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#just a cutie floating around in space
epiphlyte · 1 year
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compilation of both older and more recent art of battle cats ocs since i’m on break and don’t have access to my tablet right now! probably the first of two character dumps before i get back home and can doodle up some new stuff.
feel bad reposting sometimes Dx but since these havent been seen on tumblr before and im trying to use this blog as an art journal of sorts, it was inevitable. hope you guys enjoy, at least for now!
chars are (if curious); ryecurl, fernpaw, pigeonflight, blackstorm, beefrost, “bird”, “russet”, “petal”, waveheart, coppershine, kestrelstorm, tawnystar, hazelstar, littlestar, and ripplestar!
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seiwas · 6 months
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₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru
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wc: 12.9k
summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 
contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.
a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!
collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here
MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.
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Gojo thinks he might pass out. 
There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 
It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 
He paces around the room. 
Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.
Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.
To you, this is just like every other Friday. 
You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 
To him, this could change everything with you. 
He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 
There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 
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1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH
The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine. 
So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 
You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  
Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 
It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 
So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.
Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.
Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.
Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.
He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 
A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 
You only ever get like this sparring against him. 
The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 
Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 
He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 
You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 
Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—
“You’re so—”
But he doesn’t even get to finish.
Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—
Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 
A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 
In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 
“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.
You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 
“Only because I let you get too close this time.”
Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.
You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.
“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.
“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 
Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 
As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 
“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 
He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 
You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 
You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 
“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 
“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 
He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 
“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 
It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 
You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 
You reach for him. 
The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 
“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 
Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”
Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”
“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.
The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 
With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 
He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 
You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.
It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 
And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 
The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 
Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 
It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 
You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 
“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 
So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 
He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 
You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 
It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 
Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 
It was never supposed to be important to him. 
Until you. 
From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 
And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 
When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 
He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 
All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—
The way he feels when he’s with you. 
Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 
The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 
.
.
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2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME
The bed feels cold tonight. 
Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 
He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 
He misses you. 
For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 
You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 
Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 
Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 
He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.
The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 
The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 
If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 
He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 
If you’re already back from—
Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 
He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 
(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.
But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).
1:20 a.m. 
cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨
> satoourur are u awaeke??
The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 
1:21 a.m.
< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕
1:21 a.m. 
cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨
> casll?
He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.
You’re calling. 
He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 
“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.
“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.
Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.
The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.
He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…
“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 
“‘Nside.” you slur. 
You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 
“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 
“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 
Another ache. 
He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 
“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”
He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 
“Just miss you.” 
He wasn’t expecting you to say this—
—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 
There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.
He should really just go to you.
His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.
He swallows, “I miss you too.” 
And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 
“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”
You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 
When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 
He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 
But right now, it feels so empty. 
“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”
Now his heart really aches. 
The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 
He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 
The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 
If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 
You giggle again. 
“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 
When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 
Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 
For obvious reasons, maybe.
But—
“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 
“Sweet-talker.” 
He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 
God damn, he really misses you.
“You love it,” he murmurs.
A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 
“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 
He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 
Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.
If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 
“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 
“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”
“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”
The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.
He takes a seat on his barstool. 
“Listening.” 
For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 
You sigh again, and—
“I worry sometimes,” you admit.
He furrows his brows, “About?”
“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”
And this… this aches in a different way. 
How can you even think that? 
You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 
He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 
“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 
But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 
“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 
He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 
“So what? They’re still not you.”
And he means it, genuinely.
Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 
Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.
You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 
(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 
There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 
Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.
He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 
“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 
You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 
Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 
“Satoru,” you call him softly. 
He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.
When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 
“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 
He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 
For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 
And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—
He’s thankful it’s you, too. 
Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”
“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 
(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 
“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 
He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 
You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 
The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  
.
.
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3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED
“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”
He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 
An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 
It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 
“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis. 
He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 
The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 
“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 
And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 
Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 
The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 
Or not. 
Because you seem to have gotten him—
—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 
To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 
(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 
Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 
“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 
He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 
Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 
“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.
The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.
But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 
You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 
“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 
Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 
“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”
At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 
You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 
You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.  
How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 
He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.
A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 
The bed dips as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 
Who is he to say no?  
Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 
“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 
He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 
“Have you eaten?” 
You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.
“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 
Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 
“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 
You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 
“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 
When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 
“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 
“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 
You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.
It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes. 
He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 
“You’re too good to me.” 
He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 
You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 
And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 
You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 
“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 
It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 
“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 
You shoot him a look, then pout. 
“Satoru.” 
He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 
“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 
You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.
He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 
This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 
He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.
“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 
And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—
“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.
—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 
He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 
Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 
“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 
Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 
He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 
“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 
You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 
“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 
He gets kicked in the thigh. 
.
.
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4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN
There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 
Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 
Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 
He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.
Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 
This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 
With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 
You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.
The unease makes him fidgety.
There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 
He has to get this right. 
It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 
The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 
You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 
He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 
Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.
.
In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 
“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.
Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 
“Megumi!” 
The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 
“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 
Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 
“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”
(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).
Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 
Megumi stares. 
“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 
There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 
Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”
“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 
“Sensei’s recipes?”
Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”
Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 
His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 
“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 
.
There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.
During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 
There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 
Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.
(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 
These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 
But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 
“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”
Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 
“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 
Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 
It’s a simple question. Innocent. 
But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.
This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   
You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 
He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.
“I guess not.” 
The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 
“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 
And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 
The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.
“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 
“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”
Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 
“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 
“So it’s bland?”
The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 
“No, it’s okay.” 
Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 
“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 
The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 
And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 
“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 
Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”
Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 
The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 
There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 
The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 
After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 
“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 
All his hard work? Shattered. 
Gojo is dumbfounded. 
It’s too late to change everything now. 
Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 
“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.
When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  
You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 
He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.
(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).
Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 
All he told you was to wear something nice. 
And, by god you did. 
You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 
But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 
He reaches for you. 
The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 
Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 
He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 
But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 
“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 
“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 
You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.
He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 
As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 
Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 
How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 
If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 
He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—
Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 
He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 
“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 
“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 
He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 
You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”
The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.
“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 
So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.
The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 
You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 
“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 
When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 
“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 
You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 
He holds your gaze.  
“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 
You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 
What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 
You do it for him all the time.
He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 
“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 
“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”
He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 
You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 
He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 
You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 
It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 
As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 
Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing. 
He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.
“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 
“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 
Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—
This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.
.
.
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5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU
Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 
It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 
The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 
He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 
When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 
And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 
The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 
(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 
There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 
He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 
As long as it’s with you. 
The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.
“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 
He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 
.
You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 
It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 
“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 
“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 
You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 
He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 
When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes). 
As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.
Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 
The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 
And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 
You just… did. 
Because that’s you. 
And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.
.
The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 
He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 
But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.
“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 
He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 
As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 
There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—
—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 
There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 
These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 
His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 
He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 
Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 
And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 
.
.
.
+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE
He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?
It’s just you. 
It’s just you—
And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—
—it makes him feel sick. 
He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 
The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 
He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.
If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 
If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 
If you were here—
—the door opens, and you step into the room. 
Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 
You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 
He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 
“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 
Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 
“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 
Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”
He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 
The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 
He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 
The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?
There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 
You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 
He practiced this, damn it. 
Why can’t he remember a single thing? 
The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 
“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.
You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 
He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 
Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 
His heart is pounding. 
“I stay over at yours too much.” 
Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 
“I think we need more space.” 
Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 
“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”
He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 
“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 
And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 
It’s not like that at all. 
He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 
The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 
“It’s not—”
You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 
He blinks. 
There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 
But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 
“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 
He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 
“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 
When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 
He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 
“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 
Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 
Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 
He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.
“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely. 
You blink. 
Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.
This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—
“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 
“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 
He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 
It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 
Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 
“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 
Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.
There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 
His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—
“Make a home with me?”
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a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.
thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...
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comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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hd-junglebook · 1 month
Text
My Sunshine
Part 2
Warnings : mention of cheating, kissing, pregnancy, crying, manipulation, love bombing? also not proofread so enjoy!
a:n Jack is such a cutie. Sorry this took forever to write but I have finished, and I hope you enjoy, lmk what you think guys. This one is super fluffy, cuteness all that good stuff.
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summary: Y/N and Jack's relationship blossoms,during a romantic moonlit walk on the beach, Y/N realizes that with Jack by her side, she has the love, hope, and support needed to overcome any obstacle and build a beautiful life for herself and her unborn child.
Word Count - 4251
...
22:11pm
The soft glow of the porch light illuminated the small space between Y/N and Jack as they stood on the steps leading up to her front door. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the nearby bushes. Y/N's heart fluttered in her chest as she gazed into Jack's warm, blue eyes, feeling like a teenager all over again.
She stood on the fourth step, while Jack stood on the second, bringing them eye to eye. The proximity made her skin tingle with excitement, and she couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces finally finding their match.
"I had such a great time, Jack," Y/N said softly, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for taking me out. I had a really good time."
Jack grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that always made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "I'm happy I could steal you away," he replied, his voice low and slightly husky.
Y/N bit her lower lip, feeling a blush creep up her neck. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and asked, "Do you want to come inside?"
Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he let out a soft chuckle. "On the first date?" he teased, his tone playful. "What kind of man do you take me for?"
Y/N's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "The polite kind, Jack," she clarified, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment. "I wasn't suggesting anything. Maybe we could sit and have some tea..."
Jack's expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Y/N's ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek for a moment, sending a shiver down her spine. "How about next time, yeah?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We'll drink all the tea you want and talk, just like we did at the café."
Y/N's heart leaped in her chest, and she couldn't help but smile. "You want to go on another date?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jack's eyes sparkled with affection as he gazed down at her. "What? Of course, I do," he replied, his tone incredulous. "Y/N, I had such a good time with you."
Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest, and she knew at that moment that she was falling for Jack, hard and fast. She reached out and took his hand in hers, marveling at how perfectly their fingers intertwined.
"I can't wait," she murmured, her eyes locked on his.
Jack smiled, then leaned in slowly, his face mere inches from hers. Y/N's breath hitched in her throat, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the soft press of his lips against hers.
But instead, she felt the gentle brush of his nose against her cheek as he placed a soft, chaste kiss there. Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and she saw Jack pull back, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Until next time, Y/N," he whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it and stepping back. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
Y/N watched as he walked down the steps and towards his car, feeling like she was floating on air. As he drove away, she brought her hand up to her cheek, feeling the lingering warmth of his kiss. “I’m so screwed,” she said to herself before turning around and unlocking the door.
7:00 am
Y/N walked into her office the next morning, a dreamy smile playing on her lips despite the wave of nausea that had hit her as soon as she stepped through the doors. A strong, pungent odor wafted towards her, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.
She couldn't quite place the smell, but it reminded her of burnt coffee and stale donuts, a combination that made her stomach roll. She took a deep breath through her mouth, trying to quell the sudden urge to gag.
The memory of her date with Jack lingered in her mind, making her heart flutter with excitement and anticipation for their next meeting, even as her stomach churned uncomfortably. Settling into her chair, Y/N powered on her computer, hoping that focusing on work would distract her from the queasiness that had become a new companion over the past few days.
Just as she was about to dive into her emails, a sudden ping from her phone caught her attention. She glanced at the screen, expecting to see a message from Jack, but instead, she found herself staring at a name she hadn't seen in years: Jason.
Her stomach dropped as she read the message, her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through the text.
"Hey, Y/N. I know it's been a while, but I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I was hoping we could meet up and talk, maybe grab a coffee or something. I have some things I need to say to you. Let me know if you're up for it. - Jason"
Y/N felt a chill run down her spine as memories of her past with Jason flooded her mind. She had worked so hard to move on from that toxic relationship, to build a new life for herself. And now, just when things were starting to look up with Jack, here was Jason, threatening to pull her back into the darkness.
She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm the swirl of emotions that churned in her gut, even as another wave of nausea washed over her. She knew she should ignore the message, delete it and move on with her life. But a small, nagging part of her wondered if she owed it to herself to hear him out, to get the closure she had never truly gotten.
With a heavy sigh, Y/N set her phone down and turned her attention back to her work, trying to push thoughts of Jason, the past, and her growing secret from her mind.
But even as she lost herself in the mundane tasks of her job, she couldn't shake the feeling that her newfound happiness with Jack was about to be tested in ways she had never expected, and that the life growing inside her would only complicate matters further.
"Hey there, Earth to Y/N!" her boss, a quirky, bald man with a penchant for tie-dye shirts, poked his head into the room. "Did you finish that article I needed?”
Y/N blinked, her mind momentarily blank. "Uh, which article, Tom?" she asked, frantically searching through the scattered papers on her desk.
"The sports one, ya know, about the Devils, hun," Tom chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Gosh, did you check your emails?"
Y/N felt her face flush with embarrassment as she suddenly remembered the deadline. "Right, sorry, I've got it here somewhere," she mumbled, shuffling through her files.
Tom grinned, shaking his head. "No worries, just get it to me by noon, alright? And maybe lay off the late-night dates, huh?" He winked playfully before disappearing back into the hallway.
Y/N couldn't help but smile at her boss's good-natured teasing, even as her stomach continued to churn.
19:22pm
y/n stepped into the cozy coffee shop/bookstore, she scanned the room, her heart pounding in her chest as she spotted Jason sitting at a table in the corner, a charming smile on his face as he waved her over.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. As she approached the table, Jason stood up, pulling out a chair for her like the perfect gentleman. Y/N fought back the urge to roll her eyes, remembering all the times he had used his charm to manipulate her in the past.
"Y/N, you look beautiful as always," Jason said smoothly, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively. "I'm so glad you agreed to meet with me."
Y/N sat down, her stomach churning with a mix of nerves and nausea. She placed a hand on her belly, wondering if the life growing inside her could sense the tension in the air.
"What do you want, Jason?" she asked, her voice tight.
Jason leaned forward, his expression softening. "I wanted to apologize, Y/N. For everything. I know I wasn't the best boyfriend, but I've changed. I've been going to therapy, working on myself. And I realize now how much I miss you, how much I want us to be a family."
Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the mention of family. She had always dreamed of having a loving, stable home for her child, but the thought of raising a baby with Jason made her skin crawl.
"Jason, I..." she started, but he cut her off. "Jason, I appreciate your apology, but it's too late. We can't just pick up where we left off, especially not now," she said, her hand unconsciously drifting to her stomach.
Jason's eyes followed her movement, and a knowing smile spread across his face. "I know you're pregnant, Y/N. And I want to be there for you, for our child. I want to make things right."
Y/N's eyes widened, her mind racing. How did he know about the pregnancy? She hadn't told anyone except Heather.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly, but Jason just smiled.
