#who is also always under shade because his control of shadows

[electricity-fish]

Keep an eye out in the Gardens, you might just spot a 'ghost'.

[kiame-sama]

Would Papa Hades mind if I rant to him my frustration over how people always make him a ‘Bad Guy’ in our world?

Whenever Movies that have Greek Mythology in it, it always pissed me off when they make Hades the Villain (I feel like it’s just because Hades is the God of the Underworld that automatically makes him ‘Evil’)

Literally out of ALL the Greek Gods, Hades is actually the NICEST of the Gods (He was willing to let a mortal man take his wife out of the Underworld but he must not look at her because she’ll be sent back during the journey until they leave his realm) and was never unfaithful to his beloved Persephone

There was a myth that he had ONE lover, but that was BEFORE he met his Beloved

Would Papa Hades appreciate that I don’t see him as evil just because he rules over the Underworld? (Because since he’s one of the Great Seven so he’ll naturally be feared for his powers and authority)

Warnings: Papa Hades in his 50ft form, comforting ancient Shinigami, daily allotted sunshine/shade garden time,

For reference, this is approximately the current height difference:

~~~~~~~~

"-but I mean, why do they always have to make Hades out to be bad? I don't think my Hades is bad and I don't think you're bad either. You're probably the only one I've met in this world who didn't immediately try to make decisions for me. You haven't collared me, or taken me away from where I want to be, or tried to control me in any way. You're even letting me sit on your shoulder and talk your ear off in the garden because I wanted some time away from it all!"

The giant Shinigami was leaning his cheek on his hand, listening attentively to your every word. You both were seated upon a shadowy throne he had summoned in the stone and briar garden of Ramshackle. It was a good distance away from the building itself and no one was willing to tell the Shinigami he couldn't protect you.

Deep in the shadows, watchful eyes thought better of challenging a being of myth and power. Some were dissuaded from the prospect altogether, seeing such an ancient being so casually attending the soft Human prize. Not all who hunted sought harm, but even the insane knew better. Smaller predators will almost always give space to a bigger predator. No need to die this day.

The giant Shinigami was enjoying the history lessons from your world, curious that your own history had beings so similar to him that even shared his name. He also appreciated the fact you were so passionately defending his doppelganger in your world. Truthfully, the similarities between him and the Hades of your world was not lost on him. Perhaps the Humans of your world were originally from Twisted Wonderland and simply forgot over time after crossing to a different realm. If that were the case then he had much to consider.

Still, he appreciates how relaxed you are around him, now trusting in his willingness to act in your best interest. He had always afforded all of the Humans under his protection the ability to choose. The only difference now was he had to keep a closer eye on you than he did the Humans leaving his isle.

"I'm glad to be living up to your expectations, Little One. So long as it is your wish to stay here, I will aid you however I can. Young Idia has updated your phone to contact me directly should you ever have need. I must say, it is nice to hear of your home, you speak so little about it. I'm sure you have your reasons, so I won't pry. I'm thankful you trust me enough to share all of this with."

"Well, it's hard not to trust you. You've kind of been amazing."

It soothed the wounded depths of the old Shinigami's heart to hear such earnest words. You truly did trust him and he treasured that more than you would likely ever know. The mourning shawl had adorned him many long centuries. Those centuries were some of the most painful for him, yet that pain was lessened and balmed by your simple trust and affection. He treasured that.

[frvnkcastles]

Reader that sometimes just gets tremors? Especially when tired and frank just holds them as they can't stop? I'm going through this rn and have been since some trauma within the last year and an half, it makes my how that got cracked by my brother in a fight worse for some reason so I have to manually click it since I didn't get any medical treatment when it happened like 8 years ago?

EMPTY YOUR SADNESS ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You struggle with tremors, and Frank is there to help throughout the day.

Warnings: Tremors, gender neutral reader, fluff

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: This was actually a half-done one shot I had written some years ago based on my own experiences, because I also struggle(d) with tremors, though it’s gotten better, so I just had to edit a little and add some stuff. I hope it gets better for you too, anon!! I focused a lot on hands in this, I hope that works for you <3

Your frustrated huff followed by a loud sigh caught Frank’s attention, his routine of brewing his evening coffee interrupted by the obvious emotion arising from your shared bedroom. With a gentle frown, he tried to see you through the doorframe, tilting his head in doing so only to simply find your smaller frame hugging itself on your bed. A weight sank onto his heart and he forgot about the coffee machine promptly, leaving it work on its own as he trailed to the bedroom with worry gnawing at his heart — the one he had given up to you a year ago.

It was all that time he had spent with you that allowed him to know you more than well, and recognize the shadows of anxiety looming over your eyes as you turned to face him with an expression that told him you were seconds away from breaking.

”Hey, ’m here, sweetheart. Whaddya need?” he promised, his deep, calm voice always capable of grounding you in ways that no breathing exercise could. His ego had been boosted beyond belief when you had first told him that you found his presence and especially his voice immensely soothing, and ever since then, he had made an effort to talk you through your anxiety. Suddenly, a man of very few words, transformed into a chatterbox — although you had always known that when it came to praise and encouragement, there were very few who had it under control like Frank.

”I tried to paint my nails, but…”, you trailed off, making Frank’s frown deepen when you lifted your hands so he could see the obvious shake in them. He saw the embarrassment and struggle in your eyes as you blinked and shyly lowered your trembling hands down, but he was quick to reach you on the bed and take them in his own.

”Breathe with me, yeah? ’S okay. I’ll hold ’em for you as long as you want me to. Okay, sweetheart?” he spoke softly while making an effort to look into your eyes, all the while his big, warm hands enveloped your smaller ones. He felt the shake, so he squeezed a little tighter, not enough to hurt but enough to balance your fingers. ”There you go”, he whispered sincerely as you took in a deep breath and nodded along with him.

You took a minute just sitting with him, letting him cradle your hands and brush his thumbs across your skin until he was finally clearing his throat and getting up after a gentle kiss on each hand. ”Aight, tell me. What color ya want? I’ll paint ’em for you”, he inquired, and for a second there, you wondered if he was joking. But then he seriously walked over to your box of nail polishes and began digging through the different shades, his eyes scanning them — some got a longer, curious stare whereas others almost made him smirk. Clearly, he liked your nails painted, too.

Still, you were touched by his kindness, and when you thought about him painting his daughter’s nails, your smile only deepened. It threatened to bring a tear to your eye, but you swallowed and answered his question.

”Purple, please”, you announced meekly, a bashful look on your face when Frank grabbed the shiny little bottle and climbed back on the bed with you.

”Hell yeah, baby. Love purple on ya”, he commented before settling in front of you. He saw the flash of disbelief behind the affection in your eyes, and it made him grin as he pulled you closer and closed his jean-clad legs around your hips. ”What? Ain’t seen me with nail polish before?” he teased, well-aware that manicures were the last thing one thought of upon taking a glance at the muscular, burly, downright scary man. Of course, you weren’t scared of him, and you had seen the soft side of him, but it was still almost dreamy to watch him gently take your hand while unscrewing the top of the bottle with one of his.

”I’m so lucky I have you”, you chuckled quietly, all truthful and a little bit shy as you cast your eyes down to where Frank tenderly held your twitching fingers.

Before he could bring the small brush soaked in neon purple over to your thumb, he narrowed his eyes at you and hummed. ”Hey”, he grunted, and at that, you brought your gaze back to him only to find him observing you with sincerity. ”I’m the lucky one, aight? You mean everythin’ to me, darlin’. I’d sit here paintin’ your nails all night if you wanted me to”, he swore, and with a weak smile, you nodded in the knowledge that he meant every word.

Then, you fell into a comfortable silence as Frank meticulously swiped the purple across your nails, making sure not to mess up the skin around them as he focused so deeply it was almost amusing. His hold on your hand was soft but firm, and he felt warm even with the callouses on his big palm, sending a shiver down your spine as he effortlessly moved and tilted your hand so he could go about his work.

If only the tremors in your hands had been a one-time thing. Instead, they seemed to always be there, bothering you and making things difficult for you. Frank picked up on it quickly, always there to help you if you wanted it — and most times, you did. You didn’t say it outright, but he could tell anyway; you felt stupid and incompetent, probably even more so when you needed him to do things for you, so he always made sure to take off the pressure and make it a casual, normal thing. He didn’t mind, after all.

So, when in the morning you reached for your necklace, the one he had gotten you, adorned with a diamond heart, it didn’t take him long to see you struggling to unclasp the chain. Your fingers trembled uncontrollably and the harder you tried, the worse it got. He noticed the frustration growing behind your eyes as you desperately tried to open the necklace, the annoyance radiating off of you while you stood in front of your full-body mirror.

”Hey”, his gruff voice whispered from behind you, snapping you out of your self-loathing thoughts. ”Lemme”, he added before gently taking the necklace that looked so small in his large hand, ”y’know I love any opportunity to touch my best baby.”

When he saw the anger in your features fade into a blush and a sheepish smile, he grinned in a way that was more than obvious in the mirror while he circled around you. ”Look at you, still get so shy. Fuckin’ adorable, ’s what you are, sweetheart”, he muttered while towering over you, big hands coming to your neck before carefully pulling the necklace back and reaching for the clasp.

His big hands were hardly made for working with jewelry, either, but if anything, the brief struggle he had made you feel better. A part of you wondered if he did it on purpose — a secret he’d never reveal — but you did end up with a smile on your face when he finally locked the necklace and let it fall to the neckline of your shirt, shining in your reflection.

”There’s my pretty darlin’”, he announced with a kiss on the top of your head.

It wasn’t the only thing that required his help in the bedroom department, either. You had a few beloved button-ups that Frank absolutely adored on you, and every now and then, you made sure to whip them out. The only problem was… well, the buttons.

You had gotten the first one done. Then you kind of struggled with the second one, but you managed. The third one was your downfall.

”Goddamn it”, you seethed, the pure venom in your voice uncharacteristic to say the least, and it got Frank to peek from the bathroom connected to your bedroom, his wet hair ruffled and his bare chest shining under the warm lights while he tied his towel around his waist. Any other time, it would have gotten you to drop to your knees — and even now, your gaze lingered and your mouth went dry at the sight.

He, on the other hand, was far from amused as he watched the half-buttoned shirt, even though the peek of your bare skin caught his attention for a second. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the priority, and he made as much clear as he walked over to you with one of his big hands catching your wrist to stop you from stomping over to your closet for a change of clothes.

”Hey, hey, c’mere. I don’t mind, y’know that”, he reassured, and before you could rant about your inability to do the simplest thing, he gave you a look. ”Ya gotta be more patient with yourself, sweetheart. You’re tryin’ your best and I know ya’d get it with some more time”, he insisted while swiftly doing the buttons for you, taking his time to caress your collarbone and to lean down to kiss your neck when he was done.

It seemed he was always there to help you. Sometimes it was random routines that got interrupted by your shaking, like pouring a glass of juice or trying to write something down on paper, but the most persistent time it occurred during was nighttime. You’d lie in bed, unable to sleep because of the constant tremors, and oftentimes it would push you to a point of frustrated tears.

But Frank? He was incredibly patient with you.

”C’mere, sweet darlin’. It’s alright. I gotchu”, he whispered, his voice thick in the quiet of the night as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you to keep you still. It didn’t seem like it was going to stop on its own, but he had no issue with hugging you to help with the shaking, his big hands covering yours and your entire body swaddled by his embrace.

”I’m sorry”, you sniffled, ”I know it’s so annoying.” You felt so embarrassed that you couldn’t stop, couldn’t have any control over it, but Frank wasn’t going to let you go down that path.

”Nah, sweetheart. I know it must give you a lotta grief but I ain’t bothered. I won’t ever mind holding you through it”, he assured you, dead-serious but soft as he spoke into your ear. ”I’m sorry it keeps happenin’. Wish I could take it away”, he added sadly, and nodding, you agreed.

”Thank you, Frankie”, you sighed, dropping your head on his shoulder and feeling the warmth of his body. ”This would suck a lot more without you”, you mentioned, and chuckling, he pressed a kiss against your temple.

”Exactly how I feel about you and a lot of things. You make every day better, y’know? I just wanna do the same for you”, he explained with a shrug, and you couldn’t help but smile against his bare skin, a feeling that made him mirror the expression.

”You do, I promise. I appreciate you being patient with me”, you mumbled, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the feeling of being cocooned in his arms.

The tremors hadn’t gone away, but they were less bothersome with Frank applying just the right amount of pressure, and you finally felt like you could get some sleep. It was a ritual you repeated on most nights, and even when you grew annoyed yourself, Frank never, ever did.

[jayden-killer]

Hi!

I love your stories, could you make one where the reader is dating Miguel and is also a part of the spider community. The reader helps Miles to escape and Miguel finds out and argue with her.

I hope that you will keep writing stories.

Have a great day !

omg omg hii! I'm so glad you enjoy my stories, receiving these types of compliments always make my day :DD. And, i deeply apologise for taking this long to write your request; I've been so busy with my uni exams.. Anyways, here's your story!!

I HATE TO FIGHT YOU. (Miguel O'Hara × gn!reader)

warnings: Angst to light sfw (at the end)???, Miguel expressing his anger by literally destroying his lab lmao, VERY LONG ONE SHOT.

☆

Superpowers aren’t easy.

So it wasn’t a relationship with the leader of the Spider Society. Miguel was not an easy guy to argue with, you might call him stubborn, which was one of his main features. And even when Miles Morales, the newcomer to society, tried to change his mind, begging him to give him a chance to save his father, he hadn’t changed his mind. There was nothing Miles could do to change his mind. It was difficult with me, imagine with the others! But this is another story; Miles Morales was chased by an angry mob of Spider people, led by Miguel, flanked by me. The walls of the structure resounded with encouraging screams that every spider person gave himself, giving more charge during that chase. Miles was right in front of us, dodging webs and traps stretched by other members. There was something about that kid that maybe wasn’t something wrong.

He needed to be sent home and help him save his parents. I had not succeeded, and I would have avoided that another person (moreover a little boy!) would have gone through the same pain that I had to go through. Miguel and I split up, and that was my chance. With a perfect throw of my web, he managed to grab Miles' right arm and pull it towards me. The boy stretched his eyes, thinking it was the end for him. Only when I made a sign to him to become invisible and to hide behind a shaded wall, he understood. He hid me in turn, letting the angry crowd pass us.

Now it was the right time. "Miles". I called the kid with the labored breath and he returned to his normal form. He was exhaling and inspiring too, following the hunt we were giving him. Without wasting time, looking around if there was a person there, I took out my time clock, and put it on his wrist. " This clock will take you to your dimension. It’s already set for where you need to go. Don’t ask any more questions, go." Without giving him an answer, I left him there, in the shadows, his face confused and sweaty, while I waved him to go.

~☆~

"You did what?!"

"He’s a boy, Miguel!"

"You have no idea how serious the situation is because of you".

"Miguel, you have to reason. You can’t really thi-".

"The situation is far worse than you think, puta madre!"

Miguel’s scream rang out the second it left his mouth. I could compare him to an animal: panting, with his eyes reddened and grainy, studying every movement, his shoulders outstretched, ready to attack his prey, me, or maybe someone else. His fierce and intimidating tone made me shudder, close my eyes for fear that something might happen, or worse; I held my arms in place along my hips, biting my lip to channel the emotions I had inside. I didn’t want to show weakness before Miguel. Or better: he had already seen me as I was. Fragile, with doubts that twisted my mind, like a normal human being, yet in those situations I always tried not to show off... I wanted to have everything under control. The man didn’t realize that he was wrong, that he was blinded by this compulsive obsession with control. We were talking about a little boy, Jesus Christ!

I opened my eyes.

My thoughts were replaced by the still threatening tone of Miguel, my lover, who took a long sigh, pinching the tip of his nose. Then he shook his head, turning his back. The lab was upside down: the news of my help to Miles was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

"The consequences are serious. I can’t risk losing more people to a kid".

That was more a warning to him than to myself. "I need to think about it... I need to be alone".

"Miguel.." I tried to talk to him.

With one hand he stopped me from talking to him and shook his head slightly, not looking at me. " No." He said. "I know what you did. It was right. But now I need to be on my own" he repeated feebly, that I found it difficult to understand well what he wanted. Then I agreed, because I respected his condition and his well-being, so I left him alone in the now ruined laboratory, with the last words: "I only did what was right. He deserves a chance", then the doors closed. I swear I heard something from him.

"And I don’t blame you. But it’s not right that he can save his family, and I couldn’t do it".

[jolalibrary]

it descends (ii)

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader 

summary: all of his touches have grown to be purposeful and thought out—as though he’s continually thinking of all the ways he can burn his prints into you.

word count: 6.7k warnings: spice + smut. enemies(ish) to lovers.

part two of it happens | soap masterlist

4.

At some point, it became less of a want—more of a need. 

Your hands grasp his waist as you pull him through your base door. Yearning for him, finding his lips as eager to be against yours, as yours were for him. Everything else melts away with ease: stress, clothes, control. 

No longer a battle of who can come out on top, who’ll be the one to take and give, while the other receives and gains. 

Your mind is in a daze when he’s against you. His fingers angle your chin up, wrist resting against your neck as he leaves little, to no, space between the two of you.    

All of his touches have grown to be purposeful and thought out—as though he’s continually thinking of all the ways he can burn his prints into you.

Sometimes, he takes you as you are. Likely afraid of moving you, guiding you elsewhere out of fear of it all shattering.

But, sometimes, he takes you on your side, hand on your upper thigh as he thrusts every inch of him inside your cunt. Sometimes, it’s not as slow or as teasing—all bent over, his chest against your back, silky words meeting the back of your shoulder as he stretches you. 

It’s all out of habit now. 

No secret look or exchange of whispered desires. He finds you if you’re not already with him, you find him, fingers brushing his forearm until you tug him into the shadows. 

All this does is prove how thin the line has become. It thrumming in the back of both of your minds: narrow, and quieter, but mainly thin. The same one you promised yourselves you wouldn’t cross, a rule, so to speak.

