#I mean. it's gon in a fic with a fight. of course there's an arm injury

[frenchmina]

Tea and Time

A/N : This is my second ever fic, another one shot I wanted to write in opposition to the very angsty first one. I was talking with my best friend about what we considered being moments of true happiness, and this little fic is what was born from the conversation. I hope you enjoy, don't hesitate to tell me how you felt about it since I'm just starting out in fic writing ! Also, english is not my first langage so there might be some mistakes, sorry about those.

Pairing : Joel Miller x reader / no physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

WC : 3.1k

Warnings : None really, it's just pure fluff and tenderness. There's just mention of the reader's fear of abandon.

Summary : A lazy sunday with Joel allows you to reflect on what love truly means to you.

You would hear the ticking of the clock if you had one. One of those ancient machines made of wood and glass which made their grand musical entrance during complete silences — tic… tic… tic… 

Your grand mother had one in her living room, you remember it ticking away since you were old enough to understand the concept of time. You would look at it intensely and try to will the needles to slow down, because, let’s face it, there was no way in hell you weren’t a witch. 

That certainty had, since those days at your grandma’s, seen some bumps in the road. First of all, you had not received your letter to Hogwarts, which had been a bummer. If you were being honest, you still blamed the postal system and its incompatibility with owls. But as time passed, you had made peace with the fact that you would not be a wand-wielding sorcerer and had tried your hand at potions. Dirt mixed with worms, grass and gravel made a poor soup, but if you added the picture of a loved one and some of your family cat’s hair found on your clothes, then you were supposed to be able to ask anything out of your mother and she would comply… As time had passed, grass and dirt had turned into mint and rosemary, essentials oils and lemon, turmeric for the immune system and ginger to fight off a creeping cold. 

Some people would say you made tea. You knew better than to mistake your magic for tea making, and so did Joel. 

You two had just come back from a long walk in the woods near your house, walking the same path you would always walk on Sundays, the one where your hands knew exactly when to be joined and when not to be. It was almost like a danse, interlocking your fingers with his on the wider parts of the path, unlocking at the fallen oak to make your way behind him towards the pond, and locking again at the makeshift bridge he had built after you’d almost fallen in the little stream twice. It was the middle of February and as usual you had been arrogant enough not to take your winter coat with you.

“You gon’ be cold baby” he had drawled, knowing you well enough to tell you were about to argue that —

“I’m not a child, Joel” with that look on your face that betrayed how childish you were being.

“Ain’t saying you are, love.” He had tried and failed to hide the playful smile tugging at his lips, which made any hesitation you might have had about bringing the coat vanish. Your dignity sometimes laid in weird places; he loved that about you.

Of course you had been cold. Of course he had had to hold you tight in his arms while you had stopped to listen to the myriad of little sounds the birds and squirrels and insects and wind in the trees made in the deepest part of the woods. Some part of you might even have made the conscious choice not to put on that damn coat so he would embrace you in his warmth. He had done so with no more playfulness, just plain tenderness and love, his fingers drawing lazy circles where they laid on your sides, sending little jolts of electricity throughout your spine — alongside with the shivers of cold.

You chugged off your boots in the entryway, not giving a crap about where they landed, and made your way to the kitchen. 

“Gonna make me some tea, do you want some ?“ You had a habit of always asking him that, although you knew he was a coffee man and didn’t drink any o’ that leaf soup, as he called it. 

You heard him sigh behind you.

“Hell, why not.“

You stopped dead in your tracks and slowly turned to face him. You didn’t have to say anything, the shock on your face was enough to prompt him to explain.

“You’re always goin’ on about how good it is for ya…“

“Yeah… Yes, I am…“

“Come on dun make a big deal outta this…“

“I’m not !“ You cut him, the shock on your face slowly turning into a proud smile. “I’m not I swear, I’m just glad you’re finally acknowledging my talents as a potion maker…“

“I ain’t saying that yet“ he laughed, “lemme try and then I’ll be able to acknowledge whatever ya want.“ 

As you were carefully choosing what to pair with fresh mint leaves and valerian, you heard Joel moving to the living room and, with a content sigh, drop heavily on the couch. You smiled, conjuring the mental image of him spread out on the sofa, head resting on the back of it, hand coming to rest lazily on his thigh. You could just close your eyes and see him, the exact spot he was siting in, how his left arm rested on the green cushion.

The water was slowly starting to boil and the kettle made more and more noise, drawing you away from your little daydream. It amazed you how after multiple years together you still found your thoughts drifting towards him at every chance. Even that domestic image of him sitting on your couch made your heart flutter and a well-known warmth radiate from your chest.

Orange blossoms. It’s exactly what you needed to ensure relaxation, and that Joel would actually like it.

The water was boiled and as the kettle’s rumbling died down, you started to hear faint sounds coming from the next room. A melody, drawn from an aging guitar by expert fingers. Joel did not play often, he was unbelievably shy about it which kept him from working on it as often as he’d have liked to. Your fingers came to a halt, a bunch of herbs slipping from them as you listened closer; it was a new song, one you had never heard him play, but you recognized it instantly : Helplessly hoping, one of your all times favorite. It drew immediate tears from your eyes, your heart swelling and swelling so much you thought it was about to burst out of your chest and yell out its love for him. 

But then, without you realizing, it morphed into something else. The feeling of a weighted rock on your stomach, blood running colder in your veins, the tears threatening to be ones of fear.

You breathed. One. Two. Three. You were okay.

You were not about to lose this. He was not going away, not leaving you here alone, not running away. And if he wasn’t running towards the exit, you were damn well obligated to return the favor. It crept up on you like that sometimes. The fear that what you had was way too good to be true. It felt like a Damocles sword hanging above your head, always here to remind you that at the slightest mistake, at the second you were not exactly perfect, you would loose everything. Although everybody had told you that it didn’t happen that way, your experience proved them wrong. From your best friend of 8 years never returning your calls all of a sudden and moving across the country without telling you, to the boyfriend who had told you one day he had actually stopped loving you months ago, to all those tiny abandonments we all go through in life, you had learned not to expect anyone or anything to stick with you. And maybe, at one point, you had started to believe you weren’t worth the trouble of saying goodbye. 

Joel had not actually said anything to ease the fear that he would be leaving, he had just not left. Never. And while the fear creeps up on you, whispering in your ear to just get the hell out before he inevitably abandons you, it’s the only thing keeping you together : he hasn’t left, has not promised anything more than what he’s capable of giving you, but most of all he’s proven time and time again that he would always be honest, that he would never hide his fears and doubts from you. He’ll never leave you alone with the eternal nagging question about why you were not good enough.

You slowly calm your breathing. You can’t control him, can’t make him stay if he doesn’t want you, he’s utterly free — and you are too. You are free enough to choose to be here, to choose to listen to him playing your favorite song on his worn out guitar while making him tea and actually enjoy it. You’re free to let go, he made sure of that. So you do.

You listen. You take it in. This gorgeous man who’s had the time to define what he wants out of life, and who, with that knowledge, has decided to put his energy into learning a song he knows fills your heart with joy just to be able to see you smile.

He’s been working on it for a while now, the chords actually gave him a hard time. It’s gonna need a bit of work still, he thinks to himself while trying to pay attention to the noises coming from the kitchen. Did you hear him yet ? He wanted to be able to play it in front of you, to say “Here it is my love, I learned it so you could sing along to your favorite song.“ But he is such a coward… He would not take it well if he saw the slightest hint of disappointment in your eyes, but he also knows you would never be disappointed in him. Throughout your years together, he’s learned you would never expect anything of him but the best he could be or do, even if it was messing up one chord out of three in your favorite song. 

You were so understanding, so sweet with his mistakes — and he had made a bunch. You would always take him by the hand and squeeze it just tight enough to tell him I’m here, I believe in you. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt; he doesn’t actually know how he could live without your love, now that he has had a taste of it. Everything in his life was made better by your presence. He had learned that he was okay, that he was worth someone’s trust. He wouldn’t be able to un-learn it.

He also knew perfectly well that learning to play a song you liked or giving you his coat without a second thought when you were cold was just what you needed to trust him. He did not need to prove anything to you, to tell you over and over how stunning and loved you were — although to be fair he did tell you more than enough — he just needed to be there. And he was. Oh how he was. The depths of his commitment to you, to your life together, were lost on you he was sure. Your own insecurities prevented you from seeing how desperately in love he was with you, which made him realize that, as alike as you both were, you might love him with ten times the strength he thought you did. 

He was content to love you mostly in secret : in the little noise you made as you were falling asleep, in the way you brow furrowed and you clicked your tongue slightly when you were unhappy about something, in the way your eyes switched colors in the sun, or how you’d always bit your lower lip while reading a book. He loved you like he breathed, each exhale a song he would learn for you.

You appear out of the corner of his eye, and he immediately catches the tiniest sign that you might have cried.

“You good sweetheart ?“ 

You respond with a sort of sad smile he has come to recognize as the one you give him when you’re battling your inner demons. He won’t push, he knows you’ll speak if and when you want to, and you know he’ll never turn you down when you need him. 

“Common then, let’s see if y’are a good witch or an evil one. Will this…“ he smells the fuming tea out of his favorite mug “mixture a’ yours turn me into a frog or a prince ?“ 

You scoff, he’s offering you playfulness to get out of your meltdown and you take it gladly. “You’ll just have to drink it and see, a witch never tells“ you lean towards him to teasingly rub the tip of your nose along his, and hear his breath briefly catch in his throat before you let yourself plop down on the couch next to him.

Joel carefully puts down the guitar in its case, brings the tea to his lips, stops for an instant and studies your face, as if looking for a proof this actually is about to transform him into a frog. You don’t say anything, relishing in the feeling of his attentive gaze on you.

“Nah… you ain’t about to turn me into nothin’, I’d be useless to you as a frog.“ Before you even have the time to think about a snarky response, he’s gulping down a huge sip of tea. Your eyes widen.

“Shit ! Fuckin’— god dammit — fuck it’s hot !“ 

“Why would you…“

“Turning me into a damn volcano that’ what you’re tryin’na do ?“

“Not my fault you’re chugging the damn thing like it’s a beer ! “ You say while trying to hide your laughter and getting up to get him a glass of water, but his hand lands on your arm and he pulls you back towards him.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, witch ?“ You laugh wholeheartedly now, which elicits a smile on his lips. He’s enclosing you in his embrace now, his strong arms wrapping around your frame and pressing you to him. The mug has found its place on the coffee table again, the two of you tangled in each-other, time starting to pass at a whole new pace. You don’t really know if it’s going faster or slower, it just isn’t on the same rhythm as the rest of the world anymore. The seconds might be hours, the hours weeks, or the other way around. In movies, the ticking of the clock would slow, completely disappear even, to let the spectator know reality was slipping. 

Time doesn’t feel like time anymore when you’re this close to him. He is like your own human sized black hole. 

Joel hums and you feel the vibration throughout your entire body. It’s like you’re both tuned to one another, the waves of him resonating with yours; and in that instant, in that shared understanding of how much you both belong here in this moment, you start to believe you might actually be a witch. Because how else would you have been able to reach this type of calmness with someone ? Your eyes closed, your ears drowned in the sound of him, you picture your love as an oak, unmoved by time. Its seed grown from the adoration and trust you have for each other, made to withstand cataclysms, storms and droughts all the same, grown by the light of his loyalty and the rain of your empathy. A tree connected to the rest of the world by roots that sink deeper in you and him by the day, allowing the two of you to communicate without words. Those days, you realize, those uneventful and boring days when you just allow yourself to exist in his presence, are what nourishes that type of love.

“C’mon, put your feet on the couch and lay your head on my shoulder.“ He whispers, barely audible. 

You manage to do just that without ever completely detangling from each-other’s embrace; and end up laid down on the couch, your head resting on his chest and his arm around you. To your surprise, he reaches for the mug with his other hand and takes another, more careful sip.

“So… you actually like it ?“

There’s a long silence before he answers.

“Don’t hate it.“ He admits. 

The sun pierces through the clouds and warms up your face. A gentle sleepiness starts to overcome you when Joel’s fingers expertly land on your head and play with your hair. It’s safe, sweet, and loving. Like your whole being is bathed in his warmth. 

His hand in your hair tells you the story words never could : he’ll never leave you stranded, never vanish without an explanation. You’re his best friend, his light, and whatever happens between the two of you, whatever life throws at you, you’ll always have a place by his side. 

This is what love means, you think. No promises to be broken, no emphatic speeches about what you mean to one another, no grand gestures or empty pledges about what you’ll always or never do. Just this common understanding that your lives are intertwined wether you’re next to each other or not, just those tiny gestures and caring acts that tell how kind you’re willing yourselves to be for the other. The space to make mistakes and to let the other one make some to, the space to grow. Watering the oak tree.

It’s a fucking marvel, he is a fucking marvel. You listen to his heartbeat finding a common rhythm with yours, and you can feel his eyes closing as your own do, while his fingers still play with strands of your hair like they played the guitar, drawing a melody of happiness out of you just as well as they drew the notes from the instrument.

“I love you.“ You say, voice clear despite you slowly drifting to sleep. There’s a stillness in the silence that follows, you know he’s just taking it in, letting the emotion run through him before responding.

“I love you too.“ 

Another silence. 

“Promise it’s not the potion talking?“ You tease and he chuckles. You relish the sound.

“If it was, it’d be a hell of a potion to make me feel that way… Goes to show how powerful of a witch you are though.“ He could say so much more, but you don’t need him to. You understand him just fine in the way he caresses your shoulder softly before returning his hand to your hair.

You would hear the ticking of the clock if you had one. Since you don’t, you’ll make do with your very own metronome : your heart and his, setting the rhythm of whatever comes next.

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Thank you so much for reading, looking forward to what you thought of it ! Requests are open if you feel like giving me some inspo !

#He is my end goal #pedro pascal #tlou #walk in the woods #the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel the last of us #tenderness #fluff #witches #tea #joel miller fic #what it means to be happy

[xyliane]

watershed

summary: gon and killua might be the youngest pair of pilots in the jaeger program’s history, and they might have kind of ruined one of their jaeger’s arms in their first outing. but they kicked their first kaiju ass, and there’s almost nothing that can stop them from celebrating. almost.

notes: I love pacrim. I love it so much. also gon has a habit, and that habit is wrecking his arm and giving leorio gray hairs. pacrim au, killugon, featuring illumi zoldyck being illumi, leorio and kurapika being themselves, and cheadle really not liking how people don’t follow her orders but not willing to argue that point. T (depictions of arm injury plus f-bombs), 4700 words. 

“That was fucking awesome!”

“Killua, you were amazing!”

“No, we were amazing, how did that even work?”

“I don’t know, but it did! And the kaiju—”

“—just opened its mouth and—”

“—we stuck the derigged electricity amp over the fist—”

“—and punched it right in the face and—”

“—it exploded!”

Killua can practically feel Gon vibrating through their drive suits, neither of them come down at all from the fight out at the Miracle Mile. Ten miles outside of Hong Kong, the first actual test drive for Tempest, their first real fight. And their jaeger held up to her name better than anyone could have expected, even as knocked around as her pilots got when the kaiju exploded on her fists.

She’s still sparking over on the landing pad, leaking oil and guts and wires from every hole in her right arm. Oro Tempest. Their jaeger. First of her kind, and hopefully not the last. Kite and Bisky are going to be apoplectic about the damages from the kaiju’s acidic blood, and the self-inflicted explosions that were only mostly Gon’s idea, and the way most of the armor was sheared off to allow for the explosions without killing both of them. Killua’s got some ideas about how to improve that, allowing for defense without having to sacrifice the structural integrity. But their jaeger’s definitely the best.

Gon’s got his good arm slung over Killua’s shoulders, buzzing with a mix of adrenaline and whatever painkillers his suit’s been feeding him for the last thirty minutes. Not that Killua’s much better, but at least his arm doesn’t look like their jaeger’s. The kaiju hadn’t been fast, but it had been big, a massive Category 2 that had tried to overwhelm Tempest with sheer force. Gon and Killua had responded, not with equal brutality like some of the Mark-1 and Mark-2 jaegers, but with quick reflexes and well-aimed strikes. It had worked well enough until the kaiju caught Tempest’s fist in its mouth, shredding most of the armor and crushing the metal in house-sized teeth. While Tempest had taken the worst of the impact, Gon’s right arm had been whipped out of place, the crack in the bone sharp enough that Killua’s own arm is still numb with phantom pain. He’s got a hand supporting his best friend’s waist, keeping him standing even as they stumble down the tarmac, accepting high fives and fistbumps with his free hand since Gon really shouldn’t be doing the same.

It doesn’t stop him from trying, though, nearly hiding his wince behind a wide sunny grin. Killua will chew him out later, after Leorio chews them both out in medbay, and judging by Kite’s expression towering over the rest of the crew, they’re going to get chewed out before they even clear the briefing. The only thing holding their LOCCENT officer back seems to be Bisky. The old gorilla is practically skipping with glee, crowing about something and a look in her eyes that Killua knows is going to spell at least a week of terribly, horribly painful training for him and Gon.

But Killua will take it if it means another minute basking in this. He earned this. It’s his. His and Gon’s.

“I think you’ve had enough of this game, Kil,” a voice made of black ice says through the din. It’s not a loud voice, not compared to the ear-splitting chaos erupting around the Shatterdome. But it rings in Killua’s ears over everything else, impossible to ignore and drawing his eyes back with sharpened hooks.