"It doesn't matter how I know," Jason said, waving his hand dismissively. “I can see it in your face. And I think deep down, you know that we belong together. That our baby deserves to have both parents in their life."
Y/N's stomach roiled, and she fought back the urge to be sick. A part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to give in to the fantasy of a perfect little family. But another part of her, the part that had been slowly healing and growing stronger since she left Jason, knew that it was all a lie.
Y/N shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. "Jason, you hurt me. Badly. And I've worked so hard to move on, to build a life for myself. I can't just throw that all away on the off chance that you've changed."
Jason reached across the table, taking her hand in his. Y/N flinched at his touch, but didn't pull away. "I know I hurt you, Y/N. And I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you'll let me. I won’t ever talk to other girls or cheat again. Think about our baby. Don't they deserve to have both parents in their life?"
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she glanced at the screen, seeing Jack's name flash across it. She felt a pang of guilt, remembering how she had been ignoring his texts all day, too consumed with her own inner turmoil to respond.
"I... I need time to think," she said finally, pulling her hand away from Jason's. "This is a lot to process, and I can't make a decision right now."
Jason nodded, his expression understanding. "Of course, take all the time you need. But just remember, Y/N, I'm here for you. Always."
Y/N stood up from the table, her legs shaking slightly. "I have to go," she mumbled, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.
She could feel Jason's eyes on her back as she walked away, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. She knew that she had a choice to make, a decision that would shape the rest of her life. But for now, all she could do was put one foot in front of the other.
She didn’t want to imagine a life with him again, he wasn’t being fair. Coming back into her life after he had his fill. The nights she spent crying herself to sleep, no one to call but heather had done more damage to all of the love she had harbored for him.
20:40pm
The conversation with Jason had left her feeling drained and confused, and she couldn't help but second-guess every decision she had made over the past few months.
As she entered her apartment, she tossed her keys onto the counter and headed straight for the bathroom. She needed a moment to herself, to gather her thoughts and try to make sense of the chaos swirling inside her.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and her face was pale and drawn. She looked like a shadow of her former self, a woman haunted by the ghosts of her past.
Almost unconsciously, her hand drifted to her stomach, gently pressing against the soft flesh. She knew it was too early to feel anything, but a part of her couldn't help but hope for some sign of the life growing inside her.
She turned to the side, pulling up her shirt and studying her profile in the mirror. There was no bump yet, no visible evidence of the pregnancy. Y/N sighed, unsure whether the feeling that washed over her was relief or disappointment.
y/n had never been sure if she wanted to be a mother, she had imagined the day when she would feel her baby kick for the first time, when she would hold them in her arms and marvel at the miracle of life.
But now, faced with the reality of her situation, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.
How was she going to do this alone? How was she going to provide for her child, give them the life they deserved? The thought of raising a baby on her own was overwhelming, and the idea of doing it with Jason by her side was even more terrifying.
Y/N shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She couldn't afford to dwell on the what-ifs and maybes. She had to focus on the present, on taking care of herself and her baby.
She went through her nightly routine on autopilot, brushing her teeth and washing her face. As she changed into her pajamas, she caught a glimpse of her phone on the nightstand, the screen lit up with notifications.
She picked it up, scrolling through the messages. There were a few from Heather, asking how the meeting with Jason had gone. And then there was one from Jack, a simple "Thinking of you" followed by a heart emoji.
Y/N's heart swelled with emotion, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Jack had been so patient, so understanding, even as she had pushed him away. He deserved better than this, better than a girlfriend who was too caught up in her own drama to even respond to his texts.
She typed out a quick message, apologizing for being distant and promising to call him in the morning. Then she set her phone back down and padded into the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the tile floor.
She glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall, her eyes drawn to the date circled in red. June 12th, the day of her first ultrasound. She counted back in her head, realizing with a start that she was already ten weeks along.
Ten weeks. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had sat on the floor of her bathroom, surrounded by positive pregnancy tests. So much had changed since then, and yet in some ways, everything was still the same.
Y/N reached for a pen, marking an X over the days. She stared at the calendar for a long moment, her hand resting on her stomach.
5:30am
Y/N woke up to the sound of her alarm, the soft chime pulling her from a restless sleep. She rolled over, groaning as she caught sight of the time on her phone screen. 5:30 AM. She had forgotten to adjust her alarm after asking for the day off after work yesterday, and now she was paying the price.
She was just about to close her eyes and try to go back to sleep when she remembered her promise to Jack. It was an ungodly hour to be awake, but she knew that if she wanted to catch Jack before his early morning practice, she had to make the effort.
She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and running a hand over her tousled hair. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and dialed Jack's number, her heart fluttering in her chest as she listened to the ringback tone. He picked up on the second ring, his voice warm and slightly groggy with sleep.
"Hey, beautiful. I wasn't expecting to hear from you so early." Y/N could picture him stretching out in bed, his muscular frame taking up most of the space.
She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, the sound of his voice instantly soothing her frayed nerves. "I know, I'm sorry. I forgot to change my alarm last night, and I didn't want to wait to talk to you."
"Hey, don't apologize," Jack said, his tone gentle. "I know you have a busy schedule, and I want you to know that I'm content waiting for you, no matter what."
Jack chuckled, the sound rich and deep. "I'm not complaining. Waking up to the sound of your voice is the best way to start my day."
Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “You’re too cute Jack, you know that?”
As Y/N listened to Jack's soothing voice on the other end of the line, she found herself absentmindedly scrolling through her Instagram feed. She double-tapped on heathers new post. A picture of them baking for a sick friend.
"Yeah, coach has been riding us hard lately," Jack said, his voice pulling her attention back to the conversation. "But it'll all be worth it when we win the championship."
Y/N hummed in agreement, her thumb pausing over a picture of a couple announcing their engagement. She felt a pang of guilt, remembering how distant she had been lately. "I'm really sorry Jack. I feel so bad, you’re so consistent and I’ve been horrible at communicating with you," she confessed, setting her phone down on the bed beside her.
She stood up, stretching her arms above her head and padding over to her dresser. She pulled open the top drawer, her eyes scanning the messy contents. Socks, underwear, and bras were all jumbled together in a haphazard pile, and she made a mental note to organize them later.
As she started to sort through the drawer, separating the items into neat piles, she heard Jack's voice soften on the other end of the line. "y/n I don’t care about that. I know we can make it work. And I really don’t mind it, really. I’m busy, you’re busy."
She closed the drawer, leaning against the dresser for support. "I know. And I'm so grateful for that, Jack. You have no idea how much it means to me."
They talked for a while longer, their voices soft and low in the early morning light. Y/N found herself pacing around her room, straightening the pillows on her bed and picking up discarded clothes from the floor. There was something soothing about the mundane tasks, a sense of normalcy that helped to ground her in the midst of the chaos.
Finally, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table, realizing how much time had passed. "I should let you go, you need to get ready for practice," she said reluctantly, not wanting the conversation to end. "I don't want you to be late."
"Yeah, I suppose I should," Jack agreed, though she could hear the hesitation in his voice. "But I'll call you later, okay?
They said their goodbyes, and Y/N hung up the phone, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. She looked around her room, taking in the neat piles of clothes and the straightened bedding.
She placed a hand on her stomach, smiling softly. "We've got this, little one. We've got each other, and we've got a whole lot of love on our side."
20:19pm
One week later…
Y/N found herself walking hand in hand with Jack along the sandy shore, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks filling her ears. The sun had long since set, and the moon cast a silvery glow over the water, making it sparkle like a sea of diamonds.
They had spent the day lounging on the beach, soaking up the sun and enjoying each other's company. Jack had surprised her earlier that evening, showing up at her door with a picnic basket and a mischievous grin on his face. "I thought we could use a little adventure," he had said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
Now, as they walked along the beach, their toes sinking into the cool sand, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over her. It was as if all her worries and fears had been left behind, carried away by the gentle breeze that whipped through her hair.
"I can't believe you brought me out here at night," Y/N said, nudging Jack playfully with her elbow. "Aren't you afraid of the dark?"
Jack scoffed, puffing out his chest in mock bravado. "Please, I'm a big, tough hockey player. I'm not afraid of anything."
Y/N raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh really? Not even... sharks?"
Jack's eyes widened, and he glanced out at the water nervously. "Sharks? There aren't any sharks out here, are there?"
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "No, you goof. But it's good to know that the big, tough hockey player has a weakness."
"And you love me for it," Jack grinned, pulling her closer to his side. "My only weakness is you, babe. You've got me wrapped around your little finger."
Y/N smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder as they continued to walk. As they rounded a bend in the shore, Y/N spotted a small cove, its rocky walls rising up from the sand like a natural fortress. "Hey, let's go check that out," she said, tugging on Jack's hand and leading him towards the cove.
They climbed over the rocks, their feet slipping on the damp surface. Y/N let out a shriek as she lost her footing, but Jack's strong arms were there to catch her, holding her steady against his chest. "Careful there, clumsy," he teased, his breath warm against her ear. "I don't want to have to carry you back to the car."
Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, but she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the feeling of his arms around her. They made their way into the cove, the walls rising up around them like a cocoon.
Inside, the air was still and quiet, the only sound the distant crash of the waves. The moonlight filtered in through the opening, casting a soft glow over the sandy floor. Y/N spun around, taking in the natural beauty of the space.
"It's like our own little hideaway," she said, her voice hushed with wonder.
Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. "Yeah, it's perfect. Just like you."
Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, and she ducked her head, suddenly feeling shy. Jack reached out, tilting her chin up with his finger until she was looking into his eyes.
"I mean it, Y/N. You're perfect. And I'm so lucky to have you in my life," Jack grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Y/N's heart swelled with emotion, and she surged forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Jack's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless and flushed. Y/N rested her forehead against Jack's, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"I'm lucky to have you too, Jack. More than you know."
Jack gave a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I wanted to give you something special, Y/N. Something just for you."
He pushed back his hair before he continued. "I know we haven't been together that long, and I know that we have our whole life ahead of us. But I want you to know that I'm not going anywhere, no matter what happens."
Jack reached into the basket, pulling out a small velvet box. Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Y/N," Jack began, his voice soft and serious.
He opened the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet. It was simple and elegant, with a single charm in the shape of a tiny seashell.
"This is my promise to you," he continued, taking her hand in his. "A promise to always be by your side, to support you and take care of you, no matter what."
Y/N felt tears streaming down her cheeks, and she launched herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest. She clung to him tightly, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek, strong and steady. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms as the moon shone down on them.
Tag List <3
@fearfam69691, @alwaysclassyeagle, @rebelatbay, @dancerbailey3, @skepvids, @urbanflorals, @hischierswhore, @literatureluster, @voidohanax, @ivy-34,
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tmntxthings · 10 months
Text
一∑ Electric Shock・゜・。
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request: He’s on a solo mission to track down a mutant that appeared on his radar. Tried to get his brothers to tag along but they were too busy with whatever stupid contest. So he goes out to apprehend the evil doer!! Only to appear upon the scene of a beautiful “villain” who keeps zapping all through the electronics at this big store…bonus points if the villain is as energetic as the electricity coursing through them as they zap giddily all around him and make this capture out to be a rather… difficult one? aka Donnie encounters an eccentric, too-much-to-handle cutie
author’s note: for my dearest @marwhoa >.< it’s not much so sorry but I couldn’t really think of a better ending <33 thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy
warnings: rlly short, unedited, fluff
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When Donnie’s tech worked. It made him ridiculously happy. Something he worked on day and night, coming to life before his fingertips and functioning its intended purpose??? Absolute bliss! So when his radar picked up another mutant on the loose, he was all too happy bounding into the main section of the lair to show his brothers.
“Guys!! Look, my radar hit another mutant’s frequency!”
He wasn’t met with the same enthusiasm. In fact it seemed everyone was hollering and yelling over one another in a heated argument.
“No! Space Heroes is the best show ever—“
About their favorite show..?
“Guys??” Donnie called out, waving his radar in hand. He was quite blatantly ignored as Mikey started covering his ears and screaming in denial that ‘No Space Heroes is laaaame’
Donnie groaned to himself as he departed. He figured he could take this mission solo if no one was even going to pay attention to his presence. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re even ‘related’” Donnie mumbled as he made quick work of grabbing his bo staff and exited the lair out into the sewers.
He decided he would stay underground until he got close enough to the ping that the radar had detected. The occasional beep kept him company as he glanced down every now and again to see if he was getting any closer.
Donnie beamed with pride as the radar started to beep rapidly, indicating he was very close to the target. He turned off the radar, clipped it to the leather strap on his plastron and climbed out of the sewer through a manhole.
It was quiet.. too quiet as he peered around before completely exposing himself to the topside of New York. A couple of yards away sat the most beloved store in the entire city. It held some of the finest tech around and Donnie was beside him to have the chance to look around—
Ah, wait wait no. He was on a mission! Though… the radar had led him here. So maybe the mutant was into tech??? Trying to steal it?!? The thought had him moving towards the building, even if it was just an excuse to get a closer look.
It was way past everyone’s bed time, so the store was rightfully closed. The only light around was from a lone street light—
Scratch that, it just flickered and went off completely.
And that’s when he heard it. Delightful giggles rang out. A symphony of tinkling chimes was what he could compare the sound to. It had him freezing and listening closely.
He wasn’t alone.
Surely it had to be the mutant.
But instead of grabbing his bo, Donnie moved stealthily with the shadows, sticking close to the side of the electronics building. He didn’t know whether to check inside through the glass windows or try to get on the roof for a vantage point of the whole area. Whilst overthinking, the laughter once again had his entire thought process coming to a stop.
And it sounded like it was coming from above..!!!!
As Donnie looked up he literally felt his entire being go slack. His arms that had been pressed into the building’s side went straight down, as his mouth fell open.
A floating, glowing angel— person— no mutant! A beautiful flying, glowing mutant!! He watched as your hand extended out towards the street lamp, it suddenly flared to life, straining with how much light it was producing before the glass containing such velocity shattered.
You laughed once more, “That was nice but not enough, now youuuu~~” Your hand changes direction to the store full of gadgets and gizmos. “You will give me alllll the power I want!” Your body glowed brighter like it was reacting to your excitement. And even though Donnie was clueing in the fact that you were about to steal..energy..? Right yeah that must be it!
So that rounded your description to, beautiful glowing, floating, mutant villain. Bummer. But maybe he could convince you otherwise? It wasn’t exactly the smartest plan he ever came up with, but maybe he wanted to just try talking to you before swinging in with his stick. Yeah. He wanted to make a nice impression.
. . .
And we’re not gonna analyze too closely as to why. Because he surely wasn’t like insta-crushing on you or anything from first sight. Nope. Totallyyyyy not.