“We stop this when it becomes something other than stress relief?” “Sure, lass.”

Yet, here he is, and here you are.

His weight on top of you, your thighs spread. Soap’s palm pressed down against the bed beside your head, dragging his cock in and out of you, breathy moans painting the air.

It’s not just fucking, it’s amorous. All of it is further evidenced by your honeyed touches on his waist, nails digging only slightly into his muscles and skin.  

It’s both everything and nothing you deserve. Johnny is good, kind… 

Your head tilts up as he hits that spot—as he presses his mouth against your jaw, the tip of his tongue sliding over your salty skin. It’s instinctive, your hands coming up to clutch the back of his head—feel the length growing, the hawk slowly becoming less and less discernible. 

“Y’everything, y’are.”

He says things like that a lot now. More so in the last week. Since he’d returned with bruises and cuts, bags under his eyes that took days to disappear. It should be a warning, a flash of lightning that catches both of your attention. 

But it doesn’t. Instead, you melt into it, try not to tense when he whispers your name—not your call sign, not lass. Because it’s also always your name now. The noise adds another lick up your spine, the sound making your toes curl and adoration swell in your chest. Because he says it with so much ease it makes your heart swell. You don’t care when he tinges the air with each syllable of it—as long as it's him, and only him. 

It’s further proving how personal this is—how intimate. 

More than you’d expected from someone you began hate-fucking on a safe house floor. That same someone whose eyes had felt foreign to you then, but now you know each speckle of them—know each star that twinkles in the blue galaxies. The swirling array of azure and pleasure which knows each one of your curves. 

“Eyes on me, lass.” 

And you obey, quickly at that. You let him see into your soul—all the darkened spaces you hide from the others. If he sees them, he says nothing, just holds you a little tighter, fucks you a little more purposefully. Dousing all of them in shades of blue and brightness, before cementing them with his smile. 

The same smile you know you’d kill for. 

The one which makes something flutter in your stomach and hurts your brain from trying to understand and unpick. It forms a lump in your throat, the same one which keeps appearing and disappearing for the last few weeks. One he must feel as he shifts his hips—changes the angle, brushing the head of his cock against a spot that makes you gasp. All aimed to make you forget and unfocus—

“Johnny.”

“I kno’, I kno. I got you, Hen.” 

Sliding your hands down his neck, you know this. Your palms pressing against his muscles—letting him take and fuck, fuck and take. Your fingers feel each contortion, each movement as he thrusts into you, your gasps and breaths mingling with his. 

It’s not hard not to commit each scar, each line and muscle you feel. Piecing together a person and the stories you’ve been occasionally allowed to hear. 

“Missed y’, lass…” he moans.

Your mind melting, freezing—further worsened by his hand on your lower neck, index and thumb pressing against your flesh. Your mind is filled with just him, the same words brewing at the back of your tongue.

“I’ve missed you too, Johnny.”

And, while it’s the truth, you’re glad when he kisses you. When he smothers your words, flattens them. Your mind emptying with a twist of his tongue, only allowing a few occasional thoughts to stream through. Except, they’re the worst ones. The ones which you try to bury and the emotions which are worsened with each thrust. The shadows of it all, dubiously blending into a cocktail—its main ingredients are passion and desperation. 

You almost think you can see it in his eyes too, even in the moments when you’re coated in dirt and blood, that isn’t your own. A look which asks if you’re alright—because he can’t trust his mouth too. One which you reply without a word, all curt nod and a smile. 

It’s dangerous, how easy it would be to slide into having real feelings for him—so much so it almost takes your breath. It makes you want to hide, to stop this. To not let things further unravel and bleed wrongly into places they shouldn’t be. 

But, you can’t say no to him. Don’t want to, in fact. 

Even if you can feel it prickling at you, the real danger: all love, emotions and companionship. Your metaphorical walls doing nothing to keep him out—he's already through them, let in by your heart betraying your brain. 

It is corroborated by the way your throat still hurts from screaming his name into your radio. Still able to feel the sand that whipped around your face if you think hard enough about it—the strain your eyes felt, trying to keep an eye on him down the scope to protect him. Helplessly watching him hand himself to danger like he's a human gift. 

Soap made your heart ache when he hadn’t met your eyes later—Johnny broke it in two when he’d snaked his fingers across the seat, but wouldn’t say a word. 

You’re not this person. You can’t be this person. 

None of this is helped by the fact your cunt calls for him, practically whispers and beckons for him across rooms. That you wanted to hold his hand, and never let him fucking go. How without him being pressed against you, a single look can make you squirm. The marks, the ones which he leaves, mixing with the memories always prickle up and down your body just hearing his name. 

You half-wonder if he leaves them to claim you or to make you remember. Each time you wash your skin, dress or move, you feel him. Able to remember how fucking deep he last was inside you, how he finds that spot between your shoulder and neck—the fact he knows which way to move his thumb to have you clamp down, screaming his name. 

Just as he’s doing now. 

Touching, thumb circling and circling—

And then pleasure. 

Nothing but pleasure, white and him. Always fucking him. 

5. 

In a place where your bodies were still cloaked in sweat and salt, where breaths were still heavy—a place between panting and normal—you didn’t ask him to leave.

His thigh against yours, slightly resting—but not quite. 

Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, considering how many unstable steps it would take to the bathroom—too tired to care that he’d carry you if you asked. 

A part of you, the one you try to ignore, is happy he’s here. 

Images of him sleeping beside you tugging at the corners of your mouth, thawing the ice you scooped around your heart. The Soap-shaped-hole in your walls, how it isn’t even a focus for you to rebuild—leaving the bricks and dust in a heap in your soul. 

He’s stayed before. When your bodies are damp from showers, muscles tired from fucking, brains emptied of the day and the dread that consumes you both. You’d meant to tell him to leave, to go—but his warmth had been far too inviting, nice, and almost normal. 

Now, he stays. Born from the feelings you won’t acknowledge or accept, but stand prominently in the corner like a shadow. They hang over you when the two of you are sent on opposing causes—eyes catching when you both get to see one another. A mutual understanding, appreciation and gratitude that you’d both survived. 

“Glad y’back, lass.”

You just smirk, the voice in the back of your hand ruining it—his kindness, his smile. He’s just thankful he still has someone to fuck. You don’t reply, don’t speak because of the sarcasm drenching your tongue, poisoned by your mind.

“I mean it, y’know.” Don’t. Please. “I am a good fuck, if I do say so myself.”

You see his face drop, but you move away before you can take it back. 

Hiding, busying yourself until he finds you hours later—lips on your neck, hands in your hair. Words washing over you that you don’t keep, let them in and let them leave, pulling him close by his belt hoops. It ends with him staying that first night, your fingers brushing against his—the closest the two of you have allowed yourself outside of fucking. 

And then the morning came, and he was gone. The blades of the chopper still swirling, mingling with your worries, concern and—

Something which knots at the back of your throat. 

It not ridding even as the days drag on, flowing harshly from one to the next until he lands back—eyes cutting into him, spotting each new cut and bruise, listening as he tells a lot of stories. He always has so many. 

Not that you mind. You just listen, his voice has grown to be a calming treat. No longer grating, but pleasant—coveted. Like most things to do with him, it crept over you slowly. It changed more delicately than the seasons. 

All of this coming to you, crashing into you like a wave as your head rests against the pillow, staring at him, watching him rest on the back of his arm before you move. You know if you stay like this, you’ll curl into him—and that’s too far, too much. 

“What’cha thinkin’?”

You smirk, sliding up onto shaky knees as you move down the crumpled sheets, hand planting on his naked thigh, watching him watch you. 

“Gonna make you feel good, Johnny.”

“You already do, la—fuck.”

His words are cut off by your tongue licking a stripe up his cock. Tasting you, tasting him—tasting the two of you.

It was normal to feel something for the man you’d been fucking—that’s what you told yourself as you took him in your mouth. Feeling him harden against your tongue as the thought circled over and over. 

It was normal to miss him, to crave him—to feel practically desperate for him. It had to be. You refused to think of it as anything but that.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass,” he whispers, bringing you back, hand in your hair—spit hanging off your bottom lip as you look at him. 

Fuck, if his eyes weren’t the most beautiful shade of blue when he was beside you. 

A colour that isn’t quite cerulean, or azure. Something oceanic, that made you want to dive in, let it coat all the sides of you, live there—be there, swimming and diving in it. You were blessed with the sight of them more frequently now than ever before. Them always just being blue before, now they’re a shade you can only name Johnny. 

It’s why you let him stuff your throat with his cock. “Fuck my throat, Johnny.”

His eyes widen, turning the entire room blue as he shuffles and you move, his cock almost making you choke as tears brim in your eyes. 

You just need to not think. 

So your hands clutch the back of his thighs, rooting him here—with you. Silencing your mind as you hollow your cheeks, clenching your thighs together as he groans and hisses. Expletives coat the air, mixing with hisses and your name, until he coats your throat in his spend, swirling your tongue over his sensitive tip to lap every bit he’ll give you. 

You don’t remember moving, but you do recall the way he brushed your tears from your cheeks. The way he ran a damp cloth over you, knowing the two of you had showered earlier. But, it was the kiss against your forehead which carried you to sleep and the feel of his fingers running up and down your arm that let the night take you. Resting for the first time in days—doing so until you didn’t. 

Woken both rudely and pleasantly by his fingers curling inside of you, your cunt making lewd noises at his insistence—

Oh, wow. 

His tongue glides over your bundle of nerves, making you almost buck. It’s too much and yet, not quite enough. A perfect tease, just like him. His eyes glance up at you, meeting yours for a second before he’s lapping, sucking, tasting all of you. Yanking and collecting all of your pleasure until you’re almost rendered fucking useless.

Because you will be if he continues. 

If he drags another one out of you. 

Your muscles still hurt, the few hours of sleep, not enough respite for how good it was last night—this morning, who even fucking knows. 

“Jus’ making you feel good, Hen.”

Your chest explodes, his hands grasping yours as he dips back down, tongue plunging inside of you as your fingers blend in between his. The two of you are either making up for lost time or running from realisations. 

The back of your neck is still sore from how he held it, pounding into you as the shower water rained down on the two of you—efforts of cleaning one another lost, forgotten—

“So fuckin’ pretty…” 

You almost don’t hear them. The words. So lost in memories and the sound of your ears buzzing as waves of pressure and pleasure build, build, build—

“Wish you wouldn’t say that,” you whimper, wishing it came out spitting and full of fire. 

Your eyes clench shut, hand releasing his, grasping at the sheets instead as he curls two fingers inside of you, finding the spot which turns you into liquid. Cool breath dancing over your cunt, almost blowing it out as a sigh. 

An exasperated one. 

“Why? It’s true?”

You don’t mean to lift, meet his eyes. Don’t mean to let him in. Let those fucking eyes creep in past your lashes and see inside of you—see how complex and chaotic it all is. How messy and full of doubts, insecurities and the lasting words once said by your mother all live there.

Because he’s between your fucking thighs. 

His tongue, lips and chin glisten with your sex. 

“Hey,” Johnny says, lifting his head higher, keeping his fingers in place, but still, “Yer the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, lass… fuckin’ gorgeous y’are.” 

Your face heats, cheeks burning. 

The buzzing back as he slowly begins to move his fingers, feel him shifting, moving ever so slightly closer towards you. 

And something shatters, willingly—having needed to if it was going to allow something else to grow there. To allow this, whatever this was becoming, to break through and bloom. 

But you shut it.

Slammed the symbolic door through your eyes. Barricading him back out, halting it all…

“Just lemme fuck you, Johnny,” you whine, grasping his wrist, and removing his fingers from inside of you. 

His protest is quickly muted by your lips, you pulling, grasping until you’re easing him inside of you and you can rock your hips against his.

This. 

You like this. Him on his back, hands on your hips—you in control. You also like how he stares up at you, almost hearing him say those words all over again, but you blink. Twisting your hips, vanishing them away, filling the space between you both with his name:

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

Feeling him let you. Hand clamping onto your waist, but it’s different from last night. The way he’s looking at you is too. 

It all forever changed.

Fucking hell. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Come for m’, hen. I got you.”

And you know that. You hate that you do.

Hate that you feel safe with him. Your eyes clench shut due to the fact. Tears brimming for a different reason—because he’s not just in your cunt and between your thighs, but in your fucking heart. The bastard, the handsome fucking bastard. 

6.

He’s aware of the line. Aware that he’s put his boot over it, but he doesn’t care for the mess that’ll spread because of it.

All he wants is you.

He decided on it a while ago, accepted it a month ago, and has been thinking of nothing else for weeks. Soap doesn’t care how much you let him in, as long as you do. He’ll take the snippets, the small moments where your eyes shimmer and glisten—where the only darkness in them is from lust and need, and not faux hatred. 

Even if you still throw up a wall when his hand releases your skin; when he turns for a second to dress and returns to find you cold, blank and empty all over again. He’ll take it all. 

The line vibrates somewhere in the distance, blinking and winking that he should have known better. But, he could say that about so much that he does. 

Like how he’s at your front door. Chipped paint and slanted numbers, the peephole covered by his thumb as he knocks. Because if you know it’s him, you won’t answer. He knows that much about you. 

When you answer it, your eyes staring up at him, his hand slowly lowering from knocking—he sees a lot flutter across your face. Anguish, concern; embarrassment and relief. He’s not sure which one to cling to, even less so when you lean out, checking around him—either for others or for neighbours. He can’t be sure. 

“You’re here…” 

He smirks. “I am.” 

Because, how could he ignore your call? The one full of soft tears you pretended wasn’t flowing, the same one that said you wished he were here. Something he thinks you’d quickly take back now he is here.

Those four words kept him going when his eyes were heavy on the long drive; the ones which boosted him as he stared up at the many stairs to your flat. 

Each pellet of water drips from his hand and his sleeves land in a puddle where a welcome mat should be. Falling against trodden takeaway menus you’ve not picked up—it is the only sound and the only thing anyone would be able to hear, outside of two pulses hammering. 

They’ve been off base for three days, and it’s been two days since your drunken call to him. One since you’d sent him a text asking him to ignore everything you had said. As if he ever could. 

It had been the only real thing the two of you had exchanged other than your bodies. An insight into you, a peek into what goes on in that head of yours outside of looking fucking beautiful and sarcasm. 

“I hate being home. It reminds me that I’m alone, that I’m scarred and fucking broken.” “Yer not alone, lass.”  “Ha! Why cause I’ve got you?”  “Yea. You always got me. Even if you don’t wanna admit that, let yerself think y’have no one when it’s the first best from the truth.” 

You look hollow. Like the break from the demand of both of your jobs has carved something out of you—a light, a passion. 

One he decides, there and then, he’s going to try and fill, replace. A pull inside of him to smother your woes with himself, to make your mind stop rolling a broken thought. You do that—stab yourself with shards of lies. He watches you do it, commits to his mind—later bringing his thoughts to life with black graphite, sketching the curve from your frown before erasing it and replacing it with a smile. 

If only it was as easy to do in person as it was on paper. 

A minute since he’d proven he hadn’t done that. 

“Y’inviting me in?” 

He watches you consider it. Run through all the possible outcomes, but your body sidesteps all the same. He smells the notes of recent cooking mixing with a lemon scent. A scent he finds is all you when you’re here, something light, airy. One he knows he’ll happily let cling to his skin, clothes and mind. 

Because it’ll happen. It always does. 

The two of you were bloody magnets, always finding one another, seeking each other out and digging into the other, desperate to cling on. 

“You slept, lass?” 

He knew the answer before you shook your head, the evidence in the bags under your eyes. The ones which are darker, more swollen than he’s seen before. And he’s seen you after being awake for three days straight; he’s seen you covered in dirt, sweat and insolence, but this is something else. 

He touches you gently, half-expecting you to crack down the centre. Your edges peel from your centre, and fall to nothing right in front of his eyes. He’s happy you don’t move. If anything, you remain perfectly in place in your small hallway, staring at him, waiting for him to move more deliberately.

Which is why the dance is so familiar now. The way his hand moves to spread across your cheek, the way you curl into it, allowing him to kiss you, to taste you. Mint and coffee mix with the tip of his tongue as he deepens it, pushing you back until you meet a wall. His other hand hooks your thigh. 

He doesn’t take your clothes from your skin as quickly as normal. He takes his time. Unwrapping you, time on his side. The light of the day shimmers through your blinds, painting your skin in yellow and warmth. It’s not until he reaches your underwear does he remove them tentatively, kissing each bit of skin he can as it unveils itself to him. 

You're quicker and more rushed. Either desperate to feel him or to feel something. His jumper, belt, and trousers were all left in discarded piles from the hallway until your bedroom—until all that remained was your underwear. 

His focus is on your hands. How they slide through the long-length hair, pulling and angling his mouth against yours with newfound desperation that makes him moan. 

He could almost convince himself that he could have this. 

You. 

The two of you. Together. 

He likes how you let him spread you open, that you kiss him like you never want him to stop. And it feels different. This. 

Each time the last few it has felt more intimate, more passionate. The longing all underpinned by something he couldn’t quite see, but can feel has its own pulse. Something uncontrollable and alive. 

Your eyes focus on him, unwavering and it almost takes his breath from his lungs, because you’re beautiful. So perfect. 

He’s always thought it, even when you were snarky, even when you were being difficult for the sake of being difficult. That look in your eyes that would make a lesser man cower, but made him stare more boldly, because lass, that won’t work on me, even if it very much did. 

He’d been unwilling to really see it, take notice of it. Not afraid, but reluctant. Now, it’s all he saw. Your beauty. The one all the others had allowed themselves to notice freely, without concerns of blurring lines and difficult emotions. 

He lets himself taste you. Runs his tongue across your cunt before finally plunging it in, fingers digging bruises into your inner thighs as you try to clamp them around his ears. And fuck, if this wasn’t heaven right here. 