Illumi looks the same as he did the night before Killua left: immaculate black suit, long black hair straight and swept back, too-large and too-blank eyes sizing up everything around him and finding it lacking. He barely even blinks at the sight of Killua in a drivesuit, white hair buzzed in an undercut and bruises from sparring practice still bright and vibrant under his eye. It’s been months, but it’s as though Killua never left home, never ran away from Father’s side and Mom’s expectations and Illumi’s watchful eyes, never left Alluka alone with only a promise to come back when they can all be free. Maybe Illumi never really lost sight of him, but only pretended for long enough to make it feel like Killua was free, that Killua had something of his own, before ripping it all away again.

Killua breathes his brother’s name, and Illumi looks almost pleased as he glides through the crowd, people stepping out of the way without him ever touching them. “Come, Kil. If you’re not home soon, we’ll have to reschedule all of your coursework, and you know how that bothers Mom.”

The only thing that makes Killua remember where he is, that he’s in Hong Kong in a crowd of cheering people and not outside of Shanghai in a silent mansion filled with half-alive computer parts, or in a San Francisco highrise overlooking the ruined bay, is Gon’s good hand digging into his shoulder hard enough to dent armor. 

“Killua?” Gon asks, and his voice sounds very far away.

———————

Gon’s been in the medbay for about two minutes before he stops being patient.

“Where is Killua?” he asks, barely even registering how Leorio resets his arm with practiced ease.

Leorio pulls back to let the brace take hold—it’s one of those soft ones, something to hold over until the skin wounds mend and they can start a better healing regimen—and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I can’t tell you,” he says.

“Yes you can.” Because if Leorio says he can’t, it means he knows where Killua is.

Leorio’s eyes soften, like he’s going to break. But he says, “Fightmaster Kreuger will kill me if I did. I’m sorry, buddy.”

Gon glares at Leorio, and then darts for the door.

He’s forgotten that Leorio’s not just his friend, or his doctor, but one of the strongest people in their class. An iron-hard forearm slams into his diaphragm, knocking him back on his ass and all the air out of his lungs. His arm twinges painfully in the brace.

Leorio crouches down next to him, a firm hand on his shoulder and an exasperated look on his face. “Don’t get up, Gon.”

Something wrenches horribly in Gon’s chest, and he’s not sure if it’s his own feelings of worry and panic, or that terrible emptiness he’d felt echo from Killua on the tarmac as the man in the black suit had led him away. A feeling like loneliness, or resignation, or outright giving up. Nothing he’d ever felt from Killua before, like his best friend and drift partner has been abruptly consumed by someone else entirely. It’s not Killua. And Gon can’t let him drown in that all alone.

“Killua’s my copilot,” he tells Leorio, not caring that he sounds a little desperate. “I can’t leave him alone. That’s the deal. Jaeger pilots drift together.”

The exasperation in Leorio’s eyes deepens, and he rubs the bridge of his nose behind his glasses. It’s a little like Aunt Mito does sometimes when she’s dealing with colony administration (or with Gon on one of his bigger ideas, like running off to join the Shatterdome underage). “It’s a good thing Cheadle’s put me in charge of you, she’d tranq you until Killua’s brother leaves. Turns out the brat’s family has a massive stake in the Jaeger Program. You didn’t know about that, did you?”

Brother—? Killua’s memories of empty black eyes and emotionless threats flicker out of the drift and up to the front of his head, vivid enough to be his own. It’s terrifyingly similar to the dark loneliness ricocheting off of Killua before they’d been separated, and Gon can’t keep still anymore.

He tries to shove Leorio’s hand away. “I’ll find him myself. You can’t stop me.”

“Gon—”

“I need to see him.” He starts standing, even with Leorio working to keep him immobile. It’s hard without both of his hands, but all his time in the ring with Bisky and Killua can’t mean nothing. “Let me go, Leorio. Please.”

Leorio drops his hand so quickly that Gon falls over again. “Kite’s right, you do stop listening when you’re stubborn,” he says, laughing.

Gon growls. This isn’t funny! “I’m not—”

“I said, I can’t tell you where he is. And you can’t go running all over the Shatterdome, you’ll never find him.” Leorio rises to his feet, joints cracking as he stretches. “Luckily, I need to talk to Cheadle. And, well, Kurapika volunteered to help, but they forgot to finish their bookkeeping, so there’s no one to make sure you stay here.”

Hope flutters in Gon’s chest like a hummingbird on fire. “Then I—”

“I’m telling you to stay here. But I’m not letting Killua go anywhere without a fight.” Leorio smirks the same way he did before picking the lock on the food stores, and it makes Gon grin viciously. “He’s your best friend, but the brat owes me money. And he can’t leave without paying me back.”

Leorio shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks out the door, shoulders hunched up to his chin like he’s looking for a fight. “And remember, I told you to stay,” he calls back.

“You said that twice, Leorio,” Gon agrees, and closes the door to medbay firmly. “Can we go faster?”

They make it from medbay to Cheadle’s offices faster than Gon had thought possible without outright sprinting. Even then, Gon has to almost jog to keep up with his friend’s long legs. The Shatterdome’s pretty empty, most of the staff probably working on Oro Tempest’s multiple wounds—wounds that, if Gon thinks about, were mostly his fault, but he can’t worry about that now. The few people they come across take one look at the glint in Leorio’s glasses and scramble out of the way.

Outside Cheadle’s office, a small crowd has already gathered, but they take one look at Leorio and another at Gon and step back to let them through. Well, all of them except Kurapika, who’s standing next to the door with an expression of exasperated annoyance and a pile of paper nearly as tall as they are. They turn to Leorio and Gon, mouth set for a fight. “That certainly took long enough,” they snap.

“I had to set the arm right, or he would break it again inside the hour,” Leorio grouches right back. “And you know how stubborn he is.”

“You told him he couldn’t come?”

“Of course. Cheadle told me to.”

“Of course. Unfortunately for all of us, she’s not letting me in, despite these extremely urgent papers.”

“They’re really important!” Hanzo calls from the crowd like he’s trying to be heard in Cheadle’s office, and Kurapika makes an of course gesture.

Leorio frowns. “Have you heard anything yet?”

“Not much. The conversation remains fairly quiet. But it did not look very pleasant when they went in. Perhaps we could—”

Gon doesn’t care about any of that. Killua is right there, and no one’s done anything but wait. So he unceremoniously shoves past Kurapika, raises one booted foot, and kicks open the door.

Three people are gathered around a desk, including Marshall Yorkshire and the unfamiliar man from the docks, who looms in a shadow over Killua. Killua’s sitting with his back to Gon, shoulders tense enough that Gon can feel it cut through the air in jagged glass. He’s still in his underarmor, although someone’s given him an expensive-looking jacket without any Shatterdome insignia. It doesn’t look right, like Killua’s been shoved into ill-fitted skin. It’s not right.

Cheadle makes an exasperated noise. “Paladiknight, what did I tell you?”

“You told me I couldn’t tell him where Killua was,” Leorio says from outside the room. He’s probably hiding behind Kurapika. “I didn’t tell him. He followed me.”

“I told you to sedate him if he resisted,” she says.

Leorio shrugs. “I prioritized stabilizing the injury. Who knows what sedation would do.”

Cheadle visibly resists throwing something heavy at her underling’s head. “Even if you didn’t know—and if you don’t with the degree you have, I’m kicking your entire school into the ocean—it was an order.”

“You know we can’t stop Gon once he is set on a course,” Kurapika says. “He would simply have wandered around drugged until he found you. Leorio was concerned for his safety, and the potential damage to the Shatterdome.”

That makes Cheadle snort, even if she almost covers it up. “And Kurapika, I know you’ve been knocking at my door for fifteen minutes now. Weren’t you supposed to keep an eye on both of them?”

“I have paperwork,” they say, nudging Leorio in and closing the door behind them both.

“This isn’t important,” Gon says quietly, and everyone in the room turns to him. Everyone but Killua.

The dark-haired man with the crisp black suit turns his blank eyes to Gon. This is Killua’s brother? He has none of Killua’s warmth, or spark of curiosity, or even the grin that’s always tugging at the corners of his best friend’s mouth. There’s only studious intent, and even that is barely paper-thin. “Strangely enough, I agree with the boy,” he says. “Interim Marshall Yorkshire, let’s finish our discussion. My car is set to leave back to the city, and it would be best if Kil could get washed first.”

“Leave—” Gon starts to say, and the man’s black-eyed stare burrows further under his skin. “Killua’s not leaving. Not with you.”

Killua twitches almost imperceptibly in his chair. “It’s not your choice, Gon,” he says quietly. He doesn’t even sound like Killua.

“Kil’s right,” the man says, close enough to Killua that his shadow slithers possessively over Killua’s white hair. “Go, boy. I’ve a lot to discuss with my brother.”

Gon takes a threatening step forward, barely registering the frustrated noise Leorio makes in protest. “I’m not leaving. Not without Killua.”

Cheadle stands, hands slamming flat on the desk. She barely comes up to the black-haired man’s shoulders, but she looks down her nose at him all the same. “We’ve barely agreed on anything, Mr. Zoldyck,” she snaps.

“I think we agree that this boy shouldn’t be here.” He looks over Gon from top to bottom, taking in the sweat-drenched hair and the soft cast on his arm and the Shatterdome-issued uniform and his freckled brown skin, and dismisses him out of hand. It makes Gon’s muscles twitch, like he can’t decide if he wants to fight or hide or grab Killua and jump out a window. “This is a family matter, not one for outsiders. Even yourself, Interim Marshall.”

“I never said I agreed to either of those things,” Cheadle says. “Gon is here now, and he is Killua’s copilot. At the very least, we would need to find him another one.”

“I’ve seen Freecss’s scores. He matches well with almost anyone he drifts with. Quite a find, I’m sure. But my family needs Kil back home. He isn’t suited for places like this.” He places a pale hand on Killua’s shoulder, and Killua stiffens as though shocked. “He is the heir to the Zoldyck family, after all. We can’t have him out here playing robots versus aliens.”

Leorio jabs a finger at the man. “He’s playing at nothing, asshole! Killua’s here because he’s damn good at what he does, not because he’s some heir.”

“It is exactly why he is to come home. As successful as he is in a single kaiju attack, Kil deserves to be at home, with a family that can use those talents for something other than mindless punching. It’s not worthy of his skills to be here. And it’s certainly not worth the billions of dollars we’ve put into this program through R&D.”

Leorio spits something in Spanish that makes Cheadle turn bright red. “Paladiknight! Out, now!”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll throw you out myself. Kurapika, take him.”

“We want to help Killua,” they say, not making a move to restrain Leorio.

“By arguing? Don’t be an idiot.” She glares at Illumi, who watches the argument with an impassable stare. “Illumi. Are you threatening to pull your funding if your brother doesn’t leave.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t say that.”

“So Killua can stay.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

They keep bickering, and it’s like Gon’s not there, him or Killua. Gon’s kind of used to being ignored, because he’s young or Aunt Mito’s busy with ten thousand little tasks or he can get into places that adults can’t or won’t. If he needs to get someone’s attention, it usually doesn’t take more than saying the right thing at the right time. But they’re talking about Killua like he’s a paper in Kurapika’s pile, a thing that can be passed around, like just because he’s quiet and stiff and scared means he doesn’t get a choice. And that’s not fair. It’s not right.

They aren’t making Gon do things he doesn’t want to do. And Cheadle’s right, Gon can’t make decisions for Killua. So no one else should, either. Gon would rather risk losing everything than letting Killua give up even a grain of his own desires.

Cheadle is saying something about restrictions, or regulations, in a way that makes Illumi’s eyebrows scrunch up funny, but Gon doesn’t care. It’s not what matters.

“It’s not your choice!” Gon shouts, silencing the rest of the room.

Illumi cocks his head to one side. “Then it’s yours?” he asks, almost curious-sounding if it weren’t for the underlying scorn.

“No!” Gon’s fists clench harder, enough that he can feel blood seep under his blunt nails. “You’re supposed to be his brother, and you don’t know? It’s no one’s choice but Killua’s! Not Cheadle’s, not Leorio’s, not mine, and never yours.”

His best friend finally turns to him, face paler than usual. He still doesn’t say anything, but he meets Gon’s eyes with shock, or confusion, or—maybe Gon’s just seeing things, but he sees the same recognition in Killua’s face that he feels under his own skin. He knew it from the first time they sparred, that they don’t need to do these things without someone’s support anymore. They recognized each other even outside of the drift, and there’s nothing anyone else can do to take that moment of complete trust back.

I won’t let you do this alone.

Illumi taps a finger to his lips. “No, I think it’s still mine. Kil, come home.”

Cheadle clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Mr. Zoldyck, this is my Shatterdome, and you are a guest. And in this matter, Killua is a Jaeger pilot first and foremost.”

Gon’s heart jumps into his throat. “Then—”

“Then it’s not up to you either, Gon,” Cheadle says, not unkindly. She leans onto her desk, eye to eye with the jaeger pilot sitting across from her. “Killua, would you like to stay, or go?”

Killua’s eyes light up, and he starts to look like himself again. “I want…” He swallows, glancing back to Gon, who wishes he could do anything more than hope. “I want to stay.”

Illumi’s shadow looms over the both of them, and Gon can’t shove him away without going through Killua. “Are you sure, Kil? There will be consequences. It’s not just me and Mom you’ll be giving up.”

Something lingers in that threat that Gon can’t place, but it makes a chill run down his best friend’s spine. Killua has secrets, lots of them. So many that Gon hasn’t seen most of them, even in the drift. It’s part of Killua Gon’s long since accepted, since he knows Killua will let him know if it’s necessary or when he feels ready. But this is a secret Gon doesn’t know, and he is suddenly terrified.

But before he can say anything, Killua rises out of his chair. Standing, he’s not much shorter than his brother, and with the muscle he’s put on in training he looks just as dangerous. Not enough to win a fight, maybe, but he’s got Gon to back him up. “Don’t touch her. Either of them. I’m staying, Illu. Tell Father whatever you want, I’m not going back.”

Illumi shakes his head, like he’s amusing a guard dog who won’t let go of a stick. It makes Gon want to punch him, or break his bones, anything to get him to stop thinking of Killua like a pet. Killua’s not his. “I’ll be in Hong Kong for business this week, for when you change your mind,” he says. “Interim Marshall Yorkshire has my number. Oh, and I’ll call Mom for both of us.”

“Don’t bother,” Killua mutters. With that, he grabs Gon’s hand and pulls them both out of the office, back straight and chin up. It’s only Gon that notices the cold sweat gathered in his copilot’s palms, how his fingers tremble slightly where they’re tangled up with Gon’s. So Gon squeezes back as tight as he can, anything to not let go.

———————

Gon’s strangely quiet when they make it back to their quarters, finally clean and back in regular uniforms as Gon flops onto his bed and Killua clambers up to his own bunk. Not that Killua had much to add after they’d left Cheadle’s office, what with his heart still beating too fast and his mind racing with the mix of Illumi and Gon and Tempest and Gon and the old man and Marshall Yorkshire and Gon.

Killua’s not sure what he’d been thinking before Gon stormed into the Marshall’s office. Illumi has a way of making Killua forget everything he’s supposed to be doing, and zeroing in on what he’s not: Not researching the right mechanics, not finishing his schoolwork, not learning the differences between corporate taxes for the Zoldyck headquarters in Shanghai or Washington DC. Not keeping his promise to Alluka that he’d help her unshackle Nanika. Not keeping his promise to himself that he’d stay away from his family. Illumi made it feel like the last several months were useless. That he’d always be alone with the promises he broke and the things he didn’t finish.

But Killua is still in the Shatterdome, and he isn’t leaving. He doesn’t have to. Gon had reminded him of that.

So he says, “Illumi’s an even bigger idiot than Leorio if he thinks I’m going to do what he wants,” and hopes Gon understands what he’s saying.

He doesn’t get a response, not in words. But the next thing he knows, Gon’s climbing up to Killua’s bunk, scrambling over the railing one-handed like he’s grappling through branches in a forest and plopping onto the thin mattress hard enough to send the pillows falling to the ground. “This really isn’t big enough for both of us,” Killua says, just to argue.

Gon hums a little, not meeting his eyes. But Killua can practically feel the uncertainty buzzing under his best friend’s skin, like an echo from the drift. Gon’s usually better about the whole echoes thing—reading them or giving them off. And now he’s the one lost in thought, freckled brown hands picking at a loose thread in Killua’s sheets.

So Killua flicks him in the forehead. “Hey, those are mine, cut it out,” he says as Gon whines.

“What was that for?” Gon demands, eyes watering.

“Besides ruining your arm on a guess?” Killua says, nudging the cast.

“That was both our idea, Killua!” Gon protests.

“I’m pretty sure I know which of us it came from first. You’re the one who doesn’t think so much.”

“Only because you think too much.”

“I think more than you, that’s for sure.”

“You think enough for both of us, I guess,” Gon says.

Killua snorts. “I will not take your math exam next week, even for a mountain of chocolate.”

“That’s not—” Gon starts, but he looks so offended Killua can’t help but cackle with laughter. “Killua, I’m being serious!”

“I know, I just.” He’s not able to finish the thought because he starts laughing again. He lets Gon hit him with a pillow, it’s not just because his defenses are down and he’s laughing like he’s never laughed before in his life, all of the tension left in the day burning out and away. Killua doesn’t know how Gon does it. Just being around Gon makes things seem more doable, no matter how hard it gets. Like it’s easy for Killua to be himself and no one else.

Maybe it’s the drift. Gon knows him better than anyone, because they’ve seen inside each other’s heads, know each other’s memories like well-worn dreams. But Killua has a feeling that it would be the same even without a giant robot connecting them to each other. It’s easy, being with Gon.

He finally catches his breath before Gon can try to suffocate him with a spare pillow, and pushes his grinning best friend back. “You’re okay, right?” Gon asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Killua says, nudging Gon’s cast.