“Ahem!”
Donnie coughed and you whipped your head towards the noise, instantly aiming your hand at him. It shined brighter than the rest of your body. As if a ball of pure light was building up in your palm.
“Ah well, I was just wondering if maybe we could talk about not stealing all the energy out of my favorite store??” Donnie stumbled through some of that but mustered up enough will to speak! He felt greener than usual. Was he blushing?!
“Ohhhh,” your hand faltered, going a little dim. “Well, if this is your favorite store… I guess I could go to another!” You surmised cheerily.
Donatello started to smile at the kindness when he realized you were still going to steal. Even if it wasn’t from this store. “Wait wait! Why do you have to steal??”
“Because it’s fun!” That bright smile blinded him. Your statement making it sound as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well there’s definitely more fun things you could be doing..” Donnie tried to reason with you. Not really noting the fact that you were floating lower and closer to his position on the ground.
“Like what Mr…?”
“Oh! Donatello! Donnie I mean—“
“Nice to meetcha!” You bemused. “Now what exactly could be more fun that zapping all the power out of game stores and making me more powerful? Hmmmm?”
“Well!”
You waited with twinkling eyes.
“Uhhhh..”
Donnie swore he had an idea just a second before. But the longer your stared… and the closer you got.. the hotter he felt!! “You sure you can think of anything more fun than that?” You raised an eyebrow cheekily. Donnie swallowed.
“Y-you could hang out with me!”
Donnie closed his eyes promptly cringing at himself. That would probably only be fun for him. It seemed he was instantly hooked on your presence.
“Hmmm maybe so!”
His eyes opened quickly wide with shock. “Really??” It had meant to be just a thought but he spoke it aloud. You laughed for him then. He had made you laugh!!
“Really really,” You playfully winked. Finally stepping out of the sky and standing next to him. You were still glowing, but since you were closer now he saw that it wasn’t exactly on your person. Just surrounding you like a bubble. “Lead the way then Donnie-Bonnie! Where are we gonna go have some fun??”
Donnie absentmindedly wondered if dissuading a villain had ever gone so smoothly before…? He didn’t want to break whatever spell was happening in this moment so he nodded rapidly. Asking about your hobbies (other than stealing energy) and he found out that you quite enjoyed playing games and much as stealing power from them.
He could bring you down to the lair… they had a few arcade games there. But! He didn’t exactly want his brothers stealing all your attention or worse thinking you were an enemy. “I know just the place!” Donnie smiled and the two of you made your way to a late-night arcade. That was the start a very interesting night and an even more promising relationship!
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crystalis39 · 2 years
Text
TRANSLATION: 'Pietà' by Nyalra
Back in August 2022, the "Needy Girl Overdose Staff Book" was released. It contains a lot of interesting behind the scenes content, among other things. Such as this 8-page short story, by Nyalra, about Ame and KAngel. I'm bad at Japanese so this is mostly cobbled together with DeepL, Jisho, Google Translate, and duct tape.
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The Internet reeks of decay.
It's so oversaturated with people that there is panic everywhere. The slightest thing can set off a frenzy like a bug, and the amused spectators light fires. All the adults are desperate to put themselves on the line and bash those who have failed.
And yet, we love the Internet. Compared to the real world, where we are expected to belong to a "society," the chaos of disorder is somewhat better. I decided to become an Internet Angel in order to save all the wanderers in this small and infinite electronic space. By doing so, many people will be able to see me. I am the kind of person that no one in the real world would take to... and many people are looking for me. I offer fleeting comfort to the spirit of everyone who recognizes me. I am an angel guiding the lost.
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Tonight again, I descend into the net space as an Internet Angel. I will wear a golden wig with my black hair spread out on both sides. I love my pink and light blue twin-tails. When I move during the transmission, the spiraling twin-tails shimmer and flicker, making me look beautiful. My makeup is perfect. A little exaggerated is just right. I think it's better to be a little exaggerated, because I feel like I can give people a dream as an unrealistic being. All that remained was to sit in front of the camera wearing a sailor suit that shone like the Northern Lights and a smile that I would never normally wear.
A ray of light, illuminating the chaotic internet of today Bringing happiness to the otaku floating in this electronic sea A promise of future peace - manic and moody but it’s alright The Internet Angel has descended!
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"Hey cuties! I'm your loving neighbor, KAngel!" When I said, "hey cuties," the chat started to speed up with [hey kangel] all at once. The fans are so well organized and righteous. Thanks to them, I can be a pious angel today. There is no God on the Internet, though.
"Today... I have a job for you! I've just released an analog record with my songs on it! Isn't it amazing? In this day and age, it's a record, a record! It's this big!"
[I made a reservation!] [Wow!] [I want one too!]... The chat is very honest. I feel the purity of the comments, and I like the casual comments like this. I would like to respond to the flow of comments as much as I can.
"I've never played records before either, but I took this opportunity to buy a player! Now I can joke around until morning while listening to the songs of KAngel..."
[I think I'll get one too.] [What's a record?] [A one-man show?] The chat is flowing like a waterfall tonight. As long as I am riding this stream of water, I am happy to imagine that I am there as a comfort to the viewers. There are many hardships and suffering. Even in the most enjoyable streams, fatigue and stress can build up. But I still can't imagine myself quitting because I feel the value of my existence through this connection with an unspecified number of people.
Tonight, along with tens of thousands of other geeks, I'll be spending another late night...
~~~~~
I turn off the feed, shut down the computer, take off my wig, and change into my casual clothes. The reflection in the mirror on my desk is, of course, not an angel, but my usual self. I am a lusty lump of flesh that none of the tens of thousands of geeks know about.
I was once slammed by someone who said, "All content creators are fakers." That's what unimaginative idiots always say. If you really think it's easy enough to get paid for playing in front of a screen, you should start too. Can't you think of how narrow the bar is to get to the upper echelon where you can make a living in this world? You can't understand how hard it is to play the role of a cheerful and humorous fool on purpose so that your audience doesn't see you suffering, so you can only get approval by slamming others anonymously like that.
...I don't care about slander I've seen a hundred million times, but the word "fictitious business" is the only thing that bothers me. It seems to be the opposite of a real business, and refers to a business that is not solid and leaves nothing behind. But, in the case of video distribution, all that is left is the video. Well, there are some goods. It is certainly a profession that is far from solid.
So, is KAngel a "fiction"? A rather strong collective hallucination created by the lost lambs of the Internet. Of course, it is based on my body and mind, but the coated surface cannot be denied as a fiction.
I'm sorry I'm a fictional, lying entity. ...but no one can see me in real life. I have no choice but to do so.
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Finding material for daily content is important. The key to content is numbers, and during the day, I choose topics to talk about and go left and right before the nightly live time. When there is nothing going on, I wander around the city like this. It is good to stay in my room and wander around the Internet, but sometimes I am attacked by the image of the exhaust heat from my PC entering my body and making my mentality heavier than ever. In such a case, it's a good idea to go downstairs.
Today, I decided to go to Shibuya. By the way, I heard that the billboard for the sponsorship I had accepted recently was on display in front of the station. I wade through the crowd and stand in front of the station. On one of the walls supporting the Shibuya station, there's KAngel with a can in her hand and a big smile on her face.
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Young girls noticed KAngel and said, "How cute!" They were so excited. Some of them were even taking selfies with the bottles of natto-flavored cola that KAngel promoted. Everyone loves the Internet Angel so much. The lump of flesh standing right next to me, not looking like KAngel, was out of my sight.
That cola... didn't taste good. I drank it because it was for a sponsorship, but if it wasn't for work, I wouldn't put even a drop in my mouth unless I was tortured. The KAngel in the ad was holding it with a smile on her face, and the girls who were influenced by it were happily buying it. I have never seen such an expression on their faces. The girls are leaving after taking a selfie in front of the advertisement of KAngel. I wonder how they would react if they knew that their favorite KAngel was right next to them? I wonder if a heavenly being might be watching over everyone like this.
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It's a short walk to the scramble crossing.
This is an unlucky place for content creators. The odd behavior of streamers who tried to stand out at this place was repeatedly roasted, and the air was filled with a miasma that bad things would happen if you filmed at this place. Well, it doesn't matter to me because I rarely take pictures outside.
But then, the residents of the Internet are also heartless, aren't they? They consume Internet content day in and day out, but the moment the creators lose their balance, they flip-flop and slam them like demons. For example, if KAngel posted a plan to sleep on a futon in the middle of an intersection, a storm of criticism would pour in, saying, "Don't you think about the inconvenience to passersby!" Of course, it's not the fault of the person who gets flamed, but.... But why don't they at least give a little consideration to the feelings of those who have to walk this tightrope every time they do it?
The Internet is a tough place.
It's so easy to say, "This is interesting!" "A new talent" "Definitely a genius". But if the wind changes direction for a moment, the same mouths and hands are used to belittle others. I wonder if people who just repeatedly consume on the spot have any faith at all.
One day, I, too, may be consumed to the point of being thrown away like a toy that I have had enough of playing with.
It is sad to be an Internet Angel.
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"Hey cuties! I'm Scramble Angel, KAngel! Today I went to Shibuya on my own! What a surprise! In front of the Shibuya station, there was a poster advertising the natto-flavored cola I drank the other day. Isn't it cute?"
[cute] [I saw it] [I took a picture with it]... Fans responded to the angel's call. The wave of positive feedback is so pleasant that I even feel a kind of sanctity. A slightly religious and dangerous thought. "Shibuya was so crowded that I got super tired... Angels can't stand the air down there for long. I'm more tired than usual, so please heal me."
[Good night!] [Good job] [I'm always ready to listen] Colored comments start mixing in. Prominent comments with money attached: superchats. By posting highlighted comments with money, you can be easily picked up by me, or you can simply feel the comfort of having made an offering. It's all about self-satisfaction at the end of the day, but if it makes people happy, then it's a good thing. I am providing them with contents and cuteness that are worth it, so I should be proud of it.
By using the superchats I receive as my flesh and blood, a part of the recipient's wallet becomes a part of KAngel's. This feeling of togetherness must be very comfortable. This sense of oneness must be very comfortable for them. At first I felt a little sorry for the superchat culture, but recently I have come to respect it. The fact that I am instilling faith in others and making them feel better by doing so is a religion in itself, but it is also one of the few good deeds I can do.
For this reason, I try to be the sweetest angel in front of the camera.
~~~~~
After the stream, Ame-chan... returns to her normal self. After the broadcast, I try to go to sleep quickly after checking my reputation via vanity searching, but I can't sleep so easily due to the stress of being manifested as an angel. Even when I get under the covers and try to close my mind, I can feel the opinions of the Internet entering my brain, and I can no longer fall asleep so easily. This feeling increases as the number of my followers increases. Each time this happened, the number of medications I had to take at the hospital increased.
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Tonight, as usual, I cannot sleep. I keep having flashbacks to those fans who took selfies with the poster, who didn't recognize me. I need to take my medicine. I take more psychotropic and sleeping pills than usual. A few pills are swallowed by water, passed down the throat and digested in the stomach. The ingredients travel through the bloodstream and stimulate the brain. They gradually blur your consciousness so that you don't have to think so hard. The sensation of a cool chill in the back of my head. I don't mind it.
There is still time before I feel completely sleepy. I get up to go to the bathroom, stagger my steps, and jump up when I see my face in the bathroom mirror.
For a moment, my face looked like KAngel's.
I had already taken off my makeup and wig, but in the mirror I saw myself smiling at me, my pink and light blue twin-tail hair swinging. I looked down in horror and saw my hair in the drain, glistening gold, and I let out another hiss. Slowly... I took a deep breath and looked back at the mirror to see a frightened downer girl on the other side of it, and the hair in the drain was black. Thank God, I'm "Ame-chan" now.
~~~~~
Returning to my futon, I think about the current phenomenon. My ego and the ego of the KAngel are assimilating. My two brains are melting together, as I am forced to spend my days going back and forth between the lump of flesh and the angel. Both of them are me, but neither of them is me.
In other words, I don't need the "Ame" persona. The one who entertains and leads the otaku is KAngel, and I am merely one of the parts that assist her activities. I am merely an auxiliary part of her activities, because none of the viewers are looking at me. The number counter is growing by the thousands and thousands, but not a single one of them knows "Ame". Unlike KAngel, I am not needed. No one will be sad if I die right now. The only people who will be sad are the fans who will mourn the disappearance of KAngel from the internet. I'm sure they will be chasing after another streamer in a few months.
Breathing is labored. My heart is beating loudly. The more I think about it, the more my thoughts loop, and I can't stop ruminating on the voice that says, "I don't want you." I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't want to do this.
Somehow, I reach up from the bed, take a pill from the sheet of sleeping pills, and swallow it in one gulp. Oh, my head is getting fuzzier and fuzzier. This sensation must be a nightmare. Since childhood, I have strangely had the ability to foresee nightmares just before falling asleep. Tonight, too, I must endure suffering even in my dreams. Please help me...
~~~~~
A pure white space. The usual me. I find myself sitting in a chair, with KAngel sitting in the chair across from me. She is smiling as usual.
"Hey cutie!"
The angel greets me. Her pink and light blue twintails twinkle. I thought it was a beautiful color scheme.
"You don't have to greet me like that. There are no viewers here, only me watching you." "I see. I'm sorry, Ame-chan."
Even so, she never changes her expression. The angel always has a smile on her face.
"There's no need to apologize, I know you're doing your best..." "That makes two of us, doesn't it?" "I don't know. I'm just a dime-a-dozen girl with a rotten personality... Nobody would approach me wandering Shibuya, unlike KAngel." "You're also KAngel." "I'm not KAngel." "You're also KAngel." "I'm not KAngel. Still, I'm part of it." "No-no, we're the same." "KAngel is pure, unlike me. The whole world - the whole internet - loves you." "Ame-chan, doesn't that fit you as well? Because you are me." "That's why there's a clear difference between me and you." "So, it's because I'm a beautiful person who many people like?" "That's right." "I like Ame-chan." "I told you I was impure." "Even if you're impure or a sinner, guiding you is my role as a guardian angel." "You don't have to protect me." "Uh-huh. I'll still protect you, because if you're hurt, I'm hurt." "I'm the only one who should be hurt. I'll make sure it doesn't affect your brand, KAngel." "That's impossible. You and I are one. We're inseparable partners for life." "I'll give you myself. Earlier today, I panicked because I wasn't sure which of us was the main personality. If our partnership is to be like this, then I'd rather give you my entire soul." "No. If you did that, I'd surely cease to exist. Both of us would disappear, annihilated."
Before I knew it, she grasped my hand.