You squirm when he flattens his tongue; you whimper his name when he circles your clit. Each sound captured by his ears, his hips rocking gently against your mattress—throbbing, pulsing all for you. Because fuck you do something to him—something he burns into your cunt with his mouth, telling you in the only way you’re prepared to hear him right now. 

“M’gonna come, Johnny.”

He’s doing this to you. 

Those flush cheeks, lips slightly parted, shoulders propping you up against full pillows as your jaw tightens. He’s doing this to you—he’s making you feel good. 

It’s like music to his ears and a sight he had never known he craved. His pursuit continues until he feels you tense and he tastes your high. It stains his tongue, lapping it up until you’re trying to pull away—I’m too sensitive too much, it’s too—ah, much, Johnny. 

It’s less desperate and more prolonged when he finally slides up, hooking your leg over his waist, and he fills you. His hand holds your cheek, something he both loves and knows you need. Slowly, carefully placing his forehead almost against yours—

Almost. 

Your lips ghost over his, there is barely any space between the two of you. All he can think is: I never want to leave. Not here. Not you. 

But the words don’t leave his tongue. They instead get balled up, rolled to the back of his throat before he swallows them. Focusing, changing tact, shifting to capture each moan you let out, each whimper you let escape. And when it hits, when he pushes you to the brink, you free fall for the longest time and he just watches in awe. 

Because fuck, you’re a vision. 

Both with a gun in your hand, more so coated in blood and a blade in your palm—but this is up there too.

It's different in your bed, your body tensing, heels digging into him as your nails cut into his waist as his name is ripped from your throat both willingly and reluctantly rolled into one. It’s more intense, more freeing—your pleasure going and going, and going. 

It’s why his own shatters at the sight and sound of you, filling you, coating your walls in him as he grunts out your name freely, and loudly. White hot pleasure drenches every tense muscle and removes every worried thought over what he’d find when he arrived at yours. Leaving just this and you—utter perfection that he adores.  

He kisses you as he slows his hips, all hungry and thankful. Both for letting him in figuratively and literally. Your breaths mingle with his, chest rising and falling as he pulls you close to him, holding you until you push him away—which he knows you will.  

Each second that passes, he thinks will be the last. His lips break from yours, the rain hammering against the window as the sun tries to poke through the clouds. It paints your room in a yellow hue, one which makes your eyes more bright and more beautiful than normal.

“We have to stop.” 

You don’t let go, don’t move from his embrace. 

Your legs remained tangled with his, the same as his clothes were still in a mess somewhere in your home—the one you wanted him in. He pulls for a sheet, bringing it up, letting you fall from his arms, noticing the brief gap you form from him. 

“Y’keep saying that.”

“And you don’t listen.” 

He expects you to snap, but you don't. Not really. 

And all it does is baffle him. You had confused him—had been difficult to understand from the beginning to now. You’re layers of skin, muscle and bone, and under it all, something he’s not sure he wants to be without. 

Truthfully, it terrified him. 

How his mind had become full of you. How he liked hearing your pulse as much as he liked hearing you say his name. 

“Do you wan’ me t’, lass? Want me t’listen as yer tell me not to find you, when I know yer need me?”

“I don’t need you.”

“Yer don’t, do you?”

Glaring for a second, you swallow, yanking your eyes from his. 

“There’s no one else, lass. Not f’me. Is there for you?” 

The answer, it floats in your eyes. He can see it. How it’s slid from your brain to your tongue, eyes afraid to blink. Knowing he knows. Seeing it, processing it—fucking hating it. 

His fingers find your chin, pulling your eyes to him, and for a second—the briefest one—he forgets how to breathe as your face softens and unfurls. 

“No,” you whisper. “No one else.” 

His fingers stroke your chin, accepting it—letting it linger between the two of you. And then, his lips find yours, body slowly covering yours. 

You welcome it. Thankfully. 

He feels your arms slide up around his neck, pulling him closer and closer, parting your thighs for him again. But it’s different—it’s changed. 

7.

It hurts.

Both the bruises on your forehead and the hole in your arm. 

You try to slam the door behind you, hearing it not connecting with the frame but a person—one who has been charging after you. A person annoyed with you for self-discharging, for being angry in the first place. 

You round on him, quickly—almost offsetting him with how quickly you 180. 

”Fuck me, Johnny—“

“Lass, you are injured. Y' shouldn't... you shouldn't even b' discharged.”

You give him a poignant look. One that screams that you aren’t fragile, that you’re not made of glass. Even if your bone throbs, held together with sheer will and pins. 

Something he knows.

Something he has felt, seen and pushed to the breaking point to prove. Yet… 

He’s not a painkiller, but you wish he was—knew he could be. Knew he could rid even the worst thoughts from your mind, so why could he not do it with pain? 

“Please.” Make me forget. Like we always do. Please, please, please…

The lines on his forehead lessen, his sigh escaping his nose slowly. “Don’t look at me like tha’. Yer had a bullet in your arm, y’need rest.”

“Babe…”

“Babe, aye?”

You swallow it. 

His questioning tone and look of surprise and the sting that accompanies it. 

In your defence, it had slipped out—slithered past your tongue, having woven its way out of the chest marked do not open. 

Turning from him, you bite back a hiss as you try to remove your t-shirt, your muscles screaming as you do. Each tendon begging you to stop, to sit, to rest, to not fucking move. But you need it off. Unable to breathe, to think of anything but—your teeth sinking down into your cheek until you taste copper as you yank, tug and pull—

“Steamin’ Jesus, c’mere,” he says, his hands coming to help you remove it.

He turns you. A disapproving look etched into his face, sliding it over your injured arm with more care than you’d have put him down for.

Then it vanishes. Gone. Stolen. 

His face is all kinds of different, his eyes not lowering to your chest and bra, but rather remaining on your eyes. And it feels… wrong. Even if it doesn’t. Even if everything has flipped and changed already, you still think—hope—he’ll want to go back to mindless fucking you. 

It would be easier. Less complicated and messy. No feelings to unpack and unknot from inside of you. No confusing questions needing answers that you’d have to fish out from inside the parts of you that you hide from.  

You want to move closer, kiss him, make it different—shift the moment into something you’re used to. Make it feel more like the usual. Because this doesn’t feel right…even if it is.  

The two of you are closer than just getting naked and fucking. 

It isn’t just grappling hands and pleasure, this feels like something else. Born from it? Yes. Derived from the times you’ve both shared. It standing in the corner, staring you both down—

He moves around you, stepping closer to your drawers, and you hear one draw open and close before he’s back in front of you. His hand holding a t-shirt, one of your favourites—the same one you’d been wearing when he turned up at your door those weeks ago.

It almost makes you cry. Almost. 

You are somehow able to stem it back, hold it back with sheer will and fucking determination. Especially when Soap doesn’t speak, just eases it over your head. The baggy material floats down over you as he helps ease you into it, cautious with your arm and the bandages wrapped around it. 

“You need t’ rest.” 

It leaves his lips almost quietly, as though afraid any louder and it would break the air. The air crackles; it thrums and shudders out of tension and apprehension—because this is the turning off of the tide. Especially as you almost say: I just need you. I want you. 

A choice needing to be made. You’d thought it when he skidded to you, kicking dirt up around you as he grasped your wound—face whitening. His words of comfort fell with ease, not caring for the eyes—the people, the team or the fucking mission.   

The line then had just blinked and shone; now it flashes incessantly. 

Your arm is throbbing, aching. A reminder of how easy it is to lose—for something to slip and spell disaster. The team, all of you, rely on each other to have a level head. To be there. 

“C’mon, let’s get y’into bed—“

You almost melt into it. His touch. It would be easy too, to let him care—to let the person you care about, care about you. To let his arm wrap around you, mind running away, imagining the way it will feel to lie against him, curl into him clothed. Maybe even let his hand rest against your cheek, stroking it; maybe even have your clothed legs tangle in his, nothing sinful, just innocence. 

But… you can’t. 

Your feet stopping, halting. Eyes glance up at him, pleading that he’ll snap out of it too. Remember why this started. How the entire thing is born of a need to feel alive, to root one another; the next time a stress release, nothing more, nothing less. 

This isn’t that. Not anymore. It’s something that could be real. And real means something costly, something which could break and hurt—far worse than a bullet, knife or bomb. 

“I don’t… I don’t wanna do this anymore, Johnny.” 

He’s smiling. 

It clicks that he thinks you mean something else. That you don’t want to get into bed… 

He nudges your good arm. “Why? Yer saving yourself for someone else now?” 

You say nothing. But, your face must say it all. 

Watching his slowly sink, the balloon inside of you bursting—it deflating in your chest. The look on his face makes your heart plummet, and sink so fast it’ll flatten at your feet. 

The despondent look cracks the outer edges of you, snapping the places he’s healed. And this is just a taste of what it would look like to hurt him, to disappoint him.

“I just… I just don’t think I like you like that.” 

Lies. Lies. Lies. 

You twist it, the metaphorical knife. It's all there in your hand and now lodged into his chest as you hold his gaze. Needing the words to imprint, to fucking stick. 

It’s the only way to fix this, to stop it all before it splinters and you’re both left with nothing. 

His smile is the last to fall. It clearly having held onto you taking it back, but now it is so telling. 

It fades as the seconds sneak into minutes. 

It falls slowly at first. Then it falls fast, taking the shimmer from his eyes—tainting the hue of blue you’ve come to know better than your own eye colour. Realisation stealing, snatching it all away, as his eyes say the words he’s too afraid to say: Did I mean nothing else to you? 

You're thankful he doesn’t ask them. Not sure at what volume you’d tell him that he means everything, and that’s why you can’t do this. 

Why this has to stop…

“That so?” 

You swallow, trying to keep your voice still. “Y-yes.” 

He nods, stepping back. Trying to disguise his hurt as well as you’re hiding what a lie all of this is. The gap feels wider than a step or two. It feels like the floor has cracked and ripped you apart, and your good hand pinches your thigh, grasping to the pain, letting it centre you. 

And then you smile because it’s easier too. Fewer muscles are needed to make it happen. You slowly step back, watching him watch you. 

“I should rest, so…” you announce. 

His jaw tightens, and then he nods. 

Not a Johnny nod, not even a Soap one. A soldier-nod. A clinical, devoid-of-emotion nod that makes your whole chest explode into shatters. 

You silence the cries to stop him, the voice in your head telling you to reach out to him. Not moving from your position, not fucking able to, until he slams the door behind him. The room rattling as it rips through you, the loss—all punctuated by the sound. 

It cuts worse than anything you’ve ever known—it hurts more than being awake when they removed the bullet. All of it is made worse by the way the room shakes from his exit, the echo and earthquake left by his departure. The photo frame on your bedside table wobbling, and wobbling—

and wobbling. 

“S-shit,” you whimper, tears falling free and fast. 

Your good arm coming up to cup your waist, your other hanging limply, without purpose. You know you should move, but you can’t. Standing, frozen in the spot where everything broke in two. 

A part of you, the sane part—the one which let him in and welcomed him—wants to run for him. To tug him close and tell him you lied. That you fucking lied, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. 

Your legs are aching and shaking. All tired and without energy, not even a reason to hold you up anymore. Wanting to sink, to let your knees crash into the concrete floor and bare-thread rug, let it all unfurl and spill from you.

Bang. 

You jump, eyes blinking, focusing. Desperately ridding the tears back so you can see, finding him.

Soap… Johnny, standing in your doorway, glaring until he isn’t. And then he’s moving towards you, door slamming again, a whole different expression knitted into his features. 

“Yer aff yer heid if yer don’t think I know…”

You lift your chin, unsure why you do it defiantly, angrily. “Know what?” 

You say it as if there aren't tears on your cheeks, as though him being in front of you hasn’t stopped the shards from your heart from hitting the ground and cutting you. 

“Tha’ yer like me, lass.” 

His hand grasps your waist, pulling you close—the bare knuckles off his other hand wiping your cheeks. 

“I kno’ it, ‘cause I like you too.” 

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Aye, probably am,” he says, cupping your cheek. “Don’t care like. If that’s alright wir’ you.” 

You stare at him. 

Letting yourself be bathed in Johnny-blue, noticing the hair band—your hair band—still on his wrist. 

And then he kisses you. 

Differently. Explosively. Life-changingly. 

Your mind is thinking only one thing as you kiss him back: It’s alright with me, Johnny. 

an: just know, the seventh scene ended when he slammed the door on the first draft, so you're welcome that i added a part of the next chapter here.

part three of it happens ->

[jakes3resin]

Can you tell us more about biker gale and his plot??

Sure sure.

I am gonna warn you though, I'm the kind of person who likes spoilers and likes talking about them, so this will be pretty spoilery for what will eventually become Biker AU.

Here's what I've got plotted out.

Okay so story will start on a dark and stormy night (cliché yes but I enjoy a good cliché every now and then) where Curt opens his front door to a pale and shaking Bucky, a man he thought dead for nearing two years. Bucky, drenched from the rain and desperate, begs Curt to watch his child, a little kid that Curt hadn't even noticed given how tightly they're clinging to Bucky's shirt. When Curt finally catches a glimpse he sees wild blond curls and bright blue eyes, a shade similar to Bucky's but just different enough that Curt recognizes them to have come from someone else.

Bucky left town two years before for reasons no one had ever figured out. Some said maybe he left because the cops were gonna pin something on. Others say that his head hadn't been alright for a while. Curt thinks Bucky is dead because he knows that nothing short of death would have pulled Bucky and Buck away from each other. Most don't talk about it because Gale gets a dark look in his eyes whenever he hears Bucky's name.

Gale's the leader and founder of the motorcycle club Curt is a part of (Bucky helped found the club as well) and is always one step ahead of the law. He's smart, wickedly so, and doesn't allow anything to get traced back to him or his club. There's a lot of rage buried under his stoic facade, but there's also a lot of love. His emotions are usually felt to the extremes, and he does his level best to keep them under control. Bucky had been good for him, had brought joy to his life, but since he'd left, he's gone back to his old facade.

Bucky begs Curt to take care of his kid for five days ("Just five days Curtie I swear. I'll be back come hell or high water, I'll be back." "Bucky what the hell is this all about?" "I wish I could tell you Curt, I swear it's nothing that will come back on you." "Ain't worried about that. I'm worried about you.") And then he disappears into the storm again.

Five days pass. Curt sits and waits, taking care of Bucky's kid and keeping them out of sight. Bucky hadn't told him to, but Curt's a smart guy. He can connect a few dots, and it's better for everyone if Bucky's quick visit back to town went unnoticed. Curt's loyal to the club, but he's also loyal to Bucky.

Gale stops by concerned that one of his boys has practically disappeared without notice, especially Curt who has never done that before. What he finds shakes him to his core. Curt holding a small kid who looks the spitting image of Bucky with bright blonde hair. (I think both sides of Clegan sees only the other in their kid, I'm dramatic like that)

The kid won't stop fussing, and Curt's at his wit's end. It's the fifth day, and while he's good with kids, there's only so much he can do when a kid desperately misses their parent. He doesn't even notice Gale's presence until the other is stopped dead in his tracks staring at the kid in his arms. The kid stops fussing long enough to stare up at Gale and reach out to him. Gale gently takes them from Curt's arms, who is biting his lip holding back all he wants to say.

That's the sight Bucky walks back in on. He bursts through Curt's front door, and his heart drops to his feet when he sees Gale holding his kid.

Gale's heart beats once more when he sees Bucky walk back in to Curt's house. He'd been tormented the last two years thinking Bucky had either died or willingly left them. (He's not sure which option is worse) Seeing the other again brings him back to life, erases the shadows that had encroached since the other had left. He doesn't stop staring at the other in wonder even when Bucky tries to take their kid away.

A bruise on Bucky's eye sparks an incandescent rage in him, and his mind takes off like a shot obsessing over it.

When Bucky tries to leave, Gale runs after him, and the pair have an argument practically right in the street for all to see. ("Where are you going John?" "Not sure why that matters Buck." "Of course it matters John. Why the hell do you think it wouldn't matter to me?") They argue, things are said, tempers run a bit high as Curt tries to pry the two apart.

Then the FBI arrive. Bucky panics. And when Bucky panics, Gale gets overprotective.

You see Bucky had spent the last five days testifying for the FBI in a murder trial (I won't go into too many details), and they wanted him to testify against others. Except Bucky was no snitch. He'd testified because it was his friend that had been murdered, and he'd told the FBI he wanted nothing to do with them. In retaliation, his name got leaked (he'd testified under the condition of anonymity and the judge had allowed it because Bucky was a single parent and it was proven that there was reasonable evidence that the defendant would retaliate if given Bucky's name) so that the FBI could swoop in and force Bucky to testify in exchange for protection. Bucky said fuck that and drove to go get his kid back.

The rest of the plot revolves around Bucky having nowhere to turn for protection, and Gale being an absolute menace to the people trying to hunt down his lover and kid. They still love each other, but Bucky won't let Gale get too close. Gale was ready to forgive and forget because he trusts that Bucky had his own reasons, but Bucky still has too much guilt.

Could be a/b/o I'm not sure yet. A/B/O fic is currently draining my soul from my chest, so I may decide I need a break from that trope for a bit once I get around to writing and publishing Biker!Gale au.

[cocktailjjrs]

He LIVED Bitches!!!!

Long post ahead

First thing first... I love this starting pallet (i'm definitely overthinking)

Not complete white not complete black with prominent shadows, because every major character in the show is grey and one half of each partnership likes to lurk in shadows...This just highlights that things won't always be merry and colourful, but they won't completely be helpless...

Now to the episode itself...

We knew Aya was going to jump... Glad she was oh so delicately caught by Aku... I didn't think it was possible to clear everything in one episode, but expect the unexpected i guess...

And the main part of Dazai being alive and kicking...No but really, this is such a relief...

I kinda had the whole thing in the back of my mind that they can't kill Dazai, he is necessary for the plot armour to plot armour and all that shit...

