yaga leaves in the direction of the other faculty and staff. schooling his expression, gojo shoots suguru a look.

"hey suguru, how did yaga get to know about me and her?"

"who is her, gojo senpai?" a sweet voice chips in, soon followed by your teasing grin floating into his line of vision.

the boy averts his gaze for a beat - flustered by the sheer proximity between both of your faces which could be closed were he not such a coward, stop smirking, suguru - before sending you a wounded look.

"since when did i become gojo senpai to you?"

"since today," you reply with a tight smile. gojo doesn't like it one bit on your face. "i've been asked by the higher-ups to act professional with you."

a moment passes - wherein the boy registers the statement - before red flashes in his vision. placing his hands on your shoulders, he asks, or rather, demands to know, "did they hurt you? or threaten you? give me their names. who were those fucking bastards?"

brows furrowing, you place your much smaller hands atop his. "relax. nothing happened," you whisper, so quiet only he can hear it, "they don't have the guts or power to hurt or threaten me. all they told me is to, i quote, refrain from calling you such terms of endearment again. and i was like, okay."

a small smile settles on your lips as you take his hands in yours and start rubbing circles into them. the boy feels a lot of his tension drain away. smile brightening (you too seem to have realized the effects of this gesture on him), you add, "plus, it's only four years. once we've both graduated, i can get back to calling you whatever i want to call. those old geezers can't direct me then."

"they still can't now..." gojo begins - then stops.

with that bootlicker eldest brother you have, those old rats can now.

you give him a tired smile, words unneeded to confirm that the both of you are indeed cursing the same set of people now.

you open your mouth to say something - funny probably, if the shine in your eyes was anything to go by - before a muted cough pops the bubble you two had unconsciously slipped into.

and with an entertained smirk at the boy, who immediately seperates your linked hands, shoko informs, "sensei's calling for you, gojo. the competition's about to begin."

acknowledging her with a brief nod, gojo returns his focus to you, looking for a sliver of fear or anxiety in your face - one he'll soothe away with a gentle smile and maybe, just maybe, a forehead kiss - only for all his dreams to be dashed in the dirt.

you're peering up at him, beaming excitedly.

"go, beat 'em, senpai," you cheer him with a fist pump. an amused snicker sounds somewhere behind. your zeal doesn't budge one bit. "go, kick those kyoto students' asses. i know you will win."

and win, your white-haired senpai does - nothing new it it.

and you too seem to be very happy at it - again nothing new in it.

'cause when do you not congratulate him with a blinding beam every time the boy is successful - be it at making those pretty origami stars the way you taught him to; or at defeating a weakass sorcerer in a lame match.

however what is new is the fact you've grown rather competitive - not that gojo minds it in the slightest, though. quite the contrary, in fact.

"aren't you being a little too confident?" you inquire, throwing him a peeved glance, "every opponent you face in the future won't be as weak as those two kyoto boys today. you sure you'll stay invincible then too?"

resting his chin on the chair he is straddling, the second-year smirks, "any way you can prove i won't, shortie?"

geto sends him a questioning look while ieiri looks away from them to the scenery outside, giving a long sigh. his other two kouhais, nanami and haibara, pause in their game of cards to look at you, confusedly.

gojo observes you ignore them, eyes trained on him only, lips curving slowly into a sharp grin. gods, can you get any lovelier than this?

"well..." you drawl, keeping your focus on him. a flush creeps up the sides of his neck, which he earnestly hopes goes overlooked by you.

it doesn't go overlooked by your too-serious classmate, though - gojo spots nanami's eyes widen for a mere instant before reverting to their typical indifference.

you continue, grin simmering to a daring smile now, "why don't you find it out on your own tomorrow? twelve noon. practice field. what do you think, senpai?"

the sorcerer pretends to take a moment to regard your proposal, then shrugs. "sure, why not? sounds good enough to me."

with a wordless nod, the boy watches you return to the video game you were playing with his best friend - then look back at him on your name being called. an eyebrow rises in silent question.

seeing that the cue, he asks, "but what will the loser have to do?"

the reply comes with a smirk, your eyes dropping to your game. "you can buy me the latest version of this game. that'll be fine, i guess."

gojo was wrong - said person realizes as he watches the orange-red glow seep in through the window and render you an ethereal glow.

your competitiveness isn't the only thing new to him this evening.

your ability to make him even more head over heels for you than the boy already is (an impossible feat, really, given the chains and locks guarding him within, apart from the layer of infinity without)...

...this is yet another new thing gojo learns about you, this evening.

|3/6| gather info on your crush.

"oh, you wouldn't want to be friends with her."

the comment cuts through the air with a noisy chuckle and a raucous chorus of giggles - gojo's knuckles grow white with the painfully tight grip he has on the glass of mocktail.

suguru shoots him a contrite face from the other side of the crowd, mouthing an apology with a helpless shrug. the boy looks away from his best friend to throw a glance at the two girls a few seats away.

a beat passes wherein shoko and utahime share a brief look, and the former speaks up, an odd edge to her voice as she leans forwards, a smirk directed at the boy. "and why wouldn't geto? she seems like a pretty nice girl to be friends with."

your cousin scoffs. gojo seriously wishes there wasn't a strict rule set by his father for the clan members of not meddling in the other clans' matters, to maintain an image of neutrality and amiability.

(it's not like he prefers not to break rules or is afraid of his father, the boy thinks grimly as he gulps the last sip of his mocktail and returns the glass to the table with a thud. it's far from being either of those.

it's just that with a small response from him in this matter, you will be dragged under the elders' scrutiny; your friendship with him too will be - and that's something he would never wish upon you. so the boy stays quiet, opting to-)

"what the fuck did you just say?"

the chitter-chatter dies down to a deathly silence in an instant.

rising from his seat, gojo stalks towards the boy sitting on the couch. from the background, he can hear few voices urge him to stop, to get back, with repeated 'satoru, no' and 'satoru, relax' - but the boy finds not a cell in his body wanting to heed those voices. marching right up to your cousin, who shoots him a pathetically fake smirk now, the boy repeats himself, "what. did. you. just. say."

the target of the query huffs a chuckle, drunk and stinking - and your friend realizes now just how much of a diluted description of him you gave him the other day. the guy isn't just some petty irritating relative of yours, he is a fucking bastard.

a fucking bastard who's going to get beaten into a pulp, if he doesn't choose his next words wisely.

another chuckle leaves him, before he gets up from his seat, a slight sway to the action as he sneers at gojo. now, were the circumstances different, the white-haired boy is sure such a brazen person would've impressed him, who is the strongest sorcerer there is, but not today.

not when you're the one who is the innocent undeserving recipient of such a remark as the one he utters next.

"i just said, my cousin's a freak who can read someone's mind without them knowing - and she does that all the time for her sick enjoyment. no one can ever trust that bitch."

a fist connects with the side of your cousin's face and before anyone can realize what's happening, the two boys are rolling on the floor in a brawl, gojo obviously with the upper hand as he lands blow after blow and yell after yell on the other.

a quiet voice whispers to his conscience, chiding his response to the situation to be too harsh, too cruel - but no sooner does it appear than it is stomped down and shoved away by images from the past.

images of a little girl crying, yelling, screaming, eyes squeezed shut, how everything's so loud, how everyone's so noisy, how everyone just can't seem to stop talking of her - in the shocked silence of the party hall.

images of being informed over the phone, his friend won't be coming to play today either - for a class or a function or a cold, he cares the least for - before overhearing later at dinner, it's the fifth day the girl's been comatose since her last treatment.

images of brash celebrations revelling in the discovery and return of a technique, long thought lost - the new messiah, they exclaim - while the said person looks at the elders with face steeped in what, the boy doesn't need his six eyes to know, is terror.

images of a girl, saying in a surprisingly void tone, how horrible, how terrible, how despicable a weapon they've made her into - sneaking into people's minds to steal the meaning of their lives away - before giving a suggestion, too smart, too sharp for a girl of ten; although-

"satoru!"

the singular word snaps the sorcerer's thoughts into two, making him move his irate gaze away from the bloodied face of the bitch to the door-

oh.

it's you.

you, standing in the school uniform, a bag slung over your shoulders.

you, eyes round and lips parted as you stare at the scene before.

you, who takes only a second before you rush forwards, moving him away from your cousin, worried gaze raking over his features instead of the bruised wailing mess of a relative left behind.

"'toru," the word escapes you in a whisper as you maneuver him into sitting on the couch.

another voice wafts over to him, a lot like suguru's, but he pays it no mind, wanting to focus on you and you only, while your fingers travel over his face, brush his bangs away, tuck them behind the shell of his ear, then finally come to a rest on the apple of his cheeks, the grazing of the thumb soothing a minor cut.

though the way your eyebrows furrow at it, emotions darting across your face a million a second, from confusion to concern to anger - gojo reckons, were anyone to see you now, they would think it ain't a tiny nick but a gaping wound.

the white-haired boy grasps your wrist in his fingers.

"i'm okay, shortie," the second-year reassures you in a whisper. you peer at him closely in turn for a beat longer, before a long sigh leaves you though the frown on your lips stays the same. he would've called you cute if not for the murderous intent rolling off you in waves...

gojo decides to call you hot now.

a seething gaze with a soft "what happened, 'toru?" reaches him next.

oh yes, gojo swoons inwardly, you're being so fucking hot.

nuzzling into the palm cradling his cheek, the boy smiles. "nothing you need to worry about."

"it's your cousin," a female voice butts in before a known pair of heads walk into his vision, one smoking a cigarette while the other looks at him then you, mildly stunned.

shoko continues, as laidback as ever (as if she too wasn't glowering then), "suguru there asked him something about you to which the pig replied with some nonsense, because of which satoru here jumped in to defend your honour." your eyes travel from her to him. a whoosh of air leaves the girl and she takes a long drag from a cigarette. "nothing very serious, to be honest..."

"but nothing too unserious either," utahime adds, which earns a small nod from her girlfriend, "if the asshole dares to lie about you once-"

"what's to say he won't again," you finish the sentence for her, a dark shadow looming over your face, then throw the culprit a harsh look. "and what shit did you spout, mr. resident douchebag of the clan?"

a corner of gojo's lips quirk up at the nickname you gave, then part in a grin at the reaction your cousin gave to that. embarassed, for sure, yet never going farther than glaring at you from those swollen eyes.

if you weren't standing here, caressing his face, your friend's certain, he would have gone to tear him a new one - the latter still scowling at you whilst intermittently yelping at the pain of his wounds.

a long sigh escapes you, visibly tired and annoyed.

"i know you can hear me just fine by that stink eye you're giving me, so fess up now - what the fuck were you telling about me?"

an absolute silence answers your question, and just when gojo thinks he might have to leave your warm cocoon to go beat your cousin up, again, suguru's voice sounds from beside, "he was talking about your CT."

"oh?" a brow rises. "and what about it?"

"apparently - and i quote," the long-haired boy adds with palms raised and faced forwards, at the scowl he shoots him, "you can read others' minds without their knowledge, and you do that always. for fun, your cousin claims."

you blink, and turn to your relative; a mask, gojo observes with a hint of melancholy, slipping over your features - not that the boy blames you, though. you need a mask - now, most of all times.

"you said that, aniki?" you inquire, the caressing hand over gojo's skin stilling with a slight tremor. he envelopes your hand in his; an action you respond to with a squeeze, continuing, "but why did you? after all that happened, after all that everyone in the family knows, why?"

a stubborn scoff sounds from the other end of the room; one of the six eyes twitches in its socket.

"i don't think you should ask this question, shortie," the second-year hums, pulling a nonplussed face from you. he grins, "you can simply read his mind, no? your aniki won't be forced to give a reply; your ask too will be answered. besides, this isn't gonna be the first time you're breaking into someone's mind, and, your cousin's not even gonna feel his mind being read - a painless procedure - isn't that right, aniki?"

"fuck no!!!!"

and bingo!

gojo watches you cast a long look at him, then back at your cousin, before a slow smile spreads on your features, the glint so dear to him making a comeback in your eyes.

"not a bad idea, senpai," you say, lifting your free hand and directing it at the culprit. a few gasps sound around you, soon followed by a few murmurs - your senpai watches them slide off your skin like water off a duck's back. you announce in a sing-song fashion, "well, here goes nothing~"

then stop at the anguished cry, your smile widening into a grin.

sweet and smug, like the cat who got the canary.

gojo feels three pairs of eyes look at his smirk, all at the same time - the boy lets them look. the two of you share dynamics, the nature of which none, except you two, can ever dream of comprehending.

wailing, your cousin rises and stumbles over to you, hands folded in a pleading gesture.

"please, no, no, no," he sobs, very nearly falling at your feet before you take a step backwards, disgust overtaking your grin, sending the boy reeling back. "i beg you, no. please don't kill me. i was just kidding; it was just a joke. i'm sorry, don't kill me."

"kill you?" you let out a shocked gasp, placing a hand over your chest, "i would never. i was just trying to read your mind, aniki. why on earth would that kill you? you won't even feel anything-"

"it's the binding vow, you bitch!!" the boy spits, interrupting you, "the one you took years back, 'cause you didn't want the higher-ups to use you as a spy again; giving up the element of secrecy of your CT to-"

your cousin pauses, the realization and the ensuing horror and regret dawning over his face; gojo presses him, sharing a smile with you.

"to?"

the answer arrives as a shuddered whisper - a whisper audible to all, however, thanks to the heavy silence in the room.

"to make it lethal on its victim instead; an attack none can stop, not even a special-grade."

the crash of a glass, or five, impacting with the ground sounds; you give a satisfied nod, smirking.

gojo runs a palm over your dishevelled hair, undoubtedly from driving with the windows down to this stupid meet of the teenagers from the jujutsu clans. you give him a smile, mouth opening to say something, but he doesn't let you. "don't thank me, stupid."

"okay," you acquiesce, a slight huff to your tone before it grows softer, "but can i at least say you were being very cool then? i'm impressed."

"who's impressed with whom?" a crass voice interrupts the moment before gojo can even form it entirely between the two of you.

three - nope, five (even your classmates are here, tch!) teasing smiles float into his vision; the second-year opens his mouth to throw back a retort - except you snatch the opportunity away from him.

"i'm impressed with gojo senpai- any problems, anyone?" you say, tilting your head to one side with the cutest little furrow in the midst of your brows. all five shake their heads, smiles widening before one of them falls on your next words.

"but the next time i see you, geto senpai, asking others what sort of a person i am - don't you dare deny it, you asked two of my friends too the same thing, they told me; god knows why you need my character certificate, though, and for whom; you're acting as if you've a sibling i wish to date and you wanna know everything about me before giving the green signal, but whatever it is, senpai-"

you heave a breath, a break from your tirade - while the remainder of the room's breathing stays suspended.

gojo glances away from you to find the attention of all the attendees fixed on you. he wraps an arm around your midsection and rests his chin on your shoulder. you lean the side of your head onto his.

"i promise i'll create problems for you, more if i see gojo senpai being dragged into the aftermath of your curiosity - okay?"

gojo watches his best friend look at you, terrified, for a second before turning to throw him a glare. the white-haired boy bites back a grin.

placing hands on his hips, suguru exclaims, "you know what, i tried to help but no one here is worthy of my assistance."

"no one asked you for this help, suguru," shoko interjects smoothly, "you were the one who insisted, something about this method being the most effective or something if they want to catch her attention-"

"whoa, whoa, whoa. who wants to catch my attention?" you inquire, cutting them two off. gojo's classmates stop and the blood flowing in his veins drops to a subzero as he cranes his neck to look at you.

you twist to look back at him. "is there someone who wants to catch my attention? do you know them?"

"i-uh-um," the boy stutters, mind scrambling for a reply - something, anything - before nanami interrupts, a small smile on his face, "yeah, there is someone, actually, and we all know him. geto senpai was just gathering some data on you as his wingman."

"oh," you mutter, gaze dropping to the ground, then lifting to gojo. the boy simply blinks back, which draws a frown from you in turn.

retrieving a pair of shades from your bag, you hand it to him and turn back to suguru, a barely-there smile on your lips.

"next time he wants some info on me, ask him to ask me directly. i'll appreciate it."

"noted, boss," the words escape gojo before the addressed can even reply, utterly unmoved by the five exasperated glares [honestly, it's four: haibara can never really glare at anyone] - the next step of the plan already whirring to life in the shades-donning boy's brain.

so, so giddy at the fact of being told of the golden key to your heart.

|4/6| gather info from your crush.

"the moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"so are you."

a long minute passes between gojo and you, gazes fixed on the other person and only them, before you lick your chapped lips - the boy's attention instantly going to that hynotic motion of your tongue...

and you pinch his arm.

"ow shortie!!!! what the fuck was that for!?!?" the boy yells, massaging the sore spot on his arm, before out of nowhere, the red signal glows green and he has to shift his focus to the steering wheel.

you toss him a mad scowl from the passenger's seat, one he catches effortlessly, winking, when an observation crashes upon him and he coos. "aww, did my itty-bitty-shortie-baby just get flustered by me? aww, is she blushing? aww, she's so cute!!!"

"i asked you to help me learn how to confess, gojo," you grumble with a glare at him, "not make fun of me."

your co-passenger makes an affronted face at your words, although, internally, he is beside himself. and to be honest, how can he not?

you're in the same car as him, on a three hour long drive from tokyo to nikko, exchanging declarations of love with one another while the boy's (spare) shades slide down the bridge of your nose and he hums along to the songs you choose on the stereo... if a few facts are being ignored (like the one where this is your mission and the two of you are in your uniforms), the second-year can totally imagine the two of you going on a weekend getaway as a couple now.

a soft smile settles on his lips, as he sneaks a glance of you from the corner of his eyes. "i wasn't trying to make fun of ya, shortie," he says, "i was just responding to your statement."

"but that directly?" you ask, shock and embarrassment flooding your face. your friend stifles a chuckle. "i commented on the moon being beautiful. you should've said something like 'it is, isn't it?' - but no, you went and replied, 'so are you'. my admirer will never be so direct with me; why don't you try to understand that simple fact?"

there are a few days when gojo is really divided between wanting to flick your forehead hard and wanting to kiss you senseless.

today seems to be one such glorious day.

swerving the car onto a stop by the side of the road, he lets his head fall onto the steering wheel and lifts it to lock his eyes with yours.

"and what makes you think your admirer won't be a direct guy?"

"the fact the guy couldn't even show his face to me once, and did not even want to share his contact details with me, despite me pestering him via suguru and nanami, for ages now."

okay, ouch, that one's on him.

yet, never being the one to accept defeat, he throws back, "and what if he wants to build up some mystery before your first meet? you love mysteries, don't you? the guy likes you; he must be trying to use that knowledge to confess to you."

"i like only murder mysteries, 'toru," your deadpan response arrives in a beat, which then evolves into curiosity when you ask, "but how do you know so much about these things? how many relationships have you been in, 'toru?"

it's gojo's turn to grow embarrassed now. hand reaching out to fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist, he answers, "zero."

"hey, don't be embarrassed," he watches you shoot him a grin. a tiny smile is all he manages to return while you continue, "i too have never been in a relationship. anyone you ever confessed to?"

"isn't that evident from my previous answer?"

"nope! you might've gotten rejected; who knows~"

the grin on your lips widens; gojo looks at it for once before dropping his gaze. under the interplay of the light and shadow from the leaves of the tree, there appears to be something different about you - the sorcerer can't really pinpoint what it is but he knows there is, and he doesn't want to dwell on it - lest he loses his self-control.

"i have never confessed to anyone, and whatever confessions i have received, i've either ignored or rejected them all."

"ooh, same!" your excited voice ringing within the confines of the car, you lift his palm to meet yours in a hi-five. gojo lets you do so - before you place it between your two palms and clasp it, a sharp gasp drawn from him at the action. you shoot him a concerned look.

"your hand's freezing cold, 'toru? you okay?"

"yeah, yeah, i'm fine," the boy mumbles, moving his hand away from your comforting warmth - an action he doesn't want to do but has to, for the sake of propriety. something happening out of sheer impulse isn't how he wants to start his story with you - you don't deserve that.

"um, okay," you mutter, then inquire, timid and awkward, "i've one last question on your love life... can i ask that? you can totally ask me to stop though if you're feeling uncomfortable."

"ask away," the boy answers with a smile, he can see, is tense in the mirror as he restarts the car and returns it to the road. a long second passes before you ask, "have you ever liked anyone, 'toru?"

"yeah... there's one girl. i love her."

"oh."

the monosyllabic answer sends a torsion through his chest and gojo twists towards you - only to find a cryptic smile resting on your lips.

discarding your shoes, you fold your knees upto your chest and rest your head atop them, facing him. your senpai is really thankful a soft song comes onto the stereo next, for were it not so, he's certain your soft question would have gone unheard.

"how does your first love feel? beautiful, right? the way it's in books, songs and movies... isn't it?"

gojo takes a moment to mull over your query.

it is... yet it isn't.

the flutters in his heart when you skip past him in the corridors with a beam; the butterflies in his stomach when you plop on the chair next to him in the cafeteria; the dizziness in his head when your face is too close to his; the utterly-unplatonic thoughts of you plaguing him, day and night, dusk and dawn...

the fictional works sure have got this aspect of love right.

but they aren't right in so many other aspects of it.

falling in love with you isn't love-on-first-crash nor is it from a magical transformation in one of you nor is it after ages and ages of ignorance and denial and the final mind-numbing feeling that oh shit! you're the one for him; always have been; the girls with whom he's been till now are mere mirages of you; but it's too late now... you're moving abroad on a flight in two hours, with a boyfriend who's far better than him.

no.

the goggles-wearing sorcerer's catching feelings for you is way more realistic and easier to digest than that.

the two of you are friends, friends, friends - until the morning the two of you are munching on an ice cream tub, and with a casual glance at you, the boy muses what he feels for you is weird, not like his feelings for his other friends - and after a month's worth research, reaches the conclusion of him being in love with you.

quick. direct. smart.

just like the heir of the gojo clan himself.

a small smile lining his lips on this short trip down the memory lane, your senpai hums, "it's complicated. you'll understand when you have your first love."

a soft sigh is the only response you give and gojo reaches over to give a small knock to the side of your head. "don't overthink, shortie," the boy says in a fond tone, a feeling which expands within himself at the smile you offer him, "everything's gonna be okay; i'll personally make sure it is."

"oh, yeah?" a brow rises while your eyes crinkle in a cheeky grin. "and how exactly do you plan on doing that? you gonna have a serious talk with my admirer or something, before our first date?"

if talks in the mirror over the bathroom sink counts, the white-haired boy has had countless discussions so far - but he doesn't tell you that - choosing to return your question with a question of his own.

one which has been pestering him for a while now.

"but, shortie... why the hell are you practising-"

"to confess now?" stealing his words from the tip of his tongue, gojo watches you let out a long tired exhale, then slump back in your seat, a hint of a smile on your lips. flying strands of your hair, from the wind rushing in through the open window, form a halo around your head-

your friend thinks you are an angel descended from above, no matter how you look.

a titter breaks his enraptured gaze on you, and he blinks, finding you with a tiny curve of your lips. you continue, "i wanna stay prepared. if not for this date, then another. if not for this guy, then another. but the thing is, i wanna stay prepared. for love and for everything that comes with it - besides..." your smile grows bashful, an emotion gojo instantly realizes is impossible for him to get tired of seeing on you; you shrug.

"the heart does what it wants, does it not?"

really??

the young sorcerer looks away from you for a beat, letting his gaze travel over the rows of trees dotting the increasingly mountainous terrain, then looks back at you.

the two of you are awfully close to the destination of your trip.

removing a hand from the wheel and reaching it out to intertwine his fingers with yours, the boy asks, "wanna go visit that patisserie i was talking of the other day after this mission? i've heard the sweets there are worth dying for."

"but won't it be late evening by the time our job's done?" you ask back with a frown, "and we also have to return to the school... why don't-"

"it's a full moon tonight, shortie," gojo interjects you with a soft little smile. you stare befuddled at him for a while, before the bulb lights to life in your brain - an event bringing a semblance of relief to the boy - and you laugh.

"oh, oh, oh!" you exclaim, waggling your eyebrows, "i know exactly what you're going to do. you're gonna create a romantic atmosphere to teach me how to confess, aren't you? method teaching - eh, 'toru?"

a chuckle is what gojo decides to offer to your buzzing curiosity, until later this evening.

"i'll let my heart do what it wants to do."

|5/6| splurge on gifts.