Gon winces, but doesn’t back down. “It’s only an arm.”

That earns him another, firmer nudge, and Gon yelps. Killua’s own arm twinges in sympathy. Killua himself has none. “Leorio had to hunt you down in the shower to make sure it had set properly,” he says. “You’re going to be out of a drivesuit for at least a month. Who’m I supposed to drift with if you’re not there?”

“No one,” Gon says firmly. But he pauses, a flicker of fear in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, even with Illumi breathing down their necks and threatening to take Alluka away forever. Not that Gon knew. “Unless you don’t want to—”

“No,” Killua says.

Gon goes still. “No?”

“No, I don’t want to leave,” Killua says, the words falling out of his lips in a jumbled stream. “Or drift with someone else.”

“Why not?”

“Why—Gon, you just said you don’t want me to drift with anyone else!”

“Well, that’s what I want. What do you want, Killua?” The fear still sits in his brown eyes like a living thing, and he looks down at his bandaged arm before Killua can examine it too closely.

He sighs. “I just told you, didn’t I? I want to stay.”

I want to stay with you, Killua thinks, and he wonders if Gon can hear it even outside of the drift. The idiot probably can.

But rather than acknowledge that, Gon holds out a hand, pinkie extended. “Promise you’ll stay?” he asks.

He shouldn’t be surprised. They’d promised each other, in the stupid sort of way you’re supposed to grow out of by sixteen, that they wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. And Gon’s the sort of person who’ll kill himself before he breaks even the stupidest of pinkie swears.

Killua is drift compatible with an idiot. And he doesn’t care. Somewhere around the point of actually hooking pinkies and letting Gon chant something soft and true, when it wasn’t so much about the stupid action as it had been about trust and belief that Gon is who he is, it stops mattering at all.

He couldn’t keep his promise to Alluka. Maybe this promise, Killua will be able to keep.

“Okay,” he says, and Gon’s eyes light up brighter than all the lights in Hong Kong. “But Illumi’s my problem. I’ll deal with him on my own.”

“And you’re my problem, so Illumi’s my problem too.”

“I’m not a problem!”

Gon grins, a strand of black hair flopping across his forehead. “You kind of are. But that’s okay, Killua. Because you’re my problem.”

Killua has about a dozen ways he should reply to that, not least is that Gon is far more of a problem on any given day than Killua is, and that makes him Killua’s problem, not the other way around. But Gon’s eyes are even warmer than his hands, and it sends a wave of comfort across Killua’s skin, like he’s being wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer, a fuzzy one with goofy animals on it big enough to cover the whole room. But it’s just Gon. And Killua can’t look away.

So rather than worry about that, Killua grumbles, “Fuck off, dumbass,” and shoves his best friend face-first into the mattress.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh fic #hxh au #jaeger x hunter #killugon #gon freecss #killua zoldyck #illumi zoldyck #oh no there are lots of people in this fic #cheadle yorkshire #leorio paladiknight #kurapika #nonbinary character #arm injury #I mean. it's gon in a fic with a fight. of course there's an arm injury #also there are at least 2 or 3 other fics between the first oen I posted and this one but #they're not done #this one is #shrug #pacrim au #my writing #also serious kudos to anyone who figures out why THIS song ended up with this fic

[house-of-slayterr]

Under The Texas Sun

Thomas Hewitt fic for @slasherslutmoth ily bitch!

Tw: Light smut

You sat outside on the porch, taking in the sunlight before you had to get to work. The morning sun was kind to your skin, it felt nice and comforting. You were wearing your comfy work clothes, one of Tommy’s big shirts and some denim shorts.

Now this outfit was not risqué by any means, the average person walking around in the Texas heat could attest to this. But you weren’t average, and neither were the people you were living with. You were glad Hoyt was down at the station this morning dealing with some newcomers in town. And grateful Monty was still a sleep. The only people awake right now were You, Thomas and Mama. You all liked to get an early start to your morning, cause the heat could get dangerous mid afternoon.

You glanced up from your spot on the porch when you heard a board Creek.

“Oh hey Mama, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing my sweet child, just wondering if maybe this afternoon you can help me in the kitchen?”

“Of course Mama, anything you want. We gonna do anything for Tommy’s special day?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I do Pay attention Miss Mae, Hoyt’s been grumbling about his birthday all week. We gon’ make Tommy a cake?”

“Tommy’s never really had a cake, didn’t want one. He’s not a fan of his birthday. But I’m sure if he knows you made it he’ll love it. I was just gonna make up his favorite meal, but I need some help.”

“Sounds perfect mama! I’m sure we have the ingredients around here somewhere. Let me just get my morning chores done, should be in by noon.”

Mae ruffled your hair, and gave your head a definite pat. It was short but sweet, a way she showed affection. You’d been trapped here since early summer, maybe the end of May, early June. You should have been long dead, But Thoms didn't let Hoyt lay a hand on you. You were more than thankful to Thomas and you wanted to let him know that.

You made your way outside and started picking the weeds in the garden. Thomas was tending to the actual crops, but your job was smaller. You kept Mae’s things nice and neat, making the outside of the house look inviting. It helped for their purposes, making the place look more welcoming than scary. You also did work on the inside of the house, cleaning the rooms and doing the dishes. They didn’t ask much of you.

As the sun burned hotter in the sky you began to sweat. The air felt dry, and your skin felt sticky. You decided to take a small break, and you knew Thomas probably needed one too. But the man was stubborn and wouldn’t come inside unless you begged him. So you set out to find him, traipsing through the brush.

Thomas had his back turned to you, so you strategically planned you course of attack. You carefully avoided stepping on any stray foliage that would emit sound. You set yourself in a deep lunge, step one… two… three… pounce! You’re running start barley helped you reach up to Thomas’s long spine. You could hardly wrap your legs around his buff, chubby torso. You were carful not to wrap you arms around his neck, as to not make him think you were actually trying to hurt him.

Thomas made a grunt in surprise and one fo his hands shot up to his back, but you quickly caught it on your own. Once he saw that you weren’t trying to fight him off, but we’re in fact just holding him gently, he knew he was in no danger. He made another noise as if to ask “what are you doing” but you just chuckled.

“Tommy, it’s too hot out here, why don’t we take a break.”

Thomas shook his head.

“I figured you’d say that. So I have a proposition for you. Why don’t we go work on the plants that grow under the trees. That way we’ll be in the shade?”

He grunted with a nod. You smiled into his neck, nuzzling into it.

“Good boy, we don’t want you passing out now do we”

Thomas was glad you couldn’t see his cheeks flush, or feel his rapid pulse.

“To the trees!“ you shouted.

Thomas didn’t question your odd behaviour, he simply liked how close you were to him. So he carried you to the tree line. The property was lined with Plum trees and Dewberry bushes. So Thomas got to work harvesting the high and you harvested the low. It was nice to work in tandem with him, gathering fruit in sync. And the tree leaves were kind to you, blocking out the sun rays. But it seems time really does fly when you’re having fun. Because before you knew it, Thomas was waking back toward the house to fix the broken gutter.

“Wait Thomas!”

He turned to you.

“I can take the berries to Mama, no need to make you walk all the way over. I have to talk to her anyways.”

He raised his brow at you.

“Yes I know there heavy Thomas, but I’m a big person, I can handle myself. You’re gonna wanna finish the rest of your chores before it gets dark.”

He gently set down the basket near you and you gave him a warm smile. You watched him depart, and normally you’d be sad to see him go. But the view of his ass from this angle was well worth it! You chuckled under your breath at the thought.

You carried the baskets into the house and followed Mae’s humming into the kitchen. You whistled a soft tune to let her know you were in.

“Oh hey, sugar. What you got there?”

“I trick Tommy into helping Harvest stuff for his birthday dinner. Think we can make a pie with these?”

You held up the baskets for emphases. She gladly took them from me.

“You said Tommy didn’t want a cake so…”

“You’re really smart there sugar bee, I remember why we keep you around now.”

That’s comment would have unnerved if if anyone else had said it. But Miss Mae really did enjoy having you around. Hoyt and Monty not so much.

“Imma go finish up my out door chores, then I’ll come in to help.” You announced.

You set out to the next stage of your plan. You wanted Thomas to loosen up a little. Have a little fun! Thomas wasn’t used to doing much outside his routine. So you figured it would be better to ease him into his birthday surprise. So you made you way back over to the large Garden. It hadn’t rained in weeks so you’d have to water it yourself.

You knew Thomas was watching you, he could see you from the side of the house. So you pretended to struggle with the heavy hose. As he was walking over, you pretended not to notice him and turned on the hose, squirting him with the water. He grunted in dissatisfaction.

“Oh gosh Tommy! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You dropped the hose, pointedly not turning it off.

He wore his usual attire, with his dark pants, white button up and dirty apron. You had on a white tank and some shorts. You ran over to Thomas to calm him down, placing your hand on his.

“I really am sorry about that, stupid hose has a mind of its own.” You threw in a laugh for good measure.

Little did you know what your laugh did to the poor man. He knew it wasn’t teasing like all the kids at school, or Hoyt and Monty. No, your laugh was sweeter than honey, sounded like wind chimes and children on a playground. It reminded him of a movie he saw once, one of those romance things Mama likes to put on when she’s cleaning. Your sweet voice sent shivers down this man’s spine, and he didn’t mind it one bit.

“Probably felt good didn’t it? Gosh is it hot out here?”

You walked back over to the hose and sprayed some water on yourself. It easily soaked through your thin shirt, and you could see Thomas’s eyes widen. You slicked your hair back with your hands.

“There, now we’re even!”

God your smile, it was so innocent, so perky. Thomas melted whenever you aimed it at him. He would do anything for you just to see that smile of yours. You saw Thomas shake his head.

“Oh we’re not even?”

He shook his head again.

“Right right, it’s not fair if I see it coming? You gonna spray me with that hose strong boy?” You teased.

You swore if it weren’t for his mask, you’d be able to see the heat rising his cheeks.

“We’ll if you want to spray me, first you’re gonna have to catch me!”

You sprinted off around the corner, getting out of his eye sight as quickly as possible. You knew Thomas could catch you, but you weren’t about to make this easy on him. You zig zagged in and out of the crops, trying to hide yourself. You hid under a bush, slowing your breath. You watched as Thomas’s feet walked right on past you. But you made the mistake of leaving your hiding place too soon.

Thomas turned around and saw you trying to sneak past. You knew he posed no real threat, Tommy would never hurt you. But gif was your heart meeting fast. You weren’t sure if it was out of fear he would catch you, or the fact that it meant his hands would be on you. You squealed as Thomas picked you up, hugging you to his chest. He threw you over his back and walked back to the hose.

You squirmed and squealed and you were sure Hoyt could hear you all the way from the station at this point. You playful punches at Thomas’s back, mimicking his victims. But you made sure not to actually hurt him. He laid you down on the dirt, not hard enough to hurt y’a of course.

“No please!” You played along.

Despite the mask you could see his grin pulling up to his eyes. God you wished he would just take the stupid thing off already. You desperately wanted to see his full face right now. To see that smile only you were able to create. Thomas picked up the hose, and you put your hands over your face.

“I’ll do anything, please!”

But it was no use, Thomas had his mind set. And so you were mercilessly spray down with water. You tried to back up on your elbows, crawling away but you couldn’t escape. Now you were fully drenched and Thomas looked pleased with himself.

“God you’re Ruthless!” You joked.

Thomas stuck out his hand for you to grab, but his guard was down. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, so you swiftly tugged on his hand, and toppled him to the ground. You both laid there in silence for a second before you burst out in full belly laughter. You sprung to your feet!

“Oh you should have seen your face! Welcome to the gun show Tommy, population, me!”

You kissed you biceps for emphasis. But Thomas wasn’t laughing. You looked down worried.

“Thomas? I swear I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry”

You held out your hand this time. But it seems Thomas knew how to play you as well. You fell for the exact same trick. He pulled you down directly onto his chest. You could feel his hearty laughter as you head laid on his collarbone.

“Oh you scoundrel!” You playfully hit his chest.

You slid there for a second, just taking in his breathing and his warmth. You’re positive you heard his heart skip a few beats as you looked up at him. You shook your head playfully.

“Now look at us Tommy, Mama ain’t gonna be happy we’re tracking mud through the house.”

His eyes widened at this.

“Don’t you worry yourself, I’ll go distract her and you finish up out here. I’ll leave the back door open and you can use my shower down stairs ok?”

He nodded. You tried to get up but his hand trapped you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you had to help Mae with the surprise dinner.

“Thomas you gotta let go baby.”

You’d never been so bold as to call him that before. And now he really didn’t want to let you go. His grip on you only tightened. You rolled your eyes and squirmed up closer to his face. You leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his mask. In shock he let go and you rolled off of him to get up.

“See y’a later Tommy.”

You ran inside, looking like a drowned rat, and to your dismay, Monty was in.

“The hell happened to you?” He asked.

You ignored the old man and went to your room. You stepped into the shower and let the cool water run over you, stripping off your clothes inside so you wouldn’t have as much mud to scrub off them later. You dried your hair and put on your best outfit. One who knew Thomas would like. It was simple, but it showed off your body nicely.

You joined Mae in the kitchen and helped her with his Birthday dinner. She never made you handle the meat. You were still a bit squeamish about their special diet. But you never judged them for it. The people they ate were rude, all of them deserved it. But it just wasn’t for you. The one time you tried it, you threw up. Poor Thomas was at your side, rubbing soothing circles on your back the whole time.

Mae let you put on some old music from the 50’s and gave you one of Tommy’s old aprons from when he was In high school. It was still a little big on you. The two of you worked together mostly in silence, with her sprinkling in a few facts here and there about when Thomas was little. She cooed over her son at times likes this cause she knew you were eager to listen. Before you knew it, dinner was ready and it was time to feed the boys. You were tasked to go and get Thomas, so you met him at the back door as you promised. He freshened up for dinner

Tommy normally didn’t eat with everyone, still a little shy around you. But tonight you insisted. You even offered to let him sit right beside you and look straight forward during the meal. But Thomas was a smart boy, he knew you were scheming something. When you disappeared halfway through the meal to “powder your nose” he glared at the spot where you once sat, quickly putting his mask back on before you could come and sneak a glance.

What Thomas wasn’t expecting however, was for you to come back carrying a Pie in one hand, and a lit candle in another. His mom joined you on the celebration, but all the men at the table were stunned and confused.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Thomas, happy birthday to you!”

“Happy birthday my boy!” Mae said.

“Happy birthday Tommy!”

You set the pie in front of him, and held out the candle to him. He raised his brow in confusion.

“I didn’t have time to run to the store.” You shrugged. “Make a wish!”

Thomas thought for a second before blowing out the candle. But he wasn’t focused on anything but you. Why would he need to make a wish, when you were sitting right in front of him. You were everything he could have hoped for.

“Now why’d you have to go an make this all sappy?” Hoyt teased you.

Mae sent him a glare which nearly shut the old man up. He was rightfully a little scared of her. But he nearly choked when you spoke back.

“Why don’t you hush old man? It’s Tommy’s special day and I swear to god if you ruin it, I will set your bed on fire while you’re sleeping tonight! So either shut up and join us, or go sleep in the back of you’re car tonight!”

Monty was cackling at this point, barely able to hold in his laughter. Mae would have been upset about how rude you were being, if it weren’t on the basis of you defending her son. Thomas just looked scared that Hoyt might snap and hurt you. But under the table you gentle squeezed his hand, letting him know you’re safe.

“Good. Now what don’t you cut the pie for us Tommy, we made it with the fruit we picked this morning.”

His eyes lit up at that. The fact that you inadvertently let him help with his own birthday pie, he was extatique. He squeezed your hand even harder to stop himself from doing a little happy stim. He didn’t want to give Hoyt another reason to make fun of him tonight. Seeing you mad like that didn’t make Thomas happy. He only wanted to see you happy. So with one deep breath, Thomas took his hand out of yours and took off his mask to enjoy desert.

You politely looked away and you all went back to eating. You got a muffled compliment from Hoyt about the pie. Monty gave you a silent thumbs up and a smile. And Mae was too busy admiring the two of you, which didn’t go unnoticed by her son. You heard a grunt from next to you like Thomas was trying to get your attention. Without looking you ask.

“Yes Tommy?”

You looked down at his hands to see if he would sign anything, but he just grunted again in frustration. You sighed.

“I don’t understand if you don’t sign to me, you know this.” You said softly.

But Thomas got bold now. He lifted you chin with his big hand and turned your head to look at his face. You froze when you saw him for the first time. But when he couldn’t read your expression he got panicked and tried to reach for his mask, but you stopped him. You slowly reached up to touch his face, but paused when he flinched away. So you approached even slower. He leaned into the warmth of your hand and you gently brushed a crumb away from his lip. You smiled up at him, silently admiring his beauty.

Hoyt cleared his throat. “Ew, get a room you two.”

You shot him a glare so fierce he nearly fell out of his seat.

“Maybe we will.” You said mater of factly.

You grabbed Thomas hand and lead him back to your room. You sat him down on the bed and closed the door.

“I’m sorry about him. I know you don’t like your birthday-“

Thomas cut you off with a grunt. You were pacing back and forth and he hated it, so he reached out and grabbed your hand to stop you.

“Sorry” you mumbled again.

But you had nothing to apologise for. This had been the best birthday Thomas had ever had. He pulled you closer to sit on his lap. Normally Thomas was never this forward. But something about seeing you in his old apron, singing happy birthday to him, not running away, it had him in a good mood. A great mood even. Today had been perfect. You giggled once again, the sound bringing the biggest smile to his face. It almost stole you’re breath away.

You grabbed his face in yours again, and he dropped his smile afraid it startled you.