But there was equal chances of Asagiri taking notes from Isayama or Gege and just decide, fuck it... let's keep him dead....If not the confirmed dead thing, then the dead till stated otherwise route that Hori took.

But i'm soooo glad Asagiri didn't do that!!!

Also, glad to know he is still as cocky as ever

AND AND AND

I screamed!!!! My fam started looking at me for two whole minutes like i've just gone crazy!!!

Because we got the prettiest boy speaking!!!

The look on Fyodor's face when he realised he was played by the one he had completely under his control (or he thought he had)... I think he realised the 'shallow bond' comment haunted him in this moment

I will deep dive into what exactly happened in those seconds in a later post, but i just wanna say

This is soooo damn funny!!!! Like you have this big bad mafia boss who has been MIA for the whole part of world destruction and his precious city being in the centre of it all (lets face it mori loves Yokohama more than he loves the whole world, he would gladly let the world burn if it means keeping that damn trouble-magnet city safe!) - BUT BUT BUT, then when things start to look up you only get a mention of the said boss and that too with a goofy fact such as he glued in vampire fangs to one of his executives! Don't tell me it's not an embarrassing dad thing to do, because it is!!!

I just know he, Hirotsu and Koyo has a hell of a time getting teenage soukoku to adulthood alive!!!

I mean -

WHAT DO YOU MEAN SIR YOU USED TO DO THIS ALL THE TIME???

No one's doing it like them!!!

Plus i just know Manga coming out is going to be even more gay than the anime, there will be more explanations and more fruity moments!!!

On a sad note...

Fyodor actually seems to be dead ( even if i don't believe it)

It hurt so bad to see Gogol man going - i wanted him dead, no i didnt, but maybe i did. His voice alone mad me sad...

But you know what i'm not sad about???

Getting rid of Fukuchi!!!

I'm not going to pretend that i felt even an ounce of sympathy for him, his whole 'i did this so you can bring peace' or 'some sacrifices are necessary for greater good' thing seemed forced to me. Like a desperate attempt at ending his character arc on a forgiving note, positive note...

But like i said, most characters in this show are grey... But there was none of Fukuchi's shade, and i didn't like it, even if in the end he wanted peace.

i do feel sad for Fukuzawa though,

He will have to live with that curse...

Plus i don't think Fukuchi is completely gone...

Decay of angel's may be over, but the mess they have left behind is not, there is still the other side of the page and whatever the fuck went down in those two hours...

But i'm glad that atleast Aku and Atsushi are on same side this time...

and this looks so much like:

So yeah, it's just another start!!!

Plus, You remember Soukoku came to fame after final battle of Dragon Head conflict?

The Finale of Decay of Angels will the foundation of Shinsoukoku's journey...

The two of them against all the threats to come...

We sure are in for a treat!!!

[weekend-whip]

Now I’m thinking about the little funny intricacies of their elements. Can Cole control, like, dust? Can he make sandy water not-sandy? Can Bolobo control fungi, and in turn, control small insects with said fungi? (Refer to Ophiocordyceps unilateralis). Where do the lines between lightning, electricity, and energy blur? Who controls plasma? How much does Griffin Turner eat with how many carbs he’s burning? What are Tox’s poisons made of and can they be engineered into something beneficial (like how coffee was supposed to be a plant’s defense mechanism but we turned it into profit)? Can Karlof control metal-alloys, raw material, or only pre-smelted and manufactured metals? Does Neuro get headaches a lot? How would Shade manage in an environment with multiple light sources and weird shadows? Brb gonna think of more

Can Cole control, like, dust?: If it's, like, legitimate dirt dust, yes. "Dust" made from, say, human particles would be beyond him

Can he make sandy water not-sandy?: Yes. Nya could also make the sand not-watery under that logic.

Can Bolobo control fungi-: Yes

-And in turn, control small insects with said fungi? (Refer to Ophiocordyceps unilateralis): ....yes, only because I love me a chance to incorporate those mind-controlled insect zombies *-*)9 (hey gamers, play Bug Fables while I'm on this soap box)

Where do the lines between lightning, electricity, and energy blur?: Boom badabing baby, but in short, lightning/electricity are treated as the same thing, and while energy can be lightning, lightning cannot always be energy. It's like a square-rectangle thing. Energy has more forms it can take and different ways it can power things, as opposed to lightning/electricity being only able to power electrical things specifically.

Who controls plasma?: Control of Plasma can be obtain via a perfect combination of Lightning and Fire. However, too much Fire will yield Light; too much Lightning will yield Speed. Plasma itself is not an Element, however, just a fusion: similar to Water + Lightning manifesting the Hydroelectric dragon, or Fire + Water manifesting that combo dragon. Kai and Jay would theoretically get, like, a Plasma dragon ;P

How much does Griffin Turner eat with how many carbs he’s burning?: A LOT, even more than Jay admittedly

What are Tox’s poisons made of and can they be engineered into something beneficial (like how coffee was supposed to be a plant’s defense mechanism but we turned it into profit)?: Can't give a specific answer on Tox's poisons cuz I'm still researching it up for legitimacy (esp for S2 and S4) but yes, they can be engineered into a "beneficial poison" with enough work—like a medicine, or something of the sort.

Can Karlof control metal-alloys, raw material, or only pre-smelted and manufactured metals?: Like Tox, still tweaking this one out. Metal alloys and raw material would seem to fall under his umbrella though, just off the top of my head.

Does Neuro get headaches a lot?: Yes, and especially when he first got his powers

How would Shade manage in an environment with multiple light sources and weird shadows?: Badly, like having some extremely shady vertigo

[kaibutsushidousha]

Memory in Children: Mechanical Choices (Sagrada Reset 3) - Chapter 2: Android Girl (Late June)

[INDEX]

As always, Haruki was the only one there when Asai Kei arrived at the rooftop of the southern school building because of Souma Sumire's invitation.

The rooftop on June 22nd was already as hot as it would be in the heights of summer. It was also a humid day. The atmosphere was building up moisture for the upcoming rainy days. Summer was in steady progress.

Kei approached Haruki with audible footsteps.

The girl had no hint of humanity but her forehead was properly capable of sweating.

"Aren't you hot?"

"I am."

"Then let's wait under the shade. You could get a heatstroke like this."

Haruki nodded and moved to the narrow shade by the rooftop entrance. Her walk was like a robot working in a factory. She draws a straight line from point A to point B and doesn't deviate from it.

ー Who is the android?

(What answer does this girl have for Souma's question?)

"What about you?", she said.

"Hm?"

"Are you not going under the shade as well?"

"Right."

Kei smiled and nodded.

Kei moved next to her and leaned on the handrail.

"Where's Souma?"

"She will be late because needs to talk to someone."

"Ok."

There weren't many tall buildings around the area. The sea was fully visible despite the distance.

Haruki's long hair danced in the wind.

Watching it made Kei smile.

"Your hair is really pretty."

Her hair was long, well-cared, and naturally wavy. It seemed sparkly depending on the angle of the sunshine.

Haruki didn't answer. Kei continued.

"So pretty that I think you should cut it off."

"I don't understand."

"It feels unreal. That pretty hair makes you look less human than you should. I can't help but find it artificial."

Her pretty hair and her eyes clear like glass beads distanced her from humanity. He couldn't ask her to gouge her eyes out, but cutting her hair was easy.

She finally looked at him in the eye.

"Is that a problem?"

"Maybe. People generally agree that people should look human."

"My mother likes my hair like this."

"And that's why you don't cut it?"

"I don't have a preference. In the lack of a preferred option, I chose to keep things as they are."

That was the end of their conversation.

The small world atop the rooftop was very silent.

(Everything is so different in Souma's presence.)

Kei was always a little nervous when Souma Sumire was around. Her every word chained him, and before he knew it, he was completely under her control. He felt like she could steal away all of his thoughts if he ever gave her the opportunity.

In contrast, the world created by Haruki Misora was quiet like a sepia photograph. So quiet and delicate that the tender winds and the slow flow of the shadows of the clouds felt like major changes. His consciousness expanded comfortably and without alarm.

The two girls affected Kei in opposite ways. It was like the fable of The North Wind and the Sun.

Kei took a moment to savor the tranquility Haruki generated. Tranquility akin to stasis. Like time was stopped. He felt like if he looked at the sky, he could find a bird frozen in midair.

"Asai Kei. I have a question for you.", said Haruki.

For some reason, he didn't feel like her voice broke the tranquility.

Kei turned to see her.

"What?"

"Is it sad not to be loved by one's mother?"

Not a question he expected to hear from Haruki.

But it was also a question no one else but her could ask. Anyone could say the same words, but Kei knew no girl other than Haruki Misora who could do it with those unmoving eyes and expression devoid of any emotion.

"Generally yes."

(That's probably the correct answer.)

"Does your mother love you?"

(She already forgot all about me.)

That's what he wanted to answer but couldn't. He felt this was a cowardly thing to say out loud.

"Probably.", he didn't elaborate.

"I know a girl."

Haruki's eyes were directed at Kei but it felt like she wasn't looking at him. It always did. Haruki's eyes looked at everything in her line of sight equally.

"She wishes to be loved by her mother. Do you know how she can accomplish that?"

Kei shook his head.

He probably wouldn't be in Sakurada if he knew.

"Not at all. What you have to do to earn love can be completely different from one person to another. I don't know who this girl or her mother is."

"Will you know the answer if you know them?"

"Who knows? Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

"Would you try if there's a chance?"

"Try what exactly?"

"Meeting her. Please."

(She's talking a lot more than usual.)

Haruki had a clear wish. It was his first time seeing her like this.

"Sure, I could meet her. But could you tell me more before I do?"

"I don't know the particulars either. She wants her mother to love her. What other information do you need?"

Her age, personality, home situation. There was a lot to ask. But it'd be easier to ask the girl directly.

(For now, I'll stick with the parts I need to hear from Haruki.)

"What's her name?"

"Kurakawa Mari."

"So this Kurakawa wants her mother to love her?"

She took a while to answer.

She nodded insecurely.

"Yes, most likely."

"Most likely?"

"I'm not sure. But I decided to cooperate."

Haruki looked confused. Despite not changing her expression. No alterations were visible watching from aside, but something felt different.

"Is that established in those rules of yours?"

"Not that I remember..."

"Oh? Then what made you decide that?"

Haruki lowered her gaze.

"Souma Sumire once told me there are two white boxes in front of me."

She could only open one but didn't know which was the right one. If the two boxes had different colors, she could pick the color she liked best. If the boxes had different shapes, she could use that to justify her choice. But the pairs of boxes in front of her are always white and always have the same shape.

There was no basis to choose one over the other.

"Souma told me this showed how uneventful the world is to me."

Kei nodded.

(The two boxes are options. The point of the talk is that for most choices, both options are equally worthless to Haruki.)

"So that's only you opening one box? Are you trying to say that you arbitrarily chose between helping or not helping a girl?"

"I'm not sure."

Kei sighed internally.

"If it doesn't matter either way, I don't care anymore. I lost interest. You don't have to introduce me to the girl."

Haruki Misora raised her eyes.

Her face showed no expression, as usual. So Kei could be wrong, but he thought she looked sad.

Kei looked deep into her eyes for the next statement.

"I can meet her if you want to help her no matter what. I'll work with you if the goal is to inevitably make things better for her. Inevitably, only giving her a chance to get better is not enough."

She responded with her own direct eye contact.

"I have no right to force you to do something you don't want to."

(That's not it. This is not about rights or force. You just need to say that the box you're looking at has a different color and shape from the boxes you saw before. I know it's human emotions that change the colors and shapes of choices. All you need to say is "I, Haruki Misora, followed my emotions and, with clear intent, made a choice not available within the scope of the rules".)

"Then I guess this is out of my hands."

That was the only answer he could give.

Kei was certainly curious about Kurakawa Mari but Haruki was more important to him than a girl he never met.

Inside his head, Kei tried to convince himself of his choice.

(I want to understand Haruki. It's not every day that I get to see Haruki express interest in a problem. But there's no point in me appearing out of nowhere and forcing a solution, taking the issue away from her. I'm perfectly capable of casting aside a girl I've never seen before.)

He was used to casting people away. He needed to be in order to commit to his decision to stay in Sakurada 2 years ago.

But if Haruki is at least one bit more wilfully about it, he'll gladly help.

"Understood."

Haruki nodded and ended the conversation.

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

Souma Sumire appeared on the rooftop 10 minutes later.

"Hello, Kei and Haruki. I know it's sudden but let's go somewhere else.", she said before she was done opening the door.

"Go where?"

"To the student council room. There's someone I want you to meet."

Side by side, Haruki nodded and Kei tilted his head.

"Then why did you call us to the rooftop."

(If were going to the student council, I was better off waiting in my classroom.)

Souma had her usual smile.

"Is the rooftop a more comfortable place for you to have a 1-on-1 talk with Haruki?"

He agreed completely. But he didn't feel good about how it felt like Souma could see through the whole conversation they just had.

Souma twirled 180 and walked away. Haruki followed behind her without hesitation. Kei sighed and started walking.

"Who do you want us to meet?", Kei asked when they were descending the stairs in a lined row.

"The student council president."

"To do what?"

"He has an ability. Didn't I talk to you before about exploring Haruki's past in more detail?"

Kei could remember this conversation without needing to use his ability.

ー But don’t you think we can find something if we explore Haruki’s memories in more detail?

"Why would you know the president's ability?", Kei asked after a quick nod.

"I was helping the student council in my first year. The president and I know each other."

"That's not all. You knew about my ability and Haruki's."

That was why she forced Kei and Haruki to meet.

"I already answered you. Information is something you obtain automatically when you're in the right place with the right mindset."

"And I forgot to tell you last time that this doesn't answer my question."

After climbing down two floors, they proceeded through a corridor.

Souma looked at Kei from behind her shoulders.

"I can give you a proper answer, but you can't tell anyone, ok?"

"I never told anyone secrets I promised to keep."

Souma giggled.

"Then say a real yes."

Defeated, Kei nodded.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Thanks. I actually have a secret file. I found a document when I was at the teacher's lounge doing student council work and took a copy."

(Would they really be this sloppy about a document containing every student's abilities?)

He couldn't conclusively say it was impossible. Schools had uniquely distorted priorities, in his opinion. He wouldn't be surprised if files on abilities aren't handled with the same stringency as a test's answer sheet.

"The student council may seem like a worthless group at first, but they're a great resource of information. They get to frequently enter the teacher's lounge, are on good terms with the teachers, and get trusted for no good reason."

"Is that why you're a class representative?"

"Yup, exactly."'

"By the way, there's one thing I wanna know."

"What?"

One can obtain information by being in the right place with the right mindset.

"I get it that the right place is the student council. But what is the right mindset?"

The will to harvest information on everyone's abilities. Her reason. What is Souma Sumire's goal?

Souma stopped walking. The student council door was in front of her.

"That part is a secret. You'll know eventually."

She knocked on the door, cutting the conversation short.

Nanasaka Middle School's student council president was named Sakagami Yousuke.

He was a skinny boy of small build—although Kei would hesitate to use the word "boy" to describe someone taller and older than himself.

As far as Kei could remember, Sakagami was always smiling. Though occasionally it would be a timid, pathetic smile. He often showed those in public presentations to the whole school.

Sakagami was the only person in the student council room.

He was sitting on a folding chair but stood up the moment the trio entered the room. He moved like a hamster scared by a loud noise.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Sakagami, the student council president."

His voice got less audible the closer it approached the end of each sentence. To the point that the three sets of footsteps approaching him got louder than his words.

Kei stood directly in front of him and smiled.

"I'm Asai, from the 2nd year. Nice to meet you."

Sakagami stayed quiet for a moment and then gestured to the folding chairs.

"Have a seat."

He seemed always afraid of something. Kei assumed he was only nervous from having to speak to the whole school, but it turned out he's like that all the time.

Kei and Haruki sat on the chairs facing Sakagami and Souma on the chair next to him. That was how the chairs were arranged.

Sakagami looked only at Souma.

"Uh, so, what am I supposed to do?"

"I want you to use your ability. From Asai to Haruki."

"Oh, hm, ok."

Kei internally sighed and asked.

"Wait a second. What ability do you have, Sakagami?"

Sakagami spoke, never taking his eyes away from Souma.

"You didn't explain it to them?"

"Oh, now that you mention, I didn't. You explain it."

Embarrassed, he shifted his eyes to Kei's chest.

"In simple terms, I can copy abilities. The person I touch with my left hand gets a copy of the ability of the person I touch with my right."

"Wow. I didn't know there were abilities that worked on abilities."

"It's a middling ability. Rarely ever useful."

He understood what Souma wanted to do.

"I want you to experience Kei's ability. To remember your previous self.", she said looking straight into Haruki's eyes.

If Haruki uses Kei's ability, she'll be able to remember everything. Maybe she had emotions in a memory she forgot.

"For what purpose?"

"I want to know a version of you that you forgot."

"Understood."

As always, Haruki answered without hesitation. Haruki never refused anything as long it wouldn't cause problems for others.

Without paying much attention to her idiosyncrasies, Kei interjected.

"Wait a minute. Haruki, are you sure you want this?"

(Memories are powerful. That's because they're your own will. They're powerful enough to distort your current personality.)

But Haruki's face didn't change.

"Is there any problem?"

Kei couldn't answer. He was the last person who could deny the value of memories.

Sakagami had his typical timid smile.

"Then I'll get started."

He stood up, circled around the table with unstable footsteps, and stood behind the two. He mumbled "Excuse me." and touched Kei's left shoulder with his right hand and Haruki's right shoulder with his left.

"In this state, if Asai uses his ability, Haruki will get the same effect."

"You mean that if I remember one year ago, Haruki will remember one year ago?"