"and what can this be?"

the silver of the bracelet glints, the tiny sapphires in its rim adding a sparkling effect as you show it to gojo. the boy drags his gaze from it to you, lips pressing into a line as he takes in the way you're looking at him.

two months back, if someone even merely insinuated at the fact you might be growing distant from him, he wouldn't have thought once before retaliating with a mean word or hit.

and, to be just, why on earth would he not?

yes, the 'date' he had proposed to take you on post mission remained just a proposal - many thanks to the old geezers and their knack for providing severely understated mission details [bitter sarcasm wholly intended] - but that didn't drive a wedge between you both; quite the opposite, in fact.

two months back, he found you sobbing at his bedside in the school infirmary, lips pressing kisses to his bruised knuckles time and again, while you kept mumbling on how you should've been more wary and cognizant of your surroundings, how he shouldn't have switched his infinity off to guard you from the caving roof and how you would buy him a milion sweets if he promised to not be reckless, but wouldn't hesitate to kill him with your CT if he broke the promise even once.

lovingly overprotective in an irresistibly cute way - that's exactly how you grew to be around gojo in the days he was healing, in the latter's eyes. suguru and shoko's comments too grew less teasing and more encouraging with time then - something which made him think, the feelings in his being might not be as one-sided as he tends to believe at times.

something which made him think, there might not be a day he has to imagine without your radiant grin directed at him, for him, because of him.

yet, now... as he regards you with utmost attention...

the sorcerer can't help but deem the unimaginable to have occurred.

face grim, eyes dull, lips puckered into a scowl, every fucking time you've come across him since your return to school from your home...

it doesn't really take a genius to gather you don't really want to be in his vicinity - a realisation which leads to your best friend of a decade and a few years to shower a torrent of gifts on you.

under the impression, that's what will return your keen undivided gaze to him - an impression, he watches, being tainted wrong with every other second that passes under the fading daylight.

you return the bracelet to its box and place it in the bag, one the boy knows contains the other gifts he had left at your doorstep or sent via shoko or haibara to you, the past month - and one you intend to give him back - 'cause for what else could you have asked to meet him at the training grounds this evening, carrying the bag, if not this?

wishing, not for the first time, for his six eyes to be able to glean your current state of mind, he asks, scooting slowly, deliberately to your seated form on the bench, "did you not like it, shor-"

"please don't call me that."

the grin slowly unfurling on gojo's lips stutters, then vanishes in the heat of the fury of your eyes. he watches your gaze roam over his face once before skittering away. your voice grows a mild tremor, "please don't call me that. i don't want to hear that nickname ever again."

the soda can nearly slips from between his fingers onto the grass below before he grasps it again, firmer this time, and tosses it upside down to empty it into his mouth. it's a brand you had introduced him to, gojo reminisces, on a day just like this... grins and squeals as you jumped in front of the vending machine, so, so joyed that it had your favourite drink.

soon after, it became the white-haired boy's favourite drink too - but no longer now. not when the fruity tang of the liquid, which endeared it to you as you claimed, tastes like the metallic clang of blood to him.

now, many might call gojo overdramatic here - you've asked him not to call you that countless times now, for fuck's sake - but many don't know you the way your friend does. in horrifying contrast to before, a note of revulsion exists in your words.

undisguised disgust paired with loathing.

sharp enough to pierce infinity, past skin, muscles, ribs and layers of tissues and chains, into that stupid organ strumming melancholic rhythms now, your name bleeding raw from its walls.

superfluous, some might scoff - but they'll have never known there's a dark side to love, the one gojo's traversing now. though... the young sorcerer muses, finishing the drink and sending it into the trash can with a flick of his cursed energy, they'll never have known you. they'll never have known the degree to which the boy adores you, either.

a strong whoosh of wind hits the two of you, carrying the smell of wet earth with it. a sign of the arrival of your favourite season, your friend absently notes as he looks back at you.

the tip of your nose appears flushed red.

"and may i know why?"

shock brims your gaze at the soft question. gojo watches you cough up a strained chuckle. "i knew you to be more assertive. demanding. never thought you could request for an explanation... what changed, 'to-" you still for a beat, then continue, burning another bridge, same as the boy feared an instant too early, "i mean, gojo-senpai?"

"you're the best person to answer that," the mentioned person replies with lips forming a gentle curve. yes, the limitless user's always been one hell of a self-assured person - it comes free with the package of receiving god-like treatment by most from before you can crawl - but there exist times when all that - the fight, the zeal, the energy - every one of those just ebbs away from his body, rendering him the hapless spectator, and victim, to the car crash.

except a car crash might hurt less than the careless sneer you shoot his way, coupled with an eye roll. you never gave him such a look in the past, before you went back home for the vacation. just what-

"i think you know why i called you here, yeah?" you ask, picking the bag up and pushing it towards him. the things inside it rattle; the boy wonders if you even went through those two books he sent you. they were from the series you had babbled, ranted and gushed to him on for hours on end on numerous occasions, once upon a time.

gojo nods briefly, though doesn't spare it even a glance. it doesn't go past your notice, he notes, given the way your eyes jump from him to his gifts, then to your fiddling fingers. "well, that's one box ticked off," you say, "and as for the other-"

"i know that too; you need not say every fucking thing out loud," your senpai cuts you off with a mirthless inflection to his tone, eyes falling down onto his sneakers. it was a gift from you on his last-

bloody hell, why does everything have to be a sore reminder of you?

"not saying it out loud doesn't make it any less real," your quiet voice tears through his thought, and he looks up. hoping, desperately so, a tender smile is waiting on your features, reserved for him - only to see every hope of his get dashed into the dirt by your frown.

his best friend was right. gojo's pathetically down for you.

a thunder rumbles in the distance.

you continue, "but since you've asked me not to, i guess i won't. that's the least i can do-"

"but what went wrong?" the question hurtles past the confines of his mouth into the stormy air. and, for once, gojo decides not to conceal the moisture in his eyes behind his shades. removing the eyewear, he moves to sit right beside you, approaching to take your hand in his.

you jerk away from him.

as if you were fire and he, water.

as if you were sun and he, non-luminous scarred moon threatening to eclipse your joy.

the white-haired boy retracts his hand away. you glance at him once before averting your gaze away. he watches you clench your hands in a tight fist. "nothing was wrong, senpai," you mumble; gojo bites his lower lip to keep it from wobbling, "but there's always something tiny wrong in everything going right, ya know? i just feel we outgrew our phase of being friends."

the growl of thunder sounds closer this time. a drop of water lands on his thigh - the sorcerer doesn't bother to know if it is his eyes or those clouds above which finally welled over. voice thickening and breaking, a scoff leaves him, "you know, as well as me, that's the lamest excuse ever. and you called us being friends, right?" you take a moment then nod weakly. a pained sigh leaves him, "then what happened to being open with each other, hm? i thought we kept no secrets from each other."

the boy watches you keep your gaze stubbornly trained on the grass beneath. something within him breaks.

"c'mon, don't play dumb," gojo urges, plopping down onto the object of your attention, just so he can have a better view of your face. you face away with a frown. he prompts you again, hints of helplessness sneaking in between his words, "c'mon, shortie. don't look away with the shitty reason of us outgrowing our phase of friendship. we were - no, are the closest. you know, right? that you can tell me any-"

"not everything's meant to remain the same always, senpai!" the loud exclamation leaves your mouth. gojo stills and so do you. his eyes fall on the way you wring your hands once before stuffing them into your hoodie's pockets.

it isn't oversized on you, the realisation clicks into place in his mind.

you let out an exhale through your mouth, then pin him down with eyes teeming with what seems like weary distaste.

"can you please get up? you're creating an unnecessary scene right now."

if your words weren't enough, it's the way you utter them that leaves cracks and fissures in him. one more blow, and the boy's sure he'll be blown away into smithereens - an outcome he's trying to avoid [but knows, can't; every piece of armour he dons turns flimsy before you].

"is it 'cause you tended to my injuries then?" he asks. your lips strain into a line. casting him a sideways glance, you shake your head, "i'm many things but a liar ain't in the list, senpai. when i cared for you, it was from my heart. when i no longer wanna associate with you-"

a dark shadow falls over your features. rising from the bench, you shift your gaze skywards and back on him, "it'll rain pretty soon. you should get back inside."

there's something between summer evenings and you and him, gojo muses as he peers up at you.

it was a summer evening when you first came to visit the boy at this school.

it is a summer evening when you're turning your back on him in this same old school.

with the glaring exception of there being the warmth of your form beside him then versus the gnawing chill you're leaving behind now.

"you never completed your sentence," gojo points out, whispering.

[too loud and the sorcerer fears, the last interaction between the two of you will end as a horrid yelling match. besides, you like things with happy endings, don't you? he'll be sure to give you your happy ending as the last gift.]

you send a restrained twitch of lips his way. "i remember being asked not to say every fucking thing out loud, senpai."

a shaky smile is the only thing he finds he can muster in return, at the moment.

"suguru said you're leaving for your home tonight again," the student says, getting up from the ground and moving closer to, yet too far a distance from you. "don't drive with the windows down, okay? the weather's bad, you might catch a cold."

a muscle in your jaw twitches. the valley between your brows furrows.

gojo lets his smile widen a bit. so shallow. so hollow.

"don't worry," he says, "i'm taking this as seriously as you want me to. it's just that..." trailing off, the boy takes a step away. your feet move an inch towards him before you immediately withdraw them. a small mimicry of a laugh leaving him, gojo fixates his gaze on the iridescent colour of your irises.

"i've always seen you as someone way more than a mere childhood friend, y'know? and no matter what you say or do, i can never and will never stop seeing you the same way. i love you that much, short- oh! sorry, i'm not supposed to call you that, am i?."

a beat passes, then another, and another.

your response comes out as a garbled mess of letters and tears. "you're the worst person ever, 'toru. i hate you."

and with that and not another glance wasted anywhere, you whirl on your feet and dash back to the school.

leaving behind the echo of your words ringing in gojo's ears, louder than the thunder of the lightning crashing on a tree a little away.

|6/6| this isn't really a way. if you're at this step, just fuckin' stop and retreat. your crush won't ever notice you – you sad, pathetic loser.

"is that what you really think?"

gojo wonders if a momentous occasion as the one now deserves one brawl thrown into it or not. it won't be anything much; just dumping a bowl of soup down suguru's shirt and/or landing a pretty solid kick to his stomach and/or-

"careful, senpai or you might've to go home, bloody and beaten," the most monotone voice ever possible crashes into his thoughts in the worst possible way. a snicker, far too familiar, joins in. "yeah, nanami's right. besides, we haven't even clicked a pic yet. you wouldn't want to wear a black eye in it, would you?"

clinking his glass with shoko's, the white-haired watches suguru gulp down a shot of tequila, then give a mighty firm shake of his head. "no, of-fucking-course not. today is our dearest kouhai's important day; i don't wanna get involved in any drama now; though..." trailing off, the black-haired boy shoots gojo an awfully obvious side-glance before a look shared with the others.

the boy lets his eyes wander away from them. an abominably sharp acrylic nail pokes him in the cheek. gojo exhales a sigh, so exhausted.

were it just a day, the boy's certain to the hell and back, that he would have whipped up a snarky insult to the stink-eye aimed his way. the boy would have slapped his drunk classmate's hand away, calling her sense of fashion the worst names possible.

gojo, however, decides to resort to neither today. he decides to settle for a sigh - the second in the last minute, longer and wearier than the one before - and rests his face into the hollow of his palms, screwing eyes shut.

an exasperated grumble - or two, maybe - permeates the air.

"gojo senpai," the words ring out in a tone far too soft and worried. he muses he doesn't need to look to see the sympathetic frown haibara must be wearing, nor the varying degrees of pity and concern etched into the others' features. a warm hand squeezes his shoulder slightly.

haibara continues, "geto senpai is not entirely wrong, y'know? yes, of course, implying you might kick up drama is sorta wrong, i admit so. but otherwise... you could've tried to, i don't know, somehow find out the reason behind her sudden distance from you?"

opening his eyes, gojo twists to face his kouhai, ready to interrupt him, but stops at the earnestness in his gaze. "turning into a recluse or moping around isn't gonna solve anything, senpai. it's been more than a month since then and from what little i've seen, i can say it's eating the both of you alive. you, way more than her. so, go, speak with her," he urges him with a smile, "the others are not very well at showing their emotions but trust me when i say, we all are worried for you both, senpai."

the white-haired boy drags his gaze away from the speaker. suguru gives him a smile, shoko pokes him in the cheek again, nanami offers a fleeting impression of something smiley before looking away with a grimace.

gojo's eyes flit back to the encouraging boy before.

"okay," the upperclassman relents with a sigh, which instantly grows into a frown the moment every piece clicks into place in his mind and the goggles-wearing boy swears his heart skips a beat, "but what did you say about seeing shortie and know-"

stopping in the middle of the question, the boy stiffens.

three glasses shatter on impact with the floor, freed from the waiter's grasp, soon followed by two maids screeching your name in the most terror-struck voice ever manageable. gojo's six eyes provide him with enough details as always; albeit it seems miles from enough now, the way it always is in your case, further deepening the sorcerer's need to physically see you once; to soak in the brilliance of your gaze and the sweetness of the curve of your lips once.

who knows if he'll ever see you again from as close as- okay, no, wait-

"did you just run all the way here-"

"i love you."

"-in your heels?"

everything falls silent the moment the last word leaves gojo's lips and a shuddered breath escapes him into the bittersweet fragrance of the citrus perfume he remembers you using. in a lilac dress with a messy hairstyle and diamond studs, the youngest and newest leader of your clan stands before him, cheeks stretched in a wide grin.

whirling his seat round completely, the boy gives you one long look, only to earn a hauntingly soft look in return.

you smile.

"i know you might see me as the most inconsistent, lying, crazy bitch at best or as the most opportunistic bitch ever, trying to seduce you, for lack of a better term, to satisfy her craving for power, at worst; but no matter how you see me, how others see me, how i see myself - i'm in love with you, that's one thing which won't change no matter what."

you pause.

and as he watches you catch your breath after that long as hell sentence para, the first realisation which crashes on gojo's otherwise numb brain is: you too haven't changed.

not. one. bit.

from the way you stick to your minimal makeup look; to the way you speak sans any break and curse yourself as you confess to something (you think you did) wrong; to the way your gaze remains fixed on him, acutely trained on even the mildest twitch of his facial muscles... one whole month has passed since that stormy evening yet you're still the same you.

a little sweet. a little sour. a whole lot perfect-

who loves him-

you. love. him. too.

for the first time in an apparent eternity, gojo feels his lips lift in a free smile. although the chuckle leaving him sounds laden with moisture and emotions.

"i'll die before calling you a seductress, shortie," the boy says, "you're way too dumb and naive for that." your eyes move to the girl drinking beside him for a second, before settling back on him, a light sheen in them. smile widening yet growing a tender quality, he goes on to say, "and i know you aren't a liar; but regarding the inconsistent claim... i think an explanation's long overdue, isn't it?"

you huff a mild chuckle. stuffing your hands into your dress pockets, your senpai watches you draw in a long breath before letting it out in a whoosh, a tiny smile nestling in the corner of your lips. you begin.

"you know, right, my eldest brother was the clan leader before me? y'know, after my father just decided, one fine day, he's growing old and so he wants to retire somewhere peaceful now, with my mom, leaving me in the care of takeshi nii-chan and his wife?"

four pairs of eyes switch to him in silent query. ignoring them, gojo nods. it isn't everyday you speak so openly of your family, especially this topic concerning them.

considering how painful and sore it is for you.

how big of an escapist your father is.

how big of an asshole your brother is.

how utterly difficult it is for you to navigate in this household daily.

your sigh interrupting his thoughts, he hears you continue, "well, all was going well until it was not; and i decided i'd already spent too much time being a spectator to my life and future keeping getting kicked around like a fucking soccer ball."

few gasps sound in the vicinity, undoubtedly at you cussing. nanami's smooth voice cuts in through their shocked surprise, and through the bubble, gojo was under the impression, he and you had slipped into.

judging from the tiny start you give, the white-haired boy surmises you too must have felt the same.

your classmate's solemn voice sounds in the hush, though traces of a hesitation can still be found in it when he asks, "they... didn't arrange a wedding for you in the month you were here... did they?"

"they did," you're quick to answer, voice growing a steely quality, "the higher-ups and my brother decided to get me engaged to-"

"to whom?"

gojo's lips quirk up at the way you roll your eyes at suguru's impatient question, then look at him, a tired smile creeping onto your features. but, hey! is that a tinge of shyness on your face that the boy can see?

you point your chin at him. "to 'toru, who else?"

the second (or maybe, the third) bout of silence would have followed this statement of yours too - if not for the cackling girl beside gojo. the latter makes no effort to conceal his irritation, shooting the most vicious glare ever; shoko simply raises her glass, as if in a toast, then tosses you a smirk.

"you love him, still you don't wanna get hitched with him? not very clever of you, yeah?"

"yeah," haibara chips in, albeit much less teasing and more a worried timbre than shoko, the shades-wearing boy deems. the other student continues, brows creasing together, "plus, i doubt gojo senpai saying no to the proposal. so, why didn't you go ahead with it?"

your head tilts to one side. your lips twitch in a knowing fashion.

"you just said the reasons yourself, yu-kun."

years later, if someone asks gojo when's the time he realised he's in love with you, too deep and too far gone to ever consider anyone but you by his side, as his other and undoubtedly better half, the sorcerer will grin the goofiest grin ever and sigh the dreamiest sigh ever, and say, "every day."

which is the truth, really-

yet, from those 'every day'-s, there exist few such days, whom the six-eyes user's brain subconsciously frames in a golden frame and places on a dust-free pedestal.

for instance, today.

a day your senpai dreaded to begin by leaving the comfort of his bed, knowing the person whose ascension to the metaphorical throne he has been invited to witness today, blood chilling and condensing into tears on his lashes as memories from long ago and not-so-long-ago hurtle into his brain.

only to morph, by evening, into the day the boy realises: love isn't just what made him switch his infinity off and pull you under him, a shield to protect you from the crumbling roof, forgetting everything except your safety and life; but love is also what made you push him and the emotions within yourself away.

forgetting everything - the boy knows from knowing you these many years - except your very evident aim of shielding him from the vicious schemes of those responsible for this damned jujutsu hierarchy.

no matter how easy and rewarding the other path would've been for you.

no matter how difficult and painful this current path must've been for you.

just 'cause you love him.

just 'cause you know, at the end of it all, he's going to be safe, away from the manipulating hands of the higher-ups - away from even the slimmest chance of experiencing a shred of the ordeals you suffered as a child, losing your free will and living as a mere puppet, subject to those old geezers' whims and fancies.

the two of you are not-too-near to the threshold of adulthood; still, through those unsure lenses of transition between immaturity and maturity, gojo feels sure this very moment that his eyes are viewing now - of watching his feelings being reciprocated not only in words (which, he knows, are true; your body language is as familiar to him as the back of his hand) but also in actions - so pure, so selfless, so utterly... loving-

the boy reckons his six eyes have never landed on a sight so ethereal and just so good, that it makes his heart want to burst right out of his chest.

drinking in the way you're regarding him, fingers fidgeting and teeth gnawing on your lower lip, gojo cracks a smile.

your restlessness abates a little.

"you became the clan leader just to make sure this story remains ours and only ours, didn't you?"

you take a moment before answering with a big nod.

"yeah," you say, "but that doesn't mean you need to be grateful to me or anything of the sort. you can give me any answer you want to give. you can also give me no answer, now or ever, if that's what you really want to do. just know that i love you, and that your answer can never really put a dent in it, no matter what it is."

"no matter what it is?" your senpai echoes your words back to you. a small nod is what you send in reply; yet it seems to be more than the quantity of oil required to set the cogs of gojo's brain whirring to life and mischief. eyes narrowing, he asks, "not even if my response is an 'i love you too, shortie', hm?"

the clock in the room ticks thrice.

two known voices mutter curses behind him.

five maids of yours scurry out the door, whispering excitedly.

you narrow your eyes back at him.

"i asked you to not feel pressured, didn't i? tell me what you want to say, 'toru," you say; his name in your mouth sounds sweeter than the sweetest mochi the boy's ever tasted, "and not those stuff you think i want to hear you say."

your statement draws an amused chortle from gojo. "did you really forget what i told you last that day, shortie? or did you not again not understand what i was telling you then?"

"what's there to not understand in that!?" your indignant reply arrives without missing a beat, "you said you've always seen me as way more than a childhood friend: true 'cause we're best friends. then- oh yeah," with a click of your fingers, you add, face steeped in contemplation, "you also said- oh."

"yep, oh," gojo nods his head in an exaggerated fashion, revelling in the way you're looking at him right now, eyes round as saucers and cheeks ruddy as the expensive wine being served now.

you still seem so beautiful to him.

it takes a pinch more than a while before you breathe out a breathless giggle. straightening in his seat, gojo feels his cheeks hurt a bit from the wide smile digging indents into them.

"you really lo-"

"ma'am, the guests for the evening party will be here very soon. you should get ready now," one of your maids interrupts you. the sorcerer feels his smile shrivel a little. you're barely back with him; yet you'll be stolen away from him-

"aw, is it so?" your entertained query cuts in through his thoughts. the boy looks up from his shoes his gaze had moved to before, to you, an awfully fake apologetic smile lighting up your face.

gods, why do you look so fucking kissable when you're like this?

"you know what, the people invited aren't really the kind i want to talk to and ruin my mood. besides, i've already met 'my' guests, so..." the boy watches you inch closer to him slowly as you trail off; your maid's eyes narrow before widening. you grin. "toodles, mrs. matsui!"

that and the salute you throw at everyone in the room are the last two memories clear in gojo's mind, before everything turns into a mush of everything yet nothing in the end.

well, barring a few exceptions, of course.

your contagious chortles, for instance, while you both dash down the hallways of your mansion; or your delighted gasp when he wraps his arms round you and warps to that patisserie in nikko; or your million-watt-bright beam to him, as you slap the latter's sneaky hands away from stealing a bite from your plate, whilst the latter declares this to be where you two will celebrate the future milestones; or the-

"ieiri senpai was right, y'know?" your tired voice cuts in through your senpai's rather-muddled recollections. the latter tears his gaze away from the inky-black night sky dotted by the twinkling lights of tokyo, to your drowsy form resting her head on his chest, his one arm tight around your shoulders, while the other rests behind his head on the cold hood of the car.

moving to brush the strands of hair away from your forehead, the boy presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, earning a sweet kiss to his chin in return, and hums, "not really the person i wanna chat about right now with my girlfriend..." you suddenly twist your body towards him, throwing an arm over his stomach and nuzzling into his neck; making a mental note to address you as that more often, he sighs. "but carry on, i guess. you won't be you if you can't gush about that damn shoko every third sentence or something."

planting your lips to his jaw for a mere second, gojo watches you pull away an inch from him, grinning. "senpai said you'll be the first one to confess but i'll be the one who makes things official and public and all that shit," you explain, then gasp, grin turning wider.

"oh my god," you mutter, "geto senpai and iori senpai are gonna lose so much money to her. them two never thought you could ever say 'i love you' to me, did you know that? oh my god... i kind of feel bad for those two."

the gleeful expression you're wearing tells your boyfriend otherwise - choosing to ignore it, he throws you a smirk. "well, i don't. those two people shouldn't have doubted me. i'm the one and only gojo satoru," he proclaims, puffing his chest out a bit, "of course, I'll be successful in my mission of getting you to notice my love for you."

"nah, i don't think so," you shake your head the very next instant. lips into the most adoring curve he's ever seen on you - something which steals his retort away from him and makes him want to pinch his arm hard, to see if he's dreaming or not - you hum.

"you could confess your love to me, not 'cause you're gojo satoru. but because you're my 'toru and i'm your shortie... isn't it so?"

gojo thinks back to the time utilised in carefully drafting and finalizing the steps via which he can catch your eye, only to watch them not go the way planned.

gojo looks back to you, only to find your eyes trained on him, glitters of love in them unbelievably similar to those loud crackers bursting in his chest right now.

the young sorcerer runs a reverent finger down the side of your face.

"yeah, it is because you're my shortie and i'm your 'toru, sweetness," he whispers, "and we'll always stay this way, yeah?"

you reply by engraving the shape of your smile into his.

AND MY MAGNUM OPUS IS OVER, BESTIES!!! 🥳🥳😊

tysm once again for always showing me sm love and support, y'all 🥹🥹🥹 i cherish each and every one of u so so SO MUCH - plesae keep supporting me and my works the same way in the future too, my loves 🥹🥹❤️

masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

Note

hello!!! i saw your that your requests were open so i was wondering if you were able to write a hurt/comfort zoro x reader story about how the reader gets injured from a fight, but they don’t wanna be a burden so they hide it until they collapse on deck :)))

tell me that we’ll be just fine (opla!zoro x you)

wc: 1.74k

cw/tags: hurt/comfort with happy sappy ending, swearing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking and alcohol, zoro just loves you and you worry the shit out of him

note: yassss i love hurt/comfort injury prompts (it's the innate desire to just be carried and be vulnerable and have someone care in my weakest hour and and and and) hope you like this, thank you for your request !!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“Guys, I am about to get so wasted.”

“We still have that good shit from Baratie, yeah?”

“Hiding in the back of the cellar, baby!” A loud smack rings out into the harbor as Usopp and Sanji’s hands clap together, deliriously excited after winning a scrimmage with a rival crew. Their proud vocalizations are added to by their captain and devolve into giddy skipping down the remainder of the dock as you make your way back to the ship. Zoro walks just ahead of you, glancing back every so often like he was worried you would collapse. You were planning to, but not now. Just get to the ship. Get to the ship and we’ll be fine.

“I vote Zoro for vomit duty tomorrow morning,” Nami mutters next to you, nudging your arm with her elbow. It’s a light touch but it feels like the world tilts sharply and you pray she can’t see the panic in your eyes when you try to remain upright. Despite her best efforts to remain mature and indifferent, her eyes were sparkling with self-assurance that you only saw from her when she felt a mission went well. She carries the folder of coveted Marine intelligence under one arm, her other hand holds up a bag of goodies you’d snatched from the base that would make good money down the line. “Plus, it gives us some time to take our share of this stuff. Nice finds, by the way. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply, relief flooding you when she turns back to watch her idiot crewmates and not further inspect the limp in your step. Zoro’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder and you give him a strained smile, well aware that you probably looked like you’d crawled out of hell. When he turns away again, you exhale with great difficulty, fighting off another wave of nausea that threatens to send you stumbling into the water. It’s just a flesh wound, you figure. No need to halt their celebration just because you got a silly cut. “What’s your first pick out of the bag?”

“There’s a pretty little jeweled chalice I was looking at,” she says casually. The waning afternoon sun makes her hair look like a fire, bright and warm. “We could scrape off the rubies and pawn them at the next island.”

“Or, you could drink water from it and look like a pompous asshole.” Just keep it casual. Be normal. The pulse in your ears becomes slightly faster when you notice the foggy spots in your vision. “Freeze some of the diamonds from that candlestick and use them as ice cubes.”

“Very true,” she laughs and you force out a chuckle to mirror her, wincing at the aching pain in your side. Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls into a frown. Your attempts to seem fine were starting to fall through. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been walking a little slower than usual.”

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got punched in the gut a little harder than I anticipated,” you lie straight through your teeth, well aware that it wasn’t just a fist that had you losing enough blood to fill the galley sink. To be fair, the guy’s second blade appeared out of nowhere. You were outnumbered five to one but still held your own; only when there was a single fighter left did he resort to cutthroat tricks. One minute, you’re parrying with ease; the next, a small dagger pops out from the fighter’s left sleeve, cutting a deep wound into your side before you can block it with the saber in your right hand. It was a dirty move and you mentally kicked yourself for not anticipating foul play much sooner. To make matters worse, you were only able to staunch the blood so much before Zoro found you in the courtyard. Though you sufficiently covered your injury, he was still eyeing you like he knew that something was off. Like clockwork, every minute he was checking on you. It was wordless, but you still knew he was inspecting you, waiting for you to reveal that something happened and that you needed help.