“Oh Thomas.” You said dreamily.

You inched closer.

“Can I-“ you trailed.

Thomas scrunched his brows in confusion, not quite understanding your implication.

“Fuck it!” You declared.

You smashed your lips into his, stealing a kiss from the gentle giant. He hesitated for a moment and you pulled away thinking you did something wrong.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha-“

This time Thomas kissed you, but it was needy and passionate. Your tongues fought for dominance, and surprisingly, you won. You were extremely competitive so when you pulled away for air you did a little dance that Thomas thought was adorable. But the way he was looking at you got you in a mood, you made it this far…

You leaned up and whispered in his ear.

“Can I give you your birthday gift now Tommy?”

He nodded feverishly, not even caring what it was. You squirmed off his lap and pushed off the bed, getting down on your knees. He watched you with hungry eyes. You’d just stolen his first kiss, and he had no idea what you were about to do next. I mean he’d had the talk from Hoyt, and he’d heard the nasty things him and Monty would talk about. But Thomas never dreamed in a million years anyone would want to do any of that stuff with him.

You slowly reached up to his belt, undoing it while looking in his eyes. You had to make sure you had his full concert tough, you didn’t want to take advantage of him.

“If you don’t like anything I’m doing or you want me to stop, just grab my left hand ok.”

He nodded.

“I’m serious Thomas, don’t feel like you can’t, just because you want to make me happy ok?”

He gave a curt nod and gave your hand a test squeeze.

“Just like that, good boy.” You praised.

You quickly went back to work, unbuttoning his pants. You could see already he was getting hard. You paused when you pulled his cock out of his pants. You imagined many times how big it would be, but your couldn’t imagine just how big it actually was. But you were determined, you wouldn’t stand down from a challenge.

You looked up at Thomas and sensually licked your right hand, before slowly running it up and down his length. You rubbed him in long strokes, and god, the face he was making just at your soft touch, had you squirming yourself. He was gorgeous. So you began working him harder. You played with the tip, circling it with your tongue. You licked a stipe down his shaft before taking him in your mouth.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. But it felt so good. You were determined to keep going until you made him cum. You used your left hand to gently guide his hands to your hair. And when he pulled, after a particularly stimulating moment from you, you moaned against his cock. This was enough to send Thomas over the edge, and he came with a guttural growl into your mouth. You pulled away panting and swallowed, wiping your mouth with your hand.

Thomas was staring down at you with wild eyes, breathing heavy.

“You were such a good boy for me Thomas. So pretty.”

You crawled back up on you his lap, taking his hands in your face. You kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself on your tongue.

“Happy Birthday Baby.” You smiled up at him.

You knew this was going to be a long night.

An: I’m so sorry this took so long. It’s been crazy busy at work this week. But I hope it was worth the wait. This was so much fun to write. I tried to keep it gender neutral so please let me know if I messed up somewhere. This was written over several days so I wasn’t in the same mindset the whole time so it might not be as cohesive as it could be.

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #horror fan fic #slasher #slasher x you #slasher x s/o #slasher x reader #fan fic requests #leatherface #nswf post #almost smut #fluff fic #moth <3

[miizpah]

mine | sakusa kiyoomi

anon asks : listen to this!!! being sakusa bimbo wife, ur so fucking beautiful that whenever ur both at social events for vball, there’s always someone coming up and hitting on u. mr sakusa doesn’t like that ::))) and he can’t wait to get home to punish his wife silly and leave marks that will defo show everyone that she’s taken :):):):)

post timeskip ‼️

tw. degrading, consensual roughhousing, a bit of manipulation.

author note : i am simp for sakusa !! this ask for me hyperventilating into orbit. girl, y/n a little too brave in this one, like miss girl gon ahead and sit down we all know who dom here. and not how there’s only a small part of smut in this, yo, i’m sorry it’s not longer but my motivation for this fic went whoosh. and not me being in the middle of changing up my theme 🙄 and struggling at that.

“Omi-”

One second you had been nodding along to a conversation being held by one of the team’s older PRs, the next second you were being guided away by your husband’s tight grip, your wrist exploding in dull pain as all you could do was follow after him. Praying you don’t trip over your satin gown.

You didn’t understand what exactly caused him to snap, he was always respectful and polite when attending events such as these. They were public appearances the entirety of MSBY had to attend, and he was already tittering on the edge becuase of the sheer number of people and crowds. But, he’d never left an event early, and he never blatantly disrespectful to a staff on his team.

The underground parking lot was empty as you both entered, in search for his car. “How dare you let his filthy hands touch you?”

It made sense then, your mind wandering back to the entire conversation. You had been sipping on a glass of wine with Atsumu and Shouyo by your sides, since Kiyoomi tended to stay away from the crowds, you were the one who would mingle around in his stead. Atsumu had promised to keep an eye on you, like always, and by extension, Shouyo gladly tagged along.

Now, you began to understand the glare Atsumu was giving the PR, and the worried looks Shouyo casted over his shoulders. Now, it made complete and total sense. The man had been flirting with you. You hadn’t notice, your mind was a bit clogged up with Kiyoomi and the way his suit fit him too perfectly, you hadn’t even noticed when he had touched your shoulder.

You barely had enough time to register your surroundings before your harshly pressed against his sleek black car, his hand around your throat and his eyes dangerous. The mere look sent bouts of pleasure and fear coiling around your body, and you only tighten your thighs around the knee pressed between you.

“Omi, you’re hurting me,” You whimper softly, pathetically, tears prickling at your eyes.

“I asked you a question, dumb bitch. I expect an answer.” He spat, eyes glaring angrily into yours. His grip tighten a bit, just enough to tease your airway.

“I’m sorry, Omi! I didn’t realize it, I promise!” You cry, hands coming up and grabbing at his arm. He didn’t move for a moment, eyes boring into your watery ones.

He sighed under his mask, loosen his grip. “Hm, you’re right, my little wife never realizes it.” His hand removes from your throat and cards through your hair softly, he kisses your forehead through his mask. “This is why I have to protect you, too dumb and pretty for your own good. You know that, right?”

“Only for you, Omi.” You mutter, wet eyes staring up at him with a doe like express. “Only pretty and dumb for you.”

He smirked, though unseen. “Yes, you are. Come, let’s get you into the car.”

“Ack! Eight, ‘m sorry Omi.” You whimper, trying to keep as still as possible as Kiyoomi rubs almost lovingly at your burning ass cheek. If you’d thought you were getting away for being a little dumb bitch and not noticing that filthy man’s hand on you, you were wrong. Kiyoomi was clear when it came to you, his beautiful ditzy wife, that no one was allowed to touch you. Not unless he’s permitted it.

“N-Nine! ‘m sorry Omi,” your hands clench the bedsheets in a tight grip, eyes squeezing close as the harsh pain spread around your bottom.

“Ah! Ten, ‘m sorry Omi.” You cried out, happy to finally be done with this punishment. You just wanted to shower, take off your makeup, comb through your hair, and sleep. But the moment you both had entered the house, he’d chased you down the hallway and sprayed you over his knees, bunching your expensive satin dress up to your waist and dealt his punishment.

You stood then, dress falling around your bare ass and legs. You couldn’t walk away, not when Kiyoomi’s large hand yanked you forward. “Did I tell you to stand, hm?”

“I wanna shower,” you whine, trying to pull your arm free. But, he only rose a brow at you. The way he looked at you, as if he knew that you didn’t want to shower, sparked a small amount of anger in your veins. And as a serious as you could, you shot him a nasty glare. “Let me go, Kiyoomi. I want to shower.”

“Watch your tone, angel.”

“Not unless you let me go.”

“Oh? Baby trying to argue?”

You huff in annoyance, trying to yanking your arm his tight grip. “Let me go, Sakusa!” You yell angrily, arm finally breaking free and you walked away then, mumbling angrily to yourself.

If there was one thing you’ve never learned when being with Kiyoomi, is to never turn your back on him when fighting. Not only is he going to get angry, but it will lead to some pretty hard fucking, and your ability to walk tomorrow is gone. But, you never learn, you’re a bit dumb, it’s okay. You both get what you want in the end.

You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself before you find yourself against the bedroom wall, his large hand entangled in your hair, exposing your neck to the wall. “Who do you think you’re talking too, Y/N?”

“I’m talking to Sakusa Kiyoomi, who else?” Brave? No. Smart mouthing? Yes. Is that a good idea? No. Ten out ten would recommend if you’re looking for good sex. But, right now, you were not looking for good sex, right now, you wanted to shower, you wanted to sleep.

“Your mouth is going to get you into some trouble, baby.” His breath was warm against your ear, and you struggled to hold in the shiver of pleasure. “I’m going to ask you again, and you better answer me correctly. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

You swallow, eyes flickering up and meeting his. The defiance in your eyes were clear. “You.”

He chuckled, “my silly little wife.” He backed away, turning you around then. “I can see that you’re not in the playing mood, right now.”

You stare at him in momentary confusion, this was a new reaction. “W-what?”

He looked at you, “what?”

“But, s-sex?”

“You want to shower, no?”

Yes, you wanted to shower. You wanted sleep. Not sex. That’s what your brain wanted of course, your body wanted Kiyoomi. “No...?”

“No?” His smirk widen almost cruelly. “Too bad, I’m not fucking you after that disgusting man touched you.”

“Omi?!”

“What happened to Sakusa?”

“I-I... No, touch me, please!”

He shook his head, backing away and sitting on the bed. “Sorry, I’m not touching you until you shower.”

Why were you complaining? You wanted this. You wanted to shower, not have sex. Why were you practically begging him to fuck you?

Huffing, you nod firmly. “Fine, I’m showering. And we’re not having sex for a month!”

“Ditzy wife.”

“Two months!”

Obviously, Kiyoomi was a man that knew how to get his way. It always his way or the highway. That had been the biggest deal breaker when you first met the man. He was too... much for you. Too clean, too big, and too mean for someone like you. Admittedly, you weren’t the smartest person in the word, you passed high school but wasn’t smart enough to get into college, but that was okay.

Your mother always said that you should be grateful that you were beautiful, you could find yourself a rich man and be taken cared of. That had been exactly what you did, you ound a man, who was rich, who was handsome, and you thought yourself clever enough to play him. You had been wrong. God, he was mean, so mean, and cruel, but he had emotions, and it was rare to see them, but they were there, and he was taking care of you.

It didn’t take long for you to actually fall in love with the man. And him, loving you. Your family hated him, though. He was a famous, professional athletic. Your parents didn’t believe that to be a good enough job. Your mother wanted you to find a rich, old ceo old to marry, cause lord knows you’ll only ever work at a restaurant or club if you had to fend for yourself, that way when he died, and everything was left in your name, you would be rich, and a ceo.

Even you knew it didn’t work that way. You didn’t care that they didn’t like Kiyoomi, you loved him, and he accepted you, as you accepted him, and that was all that mattered.

But, as you said. Kiyoomi was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.

And, right now, he wanted his dumb little wife folded in a mating press as he fucked into you mercilessly. Your mouth stuffed with his fingers, and your legs shaking as the pleasure rack through your body.

Your moans were muffled, and Kiyoomi stared at you in amusement and lust. “My ditzy wife looks so pretty with my fingers done your throat, and your cunt stuffed full of my cock.” He pushed his fingers down further, and you choke, hands gripping at his biceps in a death grip.

He pulled his fingers away, holding your mouth open before leaning down and spitting directly inside your mouth. “Hold it there, whore. You swallow and you’ll get punished.”

His arms formed pillars around you, his cock dragging against your gummy, fluttering walls in quick strokes. “You’re mine, my wife, my whore. No one else’s, you hear me?” You could only nod, eyes fluttering close. “No one is allowed to touch you, fuck your messy little holes but me, got it?” Your moan is muffled.

“Swallow,” he demanded, and you did as told, swallowing and opening your mouth so he could see. “Good girl,” he hummed, quickening his pace.

Your body was covered in marks, ones that had did the moment he jumped into the shower with you. He left them on your neck, your breasts, your tummy, and thighs, he’d even bitten into your wrist. He didn’t plan to stop until all of your limbs had at least two marks on them.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” You moan, hands moving to his back and nails scratching shallowly at his skin. “Omi!” With each thrust, you could feel your stomach tightening and your walls fluttering. The pleasure coursed throughout your body rapidly, his warm breath against your cheek causing shivers.

“C-cumming!” You announce sharply, nails digging into his back as your thighs tense. “P-pull out, I’ll make — ngh! — make a mess!”

Kiyoomi didn’t listen, leaning back and hooking his hands underneath your thighs. His eyes zeroed in on your sopping cunt, watching the way you stretch around him. Your warnings about making a mess went through one ear and out there other.

Your moans grew louder, head turning into the pillows to muffle them. You try to close your legs, anything to minimize the forthcoming of your squirting release. But, Kiyoomi’s hand were strong and he held your legs open as you release over him.

Immediately, you feel a sense of dread forcing your high away. Your mouth formed the words, but your throat gave away when a hard pressure was placed there. Opening your eyes, you were met with Kiyoomi’s dark ones, looking at you as if you were the best damn meal he’d ever had.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips before uttering, “keep still, angel, I’m doing this again.”

note — i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this. i’m literally in the middle of trying to change my theme and writing style and i’m throwing up?? pls, anon, don’t hate me, i tried with this. it’s not a long piece of smut bc i didn’t know if u wanted it, :(

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #✨.requests. #🌚.dirty #sakusa #tw.degradation #tw.manipulation

[errorpeachy]

Helloo!! I just discover your page and even tho you only have one fic I already love itt!!! I finished hxh last night and my heart need more💔💔 could you do a Killua x reader, they know each other since they were babies and their families wanted them to get married, but when Killua find out that’s when he escaped and maybe after that the reader escaped too but they don’t see each other until they are like 20 or something like that. Btw sorry for my English I suck hehehe.💕💕

I can absoLUTELY do this! And don’t worry bb, your English is great💞 I’m doing a scenario for this one~

𑁍 No Take Backs! 𑁍 《Killua x Reader》

“Hey, Hey, Killua!” You shouted, running up to him with enthusiasm. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What is it, Y/N?” He asked, turning to you. Smiling, you took his hand in yours. “I have something to show you! Follow me!” You said, pulling him along as you walked through the forest that surrounded his house.

Fighting your way into a clearing, you watched him let out a small noise of shock. It was a beautiful, crystal clear lake, one he had never seen before. Flowers surrounded the area and light shone onto the water, making it look drastically different from his dreary house. “How did you find this, Y/N? I live here and even I haven’t seen it before.” He said, looking at you. You grinned, pointing to the scrapes on your knees. “I fell into this clearing when I went exploring. Cmon, let’s swim!” You said, jumping in fully clothed. He paused before shrugging. “Ah, what the heck.” He said before jumping in, making a big splash which caused you to giggle.

“Hey Killua?” You asked, swimming over to him. He looked up at you, shaking his head to get some of the water off of him. He looked kind of like a dog, you thought. “Yeah Y/N?” He answered, powder blue eyes staring back at you. “Let’s stay best friends forever, ‘Kay?” You said, smiling up at him. He turned pink, looking away. “Sure, I guess. You’re not THAT bad.” He muttered, causing you to smile. You were used to his antics, he acted like this ever since he could talk. Even though you two were 12, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Okay, but no take backs!”

You woke up to the sound of arguing. You were sleeping over at the Zoldyck household, since Killua’s mom practically begged you to stay over. She was almost as protective of you as she was her own son.

Your feet met the cold wood floor of the guest bedroom as you got out of bed. Rubbing your eyes, you fixed your sleepwear before quietly opening the door. You could use Zetsu, however they would all notice it more if your aura suddenly disappeared rather than just moving around. You snuck around to the stair railing, peering between the wooden rails as you watched Killua argue with Milluki and his mother.

“I’m not marrying them!” He shouted, crossing his arms. Milluki rolled his eyes. “You should be glad mother is allowing you to marry someone in the first place, Killua!” He shouted back. Killua glared at him, before looking at his mother. “I want a choice in who I marry! Just cause we’ve been friends since we were little doesn’t mean we’d be a good match!” He said to her. “You two don’t have to be a good match to have good grandchildren. You’re the heir to the family business, and they easily match you in strength. I’m sure you two will have powerful children.” She said, causing him to give her a disgusted look. You were equally as grossed out. Sure, you did have a small crush on Killua, but children was something you definitely didn’t want to think about as a child yourself.

“Why are you even thinking about that?! I’m twelve!” He shouted. You nodded quietly in agreement, thinking it was really weird. His mother had always been a little... odd.

“Because it’s what you should be focused on! You need to take on the family business and marry the right person, and Y/N is that person!” She said, with Milluki nodding next to her. Killua huffed. “Then I’m leaving!” He shouted, storming over to the stairs. Milluki grabbed his arm. “Killua, where do yo-“ he started, but was cut off as Killua grabbed his wrist tightly with his free hand, giving him an ice cold stare. “Milluki. Let go of me.” He threatened lowly. His brother scoffed, grip tightening. In a flash, Killua dug a spare knife out of his pocket and stabbed him in the arm, causing him to reel back in shock. It was honestly a little funny, in a twisted way. His mother rushed over to Killua, pleading in her high pitched voice. He whipped around, and in an instant, she was holding her bleeding face. Her visor was knocked on the ground as she covered her face and called for her husband.

Walking up the stairs, he went over to where you were crouched down. “You’re so nosy, Y/N.” He teased, poking your cheek. You pouted. “You said you were leaving.” You muttered, looking at him. He sighed. “I am. I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. It doesn’t feel right. I need to get out of this family business and be something that’s not related to assassin life.” He said, patting your head. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you gulped them down. You got up onto your knees and hugged him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like vanilla.

“I’m gonna miss you, Killua.”