"What would happen if we both disappeared?" "Maybe when you wake up, it'll be in a hospital bed. It'd probably be difficult to stream for everyone after that." "KAngel, what should I do?" "I think it's the other way around. What should I do, Ame-chan?" "I don't know." "Do you like me, Ame-chan?" "Sometimes I hate you, but I still like you." "More than anything else?" "No, I think there are quite a few things that take precedence over you." "Do you like being by my side?" "I don't think I do. After all, the way I see it, your existence is too beautiful. It looks unnerving." "Do you like staring at me?" "I like doing that. You have a nice face. We have the same face, so I'm just being egotistical... I think I'm properly pretty." "Do you think I'm dumb?" "I don't think so. I'm just playing the fool for the viewers. The real fool is me, who I can't tune out such things." "Do you think I'm attractive?" "Yes. So much so that tens of thousands of fans come to see you. Every single ribbon is lovely, you look so complete." "Is that true?" "It's true. I'm you and you're me, so I won't lie." "Do you like me?" "I like you." "Do you really love love looove me?" "Yeah, I really love love looove you!" "...Then, it's okay."
She stopped holding her hands with mine, and rolled up her long sleeves to reveal her arms. KAngel's arms weren't the skin of a pure white angel, but a ragged and scarred mess of red lines running down.
"I told you, didn't I? You and I are the same. I'm hurt, and I'm impure, too."
KAngel never fails to smile, even during times like these.
"I will save the internet, but only you can save me."
She smiled her most beautiful smile of the day, and then - as if ascending to the heavens - she disappeared.
~~~~~
I will be an Internet Angel again tonight.
Wearing a blonde wig, an aurora-colored uniform, and rocking pink and light blue twin-tails.
"Hey cuties! It's the Internet Angel, KAngel!"
[hey kangel] [hey kangel] [hey kangel]... The nerds cheerfully return greetings today. A smile from the angel on camera.
One comment, [I had a dream about KAngel yesterday!!!] was a superchat with a red frame. The red frame represents the largest amount. They must have been so happy to have met KAngel in their dream. I want to pick up such a comment.
"I was in your dream? Ha ha! Angels sometimes appear in dreams to tell us various things. Most of the time, their words and deeds are inexplicable, but that is because they are faithfully carrying out God's will on their behalf. So remember what the KAngel in your dream told you. That's the sign God gave you."
[I wish I could meet you in my dreams.] [Is there a God?] [Angels are so clumsy!] ...The comments rolled in.
"Come to think of it, I've been doing a lot of chit-chat lately. Today, I'll give you an angel's commentary! Like an angel, I've been studying Gods. Do you know who is the best wrestler in the world at taking on other people's attacks?"
In the chat, many names of wrestlers were mentioned. I have no knowledge of wrestling at all, so I'll just let it slide and move on to the main topic.
"It's Jesus Christ. Christ is the greatest wrestler, for he has been bombarded with so many people's emotions, and he returned them all with love... that's written in a comic book!"
The entire Internet was abuzz with every word and phrase of KAngel. Accepting all the intrusive love from fans and slander from the anti-fans, the Internet Angel was flapping her wings in the window again tonight.
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Maybe it's because of the religious discussion I had last night, but I kind of wanted to see a church. I heard that there is a rather large church a few stops away by train that is open to visitors. I thought it might be good material for something, so I went there immediately.
The stained glass windows engraved with religious paintings are majestic, especially beautiful when the light coming through the cross-shaped skylight forms the shape of a cross on the floor. Walking ahead of the light, you will see a large, large, real crucifix. This is the most important religious symbol of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
I have a vision of KAngel crucified on that cross. Her pale skin glows bewitchingly with red scars, her usual smile has ceased, and her eyes are closed in peace.
I slowly lower the hallucinogenic KAngel from the cross. I take her in my arms and whisper to her.
"I love you. I really love, love, love you."
The angel opened her blue eyes for a moment, looked at my face in relief, closed them again, and fell asleep peacefully.
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annymation · 2 months
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Taking advantage of the fact that you enjoy writing about AU (I love reading them)
I would ask you what you think a conversation between Star Asha and Star Aster would be like.
But I think they would rather spend it singing and dancing in the air
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Dang ya'll really be here giving me scenarios I didn't even think of, Star!Asha and Aster two cutie sunshine children, their adorableness would be unmatched!
So let's see how that'd go!
Asha and Aster are both two stars in the sky, with one thing in common, they're both fascinated by earth.
Space may be infinitely huge, but news spread fast among the stars, and when they hear about one another, they both begin their search to find each other, find someone that thinks like them, someone that will listen to their endless ramblings about how amazing earth is.
Eventually, they do meet, Asha sees a small and young star just like her, floating around as he gazes down on the distant blue and green planet she's so fascinated by
(Imagine that their physical human forms are kinda ghostly drawn around their shiny star center, since they're in the sky and star's only take a human form when they come to earth)
"Umm excuse me..." Asha mumbles shyly "Are you... That star who has only been wished upon once?"
Aster didn't turn his gaze away from earth yet, but upon hearing that question they couldn't help but roll their eyes, thinking this is just another brighter star with nothing better to do than to make fun of him "... Yup, the one and only. It's not like all of us get to be bright and visible" he blurts out frustratingly while still looking down
Asha kinda understands where his tone is coming from, as she feels the same frustration "Yeah I know that feeling, my light is also very weak... And I too only got wished upon once"
That caught Aster's attention. He turns around to see her.
The two now face to face stop for a moment of surprise and awe, seeing how beautiful their "auras" are.
Asha continues, while approaching the other star slowly "I've been waiting for another one, any wish that could take me down there" Asha points to the planet bellow them "So I could see up close, all the things they build, the music they play, the flowers they plant..."
Aster shines brighter upon listening to her, she spoke like she could read his thoughts "Y-yeah! I always wanted to see the flowers too! And the rivers, the sea, all the animals-"
"THE ANIMALS! Yes! Oh what would I give to pet a sheep, they look so fluffy like the clouds!" Asha gushes over her dream, the star is blinking like she can't contain her own exccitment
"OH MY GALAXY, I KNOW RIGHT???" Aster is overjoyed, finally someone in this vast space that sees the beauty of the little things in that planet.
The two stars go on for hours on end, sharing all their passions and dreams of what they'd do one day when they got wished upon... But now that they've found each other, suddenly living in space isn't so boring anymore.
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foxgirl95 · 2 months
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Back Into The Fray CH.4: A Night on Nowhere
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Chapter Description: !!Time skip!! Post-Season One-Pre-Season Two
Reuniting on Port Nowhere, Mando needs a friend and a well deserved nap.
AO3 Link
<< Previous Chapter - Next Chapter>>
First Chapter
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After the events of Nevarro, The Mandalorian was tired, very tired. For the first time in over a cycle, he wasn't running from anyone. Not from his past, not the other bounty hunters, and not those damned imps. He needed a break but as that was true so was the fact he had a kid to take care of. As much as he came to care for the little guy he cursed the magic or whatever it was that gave him boundless energy. Searching for the Jedi was not going well either, it seemed that just like him very few people knew what they even were in the first place. So frustration was another emotion he had to add to his current state. He knew what he needed, to find other Mandalorians. If his Armorer knew the stories and songs of the time when the two races had been at odds that meant someone else had to have heard them as well. He’d hit a wall there too, it seemed his people were even rarer than he thought. However, there was one place that crossed his mind but that was a den of rather unsavory individuals. Then again that's what some people have said about him too. Normally he wouldn't hesitate in this kind of decision but now he had to consider his foundling’s safety. He wrestled with the idea but in the end, it was the only lead he had. So as he brought the Razor Crest out of hyperspace slowly approached his next destination, Port Nowhere. The spaceport had been around for as long as anyone alive could remember drifting aimlessly through space and it had always been where the outside galaxy had no hold. He pulled his ship into one of the decks and disembarked onto the artificial streets, the floating pram of his founding following behind.
Already knowing where to start as he walked up to the first bar in his path. The Mandalorian could hear a crowd inside shout excitedly and he walked in to find all the patrons surrounding what he presumed to be a table from how tightly they were gathered. They all cheered until the crowd parted and a drunk Rodian fell back from their chair onto the floor. “The woman wins!!!” One man shouted as the crowd went wild with a mix of cheers and groans. A particular few were genuinely angered at their loss. The winner stood up on her chair above them and Mando had to do a double take. He almost didn’t believe it but that bright pink hair and those emerald green eyes confirmed it “Alright everyone, credits in the bag! C’mon, let’s go!” The woman shouted holding her drawstring purse open to the crowd as they dumped a collection of currency into it. He could hear the beeping of her droid at her feet before a reluctant patron was shocked into giving up his money. As the crowd started to clear he noted the stack of shot glasses on the table wondering just exactly how drunk she may be. Finally finding his voice, the Mandalorian called out to her “Anai…?” Immediately her head snapped in his direction and the look of confusion on her face was soon replaced with a bright smile “Mando?!” Delighted to see the man she nimbly jumped down, showing no change from her usual demeanor, holding her arm out to him repeating the same gesture from the last time they parted “What are you doing on Nowhere?” She asked to which Mando shrugged “I could ask you the same question.” Anai smirked as she put her hands on her hips, “Touché.” Her droid, Racket if Mando remembered right, was surprisingly just as excited to see them as she was. He circled the group happily letting out a series of happy beeps and whistles as the child poked his head out of the pram. Anai reached out to the little one bringing him close to her chest in a soft hug “Oh and I missed you so much cutie!” She nuzzled him lightly.
Turning back to Mando she nodded her head towards a booth along the wall where he saw her backpack resting on one of the seats “Come sit with me?” He gestured for her to lead the way as they both took a seat across from one another “I heard about something interesting that went down on Navarro.” Anai stated as she placed the child on the table between them “About some leftover imps and a Mandalorian?” She leaned forward, her arms crossed on the tabletop. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?” Mando shrugged tipping his head to the side as if to say “I’m not gonna confirm or deny”
“Maker Mando…” Anai took his reaction as a yes, cursing under her breath “Well Dank Farrik, why wasn’t I invited? Taking on imps? I would’ve been all over that!” Her stained lips formed a pout now upset she had missed out. He again shrugged, “Actually you were. I went back to Ukio, but you were already gone.” Her pink-dyed eyebrows raised “Oh…so I guess you saw the mess I left behind then?” She sighed, pulling her hands up to rub her temples. “He deserved it, karillja…” Mando noted the way her tone changed from its usual playfulness to genuine anger “What happened?” He asked, feeling his fists tighten against his leg in anticipation. “Kriffing creep made a move on me, I said no and he didn’t like that. So we tussled, I may have let that boy on Tatooine get the jump on me but I wasn’t about to let that happen again.” She paused leaning back in her seat “I got him good, took what Racket and I were owed, jumped the next ship out of orbit, and then we got dumped here.” She gestured to their surroundings as she spoke, the droid parked next to her grunting in anger. The woman smiled and reached out to pat Racket’s head lightly, instantly calming him “Don’t go blowing your circuits over that guy, he’s not worth it.”
“I should’ve killed him.” The modulated voice of Mando suddenly interjected. Anai raised an eyebrow “What?” There was a long pause, Mando didn’t even seem to realize he had said that out loud “I…uh…” he spoke awkwardly wanting to disappear into his seat in embarrassment. The child between them swiveled his head back and forth cooing curiously at what was going to happen. “Mando?” Anai’s voice snapped his view back to her “Did you do something to him?” He started bouncing his leg under the table debating on telling her the truth. The Mandalorian watched as she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, her tone now serious “Better tell me now before it comes back to bite me in the ass.” She had a point there, who knew what his actions would lead to? “I shot him.” He suddenly blurted out to which Anai slammed her hands against the table causing the little one to fall on his rump “YOU SHO-“ she stopped herself as the heads of the other patrons turned towards their table. She sat back in her seat and took a deep breath before calmly continuing “You shot him?” She asked, Mando nodding to confirm. Anai was at a loss as she asked him “Why? He wasn’t even worth an imps ammunition let alone yours. What possessed you to do that?”
“He tried to buy me, knew about me being with the guild, and was willing to pay me to bring you back to him.” The green-eyed woman sat there stunned with a look of disgust slowly clouding her features “Oh? Well yeah, now I’m glad you shot him. Should’ve led with that.”
Her attention was grabbed by the child on the table who pouted in her direction, probably a little peeved about being knocked to his rump a moment ago. The woman’s features instantly softened “Aw! I’m so sorry little one!” She reached over pulling the child into her side like a mock hug “Did I make you fall? I’m sorry.” The way her voice sounded so sickeningly sweet as she spoke to his foundling irked Mando a bit. It reminded him of how those snooty people in the inner rim spoke to their pets. “You like children.” He spoke again as the two across from him settled into their new position. Anai shot an indiscernible glance his way before nodding “Yeah I guess, I spent a good chunk of my early life raising a few.” Mando wasn’t expecting that. “You’ve had your own?” The woman scoffed into a laugh as she shook her head “Oh Maker no.” She huffed “No where I come from it’s customary to help raise the children in your village.” The man nodded in understanding “The planet of Noneya?” He teased earning him a smirk from across the table “The very same.” After a quiet moment, Mando watched Anai as she lightly stroked one of the child’s ears. She was so touchy with his foundling that it made his mind wonder what it would be like to be in that position, to be held or have his hair lightly stroked and soothed by another. “You never answered my question Mando”, Her voice brought him back to reality, those bright green eyes of hers watching him curiously “What are you doing in Nowhere? It’s not a job is it?” He shook his head “Not a job, I’ve been tasked with returning the foundling to his people.” Anai nodded as she started putting the pieces together “Okay, and Nowhere can be a good place to get that information. Well for the right price in most cases.” Mando knew that all too well with all his prior underworld dealings “My people have stories of others like him, I’m hoping to start with finding other Mandalorians.” The woman let out a sympathetic sigh, “Well, I haven’t seen any besides you since I got here.” He’d figured that too “Is there anyone you know here that just might have? Or at least have access to that information?” She looked down at the table as she drummed her fingers against it in thought “Actually…Yeah,” Anai and her droid locked gazes for a moment before facing him again “There is a guy.” The Mandalorian noted a slight hesitancy in her voice “Do you consider him reliable?” That question earned him a scoff “Are you kidding? Hell no, but he’s all I’ve got for you and he owes me.” She reached over pulling her backpack up onto her shoulder “C’mon, I’ll show you the way.”