That moment came the instant your boots met the wood of the deck.

In seconds, your vision violently careens to the right and you’re conscious just enough to expect the thud of your head against the floor. But, the crash never comes. When you fall, your mind registers another body that you fall into, strong and stable. One arm slips effortlessly under your exhausted legs, lifting you from the ground while the other supports your upper back. Your eyes blur the image of your panicked crew like an oil painting, smearing it every which way until the colors are bleeding together more uncontrollably than the blood dripping from your side. Everything sounds like you’re drowning, rising above the water for a moment only to be pulled back down into murky disorientation.

“Idiot,” a low voice says. It’s wrought with worry, even though you can tell they’re trying not to hide it. It’s clear enough that you know it’s coming from whoever is holding you. “Why the hell did you wait?” You’re barely able to distinguish far-off shouting from Sanji, ordering Luffy and Usopp to grab his knives. But, if all three of them were over there and Nami was throwing open cabinets looking for the med kit, that means the person holding you was… “Fuck. I knew something was wrong.” You have half the mind to articulate a weak response, but it comes out as nothing more than a groan when you’re placed onto what feels like the galley counter. The pounding in your forehead starts to become airy, like when you’re walking down the sidewalk after a night of drinking until you were on the verge of passing out. Zoro doesn’t let you go, though. His calloused fingers gently brush the dirt from your face, quietly pleading for you to stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just stay with me.”

“They’re losing a lot of blood and I can’t find the damn med kit.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Above deck, having a collective panic attack.” Nami’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away.

“Figures.” Zoro’s, on the other hand, is the only thing keeping you rooted and stopping you from drifting off. It’s sharp and strained, nothing like you’d ever heard from him before. Sanji’s lanky steps enter the kitchen and you hear the zip of his knife bag somewhere close to your ear.

“This is bad; I need to stop that bleeding or they might–” Zoro’s grip on your hand is tight, physically holding you down to reality. Whether you laced your fingers in his or the other way around, you didn’t remember.

“Well, let’s fucking do something about it then, waiter,” is the last thing you hear before darkness wipes your vision.

Your eyes blink open after what feels like seconds, but the starry sky outside the window tells you it had been hours. It takes a moment for the details to come back to you, as does the soreness where they must have patched up your wound. The hard stone of the counter has been replaced by your bed and the comforting sway of the ship tells you Luffy ordered the ship to depart. It’s healing, in a way, the rocking back and forth motion of the ship that reminds you how close you were to slipping away. After a minute, you muster up enough energy to look at the rest of your room and you can’t help smiling when you see Zoro sitting at your bedside, tensely sleeping with the Wado Ichimonji laid across his lap. His eyes fly open when you whisper his name, delicately setting his blade on the floor before crouching at your side.

“You’re okay,” he breathes and it sounds more like a reassurance for himself than for you.

“I’m okay,” you confirm just as softly, threading your fingers between his and squeezing lightly. He squeezes back, looking at you like you painted the constellations outside your window. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Sanji and Nami fixed you up, about six hours ago.”

“You’ve been sitting there for six hours?”

“I would have sat longer. I’d wait for you, no matter how long you slept,” he says and it sounds like a vow. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you apologize weakly, giving him as much of a shy smile as you could. He rolls his eyes in exasperation but can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking too. “I didn’t want to bother you all while you were celebrating.”

“You really think I’m going to give alcohol priority over you?”

“Depends on the alcohol,” you point out and he shakes his head at your teasing. Your hand fits in his like a puzzle piece and you’re struck by the overwhelming feeling of safety you have whenever Zoro’s around. “But, really. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

His eyes darted to the side like you’d said something that embarrassed him. The only thing he could think to do in that moment was bring your hand to his lips and press the lightest kiss to it. A promise that he’d always take care of you. He never was the best with words, you realized in your friendship-borderline-relationship with him. The things you said tended to short-circuit his brain and it was fascinating to watch him try and think of a coherent response. In times like these, however, when he’s simply unable to find the words for how much he feels for you, his actions are infinitely louder.

“You should go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Do you need anything before you rest? Water or blankets or something?”

“No, just you. If you got in here with me, I wouldn’t mind,” you suggest nonchalantly and you giggle when his face becomes pinker. He obliges, though, slipping into the covers with you and carefully pulling you into him until you’re pressed against his chest like your own personal heater. His breathing is slow and steady, but you swear you can hear his heartbeat racing. “You’re the only one I’ll ever need, I think.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Just don’t do stupid shit like get stabbed again.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x reader #opla!zoro x y/n #ask iris!

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unexpectedtechnicality · 10 months ago

Text

4 Times Cody Felt Obi-wan Use the Force, and 1 Time it Was Someone Else

This is the first time I’ve published a fic! But I got very excited for Cody day and quickly finished up this little wip I had going.

Rating: T to be safe, Cody gets pretty injured at one point, but nothing is very graphic.

Light Codywan, about 4,900 words.

I’m very new to this, please let me know if there’s anything I should be tagging!

Rex, Cody decided, was a liar. Rex had fought on Geonosis. He claimed the jedi were astonishing warriors, brilliant strategists, excellent all around.

Well, maybe the problem wasn’t Rex’s integrity. After all, he hadn’t met his general until after the Battle of Geonosis. And he had never met Cody’s for that matter.

Not that High General Kenobi wasn’t an astonishing warrior, brilliant strategist, or seemingly excellent all around kind of guy. Just…Skywalker had gotten it somewhere, and “somewhere” was starting to sound a lot like “Kenobi.”

The original plan had been solid. Cody honestly couldn't have improved upon it. The problem had come when the charges went off early, cutting off their narrow rock bridge back to the Negotiator and stranding Cody and the general on the other side.

Technically that wasn’t the general’s fault. But if they had left a few minutes earlier…

“I’ve got an idea.”

Cody’s musing was interrupted by the general, who was staring off the edge of the cliff into the mist.

“Sir?”

“The canyon leads back around to the rendezvous point, it’s just a few kliks further.”

Cody stared at him. He couldn't really mean–

The general looked up serenely. “We’ll have to jump.”

Cody peered down into the mist. The ground was not visible. “Sir, we have no idea how far down it is.”

“It’s perfectly alright Commander. Just a slight detour.”

Sensible, Rex had said. They’re good leaders, they think things through. Cody was never listening to a word his brother said again.

Blaster fire sounded somewhere behind them. Kenobi smiled. “Now or never, Commander. I’ll go first, wait about 10 seconds and then jump.”

Before Cody could protest, he was gone. Kriff. His general had just committed suicide rather than be taken by the enemy and expected Cody to follow. This couldn’t be what the Kaminoans meant when they said good soldiers followed orders. What the kriff!

“Jump, Commander!” The general’s voice floated up from below, almost like it was too far to be heard properly. Had he even heard it at all?

A full platoon of droids appeared behind him. Cody glanced at them, weighed his options, cursed his short existence, his general, and Rex for good measure, then jumped.

He plummeted through the mist, tense, waiting for the crunch of his bones against the rocky floor. But before he could reach the bottom, the air seemed to condense around him. It was as though time slowed down. The mist thickened, and it nearly felt like he fell softly into a net, like he was still in drop training. Something felt familiar about it. Like someone he knew, or–

The mist cleared and there, a few feet below him was General Kenobi, hand outstretched and brow furrowed in concentration. Gently, he lowered Cody until his feet were on the ground, and the strange feeling surrounding him dissipated.

Kenobi grinned. “See? Perfectly fine.”

Cody could only nod vaguely, slightly stunned. “Yes….ah, sir.”

“Now come on, we don’t want to keep our men waiting, do we?”

Cody smiled, and despite his bucket still being on his head, it felt like Kenobi knew. “No, sir.”

Cody jolted awake, his comm blaring. It was his off shift, and they were slow traveling through neutral space. What could have possibly happened in the few short hours he had to sleep? He scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced to his left, where his chest plate was floating next to the lumpy pillow from—

Hang on.

Suddenly very awake, Cody surveyed the room to discover that something had happened to the artificial gravity on the ship and he was now floating in the middle of his quarters surrounded by his own armor and meager belongings.

Just great.

I’m assigning every man in maintenance to latrines for a month if this is someone’s idea of a practical joke.

Cody located his comm, floating a few meters away near the door. Angling himself that way, he kicked his feet and swam the best he could with his arms. After a few minutes, he managed to grab it and stop the infernal beeping.

“Go for Cody,” he snapped.

“Ah! Commander, sorry to wake you. We have a bit of a…situation.”

“You don’t say.”

He could practically hear the smile in Kenobi’s voice. “Yes, well, if you could meet me on the bridge?”

Cody rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Putting on his armor proved to be quite a challenge when all of it was floating in a different corner of the room. Cody ended up kicking off every wall, and the ceiling several times just to get kitted up. It took far longer than normal. Every time he wasn’t intentionally moving, he was drifting.

Slapping the control for the door while speeding at it was probably not the best strategy, but luckily it opened before he could slam into it. Then Cody began the arduous task of propelling himself to the bridge. Eventually he settled into a bit of a rhythm: kick off a doorway or wall, attempt to “swim” the right direction, then give up and desperately flap about until the destination was reached. Rinse and repeat.

The way to the bridge passed the mess hall, as well as several busy corridors. He passed brothers who seemed to be moving with ease through the space, tumbling slowly through the air, gliding from one doorway to the next. He passed Waxer and Boil as he flailed his way past the mess, both of whom took one look at him and burst out laughing.

KP for a week shut them up quickly enough.

When the bridge was finally in sight, Cody had just about had enough. The door slid open to admit him, presenting one of the strangest things he had ever seen.

The bridge was the picture of order. Officers floated near their work stations, calmly anchoring themselves with one hand or foot tucked into a chair or railing. As he watched, an engineer pushed off the central holo table and soared gracefully to the hyperdrive console, inputting numbers from above with ease.

At the center of it all, floating upside down with his robes billowing around him like a flower, was General Kenobi. When he saw Cody, gripping the doorway for dear life and gaping beneath his helmet, Kenobi smiled and lifted a hand, beginning to slowly turn himself upright to his usual spot on the walkway.

Cody gave himself a little shove, aimed for his typical spot next to the general, and crossed his fingers.

“Good to have you, Commander. As you can see, we got into a minor skirmish with a passing neutral envoy. We came to a temporary truce, but I’m still in discussion with them to see if they will continue to attempt to blow us out of the sky. One of their shots knocked out our artificial gravity.”

Cody was struggling to keep himself near the general. His initial push had gotten him nearly where he wanted to be, but he was drifting forward. He tucked in slightly, trying to roll himself back.

“I would like your opinion on a plan of attack should it be necessary. Over half the battalion is on rest right now, and I’d hate to rouse them.”

His roll had failed. Now Cody was drifting upwards to Kenobi’s right, slowly turning away from him. Letting out a frustrated groan, Cody attempted to twist himself back to rights.

“One option would be to— Cody?”

“Sorry, sir. Give me a minute.” He renewed his twisting efforts with more vigor. How was Kenobi staying in one place when— oh. The kriffing force. “General, uh. Would you mind—?”

“Oh! My apologies Cody. Yes, one moment.”

A light, warm pressure materialized at his right hip, then his left, and he began to turn to face the general and drift down to stand next to him. It was almost as if someone had put their hand– no, not someone. Kenobi. It was most definitely Kenobi’s hands resting comfortably at Cody’s waist, and now anchoring him to the floor. He turned to look at the general, and found his face much closer than expected, eyes seeming to bore right through his visor.

Cody felt his face heat under his bucket. “Uh. Yes. Thank you, sir.”

The general cleared his throat. Was it Cody’s imagination, or was he blushing too? “Of course, commander. Can’t have you floating away, now, can we?”

Force-Kenobi’s hands stayed comfortably at Cody’s sides the rest of the battle, and Cody…found he didn’t really mind.

His ears were ringing. Cody blinked, trying to clear his vision. What—?

There was a blast somewhere to his right. Instinctively, he tried to curl up to protect his head. Fire erupted across his left side, shoulder to knee, ripping a ragged scream from his throat. He flopped back onto his back, gasping for air. He must have been hit by a blast earlier. No way to tell how long ago.

“There!”

A med speeder pulled up next to him, and Neat, one of their junior medics hopped off.

“Don’t worry commander, we’ve got you.”

Last I remember Obi– the general was by me. The thought sent adrenaline spiking through his veins, pain forgotten.

“Neat.”

“Sir?”

“The…the general, he–”

“He’s safe, sir, please don’t move.”

Neat began running a scanner down his side, but Cody needed visual confirmation on Obi-wan. Obi-wan. He had asked him to call him Obi-wan, alone in his quarters, just a week earlier. If something had happened to him before Cody could figure out—

“Cody!”

Obi-wan came skidding to a halt next to their little party and dropped to his knees beside Cody. “There you are,” he panted. “Neat?”

Neat scowled. “He won’t lie still,” he griped, as Cody pushed up on his elbows to check if Obi-wan was hurt. “Sir, please—“

Finishing his once-over of Obi-wan (a few scratches and bruises but otherwise unharmed, unfairly he seemed to be glowing slightly in the setting sun), Cody finally let himself relax. “Sorry, Neat. Go ahead.”

As Neat did his scan, Obi-wan sent him a slightly reproachful look. “You took the brunt of the blast, Commander, not me. I’m perfectly fine.” He glanced at Cody’s side, brow furrowing.

The pain was starting to creep back, like several hot pokers lined up against his side. Cody leaned his head back against the ground. “Had to be sure. Couldn’t remember.”

Obi-wan frowned, looking even more worried, and the scanner beeped to indicate a finished report.

Neat swore. “There’s a lot of shrapnel in his side. He’s loosing a lot of blood. I need to remove what I can to staunch the bleeding now and then get him back to base to get the rest out. Possibly put him in bacta.”

Cody was starting to get worried. He tried to look down at the wound, but Obi-wan stopped him with a gentle hand under his chin. “It’ll be fine, Cody.”

Cody. They’d agreed no first names during battle (though Cody wasn’t counting the sanctity of his own mind, the one thing that was truly his own), if Obi-wan was calling him Cody, it was bad.

“General, I’m going to start operating, I might need you to help hold him down.”

Obi-wan shifted, taking Cody’s right hand in his own and holding tight. “Ready.”

Cody braced himself, but when Neat first started prodding at his knee he couldn’t hold back the grunt, gripping Obi-wan’s hand and twitching away from the pain. Neat waiting half a second, then started back in. Every touch felt like a brand, or like the time he had picked up the wrong end of a smoking blaster as a cadet. There were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Obi-was rested his arm across Cody’s chest to keep him still.

Neat continued his field surgery. “This one’s in deeper. Take a breath, commander.”

Cody tried to do as he was told, but it was like a lance shot through his thigh. He bucked against Obi-wan’s hold, and Neat swore again as everything was jostled.

“General,” Neat pleaded.

“One moment.” Obi-wan shifted, moving so Cody’s head was resting on his knees. “I’m going to try something different. Cody?”

Cody nodded, hissing through his teeth, trying to ride out the pain. He watched above him as Obi-wan closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath.

The strange sensation of the air solidifying around him that Cody was beginning to recognize as the force surrounded him. A warm feeling, like a heavy, plush blanket pressed down around him. Experimentally, he tried to shift his right leg, and found that aside from breathing, he couldn’t move at all.

It’s should have alarmed him. But the soft, warm feeling wasn’t suffocating…it was comforting. It felt familiar, like the net had, and the hands when the artificial gravity had been broken. Like he was wrapped in a blanket of Obi-wan, or his presence, or something. He vaguely registered Obi-wan telling Neat to continue. Obi-wan rested one hand on the side of Cody’s head, cradling his face, the other supporting the back of his head, and Cody let himself relax into the touch.

The pain was still there, in his leg, now moving up toward his hip, but it seemed…muted. He blinked up at Obi-wan, the picture of serenity.

Alright?

If he could have, Cody would have jumped at Obi-wan’s voice in his head. But it just seemed…natural.

Yes, he thought.

Sorry, I should have asked if this was okay. I was worried.

It’s okay. It’s…nice, actually.

Neat had reached his side now, the familiar cool feeling of bacta covering his thigh. One tug made Cody flinch, and the force-blanket pressed down a little tighter, like he was wrapped up in a bedroll.

The warm, safe feeling was still present all over, but it was starting to condense in one spot, right at the base of his skull, under Obi-wan’s finger. A little bright spot, almost like someone had turned on a light in his brain somehow. It felt right though, especially in his slightly woozy state, so Cody didn’t question it.

Obi-wan and Neat were talking above him, but Cody couldn’t quite make out the words. That was alright, he thought. They would take care of him. Obi-wan said something that almost looked like “sleep.”

A nap didn’t really sound bad. Maybe he’d just shut his eyes for a few minutes. Obi-wan smiled down at him.

I’ll be there when you wake up.

And he was. Everything back to normal. The blanket-feeling was gone. But if Cody really concentrated, he could still feel that little spark in the base of his skull. The little spark that felt like Obi-wan.

At this point, Cody wasn’t even surprised when he and Obi-wan were separated from the rest of the men during the battle. This time, it had been a strange feeling in the force that Obi-wan had insisted on following, leading them through a strange cave system in the middle of the gigantic jungle that may have once been a temple of some kind. It had allowed them to sneak behind enemy lines and take out the tactical droid, allowing the 212th to finish the battle with relative ease, however, the feeling had also gone away quickly after, and Cody was beginning to think Obi-wan did not, as he claimed, remember the way back.

“The left tunnel. I’m sure of it.”

“Are you sure we haven’t been this way before, sir?”

“I thought we agreed on first names when we were alone, Cody.” Obi-wan set off down the left tunnel.

Cody snorted, but followed him, helmet clacking against his thigh plate where it was clipped at his hip. “We did. However we are technically on duty, and you’re being a stubborn bantha. Sir.”

Obi-wan turned with an expression of mock outrage. “Me? Stubborn? My dear commander, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have you no faith in me?”

He gestured in front of them, and sure enough, there was finally light at the end of the tunnel. Cody just shook his head, smiling.

They emerged into the massive, muggy jungle and Cody immediately booted up his comm and nav, which hadn’t been working in the caverns anyway. The map of the surface he had downloaded popped up, with the little orange beacon marking their base. Several kliks away.

“I thought we entered the caves just a klik from camp?”

Obi-wan frowned. “We did. Where are we now?”

Cody lifted his arm to show him. “You’re sure you didn’t get turned around in there?”

“Of course not, clearly the caves changed,” Obi-wan said primly. “Well, I suppose we could go back in.”

“Absolutely not. We are staying out here and following the route back. It’s the same distance, just with sunlight.”

They walked in companionable silence through the giant trees for a while, stopping every so often to check the map. They must have passed at least a dozen trees with trunks so wide Cody couldn’t see the other side before he broke the silence.

“Obi-wan, can I ask you something?” The other man nodded. “A little while back, when I was injured and you…helped Neat operate, I think something else might have happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“While you were…talking in my head, it started to feel like there was…a spot. A light? A little patch of warmth, right at the base of my skull. And afterwards, when I was out of bacta, it was still there. It is still there. At first I thought maybe it was something medical, but Neat scanned me again and said everything was normal. The more I thought about it, the more I tried to…interact with it, I guess, the more I realized…it feel like you. Like you inside my head somehow.”

Obi-wan looked pensive. “Fascinating.”

“Do you know what it is? It doesn’t feel harmful.”

They waded through a small stream, and Obi-wan offered Cody his hand to pull him up onto the far bank.

“In the Jedi Order, master and padawan pairs typically form a force bond. A link that lets them communicate directly with each other, often feel what the other is feeling, form a deeper relationship with that person. Usually, it’s only possible for someone force sensitive to form bonds.”

Cody pushed a branch out of their way as they climbed over some roots. He could see where this was going. “But clones aren’t force sensitive, so…that’s not what this is.”

Obi-wan hummed. “I’ve heard of a few rare exceptions. The force is in all things, Cody.”

After a few minutes, Cody worked up the courage to ask. “Do you feel anything? In your head?”

“It’s difficult to tell. I do feel quite strongly about you, but I can feel you externally in the force. I also have several other bonds. Anakin and I never fully dissolved our training bond, and I have a small bond with Ashoka as well. I have a different type of bond with Quinlan, and sometimes I can still feel the remains of my bond with Qui-gon. I suspect it would be easier to tell if we communicated through the force but you and I never seem to have the need,” he said, smiling gently at Cody.

Cody smiled back, and some of the anxiety he hadn’t even realized he was feeling melted away. He glanced down at his map. “Should be just over this ridge.”

They came over the top of the hill together, and Cody had to bite back a groan of frustration. In front of them was a downed tree, one of the super massive ones with the unimaginably wide trunks. The sun was going down. They didn’t have time to go around, and the trunk was so high Cody wasn’t sure they could climb over. His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution.

“Ah,” Obi-wan said, surveying the surrounding area. “I suppose we have to guess which was is shorter. We went left before, this time maybe we go—“

“Throw me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Cody grinned. “We go straight over. I run, and jump, and you throw me. Then you leap over after. We use the force.”

Obi-wan grinned back. “I don’t always say I believe in destiny, but surely Cody, you were sent to me straight from the force. Ready?”

Cody backed up, setting his stance. He was going to aim right for the center of the span of trunk in front of them. He nodded to Obi-wan, then took off running. Once he had reached top speed, he leapt into the air, and watched the trunk fly closer to his face until—

A warm, sweet smelling breeze, like freshly brewed tea swept him up, carrying him up, up, and over the trunk. He was so high the LAAT/is at the base below him looked like small animals, surrounded by swarms of tiny ant-troopers packing up to fly back to the Negotiator. Laughing, Cody did a somersault in the air as he flew over the tree, then spread his arms like he was parachuting and let the Obi-wan-wind carry him all the way to the ground, where he tumbled into the grass, still giddy.

A moment later, Obi-wan landed, cat-like, next to him, and helped him to his feet, laughing and pushing wind-swept hair out of his eyes.

“You’re right commander, that was much more fun than going around.”

+ 1

Cody crept through the hallway, blaster pointed ahead of him. A light flashed on his HUD, Boil checking in. Waxer was due in 5 minutes, then Wooley. They’d set up a rotating check in system as they fanned out to scour the seemingly abandoned ship they’d been sent to investigate. If you asked Cody, splitting up was just asking for trouble, especially since no one was with his trouble magnet of a general. But it was the quickest way to get them out of here, so he’d acquiesced.

Something rattled behind a door as he passed. He sighed, then pressed himself up against the wall, out of sight, and keyed the door open. Nothing jumped out, so he peeked around the corner.

It was a medium sized storage bay, and he was suddenly very thankful his door was obscured by crates, as he could hear vague voices coming from somewhere else in the room. The door slid silently shut behind him as he slipped in, trying to find a vantage point to see who was there through the crates.

He found a reasonably defendable spot in the corner and considered updating his men, but when he brought up his comm system it was like there was some sort of interference. Strange. No matter, they had his last location and his next check in was in only a few minutes, so someone would come join him eventually.

Through a gap in the crates, he could just make out two figures, one in a cloak and speaking to another cloaked figure who– oh. One figure, one hologram. Strange. They’d found no sign of crew aboard this vessel. He turned up his mic, trying to make out what they were saying.

“...plan has worked perfectly. They’ve already arrived,” the hologram was saying.

“Then they will soon be dead,” the other replied, and Cody’s blood ran cold. He suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about this mission. He knew that voice.

“I will leave you to your work.” The figure standing in the cargo bay removed her hood and knelt, confirming Cody’s suspicion.

Ventress.

Kriff. He had to get out of here, or signal his men, Obi-wan. He checked the time. His check in had passed two minutes ago, they’d be getting worried now. Slightly frantic, he tapped at his comm, willing it to work. What was the point of the kriffing antenna on his shoulder if he couldn’t get through? He remembered what Wolffe had looked like when he visited him in the med center after his encounter with Ventress. He couldn’t face her alone.

The crates surrounding him suddenly blasted away, leaving him exposed in his little corner. Cody looked up to find Ventress stalking straight towards him.

“Poor little clone, where did your friends go?”

Cody leapt to his feet, blaster already primed to shoot, when a wall of pure something slammed into him, forcing him to drop his blaster and throwing him against the wall behind him. Immediately he scrambled to get up, but Ventress threw one hand out, and a freezing cold vice closed around his throat, lifting him off the ground.

He clawed at the invisible grip, but there was nothing there. He choked, straining to get a breath, but it was pointless. She dragged him through the air, until he was just a few inches from her face. Cody’s bucket floated itself off his head, flying away and clattering to the ground somewhere. The pressure on his neck eased ever so slightly, and Cody sucked in as much air as he could before it tightened again.

“Aren’t you a handsome one?” Ventress crooned, tracing one fingernail down his scar in a grotesque facsimile of how Obi-wan sometimes did when– focus, Cody. “Now. As much as I’d love to just kill you and get on with it, you know what part of the ship our dear Kenobi is on, don’t you?”

Cody tried to jerk away from the clawed fingers tracing his temples, but found the ice cold vice had spread to his entire body. He could breathe now, barely, but he couldn’t move even a single muscle. It was nothing like when Obi-wan had used the force around him before. That was…gentle, personal, it felt safe. This was anything but. Never before had Cody understood the raw power force users had at their disposal. It wanted to rip him limb from limb. Fear gnawed at his stomach. If only his comm had worked–

“Somewhere in that head of yours, we just have to find it.”

In his head. That was it! Desperately, as Ventress bared her teeth, Cody reached for the last warm spot on his being– a force bond, Obi-wan had called it. HELP, he thought, OBI–

Pain like he had never felt erupted from his temples, and he vaguely registered Ventress laughing as twin ice picks drove themselves through his skull, behind his eyes, in his brain, in whatever it was inside him that made him, him.

Cody screamed, frozen in the air, no way to escape as she tore through his mind, looking for whatever it was she wanted, Cody couldn’t remember any more. There was only the freezing, burning pain.