“I will too.”

Ten years had gone by since that night. After Killua left, you had gone over his last words to you in your head. You decided to quit your family business and become a hunter at the age of 14. Since then, you had been doing freelance jobs and earning money. Life was good. You still had memories of Killua, where you two stayed up and told ghost stories with a flashlight under his soft sheets or splashes around in the clear waters of you two’s secret lake. You hadn’t seen him since he left, but you thought of him often.

Shaking your head, you laced up your shoes. You had a match against some random person in Heaven’s Arena, and you were supposed to go fight in less than a minute. Standing up, you rushed to the tunnel, waiting for them to announce your name.

“And here we have the returning powerhouse, Y/N L/N!”

You stepped out onto the stage, smiling as you waved at the crowd. Scanning the audience, your eyes met a pair of blue ones.

Powder blue.

White hair.

It couldn’t be... could it?

You felt the air leave your lungs. It was him. It had to be. He looked grown up by now- of course he would, he would be 22. You blinked, trying to focus as the fight started.

‘I might as well show off a bit.’ you thought.

The fight was almost criminally easy. You defeated the guy rather quickly before rushing off the stage, not even staying for your victory announcement. Running through the halls, you slammed straight into another person, causing you to fall back.

“Ouch! Sorry!” You said, looking up. The boy had green hair and light brown eyes, as well as a kind smile. He offered a hand to help you up, which you accepted. “It’s alright. You did great in your fight!” He complimented, causing you to smile back. “Oh, thanks! I-“

“Gon! I was looking for you, whe-“ A familiar voice said, pausing. You looked over to see who it was. Your eyes lit up as you rushed over to him.

“Killua! Oh my god, it’s been so long! I’ve missed you so much!” You shouted, hugging him. He turned red, patting your head. “Baka! Don’t say that stuff, it’s embarrassing...” he muttered. You smiled, knowing he was still the same boy you knew long ago. The boy, who’s name you now knew as Gon, looked at the two of you confused. “You know them, Killua?” He asked. “Yeah. We grew up together, but I left to take the hunter exam when we were little and I hadn’t seen them since.” He said. You nodded, smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Gon!” You said, and he nodded back. “Same here!” He said.

You turned to Killua. “Come sleep over at my place! We have to catch up!” You said. He gave a smirk, looking away playfully. “I don’t know, what if people get the wrong idea?” He asked, smirking. You smacked the back of his head. “Ow!” He said.

“Don’t be a pervert!” “Fine, fine, I’ll come over. Only cause you asked.”

Fixing the white sheets on your guest bed, you walked out to see what Killua was up to. He was sat on the couch, watching some sort of TV show about... superpowers? You sat down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. He froze, blue eyes gazing over at you. “What?” He asked, seeing you give him a gentle stare. You smiled softly. “I really missed you, Killua.” You said, hugging him. He turned red, pushing you gently by the head. “Don’t say stuff like that! It’s embarrassing...” He muttered, cheeks pink as you continued to have your arms locked tightly around his waist.

“Why did you leave without me?” You asked quietly, causing him to pause. “I needed to find myself, I needed to become something that was detached from the Zoldyck name. I figured becoming a hunter would do that, and it did. I met some really nice people, Gon being one of them.” He said, gently stroking your hair. You nodded, agreeing silently. You completely understood why he wanted to do that, but something that had been eating you alive for the last ten years had you asking one more question.

“When you said you didn’t want to marry me... was that true?”

His hand stilled, gently resting against your head as he thought quietly. “It wasn’t necessarily true, but I did feel like it wasn’t something that needed to be talked about.” He said, carefully choosing his words. You reached up and gently moved his hand off of your head, holding it in your own instead. “Ever since you left I worried about you. I know you’re strong, but I always thought about whether you were alright or not. I missed you so much- not a day went by with your name not popping up in my head.” You confessed, feeling your face heat up as you buried your face into his chest.

He still smelled like vanilla.

He tended up, his face turning red as he flicked your head. “You’re so embarrassing...” he muttered. “I’m telling the truth, though.” You said softly, looking up at him. He stated back at you, his eyes shining with... love? Was that what it was? It didn’t really matter.

“I’m in love with you, you know. You’re so stupid, making me like you.” He said, looking away as he turned bright red. He looked adorable, his cheeks puffed out due to embarrassment. You smiled, leaning up and giving him a gentle peck on the lips.

“No take backs.” You said, giggling. He rolled his eyes playfully before giving you a gentle smile.

“I’d never want to anyways.”

#killua x reader #killua zoldyck x reader #killua tag #killua headcanons #hxh x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh headcanons #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter #hxh 2011 #killua hxh

[elenamiria]

Beating the Heat

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi X Reader

Obi-wan and you have been best friends for ages. The constant banter and perhaps not so innocent flirting between the two has led to feelings on your half and you hope Obi-wan reciprocates. It all comes to a head on one scorching day at the Jedi Temple, where your sunbathing leads to a loss of control from a certain fellow padawan.

Word count: 2.67k

Warnings: Light smut, masturbation, handjob, fluff, gn reader (no specific body parts discussed), could be interpreted as sub!obi Talk of force signatures in a way that probably isn’t cannon (just in case that bugs anyone)

This is my first fic that I’ve ever posted (and also my first smut) so please be kind! I picture this set several years before Phantom Menace, placing Obi-wan around 20 to 21 and reader at the same age.  This was inspired by a thot that I brought up to @milleniumvalcon​ one day and then my hand slipped, oops. It was also inspired by this ask about catching obi (sith and jedi) masturbating - once again by the amazing Val! And a big thank you to @hxldmxdxwn​ for being so encouraging to me when I mentioned I was thinking about posting my writing!

Enjoy!

It was hot. It was so hot you had begged your master to let you take the day off from training, you suspected they had relented out of annoyance more than kindness but either way it suited you. This left you with the day free but with nothing to do. You had sought out Obi-Wan, your fellow padawan and object of your hidden affections, but he was practicing with Qui-Gon Jinn. When he saw you step into the training room he paused before finishing the practice fight they were in the middle of, he jogged over to you after muttering a quick “excuse me” to his master. 

Both Jedi had discarded their robe and tunics and you couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, looking Obi up and down, as he jogged towards you. A sheen of sweat coated his body highlighting every muscle, you swallowed deeply trying to compose yourself before Obi-wan, or even worse Qui-Gon, noticed your improper thoughts. As he reached you a cocky smirk covered his face, oh he had definitely noticed, and he couldn’t help but quip “What, see something you like?” You felt your face grow warm but forced yourself to roll your eyes scoffing “You wish Kenobi”.  His smile only grew, you both loved your banter, he quirked an eyebrow - “then perhaps you were eyeing up the other Jedi present? I didn’t realize Master Qui-gon was your type, I can put in a good word if you’d like”. Your jaw dropped slightly before you playfully glared and shoved him, maker when had his arm gotten so big, shaking your head in exasperation. “No I came to see whenever you’d be done with training. My master gave me the day off, I figured we could find something to do.” You smiled up at him before hastily adding on “I mean if you would want to spend time together” suddenly shy. A warm smile covered Obi’s face as he nodded, reassuring you.

“I’d love to. We’re almost done here, Master Jinn had us start very early to beat the heat today. Where should I find you?”

“I was going to our garden to relax for a bit, meet me there? We can get lunch if you’d like.”

“Of course, I’ll meet you there soon” Obi replied with a smooth wink before jogging back over to his master, eager for training to be over.

You smiled before heading off, your destination was what the two of you had decided was your garden. You had found it one day while wandering the large temple - it was a tiny thing, tucked in a corner that seemed nearly abandoned, you had only come upon other Jedi using it once or twice in the many years you two had been going there. You felt confident that it would be a great place to relax and perhaps remove your outer layers to sunbathe. As you reached the garden you were pleased that it was indeed empty today. You headed to the center of the garden, laying your robe down, you quickly stripped of your other garments until you were left in just your underclothes. You stretched out on your robe sighing contentedly as you soaked in the bright Coruscant sun. Closing your eyes you relaxed, allowing yourself to fall into an easy meditative state.

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed before you felt another presence start to approach you, in your state it was easy to identify Obi-Wan’s force signature. You roused yourself by allowing your body to stretch, chest arching toward the sky, before settling again. Your eyes were still shut, not wanting to blind yourself just yet, but you knew Obi was standing at the entrance to the garden. Not only was his force signature bright and close but you swore you had heard footsteps as well as a noise you couldn’t quite place (perhaps a gasping sort of noise). A smirk crawled over your lips as you spotted your chance to use his own words against him, “See something you like, Obi-wan?”

You purposely allowed your words to come out a bit breathy and sweet. Giggling lightly you waited for a smart quip back or for him to approach. When neither happened you cracked your eyes open and used your forearms to prop yourself up. Blinking rapidly to try to regain your sight you called out his name again before looking around, he was nowhere to be found. You sat up fully now and frowned lightly, you were positive he had been there. Debating for a moment longer you decided to try to reach out in order to find him through the force. Inhaling deeply your eyes slid shut and you stretched your own signature out searching for him, you could see that he had definitely been to the garden and you traced his path to his quarters. Gently you brushed your signature against his before shooting out of your brief meditation, feeling like you had been burned. His signature was burning white hot and before you had pulled back suddenly it almost felt like his signature was desperately trying to intertwine with yours, you had never felt it like that before and you grew concerned. Hastily you threw on your clothes before heading to Obi’s quarters.

Unknown to you Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to the garden. The last thing he had expected was to see you in such little clothing, he had a witty line to announce his entrance ready to go but the second he laid eyes on your body gleaming in the sun all sense left his head. He was fairly certain he choked, his eyes trailed down your body and he became acutely aware of all the blood rushing to his lower half. You then shifted, arching to the sky, and he had to strangle a groan that worked its way to his throat. He became very aware of the thoughts running through his head - his hands running down your body before pulling your hips harshly to meet his as he pressed into you, his mouth at your throat marking it as you bounced in his lap, you arched up just like you were as he buried his face in between your legs. Stumbling backwards he suddenly felt very overwhelmed, he needed to leave before he did something rash, you were too important to him and he didn’t want to put your relationship at risk. Plus the problem he was experiencing wasn’t one he would be able to easily hide, his cock was straining noticeably against his pants. Letting out a small whine he practically ran to his room, hoping he wouldn’t be stopped by anyone. Reaching his room he rushed in barely making it a few steps into his room before sinking to his knees the second his door closed. Tearing his pants open he moaned quietly as he wrapped a hand around his hard cock, his eyes closed as he pictured you sensually sprawled out below him. His hips bucked hard as he felt something gently envelope him for a second, it had felt like you were pressed against him, and he whined his mind wildly chasing the feeling. Starting a firm pace your name continuously fell from his lips, he was trying to keep it down but it was becoming increasingly difficult. His pace grew quicker as he imagined you moaning his name out, it sounded so real and he was so close.

“Obi?” You called out again as you knocked for a second time. You bit your lip hard as you eyed the keypad, he had given you the codes and you debated whether to enter. You could hear noises coming from within but couldn’t quite discern what they were though you had a feeling what his quiet gasps were and your whole body burned. A warm feeling settled in between your legs - it was like you had not pictured Obi-wan that way before. You knew very well what you were about to do could change your relationship forever but you knew you would go mad if you two danced around each other any longer, plus you could swear that you heard his voice calling out your name. Saying a silently prayer you lightly punched in the code. The door slid open and you stepped in. You weren’t expecting him to be right there in front of you, his back was to you and his whole body was strained tight. One of his hands had been rapidly moving, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening, but froze when he heard the door. Letting out a small gasp that turned into a weak moan you rapidly spun back around to the door, all of your courage fleeing your body. Your hand hovered over the button to open the door when you heard a strangled guttural cry of your name followed by a soft “please”. You inhaled shakily, your whole body heating up before turning. You looked him up and down again as you slowly shed your robe. Your hands started pulling your tunic off, fumbling slightly, as you murmured “Would you like some help Obi?”

Your head tilted and a smirk reached your mouth as a groaned yes made its way to you. Shedding your tunic fully you knelt behind him, “are you sure?” You asked as your hands landed on both of his shoulders. He nodded rapidly as a whimper left his mouth at your touch. You let your hands slide down the front of his body, your chest pressing into his back. Your left hand gently removed his as your right wrapped firmly around his cock. Stroking it gently you paused at the head spreading some of his precum around the tip with your thumb. A beautiful moan left his mouth and his head leaned back resting on your shoulder. Switching hands for just a moment you gathered spit in your mouth and spread it on your hand. You brought it back to his length and gripped it tightly before staring a quick pace. He was heavy and hot in your hand and the perfect size to make your mouth water, blinking a few times you swallowed deeply letting out a hot breath against Obi’s neck. Your other hand retreated to his tunic, finding the clasps holding it together and hastily pulling it off his body. Obi-Wan was panting at this point your name falling from his lips in praise, both of you let out loud whimpers as you pressed your bare skin together. You turned your head to stare at him, noticing how his mouth fell open as you increased your pace and started kissing his neck, softly sucking in places that seemed particularly sensitive. You gently bit the junction of his neck and shoulders, he let out a loud gasp at that hips raising wildly.

“Please, please my love I’m so close” He managed to whimper out, hips continuing to buck. You picked up the pace of your right hand, your left coming up to gently push his head off your shoulder and then nudging his jaw to turn towards you. He looked a mess - light sheen of sweat on his brow, his mouth still panting and parted slightly, eyes glazed in pleasure yet still focused on you. You found yourself consumed with pleasure too and a moan of his name loudly fell from your lips, that was all he needed to fall of the edge into his orgasm. A load groan started to rise in his throat and before it could fully escape you were pressing your lips to his. His hips bucked as his load spilled over your hand, your kiss stifled both of your noises as you couldn’t help but let out a desperate whine at the feeling. You continued slowly pumping as he rode out his orgasm and when it became too overstimulating for him he gently pulled your hand away by your elbow.

You two continued the clumsy, it was a first for both of you, yet passionate kiss for a moment longer. A stupid smile covered your face as you pulled back softly and he out let a small incredulous laugh. Neither of you moved for a moment content to bask in bliss. Obi-Wan was the first to move, he pressed his forehead to yours nuzzling his nose against yours softly before pressing a kiss quickly to your lips. This time it was you letting out a small laugh as you said “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this”.

He pulled away slightly, a shocked look coming across his face, “You have?” he questioned. You nodded shyly before you pulled away getting ready to stand up, you caught sight of your hand coated in his cum and it was your turn for a shocked expression to cover your face. Obi followed your eye-line and a bright blush covered his face as he hastily stood “I-I’m so sorry let me get you something to uh- just give me a minute” he managed to stutter out as he quickly disappeared into his refresher.

He returned quickly, having cleaned off and situated himself back into his pants, with a spare towel and gently took your hand cleaning you. You watched him with a small smile, he was so careful while holding you, and you felt your heart skip a beat when he bashfully smiled back at you. He then gently pulled you to your feet,tossing the towel off to the side, and couldn’t help his eyes roaming your upper half. You shifted nervously “I hope you don’t mind I removed your tunic, I got so caught up in the moment and I just wanted to feel your skin against mine”.

A brilliant smile lit up his face and his hands hovered over your bare waist, waiting for your approval which you gave with a brief nod, before settling his warm hands on you. He gently squeezed you before pulling you closer, your hands rising to rest on his firm chest, his hands sliding to your back exploring every inch he could.

“My dear it is more than alright” he suddenly grew serious, his blue eyes meeting yours “I, um, I hope you know that I don’t want this, er rather us, to be a one time thing. I-uh” he fumbled with his words for a moment before he collected himself. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me, and I hope you’ll be mine.” His voice trembled as he held you just a little tighter, before anxiously continuing “I know the code prevents this kind of thing but I don’t think I could survive going back to just friends. I do-” you cut off his nervous rambling with a breathy yes.

A more confident yes left your mouth as you nodded “Of course I’m yours Obi, I think I always have been” You stammered out a beautiful smile covering your face. Obi-wan simply couldn’t help himself as he pulled you closer and lifted you clean off the floor in a quick spin, both of you laughing in pure joy. He gently let you slide back to the floor before capturing your lips in another kiss. Both of you were grinning like idiots now and when he pulled away a gentle laugh left your lips, your hand reached up to play with his padawan braid. Teasing you said “I do hope you plan on helping me out later, because after that I’m feeling much too hot for a day like today” Obi-wan couldn’t help but sputter at your forwardness His face lighting up bright red. Laughing at the adorable face he was making you gently tugged on his braid, smile quirking into a smirk - “c’mon let’s go get lunch, I’m starving”. You moved away to toss him his tunic as you tugged yours back on. At this Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to snap out of his state of shock in order to dress and when you turned to face him again his smirk was back in full force. “Darling I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he started as he winked “the sooner we eat the sooner I get dessert”

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan smut #reader smut #star wars fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #ewan mcgregor #the phantom menace

[kxrapika-zxldyck]

Crying x and x Comfort- A KilluGon hurt/comfort fic

"Kite is... already dead." Those four words echoed through Gon's head, warping and distorting themselves until they were virtually unintelligible.

After a few seconds of trying to process the magnitude of Pitou's words, their meaning finally sunk in. Kite was gone. Gon couldn't save him. He had failed. The minuscule spark of hope left inside him disappeared instantly.

Pitou let Kite fall over, boneless, in front of the distressed boy. Gon gasped, taking a shaky breath as he tried to take in the scene in front of him. He felt his stomach lurch. He tried to speak, but only a strangled gasp came out. His throat was closing up, and his mouth felt dry.

Pitou observed the agonized boy carefully. If he made any sudden movements, it would be likely that he'd die.