"Yeah. Haruki doesn't get free control of your ability. She'll get the exact same effect you apply on yourself."

Kei looked at Haruki's profile.

"Haruki, what do you want to remember?"

"You can choose any time."

"You decide it."

After some pause, Haruki answered.

"Then a memory from when I was 7."

"Why 7?"

"No particular reason. If I must give one, I'd say it's because that's Kurakawa Mari's age."

Kei nodded.

"Ok. Then I recommend you close your eyes. Seeing the past while you're seeing the present is not a nice feeling."

Kei confirmed that she followed his advice and closed his own eyes.

Immediately before it, he caught a glimpse of Souma's face. She was looking at him and her expression was very stern for some reason.

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

Haruki Misora closed her eyes and remembered when she was 7.

"Seven-years-old". That keyword alone didn't lead to any specific memory.

It was only when she associated that age with being in the second year of elementary school that the memories started springing forth. She remembered her elementary school classroom, her classmates, and a few major moments. But those were all indistinct.

She heard Kei's voice.

"Here we go now."

Immediately after it...

Haruki's mind instantly warped. Like the lamps of a room being switched on. Everything in Haruki's 7th year floated back to the surface.

"We are currently in a room at the Nanasaka Middle School, where we are second-year students.", said Kei.

Without those words, she could have believed she was still 7. Asai Kei's ability. The power to remember everything. To re-experience the past in all of its precision and intensity.

In her memories, Haruki was in her elementary school classroom.

It was the break between Japanese class and Math class. Haruki had her math textbook, notebook, and pencil case on her desk. She was quietly waiting for the math class to start. She remembered everything. What pencil she used, what she learned in the Japanese class, the chair's sensation, the creases on the white curtains. Everything.

She could hear what her then-classmates were talking about. It was quite a loud world. She could remember what the boys in the seat next to her were talking about, even though she wasn't paying attention when it happened. "Whose house are we going to today?"

She heard a real voice overlapped with theirs. Souma's voice.

"What did you think about when you were 7?"

Haruki shook her head and answered.

"Nothing."

She only sat down and waited for time to pass. During breaks, she waited for classes to start. During classes, she waited for them to end. Rinse and repeat.

"At age 7, were you already defined by rules?"

This time she nodded.

"Yes. Same ones I have now."

Her vocabulary has gotten more childish. But the 7-year-old Haruki had already bound herself to her rules.

"When did you make the rules?"

"I can't remember."

The younger Haruki couldn't remember either.

The next voice she heard was Asai Kei's.

"At that age, did you want your mother to love you?"

Haruki slowly shook her head.

"No."

The 7-year-old Haruki was essentially identical to the present one.

Her life was nothing but living. She had two identically-shaped white boxes in front of her. She opens the one the rules tell her to, unable to differentiate the two. That was all.

Haruki felt a sudden headache and put her hand on her forehead. The pain quickly intensified. Fatigue sprouted from within. The pain lost its sharp intensity and became a consistent discomfort.

She noticed Sakagami Yousuke taking his hand off her shoulder. Her fresh memories immediately turned hazy again.

Opening her eyes, she found Souma Sumire staring at her. A long desk. Folding chairs. A whiteboard. (I'm in Nanasaka Middle School's student council room.), Haruki reconfirmed.

"What's wrong?", said Souma.

"I don't know. My head suddenly started to hurt."

It felt like a headache but maybe wasn't one. All that she knew was that she felt some sort of pain but it was already getting better.

While she calmed down her breath, she heard Sakagami Yousuke and Asai Kei talking. Sakagami was panicked. His words were even faster and harder to parse than before.

"Does your ability have any side effects?"

Kei's answer was calm as always.

"It's painful to remember too much information at once. The information that isn't part of your daily life all comes in a single block."

"I see. Any other problems?"

"Depends on what you're remembering. Remembering pain will be painful. Unpleasant memories will hurt your mood. Sad memories can make you cry."

"I'm better. Do you want to continue?", Haruki announced shaking her head.

It was Souma who answered.

"No. That's all for today. No need to take the risk of making you suffer."

"Is my suffering a problem?"

"Yup, a huge one. Look at Kei, he's sad too."

Haruki turned to Kei on the chair next to her.

She didn't find anything different in his face. But that was just her not noticing it because she's bad at reading emotions on human faces.

"Obviously. Watching people suffer is sad.", he said.

His delivery was composed as if he didn't feel a thing.

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

"You don't look too pleased, Kei.", said Souma Sumire.

Kei walked home with both hands in his pockets. Souma always lined up next to him. Kei quickly shook his head and answered.

"I'm not really upset. I'm normal."

"You didn't like exploring Haruki's memories? But that's not all... Something happened, I imagine before I got to the rooftop."

Kei sighed.

"Can you listen to what I'm saying?"

"It's your fault for making the lie too obvious."

"What makes you think I lied?"

"It's not hard to guess what the person next to me is feeling. You know I'm good at this."

(Yeah, that's true, I suppose.)

Souma excelled at reading people's psychological state and Kei was indeed upset.

Kei changed the subject.

"Sakagami is a weird guy."

"But not a bad guy."

"I think he's a good person but he always looks scared."

(It's hard to figure out his reasons for wanting to be student council president.)

"I don't take issue with him being weak-willed."

"Yeah, probably doesn't harm anyone."

"But is there something about him that bothers you?"

"Not at all."

"What about him bothers you?"

Souma showed no interest in empty words.

Kei answered with something akin to resignation.

"He never talked to Haruki."

Even when Haruki was in pain, he didn't look at her.

"I wonder why Sakagami never talked to Haruki."

"Beats me. Was he afraid?"

"I don't see any reason to be afraid of her."

"Me neither. Haruki doesn't have a single scary bone in her. She doesn't bark or bite. If he found her creepy or uncanny, that's just avoiding someone for being different."

From a distance, Haruki seemed inorganic and artificial.

That's what made Sakagami Yousuke feel slightly repulsed. His rejection showed in his attitude.

"And you find that unforgivable?"

"That's blowing things out of proportion. I just didn't like the guy."

Souma laughed.

"Look at you getting all fanatic about Haruki."

"It's not about Haruki. It's about the owner of the Reset ability."

"You say that, Kei, but all you ever talk about it is her personality. About the person Haruki Misora, not her ability."

"You can't talk about an ability without talking about personality."

(That came out like an excuse. But I didn't lie.)

Sakurada's abilities depended on the user's characteristics. Most abilities take the form of what they desire or the part of themselves they can't go without.

(Haruki Misora wished for her ability to be the Reset. That quiet girl who wishes for nothing; that girl like an android controlled by rules gained such a powerful ability.)

Souma whispered with a mildly coarse voice.

"She uses Reset when she sees someone cry."

(She uses Reset to wipe away every tear within her power. Knowing that this act is pointless. If you tell me that this... this stupidly precious heart is her hidden nature, I'd have no way to deny.)

Souma quietly laughed.

"You believe Haruki is a pure saint, don't you?"

"It's impossible to believe. But as of now, I found no proof to the contrary."

(She's like an abstract concept. Formless good, at its purest and most worthless state.)

Souma approached Kei to whisper into his ear.

"What were you and Haruki talking about before I got to the rooftop?"

Her breath was faintly sweet.

"There's a girl named Kurakawa Mari."

A girl who wants her mother to love her.

"Haruki wants to wipe away her tears."

(I'm sure she has a powerful wish to wipe away those tears.)

"And how does that make you upset?"

He reflexively sighed.

"Haruki still hasn't noticed her intense emotions. I hate that."

That was Kei's answer, since he was far past the point where he thought he could dodge the subject.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

"It is one word for it." She wasn't sure if there was footage, but she was probably on it. She should have thought of knocking it out, but she could always work on the backend when it came to it.

A nod from her. "The park is fine." As long as they didn't put her under house arrest well she could get out well enough. And maybe she could find a different way out. She knew she needed to be far away from this location just in case. So she walked down the hall as he disappeared.

She made her way to the meeting room because that's where she should go with the alarms going off as opposed to anywhere else. She should try to destroy the footage, but maybe she would get lucky and there was none. She perched in her seat all the same. Doing her best not to be nervous.

She snuck in late that night once it was quiet. Getting the information she wanted out of the system and also very quietly erasing footage. She took care to not get caught and would be at the meeting place at the right time.

As James left Vought Tower, his senses heightened and his hunger grew more insistent. The scent of blood filled the air, tempting him with its sweet allure. He walked briskly, desperately fighting the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

At one point, a stranger crossed his path, and for a split second, James's control wavered. His fangs bared, ready to strike, but he managed to restrain himself just in time, his eyes widening with the realization of what he almost succumbed to. With an apology to the man, he quickly retreated, seeking solace and safety within his lair, the confines of his coffin.

Throughout the day, as Annie had to deal with Homelander being unhappy that the creature who attacked him and lived was somehow FREE and the meeting relating to it, he battled his inner demons, the constant struggle between his vampiric nature and his desire to retain his humanity. The hours felt eternal as he slumbered, but as the sun finally set, casting a pinkish glow across the park, James emerged from the darkness. His features were composed, but a hunger still burned within him, kept at bay for now.

He stood by a designated meeting spot wearing a pair of shades until the sun had fully set, his gaze scanning the surroundings as he awaited Annie's arrival. The park was serene, its tranquil atmosphere a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He yearned for the companionship, the alliance that had unexpectedly formed. And so, he stood there, a figure cloaked in shadows, patiently waiting for the arrival of his newfound ally.

A small hum from her. At least there was that. That at least put her a bit at ease. He wasn't just running the risk of picking up someone innocent. "There is at least that." She said.

"I wouldn't say most wanted, but at least on the radar." She knew a few people in the department that she could ask for help. "I don't know how dangerous, but I can get them if you wanted." It would mean that she wasn't feeling quite so guilty about it. "You probably shouldn't come with me. I have to go into Tower and if you were locked up I imagine that someone would raise the alarm."

Norrington nodded in agreement. "You're right. It's best if I don't accompany you further" he acknowledged. "I wouldn't want to draw any unnecessary attention or risk causing further alarm. We need to be cautious."

Just as he finished speaking, alarms suddenly blared throughout the Tower. Norrington's absence had been discovered. He exchanged a knowing glance with Annie. "It seems my departure hasn't gone unnoticed," he remarked with a wry smile, "Time is of the essence now."

He quickly formulated a plan. "Let's meet at a neutral location, away from Vought Tower, where you can provide me with the files you mentioned," he added. "How about the park nearby? It should offer some privacy and relative safety." He could hear the storming footsteps floors above.. " Tomorrow night , at sunset.. "

Norrington didn't wait for Annie to make her way out of the Tower before he slipped away , moving swiftly and stealthily through the shadows. Just… there one second and gone the next. Moving through shadows as if he was part of them. He couldn't afford to be caught now, not after being imprisoned for so long. The hunger gnawed at him, but he focused on the task at hand, escape.

[limitlessgojo]

Going to a Private Onsen with Gojo

NSFW Gojo Satoru x F!Reader, established relationship

Type: One shot. This is around almost 4k words.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW content, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, daddy kink, squirting, overstimulation, praising, dom!Gojo, breeding kink, slightly manipulative/ Yandere Gojo, degradation

Notes: finally got to finish this fic, my motivation just dropped halfway lmao. The inn house has rooms with private hot springs. Not shared like the communal ones in public bath houses. This is half fluff half smut.

The private hot springs per room are separated by bamboo trees and wooden walls. (With holes. So you know what's gonna go down👀💦💦💦)

You and Satoru finally get the chance to have a 2 day 1 night short break from work. He takes you to an inn, checking in a tatami room with a private hot spring (onsen) included. The place smelled fresh, and you could smell the flowers outside.

"We can see the hot springs from here love. What do you think? It's gorgeous isn't it?" Satoru wiggled his eyebrows at you. You both set your luggage down, making yourselves at home. The sun is still high up, it is only 2:00pm and the hot spring is steaming, the sunlight making the water shine and glitter.

"It's not bad at all; the room is quite big as well." You smiled. Despite knowing that you're only stroking his ego, you let it go for once. Just this once because it is a special break after all. He internally pats himself on the back, beaming at you. “Glad you like it. Let’s take a walk around the area and then come back for dinner.”

“Fine with me”. Both of you changed into traditional clothing first. Gojo into a Yukata and you into your kimono. He helped you tie your obi and do your hair up. "Look how pretty my kitten is." He practically purred out as he cinched your waist beneath his large hands. His hands felt like fire on your waist.

You flushed, softly calling out his name. "N-not now." You stared at his profile. All lean and muscular. Knowing his physique hidden under the blue fabric did nothing to help. 

"Not now." He agreed. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. Still he held himself back.

So you both set out, exploring the town. The stalls were bustling with people. You both bought souvenirs for the students as well as omamori (charms) for various purposes. 

You visited the temple and just tried to relieve the pent up stress from the last few weeks. “The air is so cool and it smells really nice here.” The flowers were all in bloom, as it was spring as of now. Satoru, however, kept his eyes on you for most of the time instead of the scenery around him. 

“Yeah, it’s real pretty isn’t it? Wanna take some photos?”

“Good idea! I need a new lock screen pic of us Toru!” you smiled. Your smile unfortunately dimmed upon noticing other women staring at Satoru and batting their eyelashes at him (ignoring the fact that you were right beside him). 

You’ve always known that he was a gorgeous person, just thanking your lucky stars that he actually came around to reciprocate your feelings. “Hey”, Satoru cupped your face and turned it to face him. He was pouting. “Focus on me love. This trip is just for us.” 

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. AH! I wanna have a picture by that Sakura tree~”. You tried to be more enthusiastic and engaging, blocking out any jealous and negative thoughts. 

Seriously, it's not like you didn't trust him. Just that your insecurity gets to you sometimes. You quickly bat the thoughts away. Your thoughts came to a halt when you felt something soft on the corner of your lips. 

"Love you." Satoru murmured against your cheek. You turned to see his eyes under his drooping sunglasses just an inch away from yours. You couldn't help but sigh in admiration. Of course he knows how you feel. "I love you more Toruu~ Now let's go." You gave him a genuine and bright smile. Walking over to a shaded area near the lake, surrounded by tall grass.

He leaned down to press his cheek against the top of your head and placed one arm around you. His other hand was holding up his phone for a selfie. After you took some pretty and funny photos, he surprised you by bringing out a polaroid.

"Eh?! Since when did you bring that with you?" You asked him. Satoru gave a sneaky smirk, "Well. Since you talked non stop about loving the vintage aesthetic recently, I thought it would be good to make a small scrapbook or photo album of this trip." 

".... who are you and what have you done with my husband..."

"Hey! That's rude. I'm always nice and sweet." He pouted and widened his eyes, using a finger to push down his shades. "I knowww~ Just kidding Toru, I love your ideas. I'll help you with it then." 

"Of course you will pumpkin." He squeezed you against his side, not caring about anyone who might be looking at both of you being overly affectionate in public. 

He took pictures using the polaroid camera every now and then. Taking your hand and leading you around, Satoru did not give your thoughts a chance to move away from him. He didn't hesitate to tickle you when your guard was down and poked at your cheeks with the most annoying grin. 

After that it was just you and him. Enjoying your precious time together, undisturbed by anyone else. By the time the sun was setting, you dragged him over to an Izakaya. "Should we have dinner here?" You asked him. 

"Ooooh! Looks like they have good meat and eel. That's fine with me." He replied. You both enjoyed dinner and had a bit of sake. Satoru always looked cute with flushed red cheeks and that big stupid smile of his. "Well you look cuter than me for once Hun." He quipped back.

You smiled as you wiped that teriyaki sauce off the corner of his mouth for him. It was a really peaceful day. 

Walking back to the inn, you noticed a shadow moving quickly just by the corner of your eye. This is why you don't think about work during your free time. Feeling chills run up your spine, you turned to see a curse, staring straight back at you. "Ah shit I left my sword back in the inn." 

Not even having finished your sentence, you watched as Satoru flicked his wrist and took down the 2nd grade curse in an instant. "I told you not to worry darling. I'm not going to let anything hurt you." He tutted and booped your nose playfully, eyes shining. 

"Heehh~" you pretended not to be impressed but by the look on his face, you knew you didn't do a good job of hiding it. He just chuckled and wrapped his arms around you. "Toru I can't walk like this." 

It was like trying to lug a 190cm tall clingy infant. "I'll protect you with my infinity from all sides love." He looked really happy, just prancing around with you in his arms as you both made your way back to the inn. 

💜💜💜

You both settled back in and got ready to take a bath. It was a really good day and everything went smoother than you thought it would, knowing your chaotic and unorthodox doof of a husband. 

"Dinner was so good. This was a great idea Toru, thank you." You smiled up at him. He smiled back, so soft and gentle with you. The way he never is and never will be with anyone else.

"Now then, I'll be taking my payment from you." You looked up at him, confusion evident on your face. Your husband of 5 years still confuses you until this day. "I'm sorry?" you felt affronted as you asked the question. You had no problem paying your share of the bills, heck you earn a lot as a 1st grade Jujutsu sorcerer yourself. 

But Satoru spent about over a month pestering you about wanting to treat you to a short staycation with him. "Yes", he replied slowly making his way towards you, towering over your shorter frame. You stood your ground and craned to look up at him. 

"Thank you for the meal sweetheart. You will be my dessert." He removed his glasses and threw them aside to showcase his bright blue eyes. You shivered from the intensity, and his lips turned up in a smirk. His words were somewhat funny, but his tone was dead serious.

He wasted no time, leaning down to suck down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, after he pulled one side of your kimono off your shoulder. "Sa-Satoru!!, hah- ", his grip on you was way too tight.

"Baby, I am so sorry I can't wait any longer. Won't you be good for me?" Satoru asked as he took a step back and cupped your cheeks in his hands.