It could have been hours, could have been minutes, but without warning, the pain stopped, and Cody found himself flying through the air and into the far wall. Pressure like a million duracrete bricks immobilized him a few feet off the ground, limbs splayed out like a pinned bug. Blinking the haze out of his eyes, he was confronted with two blurry forms whirling around the room; red and blue lights flashing. As his vision finally cleared he could make out Ventress, locked in combat with–

Thank the stars, Obi-wan. There was a fierce expression on his face as he met Ventress blow for blow. As Cody watched, Obi-wan glanced his way for a split second, then went back to the fight with renewed vigor. Unable to do anything, Cody found his eyes drifting shut.

He woke a short time later when he tumbled to the ground in a heap, the force holding him to the wall having vanished. Obi-wan was hurrying over to him from across the room, Ventress presumably having run away. Cody groaned.

“Full evac, effective immediately. I’ll meet you back at the ship with the commander,” Obi-was was saying into his comm, several tinny “yessirs” echoing out of it.

“Cody, are you alright?”

Cody carefully felt along his throat with one hand. “Fine, I think. How–” he grimaced. His body felt like one giant bruise. He was still freezing. “How did you find me?”

Obi-was smiled wanly. “You called. I suppose it is a force bond, and does work both ways, though I can think of several other ways we could have tested it without you being in mortal peril.”

“I’ll try to remember that for next time.”

Obi-wan shook his head, reaching one hand out to the side. Cody’s bucket flew into it like it was magnetized, and Obi-wan carefully fit it back over his head, then gently pulled him to his feet. Cody half-expected Obi-wan to call on the force and simply levitate him back to their ship, but instead he hefted Cody’s over his shoulder and wrapped his own around his waist. His other hand came up to support Cody’s chest.

Cody leaned into him as they trudged back to the ship, letting Obi-wan take a fair amount of his weight.

“For the record,” he said, “I like it much better when you’re the one throwing me around with the force.”

“Careful commander,” Obi-wan teased, raising an eyebrow, “If someone hears you say that they might get the wrong idea.”

Cody glared at him, and concentrated all his effort on lifting one arm to smack him lightly in the chest. Obi-wan laughed, and Cody felt the world slide back into place around him.

“But yes, Cody, I much prefer that also.”

#Coday #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #star wars #Star Wars fanfiction #star Wars fic #fan fiction

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 years ago

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Kaz and Wylan’s potential to become each other

Wow, you guys were a lot more excited about this than I was expecting! I made a post briefly mentioning this idea and it got way more attention that I was expecting, so as promised here is my explanation and I’ve tagged people who asked for it at the end :)

*WARNING: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD*

Ok so the driving forcing of this comparison is rooted in the similarities of their characters and their backstories. Both of them lost a close family member, were abused by men with power over them, and experienced a form of ‘rebirth’ by nearly drowning in the Ketterdam canals. They also both experience disability; Kaz using a cane for a broken leg that didn’t heal correctly, and Wylan having severe dyslexia that prevented him from learning to read. A key difference that separates them, and arguably is a representation of the difference in the way their experiences have shaped their personalities as well, is that Kaz’s disability is a direct result of his chasing after vengeance, whereas Wylan’s disability was used as an excuse for his father to abuse him for what we as the reader see to be a minimum of eight years. (I’m assuming this because he is 16 in the book and was 8 when his mother ‘died’, which is the point that he describes he father to have “given up on him”)

I’m gonna quickly hop to parallels between Kaz and Pekka Rollins, bare with me I promise it’s relevant, which are quickly established as a key part of the novels. When Inej compares them, Kaz’s reply is “I don’t sell girls, I don’t con helpless kids out of their money” to which she gently responds “look at the floor of the Crow Club, Kaz”. Aside from this being the heartbreaking line that it is, it also does a very good job of highlighting their similarities and a similarity that they share with Jan Van Eck. When they meet the merch at the end of the first book they meet on an island called Vellgeluk, which is described as being popular with smugglers and slavers like those who kidnapped Inej. The other Crows are surprised Van Eck knows about Vellgeluk, but Kaz simply says “maybe he isn’t the upstanding merch he appears to be”. Great subtle foreshadowing for his double cross, and great establishment of the link between these three characters. In fact, Van Eck and Kaz echo each other more than you might think. Just as Kaz states “Greed bows to me, it is my servant and my lever”, Van Eck says “Yes, Chaos will come. And I will be it’s master”. In their first meeting, Van Eck accuses Kaz of murder and gambling with people’s lives, and in return Kaz points out that 1 in 5 of Van Eck’s ships will never return because they will sink or “fall prey to pirates”, so they are both doing the same thing, and that they both have the same motivations for this bloodshed: “profit”.

Now consider how often Wylan echoes Kaz, and therefore whether he echoes his father as well. They both have exceptional memories, Kaz’s being photographic/eidetic and Wylan being able to put words to music in his head to remember pages worth of infomation - this is even emphasised by Kaz being able to count cards when he gambles, saying “he could keep track of the game for up to three decks” and Jesper asking Wylan if he’d be able to apply “that trick to counting cards” to which he replies “probably. But I won’t”. They also both have impressive intellects, which could have placed them far higher up in the world than they’ve found themselves if it weren’t for cruel circumstances - Van Eck even comments on this, saying it angers him that Kaz has so much potential but does nothing with it. Then there’s their tendency to avoid being vulnerable. I think we too often overlook the fact that no-one knows Jan Van Eck hired two men to kill his son, not even Jesper, and that not even Inej knows what happened to Kaz on the Reaper’s Barge. Jesper believes that Wylan left his house as a result of his father’s abuse but that it was still his choice, and Inej has no information beyond “Pekka Rollins killed my brother” and the explanation of the con when Kaz faces off with Rollins in Crooked Kingdom. I genuinely believe that the biggest thing separating them is where they place blame for their situations. Kaz blames Pekka Rollins. Wylan actually blames himself.

Arguably, although he catalysed the events, if Rollins hadn’t conned Kaz and Jordie they still would have suffered in an almost identical way: they would both contract the Queen’s Lady Plague, they wouldn’t have enough money for both medicine and boarding, and Jordie would die. In that scenario Kaz would have still been left penniless and alone with nowhere to go, but he wouldn’t have had anyone to blame. In fact, he may have died as well because it’s really his drive for vengeance that makes him strive for survival. When he’s on the Reaper’s Barge he wonders if it’s worth trying to survive because there’s nothing waiting for him in the city, but then he realises that the chance of revenge is waiting for him, and that thought drives him to stay alive every day that follows. Without Rollins, Kaz probably would have blamed himself for Jordie’s death, and I’m backing that up with the singular moment when he’s first attacked by parem-high tide makers and has a brief “boy’s fear” that they are ghosts. He thinks, for a split second, that a ghost has come to kill him and what does he say? He says “Jordie had come for vengeance at last”. This is chapter three. We have no idea who Jordie is. With the limited information we had at the time and what we’d just seen happen to Big Bolliger, I assumed it was someone in Kaz’s gang that he had backstabbed and who has died because of what he did. But no. This single line leads me to wholeheartedly believe that Kaz blames Rollins, who realistically was only a small part of his suffering, quite so vividly to emotionally avoid blaming himself.

Wylan blames himself until around chapters 14 to 16 of Crooked Kingdom. His experiences with mental, emotional, and physical abuse have actively convinced him that his so-called ‘inadequacies’ caused a change in his father’s behaviour. But Wylan not being able to read didn’t magically turn Van Eck from a lucky family man into someone willing to try “specialists, tonics, beatings, [and] hypnotism” against his child. The fact is that Van Eck, like many abusers, is masterfully manipulative in everything he does. Wylan describes seeing his parents’ marriage as a happy one, but he also says “the argued all the time, sometimes about me. But I remember them laughing a lot too”. He’s quick to defend their relationship as if it isn’t supposed to be marred by argument and he lays blame on himself by suggesting that he was the root of their unhappiness. He also says that around Alys, Jan Van Eck becomes who he once was around Marya; a kinder, gentler man. I don’t think we’re meant to assume that he’s acting any differently with Alys in private right now, but I do think we’re meant to assume that he would have done down the line if he hadn’t been arrested (and presumably she filed for divorce). In chapter 14 of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan learns that his mother is still alive but that his father had her committed and declared insane so he could use it as grounds for divorce and marry Alys instead. And you know what happens? Wylan blames himself. He says, verbatim, to Jesper: “You don’t understand. It’s my fault”. He explains that Van Eck did this so he could have a “real heir”; because Marya produced a “faulty” child he needed a new woman to give him the child he wanted. That’s a messed up thing to think on so many levels, but Wylan doesn’t blame Van Eck because he is still being conditioned by his abuse. He and Kaz experienced different kinds of abuse, and Kaz wasn’t conditioned to blame anyone but his abuser, so that’s what he does. When Wylan does begin to blame Van Eck, he is immediately taken in by this same idea of revenge. Kaz says “you were angry. I needed you righteous” when explaining why he sent Wylan to St Hilde blind in chapter 16. Wylan was angry with his father before, but he wasn’t actively seeking vengeance. Now that he has a cause, someone other than himself to fight for? He tells Kaz “well, now you have me”.

Both of them have this potential to be fuelled by revenge or self-hatred, and although they go about it in different ways and lean towards different sides of the scale they are both balancing between those two extremes for the entire duology. Their past experiences have, and their future experiences could, tip them further either way but right now they are almost playing with the line.

Thank you so much if you’ve bothered to read this far, sorry for the long post but you did ask for an essay, so there you go. Tagging the people who asked - @kazooyay @mikasimaginairyworld @sunseeking-cyptid @moonlit-aura @alexplutoplanet @gandalfsmallnaturals @livsarthaven @goodomenstrack23 @origami-butterfly @flower-biatch @bookworm010307 @thesunniest @wherela @space-ace-thoughts @sixofbabycrows @antisocial-burrito

Sorry if I missed anyone!!!

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neousfics · 4 months ago

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Bungo Stray Dogs Fic Recs (The Ties That Bind Edition)

If you liked my fic The Ties That Bind here's a bunch of other fics I think you'd love :)

dolls don't have emotions (so why am I so scared?) by DeviBlue

Words: 15,313

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Summary:

“You found me,” Dazai croaked.

She walked towards him and rested a deceivingly gentle hand on his cheek. He tried his best not to lean into it. Soft touches were rare, especially from her, and she used them to wrap him around her finger. Giving him the love he craved whenever he strayed too far. It was disgusting and humiliating that she still had that effect on him.

“Shuuji-kun, you know you can never hide from us,” she said, just like all those years ago.

Dazai's past comes back to destroy the life he's built for himself in the light.

Review: This is one of my absolute favorite BSD fics. The angst and horror in this concept are such a gut punch and I adore it. If you like the more raw, intense parts of The Ties That Bind, you'll love this fic

People-Pleasing and the Affects of Caring by Allegory_For_Hatred

Words: 4,565

Rating: Unrated but I would say M for violence

Status: Complete

Summary:

Dazai may have let himself be tortured to get information. It's not that big of a deal. You guys are just overreacting.

OR: the agency has a revelation about Dazai's... let's say "work ethic." Is it too late to fix what the Mafia has drilled into his head?

Review: A really solid exploration of the ADA reacting to how absolutely dreadful Dazai's mafia work-habits. I enjoyed the idea and characterization quite a bit

5 Times this, 1 Time that (but After that, Always) by gev_ao3

Words: 15,994

Rating: M

Status: Complete

Summary:

Just a quick 5+1:

Five times Chuuya thought there might be something… off about Mori and Dazai’s relationship, and one time he decided to do something about it. Can be read as a ship, but it doesn't have to be. The world is your oyster. (just, please, don't ship Dazai and Mori)

Review: If you like the Soukoku aspects of my fic/you're looking forward to the Chuuya confrontation, you'll enjoy this fic. It's well written and a good mix between indulgent and moderate

the bones are melting (the skeleton is ash) by FlowerCitti

Words: 2,879

Rating: T

Status: Complete

Summary:

When Dazai first joins the Agency, there is something inside of him that is waiting to mess up. Something inside of him that is almost craving it, if only to get it over with.

He gets his wish after only three months of working with the Agency.

Or, Fukuzawa Yukichi is not Mori Ougai.

Review: Honestly, I love this entire series. I think it captures the dread that is Mori Ougai very well, and the ADA provides a great contrast

Ruiner by gev_ao3

Words: 124,622

Rating: E

Status: Incomplete (Ch 13/14)

Summary:

from S2E9:

“Do you still wear the coat that I gave you?”

“I burned it.”

They’re the wrong words to say.

Mori’s abuse runs deep—deeper than anyone, including Dazai, had realized. And he’s doing it all over again.

[WARNING. *PLEASE* MIND THE TAGS.]

Review: Brutal psychological warfare, 10/10

Nivea's Mirror by Raiimil

Words: 42,077

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Summary:

Every night, a purple letter appears in his doorstep. Every night, the letter have different contents inside. Every night, Dazai breaks a little more. And this time, it might break him thoroughly.

Previously called: RAVAGE (Before I Break)

PLEASE, read the tags, PLEASE

Review: Also brutal psychological warfare, utilizes new ideas / characters in a way that doesn't feel self-indulgent or distracting from the plot. This one is very unsettling /pos

There's a few for now :) I will likely add more later

#bungo stray dogs #fic recs #fic rec #soukoku

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 7 months ago

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Yeah, I did another Buck/Tommy-Tevan-whatever ship name-fic!

Buck is finally taking his flight lessons, and of course they go wrong.

Tags: Character Study, Fluff, Whump, Hurt Tommy Kinard, Hurt/Comfort, Angst.

Read below the cut (4,691 words) or on AO3! And this is the song which gave this fic its name.

- Face the fear, grow stronger by the scars -

"Are you sure that's all right?"

Did he sound nervous? Buck let a broad grin appear on his face, if only to prevent this potential impression – he could certainly feel his stomach prickle, and it wasn’t because of Tommy. Tommy, who was sitting next to him looking very relaxed (and handsome), hands in his lap instead on the cyclic.

"Relax, Evan, and focus on what I've explained to you," the pilot returned.

Buck clung to the controls, almost squinting to watch the sky and the lights in the helicopter at the same time, pondering, geez, what was I thinking? He couldn't admit to Tommy that he was scared shitless, nor that he had never actually wanted to take flying lessons. He’d always thought it was a clever and somewhat frivolous metaphor because Tommy had more experience with men. Buck had thought that was some kind of gay code for yes, I want to try that.

Apparently not. Maybe Tommy was playing a prank on him, but even if the guy had a wry sense of humor, Buck didn’t believe he would do something like that. Tommy… he had changed. Or maybe he’d just evolved, had peeled out of his shell to finally show what was underneath. And Buck quite liked that.

That's why he didn't think he needed to pull this off to please Tommy (although he very much wanted to), but to be honest. He'd asked for flying lessons and got them, and it wasn't like him to look for excuses now – even if this was way more literal than he'd thought.

"Pulling up the collective increases the pitch angle of all rotor blades by the same amount," Buck repeated Tommy’s lesson.

"The pitch angle and…?"

"Uh… the… the angle of attack!"

Tommy's satisfied smile made fine lines appear next to his eyes, which caused Buck's stomach to tingle even more – only this time he knew the reason.

"You were paying attention after all, Evan," Tommy said, chuckling. "All right, well done. That's enough for the first time, I think. Watch out, I'll take over."

Tommy had used his connections and actually managed to get one of the training helicopters; these had dual controls allowing the flight instructor to intervene if need be. However, in less than an hour, real student pilots were waiting for the machine, and Buck was already looking forward to feeling solid ground under his feet again.

"All right."

Buck kept his hands on his cyclic, watched the altitude display and waited for Tommy to take over. The pilot’s hands were already on his own controls, and it was only when he nodded to Buck that the latter dared to let go of his. If he had his way, he would never get behind the controls of a helicopter again. That meant he would have to tell Tommy the truth at some point and that he would lose a little bit of coolness in Christopher's eyes, but the thrill just wasn’t worth it. Maybe Buck had also changed – or evolved –a bit. He cared for his life, and Tommy was one of the reasons.

"Fine day for a flight," said Tommy, casting a glance out of the canopy as he flew an extremely elegant loop.

And Buck had to admit that the view was fantastic. They had left the city’s concrete jungle behind, headed east, gliding across the Californian desert. The sparse vegetation beneath the helicopter was a patchwork of green, yellow and brown spots, occasionally adorned by incredibly colorful flowers, and it all looked much more exciting from up here. The same was true for Tommy, though... the telltale extra heartbeat that consistently filled Buck's chest when he looked at the man told him he didn't care where Tommy was. Just as long as he could be next to him. It sure was exciting, dating a pilot, but it didn’t quite explain Tommy’s overwhelming, mesmerizing charisma. There was way more to him than being a great guy with a fascinating job, much underneath, and Buck wanted to get to know these parts.

"Have you ever kissed up in the air, Evan?" Tommy asked abruptly, his smile way too confident.

"Well," Buck countered without flinching, "I'm a member of the High Mile Club, you know."

Tommy let out a good-natured laugh, filling the helicopter’s small cockpit with mirth. It ended abruptly when a warning light suddenly came on, its frantic red flashes announcing something that Buck believed bode no good.

"What's going on?"

Tommy stared ahead, his knuckles white from clutching the cyclic.

"Engine problem," he admitted, when shortly afterwards a signal tone was heard and more controls began to flash.

"Engine," Buck echoed, already feeling a hint of damp palms. "That's... uh, not good, right?"

"Don't panic," Tommy replied with a curt sideways glance that was apparently intended to be reassuring, yet wasn't at all. "If the helicopter's engine fails, autorotation kicks in. Remember? ’T was pretty much one of the first things you asked me."

"With the help of autorotation, we descend in a controlled manner," said Buck, who actually remembered, "and can make an emergency landing."

"Exactly. It's bound to be a bit bumpy, but…"

His words died away in a dull rumble shaking the cockpit.

"That's normal, right?"

By now Buck didn't care if he sounded nervous, the situation was clearly a cause for tension, and Tommy's petrified expression didn't make things any better.

"Autorotation makes for a rough descent," Tommy said, but the steep crease on his forehead was hardly promising. "It's just that…"

Whatever it was, it was immediately forgotten when a huge jolt went through the helicopter. Tommy tore at the cyclic and flipped a few switches, Buck felt them go into a tailspin. His left hand uselessly gripped the canopy, as if he wanted to hold either himself or the whole contraption together.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed, and that's when Buck knew they were really in deep shit.

Tommy grabbed his headset, apparently about to make a distress call – sensible, Buck thought, with a touch of relief – but at that moment the helicopter plummeted several miles. Buck was prepared for it to get bumpy, as Tommy had put it, yet there was no way to prepare for this. Buck's stomach plunged into infinity, and this morning’s sandwich was about to make its way back. The last thing he saw were Tommy's wide eyes, which held no fear, only regret.

———

Later, Buck had no memory of the impact, although it would haunt him in his dreams. Now, however, the high sun stung him hard, it seemed as if it wanted to break through his closed eyelids. He blinked, his vision blurred for a moment, and looked up into a bright blue sky. Such a beautiful day, he thought dazedly, until he wondered why on earth he was lying on the ground. Millions of sharp grains of sand seemed to drill into his back, but there was more, and then reality hit him. The helicopter. They had crashed.

Tommy.

As a first responder, Buck had learned to stay calm. It was just comparatively difficult when it was you, even more so when it was someone you clearly liked. And as much as Buck loved the adrenaline rush, this required a cool head. So he turned his neck very carefully, getting a first overview without moving. Strangely enough, he found himself lying outside the helicopter, he must have been thrown out on impact. So much for seatbelts. The grains of sand, of which there were undoubtedly plenty, turned out to be much less sharp than the splinters from the canopy, piercing his back.

Slowly, Buck sent impulses to his body, bracing for broken bones – he hardly hurt at all, but the human system provided amazing abilities, and he knew pain might come later and be all the more intense. He moved his fingers carefully, felt whether he could move his toes and worked his way from limb to limb. His overall impression was that, apart from a few cuts and no doubt some bruises, he had been incredibly lucky. Fortune favors fools, he thought, and it had probably been extremely stupid to tempt fate with flight lessons. The wreckage of the helicopter, lying overturned on its top and fuming, was witness to that.

The sight shot an extra dose of adrenaline through Buck's veins, and he suddenly felt wide awake. The angle was unfavorable, so he could barely see into the cockpit, but Tommy was certainly not lying out here. If he was still in there... Smoke means fire, Buck thought incoherently, and with a jerk, he ordered his body to straighten up.

Something dripped from his hair down onto his hand, almost hesitantly, and he felt a little dizzy, although he had expected blood. But that didn't matter. His headphones were gone, and as he slowly rose to his feet, he noticed he was missing a shoe –the fucking expensive Nike’s, sure –and his jeans had a few holes that weren't a fashion statement. Buck plucked a slightly larger piece of shard from his lower leg, limping to the wreckage. He prepared himself to simply find an emergency situation, he was familiar with it, he had experienced it hundreds, heck, a thousand times.

But Buck found that nothing could prepare him for this, and that cold fear was eating into his guts. Somewhere in this half-crushed mess of metal was actually Tommy. Frantically, Buck looked at the rest of the helicopter. Was it really on fire? Would the thing explode? Focus, he thought. He couldn't make out the source of the smoke, and as there was no open fire yet, there was need to hurry but not panic. At least that's what he told himself like a mantra in his head.

His bruised knees cracked as he crouched down next to what was left of the cockpit. There was Tommy, and his heartbeat quickened, but a deep breath forced it to calm. Tommy's belts were still intact and had obviously held, because he was hanging in them like a grotesque bat; after all, the helicopter had turned completely on its own axis. A dangerously jagged piece of glass distorted the view, and after Buck had frantically, albeit unsuccessfully, looked around for stones or the like, he smashed his elbow into the glass

without further ado. Then he took off his remaining shoe to remove enough broken pieces to finally get to Tommy.

Tommy's eyes were closed, the left side of his face barely recognizable beneath blood. Buck didn't notice that his hands were shaking as he carefully reached inside, uttering a much too quiet, too insecure "Tommy?" while searching for his carotid artery.

Time stood still, a vacuum of non-time enveloped Buck. His hands were functional, but not his mind, imagining things. Bad things. Buck had perhaps only survived because he had been tossed out of the helicopter as it crashed. And it was a miracle that he only had suffered a few scratches. Tommy, however, hung in his safety belts motionless, his face a peculiar mixture of paleness and blood. Some victims of an accident appeared completely peaceful but were already dead, some did not even reveal their previous agony. Others seemed lucky, happy to have survived a disaster yet died shortly afterwards from a brain haemorrhage.

It was all so wrong, so unfair; one heartbeat long, Buck felt the fearful knot in his stomach turn to rage. He was hot and cold at the same time, completely unrelated to the merciless sun. Worry, he knew, was a monster devouring the mind. But the sensation that rose up inside him, enveloping him from his toes to the tips of his hair, turning his guts inside out, making his nerves tingle... it was more than ordinary worry. His feelings were familiar, to a certain extend. He had already experienced this kind of fear, this vault of anxiety, with his friends, his family of the 118.

But this was different, and it was so strange. It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? Tommy and he barely knew each other, two dates and a surprise kiss hardly justified that claim. There was nothing between them yet, nothing worthy of a name, right? Everything was still new, unknown, and yet... Damn, I still don't know how you like your coffee, he thought. I know what your lips taste like, but not your skin. What's your favorite movie, Tommy? Does your hair curl up in the morning? Buck knew nothing of the sort, and probably not much at all, but he knew one thing: he wanted to find these things out.

Buck's eyes widened in surprise when his fingers finally found the artery. Tommy’s pulse was faint, not quite steady; a trapped, restless bird under his equally uneasy grip. It didn’t matter, he was alive, a beating heart can heal, one of his grandmother's many sayings.

"I’ll manage," Buck said, mostly to convince himself, "we'll get out of this."

They would. Even if he didn’t exactly know where they were, other than somewhere in the Californian desert, less than an hour from the city, not the best conditions for an… Emergency call. Realization hit Buck like a bolt of lightning. It didn't matter that he didn't know where they had crashed, his phone could be tracked via GPS. The helicopter had surely been detected by air traffic control, the crash presumably also been registered. They were in the middle of nowhere, no roads to be seen, but the situation was far from hopeless.

Buck quickly changed his mind when he couldn't find his phone in the pockets of his pants, no matter how much he fumbled. First the shoe, then the phone; Buck clearly remembered how his mother had scolded him as a child when he had lost something. Not my fault, he thought, it was never really my fault. Nevermind, there were still options, weren't there? The helicopter's communication system, or Tommy's phone… Tommy. Buck almost slapped himself in the face to call himself to his senses. First things first. Saving lives was much more than his job, and right now, right here, he desperately wanted to save a life. He shook his head to ease the slight fog in his brain and took stock of the situation.

No tools, not even a simple pocket knife. Buck looked at the belts Tommy was attached to, and he had the absurd thought that he was prepared to bite through it, every single damn thread, if he had to. But of course he didn't have to. His gaze fell on the shards he had smashed himself, and a small, wry smile flickered across his face.

Despite all his care and caution, the shard he had chosen cut into his hand while he was working on the belts. Buck hardly noticed; he was concentrating on cutting the fabric, while at the same time checking again and again whether it would cause Tommy to slip. But that didn't happen, the angle at which the helicopter had touched the ground ensured that the pilot was reasonably safe even after removing the straps. Well, as safe as you could be when you were forced to sit upside down, anyway, and Buck knew it was time to change that.

"I'll have you in a minute," he said, as confidently as he allowed himself to be.

Carefully observing the still unconscious Tommy, Buck patted him down, looking for obvious injuries, open wounds, fractures, and any hints on internal bleedings. Only when he was reasonably sure that Tommy would survive the change of position – and actually he wasn't, but he had no choice – did Buck set about carefully pulling the man from his seat.

———

Grains of sand stuck to Buck's skin, cutting into it almost as much as the numerous shards, and the craziest infection scenarios popped into his mind when he had finally managed to free Tommy from the wreckage. He repeatedly checked his pulse and breathing, mumbled a few words, which again were only meant to calm himself down, and turned to the helicopter.