Gon's eyes, usually beaming from excitement and charisma, had become grim. An ominous veil of grief and anguish had fallen over them.

"His soul is no longer there... He cannot be healed."

Tears started welling up in the young boy's eyes and he collapsed, his legs no longer able to support the weight of the anguish coursing through his battered body.

At the moment, Gon's mind could easily be compared to a whirling windstorm. Feelings of sadness, despair, and grief all took their place inside of him.

Slowly looking up, Gon could make out Pitou, intensely focused on healing the rest of his arm. The Royal Guard needed to be at full power if he was to defeat the emotionally conflicted threat that lay before him.

Suddenly, the emotions coursing through him dissipated and were replaced with a strong feeling of disbelief and confusion.

"Why are you healing your arm?" Gon heard himself say.

"Turn Kite back to normal!" He pleaded desperately.

A sinister expression appeared on Pitou's face. Gon had obviously not understood the severity of the situation. He was too entangled in his own grief.

"Please, after you finish what you're doing, bring Kite back..." he whispered, his voice raspy and filled with melancholy.

Gon clutched his chest, his heartbreak too severe to handle.

"Kite is... dead and it's my fault..." he murmured, still in disbelief.

"Kite is dead and it's my fault..."

"KITE IS DEAD AND IT'S MY FAULT!"

_____

"GON!"

The distressed boy shot up, gasping for air.

His eyes frantically darted around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He suddenly felt a warm hand on his trembling arm.

"Gon! What's wrong? Are you okay?!" Gon hastily jerked his head in the direction of the familiar voice.

Killua.

His eyebrows were furrowed, and he had a concerned expression plastered on his face. Gon's breathing gradually started to slow down.

"Hey Killua... Did I have another nightmare?"

"Yeah, and I think it was a bad one too; you were hyperventilating and whimpering in your sleep."

"Oh... Sorry." Gon muttered, feeling bad because of the disturbance.

He felt Killua's slender fingers gently graze his cheeks.

"You were crying."

The pale boy carefully wiped the trail of tears off of Gon's face.

"Wanna talk about it?"

_____

"It's the same nightmares as usual, about the fight with Pitou two years ago."

Killua sighed softly. He wished that there was a way to forget. He wished that Gon didn't have to feel this way.

Gon continued, anxiously entwining his fingers around the thin sheets on his bed.

"I could've saved Kite. It was my fault. Maybe if I would've been more strategic..."

Killua couldn't stand listening to Gon tear himself apart any longer.

"Gon, stop. You sound insane. This was Pitou's fault. We tried to save Kite; we really did. His fate was in no way your doing." Killua said, slightly twisting the truth, but if it could make Gon feel better, he was willing to do it.

Despite his cold and rough exterior, Killua really did know how to comfort Gon in times like this.

Unfortunately, this did not prevent Gon's tears, as they once again quickly trickled down his rosy cheeks.

"I wish he was still alive." Gon whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

His tone of voice made Killua's heart feel like it was being shattered into a million pieces. He slowly placed his hands onto Gon's shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.

_____

Killua's body, held closely against his own, was a pleasant feeling, Gon decided. He carefully wrapped his arms around the other boy's neck, entwining his fingers in Killua's dishevelled hair.

"I know, me too." Killua answered softly, resting his chin on the crook of Gon's neck.

The two boys sat there, listening to each other's rapid heartbeats, absorbing body heat. Gon's tremulous breaths became slower, and eventually started to return back to normal. He could feel Killua's fluffy hair tickling his skin, making him crack a faint smile.

"Hey Gon, wanna go on a walk to clear your mind?"

Gon sighed, taking a deep breath.

"Sure."

-

Nights on Whale Island were especially mild and pleasant this time of year. Gon felt the gentle ocean breeze caress his face as he stepped outside. He inhaled deeply and glanced over to where Killua was standing.

Killua Zoldyck.

The boy that he had spent the last three years of his life with. His accomplice. His travel partner.

His best friend.

"What are you looking at, dummy?"

Gon was seized from his daydreams, looking up to Killua's face, which appeared to be twisted in confusion.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just... really glad you're here with me, Killua."

Gon saw a faint blush appear on Killua's cheeks. The flustered boy quickly looked away.

"You can't just say things like that!"

Gon smiled softly, slowly tearing his eyes off of Killua's reddened face.

"Let's go."

_____

"Where are you taking me, Gon?"

Killua was being led through the forest, trying to keep up with Gon, who was swiftly darting past trees with a determined look on his face.

"Wait and see."

After a few minutes of desperately trying to match Gon's superhuman speed and agility, the two boys finally made it to a clearing in the forest. There was a small beach on the other side, hidden from the main area of the island.

Gon gestured to Killua, urging him to sit down.

_____

The two boys were laying with their backs to the sand, heads tilted towards the star-speckled sky.

"Aunt Mito used to take me here whenever I got upset. She said the ocean waves were like a lullaby, and listening to the gentle sway of the waves would coax me back to sleep."

"Hey Gon..." Killua said, dismissing the other boy's previous statement "... I get them too."

Gon shifted slightly, facing Killua, a curious look on his face.

"... The nightmares, I mean."

Gon silently urged the other boy to continue.

"Mine are usually about my assassin training. I have this recurring dream about being forced to kill innocent bystanders for the approval of my parents. My big brother Illumi is always behind me, manipulating me, no- controlling me with his needles."

"Those nightmares are the worst. They're the ones that leave me gasping for air, panicked and unaware that I've woken up. Yeah, they can be traumatizing, but you need to remember that the nightmares aren't real. They're just bits of memories from the past that have come back to haunt you."

"The thing is, we've already experienced different versions our nightmares. We were brave enough to surpass them in real life. The unpleasant memories stored in our subconcious don't mean anything anymore. What's in the past is in the past."

Killua paused, not bothering to examine the expression on Gon's face.

"Obviously, it sucks. Sometimes I wish we could've just had a normal life together, without the pain and wounds. But because of it, we are strong. We've trained, fought, gained, and lost way more than anyone of our age, hell, more than most adults. That's what makes us who we are today."

Gon's vision started getting blurry from the amount of tears welling up in his eyes.

"So you shouldn't be worried about the nightmares anymore, Gon. I'll always be there to protect you."

Gon inhaled shakily, processing the last part of Killua's speech.

"Killua..."

The pale-faced teen finally looked over to where Gon was laying. His eyes widened at the intensity of emotions written on the other boy's face.

"Thank you, Killua."

_____

And so, the two boys watched the sunrise from the ocean, together. Gon knew he would cherish this moment forever. The view was picturesque.

The morning sun was reflected off of Killua's pasty white skin, his eyes glowing with astonishment at the mix of colours and hues painted across the ombre sky.

Gon could stare into his vivid blue eyes forever.

Killua rolled onto his side, facing his friend. Soft smiles crept onto both of their faces.

In that moment, they both realized how lucky they were to have each other.

                                                        ~♡~

#killua zoldyck #gon freecss #killua #gon #hurt/comfort #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #gonkillu #killugon #freedyck #hxh #hunter x hunter #gay #angst #hxh angst #anime

[sirikenobi12]

The Empty Nest

So, I’m working on this fic, but it’s not exactly coming together the way that I want it to so I decided to post the one part of it I’m feeling good about - that and been seeing all the April Angst posts and wanted to help shatter some hearts! 

                   ++++++++++++

“Don’t, don’t you DARE say her name!” Anakin Skywalker hissed. “You don’t have that luxury anymore.” 

“Anakin,” a much calmer yet equally raw voice answered. “We should be able to talk about her, I miss her too.” 

“Stop it.” Anakin continued to throw items in the box. “You lost that right when you turned your back on her.” 

Obi-Wan released a pent up breath and considered his words carefully. “I, we never turned our backs on her…” 

“Abandoned her then!”

“Anakin, we’ve been over this so many times.” Obi-Wan folded his arms into his sleeves, a nervous habit of his left over from his Padawan days. “We were left with little choice, the moment she ran we lost all chances of keeping this as an internal Jedi affair. Her actions robbed us the opportunity to even defend her, we lost all credibility in the eyes of the Senate, the people...how can you not see this?” 

“You could’ve fought for her!” The younger man cried. 

“...We did. Fight for her.” Obi-Wan’s voice caught. “And we lost.” 

Anakin shook his head and tossed another item in the box. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Obi-Wan moved towards his former apprentice. “Come, sit with me and have some tea. We can work through these emotions, together.”

“I don’t want tea.”

“Whiskey then.” Obi-Wan offered a genuine smile and moved towards the kitchen.

“I want Ahsoka back,” Anakin’s voice trembled.

Obi-Wan kept his back towards Anakin, his shoulders slumped. “...so do I, Anakin.”

After a moment of silence Obi-Wan returned with two tumblers that contained a small amount of brown liquor. He held one out to Anakin who took it, ungratefully.

“To Ahsoka’s new adventure.” Obi-Wan held up his glass as if to toast.

Anakin slammed his down on the table. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“She’s out there, alone. With nothing to fall back on and you are toasting her like she graduated from a University or something?!” Anakin moved back towards his room to grab more of his things.

“Anakin, she is figuring out where her place is in the galaxy. That should be something we celebrate. Our Padawan has grown up into a remarkable young woman.” Obi-Wan said as he contemplated his own drink.

“MY Padawan!” Anakin shot back. “And she’s out there on her own, with nothing.”

“She is highly educated and skilled, she has plenty to fall back on. Plus, it was her choice to go at this alone. She could go back to her birth family if she wanted to - Madame Jocasta offered to help her with that. Or she could go live with the people of Kiros, you know Governor Rosti would offer her any job she wanted. Seven hells Anakin, I’m sure Padme would take her in in a heartbeat.”

Anakin’s head snapped up at this. “Yeah...yeah she would.”

“Ahsoka made the choice to do this on her own and we have to honor that decision, no matter how much it hurts.” Obi-Wan moved closer to Anakin, bringing their glasses with him.

Anakin’s eyes were bloodshot, Obi-Wan wondered how long it had been since his former Padawan had slept. Anakin accepted the glass, reluctantly.

“...so we didn’t abandon her?” His voice was so low it was difficult to hear.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, of course we didn’t. Did you honestly think Master Yoda, Master Koon or I would actually let her leave without something to fall back on? What type of monsters do you think we are, Anakin?”

“Then that means...she abandoned me.” Anakin’s voice trembled.

“Anakin, that’s not fair…”

Obi-Wan was suddenly slapped in the face yet again by how much Anakin reminded him of Qui-Gon. Memories surfaced of being thirteen years old and choosing to leave the Jedi in order to help the Young fight their war, all the while sensing (and later learning) that his Master took it as Obi-Wan abandoning and betraying him. There had been a rift in their bond for several years because of it, and it took him far too long to regain Qui-Gon’s trust. In the chance that Ahsoka might come back into their lives one day he couldn’t let history repeat itself.

“Anakin, I know this hurts. But, she didn’t ‘abandon’ you.” He stepped forward and risked placing a soft hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I promise you, if she actually thought you felt like she did this to punish you then she’d never forgive herself.”

“You don’t know that,” Anakin turned his back on Obi-Wan, unable to look at him. “You don’t know anything.”

“I do know about this, trust me, Padawan.” Obi-Wan reached up to try and turn Anakin around, expecting to hear Anakin’s usual argument about how he isn’t a Padawan any longer.

“This is all your fault, you know. I didn’t even want a Padawan…” Tears began to silently slip down Anakin’s cheeks. “You set the whole thing up and made me care about her!”

“Anakin, the Force wills…”

“Stop it!” Anakin screamed. “You never listen to me! I told you I didn’t want a Padawan, I then told you she was innocent...you, you forced her on me and then you didn’t fight harder for her against the Council and against Tarkin...and now she’s gone. And all of this, this whole stupid war is YOUR fault!”

Obi-Wan stood, stunned.

“I think...I think I need some time away from you right now.” Anakin tried to compose himself. “Just, reassign the 501st somewhere, I need to put as many systems between you and I as I can right now.”

“Masters Tiplee and Tiplar have requested reinforcements on Ringo Vinda.” Obi-Wan did his best to keep emotions out of his voice. “I will put in a the order to have the 501st sent there at once.”

“Good.”

Obi-Wan stood still as he watched Anakin gather the last of his belongings and toss them in the box. The Knight then angrily picked up the box and shoved his way out of the apartment.

“You don’t have to move out right this second, you know.” Obi-Wan said finally. “There will be time for all of that later.”

Anakin looked back at his former Master. “We’ve put this off way too long as it is. If Ahsoka’s moving on, then perhaps it’s time for us to move on too.”

They locked eyes for a moment, both playing a game of chicken with the other, yet both secretly hoping the other would fight for Anakin to stay.

“You must do what you feel is right, of course.” Obi-Wan finally said, clearing the lump from his throat.

“Yeah, see you around. I guess.” Anakin huffed and the cold durasteel door swished shut behind him, leaving Obi-Wan Kenobi once again with his thoughts.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #The Clone Wars #clone wars fanfiction #the wrong jedi #obi wan kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #angst #heavy angst #angstapril #ahsoka tano #ahsoka's 2 dads #obi wan deserved better

[chrolloctrl]

hello～! can i request for Adultrio who fell in love with fem crime hunter Reader? also have a nice day/evening💘

thank you for the request! i tried my best to make all of these different from each other, but i also tried to stay true to how the characters would sincerely react:) oh and sorry for the late post, school’s been tough :( but yknow it be like that

note(s)/warning(s): some mentions of blood and violence, but other than that nothing you wouldn’t see on hxh though

fandom(s)/character(s): hunter x hunter, adultrio, aka illumi, hisoka, and chrollo

for dialogue purposes, italics are you, and bold is the character :)

i l l u m i

since you’re a crime hunter and he is a literal trained assassin, the relationship is pretty much seemingly doomed for failure

however i imagine that you guys meet in an a very unexpected way

he’s on a mission to kill someone who had stolen from the zoldycks, and you’re on a mission to take out a thief

yeah it’s the same guy you got it

illumi gets there first and gets the job done

much to your dismay

you’re standing right behind him as he’s covered in blood over the body

all you say is “since when does the assassin do something morally correct?”

“when it benefits him.” he responds.

i think he recognizes you before you recognize him

“you’re y/n, right? crime hunter?”

“you could say that.”

“we aren’t so different you know..”

“we are incredibly different. i don’t kill for sport.”

“you still kill, though.”

you’re so pissed off because he kind of has a point

oh and that emotionless stupid little face of his pisses you off even more

it’s all love we know i love illumi

illumi’s bloodlust is out of control at this point, your interaction with him just increased that

“what are you going to do? kill me?”

“no. it doesn’t benefit me now does it?”

“what do you want from me illumi?”

“ a deal.”

somehow he ropes you into helping him on missions as long as it corresponds with your own morals

i think the moment he realizes he’s in love with you is when you explain morality to him

like obviously he has no idea wtf good morals are lmao

you act as his therapist in a way, comforting him about his past and telling him that his bad actions don’t make him a bad person, just a person who used to do bad things

sorry guys i love soft illumi, and i genuinely think he has the capability to be good

one day he breaks down after a mission, and he is so embarrassed that you’re the first person he shows his deep, buried emotions to

you just hold him and comfort him, telling him its not his fault

after that he doesn’t want to talk to you because he’s embarrassed

“i think emotions make you a better assassin.”

“how does that make sense?”

“makes you think twice.”

and now he knows why killua loves gon so much.

h i s o k a

we already know this bitch is obsessed with you

probably keeps tabs on you to see what you’re up to

every headline involving you “taking down another lowlife” catches his attention so fast

he wants a fight so bad

so he creates a plan

commit a crime so terribly that they HAVE to send you to take him out

just another amazing idea from hisoka!

so he figures out who you’re working for, and kills someone close to them, obviously leaving behind a trace so they have somewhat of an idea as to who he is, but still making it a hunt

he probably leaves a star and tear behind, something that only those who knew him would recognize

and so he watches you hunt him while he hunts you

you’re asking anyone and everyone if they recognize the star and tear, most people either having no clue, or recognizing it but keeping quiet about it in fear of what hisoka would do

eventually, someone says they know a person who draws a star and tear on their face — hisoka morrow

once hisoka hears that you know his name he is absolutely ecstatic, he probably reveals himself to you right after

“it has been so fun watching you search for me.”

“if you knew i was looking, why be a coward and hide?”

“there’s no fun if there’s no chase, darling.”

you guys battle it out, i imagine the fight is very close, but evidently you just can’t keep up with him

“you put up a beautiful fight…hmm, perhaps i’ll let you survive if you join me?”

out of breath and on the brink of death, he assumes you’re saying no

right as he goes for the finishing blow, you hold your hands up, and whisper through a mouth full of blood a small “i’ll do it.”

he has a huge grin on his face, so excited to have successfully “corrupted” you

sorry y’all added a little corruption kink in their my b

once he takes you to machi so she can heal you, you both go on ur little killing ppl missions together cos what else does hisoka do lol

he realizes he’s in love once you finish someone off, a crazed look in your eyes, smile on display, covered in blood.

“you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do now.”

you and hisoka’s love is weird. but it’s intense, and it is real. just not...normal.

you guys are crazy killers, but it works

he probably draws a star and tear on you just so u guys can match

after u.. murder people <3

yandere reader vibes sorry

c h r o l l o

for this, we are going to assume that you are the “weakest” link of the crime hunter agency

so they make you the bait

sorry i just want to cover all of our bases

you definitely have a lot of potential, you are just incredibly clumsy, and taking down the phantom troupe is something that requires plenty of people on the job

chrollo already knows you’re a crime hunter when he “runs into you” at a bar, as well as the fact that you aren’t working alone

but he entertains you, just because he’s bored lol

i can already picture you being caught off guard by how handsome chrollo is, because honestly im sorry who wouldn’t be

you kind of even forget you’re there on a job

but, when chrollo asks if you know about nen and what type of nen you use, you quickly remember why you’re there

you smile, “yes, i’m a specialist.”

he asks you to show him, but you decline

“i will lose it if i do.”

chrollo smirks, “smart girl.”

with that, you feel a sharp pain on the side closest to chrollo, and everything goes dark as you tumble into his arms

once you wake up, all the spiders surround you, chrollo in the center

“caught in the web.” you say, as chrollo’s eyes lighten up.