They both stood, Anai placing the child back in his pram before heading onto the streets once again. Walking behind his guide the beskar-clad man was able to give her a once over noting a new belt and a small blaster adorning her waist. He mused the thought that the woman was slowly replacing what little of an arsenal she might’ve once owned. She led their little troop through the winding pathways, the area becoming more and more devoid of people. Mando was starting to feel that familiar tug at the back of his mind as they approached a building surrounded by an abundance of droid parts “Who is this contact of yours, again?” The woman turned back to him with a smirk “Getting nervous Mando?” She laughed lightly “Don’t worry, this guy’s a nut for droids but they’re just trophies, none of them function anymore.” She lifted a tarp covering the doorway and a blaster shot suddenly hit the wall next to it. Racket screamed out in surprise as the Mandalorian grabbed Anai’s arm dragging her behind him and pulling out his weapon “And a lousy shot too.” She quipped from behind the shield of beskar. “I’d step right back out of my home if I were you!” A male voice called out from the darkness “Naj Koresh!” The woman called back “It’s Anai! So stop shooting and get your Abyssin butt out here!” *Koresh..?* Mando was certain he had heard that name before but he couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t have much time to think about it either as a portly cyclops emerged from the shadows, the arm of a droid modified into a blaster in his hands “Oh! It’s you girl…and a Mandalorian…” He tossed his blaster on a nearby counter and put his hands on his hips. “You’ll have to forgive me, after our last encounter I've been a little on edge.” Anai ducked under Mando’s raised arm stepping in front of him “I came to collect Naj.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke “We need information.”
The shorter of the two crossed his arms as well “I don’t know if you’ve noticed girl.” He spoke with a spiteful tone “But I am in the business of droids, not information.” His eye traveled past the woman to Racket coming into the entranceway. “My offer still stands, I’d be more than happy to-'' Anai raised a hand quickly cutting him off “Forget it, my astromech is not for sale and never will be.” She grabbed the front of his shirt roughly pulling him up toward her level. “And don’t forget what I said would happen, if you ever tried to steal him from me again.” Mando watched the interaction silently, figuring it  wasn’t any of his business. Anai shoved the Abyssin back as she let him go “Now, I know you have connections all over the outer rim and I know you hear things.” Naj huffed while fixing the front of his shirt “And just what exactly is this information you think I’ve heard?”
“Mandalorians.” Mando spoke bluntly as he took a step closer “We are trying to locate more of my kind.” The portly alien huffed “More Mando’s? You don’t seem to be aware but you’re a dying breed young man.”
“Either you know something or you don’t,” The green-eyed woman interjected “Which is it?” Naj gave her a look before nervously scratching his rounded belly “Well, I have not seen or heard of anyone head to toe in beskar. But my cousin has recently mentioned the sighting of one.” Anai cocked her head to the side “Cousin? Is he on Nowhere too?” Naj shook his head “No girl, he’s a planetside type. Got a whole big operation and everything, he’s so busy most of the time it’s a miracle to hear from him in the first place.” Mando exchanged a look with his female companion stating “So I’m guessing a quick call is out of the question.” Of course, it was, why would it not be? “I can give you coordinates and put in a good word for you, but if I’m honest…” The balding alien gestured to the pram floating beside the Mandalorian “It’s not really a place you wanna bring a kid.”
“The child is in my care,” Mando spoke bluntly with a roughness lacing his tone “He does not leave my side.”
His words of warning worked to great effect as he towered over the cyclops who shifted nervously in his shadow. He finally stepped back towards the entrance catching sight of Anai out of the corner of his eyes, having to stop himself from stumbling over his feet as he saw her lips creep up into a soft smile. What was she doing to him? Mando had been questioning such things since the last time they parted. He even questioned the possibility of her being Jedi too. Maybe it was some weird thing they could do, to fill people with thoughts and emotions they normally wouldn’t have. It was like the kid all over again as if something was slowly creeping its way through his body slipping past what he thought was an impenetrable wall of beskar that surrounded him. *No.* He couldn’t let it happen again, his foundling as one thing he was a defenseless kid, Anai was an adult and very capable of helping herself. Besides, he had learned his lesson the last time he decided to play that game. The Mandalorian was suddenly brought back from the frantic thoughts as he felt a tug at his sleeve. His visor snapped in that direction to meet with the curious green of Anai who was currently pinching the fabric of his sleeve to get his attention. “You alright there Mando?” She cocked her head to the side curiously as her eyes searched his being for any signs of distress “Racket’s got your heading, let’s get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.” He watched as she walked past him and stood his ground for a moment. The Mandalorian was about to go against his better judgment and he hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.
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On their way back towards civilization, the two adults remained utterly silent much to the disappointment of the little one who floated in the parm between them. Mando had continued to internally contemplate what he should do about Anai when he felt the unmistakable sense of danger creeping up his back. All of his senses were now on full alert, and that was when he heard it, the sound of boots behind them. The Mandalorian used his peripheral vision to check the woman beside him whose features held no indication if she had felt it as well she looked utterly calm. As they continued along he also happened to notice shadows on the opposite ends of the alleyways they passed by. They were approaching a blind corner, someone would be waiting, he was sure of it. As predicted when they got close enough the towering figure of a Chargrian male walked into their path holding a blaster toward them. Mando recognized him as one of the unlucky patrons from the bar, the very one who Racket had shocked into giving up his credits “Remember me?” He stared down Anai and her droid as he spoke almost completely ignoring the Mandalorian. The man stepped forward as the group who had been following them began to close in “I don’t know how you did it girl, but you cheated me and my friends out of our credits.” Two men started approaching closer from behind Racket whimpered and shuddered as he rolled closer to his master. “Now then, we’ll be taking back the money you stole and maybe we’ll let you and your friends live.” As they got closer Mando’s hand went to his holster, loudly clicking the safety off causing the ones closest to him to stop in their tracks. His other hand pulled his foundling's pram closer as his helmet smoothly swiveled to each of them. His lips parted to speak but he was quickly cut off by the sound of…laughter?
The laughter was of a wicked nature; it caused an air of spite and ridicule to encircle all those in its vicinity. It was cold enough to send a shock through one’s system and for the Mandalorian, it ran through him twice when he realized it was coming from beside him. He looked over to his companion to confirm and sure enough, Anai was holding her stomach with one hand while the other hovered over her mouth. “The kriff are you laughing about?” The horned man bellowed, shoving the muzzle of his blaster towards her “You think this is funny? Are you making fun of me?” After taking a moment to finally compose herself the pink-haired woman looked up at the taller alien “Yeah, I am.” She stated coolly even the usual brightness of her eyes was gone now shadowed by, Mando could feel that creeping feeling from before icily climbing up his spine. This was wrong, this was not the Anai he had come to know. His thoughts were brought to a halt as the woman spoke again “Look at you, you showed up with your little army and everything. Did you feel so intimidated by me and my friend here that you needed backup?” She sighed and shrugged her backpack off her shoulders, “Alright if you want it so badly you can have the money.”  Anai dug into the pack producing her purse as the contents inside jingled around “Geez there’s a lot in here. How are you guys gonna split all this?” The assailants looked at each other in questioning before turning to their leader as she continued “I mean you could all get your credits back but what about the rest? Someone here is bound to walk away with more than everyone else…Then again…” Her attention went straight to the man in front of her “Maybe that’ll be your fee for being head of the whole operation?” *Oh. So that’s what she was up to*, he watched as the others in the enemy party started to turn to each other. He could practically hear the cogs in their heads turning as their thoughts turned to greed. Luckily the towering male in front of them paid them no mind.
Anai held her purse out to the leader “Here, hope it was worth all the trouble.” As the Chargrain lifted his hand when one of his lackeys came up and snatched the bag making a run for it “Hey! Come back here traitor!” The leader barked as he turned on his heel and ran after the lackey, the others joining in the chase. Mando watched with some amusement before once again feeling a tug on his sleeve, “Quick!” Anai commanded as she pulled him towards the alleyway “Before they realize there are only bolts in that bag.” She was already pushing the giggling foundling’s pram in that direction and Racket had taken off leading them down a new route. The Mandalorian couldn’t help but chuckle as he quickly followed after them through the maze of alleys and back roads avoiding the main route back to the hangar. It may have taken longer but they arrived safely to where The Razorcrest was parked, Mando taking a moment to make sure they truly weren’t followed. His gaze then went to the woman standing next to him “They’re going to come back for you.” He stated to which she only smirked “You think I don’t know that?” Once again she didn’t seem all that worried about having to face them. He was worried though, he didn’t want to leave her here to face them on her own, and he didn’t want to leave her to die in this place. “Come with us. Help me complete my quest.” The Mandalorian spoke in an almost pleading tone, surprising Anai as she stared up at him before her features melted into a sympathetic smile “I’m a package deal remember?” She gestured to Racket “We can’t ask that of you.” The astromech sighed sympathetically in agreement. “I…I’ve been re-evaluating.” He admitted, “There was a droid who changed my perspective and I’m starting to see that there’s a lot more to them than I initially believed.” He heard a huff of laughter from Anai as the next sentence flowed from her tongue “We had a saying in the rebellion,…never underestimate a droid.” That familiar brightness of her eyes returned as she spoke, much to the armored man’s relief. He reached a hand to usher her towards the ship when suddenly a bolt of blaster fire ricocheted off his pauldron making them both jump in surprise. The lackeys from before were running up to them blasters drawn and shooting “GO! Get to the ship!” Mando ordered Anai pushing her and the child’s pram towards The Crest luckily she complied as he drew his blaster returning fire. He managed to take down two of them before they took cover behind some crates, he too ducking behind some machinery close to the ramp.
Anai along with the child and Racket had managed to scramble to the hull, Mando felt some relief at least in there they were covered. That was until he heard the sound of a struggle, the woman was fighting someone and he heard the telltale cry of distress from his kid. Panic set into his chest, he needed to get in there, he had to save them! He didn’t get much time to think about how to get in there because the next thing he knew she was thrown from the ship landing at the bottom of the ramp with an audible thud. As she groaned in pain the Chargrain leader sauntered down, a prideful smile brimming across his face. Anai pulled her blaster as he came near but the horned alien used one of his strong arms to knock it from her grasp as well as backhanding her cheek in the same motion. Now on her back, the larger man pinned her to the ground with the weight of his heavy boot on her chest “You think you can make a fool out of me?” He questioned her angrily as he leaned forward adding more weight and making her gasp for air. The Mandalorian leveled his blaster at the other man’s horned head “Let her go.” His voice was calm and commanding “Or else.” The leader just chuckled though before raising his blaster towards the ship “Shoot at me Mando and my men open fire on your brat.” Anai’s head snapped to Mando the wide-eyed expression on her face. There was so little he could do, and he cursed himself for it. “Merichetara-“ The gasping words of the woman finally reached his ears, “Forget me,” She begged “The kid…more important.” Mando tightened his grip on his blaster, she was right he couldn’t risk it. “Shut up!” The other man shouted as he shoved his foot under her chin “What’s it gonna be Mando?!” He turned to the beskar-clad man as Anai desperately tried to grab her blaster that was just out of reach, her fingers just barely grazing the grip.
Then suddenly she felt the weight lift from her body. The woman turned her gaze back to her attacker only to find that he was floating right over her. Panic and confusion set as she looked around to confirm everyone else was seeing this too. Her eyes now landed on the small green being at the top of the ship's ramp. There stood the child, his arm outstretched and his features wrinkled in focus. She stared for a moment before she was drawn back to herself hearing her name echo against the walls “Anai, move!” The Mandalorian called out, and in a split second she rolled out from under the man grabbing her blaster, turning to see him unceremoniously drop to the ground. This was it she took the shot, twice for good measure. Then in a flurry, she was grabbed up by the back of her leather jacket and hauled to her feet as she was pushed towards the ship “Go! Now!” Mando shouted his voice pushing her forward as she ran up the ramp scooping the now sleeping child into her arm and scrambled up the ladder. She didn’t even hear the gunfight behind her, she was way too panicked to answer any of the questions Racket asked as she ran to the passenger seat quickly strapping herself in. Her mind was running on autopilot barely registering the Mandalorian as he passed her, starting up the ship and getting them the hell out of there. It wasn’t until they were safely in hyperspace that her eyes finally tore themselves from her feet to stare into the T-visored helmet of Mando that the one question her lips dared to form came.
“What the hell was that?!”
All graphics by: @saradika-graphics
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ceilidho · 10 months
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So I am in the middle of writing a Ghost/Reader fic where he is killed in combat and is revived but comes back Wrong and decides to just go for the cutie nurse who assisted with bringing him back. But I've been reading so much fic I'm having a really hard time feeling like anything I'm writing is original and not just cribbing from the Ghost fic authors I love and admire (you for instance and several others!). I would never publish anything that is stealing from anyone, but wondered if you had any advice for making your own unique spin on a pre-existing character ? I ask because I think you do such a great job, with Ghost and the other characters you write about !
First of all, I think that premise sounds sooooo good and I would absolutely read it.
I have a lot of conflicting thoughts about this btw. I think, to a certain degree, more common fic ideas don’t belong to anyone (like basic tropes like “snowed in with one bed” or “grumpy/sunshine” etc). If you find yourself writing something immediately after seeing a post or reading a story with a similar trope, then definitely add a link to the other work or credit the og writer (or ask permission if it’s actually a super unique idea), but don’t feel like? That should stop you from writing the fic? When it’s a super basic idea. That drives me a bit nuts tbh ESPECIALLY if it’s an idea that’s been floating around fandom space for years and years (off topic but like that freak who tried suing people for writing straight omegaverse like RELAX that’s been online since 2010)
Unfortunately a lot of people mistake possessiveness for originality. I’m guilty of this too! (Not all the time because people can legitimately steal ideas or not credit the author for a good solid story premise, but a good chunk of the time it’s just me feeling salty because I think I own an idea)
I don’t know if I have any cogent tips for writing super original creative fics like hell I just wrote a barista fic. That’s not original at all. But I definitely think reading a lot and learning about things that you normally wouldn’t necessarily care about definitely helps. And jot down notes for yourself whenever you think of something interesting (for instance, last night I started thinking about a gravedigger Ghost and Ghost as a captain on a ship that gets into a really bad storm).
And think about Ghost’s character and really think about how you see him. Sometimes trying to write down completely unrelated headcanons (of Ghost in different situations) can help you flesh out what you think he’d be like. And grounding him in your personal interpretation of what Ghost would be like can help lend your fic some extra spice, something indistinguishably you.