Amidst the endless, yellow stretch of sand with its occasional dabs of sturdy plants, the jumble of steel and shattered glass looked almost grotesque. A too-big insect that had fallen on its back and would never get up again. The flight school would probably not be happy. Buck stroked his forehead thoughtfully, felt the edges of a laceration and painfully came back to reality. He cast a hesitant glance at Tommy, but then tore himself away and cautiously approached the wreck. The smoke could probably be seen for miles, which was good, but as far as Buck could tell, there was no active fire. A smoldering fire, which bought him time. Those usually sizzled for a long time, and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. As long as they didn't directly breathe in the fumes, they were fine.

Well, fine. For the first time, Buck considered the possibility he might have suffered a concussion, but Tommy was clearly worse off, and that was for him to deal with. He dropped into the sand next to Tommy to examine him more closely. Strangely enough, he appeared... well, almost undamaged. Apart from the blood on his face and his obvious unconsciousness, of course. Very carefully, Buck cupped Tommy's chin, turned the bloody side to get a better view, and found a nasty but mostly harmless laceration near his ear. If they were found in time, and if someone with excellent suturing skills was called in, it would probably only leave a very inconspicuous scar.

Hen’s good at suturing, Buck thought wistfully, but this kind of memories needed to be pushed away. Yes, perhaps he felt something like… homesickness for the 118 because he was in a situation where he could normally rely on an excellent team. But he was neither helpless nor clueless.

"I got this," he assured the unconscious man in the desert sand. "They’ll soon find us, maybe even the 118, wouldn’t that be fun?"

Well, not exactly fun, but a relief nonetheless. Buck remembered Tommy's candor, in his kitchen, when he had admitted that he envied the team's closeness and familiarity. That was true, absolutely; Buck was convinced that Bobby would personally rush the firetruck across the desert if he had a chance to help him. And it was weird to realize that there was someone who felt like he had only a few years ago. Someone who believed that he didn't belong. Someone like Tommy, who was strong on the outside, didn't dare show a weakness, pretended to be something just to keep up appearances. But he had changed. He had opened, just like Buck had to. Because he had realized that this kind of honesty, as corny as it sounded, opened hearts.

It had certainly opened Buck’s.

The hairs on his arms stood up as he realized. That is, he didn't quite realize it yet, but there was something inside him that clearly told him he was on the trail of something big. He looked at Tommy, thinking, oh. They didn't have anything fixed yet, he hadn't even dared to think of Tommy as his possible boyfriend. But what was rising up inside him went beyond any usual concern for a good friend.

A lot of this was new. The feeling was irritating, almost painful, and at the same time it enveloped him like a cosy blanket. Buck knew passion, crushes and deep connection, and all of it felt different. And yet… Now was not the time, and Buck sensed that this feeling inside him was precious. A treasure that was better guarded before it was shown to anyone.

He turned back to Tommy, and now he noticed that his right hand was swollen. Buck carefully touched Tommy’s wrist and immediately felt that it was broken. The pilot had gripped the cyclic so tightly that the force had shattered his wrist at impact. But even that didn't explain why he was unconscious. Of course, it could just have been the impact itself; the forces acting on the human body at such speed were enormous.

Buck had a very clear idea of what injuries were possible, most of which did not have to be visible on the outside. This knowledge was both a blessing and a curse, but right now, it was a hindrance. Because this was Tommy, and the fact that Tommy was injured made Buck's stomach drop to infinity. So much could go wrong. So many ways to miss an opportunity that Buck desperately wanted. So many chances to feel warmth instead of this clamminess when he put his fingers on those cheeks.

He kept his fingers on Tommy's cheeks for a while longer, because what could he actually do? Apart from sheer will and the oppressive knowledge in his head, he had nothing to help Tommy, and that tugged at his nerves. So much so that he felt it physically. Or was that... Electrified, Buck leaned over Tommy, staring at him as if he could see through him, could see his innermost being and understand what was going on.

What was actually going on was simple and yet extremely longed for: Tommy opened his eyes.

———

"'Sup?" he slurred, and relief seemed to pour out of Buck's every pore, so much so that he began to tremble without really realizing it.

The pilot’s gaze was not completely focused, but clearer than one might expect. Buck was so close to him that he could make out tiny speckles in Tommy's eyes, and he placed that information deep in his brain before pulling back a little.

"We crashed," Buck explained, "and it wasn't my fault. I mean, uh, that's probably important for insurance or something."

"Are you saying it was my fault?" Tommy asked, blinking.

"What? No, no way, right before the crash you said something about the engine... wait, y..you're kidding? Now?"

"Now is as good as any time, Evan," Tommy said softly, and Buck's heart went into a big but very pleasant stumble. "Are you okay?"

"Me?"

Buck's exhale was half a laugh, and it must have been contagious, because the corners of Tommy's mouth went up, though he inhaled sharply a moment later.

"Easy," Buck admonished him sternly, "I don't know what's going on yet."

He repeated his palpation, tapping and stroking Tommy's skin, repeatedly asking if this or that hurt. Aside from bruises, cuts, and the broken hand Tommy was regarding with pursed lips, he seemed fine, at least until Buck got to his abdomen.

"Oh," Tommy muttered, as if surprised himself that this felt anything but good.

"Here, left side?" Buck inquired, yet Tommy's pained face told him enough.

Pressure-sensitive abdomen, stiff muscles… Buck's lips were dry, the sun added to it, but he gulped hard.

"Do you feel dazed, confused? Anything else? Blurred vision?"

"I see exactly what I need to see," Tommy said, perhaps a touch too dreamy for Buck's taste, even if it was flattering.

"Wrong time, I guess," Buck said, but he couldn't suppress a small, if shaky grin. "You might have injured your spleen."

"Happens," Tommy replied, seemingly unimpressed, but Buck saw through that facade by now. Then again... was it really that Tommy didn't want to show any weakness even now, or was he so confident that Buck had things under control?

"When will they be here?" Tommy asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Emergency services. Do you have a concussion, Evan? You've got blood on your face."

"I have blood on my face?"

It wasn't funny at all, but a dry, harsh laugh escaped him. Then he remembered.

"I've lost my phone. Maybe the helicopter's coms are still working?"

Buck cast a doubtful glance at the wreck, but Tommy slowly shook his head.

"Shortly before the crash, I tried to send mayday, but the radio had failed just like the engine. It's a miracle we're still alive, Evan."

"A miracle," Buck echoed, filled with strange satisfaction. He had defied death once before, he wasn't going to let this stop him after all.

"But," Tommy continued, his still unsteady gaze searching Buck's, "air traffic control had us on their radar, they noticed the crash. We’ll be found even if the GPS has failed, and that is very unlikely."

"As unlikely as a crash despite autorotation."

"Fair."

"I just wish there was something I could do," Buck said, his voice displaying his restlessness – he always felt this way when he wasn’t able to act.

He took another look at the wreckage of the helicopter, and this time something caught his eye. Tommy had been wearing a hoodie with the flight school logo when they'd met at the helipad – it seemed like days ago now, but probably two or three hours at most. However, he had taken it off before the flight, stowing it somewhere behind the seat. Technically, the garment was still behind the seat, except everything was upside down now, and the hoodie had fallen towards the ceiling. Buck quickly grabbed it, pulled it out and finally placed it on Tommy's chest and stomach.

"There you go. Keeping warm is important in case of internal injuries."

"We're in the desert, Evan."

"Right, but we don't want you to go into hypovolemic shock, better safe than sorry, Tommy."

"Don’t worry." Surprised, Buck realized that Tommy had grabbed his hand. "You're doing a great job. I'm not exaggerating, and I'm not flattering you, Evan Buckley, but I'm glad I'm here with you, in this mess."

"Really?"

Buck felt his face brighten, and he hid neither relief nor pride behind a mask of equanimity.

"Really. I mean... what kind of story is that? Just imagine that. We crashed, and my boyfriend saved me, and we both survived."

"Your… your boyfriend," Buck returned, stunned.

"Evan. Don't tell me you don't want this. I'm badly hurt, remember. Don’t hurt me even more."

Buck was thinking a lot of very confusing thoughts at that moment, but he heard the faint undertone of uncertainty, he saw the hint of vulnerability in Tommy’s face.

"I mean," Tommy added, "it's a bonding thing, isn't it? Two dates and a crash are enough for me to know what I want, Evan."

His gaze became searching, and Buck understood, and he could only hope that despite everything, he now radiated that confidence that Tommy obviously craved as much as he did. Tommy wanted him. Him, in fact, not the ideal image of a guy, not an exciting fireman, not a sex-addicted braggart. Himself, under all the layers, with all his experiences and the ones he was yet to have.

"I like it," he said quietly. "And I'll find out how you like your coffee, just wait and see."

Tommy's laugh came a little raspy, which was quite unsettling. Still, it was a laugh, and Buck liked the sound and what it did to the little wrinkles next to Tommy's eyes.

"You don't have to make an effort for that. It's quite simple, I like my coffee…"

His voice trailed off as his gaze became distant.

"Tommy?" Buck inquired anxiously, mentally going over the numerous complications that could happen.

"I... say, do you see that?"

"See what?"

Buck turned his head and looked out into the endless expanse, nothing but brownish yellow and green speckles, and he thought he had no idea what to do if Tommy's condition worsened now. But way back there, there was something else, a different color, and it reminded him of...

"A... a fire engine, I think," he stammered.

A fire engine racing through the middle of the desert, far away from any road or trail. And Buck couldn't help but think of Bobby and the crew, he almost knew it was them.

"You see? It's all gonna be fine, I told you," said Tommy.

"Did you? Hm. Wait. You were just about to tell me how you like your coffee."

"Yes, but I think you should find out for yourself, Evan."

I will, Buck thought, and he smiled.

#911 #9-1-1 #911 fanfic #911 fandom #Buck/Tommy #Tommy/Buck #Tevan #writing #my fics #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tommy kinard whump #kinley #firepilot #dailykinley

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t00thpasteface · 7 months ago

Note

I’m doing a MASH rewatch because I’m mentally well, and I am a Hawcahy lover like all good red blooded Americans, but I was curious if you had any thoughts or opinions on Klinger / Mulcahy? Even from Klinger’s second appearance with the grenade scene I found myself watching for their shared scenes, though it’s clearly significantly less popular if AO3 tags are to be believed.

You can also use this to discuss the various Hawkeye ships (of which there are rightfully many) and any other MASH pairings you enjoy or maybe don’t partake in! I’m always here for more MASH content

they are VERY GOOD AND I LIKE THEM. klinger is a LOT of fun and there's definitely some kind of weird circuitous Recognition Through The Other i get with him as a butch lesbian. my whole life i've always felt like i'm some ugly bony man in drag whenever i dress girly so i feel really vaildated seeing how klinger fucking slayyyyyys in whatever he wears and has a blast wearing it. so naturally anything that makes klinger happy makes me happy!!! 🫡

i think i said it before a loonnnng time ago though but i'm just not really much of a multishipper! never have been... idk what it is but once a ship takes root in my brain i don't really multiship any of the people in it. there are very few exceptions to this. i have NO idea why i'm like this but i'm just Very Particular.

and hawkahy just fucking SEIZED me somehow so it got first dibs. my first exposure to mash was catching some season 7 episodes on retro tv, so when i happened to see hawkeye freaking out in a cave and mulcahy volunteering to be helicopter ballast back-to-back, i latched onto mulcahy first like "omg look at that little guy he's trying so hard" and then secondarily looked at hawkeye like "omg it's a womanizing sleazeball with a heart of gold i love those exact guys!!" and my go-to method of shipping is My Favorite x My Second Favorite, sooo that's how the cookie crumbled... :P

also basically as soon as i told my mom i was watching mash she was like “we need to watch the movie!!” and i was weirdly compelled by hawkeye and mulcahy teaming up to save painless??? mulcahy gets shoved out of the frame by the others when he's introduced but seeks out hawkeye later like hey you're the only one i trust to help me... and then it colored how i watched the show afterwards. i was like hang on. really interesting to see where these freaks can find a common ground between them in their respective approaches to pacifism and sacrifice. also my mom ships them. lulz

i also think traphawk and beejhawk are fun too BUT as a lesbian who does a lot of weird gay shit with her 2 straight roommates (one of whom has a bf) because THEY started it, i also find it VERY funny to just interpret hawkeye and trapper/bj with that angle of out-and-proud queer doing weird gay shit with his arguably straight (or latently bicurious) roommates as a form of entertainment/bonding/hazing. bc it's like [leonardo dicaprio pointing.jpeg] like we call each other pookie and slap each other on the ass so whatever hawkeye is doing to those men is just Normal to me

#i feel like a maniac trying to explain my thought process for how i ship stuff. sorry for the FUCKING ESSAY i have Thotz #shebbz shoutz #mash #ask

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soft-persephone · 6 months ago

Text

Helpful not so Helpful Guide to Jake Johnson

A master post with links to some movies and information or where to access some of them +more

Disclaimer: if any of these movies are bad or you hate them, that’s on you and not me. I am heavily biased. You have been warned.

SELF RELIANCE

let’s start with the obvious. It’s out now on Hulu! Has been since February maybe idk. I’m unhealthily obsessed and bad with dates.

It’s his directorial debut, but if you didn’t know. Jake started out as a writer before improv and acting. He’s the writer, director, and star of this one. It’s very special and his baby!

It’s a wild roller coaster ride of emotions and genre. If you smoke, smoke, if you drink, drink, if you are sober, it’s still a roller coaster ride. Don’t worry, there is a lot there for you too!

But if you like enhancements, I hear it’s extra fun.

I liked it a lot, it’s whacky, creepy at times, but undeniably fun. And that’s all I will say.

Warning! Don’t watch press or any interviews for the movie until after you’ve seen the movie.

Ride the Eagle

is also on Hulu

It’s a movie he wrote during the pandemic and directed with Trent O’Donnell who directed many episodes of new girl.

It’s very heartfelt and about Grief.

Jake Johnson’s dog also makes guest appearance with their acting debut and they are the sweetest and most bestest acting dog ever.

WE’RE HERE TO HELP

his podcast!

It’s very fun and with one of his buddies Gareth Reynolds.

People call in and they give them advice that is as funny and crazy as the callers.

Something’s Burning

Here’s a link to a interview on the premise of the show, but also they talk to this guy. idk. He may be a bit much, but he makes Jake laugh and I love listening to him laugh, so it’s fun for that reason too.

Or you are a Burt fan.

🏴‍☠️Pirate ship access only 🏴‍☠️

Link to the ship

The Pretty One -

one of my favorites. It’s an oddball indie about twins where one dies and the one alive assumes the identity of the one who died where she stumbles upon her sister neighbor played by Jake Johnson. He’s dressed like a sexy Mr. Rogers if you ask me, and he is delightfully sardonic and childish. However, he dresses better than Nick Miller ever could

Win it All

It used to be on Netflix, but it’s been taken down recently. That’s my bad because I could have made this sooner, but I just haven’t for no reason.

Jake plays a character with a gambling addiction and an anxiety inducing as the first part may be, it’s not that bad. When I first saw it I had to turn it off because I just got too anxious over what might happen next, but you might not have a weak stomach like me, so you might be fine.

On the second time around, I made it to the part where he meets this girl and everything quickly became heartwarming and endearing and it makes you just root for the main character.

A love letter for those in our lives who may not be fortunate to put themselves together as well as we might.

TAG

It’s also available the link above, but it could be streaming for free somewhere. Idk.

this movie is very self-explanatory by the name. It’s very fun, Jeremy Reiner is in it, so that’s either good news or bad news for you. But it’s still fun.

Jake looks very good in this one. He still has his Tom cruise work out body.

I am very embarrassed to say I can tell what year every movie has come out based on his body shape which is lovely at every size, but the accuracy is quite scary. Which is information I didn’t need to share at all

Stumptown

I used to keep that thang on me.

And by thang on me, I mean a pirate ship link to see this show. But they are for some reason gone. I’ve searched high and low for ones to access on maybe a phone? But unless you have a fire stick that has some certain pirate ship accessories on there, I don’t know where you can watch it.

But it’s such an amazing serialized show about this woman who comes back home from Iraq with ptsd, the love of her life died over there and his family blames her for it and she also blames herself for it.

She becomes a private investigator and her best friend is Gray McConnell played by Jake Johnson who, surprise suprise, owns a bar.

Imagine a cooler, sexier, smarter, and more put together Nick Miller. He is just as funny and sarcastic, but not a manchild.

But the show has amazing bisexual representation, mental health representation of ptsd, complex female characters, and it’s so well paced and written and every way.

If you love cop shows like criminal minds or fbi or any of those, imagine something like that but about a private investigator, and more emphasis on the plot and characters and their relationships. The “cop” part is just more fun on this show than others, but I am biased because I hate cop shows.

I wish I had a link to give y’all for it because it’s so easily to obsess over.

However, it’s also been canceled because of “COVID” but if you look into it. That’s a bullshit reason, and it’s been canceled for no reason, but at that point Jake Johnson was doing spiderverse and Colbie Smolders was doing other stuff. (She plays the main female character)

MINX

Show set in the 70s about a woman starting the first male nude magazine to persue her dream of making a feminist one.

It’s smart, the writing is amazing, and I can not recommend it enough. There’s a lot of nudity, but it’s not what you think at all.

You truly have to watch it for yourself to understand what the show is trying to do, and it’s amazing.

I’ve never seen anything like it and it’s such a breath of fresh air in a time of remakes and endless sequels.

It used to be on HBO but now it’s on Starz!

Here’s a link to see it. Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone

But for some reason it only has season two which sucks so hard and I am so sorry I couldn’t provide more.

Drinking Buddies

- it used to be available on YouTube but now it’s not free anymore or the person who posted has since deleted it been removed. But the pirate ship one will have it for sure.

Have you ever met someone and you never dated them, never had a something more conversation but the chemistry is there.

You were super close to them, but no one has ever questioned it or said anything about it, but when you are with them you know it’s there? But that’s all it ever has been and will be, and maybe you aren’t even in each others lives anymore but you still think of them from time to time because they were a major part of you being who you are?

Yes? Well boy do I have a movie for you!

No? Well that’s what this movie is, but it adds more because it’s a movie and it needed to be at least an hour and a half.

But now that you know what it’s about, be warned that it’s slower in pace. It’s an indie movie.

I will have more to say about that later.

But overall it’s a good movie with a good feeling.

If you’ve ever had a will they won’t they in a real life way and not the Hollywood way, this movie might trigger those feelings.

Digging for Fire

- it used to be available on YouTube but now it’s not free anymore or the person who posted has since deleted it been removed. But the pirate ship one will have it for sure.

A cute heartwarming thriller.

Those genres don’t seem like they could all blend together, but that’s what this movie does.

A family rents out a house in LA and the husband, played by Mr Jake Johnson, finds a gun and a bone, and they call the police and they say we’re not responsible for random trash. Call us if you find a body.

This is a real story that happened to Jake Johnson and his family.

He called up his friend Joe Swamburg who is a director, and they make this movie together.

He’s also the director of drinking buddies and Win it All.

It’s not only about that, again, because it needs to be over an hour. So it’s also about marriage. Not say anything else because you need something to keep you wanting to see this one, but I will say, it’s not a pretentious or dark or super try hard movie about marriage that will depress you.

It’s open and honest and ultimately sweet.

Imagine if scenes from a marriage wasn’t a drag or if a marriage story was positive instead of weird.

Idk I never actually watched a marriage story. It might not even be called that at all and you may be confused so… moving on.

No Activity

A show he was in for three episodes but it has a hilarious premise and if you are a fan of comedy, you might enjoy it having Will Farrell, Jason Mantzoukas and so much more.

Here a clip

Apparently there a ten photo limit.. so no picture

I use to have a link to it, but it’s also been erased from everywhere, unless you have access to other pirate ships.

Interviews

Link

Here is a playlist of amazing interviews that give you a head start on getting to know him. They aren’t in any important order, and they also have a few about each movie and show he’s in as well.

Also if you need accessing a vpn please reach out. I know a good free vpn app for iOS.

PART TWO!!!!

#Jake Johnson #new girl #drinking buddies #self reliance #digging for fire #the pretty one #no activity #we’re here to help #Stumptown #tag #minx

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ballcrusher74 · 10 months ago

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hello. are you. perhaps 👉👈 willing to talk about the inspector/faux. ive only seen cool arts and no context so im rather curious.

OK!!! I actually love rambling about my ocs so small questions like this make me day. I just get nervous LOL But! I will say, there's gonna probably be a bit I'm leaving out because it does involve my friends' characters and it's still an on-going thing atm (we tend to roleplay on lethal company as our guys. btw the oc group is called Cleanup Crew ! it explains the recent reblogs and new tags I've added on posts with this guy) AND this does also involve my own little interpretations of in-game mechanics and other things, but otherwise, I'll get the rest of him down!

Inspector, also originally known by the name of Terrance Conroy (or Terry), was a typical scavenger working under 'The Company' after a couple rough times on his home planet. (This information isn't necessarily set in stone, but the idea of him being a washed-up rock star before quitting his passion to get a job that pays his rent has been bouncing around in my brain.) He used to be a normal guy, trying to find a little hope in his desperate situation, and was a social butterfly. He tend to bounce from crew to crew, sometimes staying in some for only a couple days, and some for months. He was a very careful man, and looked out for his fellow crew members.

And then, one day, his first death on the job happens.

But instead of being greeted by a bright white light at the end of a tunnel, or complete pitch darkness, he appears on the ship again- completely physically fine.

This.. confuses him at first, yet he continues on.

And then he dies again. And again, and again. Over and over, the more deaths he's endured, the more he comes to a morbid realization that he can't truly die, nor can those around him. He tries to keep this truth hidden away from the others, as they seem to not have mentioned it at all before. He remembers everything. Every time he was ripped to shreds by an eyeless dog, every time he blew up into pieces from a landmine, every time he was shot multiple times, every time he was left behind or ejected as part of the disciplinary process- He felt it all and remembered it all. This goes on for the course of years (around 8-10 roughly) and over that course of time, he begins to grow very careless. What's the point of saving someone if they'll just come back? What's the use of tears when you're only a couple dollars off quota with a shovel in hand?

What's the point of it all? And with that carelessness comes selfishness into the picture. With how long he's been stuck in the cycle, he has become a very manipulative person, putting up a playful and nice persona on the outside- almost sickeningly sweet- in order to help other's do his bidding. He believes that if he were to cause so much chaos, disorder, and disruption within a crew, to where it's like animals mauling each other apart, he'd be able to break free from it himself. He doesn't care anymore about leaving others behind. He's desperate at this point to find a way out. Faux, who is an alter ego / disguise for Inspector, ties more into the on-going events right now, but I can give a basic rundown on his personality. He's a klutzy and quiet man, typically only talking to others when it's just him and them, and nobody else around, playing himself off as a selective mute. Since this is just Inspector in a jazzy little jester outfit, he still possesses all the traits of that man, just hidden away as to not blow his cover. He's still tugging on the strings in some way, people just don't realize. Sure, he's off putting and just a tad bit strange, but how can a goofy man like that be terrifying?

WOOOW ok that's a lot more typing than expected, but here's also a couple fun facts about the guy !

He stands at 6 feet and 1 inch, and is a very lanky guy compared to others, but this wasn't always the case. He used to just stand at 5 feet and 6 inches, and had more normal human proportions. With how many times he has died and how long it's been of the cycle, it has fucked up his appearance a LOT. Other things include : his 'skin' being grey, his voice constantly sounding like it's coming from a walkie talkie, no visible neck, his face becoming the helmet itself (it still bleeds, but there's nothing in there), and inhumanly flexible.

The only thing left of him that represents his last strand of humanity, is a singular, dim eye behind the tape on his visor.

He is very much not a rational man anymore. He is quick to jump to things, and won't hesitant with his actions.

When waiting to return from death, he is able to manifest in someone's head as a disembodied voice, and will typically mock them, or try and manipulate them further. In this state, he can see everything through the eyes of the person he's haunting. ^ Fun fact about this! This was originally based off a stupid bit where my friend was streaming LC to me with other buddies on the game and I kept telling them to step on landmines and then kill someone for a promotion, and then Inspector was born!

and UH I think that's about it I have for the guy atm! If the rest of the cleanup crew gets dropped than I'll update this accordingly perhaps. As of right now, enjoy my oc slop 👍

#lethal company #lethal company oc #oc #cleanup crew #that inspector that i hate #render

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sophieswundergarten · 4 months ago

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WAIT

It's Floorboard Chomping Friday!!!

Here (in no particular order) are some of my all-time favourites!!

"Some Choice Words" by @mysteriouseggsbenedict

Choice Tags: angry nicholas benedict, he yells in all caps!!, everyone say it with me: curtain sucks!!

"A collection of records, regarding Ms. Dipika Perumal and one missing child" by @3584-tropical-fish

Choice Tags: Epistolary, Missing Persons, technically that is true but we the audience know where he is, Mentioned Reynie Muldoon - Freeform

"Nicholas Benedict's Home For Misfits" by @fandom-queen-13

Choice Tags: there is a fight scene, and a description of two lab escapees, three if you include Milligan, look it's not my fault he just appeared one day and even he doesn't know if he's an escapee or not, SQ shows up briefly at the end

"of scarecrows, sunshine, and curses" by @mashpotatoequeen

Choice Tags: Kate Wetherall Needs a Hug, Milligan also needs a hug, Milligan was described as a scarecrow in the first book, i take this concept and complete a 400 meter sprint with it, the ten man are tinmen, i think I am funny

"Treat Them With(out) Mercy" by @nobodysdaydreams

Choice Tags: Electrocution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemy Caregiver, Whumptober 2023, no.4 Shock

"Chirps of a Bird" by @heyitsthatonesmolgay

Choice Tags: Echolalia, Stimming, Family Fluff

"Skin Hunger" by @mvshortcut

Choice Tags: Touch-Starved Nicholas Benedict, Touch-Starvation, Platonic Cuddling, Spells & Enchantments, read the notes for some warnings please!