“precisely.”

“is there any way to escape a spider’s web?”

“prove to be worthy.”

there he went again, begging to see your nen so he could steal it

but just because you were thought to be the weakest link, didn’t mean it was true

“i mean, you’re looking at it right now.”

the troupe stares in confusion, and before chrollo can respond, one of the spiders falls to the ground, beheaded. (i can’t pick who so just pretend its ur least favorite <3)

the spiders stand there in shock

there were two of you.

the real you, free and unbounded, makes the clone disappear

“you said you were a specialist, but this seems to be a conjurer technique?”

“the speciality is that you can’t steal it. it isn’t exactly nen.”

this is the first time someone’s caught chrollo off guard, he has no idea what to do, i mean how did he know that this you wasn't a clone?

“now, i’ve heard once a leg is missing, there needs to be a replacement. what does the head think?”

you weren’t just a crime hunter, you were a double agent who wanted in on the phantom troupe

the moment chrollo realized your abilities weren’t nen, i think that’s when he fell in love

hear me out

he knows he’s going to be indebted to you forever

and we all know those books he reads...mf is a hopeless romantic who if in love, pretty much is absolutely obsessed

and boy is he obsessed already

of course, he is unable to steal it from you which is quite a drag

but, with you there, and your undiscovered abilities, the phantom troupe was basically unbeatable

something he wanted so badly

“welcome to the troupe number ___.” (once again i can’t decide who LOL you guys can pick)

you protect him and he protects you. 

if any of the troupe questions you and your decisions, he defends you so fast

eventually the troupe is referred to as “a spider with two heads”

kinda cute, kinda funky fresh name for thieves and murderers<3 at least u guys r passionately in love <3 

i hope this was good!! im kind of rusty so sorry :( im finishing up some other requests, and im thinking of crossposting a fic on here and on ao3, inspired by my dr strange/hxh hcs :) but requests are still open! guidelines right here  (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ thank you to everyone who shows love to my posts!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh hcs #adultrio hcs #adultrio x reader #hisoka x reader #chrollo x reader #illumi x reader #hisoka hc #chrollo hc #illumi hc

[inkedtae]

Hi love! Can I request Starfruit couples first big argument? Maybe some make-up sex😏😏

ooh this is gon be✨  filthy✨

hoseok’s company host’s a party at the end of every year where the entire floor, no matter the department, all join together for some casual drinking and mingling after a year’s worth of hard work

he of course invited you, going as far as to buy you a tasteful dress with a little vibrator to match 

“it will only be wore as a set” he smirks when you question him about it

he says this as if you’d ever deny the opportunity to fall apart under his control

all was well, vibrator snuggly shoved in and dress clinging to your curves all too well for anyone not to notice

hoseok took pride in that and you in him until you find that he has attracted eyes for himself

the women on his floor all seemed to be well aware of him, laughing all too loudly at his comments and touching him all too much to seem friendly

you expected him to draw in a crowd, giving that he has proven time and time again how capable he is of doing so 

but you didn’t expect him to be so passive about it, not when he’s committed himself to you that it

you’re not usually so possessive or jealous, but there was something about the way he let these women think that something could happen with him that irked you a bit

it switched something different inside you 

it might also have to do with the fact that you knew if the roles were reversed, hoseok would not stay quiet

you bite your tongue and swallow your protests back

a work party is no place to discuss this and when you get to the car you will bring it up to him 

and though you try to tell yourself that this is all just a little misunderstanding, it doesn’t stop you from getting so turned off, the vibrator begins to feel uncomfortable in you

so you excuse yourself and take it off in the washroom, washing it off before dropping it in your clutch

an hour later and your bag stares to vibrate in the middle of a conversation with Namjoon, one of Hoseok’s closest co-workers

“you going to answer that?”

you nod, chuckling nervously as you excuse yourself to find hoseok

you spot him at the bar with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a drink 

when you calmly make your way over to him, his brows furrow together in confusion

“you took it out?” he whispers, turning it off once he hears your bag buzzing

“i’m in the mood.”

at first, he thinks you’re just being bratty asking if he should get you in the mood but when you mutter that you’re serious, he pauses

“what happened? did someone try something on you?”

the irony is not lost on you as you scoff a chuckle

“no, but they haven’t stopped trying them on you” 

he somewhat hangs his head in defeat

“who told you?” 

“i saw”

“then you know nothing happened,”

his words click something different in your mind

did... someone really try something on him?

“what the hell are you talking about?”

realizing he’s misread things and that this conversation might escalate any second now, hoseok sets down his drink and asks you to follow him to his office

he shuts and locks the door, leaving the lights off so no can see through the thin curtains before you let some of your frustration out

“why did you bring me here?”

“so we could talk?”

“No, i mean to this stupid party. why am i here? you already have a little fanclub following you around”

he laughs, shaking his head

it only fuels your anger

“baby you can’t be seriously jealous” 

“you let them flock around you, hoseok. i’m not jealous, i’m pissed.”

he sighs, a little roll of his eyes setting you off more than you thought it would

you scoff at him, ignoring the tears pricking your eyes out of the sheer frustration of his condescending antics

“i’m serious, why the hell am i here?”

“because i want you. you know i do. look, yes they follow me around sometimes and drop by my office unannounced and some have tried to make passed at me but i have never given into any of them. whatever you think you saw please let me explain it”

he waits until you nod, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow

“one of the women here used to watch me and asked if she could have a private show. but nothing happened! i told her no, but she still flirts with me every chance she gets. it’s a new job and i don’t want to be rude.”

he’s put it into somewhat of a perspective but you still can’t let go of your annoyance. 

hoseok is your man and you’re both clearly tired of others trying to alter that fact

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was worried you’d react badly,” he raises his brows and gestures between you as if to say this conversation was what worried him 

“I’m sorry, hobi, i just don’t like how they touch you and it kinda seems like you’re letting them.”

“i’m sorry too, i should have told you” 

then he flicks the light on, your silhouettes now seen to anyone daring to glance at his office

“wanna show them who that right is reserved for?” he asks with a smirk

taking the vibrator out of your bag, you hop up on his desk

he take it from your hand, a too giddy smile on his face as he kisses you and shoves the toy back into your pussy 

“mmm does fighting always make you so wet?”

you didn’t even realize you were practically dripping until you felt his wet, sticky fingers move up your folds, dragging all that arousal with them

he turns it on to the lowest, chuckling against your neck as you whimper quietly from the little jolts of pleasure

“you’re gonna have to be louder than that if you want them to know who i belong to”

“you’re gonna have to give me a reason to”

and just as you’ve finished that sentence, hoseok has you bend over his desk, ass perked up and slaps echoing in the room 

he tells you to say his name after every spank “so they know who’s making you feel this good” 

then he drops his pants and groans out your name

he’s adamant on everyone knowing full well who is in and where their loyalties lie 

in and out he fucks you hard and fast with that vibrator in there, not stopping even after the two of you have already came twice

“let’s just give them one more” he all but whines 

you give them two

when you’re done, vibrator off and both of you panting, him sitting on his chair to catch his breath and you still bent over on the desk unable to really move after such a fucking

a quiet knock comes to the door

“what?”

it’s only now that you realize the music has stopped and all conversations outside have ceased

“are you done because we want to get back to the party” seokjin asks before adding “and jimin doesn’t want to miss anything if you’re planning on going agai- what? you just said that you don’t want to miss it if he eats her out.”

“I heard that too” namjoon chimes in a chorus of agreement coming from the rest of the crowd

you sit up on the desk again, exhausted but thoroughly embarrassed as the reality f what you’ve just done sets in  

hoseok shrugs, looking to you with a little smirk 

“can you handle my tongue right now baby?” he whispers

“can you speak up?” seokjin asks

you roll your eyes at the man behind the door then look back to hoseok, all flushed pressing your legs together

“you have caused a mess...”

he smiles, getting on his knees

[send in a bulletproof fic]

#bulletproof fics #hoseok bullet fic #hoseok smut #jhope smut #starfruit jhs

[dettiot]

Fic: late-night interruption 10/11

late-night interruption Author: dettiot Rating: G Summary: When Obi-Wan receives a late-night comm from Sabé, he’s not sure what to expect. But what he learns will change many lives . . . and the fate of the Republic.

Also available on AO3.

XXX

There was a hum in the air as the time for the meeting grew closer, due to the rising tension. Or perhaps the tension was simply in Obi-Wan’s imagination, due to his anticipation of what would soon happen. After all, once Anakin entered this room, he would sense the shift in his old master’s outlook. As would Masters Yoda and Windu when they arrived. 

And while Anakin would probably just tease him a bit, he doubted Yoda or Mace would be so benign. 

He hoped the importance of this meeting and the information Satine and Bo-Katan were to present would stay the Jedi Masters’ tongues for now. And unfortunately, they might be more upset over Anakin’s actions than Obi-Wan’s. Not that it was fair, how Anakin was always so distrusted by so many on the Council. 

Even worse, it did not reflect well on the leaders of the Order to have so little faith in one of their members. 

When Ahsoka stepped into the room, Obi-Wan remembered Anakin wasn’t the only one to have suffered from the Council’s actions. 

“Hello, Ahsoka. It’s good to see you,” he said warmly, wanting her to know how pleased he was to see her. 

“Thank you, Master Obi-Wan,” she said, smiling at him. Her eyes flicked between him and Satine, locking on their gentle handhold, before her smile widened. “It’s good to see you, too.” 

It was strange to openly hold hands with Satine like this. To expose himself to such scrutiny. But it also felt long overdue, so he kept his hand wrapped around Satine’s for now. 

“We’ll have more time to catch up later, I hope,” he said. “I would like to hear what you’ve been up to.” 

“I’d like that, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said, her smile becoming a smirk. “I’d love to hear from your perspective some of the stories the Duchess has told me about the year you spent protecting her.” 

“Let me guess: the venom mites story?” Obi-Wan asked, sighing as Ahsoka nodded. He turned to Satine. “Really, my dear. Holding grudges is beneath you.” 

Satine lifted her chin. “So were the venom mites you dropped me on.” 

Ahsoka’s soft snicker made Obi-Wan roll his eyes, but then Anakin and Padmé walked in and Anakin all but dragged his wife over to their group. 

“Well, well, well,” Anakin said, smiling widely. “It looks like your reunion was a success.” He nudged Padmé gently and jerked his chin towards Obi-Wan and Satine’s joined hands. 

Both Padmé and Ahsoka let out soft laughs at Anakin’s unsubtle actions, while Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Really, Anakin. You are a married man with children now,” Obi-Wan said, looking at his former Padawan. “Aren’t you above such juvenile teasing?” 

“Nope,” Anakin said, amusement rolling off his Force presence. 

Padmé gave both Obi-Wan and Satine a gentle smile. “He’s just really happy. We both are.” 

“Thank you, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, unable to keep from giving Satine a fond look. “So are we.” 

“As much as I’d like to talk more, I must speak to Threepio about arranging the refreshments,” Padmé said. She tugged on Anakin’s arm, pulling him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Behave, Ani.” 

Anakin looked a bit perturbed, but he nodded and turned back to the group. He shifted back and forth on his feet, some of his levity fading into apprehension. An apprehension that Obi-Wan also felt. 

Obi-Wan squeezed Satine’s hand before letting it go. “Satine, I need to have a word with Anakin.” 

She gave him a gentle smile. “Of course. I should speak with Bo as well, to prepare for our presentation.” 

“All right,” he said, smiling back at her and watching as she stepped carefully over to her sister. Ahsoka followed Satine: shifting into protector mode, Obi-Wan observed with approval.

Now alone with Anakin, he looked at the man who was his brother as much as his student. Anakin tried for a smile but wasn’t fully successful. “So . . .” he said, letting his voice trail off. 

“Regardless of what happens during this meeting, we will need to report to the Jedi Council about our actions,” Obi-Wan said, knowing that there was no time to hesitate. “Neither Yoda nor Mace will miss your babies, not with their Force presences. And hearing about Satine’s survival will make them question my status.” 

“I know,” Anakin said softly. He looked at Obi-Wan for a long moment. “Master . . . I don’t want to stay in the Order if it means I’d have to give up my family.” His face twisted. “I--I’d hate leaving you behind, not to mention the 501st. And I feel guilty about stepping away from my role in the war and dishonoring Master Qui-Gon’s faith in me, but I . . . I just can’t do it.” 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tried to speak, but his voice seemed caught in his throat. He swallowed and managed to push the words out. “You have done more to honor Qui-Gon’s belief in you by following your heart, following your own interpretation of the Force, than by staying to be some mythical Chosen One.” 

It was easy to see in Anakin’s expressive face when the words sunk in. Anakin’s eyes widened and his whole being seemed lit up with hope. “Yeah?” he said, a bit gruffly. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “We’ll speak with the Council after this meeting, and I will be by your side.” 

“Yeah?” Anakin repeated, that teasing light coming back into his eyes.

“Not now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan cautioned him, lifting his hand from Anakin’s shoulder and holding it up as a gesture to stop. “There is another matter I wanted to bring up: our shared vision.” 

Although Anakin clearly wasn’t happy to have to drop his teasing, nearly three years of war had taught him when to focus on business. “What about it?” he asked. 

“Should we reveal what we learned to everyone here? Or should it be kept as a matter for the Jedi?” 

When Anakin still looked confused, Obi-Wan explained in a lowered voice, “The Chancellor is your mentor, Anakin. Do you want to accuse him of being a Sith, based on a vision, in a room full of people who know he is your mentor and who are not Jedi?” 

“Oh,” Anakin said quietly before swallowing audibly. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, looking at Anakin’s bowed head. “I wish there was more time for us to discuss the vision, to decide what to do--”

“I don’t need more time,” Anakin said, lifting his head to look at him. “I . . . I don’t think we should bring up the vision here. The Council will need to know--and they’ll understand. But right now, with the Senators and Satine and her sister here--I think we should keep the discussion on the clones.” 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, impressed at Anakin’s strategy. “Since the matter of the inhibitor chip might be enough to cast suspicion on the Chancellor?” 

Anakin nodded. “Yes. And . . . and if it turns out it’s not the Chancellor, and the vision isn’t what we thought it was--at least if the clones are safe, which means we would have removed a powerful weapon from our enemy, whoever that might be.” 

“I agree,” Obi-Wan said as the chime of the doorbell sounded through the room. He drew in a breath and looked at Anakin. “Are you ready?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.” 

The sense of defeat and resignation rolling off Anakin concerned Obi-Wan, but sadly, this wasn’t the time to discuss it further. But Obi-Wan hoped they would get a chance after the meeting to really discuss this. Definitely before they made their announcements to the Jedi Council. 

But for now, the matter at hand was not how both Anakin and himself had broken the Jedi Code or their shared vision of the Chancellor fighting Master Yoda. The matter was the clone army. 

XXX

As the Duchess of Mandalore and leader of the Council of Neutral Systems, Satine had presided over several delicate diplomatic debates. But she wasn’t sure if there was ever a situation so delicate as this one. Even before you considered a cloaked and hooded figure sitting in the middle of the room, prompting curious glances from everyone as they entered.  

The living room in Padmé’s apartment was large and spacious, and although there were only six guests, their personalities were great enough to make the room feel very crowded, especially combined with those already in the room. 

In one corner were the Senators invited by Padmé: Bail Organa of Alderaan, Mon Mothma of Chandrila, and Onaconda Farr of Rodia. Along with Padmé, they represented a neat cross-section of Core and Mid-Rim worlds, influential in the Senate but with their own opinions on the war and other Republic matters. 

Padmé was sitting on a couch between the Senators and the couch Satine was sharing with her sister. Anakin stood behind Padmé, while Obi-Wan was beside him. 

Next to Satine, Bo shifted, her helmet tucked under her arm and her face set in a neutral expression. Politics was the last thing her sister cared about, but Satine appreciated her support. Not to mention Ahsoka, who had remained near them even as the invited members of the Jedi Order entered the apartment.  

What must the girl be thinking, Satine wondered, seeing the men who had expelled her from the Order and then, with barely an apology, cleared her of the charges and expected her to return to those who had cast her out? 

As she pondered that, her eyes were drawn to the opposite corner, where the Jedi were sitting. Master Yoda was sitting on a small cushion, which made him look less foolish than being swallowed up by a chair. It was the touch of a master politician, to make someone feel so comfortable. But Satine would expect nothing less of Padmé. 

Beside Master Yoda, Master Mace Windu sat, his hands steepled together as he observed the room. His eyes rested on her and Satine kept her head slightly lowered, allowing the hood to shield her face. She had met both Jedi Masters before; she could guess they recognized her presence in the Force, like Obi-Wan could. She doubted her survival would surprise them very much. 

And she wondered if they could tell how two of their most valuable members were on the verge of breaking with the Order. 

Before she could follow that thought any further, Padmé rose to her feet.  “Good afternoon,” she said, her clear voice carrying through the large room. “Thank you for attending this meeting: Senators, Jedi, and guests. At this time, I would like to introduce Lady Bo-Katan Kryze of Mandalore.” 