It's true that this man has no self-control, always palming your ass down the hallways at Tokyo Jujutsu High. But you rarely see him as desperate as he is now, that it was actually endearing to you. So you relented, earning a grin from the man.

He helped you out of your kimono, littering small kisses on your forehead and cheeks, before he started biting on one ear. 

Unclasping your bra, he reached down to grope your breasts. You stared at him as he suckled on one nipple while toying with the other. His eyes opened to meet yours, and you could feel the growing wetness between your legs.

You also reached up to pull his Yukata off, undoing the tie on his waist. "I love it when you hair is done up darling. I can bite as much of your neck as I want." He growled out against your shoulder, biting and sucking wherever he can.

Your mouth watered upon seeing the outline of his hard-on straining against his boxers. On the other hand, Satoru stared unashamedly as you pulled down your panties, keeping your legs together to keep your slick from dripping down your legs.

Impatiently, you reached up and ran your fingers through his locks. "Satoru~" you whined. He only smirked in response. In one quick movement, he gathered you into his arms and brought you over to the small washing area with the soap and shower-head. 

He was still in his boxers however. You just stared at it, drawing closer to press your hand and rub the outline. He let out a long moan, which led to you to quickly look up and snap out a hush. "The neighbours might hear us Toru." You whined. 

"Tch, Let them hear. They can't touch or experience us anyways. And I want to show off my lovely little wife." He leered down at you, finally removing his wet boxers and throwing it onto the ground.

His hard cock sprang up and slapped against his abs. As if moving by some force, you immediately dropped to your knees. Rubbing soap onto his waist, thighs, and finally pumping his cock with your soapy hands. You looked up to him as you "cleaned" him off with innocent eyes. 

Satoru wasn't impressed. "Don't tease me baby or you'll regret it." He pulled you up and brought you into a deep kiss. You both gathered more soap and started washing each other off.

With his hands moving slowly down the sides, Satoru didn't hold himself back from touching every nook and cranny of your body. From your neck, to your shoulders, down your breasts, going to your thighs and legs. His hands were rubbing at your skin, inching nearer and nearer to your cunt. Until he suddenly pulled away, making you cry out at the loss of contact. 

"Be good for me and let me clean you first kitten." He whispered.

No other words were shared as you both rinsed and washed each other off before moving to the onsen.

"You know, I've always wanted to fuck you in a hot spring." Satoru smirked as you both dipped into the water. You sat on his lap and clasped your hands behind his neck, straddling him. His hands gripping either side of you waist tightly. 

"No I don't know." You turned away from him as you rested your head against his chest. He hummed. Both of you resting for a bit. You were both in the same state, antsy for action, but trying to enjoy the hot springs at the same time. 

For a while you both just stayed soaking in the hot water. Until you started grinding down against him. He just stared down at your figure. Breasts spilling against his chest, the slope of your s line with your ass under the water. But you refused to meet his eyes.

Satoru didn't really like that very much. He pinched your thigh hard. "Ow!,' you yelped. "Toru what was-" you finally turned to look up at him, but faltered and stopped moving. His eyes were bright and his expression dark. "I thought my baby was going to be good for me tonight. You don't wanna beg me later just to come right? Or does daddy have to make you do just that?"

As soon as he said the word daddy you felt your insides clench around nothing, thighs quivering. He looked down towards your body, grinning at your response. He pulled you out of the water, sitting down on the ground beside it. 

"Suck me off baby and I'll consider making you cum."

You crawled over on all fours towards him. You kissed him first, then trailed downwards, licking off the water and sweat on Satoru's abs and the outlines of his hard muscles. He groans while staring at you, pupils blown so wide his bright blue eyes actually look dark for once. 

You can see the carnal lust raging behind him as you squeeze your breasts together while kneeling and licking his abs. You leave small butterfly kisses as you slowly make your way down to his aching member.

But, he groans as you skip past it and suck love marks into his lower thighs. "Pumpkin, please -UNGH, p-please don't tease so much." Satoru groaned. You smirked up at him, meeting his eyes while sticking your tongue out and licking one of his balls. Sucking it into your mouth and covering it with your spit.

He reached down to lift your chin up, thumbing your lips as he watched the saliva trickle down down side of your mouth to his fingers. The current sight of you is so lewd and dirty that Satoru almost came on the spot right there. 

You decide to humor him and move to licking the head of his dick, while grabbing a hold of the base and slowly pumping it up and down. Satoru threw his head back. He looked up, seeing the night sky and the stars twinkling while feeling hot pleasure run through his body. He felt like he was floating.

You tried deepthroating all of him in one go, but he was just too big. "Baby, your mouth is too small for daddy's cock isn't it?". You whimpered in response. Trying to swallow as much of him as you can while using your hand for the remainder of his length.

Quiet mewls escaped the sides of your mouth as you opened your aching jaws wider. Tears started running down your face. You didn't stop as you relaxed your jaw and took more of him, swallowing what you can while pumping. He bucked up without warning, causing your gag reflex to react. Then he pulled you off.

"That's enough for now. I wanna make sure I stuff every bit of cum I have inside of your pussy baby." He pulled you up over him, this time with his back to the floor as he spoke. 

"Lemme eat you out, I've been waiting for this all day." He was salivating at the sight of your pussy, positioned in front of his face. You lowered yourself onto him slowly. Impatiently, he tugged you waist down, smashing your lower lips against his mouth. You let out a loud yelp followed by heavy breaths and mewls as he ate you out.

Thrusting his tongue in and out of your walls. He loved the taste of you, always thirsty for more. You tried to grind your pussy against his face. But he held your legs in place with one arm, wrapping around your behind. The other hand was playing with your clit. 

In no time at all you were sobbing and cumming all over his face. Satoru didn't spare you one second of rest. He pulled away and lined himself up, pushing into you during your orgasm. 

He immediately started fucking into you earnestly, grabbing a hold of your waist and lifting it to pull you on and off his cock. "Toru, it's too much for me, I can't-" You could barely get the words out of your mouth as you slurred them out with your eyes shut. 

"Yes you can. I know you can. Because you're made for me and only you can do a good job for me like this love." Satoru grunted as he pumped into you like there was no tomorrow. 

He loved it when your walls clenched and squeezed against him tightly. Especially when your whole body shook during an orgasm. Whenever you open your eyes all you can see are the stars blurring due to your movements. You both came like that, with your backs arching. His cock stayed hard, twitching as it spurted and filled you up. 

He suddenly felt the sensation of eyes on him. As the user of six eyes, his senses were wide alert at ALL times. He looked to the side of the wooden wall, and saw dark eyes staring back at him.

He didn't stop thrusting. You whined and mewled as you ground your hips against his. "Fuck, such a slut for me. Love it when you cry and make those noises babe. Just look at me. I won't look at any other person, man or woman. I'm yours as long as you're mine." He growled out.

He pulled out to reposition you. Dragging your body on top of his. Your back against his chest. "Daddy, I want you. I want more!" You whined out. You positioned his cock at your entrance.

"Daddy will give his baby what she wants. You've been so good to me after all love." He smirked inwardly pushed back upwards into you, thrusting at a fast pace. (Satoru chose the position because he knew you were both being watched. He loves to make other men so jealous of him having you).

You could only squeal and try to hold yourself up against him, putting your palms against the floor. But it was no use. He grabbed your thighs and kept fucking up harder and harder, making it hard for you to hold onto anything.

"Yes just like that baby. You're so good to me. You don't need to think. I'll make it so that you don't have to do anything else. You only need to feel my cock yeah? My doll is the best when she is crying on my cock." He moaned out. 

The man on the other side of the wall was joined by a few other men. Satoru used his ability to see through the wall following the movement of their cursed energy and saw that they were touching themselves to you.

"Daddy, please more. Daddyyy~" you were slipping further into subspace. Soon you couldn't speak clearly anymore. Just babbling nonsense while bouncing on Satoru's lap and staring hazily up at the sky.

"I think we have company." He laughed out. You snapped out of your haze to see peeking eyes behind the bamboo sticks. Satoru just thrusted harder. "Let's give them a show of their lifetime hmm? I spy old men wanting some action. But they won't be able to touch you baby."

He reached up with one hand to grope your breast and the other stayed below to play with your clit. Sex to him was almost like an art form. He knew exactly how to play with your body to bring you to your strongest orgasms. 

You tried to cover your body up but he pulled your arms away. "Don't run away baby, daddy's here to protect you. It will be okay."

At the end of the day you trusted him and his six eyes, so you let go. Pussy clenching harder at the thought of being watched by unknown strangers.

"That's it, my angel. So good for me. You're leaking far more than normal slut. You like it when people watch you get fucked?"

He reached up with his cum stained hand to spit into it. Then shoved his fingers in your mouth. You obediently suckled on and cleaned his fingers for him. He continued to grope you as he pounded away.

Satoru wasn't too worried about the spectators next door. He can see them clearly. Several middle aged men (probably sharing a larger room) messily jerking off to both of you. He saw the way their eyes travelled across your breasts and cunt, which was oozing with his cum.

He hit a hard deep spot inside of you which caused you to squirt hard, a large amount of liquid spraying out. Satoru quickly put his hands over your clit and furiously rubbed at it, wanting to prolong your squirting. You were crying out loud at this point. It was just music to his ears.

One man groaned out, causing you to tense and tighten and Satoru to moan out.

"You love putting a show on huh baby? We should do this more often if it gets you tighter and wetter around me." He snarked out while you drooled and asked for more.

He didn't stop thrusting until he came a few more times inside of you, changing positions.

The men watched as you rode him, your breasts bouncing up and down, while you placed your palms flat on Satoru's chest. They stared at the cum flowing out of your pussy, being fucked back into you by Satoru. The way you both groaned as you clamped down tight and milked his cock.

Soon you found yourself laying on your side with one leg up with Satoru spooning you from behind. What was frightening was his stamina and power. 

His thrusts never lost strength and soon you just felt like his cock was drilling a space inside of you, just for it. You felt so boneless in his hands when you both finished, laying down on your sides.

"Babe…. You okay? We need to clean up." Satoru whispered against your shoulder.

You could only mumble incoherent noises. Squeezing around his softening length, still plugged inside of you to keep his cum inside. 

Satoru gave out a soft sigh. Then gathered you into his arms and took you away from prying eyes. He just turned and smirked at them as he walked away with you, butt naked.

The watchers were disappointed that the show was over. Satoru then cleaned you both with the shower head in the washing area and wiped you down with soft towels.

You stayed silent the whole time. Your head felt like it was in the clouds. Just letting Satoru do his way with you like a doll. "You were really good for me tonight angel. Nobody else can touch you but me." He chuckled darkly.

You just listened to his simple commands such as putting your arms up when he dressed you in your nightgown. 'I always love fucking her dumb.' He smiled to himself as he settled you into his arms in bed. 

"Next time I'll be fucking you in the water." He whispered. He brought you closer to him, tucking your head against his neck. Kissing your forehead and patting you to put you to sleep. 

🎇🎇🎇

The next morning you were absolutely horrified to see people staring at you, when you both left your room to check out. 'I bet they heard us last night. And who were the ones peaking at us?!?!' you frightfully thought to yourself.

Satoru didn't really care. Smiling brightly at the attendants and thanking them for your amazing stay at the inn. 

"Toru I really enjoyed my stay, but it's hard to be happy now knowing that we did it at the expense of our neighbours stay." You whispered, hitting him. "Darling I'm pretty sure they enjoyed the show." He winked at you, shameless as ever.

Suffice to say, you decided not return to said hot springs for a while out of shame.

End notes: 🙈 this fic started because I just thought of Satoru's abs wet with steam and sweat but it evolved during the last edit. Hope you guys enjoyed! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated 💜

All rights reserved to Limitlessgojo.

[pinkniz]

Freddy Fenrir headcanons i have because of the lack of canon content of him

He's partially color blind(cant distinguish red tones) but with a wide field of vision and can see in the dark like real wolves do

He turned into an esper when he was between 11 and 15 and it was awfully PAINFUL

Originally had pink beans but when he got older he tattooed them black, he could barely tell they were pink by himself but everyone pointed it out and that was enough to convince him

Can smell people's pheromones

Despite his fame as a meathead he's actually very perceptive

Has ADHD but was never diagnosed

When he was a boy(puppy) his parents had a hard time getting used to his new appearance but his mom enjoyed brushing his fur and this was one of the few moments he felt safe with her

His dad was very traditional and was the one who taught him strength is what matters and that as a man he can never be weak

He was always seen as a wild animal and would usually get punished by being locked up and now as an adult he still gets stressed whenever hes in closed doors and its worse if hes locked up alone

He's actually from a high status family and while they were terrified of him they also loved to brag about having an esper in the family at prestigious events/parties, only to cast him aside when the events were over

His real name is Frederick but he hates it so he stuck with Freddy which is how people refered to him when they praised him

Reacts violently if you call him by his old name

His claws can cut through pretty much anything and his bites are MONSTRUOS

This one is kinda canon since it was in the beta but when he got his powers he got into a lot of fights with dangerous people which eventually led him to the Shadow Decree

He has 3 father figures, Unky Chai being like tutor to him in shade power and Djoser and Jiang Jiuli being kind of like his dads at the decree

He hated Leon at first because he reminded him of his family but eventually the two of them became very close

His collar was created by the decree as a safety measure to keep him under control, it serves as a way to minimise his strenght and he only accepted wearing it because it looked cool

He has a tendency to chew on things when he's anxious and thus he has a few bones saved in his room but he would rather die than to let anyone know that

[jekde04]

Of Sudden Rains and Lasting Promises

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser) Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,254 words Summary: She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person. Just like how it did now. Prompt: Tears (Day 4 of Gruvia Week 2021, but I'm so late I don't want to tag it as such anymore lol) Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics. Tag list (I'm so sorry I totally forgot to tag you in my last few fics!): @shampooneko @fbflame94 @juviaafullbuster @unvalley @gruviaftw11​ (Wanna be tagged, lemme know)

She didn't mean to make it rain. But thank heavens it was just a drizzle.

It had been a while since it last happened. She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person.

Just like how it did now.

Juvia wiped the thin streaks of rain pelting her face. She decided to sit on the park bench right under a big oak tree, but the rain must be getting stronger now because the thick canopy of leaves had become inadequate to protect her. She heard a man curse and remark how annoying the sudden rain was as he hastened to pack up the magazines and newspapers he was selling.

She was the gloomy rain woman once again.

"You shouldn't be out under the rain like that."

A hand holding a familiar pink umbrella appeared beside her, shielding her from the worsening downpour. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"How did Gray-sama get Juvia's umbrella?"

"You left it in the guild, so I borrowed it for myself," Gray said as he moved to sit beside her, all the while not letting the shade of the umbrella leave her head. He moved his damp bangs away from his eyes and ruffled his hair to shake the droplets off.

"Gray-sama can use Juvia's umbrella. No need to ask Juvia," she muttered. She could feel Gray inching closer to her to make sure they're both under the umbrella, their arms and legs touching.

"I know. I just happened to see you here, and it's kinda unfair to keep the umbrella for myself while the owner is getting drenched."

Juvia looked at him, his chiseled profile matching the perpetual frown on his face. She already knew how handsome he was, yet her heart still beat fast every time she looked at him.

But she also couldn't help that sinking feeling in her chest when she remembered what she overheard earlier. She sighed.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Hmm-mmm," Juvia answered. She wondered if she should ask him or just let him broach the subject. Finally, she decided to just stay in comfortable silence as the rain poured in a steady rhythm.

"Juvia?"

"Yes?"

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

There it is, she thought, but she didn't dare hope. It could be something else.

"Juvia is listening."

A long pause, with nothing but the incessant downpour and the few people out and about being all that they could hear.

"I'm going on a quest with my team." When Juvia didn't say anything, he continued, "It's gonna take a while."

Really, it shouldn't hurt like this. Mages like them go on quests all the time.

But this one was different, she knew.

"Juvia knows. Everyone was talking about it at the guild." She looked at him while he continued to stare straight ahead as if counting each drop of rain. "You're doing Gildarts-san's failed quest, right? The one that hasn't been solved for 100 years."

"Yes."

What was a previously light shower started to transform into heavier rain, bigger drops falling from the sky and making plop-plop noises on the umbrella shielding them. She could feel drops hitting the right side of her body, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the wetness would start to seep through her thick clothes.

She felt Gray squeeze closer to her and reposition the umbrella to cover her entire body. Glancing at him, she noticed that half of his body was getting drenched by the sudden heavy downpour.

"Gray-sama, you're getting wet," she said as she moved even closer to him, grabbing the umbrella and trying to cover him better.

"Don't worry about me," he told her, moving his arm around her shoulders so that they could fit under the umbrella better. The sudden warm sensation as Gray practically embraced her lit Juvia's pale cheeks with a pink tinge, but she couldn't bring herself to say more to him.

After a few beats, he said, "I'm sorry you had to hear it from other people. I was planning to tell you, you know."

Despite the dark clouds in the sky and her heart, Juvia couldn't help but smile. At least Gray wasn't planning to just leave her in the dark this time, like what he did when he disappeared without a trace for six months. The thought of it made tears well in her eyes, and she hastily wiped them with the back of her hand, lest the rain worsened.

Gray looked at her, concern written all over his face. "Hey, you can say no if you don't want me to leave."

At this, Juvia looked at him, her eyes wide. "What?"

"If you're not fine with it, I won't go."

"Is Gray-sama asking Juvia's permission to go on a mission?" she asked, not believing what she was hearing.

Gray blushed and looked away from her. He shrugged. "Maybe."

"But why?"

"Well, you are..." Gray swallowed, as if a thick lump had formed in his throat. "You are... my… my friend. And what you think is important to me."

She should have been sad to be called just a "friend," but for some reason, Juvia felt warmth spread in her chest. Gray wasn't particularly good with his words, but he always made up for it in his actions.

And now, he was actually considering her feelings. Ready to throw away the chance to go on a once-in-a-lifetime quest if she said so.

"Does Gray-sama want to go?"