"you're going too fast, you'll burn up soon" by @oflightningandstars

Choice Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Kate is having a rough time in this one, I love when Kate is happy and doing well I promise, I just also enjoy putting her in the blender

"the lightest touch" by @bi-demon-ium

Choice Tags: Mr. Benedict-centricas is the norm for me <3, Touch-Starved Nicholas Benedict, very non graphic mention of car accident, no one we care about, mr benedict is kind of an unreliable narrator when it comes to himself, Found Family, Nicholas Benedict Needs a Hug, NO. SERIOUSLY. HE REALLY REALLY NEEDS A HUG, SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE HIM A HUG IM BEGGING Y

"Food for Thought" by @phtalogreenpoison

Choice Tags: there is mention of a knife, Friendship, Father Figures, I am promoting the Milligan is like a second dad to Number Two agenda, also I headcanon Number Two is 27 ish and Milligan is like mid forties

"The Psychic File" by @acollectionofcuriousreblogs

Choice Tags: Found Family, Reynie needs a break, Just let him rest, Ledroptha Curtain is a jerk, What if the good guys didn’t win?, cause the world needs more of these types of fics, Takes place after book three as a Riddle of ages replacement

"here's to (never) growing up" by @binnudacademy

Choice Tags: the old hag, Nightmares, is apparently the only tag AO3 officially has? boo, Reynie Muldoon Needs a Hug, Sticky Washington Needs A Hug, Constance contraire needs a hug

"are you sick of me? would you like to be?"

Choice Tags: Reynie Muldoon-centric, placed in the year between season 1 and 2, Light Angst, we are safe here, made for a light read, no ship focus, read this however you'd like to, 5+1 Things

"Wrapped around her little finger"

Choice Tags: Mirror fic, This is so sad everyone, But also super adorable, show! Constance as a two year old, Being adorable, Mr. Benedict being equally adorable with Constance, Alice in wonderland is my favorite book but I also think Mr. Benedict would really enjoy it, And Constance because theres no rules there, He loves her so immediately, I love how much he loves her, Constance pulling on his beard is my favorite

#IF I FORGOT YOU I'M SORRY #MY BRAIN IS QUITE TIRED #I TRIED TO INCLUDE EVERYONE I COULD THINK OF #JUST YELL AT ME AND I'LL TRY TO REMEMBER NEXT WEEK

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 1 year ago

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Awaken

changbin x felix

Trigger warnings: none that i can think of but please feel free to correct me if i missed anything!

Content warnings: names (baby, good boy, angel, sweetheart, pretty boy, tiny baby), a little biting, mirrors, slight hair pulling, size kink (kinda?), oral, begging, cum sharing, praise, very brief mutual masturbation, very brief finger fucking, verbal teasing, hand holding, anal, a hint of a breeding kink, belly bulge, desperate lix, ass slapping, mild dacryphilia, one (1) dry orgasm (idk it was hot to me lmao)

Summary: changbin fell in love with his best friend, felix, and now felix wants to be his first guy.

Word count: 9332

A/N: so this is written from changbin’s pov and it is actually the first ship fic i wrote (at least the first ship fic i’ve written since high school). i actually wrote it before asking for pride fic requests last year and contemplated keeping it for myself or putting it on my ko-fi but felt it was too good not to share. and ofc i had to go with the classic friends to lovers trope because that’s just the kind of person i am lmao anyways i’m almost done with my next pride piece and i’m working on the three requests i received! i hope you all enjoy this and please feel free to give a follow! be sure to drop your feedback in the comments and please look forward to what i’ve got in store for you!! also i’m revamping my tag list so please submit an ask, send a message, or leave a comment if you’d like to be added to that! thank you all for your support <3

I don’t remember when it started or even how it started, if I’m honest. I just know that one day I woke up and the first thought on my mind was how pretty Felix would look with a morning blush. I’d had passing thoughts about his beauty so I paid it no mind, I was comfortable enough in my sexuality to recognize an attractive man when I saw one. Then the dream came rushing back and flooded my senses. I felt guilty as images of my best friend writhing around beneath me appeared in my mind.

I remember thinking “What the fuck was that? I’m not even gay. Why did I dream about fucking my best friend? And why am I hard?”

I remember being disgusted with myself as I rubbed one out in the shower, visions of Felix with his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw hanging open as he cried my name swimming in my vision. I remember icing him out for a few days, afraid he’d somehow know I’d had a wet dream starring him. I remember being terrified and ashamed of what I was feeling. That dream made me reconsider my sexuality.

Over the course of a year, I’d fought with my feelings for him and tried to ignore both my crush and my sudden shift in sexual preference. But he made it so much easier. I never told him who was making me feel these things but he made me feel safe. He helped me figure things out. He knew something was wrong when I started avoiding him at first and when I finally confided in him, he was nothing short of an angel. He stayed up with me several nights when I was having a hard time coming to terms with my sexuality and he assured me nothing was wrong with me. He told me that he’d had the same struggle a few years ago and he took his time to accept it but once he finally did, it felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

I followed his lead and allowed him to show me what it meant to truly embrace who I am. He even took me to my first gay bar. I don’t remember much about that night to be honest. I remember getting there and ordering a few shots; remember Felix suggesting a mixed drink. But that’s about it.

I woke up the next morning in his bed, wearing only my boxers. I was mortified but he took it all in stride and when I shuffled into his kitchen, he offered me a smile and a plate of pancakes before telling me he’d washed my clothes because I got sick right outside his apartment building. I was horrified and ashamed - less so when I found out we hadn’t fucked, but still embarrassed - but he was so kind and I found myself getting flustered every time he offered me a smile over breakfast. I was acutely aware of my nakedness in that moment but he paid it no mind. At least that’s what I told myself when his eyes lingered just a little too long on my ass while I took my plate to the sink.

That had become routine over the last year- the clubbing, not the puking and waking up naked at his place. I’d grown comfortable with myself again and had simply accepted that I had feelings for my best friend. That I have feelings for my best friend. As in, present tense. They never went away and I learned to be okay with it.

This leads to my current predicament. I’m a confident man. I’m aware that I’m good looking. Sometimes I turn myself on. Maybe that’s conceited but who’s it really hurting? Because of this, I sometimes take pictures or record myself jacking off. My camera roll is full of dick pics and videos of me begging for Felix to come ride me.

And now Felix is looking at me expectantly from his position beside me on my bed, both of us slumped against the headboard. “Oh come on! Lemme see how it turned out!” He nudges my shoulder with his as his smile betrays him. He is pretending to be exasperated but he can’t pull it off. We’ve just taken a photo together with some dumb filter and he wants to look at it. Except he’s been known to scroll a bit before and I’m afraid he’ll find the video I recorded only a few hours earlier. “Pretty please?” He resorts to pouting and begging and my heart flips at the way his bottom lip pokes out.

I can’t say no when he looks at me like that and he seems to know since he always does it to get his way. I usually don’t mind indulging him but I’m anxious as I hand him my phone. “Fine. But don’t scro-”

“OH MY GOD THAT'S YOUR DICK-” He shouts as he drops the phone in surprise and my face feels like I’ve just opened the oven without leaning back first; I’m on fire. I try to grab my phone from where it landed on his chest but he gives me an evil smirk and holds it out of reach. “Who’s it for? Did you finally get on one of those dating apps I suggested?”

“Absolutely not. I-”

“So why do you have dick pics?”

“Do you not?”

“Not my dick pics.”

My eyes widen a bit and I look away, embarrassed by my train of thought. How many guys had sent him nudes and how many did he save? I’m not sure I want to know. I shake my head and hold my hand out. “Give it back, dude.”

He ignores me and scrolls through the photos of me fisting my cock before he finally stumbles upon the video. I jump to grab my phone, panicking this time, but it’s too late. We both go silent as my voice calling his name fills the room and I can see his cheeks reddening. After a moment I snap out of my trance and snatch my phone back, clearing my throat awkwardly. “That wasn’t for you…”

Felix, of course, throws another curveball at me and I have to force myself not to physically shudder at his tone. “Clearly it was for me, you were moaning my name while you fucked your fist.” I’d never heard him say anything so…nasty before. He usually keeps things pretty PG.

“Lix, don’t-”

“Was it me?” He suddenly asks as he sits up. His tone isn’t accusatory or panicked so I take it as a good sign and let out a sigh as I nod. I know what he’s asking.

“Yeah. You were the one I had that dream about.” I rake a hand through my hair and look away. “Look, I don’t want things to be weird, Lix, can we please just pretend this never happened?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and I sigh once more. “I had my suspicions, you know.” His voice is gentle as his small hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “I wasn’t oblivious to it. I just wanted things to unfold on their own. I didn’t want to push you when you were still coming to terms with everything, but I knew.”

My face is on fire yet again and it only gets worse when he pushes me back against the headboard and straddles my waist. His usually-inviting gaze is dark now, hooded as he looks down at me from his position on my lap. His freckles seem to stand out more with the soft blush dusting his cheeks. When his lips part, I immediately give him all my attention - as if he didn’t already have it. I hang on to his every word. I always have.

“I’ve thought about it too, you know.” His voice is a low rumble and it makes my head spin. “I’ve thought about how you sound; about how you taste, how you feel. I’ve spent so much time thinking about it and wondering if I was the man you dreamt about.” My dick twitches to life in my athletic shorts, though I’m terrified to admit I’m getting hard over this.

He’s leaning in close now and my heart is hammering in my chest. “I’m tired of just thinking about it, Binnie…” He whispers, his hands sliding from my shoulders, down my chest and abs as he leans closer to whisper in my ear. My muscles jump under his touch. I’ve always been pretty sensitive but it seems I’m even more responsive when it comes to him. “I wanna act on it.” His teeth ever so gently clamp down on my earlobe and my hands fly to his hips.

“Lix-” my voice is strained, surprising even me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how he manages to work me up without even trying. My fingers dig into the material of his loose sweats as a wave of arousal crashes over me. Before I can speak, he grinds his ass down on my semi and I can’t suppress the low groan I let out.

“I know you wanna act on it too, Binnie.” He whispers by my ear before allowing his tongue to soothe the area he’d just bitten. “I know you’re watching me in that mirror right now too.” He adds as his plump lips trail along my jaw and I have half a mind to deny it but that desire flees with his next question. “Do I look pretty on top like this?” His teeth rake over my skin and my grip on his hips tightens yet again as I watch him in the mirror that hangs over my bed.

“Fucking stunning, Lixie.” I rasp out, squeezing his hips as he sets a slow, steady pace. The sound he lets out at both the name and my touch makes my heart pound. I don’t watch him much longer, opting instead to turn my face towards his neck and press a series of kisses there, nipping at his skin after the final one. He fucking whimpers and my dick throbs against his ass.

But then he pulls away and sits up. I watch him in confusion, almost pouting when he pushes my hands away. “I can’t take it.” He whispers as he whips his shirt off. “I need you. Right now.” He looks back down at me, his warm blonde hair hanging in front of his eyes. He pushes it out of his face before reaching for the hem of my shirt.

I let him start to undress me, growing amused at just how frantic he’s becoming. “Relax, baby. We have all the time in the world.” I tease, flashing a smirk at him as I reach for him again. I pull him into me and he squeaks in surprise as our bare chests meet, his hands flying to my biceps. I can’t help but flex a bit. He whispers a soft ‘hi’, which I return as my fingers begin to trace circles on his back. He looks so pretty when he shudders at my touch.

I grow serious after a moment. I’ve never been with a man before. I’ve had plenty of sex but it’s been about a year since the last time and that time was with a woman because I was actively trying to deny my feelings for him. It’s not that I’m afraid or uncomfortable, I just need him to take it slow so I can learn his body; learn how he likes to be touched and how this actually works.

He can sense this. His eyes widen a bit, which is fucking adorable given his flushed cheeks, and he lets his hands slide up my arms to rest on my shoulders. “Am…am I your first?” I give a slight nod and his expression grows fond, a soft smile settling on his thick lips. “I’ll try to be patient.” He teases and both of us give a soft chuckle before my arms tighten around his waist.

“Can…” I start and bite my lip pensively. Should I ask for his permission? I mean, surely he won’t mind it since he initiated everything. Still, I ask. “Can I kiss you, Felix?”

His nod is almost imperceptible but I see it. He doesn’t make a move to lean in and I move one arm from his waist. Everything is still as we stare at each other, my free hand coming up to his face. I brush my knuckles along his jaw and he shivers, his breath hitching as I lean up towards him and let my hand cup his jaw. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about this.” I mimic his previous statement when we’re only a centimeter apart and his lips curl up into a soft smile before I bring my own lips to meet his.

It feels like the stars have aligned. Everything feels right when I’m kissing him. He tastes like the blue raspberry lollipop he was sucking on earlier - distractingly, might I add - but I’m certain he’d be just as sweet without the lingering taste of candy. I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip and he lets out yet another whimper, making my dick twitch again.

He slowly pulls back for air and I peek out at him, noticing a tiny smile on his lips again. “You taste like candy.” I whisper and he lets out a soft giggle, making my heart melt.

“So do you.” He whispers back. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He adds before crashing his lips back to mine. His hands are on my neck now, his thumbs resting just in front of my ears as he splays his fingers out on my feverish skin. This kiss is more urgent, more passionate. I let my hand move to the back of his head and suck in a deep breath as he nips at my lip. His hips begin to move again and the hand I’ve tangled in his sunny tresses becomes a fist.

His elbows are tucked in and it almost feels like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Does he like to feel small? I almost melt over how endearing he is but I manage to hold myself together. I can make him feel small and cared for.

I can’t help but give his hair a soft tug as I sweep my tongue into his mouth. He lets out the prettiest whine and reaches one hand between us, palming at the front of my shorts as he stills his hips. He’s growing frantic again and I can tell he’s desperate to be touched right now.

He doesn’t let me explore his mouth for too long, instead urging my head back so he can trail kisses along my throat. His lips work down my neck and just as I release his waist so I can slip a hand into his sweats, he begins his descent down my body. Molten lava fills my veins and I freeze in place when his lips trail down my chest while his hands make quick work of my shorts. He doesn’t tug my boxers down just yet, opting to tease me through the thin material. After lifting my hips for him, I look down at him.

I watch as he settles on his belly between my legs and admires the strain in my boxers. He props himself up on one elbow while he runs his free hand along my thigh. He turns and presses a kiss to my other thigh, dangerously close to my dick. “Lixie-” I hiss and he simply hums, allowing his lips to press more tender kisses to my skin and then the material of my boxers. He looks drunk now.

His hand rests on my hip as he begins to mouth at my barely-concealed hard-on and I let out a low groan. He leaves a series of sloppy kisses on the front of my boxers before closing his lips around my clothed tip. I suck in a ragged breath at the sensation and let my head fall back against the headboard with a dull thud. “Felix, please-” I sigh.

I don’t know why I anticipated him to refuse and continue teasing me, but that’s not what happens. He instantly gets up on his knees and urges me to lift my hips, which I do with no hesitation. My cock springs free from its confinement and I hiss slightly. I lift my head with all the strength I can muster and watch him settle back in before wrapping a small hand around my dick.

Something in me is screaming that I need to watch, to take in every second of his attention on me, but it’s becoming hard to hold my head up. The anticipation is driving me up the wall. My breathing is ragged as he gives a few strokes before making eye contact and wrapping his lips around my angry red head. I let out a soft sigh as his tongue swirls around the tip and my eyes slip closed. It’s only just started but this is already the best head of my life.

Then he takes me as far as he can and I feel like I’m floating. The sound that escapes me is choked and draws an amused hum from him. I allow my head to fall back against the headboard once more, the thud much louder this time, but force my eyes open, watching in the mirror as he throats my dick. I take in the way his head bobs over my hips and how his back is arched ever so slightly with the way he’s propped up. I admire the way he has one leg hiked up while the other is stretched out straight.

Between the slurping sounds and the way he’s rutting against the bed, I feel like I’m going to combust. He pulls off to breathe but continues to jerk me and I feel a bubble of disappointment settle in my belly. I know why he stopped but fuck it felt so good. He presses a series of kisses to my hips and thighs as he catches his breath and I almost have the strength to look back down at him but then he swallows me whole again and I almost pass out.

He’s working faster now, with more vigor, and I can’t dream of containing the noises he seems so set on drawing out of me. “Fuck, Lixie, slow down-” I groan, tangling a fist in his hair. He lets out a whimper at the tug and I notice how he bucks his hips harder at the contact as I’m watching his reflection. “I won’t last-”

He pulls off and stops moving, staring up at me. “Look at me.” His voice is oddly demanding and I can’t bring myself to deny him. I lift my head and make eye contact. “Sit up. I want you to watch me make you cum.” I have half a mind to flip things and pin him down, to teach him a lesson for getting so bossy with me, but I let it slide because I’m admittedly desperate to feel his mouth back on my aching cock. I resituate myself without a word and he gives a satisfied sound. “Good boy.”

“Thin ice, Lixie.” I warn and he lets out a soft giggle.

“Worth a shot.” He hums before growing serious again. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve gotten off to the thought of sucking you off.” He sighs almost dreamily before taking the tip back in his mouth. He looks up at me as he hollows his cheeks and swirls his tongue yet again, his hand working the rest of my cock. It’s clear he’s set on making me cum before I get the chance to fuck him, before I have the chance to get him equally as worked up.

He’s about to have his way. The knot in the pit of my belly is dangerously close to unraveling and I can’t stifle the noises he’s drawing out of me.

That knot comes undone the second I feel his free hand move to fondle my balls. “Fuck-” I almost drop my head back but the desire to have this image burned in my mind is stronger. Wave after wave of arousal floods my body as I shoot my load into his mouth, his fingertips just barely teasing my balls. I watch as he swallows my cum, my body on fire as he continues to work my dick until I’m about to beg him to stop.

He pulls off right before I open my mouth to stop him and licks his lips. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls himself to his knees and moves up the bed to kiss me. My arms are around his waist and his hands rest on my neck like before. I taste myself on his lips and when I sweep my tongue into his mouth. I’m straining up to kiss him as he’s towering over me and part of me wishes he’d sit down instead of standing on his knees. I don’t voice this, opting instead to focus on how good it feels to be with him like this.

My hands trail along his back, my fingertips ghosting over his skin, and he shivers. How cute. I let my fingers dip past his waistband and he sucks in a shaky breath, not once pulling away from the kiss as I give his bare ass a squeeze. I push his sweats and boxers down in one go and he finally breaks the kiss, looking down between us as his cock springs free. He presses his forehead to mine as I reach between us and he gasps when my callused hand wraps around his dick, his jaw hanging slack.

I realize this is the first time in my life I’m touching a dick that isn’t mine and I feel like a curious teenager all over again. I give an experimental tug, touching him the way I like to be touched, and he whines softly. The sound goes straight to my cock and I decide I have to keep hearing it. It’s just too pretty. He’s just too pretty. “What do you want? Tell me what you like, baby.” I whisper and his breath hitches. I can’t tell if it’s because of the name or the way my hand is working his hard-on, but I’m beyond caring.

“Just- just want you, Bin…” he whispers back and I shake my head.

“You know what I mean, Lix.” I gently nudge him back so I can meet his gaze and his face is bright red. How fucking cute. “I can’t just go for it without you telling me what you like and what feels good. I’ve never slept with a guy before. All the experience I have means nothing in this context.” My voice is gentle, not scolding. He already looks flustered enough.

He nods and swallows thickly as he tries to form a coherent sentence. I know the way my hand is slowly jerking him is making his mind run blank. “I-I’ll show you how. Just…please don’t stop-” His words are cut short by a surprisingly high-pitched moan when I dig my thumb into the slit. “Fuck- definitely don’t stop.”

I can’t help but chuckle softly at his response, feeling empowered by his reaction. “You like it when I do that?” I tease and he nods vigorously. “Words, baby. Tell me, do you like it when I do that?” I may sound like an ass right now but I don’t really care. I’m feeling high from this and every sound he makes pushes me closer to losing myself. I want to hear him say it.

“Y-yes!” He moans out, ducking his face into my neck. “Yes, I love it when you touch me like that. Want you to do it again. Please?” He’s quiet, his voice muffled by my shoulder, but I hear him clearly. I can’t deny him anything. I’ve never been able to deny him anything, even before I was nursing a crush on him. I dig my thumb in again and he lets out a choked sound, bucking into my hand.

He whimpers in distress when I release his cock, his head snapping up from my shoulder with wide, bleary eyes. He looks entirely dazed and disappointed at the loss of contact. Confused even. I sooth him with a quick peck before pulling him against my chest and flipping us so he’s on his back.

He looks pretty staring up at me like this. He always looks pretty, of course, but I’ve wanted to see him under me for so long now. I stare back at him for a moment before ducking down to kiss him. He moves to wrap his arms around my neck but I gently pin his wrists to the bed and he lets out a soft groan.

My lips move to his jaw and I press a few soft kisses there before beginning my descent. I nip at his neck and press chaste kisses to his collarbones; allow my tongue to flick over his nipples, earning a tiny squeak. “Let me hear.” I pause, looking up at him. I can tell he’s holding back and I want to hear every sound he makes. He nods slowly and I peck the center of his chest. “Good boy.” He keens at the name and I grin to myself. “You like being called a good boy, don’t you Lixie?”

“Fucking love it…” He whispers, his head falling back against the headboard. He’s more slumped than I’d been so I can just barely see his face as I move down his body. “Wanted to hear you call me a good boy for so long.” He sighs, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation of my lips on his skin.

“Yeah?” He nods and hums out a soft ‘uh huh’. “I bet you were thinking about it while imagining blowing me, weren’t you?” He gives the same response and I let out a quiet laugh as my lips ghost over his abs. He’s got well-defined muscles, which is a pleasant surprise for anyone who is blessed to see him shirtless.

His dick twitches as I kiss his hips and he whines softly when I don’t immediately touch him. I’m somewhat nervous now as I settle on my stomach between his legs. Again, I’ve had plenty of sex, but never with a man. I’m curious. But I’m also so unsure of myself. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and hesitantly lick the tip, propping on one arm the way he had only minutes prior.

He gasps softly at the sensation and I do it again, looking up to gauge his reaction. His eyes are screwed shut, his brow furrowed as he focuses on my touch. His lips are parted, allowing puffs of air and soft sounds of pleasure to escape. Slowly, carefully, I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and he lets out a whine so stunning I think I might just pass away.

“Please- more-” He gasps out and I tentatively flick my tongue. “J-just like that…” he whispers, assuring me I’m doing this right. I repeat my actions over and over, my hand working the rest of him, until he’s a worked up, whining mess. I pull off briefly and his head snaps up, his eyes flying open. Before he can ask why I stopped, I lock eyes with him and allow a thick string of drool to drip down from my mouth and onto the tip of his cock before spreading it around with my hand. He whimpers helplessly at the sight and I feel his dick throb in my hand.

Without breaking eye contact, I take him back in my mouth with more confidence than before and set out to finish him off. I want to taste more of him. I ease myself down his cock, taking him as far as I can manage before gagging a bit. He’s nodding at me now, assuring me I’m doing a good job, and my mind runs blank. All I can think about is making him feel good. I finally have him right where I want him - under me - and I’m determined to make this worth it for him.

I repeat my actions over and over until he’s desperately tugging at my hair and bucking his hips. Every time he shoves his cock down my throat, I gag around him and he lets out another pretty moan. He’s losing himself now and I feel powerful yet again. Then he starts begging.

“Please- oh my fucking god- ‘m gonna cum-” He moans out, letting his head fall back against the headboard.

Immediately, I pull off his drooling dick and repeat his previous statement, though my tone is much more demanding. “Look at me. I want you to watch me make you cum.” He lets out one of the most distressed sounds I’ve ever heard from him and quickly complies, propping himself up on one elbow so one hand is still free to tug at my hair. “Good boy.” I coo and take him back in my mouth.

His jaw hangs slack as his grip on my hair grows tighter and tighter to the point it’s painful. I love it. I find myself rutting against the bed just like he had earlier as I dig my tongue into the slit. The sound he lets out isn’t simply a moan, it’s a cry. He’s desperate for release now and he’s so, so sensitive. “A-again! Please- do it again-” He begs and I can’t dream of denying him.

The moment I repeat my actions, I feel his cum against my tongue. I take it all but I don’t swallow. I want him to get a taste of himself. I move up the bed as he comes down from his high and immediately press my lips to his, much like he’d done earlier. I gently grip his chin, urging him to open his mouth. He complies eagerly and I use my tongue to push his cum into his mouth, sharing it with him. We exchange it back and forth for a few seconds before I pull away and swallow what’s left.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was, but it was hot.” He giggles breathlessly and I chuckle softly. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what came over me just then, but it was one of the hottest things I’d ever done. I realize we’re staring at each other but I don’t dare move.

Things are still again, like when I asked to kiss him, except now he’s smiling up at me. We’re comfortable now, less on edge, but I’m far from done with him. I bring my hand to his face and run my thumb over his cheekbone as he leans into my touch, his eyes slipping shut. “You’re so pretty.” I whisper and his cheeks go a soft rose color.

“You’re prettier.” He whispers back, looking up at me. I chuckle and shake my head before he gently pushes me back. I sit up, slightly confused, and he rolls onto his side. I want to pin him back in place but I also have no clue what he’s doing. “You should really learn to put these things away.” He teases as he reaches for something on the other side of my bed.

It’s then that I realize I left my lube laying at the top of the pillow, tucked just far enough out of sight for me to forget its existence. It had slipped between the pillow and headboard, just barely peeking out. I let out a soft huff of laughter and move to take it but he playfully swats my hand away. “Sit.” He gestures to the headboard and I comply, moving to sit with my back against the cool wood.

I watch as he grabs a couple of pillows to recline on and pops the cap on the tube. “I’ve always wanted to put on a show for you…” he murmurs, his legs falling open as he squeezes some of the candy-scented lube onto his fingers to warm it up.

“How fitting. I’ve always wanted to watch you put on a show.” I smirk and he lets out a soft huff of laughter before whimpering quietly as his middle finger circles his entrance. His face scrunches up cutely as he slowly works himself up, soft sighs slipping past his pillowy lips.

After a few minutes of teasing, he carefully presses his middle finger into himself and makes yet another beautiful sound. God I wish I were the one touching him like that. Maybe he’ll let me…

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty like this…” I groan, watching as he finger fucks himself open for me. I wrap a hand around my dick and watch as he tries not to get too far ahead of himself.

“Yeah? How pretty?” He whimpers, adding a second finger as he looks at me. I see his cock twitch upon the realization that I’m enjoying what he’s doing and my gaze lifts to his face.