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bwoahtastic · 1 year
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Max babbling away while he’s in subspace and Lewis finds it adorable. It’s just a bunch of nonsense at first but max starts talking about how handsome Lewis is. He’s saying how pretty Lewis’ smile is and his eyes and hair. Lewis just laughing softly at how cute the sub is. He looks so peaceful and happy and Lewis doesn’t want to disturb him while he comes back to the real world. It happens every time after a scene, Lewis just lets Max talk and he never brings it up afterwards, doesn’t tease him about it nothing. It does wonders for his dom side to be praised afterwards so he just bathes in the praise. Max telling Lewis that he loves him after a particularly heavy session. They’re both exhausted and Lewis can tell that Max is sore and strung out. But he’s still babbling away about how lovely Lewis is. Max kisses Lewis’ chest and telling him he loves him before starting up about Lewis’ smile again. And Lewis is left stunned and speechless with his arms around the sub, his sub. He suddenly feels really vulnerable and cracked open. Max is wearing a collar Lewis picked out. His body is littered with the marks Lewis gave him. He’s got Lewis’ cum still in him. He’s wrecked Max and put him back together again. Max who gives him submission so easily. Max who he’s never thought about as anything more than a rival and a sub. Whose subspace brain has just sent Lewis spiraling because now he can’t stop thinking about making Max breakfast and holding his hand. Lewis needs to control himself though, because Max is still floating in subspace and he won’t ever forgive himself if he makes Max drop
Oh plss! Max would be so cute after a scene, deep in his sub space just being a giggly sweet cutie, babbling nonsense at Lewis and gently stroking the dom's cheek or chest while muttering about how pretty Lewis is! Lewis let's him, just smiling back and gently carding his fingers through Max's hair, waiting patiently for Max to fall asleep or to slowly come back out of his subspace. Max is babbling praise at him and it feels so good! The first few times, Max got always panicked when he got out of subspace, but now he just gets tired and a little sad, but by now knows Lewis will give him all the comfort he want and stay with him!
Bur plss! Them doing a very tough scene, with Max wearing a collar for the first time snd having pushed his boundaries a little like he requested. His ass is spanked red and his hole no doubt gaping and Lewis is quietly planning g what he needs to check on when Max comes out of subspace, to make sure he isn't too badly hurt, when Max suddenly kisses Lewis's chest and smiles so adoringly while murmuring he loves Lewis! And Lewis is jn awe because normally Max babbled about his dom or Sir, but now he deliberately said "I love you lewis" and Lewis is ready to cry!
Lewis having to control himself and not let hid mind drift to thinking about having an actual relationship with max when he needs to focus on supporting his sub as he slowly comes back up again. Msx sees Lewis is a little distracted as he washes Max thoroughly in thr bath after to check him over, and asks if he said something silly again...
Lewis blushing and telling him it's okay, he will never use anything Max said against him! And Max goes quiet for a moment and goes "I told you I love you, didn't I? I already expected I wouldn't be able to keep it quiet while in subspace."
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heckyeahponyscans · 2 years
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Thoughts on MYM #5: The Cutie Mark Mix-Up 
Just my thoughts on this MLP episode! :) 
Plot Summary: Sunny and Hitch are officially opening the Community Garden, but they run into some hiccups when the critters displaced from the garden run amuck. Hitch and Sunny both feel the other pony has the easier job, and some dragon magic from Sparky has them trading attitudes--literally!--as well as cutie marks.
Hitch tries to run the smoothie stand and Sunny tries to corral the critters.  They learn to appreciate each other’s differences and their cutie marks return to normal.  Also, Izzy and the others surprise Hitch with a new critter corner playground in the Brighthouse. In all the chaos, none of the ponies realize that Opaline sent a magic mouse into the Brighthouse to spy for her.  She instructs Misty to sneak into the Brighthouse and steal the lantern that Izzy made for Sunny.
Thoughts on the episode:
When I reached the end of the episode, I suddenly realized it was advertising the new toys with the 3D cutie marks, which can be removed and switched around.
Overall I liked the concept of this episode but I thought the execution needed work. The conflicts felt like they needed more escalation / variety, and Sunny and Hitch weren’t the best choice of ponies for the plotline imo.  (Although I was happy to see them do their best-friend handshake again.)
Regarding escalation:  The problem with the animals, for example, could have started with one critter being in the Brighthouse;  the ponies get it outside pretty easily, but when they go inside they find TWO critters.  They can’t figure out how they’re getting in and gradually things spiral from there.  With the smoothie stand, I would’ve liked to see variety like: that one customer who is nice but talks veeery slowly and wants to tell you their life story and holds up the line, a fruit delivery goes wrong (bananas arrive instead of apples) and customers start an angry chant of “AP-PLES! AP-PLES!”, and some kind of mechanical failure, like a blender breaks.  These would all be real struggles for a rulebound pony like Hitch, especially the elements outside his control.
But also, I feel like Hitch and Sunny have known each other for so long that if they were going to have this disagreement, it would already have happened.  Also, Sunny and Hitch both have good people skills; Hitch may be authoritarian at times, but he also greets ponies by name when he trots down the street and asks how their day was.
So instead, I would make this episode about Zipp and Hitch.  Zipp is used to following the beat of her own drum, she is blunt, and she can be dismissive of things that don’t interest her personally.  And Hitch doesn’t usually investigate problems, he usually solves them through conversation or direct orders.
So the way I envision it, the problem of the episode is still the animals infesting the Brighthouse.  Hitch is trying to convince the critters to leave and Zipp is trying to figure out where / why they’re coming in, and they are getting in each other’s way.  They argue and switch cutie marks.
They find doing the other person’s job is way harder than they thought.  Zipp tries to take an abrasive approach to the critters and they go full Home Alone with pranks, while Hitch doesn’t even know where to start investigating.  Finally Zipp tries to speak kindly to a critter (maybe using a “how to influence people” video Pipp made) and Hitch tracks the footprints of a critter to see where it came from, and through their combined efforts they discover that the critters are getting in through the old cellar;  they are attracted by the food stored there and the fact that they can live in a quiet space.  Zipp and Hitch’s cutie marks switch back and their friends build the critter corner, just like in the real episode.
Random notes:
- The pony magic is called flora magic (Earth ponies), flight magic (pegasi), and float magic (unicorns).  It’s interesting to note that none of the unicorns have unique abilities so far, just telekinesis.  I wonder if this will change or not.
- Pear-nana-melons do indeed sound really tasty
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- the ponies look cute lounging in the grass, getting some real Fizzy vibes from Izzy here.
- Opaline says her power is “compromised”
- the lighthouse’s rainbow is “prisbeam power”, which sounds very Transformers
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- the mice remind me of the Rowdy Mouse enemy from Earthbound
- Sunny is extremely cute in the cowboy hat
- Having cutie marks on both sides reaaally would have benefited this episode, as they kept having to make Sunny or Hitch turn around so their cutie mark was facing the camera.
- Seashell shows up reading a book about “a special tree that grows crystals called elements”; I wonder if this will relate to the tree that looked familiar to Zipp. Though it could just be an easter egg.
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- Even though it wasn’t “really” alive, it was horrifying seeing Opaline poof the magic mouse into nothing.  I gasped.  Also, poor Misty. She just wanted a friend.
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ask-healthy-light · 2 years
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*the future two headed alicorn all drunken visit the past and talk to their past selfs*
Over the Limit
Perhaps it was the new responsibility of having one body with two independent minds, maybe it was the increased difficulty of trying to keep in touch with many folks while being unable to be in two places at the same time, even though this used to be possible before, or, it's entirely possible that there was no prior cause, nor ulterior reason, for their rash decisions.
Nevertheless, whatever reason there may have been, if there even was a reason, one evening, the two-headed Alicorn decided to have a drink, which soon turned into two, then three, until eventually, it ended up with a whole bottle of strong liquor being drunk per head, with only one liver to support them both, and they both knew, yet did not care, that it would probably end poorly.
Somehow still managing to walk straight half of the time, rash ideas flowed through their minds, and together, a fit of drunken laughter, they decided to go to restricted section in the Royal Archives of Canterlot Castle, steal the time-travelling spell that Starlight had improved upon, and visit their past selves, to talk, to have fun, to scare them, or whatever idea popped into their mind.
After they got the spell - and had politely waved goodbye to Celestia, who was quietly reading around the corner - the first stop they made in time would be when Twilight had started reading the book about the return of Nightmare Moon, and though they arrived alright in time, space was another matter, as they were hanging from a tree, upside down, looking at Twilight under them.
The younger Twilight, as focused as she was on her books, wouldn't have noticed the strange, two-headed Alicorn, half of whom looked almost exactly like her, had it not been for them letting out a very loud burp, leading to the younger Twilight looking up in horror, and running away in terror, screaming her lungs out, moments before the branch, that Eclipse was hanging from, broke.
After this less-than-flattering first meeting, not wishing to startle any more townsfolk with their visage, Eclipse, while holding and rubbing their heads after their hard and painful drop out of the tree, decided to travel to another time, and as they were stumbling through the streets, when they were finally apprehended by a group of Guards, they used the spell and travelled elsewhere- no, elsewhen.
When they opened their eyes, their vision was clouded by green and darkness, which was suddenly, for a brief moment, illuminated by a bright flash, and when they looked out of wherever they found themselves, they noticed a shape, that looked like Twilight's Cutie Mark and was as bright as the sun, floating downwards from the sky, brightening up the entire area when it touched down.
They realised what this moment in time was, and how important it was, so they decided to stay out of sight and leave them be, making plans in the back of their minds to visit this time at a more suitable moment, preferably when they were able to see just four hooves in front of them instead of six… wait, is that… right? Nevermind, they headed out, heading to another point in time.
Feeling light-headed and dizzy, they decided this would be the last visit they'd make, before more things went awry, so when they found themselves entangled in a curtain, they were very confused, and only after they heard a familiar voice call out to them and help them get unravelled, did they realise where and when they were: Canterlot Castle, after Solar got his Mark.
The young Solar did not, at all, seem phased when seeing Twilight Eclipse, the two-headed Alicorn, who did not appear to be doing well, unable to walk straight, leaning on the Unicorn, as he led them outside for some fresh air, trying to make small talk, though questions about the future, and their current state of being, he did not ask, holding them to himself.
Looking at the drunken Alicorn with concern in his eyes, he encouraged them to head home, back to when and where they came from, and to stay away from the liquor, for it was clear, whatever the cause was for their overindulgence, it would only lead to poor decisions, which the Alicorn accepted and understood, and as they waved goodbye to the young Solar, they said in a quivering voice:
"It was nice to meet you, Solar. Remember to not follow our example."
(Thanks for reading this bonus! If you'd like a story of your own, feel free to send a request!)
Featuring: Solar Eclipse and Twilight Sparkle as Twilight Eclipse from @asktwilighteclipse
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jessicawhitebooks · 2 months
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You can never get over some things, no matter how hard you try to move on with your life.
Stuck to the corner of my mirror like it was the day I left, the photograph of me and Dom at our last high school dance smiled back at me. For the third time since I came home yesterday, I was in tears over it. Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to put it away.
My hands flapped at my face, and I blew air up into my eyes to dry them as I took one step back to look myself over. “For criminy’s sake, Faith. He’s been gone twenty years. It’s time to let him go.”
Sitting at the edge of the bed I slept in as a child, I bent over to put on my designer open-toed heels I spent half my paycheck on.
I was a different person than the little girl who left this room last time, and the whole world was less terrifying from this grown-up woman’s perspective.
The house I once was so embarrassed by was now a treasure chest of happy memories. Smiling at the tiny crack in the window’s corner, I conjured up the image of Dom climbing through it to hold me until I went to sleep when I was too scared.
There was a time when Dad and I only passed each other in the kitchen when he came home from work and I left for school each morning. But he retired from the old quarry six months ago, so he had a few minutes to make sure I got a cup of coffee to take with me. “Good luck today, Faithy.”
I kissed his cheek and picked my folded-over pink fitted blazer off the back of the chair. “Oh, thanks. But it’s not really an interview or anything.”
After I worked the sleeves over my arms, I pulled my hair free from my collar. “I already signed the contract. This is just a meet and greet.”
He curled his lips under as he dug behind his ear and leaned into the kitchen sink. “Yeah, but...” His hand flipped away as he sighed. “You’re bound to run into some folks you used to know, and I’m sure there’ll be lots of questions.”
I reached for the cup and hooked my purse over my arm. “It’s okay. I’m ready.” Tugging the door open, I spun around to wave at him as I backed outside. “Love you. See you later.”
Walking to my dream car I paid cash for when I sold my business a few weeks ago was cool and all.
But it was nothing close to my excitement when Dad and Dom pulled the tarp off the old one they fixed up for my eighteenth birthday. Glancing back in the rearview mirror at the ghosts in the garage windows, I kissed my fingers. “I hope you’re happy wherever you are, baby.”
As soon as I turned left onto the road into town, I found the playground up on my right and my foot slid off the gas pedal for a moment as I spaced out a bit.
A little girl at the fence waved at me as my car trickled by, and I wiggled my fingers back at her. “Aren’t you a cutie pie?”
I was glad to see someone cut down that old scary tree, leaving only a stump behind for the kids to take turns jumping off of. But even gone, it was still a constant reminder that I’d thrown away the greatest thing that ever happened to me. “What an idiot you are.”
Happy, colorful drawings lined the elementary school windows, and I whimpered as I sped by them. “Your kids would have been close to starting high school by now.”
Though I worked at some of the biggest healthcare facilities in the entire country until last month, preparing myself to step inside this tiny four-floor building had my heart fluttering and my hands freezing like I’d never set foot in a hospital before. “Pull yourself together.”
As I inched along the parking lot, I pulled my standard old lip balm from my bag and swiped it across my bottom lip. “No one will probably even remember you, anyway.”
I dropped the tube back into my bag and pulled into the first spot I came to. “Hardly anyone knew who you were back then.”
Perfumed with blooming jasmine, tiny white petals floated down over me as I walked up the sidewalk.
The glass doors parted for me, and I stopped to straighten my hair in the gift shop window until a man with silver streaks at his temples came into view beside me. “Miss Bennett?”
I peeked over my shoulder and smiled at him as I turned around and held out my hand. “Mister Stryker?”
Immediately grabbing it, he flicked his eyebrow at me and urged me toward the elevators. “It’s great to meet you finally. How was the drive back home?”
Walking down the hall was like flipping through the yearbook on my bookshelf, surprisingly. So when the lightbulbs clicked on my old classmates’ heads, I gave each face a nod or a smile as we passed them. “Very long. So, I’m glad I never have to leave again.”
He leaned over to push the up button. “Are you getting settled in okay?”
We both peeked up at the lights to pass the time as I shrugged back at him. “I should have just paid somebody to unload everything for me, honestly. My back is killing me.”
He waited for me to go inside when the doors opened, pushing the button as he backed in. “Yeah, we have to be careful with that at our age.”