His brows creased in thought, and it took him a moment before he answered. "Yeah, I think so. There's a part of me that wants to stay, but a bigger part of me wants to get stronger."

Juvia furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. "But Gray-sama is already very strong. Juvia knows she says this a lot, but you really are one of the strongest mages she knows."

"I'm not planning to be the strongest out there," he said. "I just want to be strong enough to protect the people that matter to me."

Juvia rolled her eyes. "Everyone at Fairy Tail can protect themselves. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not talking about Fairy Tail," Gray answered, his gaze darting once again to the empty rain-drenched street. She may just have imagined it, but she thought she saw his cheeks darken as he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"There is... someone... I cherish. Someone I almost lost before. I don't want that to happen again. I want to be strong, so I can keep her safe."

It was so unusual for Gray to talk about his feelings that it left Juvia dumbfounded. Of course, she didn't want to assume or make Gray uncomfortable, but…

What the hell. He was leaving soon, and she had to let him know how much he mattered to her. One more time.

"Juvia is sure that whoever that someone is, she already thinks Gray-sama is wonderful and more than enough," she said. And in a lower voice, she added, "And she believes that her love for him won't change whether he's the strongest mage on Earthland or just an ordinary man without powers. Because she loves him just the way he is right now."

She sneaked a peek at Gray, whose eyes she couldn't see behind his bangs, but his cheeks had definitely turned a dark shade of red. And maybe it was just her imagination again, but was that a shadow of a smile appearing on his face?

The rain was finally letting up, the dark clouds gradually going away. Yet the two of them remained huddled under Juvia's umbrella. Gray started to subconsciously play with the tips of her hair, curling and uncurling them on his fingers. Not that she minded, though.

"I know that. After all, she's the kindest person I know," Gray said. "That is why I want to be the best version of myself. For her. I don't want to be anything less because she deserves only the best."

Juvia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she fought it and willed herself not to boil or turn into a puddle. The dark clouds were all gone now, replaced by the sun's rays taking a peek from the clouds and giving an ethereal sheen to their surroundings.

"Gray-sama is so sweet. Whoever she is, she's one lucky girl."

"Trust me, I'm luckier," Gray said, grinning at her. Then, realizing that the rain had stopped and the sun was out, he closed the umbrella and stood up, stretching his hand for Juvia to grab.

"I guess someone's feeling less sad now?" he asked, and Juvia blushed.

She took Gray's hand, and he intertwined their fingers as they started walking towards Fairy Hills. "How did Gray-sama know?"

"Let's just say I also have a Juvia-radar that tells me when you need a bit of cheering up," Gray told her, and Juvia couldn't help the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Maybe it was due to their interlocked hands and the way his thumb mindlessly caressed her knuckles. Or perhaps the fact that he was walking her home, though he had been doing that for quite some time now. Or maybe it was because of how well he knew her–and actually cared about her.

It was all of the things he had said and done… and even all the unsaid ones that brought unparalleled joy in her heart. Because she felt… no, she knew that she was loved. Deeply and completely.

But she had to ask him one more thing.

"Gray-sama?'

"Hmm?"

"Can you promise... that certain someone... one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Promise her you'll come back."

Gray chuckled. "Of course. I promise I'll come back home to her, no matter what. I will come back as a man worthy of her love. "

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and they continued walking hand-in-hand, no words needed.

They were at the gate of Fairy Hills when Gray spoke again.

"Juvia?"

"Yes, Gray-sama?"

He had stopped walking and faced her. "Wait for me, will you?"

A bright blush bloomed on her cheeks. Gray had always been indirect with her, yet here he was, asking her (and not a certain someone) to wait for him.

As if there would be any other answer.

"Always, Gray-sama."

And, in a moment of boldness, she tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering for a second before letting him go. She caught sight of his reddened cheeks before he turned his face away and awkwardly patted her head with his free hand.

"We won't be leaving until the end of the week, so, um... would you like to... spend some time with me?"

Juvia's eyes sparkled. "Is Gray-sama asking Juvia out on a–"

"Not a date!" Gray quickly interrupted. "Just, um, hanging out with each other since I'm going away and we're not going to see each other for a long time."

Juvia smiled knowingly. Nothing would change her mind that Gray was asking her out on a date, but of course, she would let him believe that they were just "hanging out" if that was what he wanted.

"Let Juvia think." She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger on her chin. "Hmm, Juvia wants to eat caramade franks, go fishing–"

"You wanna go fishing? We can do that."

"Really? Juvia's so happy! She was told it's always raining around her, so she can't be taken fishing or camping or–"

"Who said that? That's a load of crap," Gray said, irritated. "Tell me and I'll punch his brains out."

Juvia placed a hand on his arm. "Not important, Gray-sama." She smiled and added, "Tomorrow, then?"

Gray nodded. And before she knew what was happening, she felt Gray pulling her body close to him, her hat yanked away from her head, and Gray's lips suddenly on her forehead. Her hands landed on his bare chest, and she could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly, probably as strong as the beating of her heart at the moment.

It ended as fast as it happened, and she found herself being pushed away by a flustered Gray, mumbling, "See you tomorrow!" As he hurriedly walked away from her, Juvia finally broke from her trance and had enough sense to shout, "Gray-sama, your clothes!"

"Crap!"

Juvia giggled as Gray picked up his discarded clothes and started wearing them, still a bit of pink coloring his cheeks. When he was done, he hastily waved goodbye to her and shouted, "Tomorrow!"

She watched his retreating form until he was no longer within her line of sight. Her heart ached a bit, knowing that he was going away soon, but it swelled with the promise that he would eventually come home to her–a better, stronger, and more confident man.

How that was even possible, she didn't know, as he was already perfect in her eyes. But she also hadn't imagined that she could even love him more, yet here she was, finding herself loving him a little bit more each day as he ever-so-slowly let her into his melting heart.

Clutching her hat to her heart, she entered Fairy Hills.

A/N: I'm still writing Gruvia Week fics? You bet I am! It would be a waste if I don't flesh out those drafts I did before, right? Thank you for still reading my fics. I appreciate them a lot and you inspire me to keep writing. Btw, the fishing thing is a reference to the FT 100 YQ chapter 11 cover. And also to what Bora said to Juvia once. :)

[sonoftatooine]

Whumptober 2021

DAY 3: ‘STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT...’ - ‘WHO DID THIS TO YOU?’

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Implied abuse, scars, panic attack

Summary: Continuation of my AU where raised as a Sith Anakin saves Padmé from execution by the Separatists (first two fics here and here). Having managed to get a wounded Darth Vader medical attention at a remote facility on Polis Massa, Senator Padmé Amidala tries to figure out what their next move should be with the threat of her unlikely saviour’s Sith master looming over their heads.

***

The bright lights of the medcenter on Polis Massa were harsh and white, casting its sleeping patient in pale shades so stark that, if not for the tentative grip Padmé had on his hand, she might have mistaken him for a ghost. The Sith assassin Darth Vader, so feared amongst the Republic and the Separatists alike, looked so very young and fragile swaddled in blankets and bandages and surrounded by beeping machines. Cheekbones too sharp, eyes shadowed, and skin a waxy white, he looked far too ill and tired for a man who couldn't possibly be any older than twenty-one. His blond hair, drying in a halo of soft fluffy curls about his head and still smelling faintly of bacta from his time in the tank, made him look almost...innocent. Angelic even.

The rest of him told a very different story.

The flight from the Separatist world that had been intended as her grave to the remote medical facility on Polis Massa had practically torn her nerves—even hardy as they'd always been—to shreds. It had turned out that she had perhaps been a little too optimistic when she had suggested flying Vader's ship back to his location in the canyon she had been forced to leave him in. She had, however, found both a speeder bike and a med-droid inside to bring back to him. By the time they had reached him, he had barely been conscious, slumped in front of the rocky wall she had propped him up against with the promise she would be back soon, his face white and his lips bloodless. Between her and the droid, they had wasted no time in loading his limp form onto the bike, getting him back to the ship's little medbay and flying offworld, setting a course for Polis Massa. But through it all, she had been afraid. Afraid, as she spoke to him quietly all the way through hyperspace, trying to keep him awake when all he wanted to do was slip into sleep and the danger of never waking up again. Afraid that he would not make it to the medcenter. That he would die because he had risked his life to protect her.

She had been afraid even after they had landed on Polis Massa, and he was rushed away into surgery. She had been afraid right up until the point that the droids had come out to inform her that he was stable, and that they were putting him in bacta for a time to accelerate his healing. But her relief had not lasted for long. The droids had had a long list of other...concerns that their programming told them it was their duty to report.

Not least of which was the map of scars across his skin that she had been informed were most likely caused by injuries sustained through some form of electrocution. Some as new as to have been inflicted not more than a few weeks ago. Others years old.

Years old and he was barely even an adult.

Who did this to you?, she had thought, her eyes tracing the wicked patterns along his back and chest—along his shoulders and arm, running down to where the metal of his black and gold prosthetic met with flesh—as he hung suspended in the bacta tank. The freshest of them had already started to heal along with the wound in his shoulder, but the older ones had been carved into his skin long ago. He had looked too thin, too brittle—even though she knew well the wiry strength he possessed—amidst the eerie blue-green glow of the liquid. Was it  your master? Sidious? Is that what the Sith do to their apprentices? Make them hurt, make them suffer, until they rule them absolutely by fear? But you defied him. You defied him to save me. Why risk that for my sake?

She couldn't help the niggling sensation in the back of her mind that there was something about all of this that she was missing, some crucial piece of information she had heard or seen but had managed to slip through her fingers. That she wasn't asking quite the right questions. But there was only one question that was rattling around in her head right at that moment, and all of the others would just have to wait.

Who was Sidious?

It was one of the several reasons that had stayed her hand from attempting to contact anybody in the Republic before her unlikely saviour had woken back up. She knew—definitely now—that the mysterious Darth Sidious was Vader's master. He had referred to him as such to her guard during her rescue, and even if he hadn't, the fact that the man hadn't at all questioned that the young Sith must have been carrying out Sidious' orders would have been clue enough. She also knew from that incident that the name was enough to induce terror even in his so-called allies. And she knew from the Jedi that he was suspected to have infiltrated the highest levels of the Republic's government, and had some sort of influence in the Senate. How powerful exactly that influence was, she didn't know—she hoped it wasn't insurmountable; she needed to believe it wasn't insurmountable, that the Sith hadn't corrupted everything she was fighting for, everything she had dedicated her life to—

But no matter how great or how slight it was, it was there. Which meant that, logically, Sidious must be a politician himself or—more likely—someone in a significant politician's circle. And that in turn meant that, no matter how desperately she wanted to, she couldn't fully guarantee Vader's safety in the Republic.

And so here she sat, by his bedside, his limp flesh hand held gently in her own, and her mind racing through possibilities as she waited for him to wake. If she were to bring him to the Republic, if she could persuade him to plead for asylum before the Senate or—no, the Jedi, there must be a way to keep him safe from Sidious. He must know who his master was—if he exchanged that information for protection, then they could root out the man and his associates before he had the chance to strike back at his apprentice, and surely that, along with his rescue of her, would count for something amongst them. Yes, the Senate took a dim view of Separatist operators, and the Jedi an even dimmer one of the Sith, but if he were to help them take down their greatest enemy in the Republic, that would have to be enough—

Her train of thought was cut off sharply as she felt a slight movement under her touch. Vader was waking up.

"Vader," Padmé called, watching as he shifted about on the bed, his brow scrunched up in a sleep-softened frown as he was dragged back in the waking world. "Vader."

The young Sith groaned quietly in protest at the sound of her voice. His hand slipped from her loose grasp and travelled up to his face to rub at his still closed eyes. It was an oddly endearing sight, seeing him do something as normal and as simple as struggle to wake himself up after a long sleep. But nothing about this was normal—or simple—and she would do well to remember that.

"Wha...?" Voice hoarse and faint, Vader trailed off as his eyes finally peeled open, taking in his surroundings with no small degree of confusion. "Where...?"

Padmé ruthlessly suppressed the urge to gasp. She'd forgotten, briefly, that his eyes were yellow—the only thing, save perhaps for the prosthetic that was currently resting across his stomach, that would have set him apart from any other twenty-something (if, indeed, he had even reached twenty yet) human man had she passed him on the street. The droids had been vaguely concerned about it, she remembered, but they hadn't found any medical reason behind it. Perhaps—she thought back to the Zabrak assassin that had killed Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo—it was something to do with the Dark Side.

"We're on Polis Massa, remember?," she said once she had stamped down her instinctive reaction. She had told him where they were going back on the ship, assuring him over and over that it would be safe even though he had seemed too out of it to take anything much in beyond the sound of her voice. "I had to get you somewhere nearby that wasn't controlled by the Separatists. It's too remote to be of any interest to them."

Vader blinked at her, still not quite lucid enough to properly guard his expression. She could see the moment he registered exactly who it was that was sitting at her bedside, his eyes widening as his gaze settled on her face. Then, without warning, he shot bolt upright, swaying slightly at the sudden movement so that he was forced to catch himself with both his arms. He winced at the sudden tug on his tender shoulder.

"Don't get up."

Padmé's hand flew to his chest before she could think better of it, attempting to push him back down onto the bed. He let out a startled flinch at the contact, and for one horrid moment, she thought she had accidentally pressed on his healing injury. But her hand was on his sternum, not his shoulder—not brushing against flesh and skin still knitting back together. And yet he had recoiled as if she had burnt him. She drew her hand back sharply.

"I'm sorry" she whispered.

Vader turned away from her. A long pause, and then he nodded stiffly.

"You're not fully healed yet" she said, still apologetic. I'm not going to hurt you. I know someone has, but I promise you, I won't.

"I've had worse" Vader replied. He made no move to lie down, even though his left arm was shaking with the effort of propping himself up.

Yes, Padmé thought, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning downwards unhappily. I know you have. But I'm not letting you suffer on my watch.

She reached out to push him back down again, slowly this time. He tracked her movements like a wary loth wolf, an impression that was in no way diminished by the strange yellow of his eyes. This time, he didn't flinch under her touch, though he did hold himself uncomfortably stiff as he let her guide him back down to the pillows. His eyes darted briefly up to her face as she drew back before they flicked down to the IV in the crook of his arm. He frowned.

"The med-droids said that you needed it," Padmé said, in answer to the unspoken question on his face. "They were concerned about your weight."

Secretly, she thought it would have been both quicker and easier to list the things which they hadn't been concerned about. Her heart sank down to what felt like as yet unrecorded depths as she remembered the attending droid informing her that, not only was he currently underweight for a man of his height, but that he showed signs of malnutrition dating back to his formative years consistent with periods of starvation as a child and teenager. Vader, however, barely even reacted to the news that he had been deemed malnourished enough to be pumped full of nutrients intravenously. His attention had turned—fully this time—to their surroundings, suddenly agitated.

"How long have we been here?"

"A little over a day," Padmé replied. "They had to put you in a bacta tank."

Vader hissed through his teeth, his mechno hand untangling from its grip on the sheets to the fast-healing wound on his shoulder.

"They didn't need to do that," he muttered. "A few patches would have been enough—"

"Vader!," Padmé cried incredulously, before she could stop herself. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised, given how baffled he'd been by her own clumsy field care—concerned about her ruining her cloak of all things rather than the heavily bleeding blaster wound that had caused him to collapse to the ground in front of her. She got the impression—more so than ever now that she had seen his scars—that he was not at all used to receiving or accepting care, but if he wouldn't treat his injuries with the proper gravity they warranted, then she was more than happy to do so in his place. "You had a hole through your shoulder. You were barely conscious when we landed. A few patches would not have been enough—"

"We can't stay here," Vader interrupted her, cutting across what was fast becoming—not that she would have admitted it out loud—an impassioned tirade. His breathing, she noticed suddenly, was starting to speed up. "He-he'll have heard— He'll know what I've done—"

"Ssh, ssh," Padmé murmured, her need to make him understand subsumed by worry in the face of his burgeoning panic. She didn't need to ask who this "he" was. His master. Sidious, the man whom she was sure must be responsible for both the pattern of scars on his skin and his unfamiliarity with any sort of simple kindness alike. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but she didn't know how he would react to her touch. "We're safe. Nobody knows we're here. I promise you we're safe—"

Vader shook his head, his eyes closed tight shut. Both his hands had moved to clutch tightly at the blankets about his chest, the knuckles of his flesh hand white with tension. His entire frame shook as his breaths came sharp and fast. Too fast.

"He'll know—," he gasped out. "He'll find us. He always—"

"He won't find us," Padmé soothed, trying to keep her voice as calm and as gentle as possible. She hoped—oh by the Force, she hoped—that time would not make her a liar. "We're safe here. Please, Vader, I need you to breathe."

The young man's breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, laboured and painful. He shook his head again, though in response to what exactly, she didn't know. She needed to get through to him, calm him, ease him out of the panic that had caught him in its durasteel grip. But how? With anyone else, she might have taken their hand, tried to get them to breathe with her, but Vader was clearly not accustomed to touch not meant to hurt. What if it just made it worse for him—?

Another sharp gasp was enough to cut through her reservations like a knife. She had to do something. She couldn't just sit here dithering in indecision while he suffered.

"It's alright," she murmured. The tips of her fingers brushed ever so lightly against the back of his hand, enough to alert him to her intentions without—she hoped—adding to his distress. "It's alright, Vader. We're safe. You're safe. I won't hurt you."

When he didn't recoil from her touch, she began to drag her thumb slowly back and forth across his white knuckles, trying to give him something to focus on, to ground him in something other than his fear. After a few long moments, she felt the tiniest bit of tension leave his rigid form as, painstakingly, eyes still closed tight shut, his breathing began to slow.

"That's it," Padmé sighed in relief. "In and out."

Finally, his breathing evened out and he flopped down onto the mattress in exhaustion, his entire form shaking faintly from the adrenaline that had been coursing through his system not moments before. His yellow eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, Padmé could read naked distress on his too-young face. Then his gaze flickered down to where her hand was still resting over his, and his expression shuttered, like a pair of heavy blast doors slamming shut behind his eyes. Jaw clenched, he turned his head away.