“So fucking pretty, baby. The prettiest.” His jaw drops and he lets his head tip back. It’s interesting to see just how much my words affect him.

Then he lets out a whine of frustration. “Can’t reach-” he huffs and I’m all too eager to offer assistance.

“Want me to take over, angel?” Stars fill his eyes at the name as he nods enthusiastically, immediately pulling his hand back to give me access.

“Please…”

I waste no time in grabbing the lube and squeezing some onto my fingers as I bring myself to my knees between his legs. I notice him tense and I pause, worried he might be uncomfortable. “Is everything okay, Lix?” I ask softly, still coating my fingers and warming the lube as I speak.

“Hmm?” It’s then that I see his eyes have become glossy and half-lidded. “Oh- yeah, everything is great.” He smiles up at me but I don’t move so he elaborates. “I was getting ahead of myself.”

“Aww, lost in thought about how it’ll feel when I fuck you?” He nods vigorously and I smirk as I lean down, propping myself up on one hand which is planted by his head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you won’t have to wait to find out much longer.” His face goes bright red again as I slip my hand between his legs.

In reality, I’m just as worked up as he is and I’m nervous. I’m talking a big game for someone who has never fucked a guy before. But I’m encouraged by his reaction as I press a slick finger inside him.

His jaw is still hanging slack and he lets out a soft whine. I’m honestly a little surprised by his reaction. He’s already stretched himself a good bit so it’s not a shocking sensation or anything. Is he really that affected by my touch? “C-curl-” He urges and I do, earning a high-pitched moan as my finger comes into contact with his prostate.

With a renewed sense of courage, I begin to finger fuck him, repeatedly dragging my finger over his prostate. After only a minute, he begs me for another so I give it to him, watching his face contort in pleasure as I hover over him. I lower myself down and begin to press kisses to his neck, earning sighs of pleasure.

But then he grabs my wrist, pushing my hand away, and I freeze. “Can’t- fuck, I can’t take it-” He grabs the lube as he speaks and puts more than a generous amount on his palm before wrapping his hand around my hard-on. “Please just fuck me already-” He begs as he coats my dick and it twitches in his hand. He looks up at me with a sly grin. “You like when I beg, Binnie?”

My cock throbs again and I instantly pull my fingers out of him and place my hand over his, bucking my hips when he digs his thumb into the slit. “I fucking love it, angel. Love that name too.” I see the stars in his eyes again and gently push his hand away. He takes hold of his own dick with his messy hand, biting his lip when I line up.

I slowly push in, watching as his lips part and he lets out a soft gasp. I’m short circuiting now. He’s tighter than any woman I ever fucked and now my jaw is hanging slack like his has been since he saw my dick pic. “Oh my fucking god, Lixie…” I choke out before I’m even halfway in.

My face screws up in pleasure and I hiss softly as my hips meet his. I don’t know if he wants me to move yet or not but I have to stay still for a moment or I will finish too early, I can feel it. “Binnie…” I manage to force my eyes open and his expression almost makes me lose myself. He’s staring up at me with half-lidded eyes, his pillowy lips parted and allowing little puffs of air to escape. “Kiss me…” He whispers, following it up with a soft ‘please?’ as he gives his cock a tug.

I don’t need to be asked twice. I plant my free hand on the other side of his head as I dip down to kiss him, making a mental note to change the sheets before letting him settle in for the night. Our lips meet and he tangles his free hand in my hair, giving a soft tug.

I groan against his lips and he continues to pull until it hurts. I wince at the pain and stop my hips from moving as he riles me up. He doesn’t seem to like this and gives another tug. He continues to give sporadic tugs as my tongue sweeps into his mouth until I finally buck my hips. He lets out a broken moan against my lips and I pull back so I can hear him fully.

“Gonna sing for me, pretty boy?” I tease as I snap my hips forwards, earning a loud, whiny ‘uh huh’ as he nods. “Tell me how you want it, baby.” I whisper, giving shallow thrusts as I listen for his response.

“I don’t care.” He groans, working his hand a bit faster. “I don’t care how you fuck me, Bin, just please make me cum.” He begs in a pathetic tone and a thrill runs through my body.

“Any way I want?” He nods and I sit up between his legs. I gently push his hand away from his dick and press his knees towards his chest, my hands supporting him so he can just relax and feel everything I’m doing to him. “Lix?” He looks up and I catch his eye. “Tell me if anything is off, yeah?” I’m so worried I’m going to mess this up somehow. Maybe it’s because it’s Felix, my best friend and the man I’ve had feelings for for over a year, and not just some random guy.

“Of course.” I breathe a sigh of relief and he bites his lip in a failed attempt to conceal a tiny smile. “But don’t expect to hear anything but moans.” I’m slightly taken aback but entirely flattered that he has so much faith in me.

He’s about to encourage me to carry on when I suddenly snap my hips forwards. His jaw drops and his head falls back to the pillows, a quiet moan slipping past his plump lips. “You mean like that?” I tease as I set a steady pace, suppressing my own sounds save for the soft cursing under my breath.

He nods frantically and I just barely notice him wipe his hands clean before holding his legs just above where I’m holding. “Please touch my cock, Binnie. I need it. I need you to touch me. Pretty please?” He begs as I begin to speed up, feeling more confident with every gasp and moan I draw from him.

I release his thighs and wrap my right hand around his dick, stifling a low groan as he lets out a breathy moan that vaguely sounds like my name. My gaze is volleying between where we’re connected, my hand tugging at his pretty cock, and his face, which is screwed up in pleasure. My hips falter slightly when I realize he looks just as pretty as he did in the dream that started this whole mess.

I quickly regain my rhythm and tap his hand, signaling him to release his legs. Once he does, I urge them around my waist. My left hand rests on his thigh, close to his hip, and I massage circles on his feverish skin with my thumb. “F-faster-” He chokes, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other blindly searches for my left hand.

He stops my absentminded motion and takes my hand, lacing our fingers. My heart races at the simple gesture and I give a gentle squeeze as I pick up the pace, hips pistoning at a pace I forgot I could reach. I’m about to speak but every thought leaves my mind when I look down at his leaking cock. Just past that, I notice a bulge that appears every time I slam into him.

“Holy fucking shit-” I hiss as I watch in wonder. A new wave of arousal crashes over me at the sight and I’m hit with the urge to breed him; to make him wholly mine. I know it makes no sense but I can’t help it. “Lixie, baby, you’re so fucking perfect…” I groan and he squeezes my hand.

I release his dick and ghost my fingers over the bulge appearing in his belly with each thrust. He whines in disappointment at the loss of stimulation but lifts his head when he feels my fingertips on his skin. He zeroes in on what I’m fixated on and I feel him clench around me, drawing a loud moan from me. “Oh fuck-” His jaw drops as he watches, precum dribbling on his skin at the sight, which only makes it hotter. “Oh fuck ‘m gonna cum-” He warns and I instantly wrap my hand back around his cock, set on finishing him off.

I’m fighting to stay composed as I fuck into him. I want him to cum first. And he does. He lets out a cry that resembles my name as cum spurts across his belly, his grip on my hand tightening as he shudders in pleasure. I don’t stop jacking him off until he’s trembling and squeezing my hand almost painfully. Finally, I release him. “Where do you want it, bab-?”

He doesn’t even let me finish speaking. “Inside. Please cum inside.” His tone is desperate as he begs and he sounds close to tears. Not being able to refuse him, I let go.

My thrusts become sloppy and a moment later my orgasm crashes over me. I rut into him desperately, my entire body overtaken by a euphoria I’ve never experienced before. I’m pinning his hands above his head as I fall into him even before the ecstasy has passed, hips still jerking as I crash my lips to his in a desperate kiss.

He moans against my lips, squeezing my hands as my hips slow. Finally, I still as my tongue dips into his mouth. He still tastes like that blue raspberry lollipop from earlier.

I hum as I pull back for air and he bites his lip as he looks up at me. We stare at each other in silence, both of us praying that this isn’t a one time thing but neither of us willing to ask. I release his hands in favor of playing with his hair after pushing it out of his face. “You did so good.”

“Mm usually I’m the one giving the praise, sweetheart.” I tease and he giggles softly, bringing his hands to my cheeks and tracing my cheekbones with his thumbs.

“Well I’m the one with more experience so I get to dole out praises this time.” He sticks his tongue out playfully before smiling up at me again. “Seriously though, you’re fucking amazing.”

I lean down and peck his lips again before sitting up, pulling him with me so we’re still chest to chest. I’m vaguely aware of the way our bodies are pressed together, his cum smearing across both of us now. More importantly, I’m aware of how the change in position drives me deeper into him; aware of the tiny gasp that slips past his lips.

“I think that’s you, baby.” I whisper and peck his lips again. I can’t help myself. I’ve wanted to kiss him for a whole year now.

He goes quiet for a moment as he looks at me and I wonder what he’s thinking. Before I can ask, he’s tipping us over and I’m landing on my back beneath him. “No, it’s you. I can’t get enough.” He whispers and rolls his hips.

I hiss at the motion and plant my feet on the mattress, trying to tighten my grip on him to hold him still while I buck into him, but he pushes my hands away. He grabs my wrists and pins my hands by my head at first, pulling back so he can look down at me. My softening dick begins to stiffen again and I make a mental note to contemplate exactly why it was so hot to be pinned down by him when he’s the most obviously submissive man I’ve ever met. Then he releases me and sits up properly on my lap.

“What have you done to me?” He whines softly, lifting himself up so just the tip is inside before dropping back down. I raise an eyebrow as my hands move to his hips and he tips his head back, looking up at himself in the mirror. “You already wrecked me, why am I still so fucking horny?”

I can’t help but chuckle at his complaint. “What? Tiny baby needs to be filled with cum again to feel satisfied?” My tone is mocking and I can feel the effect my words have on him. He clenches around me as his whole body tenses and I see his eyes slip shut in the mirror as he makes a pathetic noise.

“Yes! God yes-” He moans, pushing into my touch when my hands move to squeeze his ass. “Want you to fill me up again. Wanna make you cum for me again…” He babbles on as he lifts himself up and drops back down, letting out what almost sounds like a squeal.

He sets a steady pace like this, a symphony of the prettiest sounds I’ve ever heard falling from his lips as he rides me. His head lolls around, alternating between watching himself in the mirror and looking down at me. I can’t tear my eyes away from his body, fixated on the way his muscles contract and the bulge that appears as he fucks me.

I don’t know what possesses me to do this, but I slap his ass and he jolts on top of me. His dick twitches and he moans out my name. He leans forwards and places his hands on my abs, balancing himself as he rocks back on my dick. I buck my hips and he whimpers. “No no no, lemme do it. I wanna do this. Wanna make you cum…” He argues and I can't deny him anything so I comply.

It’s difficult to stay still but I settle for guiding his hips. His head hangs as he rides me, his moans growing increasingly desperate each time our bodies meet. My body is on fire at the slight overstimulation but I welcome it.

Felix doesn’t seem to be faring as well. His moans have turned into cries and he tries to hide his face from me by tossing his head back as he sits up. I see it though and I notice the tears. I’m worried but he’s still going, lifting himself up with much effort and dropping back down in a heap. “Baby, do you need a break?”

“J-just a little…” he wipes his cheeks but doesn’t stop moving. “But I wanna keep going.”

“Why don’t you let me take over, Lixie?” He shakes his head and I gently squeeze his hips. “Please, angel?” He freezes at the name and nods after a moment of silence.

I immediately sit up and make him lay back before pulling out, some of my cum leaking out of him. I don’t bother asking him to roll over, I position him myself. I put him on his belly and push one leg up, like the way he’d laid while sucking me off. I grab his ass and see him clench around nothing, whimpering at my treatment of him. “Please fuck me, Binnie…” He whines out and I squeeze some more lube onto my dick before I line up.

I push into him and set a rough pace, giving his ass a slap as I listen to his wails. His hands fist the sheets as lewd squelching and the sound of skin slapping fills the room. He lets out a pretty sob every time I slap his ass.

My gaze bounces back and forth between his ass - I can’t help but admire the way it jiggles every time I slam into him - and his hands twisted in the sheets. He looks so pretty on display for me like this, crying into my sheets. It’s better than any dream I could’ve had and my dick twitches inside him. Fuck I’m close.

“Fuck- Binnie, please cum inside! Please- want you to cum first and fill me up-” He begs and my dick twitches again.

“Yeah? Gonna take it all like a good boy? Gonna cum and make a mess of my sheets?”

“Yes!” He sobs and I can't help myself. I give in to the fire licking at my skin and cum, relishing in his moans as I fill him up. He shudders beneath me as he joins me, his body jerking with the force of his orgasm.

I don’t stop until I’m on fire, until I can’t take it anymore. He’s trembling now. I pull out slowly and he makes a small sound of protest. I lean down and press my lips to his shoulder, kissing there several times before sitting back up. “You did so good for me, baby. Took it so well.” I coo as I gently roll him onto his back, only to discover he’d had a dry orgasm.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully and I nod, leaning back over him and swiping my knuckles over his cheeks to dry his tears.

“Yeah.” I offer a small smile before pecking his pouty lips. “Why don’t you let me get you cleaned up and then we can snuggle?”

“How about I go get cleaned up while you change the sheets and then we cuddle?” He laughs softly, taking in a shaky breath afterwards as he stares up at me in what I can only describe as adoration.

“Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?” I ask as we both sit up and he shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” He assures me as he stands. Part of me deflates a little because I want to dote on him, but that part is pacified when he turns around and plants his lips on mine. I rise up on my knees as we kiss, pulling him against me. I frown a little when he pulls back. “I’ll be right back.”

I nod and watch him walk into my en suite bathroom before pulling myself from my trance. Holy shit. I fucked my best friend.

I get up from the bed and quickly pull the sheets off, using them to wipe his cum off my stomach and clean my dick. I toss them in the hamper and grab a pair of boxers, pulling them on before going to the closet to get fresh sheets.

I’m wrestling with the fitted sheet when Felix comes out of the bathroom and grabs his boxers from the floor. “Need a hand?” He teases, his usual glow back tenfold.

“Maybe a little.” I chuckle and he helps me quickly finish making the bed before crawling under the sheets. I join him and prop up on one arm, resting my head on my hand. I take a moment to admire him, his bright eyes framed with long lashes and full lips that could easily put any Bratz doll to shame, before speaking. “How long did you know?”

He takes a moment to take me in as well before answering. “I only assumed, but ever since you told me you had ‘an intimate dream about a guy’ after icing me out for two weeks. It made sense. I wondered why you avoided me but then you told me you had that dream and I guessed it had something to do with me.”

“Then…how long have you thought about sleeping with me?” I might be pushing my luck but I’m curious.

“Long before you ever questioned your sexuality.” He scoffs at himself and looks down at my bare chest with a ghost of a smile, his cheeks going a soft pink. “I think it started that day at the park when we were in high school. Remember that picnic we went on? You were by my side the whole time and you complimented me a few times. You just looked so good that day and you were so laid back and fun, I couldn't help but admire you. That never really changed though, you being carefree.”

It’s my turn to blush now. A smile creeps onto my face as I listen and I finally wrap an arm around him, pulling him against me. “That long?” He nods and I kiss his forehead. “You must’ve known something I didn’t back then.” I tease.

“No,” he laughs. “I used to lament the fact I had a crush on the straight guy.” He snuggles into my chest and lets out a soft sigh. “Part of me wondered if I was ever obvious about it. I don’t know if I ever acted weird around you. I feel like I did.”

“If you did, I never noticed. You’ve always been a sweetheart, I just figured you were extra sweet in private with everyone.” I laugh in spite of myself. How did I never pick up on it? To be fair, I thought I was straight until a little over a year ago. “It’s endearing.”

“It is?” I can hear his smile in his voice.

“It is. Everything about you is. You’re the resident sunshine, after all.”

“I like when you call me stuff like that.”

“Yeah?” He nods. “I think ‘angel’ is your favorite, hmm?” He nods again and I kiss the top of his head before laying my head down. “Cute. Well I’m glad you like it because I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“You better not.” He’s pouting now, I’m sure of it.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won't.”

“Good. You better keep calling me your baby.” I can’t stop the smile I’m wearing from growing wider.

“I will because you are.” I hum. I don’t know what we are but I do know we’re more than friends and I do know I’m never getting over him. “Sweet dreams.” I whisper when I notice his breathing even out.

Whatever this is, I’m content to hold him in my arms for the rest of the night.

#kpop smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #stray kids changbin #changbin #changbin smut #chanbin x felix #changlix #changlix smut #stray kids felix #lee felix #lee felix smut #kpop pride #pride month event 2023 #this was the result of several months of severe brain rot #i hope you like it #because it's one of my favorites #alura’s works

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phantomspiderr · 2 years ago

Text

The Commander & The Star

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word count: 2.2k+

Summary: Maybe you realised you love your best friend when it’s too late

Warnings/Tags: mentions of death, injury, explosions, fire, guilt, also a couple swears in there, probably the most angst I’ve ever written(I promise there’s a happy ending), cocky Poe Dameron, overuse of the words TIE Fighter and X-Wing(sorry), in case it isn’t obvious I know nothing about flying either and there’s of course some smooching

a/n: yeah sorry this came out of nowhere and is probably a bit of a mess and ngl I don’t fully understand Star Wars but I do love Poe Dameron so… hope you enjoy!

also I’m pretty sure there’s no mentions of gender or appearance or anything like that but as always if I’ve got that wrong and there is let me know! Appreciate you all, have a wonderful day🤍

(not my gif)

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

nonononono…

You’re stumbling over rubble, uncaringly inhaling thick smoke as your numb legs carry you across the rugged terrain. Your heart thrashes around in your rib cage as your eyes sting with tears. No one ever prepares you for this when you’re learning to fly, not even your worrying thoughts every time either of you got in an X-Wing could prepare you for this.

Just moments ago you’d watched your best friend get shot out of the sky. The best pilot in the Resistance, hell the best pilot in the galaxy had been shot down in front of your very eyes.

It was only supposed to be a recon mission on some desolate planet no one had heard of for many, many years. But of course, in all of the galaxy, the First Order had a spontaneous patrol in the exact area just by the planet you were looking for. Poe was quick to spot them but before the two of you could make a quick getaway the four TIE fighters were barrelling in your direction.

“Shit! We gotta take them down. You take the two on the left and I’ll go right,” Poe’s crackly voice coming through your speaker somehow sounds calm in the middle of all this. It doesn’t matter how many times you fly your X-Wing or fight off the enemy there’s always a twinge of doubt about your ability in the back of your mind every time. But it all washes away every single time Poe utters the words, “Hey, you’re okay. We’ve got this.”

Your X-Wings are close enough that you can look to your right and see him in his cockpit. When he looks over at you it feels like time stands still for just a second, then you share a nod before both flying off in different directions. Your ships are still connected by your communicators so you can hear all the whooping and taunting Poe does as he flies. No matter how distracting he is, the sound of his voice is always something that will calm you. Even as you manoeuvre around the two TIE Fighters that are close on your tail.

“Poe! I can’t shake these guys,” you’re pulling up trying to roll over the top of the TIE Fighters to get an advantage behind them. You’re too out in the open and you’re finding it difficult to get around them. You’d never want to admit that the First Order is good at anything but maker these pilots are brilliant.

“We need to go down,” you can hear him pushing buttons, obviously trying to figure out a plan on the spot, “ah! There’s some mountains below. We’re better down there, I’ve pinpointed it on your map okay?”

“Shit!” You jump when you suddenly see one of the Tie Fighters in front of you explode, pulling a hard left to avoid going headfirst into it.

“You’re welcome!” You can picture the smug look on Poe’s face, always looking for a way to show off. Always a little reckless too. The man’s still chasing off his own two enemies he didn’t need to pick yours off for you too.

“A little warning next time would be great,” you push a few buttons, pulling up your map on the little screen in front of you. The one TIE now behind you again, chasing you down and shooting off blasters in every direction. You try to pick up speed as you quickly descend into the planet’s atmosphere, your ship beeping and flashing red in warning.

“Careful, Star.” The callsign he’d chosen for you rolling off his tongue with ease still makes your heart do a little flip. Your mind instantaneously shifts focus onto Poe’s X-Wing flying ahead as a TIE Fighter tries to come at him from the side. You’re quick to turn toward it, expertly flipping switches and locking your launcher onto the enemy ship. You can’t help but tease Poe just a little, “Careful, Commander.” The TIE explodes just as you speak and you smugly pull away in a different direction still acutely aware of the ship following you.

“A little warning?” He mocks your previous words and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Your head switches focus back to the task at hand, you’re trying to find an opportunity to lose the guy behind you or make him crash whichever comes first. Your eyes scan the new terrain, the mountains are just ahead but it’s too open and the gap between you and the enemy is closing.

“Change of plan!” You pull up and left suddenly yanking your ship in the direction of some towering trees, “gonna try lose them in the forest.”

“Star.” Poe’s voice warns, he always hates when you split off but you’re the only one he ever trusts to make decisions on the fly. You choose to just ignore the warning until he repeats it just as you spot the TIE Fighter pull away from your rear and go towards Poe. Shit.

“Poe!” You pull back hard, your X-Wing just floating on the spot for a second before it twists and you’re trying to speed toward the other ships.

“Yeah, I see them! Can you get behind them and I’ll lead them-“ A shot clips one of Poe’s wings and you can hear the beeping coming from his control pad.

“Poe?!” You’re immediately concerned, thinking the worst as you catch up.

“I’m good, just a little damage!” If you’d been anyone else you’d have missed the tinge of worry in his voice but you’re you and you’ve been his best friend since day one. His worry bleeds into your brain and your focus falters for just a second you miss a shot on one of your enemies. It comes back quickly as you start to see Poe’s ship slowing down significantly, giving the TIEs an advantage. One tries to take his side again just like the one before while the other continues to chase him from behind. You’re just out of range to lock your blasters on the ship and you’re pushing your X-Wing to its limits now just needing to get a little closer.

“comeoncomeoncomeon!” You’re nervously mumbling, your whole body tense, “YES!” Your control pad shows it’s locked on the target and you fire rapidly before it can change. Before you can even celebrate taking down another First Order pilot you see the red beams shoot out from the TIE Fighter you’d just been pursuing right before it explodes. You watch in horror as it completely takes out Poe’s other wing and he starts spinning toward the ground. He clips the last remaining TIE Fighter on his way down and sends it spinning straight into a tree and explodes.

You screech out his name as you hear his ship beeping through your comms, you can just make out what you think is Poe hitting the control panel with his fist. He doesn’t say a word and you feel stuck in place like some kind of force is holding you there so you can watch your best friend plummet to his death into the forest below. As if someone flips a switch you’re steering down haphazardly, not being as careful as you normally are when landing your X-Wing. It’s barely on the ground before you’re tugging at your seat belts and pulling off your helmet. You forego deploying your ladder instead just ungracefully slipping down the side and landing on the ground with a thud that sends shooting pain up your legs.

There are bits of TIE Fighter smoking or on fire, there are even parts of Poe’s beloved X-Wing scattered on the ground. Your legs feel like lead as you climb up a mound covering where you’re sure Poe crash-landed. Your lungs burn as you inhale the thick smoke in the air and you’re scared. So scared. You reach the top and you almost fall straight back down, the sight before you making your legs weak. That beloved X-Wing he’d spent years working on, the thing that had tally marks scratched into the floor of how many people he’d lost so he always knew what he was fighting for. That godforsaken thing you’d both spent countless late nights fixing up, just in pieces in front of you. It’s hard to see it all, a part obviously exploded and was blowing thick dark smoke out into the air. Your eyes sting and you’re honestly not sure if it’s the smoke or the fact you think your best friend just died and you blame yourself for it already. There were so many things left unsaid, so many adventures you were supposed to go on together. You knew every time either of you flew that this could happen but some part of you thought that you were both invincible, that nothing would ever happen to you and now it has and you’re numb.

Your legs almost give out as you clumsily stumble down the mound. You can feel your body trembling as you search the wreckage for confirmation of your worst fear. You’re coughing now as you get closer finding heaps of metal you start pulling apart in hopes you’re wrong.

He won’t get to see the Residence win.

He won’t get to grow old and have the kids he said he wanted.

You won’t get to spend another day with your best friend.

You won’t get to tell him you love him.

Your thoughts race at light speed and your legs finally give out, you sink to your knees and sobs freely fall out of you.

“I-I hope those tears aren’t for me Star,” his voice is gruff, he’s coughing too and you almost think you’re hearing things until your head snaps around and you can see him limping toward you a few feet away.

“Poe? Poe!” You’re slipping on the ground as you clamber to your feet and then you’re sprinting toward him. Uncaring that you were just on the ground sobbing because you thought he was dead. He’s covered in ash and his flight suit is torn in places and singed in others. You just manage to make out the little cuts littering his handsome face that you know he’ll think make him look tough later. Then when you’re within touching distance your hands reach for his face and you don’t even realise you’re kissing him until you are. You’re kissing Poe Dameron and it feels like heaven. You’re holding onto him for dear life as if he might disappear but relief floods your brain, he’s really there, he’s alive. Then suddenly your logical brain kicks in and you abruptly pull away looking at him wide-eyed with disbelief. Your hands move away and back again before resting on his shoulders and your brain just acts like you didn’t just kiss your best friend but he hisses and recoils one shoulder away from your hand.

“Yeah I’m gonna need you to put that back in,” he jokes like you’re not now just staring at his dislocated shoulder. Your relief-addled brain had clearly missed that upon your quick inspection as you raced over. You’re trying to focus on inspecting him for any further injuries now instead of focusing on the way he tasted like those blue candies he buys in bulk because he eats so many. You don’t even look up at him when he calls your name, busying yourself with looking over a cut on his other arm and thinking if you have enough first aid supplies to treat all of this. Then he says your name a bit more sternly, his working arm swatting both yours away and he reaches up to hold your face. He tilts your head up so you’re looking directly at him now and you watch his smile grow, “how long have you been holding out on me?” You must look completely dumbfounded because he chuckles a little before it turns into a cough and then a groan of pain as he buckles over a little. You’re quick to support him, the trained medic in you taking over as you wrap his uninjured arm around your shoulders.

“Come on,” you pause for a second to collect your thoughts and find the right words to say, “we can talk about this later.” It comes out more like a question, hope seeping out of every word.