This man was at least ten years older than me, and I cringed at all the money I wasted getting my forehead creases flattened out if he thought we were so close. “I don’t think I asked how long you’ve been here. You’re not local. I would remember.”
He shook his head at the door and sighed as the car came to a stop. “No. The university put me in charge when they took this place over a while back.”
I readjusted my purse strap on my shoulder when we stepped outside again. “Well, it seems like you all made out well in the merger."
The management suite dripped with expensive-looking furniture and freshly painted walls. “The place looks fantastic.”
It seemed that a lot of things were different around here. The diner Carolyn waited tables at in high school was an ice cream shop. And the park at the town square had a water fountain and farm stand with handmade candles I’d like to stop and check out.
Yet when I looked up and came face to face with the ghost of Dominic Vasser smiling at me in the doorway straight ahead, he was almost exactly the same as the night he put that ring on my finger. “Oh, my God.”
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countercharmd · 6 months
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@bladesing gets a song from stella's spotify wrapped!
42. something's rattling (cowpoke) - d.eath cab for cutie
To get the little babe to stop crying, one had to be creative. Serendipity had tried nearly everything, going down a mental checklist -- and finding nothing working. When Ilton comes home, the tiefling's picked up the child. He starts humming a familiar tune, one of Cerran's favorites, before diving into the lyrics. A relieved smile crosses his face as the child quiets to listen attentively.
" It's always summer in Baldur's Gate / where I'm behind the moon, and floating in space / but I'm not in hiding, just trying not to be found / so when I hear my name, I never turn around... "
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dreamingofaizawa · 3 years
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Potent
Alpha! Hanta Sero x Fem! Omega! Reader
***18+ Fic***
If you are under the age of 18 please vacate the premises.
Warnings: A/B/O, smut, knotting, marking, breeding kink (sorta? idk it comes with the A/B/O territory), a hint of pregnancy kink, a bit of blood
Word Count: 3.6 k
Author's Note: Ohhhhkaayyy so this has been sitting in my google doc for AGES. I think I started this in...October of last year? It's been sitting there for months and I've lacked the motivation to finish and post it but then I sent in an anon ask to @reinawritesbnha and, being the absolute queen she is, she became the little push I needed to do it. I DID IT FOR REINA!!
Also, this is some of my earliest writing and I only skimmed and edited a little bit of it so if there's a little bit of weird pacing or a strange cutoff where the writing styles clash it's because I haven't touched this piece in months.
Anywho, enjoy~
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It had to happen when you were surrounded by alphas.
Your suppressants flaked out, again, and your scent wafted through the air on the street. Normally It’d be fine for an omega to let their scent float freely around them. But your scent is particularly...potent, even when you weren’t in heat. Not only that, but you weren’t mated yet, your scent glands still bare, and you still didn’t have a pack. To make matters worse, you’re quirkless.
You hadn’t realised what was happening until your path was blocked by an especially large male alpha. You turned around, and there were two more behind you. Fuck. This isn’t good. You took in your surroundings and searched for an exit, but you couldn’t find a way out. There's no way you’d be able to outrun the three very large male alphas.
Probably the worst part is that more alphas are turning their head toward you, taking notice of your lavender honey and rain scent that slowly began turning to a sour swamp. You dared to hope that change would ward off the three cornering you, but they’d already got a whiff of you. Several distressed chirps sounded from your chest, voicing your discomfort, and you glared pointedly at the three alphas as they edged closer to you.
You hate when this happened. Why’d you have to be cursed like this? Your growls only grew, baring your little omega fangs. There’s no way in hell you’d let some stranger scent you, let alone one of these creeps. They wouldn’t take the damn hint and just crept closer to you, calling out to the ‘pretty little omega’ to ‘come have some fun’.
You’re scared now, the involuntary chirps in your chest coming more frequently. None of the other alphas or betas on the street were big enough to face the three, making you a sitting duck and a ragdoll if they wanted you to be. Your claws are small, nowhere near ideal for this situation, but you’d use them if you needed to. With a final low defiant growl you dropped your bag against the wall behind you and readied yourself for a fight.
Suddenly a large body dropped in front of you, his back to you. His scent alone hit you like a freight train, orange zest, mint, tree bark and something earthy. It had your head spinning, nearly sending you into an early heat. He growled, low and powerful, the sound rattling in your chest and making you sink further into the wall behind you. The other three alpha’s scents together were still overpowered by the new alpha before you, and they vanished faster than they appeared.
He turned around and stepped away from you, giving you space to breathe. He kneeled down enough so he was eye level with you, his hands reaching out clearly in an attempt to comfort you, but kept from touching you.
“Are you okay?” The question barely registered, still delirious from his scent, and you’re having a hard time recovering. Large hands grip your shoulders and shake you lightly, your mind beginning to clear with the soothing pheromones he’s releasing.
“Omega.” The command snapped you to attention, your gaze fixated on his own dark irises.
“Are you okay, omega?” You blink, swallow down the lump in your throat, take a deep breath.
“Yeah...I’m okay. Thank you, alpha.” But you’re not quite okay. You need to get home. Fast. The alpha seemed to catch on, probably by your scent that still hadn’t returned to normal. He stands and slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders and wrapping you in his scent. It’s a comforting gesture.
“Let’s get you home.” With a nod you set off, the man walking next to you with a strong, warm hand on the middle of your back.
“What’s your name?” You introduce yourself, and he does the same. His name is Sero Hanta, and now that you’re calm again, you take in just how handsome he is.
Raven hair is pulled back into a small bun, showing off his undercut and strong, sharp jawline. Onyx eyes shine with kindness and playful mischief, and a beaming grin reveals pearly white teeth. He’s incredibly toned, his muscles calmly rippling under the t-shirt that stretched over his chest. You vaguely noticed the strange shape of his elbows, but disregarded it as his quirk. The omega in you is howling, begging for this alpha, his scent invading your senses. But you suppress it quickly, reminding yourself you’d only just met this man.
As you reach your apartment you exchange phone numbers, and he tells you to keep the jacket and use it when you go out to ward off any unwanted attention. You thank him again for helping you earlier, and he waves to you as he walks down the hall and enters the elevator, the doors closing in front of his handsome smiling face.
Despite meeting him only ten minutes earlier your instincts trust the alpha, and you hold the jacket close to your face, breathing in his scent. It’s wonderful, and your inner omega is in love. You find yourself wondering when you’d see him again.
The next few days are riddled with work and calls to your doctor about the strength of your suppressants. You work from home as a secretary for a small company. It’s a miracle you’d found it, too. Nobody wants an omega, let alone a potent one. It’s an alpha’s world, you guess. When this job opening popped up you were ecstatic, so you took it and have been working from home with decent pay for the last five years.
The calls to your doctor were not going as smoothly as your job, though. You leave a message every four hours until she finally calls you back. She was concerned since the suppressants she’d prescribed are the strongest out there, and if your scent was overpowering them they were either defective or your scent glands were overproducing. It wasn’t an immediate threat to your health, it only meant you’d be drawing more attention than you wanted to. Still, it’s annoying and makes life so much harder than it needs to be.
After she prescribed twice the amount, she said she’d look over your tests from the latest visit before she hung up the phone. You groaned once the call ended. You seriously needed a break from your second gender. Taking the prescribed double dose of suppressants, you got ready to go out to the corner cafe to read and drink coffee. Hopefully the new amount will keep steady. You really don’t want to deal with any more aggressive alphas this week. For good measure you pull on Sero’s jacket, allowing his scent to cover you, then grab your keys, phone, wallet and a book and begin the walk.
When you arrive at the cafe you order a hot mocha, curl into the small corner booth and crack open the book. You got lost in the ink and your mind floated along the adventure, putting yourself in the shoes of the main character and leading the mission to take down the corrupt queen who’d framed you for killing the prince of a neighboring kingdom. You were ripped from the fantasy world when a bright, enthusiastic blonde came up and tapped you on the shoulder, making you jump. His smile was as bright as his hair.
“Sorry to scare you cutie, but I couldn’t help but notice that jacket of yours smells an awful lot like my friend Sero!” You smile softly at the blonde.
“Well if we’re talking about the same Sero Hanta, then your nose would be correct. This is his jacket.” His eyes widen as he nods.
“Oh my gosh you must be the omega he keeps talk-” The blonde’s words became muffled by a large hand. A hand that belonged to the very man you were talking about. Sero smiles apologetically down at you as he shoves the blonde back to where you assume they’re sitting.
“Sorry about Kami, he’s… extroverted.” You smile back at him, mostly because you’re happy to see him again.
“It’s no problem at all. He recognized your scent on me.” He looked down and only then realized you’re wearing his jacket, and he beams at you. Then he takes a glance at the booth you’re sitting all alone at, his smile falling just a bit.
“Do you wanna come sit with us?” You take a moment to think about the offer, then agree with a nod. Your omega couldn’t pass up more time with him.
As you approach the booth you notice there are more people with Sero than you anticipated. There were four other people sitting there. Sero introduced all of them from left to right. Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Ashido Mina, and the happy blonde from earlier is Kaminari Denki. You introduce yourself and when Sero slid into the booth, you followed after him.
These five are a tight pack, and you learn they all met in high school. Bakugo’s brash personality made you wary at first, but it didn’t take long to realize he’s just like that with everyone. He makes a bit of a snippy remark, which you easily counter, and he smirks while the rest smile or snicker. It would seem they like you.
You can’t tell what their second genders are, and you mentally kick yourself for even wondering in the first place. Their genders are none of your concern, but you can’t blame yourself when you’re constantly alert because of your own stupid second gender. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait very long to find out.
This time you smell your own scent as it permeates the air around you. You swear under your breath at the stupid suppressants that obviously can’t so their job, and the others snap their gazes to you. You sigh.
“Yeah, that scent is me. My suppressants flaked again. Sorry about that.” They all nodded, seemingly understanding. Sero must have told them about the other day. Of course, it would soon repeat. It didn’t take long for an alpha to take notice of your scent. The man -- why is it always the largest males??? -- strides up to the booth with a cocksure grin and leans down to inhale your scent. You duck away from him, into Sero, and let out an albeit small warning growl that was drowned in Sero and Kirishima’s. He ignored them all the same.
“Hey there little omega, you smell real nice. You wanna come hang with me instead? We can have some fun together with my buddies, what do you say?” The others stayed quiet. They’re going to let you defend yourself before they do anything in case they end up escalating the situation. You turn your head and lift your shoulder, hiding your scent gland.
“I’m not interested, thank you. Please leave me alone.” You hoped to whatever deity watched over you that the man would leave. Before anyone could react the alpha grabbed your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you roughly from your seat. You chirp, your scent turning sour and the entire pack abruptly stands, baring their fangs at the man. It barely registered in your head that Kirishima and Bakugo are alphas, Mina is a beta, and Kaminari is an omega, their fangs giving them away.
The man tightens his grip on your wrist and you cry out, your bones creaking under the pressure. With no other options you did the one thing that would get him to let go, and sank your fangs into his wrist. You jump back into Sero, who wraps an arm around you protectively.
“You bit me, you bitch!” He raises an arm, clearly about to try and hit you, but a large hand grabs his wrist. Surprisingly enough it’s Bakugo, and his growl is laced into his words.
“Leave now, or you lose a hand.” Sero speaks up from above you.
“You might wanna listen, amigo. That’s Dynamight.” The alpha rips his arm from Bakugo’s hold and looks down at you, and you growl at him as he scoffs and walks away, apparently not ready to fight the #2 pro hero over an omega.
You all sit back down and you pull up the sleeve of the jacket to inspect the already forming bruise on your wrist. Your nose wrinkles with a half-angry half-pained snarl. Tenderly, Sero takes your wrist and lightly squeezes the sides of your forearm, against your bones, and your lack of reaction tells him nothing’s broken. Still, he growls at the offending bruise.
“I’m gonna kill him.” You shake your head and put a hand over his.
“It’s not worth it Sero. He’s probably long gone.” You turn to the rest of the pack.
“Thank you for protecting me.” Kirishima is the first to speak.
“Of course! That dude was a jerk. I just hope he doesn’t go around doing that to other omegas.” Bakugo, surprisingly, spoke next.
“Obviously we’d protect you. You’re a potent omega and quirkless, so you attract unwanted attention without even knowing or wanting to. Besides, if you’re gonna be Sero’s omega there’s no way in hell we’d let some extra handle you like that.” The implications make your face burn, and Kirishima smacks the blonde’s arm with a ‘Don’t just say that kind of thing, Katsuki.’
After an hour or two of talking, and shockingly no other aggressive alphas, they all walk you home to your apartment. Sero wanted to check on your wrist again, so you invited them all in, but they all had something else to do, so you were left alone with Sero. The fact that the one alpha you desperately wanted to be around is alone with you in your apartment is both great and terrible. Thankfully, you have self-control and his own suppressants are working perfectly fine.
He inspected the darkening bruise on your wrist, his large hands gripping your arm tenderly and turning it gently as he prods at the skin. It doesn��t hurt too bad, so you assure him you’ll be perfectly fine. Eventually he leaves with a hug and you sigh once the door is closed, relieved that you were able to keep your omega at bay and your hands to yourself.
A couple days later you get a text from him and the two of you text often, asking how each other’s day went, if anything interesting had happened. You didn’t leave your apartment unless you needed to, since your suppressants clearly weren’t working, so you made sure to cut grocery trips short and keep away from any alphas that seemed a bit aggressive. Sero invited you to hang out with the pack at their house, and you obliged.
They lived in a huge house all together. Most of the rooms were sealed so no scents or sounds could go in or out for ruts and heats, and there were several spare rooms that were empty and waiting for more pack members. It was a fun hangout, filled with video games and good conversation, and even better food which Bakugo cooked. Sero had an arm around you whenever he was close, and you definitely didn’t mind. Your suppressants flaked in the middle, again, and Sero insisted he walk you home. With him walking you home there weren’t any alphas trying to get you this time. You ended up going over to hang out with them a lot when you weren’t working, and eventually Sero began to court you.
Obviously, you accepted, and after a few months of dating and scenting, your overactive scent glands seemed to mellow out, Sero’s scent mixing with it. Your suppressants are lasting much longer now, which is a good sign. Now that you’re Sero’s omega, he often helped you with your heats and you’d help him with his ruts, and he was strong-willed enough that he hadn’t marked or knotted you in the middle of things.
About a year and a half into the relationship you realize you really love him. Sure you had arguments, but everything was settled through calmed discussions over coffee or tea, and you came to understand each other well enough that arguments became few and far between.
You’re happy with Sero, so when your heat came around early and he was there to help, you were going to let him know just how much you loved him.