"Nobody knows we're here," Padmé repeated, now that he was calm enough to properly take in what she was saying to him. "I made sure the droids would keep it off the record, and I haven't made contact with anyone in the Republic yet."

Her heart hurt seeing him retreat into himself, even though—or perhaps because—she understood it. He'd been vulnerable. He felt vulnerable. Ever since he had been wounded protecting her, he had been relying on her goodwill not to take advantage of that vulnerability. And now, he was surely steeling himself for consequences that she suspected he had been taught, over the years, to instinctively expect.

But despite that, he hadn't yet withdrawn his hand from hers.

"Why?," he said hoarsely, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow. He sounded drained, his tone flat, too tired even for confusion. "You fulfilled your promise to me when you brought us here safely. You could be back in the Republic by now."

Padmé's thoughts flashed back to the canyon they had fled into to escape their Separatist pursuers, of his collapse and her attempts at aid. Of him asking her something much the same as he bled out on the ground in front of her. Why not just run? Why not just leave him and save herself? This question didn't quite offend her like those had—after all, leaving a wounded man in safe hands with medical care was not quite the same as abandoning him in the dust to die. But she was still sure it wouldn't have been right. She owed him her life, and she hadn't been about to repay him by leaving him to wake up alone with nobody but droids for company and the knowledge that he had nowhere to go now that he had betrayed both the Separatists and his thrice-cursed master.

And besides, with everything she had seen since her rescue from her cell, she suspected there was far more to him than just what his reputation across the Galaxy painted him to be. The young man underneath that terrifying mask deserved at least the option of a second chance.

"I wasn't going to make that decision without consulting you first," she said. "We're in this together now. We need to figure out what we're going to do together."

And I'll repeat that to you for as long as you need to hear it.

"Do?" Vader asked.

His voice had flattened out even further, so fatigued, so resigned. As if he had given in before he had even begun. So soft and quiet compared to the deep boom of his mask's vocoder, she could barely comprehend that he was the same man that had struck such terror into her captors, that had fought so ferociously through pain and blood loss and overwhelming odds to get her to safety.

But even if he'd been drained of all his own fire, she had more than enough for the both of them.

"Separatist space isn't safe for you now. For either of us." Her lips drew together in a thin, determined line. "And I'm not leaving you until I know that you're somewhere safe out of their reach. Out of Sidious' reach."

Vader's flinch at the name was an answer to all her unspoken questions. He shrank in on himself, and suddenly, for a man who was over six feet in height, he looked very small. Without warning, Padmé was struck by just how true her words were. That she would do it if he refused to come back to the Republic with her. Would stay with him no matter what, no matter how far from home it took her, because she wanted to give him the same protection he had given her.

"Then I guess you'll have to get used to being glued to my side, because there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's beyond my master's reach," he said. She thought he might have intended the words to come out harsh and sharp, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "He's more powerful than you can possibly imagine, and he's not the kind to forgive and forget. I've betrayed him and he'll stop at nothing to hunt me down. Stay with me and you'll have an even bigger target on your head than he's already put there."

I'm not going to leave you alone, Padmé wanted to scream, feeling frustrated tears threatening to well up in her eyes despite her efforts to remain calm. Why can't you understand that? I'm not afraid. I won't abandon you. Not when you're in danger because of me.

"If there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's out of his reach," she retorted, not sharply, but pointedly, "then going back to the Republic won't be any safer for me than staying with you."

Vader's jaw clenched tight at her words, but he said nothing. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly. Padmé fought back a sigh, pushing away the last remainders of her frustration as best she could. Gently, she tightened her grip on his hand, still resting beneath her own, in what she hoped was a reassuring pressure.

"Who is he, Vader?," she whispered, finally giving voice to the question that had been plaguing her ever since she had seen his scars, ever since he had heard him speak his name on the Separatist base. "Who is he, if he's that powerful?"

Who is this man that can make someone as strong as you afraid?

"Senator." Vader's lips twisted into a bitter smile, and in it she could sense the echoes of a terrible truth that she could not yet see. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

[ifievertoldyou]

i literally only got tumblr so i could post my tHAW fanart on here. a valid reason, if you ask me.

cw for mild self injuries in the first panel of “Bad Night?”. it's not graphic at all; there's not even any blood, but if you struggle with seeing scratch marks, i'd suggest skipping to the other drawings. stay safe! 💙

—

"Bad Night?"

[1/2]

He wasn’t expecting to find Quackity in the kitchen part of the open space, elbows resting on the table, face hidden in his palms.

And Q hadn’t ever seen the other quite as disheveled as he was now, hair not brushed neat, shirt all rumpled and he wasn’t wearing his usual two toned waistcoat nor his bowtie, if anything right now he seemed closer to how people usually drew him in the world Q was from than the ordered and composed man he usually was.

[2/2]

The moment he stepped in the room, Quackity’s head shot up, and Q noticed the shine of drying tear tracks under his right eye.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound as unbothered as he always was, but… right now Q could see right through that, so he just looked away...

~Chapter 34 of The House Always Wins by @alexanderwesker

-

mediums: crayola colored pencils (100 pack), #2 pencil, sheet of standard 8.5x11 printer paper

mini-analysis time because this is just who i am as a person, you can skip if you don't wanna read all of this 😭

this scene is one of the few moments that q sees the entirety of quackity shine through all the smoke and mirrors that he hides behind. q has seen quackity's soft side before, however q has almost never seen this broken side of him. he's seen glimpses, but quackity has always masked those glimpses with other emotions, most notably anger, to make his pain seem less apparent. but here, quackity is too tired to do that; he doesn't have any anger left, and q can tell clear as day how sad and scared quackity truly is, even if just for a couple minutes.

(also, you can see quackity's sadness more prominently on his left side than his right, since he doesn't have as much control over that side of his face anymore. and if you look at the character study i did for him below, you can really see the contrast between how he usually looks and how he looks in this.)

tHAW!Quackity Character Study

ignore the awkward angle, it was surprisingly hard to get a picture of this one without my shadow blocking stuff

here's a list of what's on my study sheet and why (left to right)

tHAW!quackity with an annoyed expression. i did this one to help me practice drawing his expressions with the scar, and also drawing him at a different angle.

tHAW!quackity doing his half smile thing. i also tried to draw his hair the way i imagined him styling it to distract from his scar when he goes out. i like to think that that long bit of hair goes behind his ear when he's in private, or just not distracting from his scar.

his teeth. this part helped me figure out where he did and didn't have gold teeth. on another note, i used like 14 different colored pencils for just this mouth. and 50% of those were just different shades of pink for the gums 😭😭😭 but i think it turned out pretty good in the end so ^^

a study on his scar and blind eye. this one helped me figure out how to make the eye look all cloudy and also how to make the scar look more consistent. i'm probably the proudest of this one. ^D^

now have a couple of closeups

ok bonus art time!!

“Bad Night?” wips

uncolored version

also fun fact on the tear stain: i tried to make it look kinda reminiscent to his scar, not only because they'd both sorta follow the shape of his face, but because one side of his face shows his physical scar and the other side shows his emotional scars.

only the physical scar can be seen at all times, and even then, he often styles his hair to distract from it, much like how he distracts from his emotional hurt by making himself appear disinterested. but in this scene he isn't doing either, which is why it's one of my favorites to read. it's so interesting to see this side of quackity, especially from an outside perspective.

ok anyways rambling over, time for some more wips

^thought i'd include the caption that i sent my friend as well ;P

i decided like 20 minutes before posting this that his hair wasn't messy enough so that's why the wips are a lil different from the finished product

^this one isn't exactly a wip, but i always think it's cool to see how many colored pencils i've used after finishing, so i decided to include it ^^

ok that's all. thank you sm for making it all the way to the end of this extremely long post that was basically just an excuse for me to infodump 😭.

while you're here, consider liking and/or reblogging, as any interactions on my art are deeply appreciated, and i'm especially proud of this one ^^

[drabbles-mc]

Exceptions (1/2)

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Part 2

Warnings: language, mentions of smoking/alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Been mulling over this little two-part fic for a while. Love me some Juice content haha. This part is all fluff, part 2 is a nice balance of angst and fluff. Hope you enjoy! xo

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You’d worked at the bar for a few months, and everyone was kind to you. But you hadn’t really become overly close with anyone. You knew how easily friendship could be construed into something else and you really were here because it was a good paying gig. You were a friend of a friend to the club so when they needed a bartender and you met the qualifications, they didn’t give it much of a second thought to throw you back there. You didn’t start trouble, didn’t ask too many questions, and made good strong drinks. They couldn’t have asked for anything more.

At the heart of it, it was nothing more than a customer service gig. Sure, most everyone you served was part of the MC or a friend of the club, but you didn’t treat them any differently because of it. The same as you had done at your previous gigs, you were nice but you didn’t tolerate any disrespect. There were a lot of egos put in check the first few weeks that you were working there and you were surprised that you hadn’t been pulled aside and spoken to about it.

Once you all sort of fell into a flow, the guys quickly realized that you were content to chit-chat but you were keeping them at arm’s length for your sake and theirs. There was something to be said about being ignorant to the goings on of SAMCRO. It wasn’t lying under oath if you really didn’t have a solid clue as to what any of them were doing. They respected that, even if they didn’t always like the way you would wave them off if they were talking about something within earshot of you.

Most of the guys had given up on trying to get cozy with you once you shot them down with a considerable amount of force. Opie checked in on you on a somewhat consistent basis—he felt a little obligated to keep an eye on you since Lyla was the one who had sent you in the direction of the club in the first place. He was always kind to you but he knew and respected that you had pretty firm boundaries with all of them, including himself. As long as you let him know that you were content, safe, and that no one was bothering you at the time, he would leave you be and you really loved that about him.

The only other person who would try to get and keep your attention was Juice. And that was how you found yourself trying and failing to bite back the laughter that you could feel building up inside your chest. You were leaning onto the bar, directly across from Juice who was plopped on a stool in front of you. He was talking about the antics that went down on the shop earlier in the day, and the way that he spoke and gestured, along with the light in his eyes, made it impossible not to laugh and get roped into every word that he said.

There was a boyish charm and innocence to him that you had to admire. He had tried to flirt with you at first and you shot him down instantly, not looking to start playing any games with anyone. He backed off for a little while, giving you your space. But after a couple weeks he wound up right back at the bar, coaxing conversations out of you whenever there was a lull in drink orders. He kept it platonic, carefully choosing his words so you couldn’t shoo him away for being flirtatious or inappropriate. For that reason alone, you rewarded him with some of your time. Plus, there were worse people to look at on the other side of the bar throughout the night.

The later it started to get, the more you tried to encourage everyone to either go home or back to their dorms. Or really just anywhere besides the bar. You hated trying to clean up around people passed out drunk everywhere. It only ever got out of control on the nights of big parties, but you didn’t see any harm in making sure that it stayed that way.

The main expanse of the bar was almost completely empty. There were a few girls getting ready to leave, and Juice was still sitting across the bar as you wiped it down and started stacking glasses in the dishwasher.

You chuckled and shook your head, “Don’t you have somewhere you gotta be, Juice?”

He shook his head, “No, not really.”

You looked down at your watch, “It’s late. Better get to bed if you’re going to wake up and actually make it to work tomorrow.”

“That sick of me, Y/N?”

You had to let out a quiet laugh when you saw his puppy-dog eyes, “You know that’s not true. I would definitely tell you if I was sick of you. Pretty sure I have before,” you laughed.

It got a chuckle out of him, “That’s true. Alright. I’m going to bed then. See you tomorrow?”

You nodded, “See you tomorrow.”

He wandered back towards his dorm and you let out a long sigh once he was out of sight. You looked around at the now-empty clubhouse and a wave of relief washed over you. You set about straightening up and throwing things away. This was easily the longest part of your shift—serving drinks was easy.

Once everything was cleared away, you grabbed yourself a bottle of beer from behind the bar and hoisted yourself up so that you were sitting on top of it, legs swinging idly between the barstools. Never in a million years did you think that you would’ve ended up in this position. Then again, not much of your life was predictable or even felt like it was in your control.

You nursed your beer and soaked up the silence of the clubhouse for a while, finally deciding that it was time for you to leave and go home too. You locked the door behind you as you left, not that it really mattered all that much. You walked out to your car and drove home in silence, just glad to be free of the noise and chaos.

By the time the next afternoon rolled around, you were ready to do it all over again. You shimmied into your jeans and tank top, opting for a pair of comfortable boots. You saw how some of the girls could manage the whole night in heels and you admired their dedication, but that just wasn’t something you were capable of or that committed to. You needed to be able to move a lot, and move quickly. And also kick the shit out of someone if it came down to it.

You were setting up the bar when you heard the door open. You looked over, a smile passing over your lips for a moment when you saw it was Juice.

“This is early even for you, Juan Carlos,” you laughed.

He laughed as he set a coffee down on the surface of the bar, “Just wanted to stop and give you this.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Oh really?”

He held his hands up in surrender, his own coffee cup dangling lightly from his hand, “Just a friendly gesture. I know you were here late last night.”

You nodded slowly as you grabbed the cup and took a sip. You smiled over at him, “I’ll allow it only because this is perfect.”

He chuckled, “Good,” he waved and headed towards the door, “See you later, Y/N.”

You watched as he walked out of the clubhouse. You lightly drummed your fingers on the countertop as your mind raced. You spun the cup and laughed when you saw that he had written his phone number on it.

“In case you’re ever in need of a friendly conversation. Or bail.”

You chuckled and against your better judgment, added his number to your contacts. You didn’t know when you were actually going to reach out to him, but he was a good person to be able to reach, especially if you really did land yourself in some kind of trouble. A warm feeling spread through your chest and you tried to ignore it as you went back to what you were originally doing when he walked in.

You were lucky enough to not have to work the entire length of your usual shift. You weren’t supposed to be the only bartender even though it usually ended up feeling that way. They had the prospect filling in for the second half of the night and you liked him, but not enough to tell him that he didn’t have to work the bar. Giving him a loving pat on the back, you grabbed yourself a beer and headed out of the clubhouse.

It never ceased to amaze you how chilly it got at night despite the fact that the afternoons would be sweltering sometimes. Every night you told yourself to bring a sweatshirt and you remembered about fifty percent of the time. It wasn’t one of those nights, though. You felt goosebumps break out over your arms as you plopped onto the picnic table outside the clubhouse. You looked up at the sky as you sipped on your beer, letting your mind empty out a bit before you headed home.

You heard heavy footsteps behind you and you glanced over your shoulder. You smiled when you saw that it was Juice. He walked over and stood next to the table, looking at you with a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Mind if I sit and grab a smoke?”

You eyed the joint that he was holding and you smiled, “Only if you share.”

“Fine by me,” he chuckled as he plopped down next to you, feet resting on the bench beside yours.

He flicked his lighter and lit the joint in his hand, taking a long drag off of it before handing it over to you. You smiled as you gently took it between your fingers. It had been ages since you last smoked, but you knew that Juice had good connections. Besides, if there was anyone in the club that you would trust with something like that it was Juice—he was too sweet to do something shady, especially to you.

You took a drag and fought the urge to cough as you handed it back to him. You slowly exhaled and laughed, “Sorry about the lipstick.”

He chuckled, “I’ve been told that this is a good shade for me, anyway,” he smiled as he put it back to his lips again.

The two of you sat there in semi-silence, passing the joint back and forth. He was usually so full of energy and had so much to say, you were surprised at how calm and quiet he was.  The outsides of your legs rested against each other and you glanced over at him, but he was so busy staring up at the stars that he didn’t even notice. You let it go.

Opie and Lyla walked out of the clubhouse, his arm draped around her shoulders. He looked at you, eyebrows raised, “All good?”

You nodded, “All good. Thanks, Ope,” you smiled at Lyla, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded and said goodbye as the two of them crossed the lot to Opie’s bike and left. With a deep sigh you felt your body shiver. Juice felt you tremble against him and he looked over at you.

“I can run and grab you a hoodie if you want. I got a bunch in my dorm.”

You shook your head as you stood up, “No, that’s alright. I should get going, anyway.”

“Already?”

You laughed, “Hey, I’m off the clock. I don’t gotta stay here until everyone leaves this time,” you finished off your drink and set the bottle of the table next to him.

“Want a lift home?” there was a smile on his face.

You shook your head with a chuckle, “Not tonight. Thank you, though.”

“Tomorrow night?” he raised his eyebrows.

You smiled and placed a quick, soft kiss on his temple, “Goodnight, Juice.”

You could feel him watching you as you crossed the lot to your car, and you shook your head to yourself as you tried to contain your laughter. There was something about him that made you let it go—if it had been any of the other guys you would’ve shot a snarky comment their way for their lingering eyes. But with Juice it was just different.

Once you got home, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized that you’d been holding. You dropped your purse to the floor next to your discarded shoes and made your way towards the bathroom to shower and rinse off the night. You closed your eyes as the soap suds slid down your body and made their way towards the shower drain. There wasn’t a single thought that crossed your mind that really stuck—each one of them disappeared as quickly as they showed up, and that was more than fine by you.

After your shower, you pulled on your most comfortable set of pajamas and huddled down in bed with the latest book that you had been making your way through. With a deep sigh you let yourself really settle against your pillows and under your blanket. You opened the book and dove in. However, every few pages or so, you found your eyes straying over to your phone.

Finally, after arguing with yourself about it for longer than you should have, you grabbed your phone and sent a text to Juice, “Don’t need bail. Just wanted to say thank you for tonight.”

You assumed that he knew it was you, because the response was immediate, “Don’t have to thank me for anything,” a few moments later a second text came through, “I should be the one thanking you for not kicking me off the table”

You laughed and shook your head as you typed out your response, “Well in that case…you’re welcome”

Shortly after sending the message, you passed out. Your hand was loosely cupping your phone as you drifted off to sleep, as if you were waiting for something more to happen.