“Oh we’re not done with this,” he gives you that smug look he does when he gets a bit cocky and you can’t help the way your elbow just ever so slightly nudges his ribs, sending him into another coughing fit and wiping the cocky look off his face.

You laugh just a little as he scolds you, trying and failing to use his ‘in charge commander’ voice, “not funny! Gonna write you up for that.”

“I’d like to see you try,” still chuckling, you glance at his dislocated shoulder, the side with which he writes and you see it click in his brain when he realises.

“Oh ha ha, laugh at the injured man. I can type with my other hand y’know,” your body’s still riding high on the adrenaline but your heart is calm. Poe’s here with you, you’re both alive and maybe you’re in love with each other and you just never realised.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x gn!reader #poe dameron x gender neutral reader #poe dameron #star wars fanfiction #star wars #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x pilot!reader #poe dameron angst

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mackthecheese · 6 months ago

Note

My bestie and I were hanging out today and I brought up the idea of fankids specifically for the Nightmare Mode characters and. We have some fun ones and I wanted to share. I would also like to note the only ship listed here I don't actually support is the first one

Abducius + Zoth + Yog: E. Bola, the Bloodletter (14/15, they/he) A very tall plague doctor looking guy who's "beak" does in fact open like a beak, and is full of razor blades. Their nails are also as sharp as razor blades, and they have like. A whole bunch of arms hidden under their cloak. They can drop and move like a centipede if they wish. They are very loud and annoying, finding everything to be a joke. They literally live in the walls. They mostly avoid their fathers as Yog doesn't seem to actually care about them, Zoth is rarely home, and Abducius is a little to eager to punish him. Very jumpy. Literally the worst instigator ever. Is very protective of the other kids (including Quachil).

Bryn Mawr* + Teutates: M11257403LY a.k.a. Molly (13, they/it) the Weapon. Molly outwardly looks like a bomb. They are made of grey steel and have no facial features except glass eyes that look welded on, and behind them the colour of their eyes shift in a warm colour spectrum. They wear a black military uniform with no medals, dog tags with the nuclear waste symbol painted on them in yellow, and a red beret. Molly is capable of flipping inside out, exposing all around it to radiation and risking an explosion, but that only happens under dire circumstances as it can only explode once. It rarely shows emotion other than extreme anger. It has a very strong bond to its parents and often goes out to help them. It has a robotic voice with no emotion behind it, and speaks like a soldier. It is also very susceptible to manipulation. This becomes important because Yan Luo Wang Diyu realizes they are a weapon and wishes to train it. It scares the other kids, but it isn't bad.

Shub + Ishtar + Lilith: Buggaboo (5, she/her) the Crop Carver. Buggy looks like a giant bug, specifically a cicada. She has big eyes, wings that are almost too big and antennae, as well as demon horns that stick straight up and red runes all over her body. She wears a little yellow and white sundress. Buggy is five. She is happy to do literally everything. She loves to "draw pictures" on farmer's fields and play hide and seek, even if she's bad at it because she gets very loud when she's happy. She's never seen without one of her mamas with her, they take very good care of her. Sweetums. She also is usually seen with E. Bola as he has claimed her as sibling no. 2.

Xezbet + Drugia: Amygdala, or Amy (17, she/her) the Trapper. Amy is a ghost with shackles around her neck and wrists, who is surrounded by floating hands. She wears a long, tattered white dress and glows blue. Instead of a face she has a black void, and she has flowing white hair. She helps her mother and father by creating labyrinths in people's dreams (with her mother's help) to trap them so her father can take their souls. She herself takes pride in her work, and she loves designing her traps to suit whichever poor soul she's tormenting. She's cordial to her neighbors and isn't all the agressive towards them.

Dagda + Izanami: Gl'bgolyb or Gloppy. (18/19, he/him) the Impersonator. Gloppy appears to be a wooden puppet body at first, being held up by something behind it. Its face is worn and scratched, almost unrecognizable as a face. The rest of its body is equally weathered and worn, splintering in off places and moving jerkily. Gloppy himself is actually a flesh creature behind the puppet, a mass of skin and eyes and mouths and ears and anything you can think of. Gloppy is a very jealous person, wanting to be seen as the most disturbing thing here but losing to Molly. Despite this he is the next reasonable of the kids next to Amy. He mostly just acts as a lure.

Chaugnar + Nyogtha: Mal (28, she/her) the Slaughterer. Mal wears a lamb mask with blacked out eyes and a simple red robe. Her hair can be seen, it's sort of fluffed out behind her head. She often visits her parents and helps out with rituals as she carries out sacrifices (she also works with Zoth). She usually babysits the younger kids, or teaches them how rituals work and how they are meant to be done. She's actually a very pleasant person!

Also important to note. Mal and Buggaboo have real world counterparts (Malinda Schmidt, and Sheila Bubbles (Margarette adopted her from one of her friends who couldn't take care of her), but no one else does. Amy and Gloppy may be based off of Roman and Lois' and Alf and Rafttellyn's kids but. Yeah. E. Bola and Molly both have absolutely no basis in reality and only exist in the nightmare.

*Here Bryn Mawr is Francis 2's nightmare form. Bryn Mawr is a spirit from Welsh folklore who goes from house to house during Yule, asking to be let in. If you let her in she'll eat for food and join your celebration, and if you refuse to let her in she curses you. So I feel it fits. Bryn has a pleasant looking face, quite cute actually, but wears a muzzle. He also wears torn clothes that show mouths all over his body, and he has claws and a cat tail. He is usually used as a hunting dog for whoever needs one.

Oh my god these are so fucking sick-

I want to doodle them heheheh >:)

#answering the important questions here #thats not my neighbor #that's not my neighbor #that’s not my neighbor #tnmn nightmare mode #nightmare mode #tnmn fankid #sick af #absolutely metal #(literally in Molly’s case)

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weeo · 1 year ago

Text

What's Bred in the Bone Comes Out in the Flesh

Where the Waters Do Agree - Chapter 4

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Alfie Solomons

Summary: Alfie offered Tommy to help him kill his mark—looks like they have a mission to complete, and a destabilising tension to deal with.

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blood, Assassination

Notes: This is the 4th chapter of a group fic! If you want to read the story from the beginning, you can have access to every chapter here.

Thank you so much to the lovely @deadendtracks for the beta!

Read on AO3

It may appear suspicious to find your very dear mate, on a serene morning after a churning storm, sharing eggs and bacon with none other than your own fucking mark. Alfie could concede to him that.

As a matter of fact, he’d been the first surprised by this incongruous situation. He considered he’d never get the chance to reencounter this shithead on the face of the earth, let alone come across him sipping tea in the first-class saloon the following day. Surreal, innit? When they parted their way to their personal cabins the previous night, Alfie had no doubts Tommy would squirm for 30 seconds in his bed before wandering through the halls to finish his task. What honestly could have been better than pretending to be Tommy's knight in shining armour without lifting a fucking finger, eh?

Well, Alfie was open to recognising the situation was tricky. Nonetheless, stomping on Alfie’s foot with his boot heel, while Alfie generously served himself second helpings of scrambled eggs at the breakfast buffet, was an outright overreaction on Tommy’s part.

Alfie’s cane, hung at his elbow, slammed to the ground in an excruciating commotion. All heads pivoted towards him. How silly of Tommy to draw attention to them in such a reckless manner!

“What the fuck, man?”

Alfie’s knees screamed when he picked his cane up. Blood trickled down the severed inside of his cheek and its bitter taste snaked around his teeth. Thankfully, the counter helped him to regain his feet without looking like a bedridden old grouch.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Alfie?” Tommy stared blankly at the wall facing him at the other end of the room and exhaled a trail of smoke. Slowly. Way too slow, so that the purpose was to be infuriating. Tommy acted like a Hollywood sweetheart, batting his eyelashes on a cardboard film set. Who the fuck does this disdainful prick think he is when Alfie’s been anything but considerate with his friend?

“Well, actually, I’m doing your job, mate.”

Tommy snickered humorlessly before taking another drag of his cigarette. “I doubt that.”

Alfie smiled. “Hm, silly boy, you’ve not read your documents closely, ain’t you?”

“Should I understand you’ve been spying on me?”

Alfie’s hand reached to his heart. “Accusing your dear mate of such lowness, what a world to raise children in!”

Tommy turned his head towards Alfie and raised an eyebrow: “It’s not because you can’t bend your knees anymore that such lowness is unreachable for you, Alfie.”

“Well, yeah, you know…”

“What were you bloody doing?”

“Well, I was extending a hand to a very dear friend of mine in need of assistance, because, see, helping you resolves my own fucking problem, mate.”

“Fucking spit it out, Alfie. What were you bloody doing with that fucker?”

“Oh, you know, just paying double for three crates of Tommy guns. You’re supposed to stop this guy from selling and shipping them to the IRA, if you’d read the papers closely.”

“How did you get them?” Tommy maintained an unimpressed—or nonetheless, contained—expression.

“In your coat pocket.”

“Do you think you’re being funny?” Tommy knitted his brows.

“Yeah, mate, indeed. You wouldn’t have fucking noticed if a horse burst into your fucking cabin, no less a simple man snatching a paper from your very own coat pocket.” Alfie nearly swiped his plate away with large, careless gestures. He got carried away—an excess of confidence.

After a fleeting silence, Tommy admitted: “I just got straight to the main parts.”

“Better not to know, uh?” Alfie fixed Tommy, looking for his eyes. “Yeah, well, I help my mate, and by a phenomenal alignment of events, I also resolve the business I’m on this little trip for. It truly is the best of both worlds, innit?”

“Have you ever done something which wasn’t in your best interest, Alfie?”

“Have you?” Alfie smiled recklessly, showing his terrible crooked tooth on full display. “See, we’re just the same. Hell’s Kitchen also lives up to its fucking name, mate. It’s been put to fire and the sword since some bloody wop insulted the fiancé of my mourned cousin Adam.” Alfie’s hand reached to his heart. “Nonetheless, these bands of fucking savages have been killing each other with meat cleavers, saws and fucking rolling pins. Can’t you believe it? Hm, yeah, nothing’s worse than being ashamed of his own fucking kin, right? Soon, they’ll make their enemy choke on bloody bread dough if no one fucking intervenes. This regrettable shitshow has to be definitely put to an end, and the Thompson submachine guns would let off a good fucking firework finale, don’t you think?”

“Keep it down.” Tommy intervened and glanced to the side without moving his neck an inch. “You will frighten our friend.” He whispered: “The guns can be part of the deal, but we need to figure out where they fucking are.”

“Meet me in room 47 at 9 PM. I’ll lure your guy in to conclude our business. He arms the enemy as long as the cash is worth it. He shouldn’t be difficult to bait with an increased transaction. We make him spill the beans and send him on an eternal honeymoon with good ol’ Eddie. Easy.”

“Easy enough if I trusted you, Alfie.”

“Look, mate, is there a remarkably better idea offered to you? Well, suppose an impeccable resolution fell on you from the sky this very morning, you know, sent by the Almighty; you could have just said like a freakin normal human blessed with the gift of speech: “No, mate, thank you dearly, but I’ll handle it myself.”, ain’t you?”

Tommy blinked slowly and crushed his cigarette on the tiled floor. He dropped his empty, pristine plate off on a trolley full of soiled dishes and left the saloon without a word.

Suppose it’s his way to acknowledge he’s on board, eh?

He sure won’t complain to the staff about finding Tommy seated on the bed when he got to cabin number 47, but there’s been a real lack of safety and protection of private life on this fucking heap of metal. He was the one who had the fucking keys, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s not yours,” Tommy said as soon as Alfie opened the door.

“Didn’t want blood all over me fucking carpet, ain’t I?” Alfie leaned on his cane. “You already knew though, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Tommy got off the bed like he would offer his seat to an old man on the train.

Alfie stayed planted on his feet where he was, eyes widened and fixed towards Tommy: “Killed by a man mysteriously lost at sea. You offered us the perfect fucking carpet to ruin on a silver platter, mate.”

“When the fucker’s coming?” Tommy interrupted, acting like he’d already thought all this though.

“Thirsty for blood, ain’t you?” Alfie snickered.

“Thirsty to get it over with.”

Alfie’s lower back was cursing him. He waited until a decent amount of time had passed. He refused to appear as if he’d rushed towards the seat Tommy had left vacant. He must be careful about pushing his body like that in the next few days. “I gave you an early appointment, mate.” Alfie paused to restrain his breath of relief when he was seated. “It happens that, you know, we have business to discuss.”

“How much do you want?”

“Five crates of ten.”

“Two.”

“Nonsense. Tell me, treacle, why should I fucking settle for less than the fucking rich prick offered, eh?”

“Three then. It’s even without spending a bloody pound.”

"Well, love, that would make sense in our dirty ol’ England, but we've been sailing on the waters of the mighty United States of America for a while now. The tip for the service isn't included in the initial price."

“Four. No higher.”

“Deal.”

Assured knocks were heard inside room 47.

Alfie bit back a groan when he stood up from the bed. His back had been struck by a lighting bolt. He opened the door and gestured an invitation to enter: “Henry, Henry, come in, mate.”

Henry Aston wiped his feet on the doormat and looked around the room while Alfie closed the door behind him: “I would have imagined you’d be less tidy, Mr Solomons.”

“I should hate to be predictable, shouldn’t I?” Alfie smiled and raised a metal flask out of his pocket: “Rum?”

Henry nodded. “We have to hide like rats to drink a glass of liquor, and they call that progress.”

The cork of the flask popped off, and Alfie poured two glasses on the side table.

“It has come to my attention that we may share an acquaintance, Mr Solomons.” A shiver raced down Alfie’s spine. He drew his hand closer to his coat pocket. The cold metal of his gun kissed his wrist through the fabric.

“Who would that be?”

“Edward O’Connell. I had the opportunity to witness how you nearly came to blows on the pontoon before the departure. I’m amazed they allowed you to board after causing such a delaying inconvenience.”

Alfie grabbed one glass in each hand and turned around, harbouring a forced smile: “Good ol’ Eddie. How do you know that tosser?”

Henry accepted the glass. “He’s a very dear client of mine. He happens to serve as the go-between for the shipping companies of armament and the IRA.” Henry smelled its content with his eyes closed. “I suspect he may also work as a counterintelligence agent for the Republic of Ireland.”

“Hm. Two sides to a coin, they say. Tails, you may be lucky. Heads, dirtied by the face of the King. Even truer for Irish, eh?”

“Cheers to that!” Henry raised his glass and gulped its amber-coloured liquid.

“Me own recipe. What do you think of that, eh?”

“Too bitter. That thing is for the workers.”

Alfie lifted an eyebrow. “Hm, yeah, right?”

“We had important matters to discuss. One especially concerned me to the highest degree. That assassin from the crown you mentioned earlier, have you strictly identified him as we speak?” Henry asked.

Alfie bit his cheek. He hadn’t predicted that the tosser would bring that up so soon. “No, mate. He’s a tough fish to catch.” It’s not like their little games haven’t always been scattered with Alfie’s switches of side. Bet on all the horses, and you’ll never taste the bitter savour of defeat. An unquestionable victory is always tainted, though, whether in a distasteful range of vivid colours or a washed-out beige. Bravery has never made him richer than betting blindly on all the horses.

“Dear Edward had an eye on someone. He was supposed to have more information to provide after breakfast this morning, but he stood me up. Guess he slipped away after being an ineffective, dirty thief.”

“Well, yeah, sounds just like him.”

“You’re as bitter as your rum every time his name is cited in a conversation, and I might very well know why.”

“Do you?”

“He may have tried to intimidate me for the same felony. Men like us, Mr Solomons, are prone to be blackmailed by men like Eddie, if our penchant is ever uncovered by them despite our carefulness. Nonetheless, I conducted him hastily to understand it’d be in his best interests to conserve my friendship instead of provoking my wrath.”

“Well, there’s a variety of means to reach an equal goal, innit?”

“Like punching him in the face.”

“Hm, yeah, sort of.”

“And which means would lead you to blow me?”

Alfie snickered, and Henry’s stare underlined his seriousness.

“Nah, fuck off, mate. I have for a rule, right, that, you know, I don’t blow rich fucking assholes who served in the cavalry.”

As much as Tommy liked to pretend they didn’t have a deep understanding of each other, Alfie knew damn well Tommy’s blood was boiling right fucking now. He was galvanising him for the hardships to come. It was as much a smack across the face as a delicate, thoughtful gift.

“Let’s settle our gun business, right? You tell me at which pier we’re supposed to meet tomorrow. I give you your money. And then, I’ll kindly invite you to fuck off.”

“You’re a fool if you believed I ever had any interest in your money. I smelled it on you from afar you were a bloody cock-sucker. You reek of it even more when walking that pikey rent boy around. Your business must have been fruitful to afford such an overpriced, ostentatious slut on a whole boat journey. We could invite him if you need that tight ass to get it up.”

One minute, Alfie snickered humorlessly, and the next, a shadow came into sight behind Henry to trap its arm around his throat. They were both thrown off balance and moved backwards until Tommy’s back banged the wardrobe he’d been hidden in. Henry struggled to free himself from Tommy, who tightened his hold around Henry’s neck.

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” Henry smirked. He elbowed Tommy’s side and managed to get out of Tommy’s grip.

“You, fucker.” Alfie moved closer and punched Henry’s face. Henry grabbed Alfie’s shirt to steady himself. The rush of adrenaline maintained the illusion Alfie had regained his grounded, rooted in the floor strength of his youth, until something in his back snapped and made him follow Henry in his fall.

They reached for each other’s shirts. “You spent way too much time on a horse, mate.” Alfie took advantage of that hold to give Henry a headbutt. A second. And a third.

Henry’s nose was gushing blood, and Alfie might have also broken his own. A red fountain was running down his face, dripping on Henry’s chest. Henry gave a shove with his legs and made them roll through the cabin until they hit the foot of the bed. He topped over Alfie and lifted his fist to punch him: “You—“

Tommy seized Henry under his armpits to drag him backwards to the centre of the room. Alfie dove on Henry’s legs to help Tommy immobilise him. With a knife, Tommy slit Henry’s throat. Drips splashed on Alfie’s face. A river of blood snaked down the scumbag’s chest and Tommy’s arms. Henry was still trying to stop blood spilling from his throat with his hands, as life was abandoning his eyes. Tommy shoved Alfie further to straddle Henry and planted his knife in Henry’s chest, the side of his neck, and even his face multiple times. Every stab given was hurried and swifter than the previous one.

The adrenaline unleashed the frightened, contained beast, which never ceased to growl inside Tommy’s guts since France. Alfie could be afraid of it if his stomach weren’t vibrating with the howling of his own, poorly imprisoned with rusty shackles. The beasts living inside them were acquainted. Their barks had the familiarity of relatives’ steps on a staircase. Their instinct danced around the excitement of their shared rage, their shared fear. They were rolled in a comforting scent—the thrill of recognition, their yearning and reunion for a fellow creature intertwined until suffocation.

The tension in Henry’s legs had melted long ago when Alfie called Tommy’s name and stroked Tommy’s arm to stop his repetitive motions. There was so much blood suddenly, as if they burst into an open-heart surgery. Tommy crawled on his knees and stumbled on the carpet coated with a reflective bed of blood. Tommy’s loud breathing started to slow down. Alfie’s back, which had been surprisingly silent, now screamed. He threw Henry’s corpse further away in a last painful effort to lie down next to Tommy.

Half of Tommy’s face was drenched in fresh blood. There were two sides of a coin. Unlike Eddie, the dirt suited him. His eyelashes, covered by blood and tears, were glinting in the awful orange light of the bedside lamp. This scene carried the ambivalence Alfie had always felt towards butterfly wings. He craved to crush the beauty of Tommy’s face under his boot, as much as keeping it pinned behind glass for admiration and never allowing it to yield to decay.

A different kind of beast had been woken up in his lower belly. One that was no less dangerous.

“You betrayed me once again, Alfie.” Tommy interrupted Alfie’s train of thought. He was fixing the wood ceiling over them without even looking at it.

“Hm, yeah, sweetie, you know, don’t put all your eggs in the same basket, they say.” Tommy frowned, and Alfie raised his voice: “What was I supposed to do, right? Waiting for what God had intended for me!? Nah, nah, nah. Fucking ridiculous, mate.” Alfie gave a sour laugh. He turned his face and pointed his raised forefinger towards Tommy, who wouldn’t look at him: “Only fools don’t back themselves, eh? And I fucking well know what you’re going to fucking say: Alfie, he was giving away too much strategic information to plan on keeping you alive.” Alfie imitated Tommy’s rough voice. “I know, alright?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, and Alfie mumbled as if he was confessing a secret: “To reassure you, mate, I had put most of my eggs in your freakin’ basket.”

Tommy’s blank stare turned towards Alfie: "It seems your collaboration has a price, doesn’t it?”

Alfie was torn to say yes because he’d never been a good man, and Tommy would do anything to secure the success of this mission. He was curious. It was nibbling him. He wanted to know to what extent Tommy would go to ensure he had Alfie on a hook. To what lengths could Alfie push him before he snapped and showed any sign of opposition? He would revel in it, even if Tommy’s willingness to comply was encouraged by an axe hanging over his beloved’s head.

“Everyone has a price, Alfie. Even your fragile loyalty.”

Alfie cupped Tommy’s bloody face and stroked it with his thumb. His selfishness lent credence to Henry's despicable words towards Tommy. But, good God, he’d go straight to Hell if it would stop him. He averted his gaze: “There’s indeed one thing…”

Quietly, Tommy led his hand towards his cheek and interlaced it with Alfie’s fingers. He winced when he turned on his side to face Alfie. Henry’s blows must have bruised his ribs.

They were both breathing loudly to the rhythm of Alfie’s increasing heartbeat. Tommy grimaced again from pain when he wrapped the back of Alfie’s head with his right arm. He stared into Alfie’s eyes a second too long and kissed him open-mouthed. His arm clasped tighter around Alfie to draw him closer. Alfie was transfixed. He needed to see. He needed to gather proof this moment was real. His eyes were wide open when Tommy’s were tight shut. Tommy squeezed his hold on Alfie’s head and drew closer. He ached to feel it, even if it hurt, and yearned for Alfie to suffer the effects of his wrath. He took his time. It was so soft and passionate; it felt earnest—a truth offered on a silver plate.

Tommy pulled them apart and opened his eyes back. Alfie could only hope what he perceived—what Tommy allowed him to see—was sincere, even if it’d be more than he had the right to expect.

Pierced by a stab of hunger, Alfie moved nearer to Tommy to kiss him once more. Tommy backed off slightly and murmured: “Enough.”

Caught in his frenzy of Tommy allowing everything he desired, Alfie tried to draw closer again. Tommy stretched his arm holding Alfie’s hand, and kept him at a distance. Both of them strained on their arm. Tommy clenched his jaw to resist Alfie’s strength.

“Enough.” Tommy raised his voice.

As if a lightning bolt had struck him, Alfie’s arm loosened and folded on itself. Tommy’s liquefied over it to ensure Alfie couldn’t overpower him if he changed his mind.

His gaze was one of a desperate wolf, ready to jump to its prey’s neck. This beast, which had learned the hard way to survive men like Alfie, scared him more than any other Tommy carried inside him.

His stare was a challenge. A mortal one, to ask: who’s the prey now? He had the look of the Fallen Angel brewing a storm with a tear gathering at the corner of his eye.

Alfie pulled back to lie on his back, and Tommy did the same a few instants later. An awkward silence floated in the room. After calming his breath, Tommy suddenly rose to his feet.

Water poured forth from the tap of the bathroom. Tommy was scrubbing the dried blood off his face, hands, and under his nails with soap. When he stepped outside the bathroom, he carried two white washcloths and threw a wet one over Alfie’s face.

“Fucking hell, mate, what was that for?” Alfie dragged the cold towel off his face.

"If we play by the rules of the market, consider this to be the first deposit of the transaction." Tommy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Even if this natural gesture was uncalculated, it still hurt. “For your assistance to this successfully conducted first-degree murder.”

A remarkably high wave of shame engulfed Alfie and churned his guts. He hadn’t been seasick for days, but he wanted to throw up.

“The Irish dockworkers won’t give up their guns easily, though. We still have work to do.” Tommy was drying his face and hands with the washcloth as if nothing he said was abnormal.

Alfie gave a little impulse to sit up and shake his musings with the damp cloth, but his bloody back snapped again. It would have barely looked like he had a spasm if it didn’t twist his face in agony. He’d live better with it if Tommy’s attentive gaze hadn’t caught it, but the faint smile at the corner of Tommy’s lips suggested it’d been enough.

Alfie exhaled in defeat. “You heard. I couldn’t get the location out of him.”

"Pier 47. Thursday, 5 AM."

“How the fuck do you know the pier, mate?” Alfie frowned.

“I reached my informants.” Tommy crossed the room to the wardrobe and picked up his immaculate coat from the hanging rack.

“Well, couldn’t have said that before, eh?”

“I said I didn’t trust you, Alfie.” Tommy slipped into his coat to uncover the carnage that was his shirt. “And wasn’t I right?”

The shame of his betrayal had now no equal to the guilt for his behaviour earlier. Regardless of whether it was unclear which event Tommy was referring to, he couldn’t help thinking Tommy wasn’t only alluding to his foreseeable betrayal. He’d always been the type to sow his seeds between the lines, and Alfie inherited the curse of the skilled harvester.

“Who are your informants? Convenient you had some on this boat.”

Tommy puffed a mocking laugh through his nose and stepped forward. He hovered over Alfie with his severe, intent gaze. His feet framed Alfie’s face. He squatted to draw close to Alfie’s face: “I also place my eggs in several baskets, Alfie. I made calls before getting on this boat.” Tommy rose back to his feet and left the room.

Alfie had always prided himself on being a man of words. He was cracking smiles on the coldest faces, maintaining a convincing speech or sermon to the most inconvincible and snarking back as a sword cut through the air—vain but excitingly effective—a coquetry crafted for his very own pleasure.

Yet, he was at a loss for words. The ground crumbled beneath him, and he got sucked up by the ocean.

He’d been fucked big time.

Tommy had been curious as well. Curious to what extent Alfie was under his spell.

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