You texted him once you felt it starting. He was there within half an hour, and you pounced on him once the font door closed, smothering him in hot, wet kisses, eager to feel him inside you. He carries you to the bedroom, and you two are quick in shedding all of your clothes. He lays you on your back with a hand on your throat as he growls into your ear, making a hot shudder roll down your spine.
“Are you ready for me omega?” You whine and nod, your slick already dripping down your folds. You want him so bad it hurts.
“Please alpha, I need your cock.” He growls again, satisfied with your answer, and he presses into you, bottoming out with one firm thrust. You chant his name like a mantra as he set a bruising pace, rutting into you recklessly, wet skin slapping on skin the only other sound beside your whimpers and his growls. His teeth nip at your shoulder, sharp fangs testing your skin and claws digging into the fat of your hips. His cock is so deep, hot swollen tip kissing your cervix with every full-bodied thrust and sending you into a euphoric haze. Your own claws are sinking into his back, leaving little trails of red and blood beading down the lines. It drives him wild every time.
“That’s right, little omega. Mark me up, I’m all yours. Fuck you’re so pretty underneath me like this.” His hands grip behind your knees and press them into your chest, folding you nearly in half as he plows into you further. The angle knocks the breath from your lungs and your eyes roll back. You can feel his knot beginning to swell, feel how his thrusts are getting more controlled and his grip on your thighs tighten from the sheer concentration it’s taking for him not to breed you. You have other plans. Between wheezed breaths you squeak out.
“H-hantaaa~” He slows to a near snail’s pace, grinding his slowly growing cock into your sweet spot, a smirk stretching across his face as you splutter from the sudden change. He’s enjoying making you squirm.
“What is it, sweetness? Tell your alpha what you need.” You pant, chest heaving as much as the position will allow.
“Want your mark, want your knot~ Wanna be bred Hanta! I want your pups!” He stills completely, claws digging into the fat of your thighs with enough force to have drops of blood falling to the sheets beneath you. You’d never said anything like that in the heat of the moment. He can’t have heard you correctly...right?
“Princesa, do you know what you just said?” The seriousness in his tone has you sobering, but even before you knew exactly what you were saying. You nod frantically, wiggling your hips to get him to move again.
“Yes! I know alpha! Please, give me your knot~” His growl makes your bones shake, and with no warning he drops your legs around his waist and leans down so his face is buried in your neck.
“Fuck, I’m gonna trust you with this baby girl. I’ll give you exactly what you want.” His fangs sink into your scent gland just as he picks up his brutal pace, and the euphoria makes you cum hard, your whole body locking up and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He plows into you as you regain your breath, and you bite down on his own scent gland as hard as you can, tearing into his skin with every intention of leaving a pretty scar for the world to see.
His knot swells more, and he’s pushing it into you with every ounce of power he can generate with that gorgeous body of his. With one final snap of his hips he locks his body to yours and cums hard, ropes of hot seed filling you to the brim. He collapses on top of you and laps at the wound on your neck and you do the same. After a few minutes he leans back and cups your face in his hand, gazing down at you like you hung the moon and the stars.
“Are you alright?” You nod, nuzzling into his palm.
“I’m sorry. I was gonna talk to you about it, but my heat came early.” He kisses your forehead gently, brushing the strands of hair from your face.
“It’s okay, pretty thing. I trust you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You giggle and wrap your arms around him.
“Of course I do. I love you, Hanta.”
“I love you too.” You lay there, tangled in each other’s arms until his knot goes down. You whine at the loss when his cock slips out of you, clawing at him to come back because you’re still in heat. His hand gently wraps around your neck, a low chuckle on his lips.
“Relax, we’re far from done.” His already hard erection rubs up and down your glistening folds, barely stimulating your clit, teasing you until tears prick your eyes and you’re beggin him to fuck you again.
“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk for days. I’m gonna breed you so well, You’re gonna look so pretty all big and round with my pups.” He groans at the image he’d conjured in his head and you squeal as he slams his hips into you.
You’re in for a wonderfully long night.
869 notes · View notes
celestialarchon · 3 years
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400+ Followers Celebration!
various genshin impact x f!reader
warnings: fluff/crack/NSFW implications, jokes and innuendos. reverse Isekai storyline and a LOT of attention on reader. SPOILERS FOR IN GAME. Archon spoilers!
As much as you tried, connecting and staying in reality was too hard. It was always the same outcome, finding yourself whisked away to another fantasy land through media. Normally your obsessions didn’t last long, but one game had completely sucked you in. Maybe it was the stress of the nightmare year 2020 or maybe it was the fact that Genshin Impact was everything you loved and more, but you couldn’t get enough. It was getting out of hand as even your roommates had began to play because of the way you romanticized the game. Acquiring most of the five star characters, building several strong teams, and finishing almost all the quests in roughly 5 months.
As an insomniac, it was easy to grind through the game until the sun came up. Sometimes you wondered if it was strange that an adult would be so enamored with a game but shrugged it off. It’d been a hellish year, you deserved to treat yourself.
Yet another night spent entirely on the dreamy land of Teyvat. You yawned and stretched as the sun peaked through the blinds and cursed yourself for not noticing the passing time. Removing your head set, you yawned again, feeling a wave of drowsiness wash over you. It was strange, you’d only been up one night and you were already so tired. Your home was quiet, all the roommates sound asleep as you crept into your bed under the covers. The stuffie you adored so much was soon in your arms as you drifted off, wishing to dream of traveling the world of Teyvat.
An extremely loud crashing sound woke you from your deep sleep. Instinctively you shot up, your arm moved on its own aiming for the space around you and swinging quickly and forcefully. Your fist made contact with something and you shrieked as the strange shadow crumpled. You flew out of your bed and away from the safety of your covers, grasping for the light switch.
Your panicked screeches only grew louder as the figure on the floor groaned and stood upright, still fumbling for the lights. Fingertips finally brushed the switch on the wall and you flipped the lights on. The sudden brightness blinded you for a minute and the mystery person as well. It hit you how stupid it was to turn on the lights in your room as soon as your eyes adjusted. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you rushed to the door. You could hear heavy footsteps from the other room. Other people were home you needed to get to them.
“Shiiiiit,” The strange person groaned again, “I drank too much.”
The voice was familiar and made you freeze for a moment. Mentally slapping yourself you darted out of your room but ran straight into a wall. Well, that’s what it felt like, but there wasn’t a wall outside your door. The force of the collision knocked you on your ass and you yelped as you hit the floor.
“Oh? What’s this?” The supposed wall turned to look at you, eyebrows arched as he stared down at you.
Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you looked up at the familiar man. That smooth voice, the long hair, the eyepatch. This had to be some sort of weird dream. No matter how hard you tried to move, your body wouldn’t obey. You heard steps from behind you and glanced back to see another Mondstadt troublemaker. A disgruntled anemo archon was slowly approaching you.
“Ehe, fuck, she hit me hard.” Venti giggled nervously.
“Poor thing,” Kaeya held his hand out to you, “Did the mean little twink scare you?”
The room was spinning, so you took the cryo pirate’s hand. Your jaw was probably still on the floor. His grip was strong and cool, it was bringing you back down to the reality of the situation you were in. Oh, the irony. You were not dreaming. Awestruck, you peered behind Kaeya into your living room to see even more Genshin characters just vibing. The esteemed geo archon was drinking from your favorite mug, two troublesome harbingers bickered in the corner of the room, a certain librarian was flipping through your books, both travelers were attempting to learn how to play uno. It was unreal. A pirate was flirting with a silver haired beauty.There was an astrologist examining your fish tank, an alchemist and a child terrorist asleep on your floor, and a fucking adeptus perched on your couch like a gargoyle.
Your roommates were nowhere in sight and your home was crowded by your fictional lovers. The absolute chaos of it all sent you over the edge. High pitched, clearly unstable laughter erupted from you. What else could you do? Cry? That wouldn’t change anything. All eyes shifted to you as you leaned on the wall, clutching your abdomen and giggling like a madwoman. Kaeya shifted away from you, allowing the others to get a good look at you.
Finally composing yourself, you stood up straight and introduced yourself, “Hello, why are you invading my home?”
“Hey girlie! I’m Childe,” The cheery harbinger nearly skipped up to you shaking your hand, “but you can call me daddy.”
Your face reddened at his bold introduction but you clicked your tongue avoiding his eyes.
“Hello, cutie. I’m Lisa.”
“Albedo, and this is Klee.”
“I tend to go by Zhongli.”
“Beidou! The lovely lady by my side is Ningguang.”
“Adeptus Xiao.”
They all introduced themselves so politely, you almost felt bad for acting a bit crazy. However, that feeling was quickly swept away by Kaeya and his sharp tongue.
“Kaeya, but I believe you already know that,” he smirked at you, “May I ask why you aren’t wearing any pants?”
“Oi, what?” You looked down and gasped.
Venti’s drunk ass had sent you into fight and flight mode so you had forgotten all about your night time attire. You were in an oversized Genshin Impact shirt without any pants on. Shoving Venti out of your way, you rushed to your room to dig for pants. Oh, how you wished you hadn’t forgotten about laundry. You hastily grabbed a pair of shorts that really didn’t do much except cover your underwear.
“I have shorts on now. You just can’t tell because of my shirt.” You declared entering the living room.
Some of the more promiscuous characters giggled at your embarrassment while Zhongli facepalmed and the most serious of them all, Scaramouche and Xiao, simply scowled. You sat on the end of your couch furthest from everybody else, nervous. Nobody had answered your earlier question. Apparently your discomfort was lost on the Adeptus Xiao, or he just didn’t care. He was in front of you in a flash, pinching your face and glaring at you.
“Why did you call us here you foolish mortal?” His tone was more annoyed than murderous.
Zhongli slapped Xiao’s hands away from your face and sat down next to you, “Be nice. She doesn’t know either.”
You nodded at this, and the room erupted in murmurs. Zhongli slipped his arm around you, patting your shoulder sympathetically. Lumine tossed the Uno cards down and glided to you, taking strands of your hair into her hands and beginning to play with it. Perhaps it’s because you played as both the travelers but the three of you seemed to silently click. Scaramouche and Childe began to argue again about something silly. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a certain bard and the charming Sir Kaeya raiding your liquor cabinet.
It was too overwhelming to argue. Lumine took her time playing with your hair while the others attempted to figure out how to go back to their own world. Xiao crept closer to you, truly like a cat. Beidou and Ningguang fawned over you and invited you into their relationship several times. You politely declined, knowing they’d have to go back to their world. It was disappointing and a bit frustrating.
Your wish came true but it was too good to be true. Albedo seemed to notice your silence. He gently maneuvered his adorable little sister off of him and approached you. His eyes were filled with curiosity, your silence only made his thoughts wander further.
“Can I experiment on you?” Albedo was blunt.
“Huh?” You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly.
“I’m not sure if that was brave or stupid,” Childe snickered, “Has he always been this bold?”
“Tch,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Thats a terrible pick up line, mad scientist.”
“Leave my cutie alone!” Lisa yanked Albedo away from you defensively.
The room was filled with protest at Lisa’s words. Zhongli merely sighed and pulled you closer. Venti’s dumb ass was floating around your living room hiccuping. Xiao was wedging himself between you and the arm of the couch. It was insane. Beidou and Ningguang noticed the two Liyue men snuggling up to you and marched over to the three of you.
Ningguang tried to pull you away from them while Beidou aggressively smacked at Xiao. Xiao was hissing at the beautiful captain and Zhongli was attempting to intervene. You shoved them out of your way and stood up, panicked by the attention. Lisa caught you as you tripped over your own feet but landed face first into her chest. She stroked your hair but was interrupted by Albedo grabbing your wrist and mumbling about experiments. The single moment Childe and Scaramouche got along was to pull you from Albedo but it became a quick tug of war over you.
Somehow, Klee was still asleep and Kaeya was just watching all of it go down.
“Cheeeeeeeeers, bitch bitches,” The Knight slurred.
“Enough.” Lumine and Aether both intervened.
Aether held his hand out to you, “You don’t have to pick now, but please say you’ll come with us?”
“You belong in Teyvat,” Lumine smiled at you warmly.
“So,” Aether continued “What do you say, outlander?”
All eyes were on you as the words left Aether’s lips. What would you do?
1K notes · View notes
kiridarling · 3 years
Text
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𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.
thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼
katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!
— 5k words (yikes)
"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"
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Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.
"You ready?"
Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."
Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.
As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.
"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.
"No creeps."
You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?
They're all addicts.
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Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.
Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.
Still no aliens, though.
"See something you like, Cutie?"
In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.
He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.
"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."
The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"
"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.
"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.
"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"
"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.
"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.
"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."
You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"
You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."
Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."
His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"
"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.
"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."
"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:
"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”
Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."
"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."
As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"
"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"
"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."
Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"
"I—" you falter, "...No."
"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"
"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.
"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"
"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.
"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."
You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.
Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.
And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.
"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"
"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.
Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.
He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."
You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.
"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."
You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.
"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."
Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.
"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.
"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.
"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.
The safety isn't on.
"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.
Pop-pop!
It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.
What the fuck did you get yourself into.
"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.
"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."
It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.
"That is."
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The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—
The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.
"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."
Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.
"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."
"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"
"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."
"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."
The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.
"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.
"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."
As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.
You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.
"Hey, what's this?"
Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.
"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."
"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.
"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:
"What is it?"
"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.
"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.
"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.
"'S nothin'."
You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”
The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."
And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?
"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"
"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."
Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."
You nearly choke.
"I—what?"
"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."
"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.
"How often do you use it?"
"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.
"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"
"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.
"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."
"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.
"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?
"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."
"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."
Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"
You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.
In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.
You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.
"Oh, I like this much better."
You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.
Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.
"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."
"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."
You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.
You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.
"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.
"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.
You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.
"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.
"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"
"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"
"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.
"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"
You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"
There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.
"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind
you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.
"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.
"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.
"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"
You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.
"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"
"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"
The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.
"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.
"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.
"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.
"Give it—"
"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.
"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"
You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"
And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.
"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."
"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.
"What, I can't enjoy this?"
"No,” the ash-blond grunts.
"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"
Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.
"Fuck!"
"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.
"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."
You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.
"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."
"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”
Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"
You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.
"Ei-Eiji—"
"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."
You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.
"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."
You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."
"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.
"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.
"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.
"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"
"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"
You don't have to be told twice.
"Mph!"
"Fuck!”
Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.
"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.
“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.
“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”
You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.
Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.
“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“
Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.
Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.
“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.
“I—I can’t—“
“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”
Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.
“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”
“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”
“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.
“Nah.”
A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.
“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.
“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”
“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”
You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.
"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.
"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.
"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?
"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."
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