Rising to her feet gracefully, Bo nodded to the groups in the room. “Thank you, Senator. I have come before you with critical information about the Republic’s clone army. They are not what they believe themselves to be.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Senator Farr asked defensively. 

“No one in this room, nor anyone else in the Senate or Jedi Order, would know this,” Bo said, her head raised. “It is information that was provided to Mandalore, in our role as leader of the neutral systems of the galaxy, from certain citizens of Kamino.” 

“And what is this information?” Master Windu asked, his voice silky smooth but laced with suspicion. 

Bo leaned forward, placing a holotransmitter in the center of a table. She pressed a button and stood back to allow everyone to see the display. “Every clone has an inhibitor chip, placed in his brain, that will compel them to follow any of a number of pre-planned orders.”

Everyone leaned in, looking closer at a diagram showing the location of the inhibitor chip within a clone’s brain. Satine watched them as they took in this information, using a lifetime of political knowledge to read their faces. 

Senators Organa and Mothma looked horrified. Senator Farr looked intrigued. It was the Jedi reactions that Satine was most interested in: while Master Windu appeared perturbed, Master Yoda’s narrowed eyes and pursed mouth seemed to convey worry.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. Then Senator Mothma spoke. “Have you verified this information?” 

“We haven’t cut open a clone’s head yet, if that’s what you mean,” Bo said and Satine winced. She shot her sister a look, who sighed and continued, “We have extensively vetted the source and the data they provided. If it didn’t come straight from Kamino, their slicer was able to create a perfect forgery.” 

Senator Organa leaned forward. “So, if the information is apparently trustworthy . . . we must examine the purpose of these chips. And how they were inserted into the clone army.” 

“Know not, the Jedi, of these chips. Against the will of the Force, to tamper with sentients, it is,” Master Yoda said solemnly. 

For the moment, Satine was thankful for her hood, so she didn’t have to school her expression at such hypocrisy from the grandmaster of the Jedi Order. When the Jedi Council did nothing but manipulate and control their members, against what was right and fair . . . 

“Be that as it may, the Kaminoans must have provided you with data about the clones,” Senator Organa said smoothly. “Specifications and such. If there is no mention of these inhibitor chips in those documents, then . . . ”

Master Windu asked the obvious question. “How did these chips become part of the clone army and on whose orders?” 

“We don’t know that,” Bo said. “But finding out who’s responsible is critical.”

“As well as removing these chips from the clones,” Padmé said. 

“Wouldn’t that alert whoever put those chips in the clones in the first place?” Senator Farr asked, sounding grumpy.

And with that, the mood shifted from discovery to debate. Bo, her part done, sat down on the sofa beside Satine and leaned over towards her. “I don’t know how you could spend so many years dealing with such nonsense.”

Satine gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “This is democracy. It’s messy and imperfect, but I don’t think anyone in this room wants to replace it with something else.”

Bo looked doubtful but leaned back against the couch’s back, clearly getting comfortable. 

But Satine couldn’t help leaning forward, following all the points being made by each individual, waiting for any sign her assistance was needed. The ideal plan was for her to stay withdrawn and uninvolved in the conversation and hope no one thought to ask who the hooded figure was. However, so few things went according to plan, and she wasn’t about to let the Republic destroy the galaxy just because a few people couldn’t compromise and see the bigger picture. 

After an hour of discussion, Padmé rose and called the room to attention. “I believe a short break is in order,” she said, drawing a few surprised looks from her colleagues. She gave them a sheepish smile and gestured to Threepio. “My droid will provide anything you require during my absence.”

With that, Padmé slipped out of the room--probably to go tend to her babies, Satine guessed. She did hope she might have a chance to see them before she had to leave. 

“Excuse me.” 

So surprised to be addressed, Satine couldn’t help looking up at the face of Senator Organa. She quickly lowered her head before her hood could slip off. “Yes?” she asked, falling into her natural Mandalorian accent to disguise her voice. 

The senator looked at her for a long moment, then smiled. “I don’t know if you remember me, Duchess, but we met once in happier times: shortly after you were confirmed in your rule of Mandalore.”

Of the people in this room to guess who she was, her money hadn’t been on Bail Organa. But then, Satine and he both came from similar backgrounds, but very dissimilar worlds. 

Giving a small sigh, Satine lifted her hood away from her face, smoothing it out and looking up at him. “Hello, Senator Organa. Of course I remember you.”

She was truly getting tired of all the gasping that went on when she had to reveal herself. Perhaps Bo was right and she should just make some kind of public announcement. 

But that could wait for later. For now, she rose to her feet, gently dismissing Senator Organa’s hand in order to stand on her own. 

“Only the most critical matter could make me risk my recovery and step forward into the light of the public arena,” Satine said, looking at every one of the Senators and Jedi in front of her. “I hope you will not make this risk be a vain one.”

Her eyes connected with Obi-Wan. His hand was in front of his mouth, hiding whether he smiled or frowned. But his eyes, so pure and clear, were full of love and support. 

And Satine couldn’t help smiling at him. Even though this was not the time to smile and think of herself. 

But she had done her duty so far, and now it was up to the people she trusted: Padmé and Anakin, Ahsoka and Bo, and most of all, Obi-Wan. 

They would convince everyone here to move forward. To act instead of endlessly debate. And if they needed help . . . she would give the last shove to make these argumentative passive nerfs stick their necks out and do what was right. 

XXX

For once, Anakin wasn’t pushing his speeder to go as fast as possible. He knew Obi-Wan had noticed his non-reckless driving, and he was bound to be worried by it. But Anakin just wanted to take a few extra minutes to get to the Temple. 

After all, it might be the last time he ever went to the Temple. The last time he was a Jedi. 

Honestly, all the debating between the Senators and Masters Mace and Yoda got pretty boring after a while. Anakin thought there was a simple solution: find out who put the chips in the clones’ heads and then deal with it--both the chips and their puppet master. 

But he knew it wouldn’t be so easy, and he was proven right. It took several hours before it was agreed for each group to split up and present to their larger bodies. Anakin and Obi-Wan would join Masers Mace and Yoda in talking to the Jedi Council, while Padmé and Bail Organa would present their information to the Senate, with Bo-Katan present. 

He could only guess how the meeting with the Council would go. Probably even worse than the meeting he just had to sit through, because . . . because he knew Master Yoda and Master Mace knew that something was going on. The moment they had entered the apartment, they had sensed the twins and their sun-bright presence. 

And neither of them would pass up an opportunity to put him in his place once again. Even with more important things going on. 

Something about that realization made his hands relax around the controls. He felt an ache in his flesh hand--he must have been holding on tighter than he thought. 

It didn’t matter what the Council did to him once they knew the truth about Padmé and the twins. Anakin knew his only option was to resign before being expelled. He had broken the Code. He had attachments--attachments he would not give up. 

More than that, though . . . he was just tired of lying. Of hiding. It wasn’t fair to Padmé--she had been so right with her objections about a secret relationship. And although Anakin wouldn’t give up being married to Padmé over these last three years for anything, it was different now. 

The twins didn’t deserve to be hidden away. They deserved to shine, to be whoever they wanted to be. For the first time in his life, he felt like he really understood what love was. Because of love, he would do anything for his children, even at the expense of what he had always thought was his purpose in life: being a Jedi. 

Beside him, Obi-Wan made a soft hum. “You’re very thoughtful. But not angry. I’m surprised.” 

“I’m surprised, too,” Anakin admitted. “I thought . . . I always thought at this moment that I’d be mad at the Council. For forcing me to do this. But . . . it wasn’t the Council’s fault that I broke the Code. It was mine. So I have to face the consequences, even if it isn’t fair and the Code is bantha poodoo.”

Obi-Wan smirked slightly. “Now you really do sound like a father. Except for the reference to a bantha’s excrement” 

Anakin rolled his eyes and put the speeder in a swift downward plunge, just to torment his master. But instead of wincing and grabbing onto the speeder, Obi-Wan . . . laughed?

“Master? Are you all right?” Anakin asked, quickly levelling out of the dive. 

“Yes, Anakin, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said with a chuckle. “You’re not the only one feeling differently than he expected at this moment.”

“Oh?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, wondering if Obi-Wan’s strange mood was related to his conversation with the Duchess. 

Obi-Wan looked out through the windshield for a long moment. Anakin looked forward, too, taking in Coruscant at sunset: the horizon red and gold, the sky above them a deep purple, streaks of light from speeders and ships moving around the tall buildings. 

“I’m going to leave the Order.” 

“You are? Really?” Anakin asked, feeling his fear diminish amid a surge of hope. At the idea of Obi-Wan actually maybe getting to be happy. “Because of Satine?” 

“Yes . . . although that’s only part of it,” Obi-Wan said. “Although in truth, if it wasn’t for Satine, I would never leave. But we have a second chance now and--and I cannot keep hurting her.” 

When Obi-Wan looked at him, there was such pain in his eyes, Anakin felt his heart ache for his old master. 

“She told me she loved me, just before she died--or we both thought she was dying,” Obi-Wan said, his voice choked. “And--and I couldn’t say it back. I couldn’t comfort her in her last moments, because . . . because of the Code.” 

Anakin didn’t know what to say. Well, no--he knew what he wanted to say. It might sound a bit weird, but it was what he felt, and he wanted his master to know.  

“I . . . I’m proud of you, Obi-Wan.” 

“It’s not really something to be proud of--” he tried to protest, but Anakin wasn’t going to let him brush this off. 

“It is,” he interrupted. “I know how much Satine means to you, and how much being a Jedi matters. So choosing Satine . . . it’s a good thing, Master.” 

It seemed to take Obi-Wan a moment to recover from Anakin’s words. They flew in silence towards the Temple, the tall, imposing structure starting to come into view before Obi-Wan spoke. 

“I hope so,” he said quietly. “And not just for myself. I’ve realized over the last few days that . . . that as much as the Jedi believe that both master and padawan learn from each other, there comes a point where the master needs to let the padawan go. So they can be their own Jedi. So the master doesn’t hold back their padawan or themselves.”

How many times as a padawan, brash and arrogant and presumptuous, had he thought Obi-Wan was holding him back? Too many to count, Anakin knew. But now, looking back, he was grateful for every single time Obi-Wan urged him to think, to reflect, to consider. Because he had been a dumb, whiny kid with too much power, and the terror he could have inflicted without Obi-Wan . . . he didn’t want to think about it. 

“You have been the best master of anyone in the Order, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “I know you were stuck with me, and--and I didn’t trust you for a long, long time. But I was wrong, and I’m glad to have you with me now.”

Obi-Wan let out a raspy chuckle. “And here I felt you were stuck with me. That I was failing you and failing Qui-Gon.”

“What?” Anakin said, looking at Obi-Wan in shock. “How the kriff did you get such an idea?”

“Perhaps because I knew my Padawan didn’t trust me?” Obi-Wan said dryly.  

Anakin rolled his eyes. “All right, I get it.”

He could practically feel Obi-Wan’s smirk as he drew the speeder into a hanger at the Temple. He shut it down, then looked at Obi-Wan. “We’re supposed to live in the moment, but I know the past is always with us. But I think things are gonna be better in the future, Obi-Wan.”

His old master looked at him for a long moment. Some of the sadness, the exhaustion, had been lifted from his face. Anakin guessed some of it was thanks to Satine--but he thought that maybe some of it was thanks to him. 

And it was a nice feeling to have. To feel connected with Obi-Wan, but not like as a padawan to his master. 

Up until now, he had thought of Obi-Wan as his father. But now . . . now he felt like a brother. An older, stubborn, bossy and annoying brother who thought he knew it all, but a brother nonetheless. 

It felt good. 

“Well,” Anakin said, climbing to his feet, “let’s not keep the Council waiting to expel us.”

Just like he hoped, Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, Anakin.”

Grinning widely, Anakin led the way to the Council chambers, a spring in his step the whole way.

End, Chapter 10

#anidala #obitine #star wars #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #satine kryze #padme amidala #late-night interruption

[trialds]

G L A S S ;

Info: 

Obi-Wan x Sith!Reader. 

Part 1 of 12. 

2096 words. 

Pre!TPM. 

Currently SFW. 

A/N: I haven’t written a fic since I was about 13. It may take a while for my writing to even begin to resemble something a human being would say lmao. 

--- 

Safe to say, fighting for his life had not been on Obi-Wan’s itinerary when he woke up that morning. 

It was meant to be a simple recon assignment for him and his Master, figuring out how and why the people of a small but powerful planet seemed to be gathering military resources at a speed unreasonable for peacetime. Important, yes, but easy enough - in, observe, a little bit of digging if needed, and back out by day’s end. 

Instead, both him and Master Qui-Gon had sensed a dark presence on the planet upon landing. Whether this was just the natural existence of the Gardinoan population was arguable, as his own Master had remarked that he had not felt such unease from the Force in a long time, and that it was unlikely that the Council would have sent the pair of them alone to a planet with such a … festering darkness. In any case, they almost immediately found themselves at the wrong end of a blaster and being guided to a prison cell by three thinly necked and heavily armoured Gardinoans. 

Hours had passed since that first aggression, with his Master being dragged off to be questioned somewhere else. Qui-Gon was determined, Obi-Wan knew, not to get out of the situation using the Force if it could be avoided; ‘cooperation is the key in situations like these’, he had told his imprisoned padawan before being moved, ‘and if we can convince them to work alongside us now, they’ll be much more favourable towards us in the future.’ 

If Obi-Wan was being quite frank with himself, he didn’t particularly care about the future. Stuck in a dingy and cold prison cell, he was more concerned with the present - especially as it involved what he was fairly sure was a Sith, strolling into the room containing his cell alongside his jailors. At a cursory glance, the figure did not scream Sith - a cloaked individual with a half mask covering the bottom half of their face was not entirely out of place around most parts, afterall, and the force aura around them did not seem disturbed or even that different from Obi-Wan’s own. However Obi-Wan was not one for simple cursory glances when his life was at stake - given the sheathed lightsaber that could be glimpsed between the robe’s folds, and the yellow tinged eyes of a humanoid woman poking out between their half mask and hood, Obi-Wan knew this was no longer a simple recon assignment. 

The woman turned to the Gardinoan escorting her, and murmured for them to leave them. The Gardinoan - after turning towards Obi-Wan as if to make sure that the padawan was still in the cell - nodded, and scuttered away from the woman, the door to the room clicking shut behind him and a heavy silence filling the space left behind. 

Obi-Wan remained still within his cell, waiting for the cloaked woman to speak, or even act. Instead, she watched him from beneath her hood, eyes stuck to Obi-Wan’s face as if she was judging a piece of work and found it lacking. The silence stretched into the minutes, and Obi-Wan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand - should he talk? Should he question her? If he talked first could he get the upper hand, convince her play her hand or let him out, maybe even - 

“No, not what I expected at all.” The woman said, words cutting into the silence - and it wasn’t the voice of an old woman, or a monster, but of a young woman - his age, or even younger maybe. Someone that could hopefully be bested by a padawan, if needs be … although Obi-Wan was grateful for the bars that surrounded his cell, for the little protection they offered from the Sith on the other side. 

Fighting the urge to reach for his lightsaber, sheathed at his own waist - it was time to stall. 

“Oh really? Well, I do hate to disappoint. Who exactly were you expecting?” 

A scoff, quiet and as full of humour as it was of mockery. 

Yellow eyes ran quickly across his face, before the woman reached up, sweeping her hood back and pulling her half mask down in quick succession so that, Obi-Wan imagined, he could see the disappointment on her face. Which, of course, was there, but she was …. not what he expected either. 

Force users were not creatures from children’s tales, he knew. Whether dark or light, a force user could come from any planet, look like any of the millions of the universe’s designs, and he had seen before the mask’s removal her eyes, and that she was shaped in a similar enough way to any of the many humanoid species that littered every space between stars, but still. He had imagined, beneath the mask - as far as he had gone to imagine her at all - a monster. Like he imagined all the Sith. Not hideous, not grotesque, but evil. Visibly evil, because if her force aura wasn’t going to mark an obvious and unbridgeable difference between them, surely something should. 

But no. 

She was just … an attractive woman. A very attractive woman. 

(The type of woman, perhaps, in a different universe, where Obi-Wan was not good and she was not evil, or he was not beholden to the Jedi Code, or in a universe where Jedi did not exist at all - as terrible as that would be, of course - that he might ask her out for a drink. Or perhaps to a picnic underneath the stars on Naboo. Maybe they could have grown up together as children.) 

Why could the day not have gone as planned? 

What was she staring at now? 

Oh. He hadn’t heard a word she’d just said, and by the looks of it - by how she had rolled her eyes and recovered her face, by how her back was turning and she was beginning to walk towards the shut door - she wasn’t planning on staying much longer. 

Qui-Gon was going to kill him if he let a Sith walk away from him without any information. He needed something, anything, that they could tell the Council, something important - 

“Can I at least get your name?” 

Dammit. What was wrong with him? 

The woman paused at the door, laughing quietly as she turned back to face him without taking a step closer. 

“No, you cannot. What you can have, Jedi, is a secret - would you like it?” 

Padawan. I am not a Jedi yet. 

But Obi-Wan nodded, words kept pressed down in his throat, crawling around like snakes. The woman seemed pleased at his answer, taking a few steps closer and beckoning him to the bars that separated them - and almost subconsciously, Obi-Wan found himself at the edge of his cell, leaning against the cold metal and watching her. 

“Well, Master, you’re very lucky - and please understand, I am not in the business of telling Jedi scum my secrets, but neither am I in the business of leaving Jedi unharmed after being in my presence. So, Jedi … I’m sure you’re honoured to know that I have given you the gift of being my first, and hopefully only.” 

Oh. 

She was leaving him alive. 

(But that means she really was here to kill someone who wasn’t him, she wasn’t here for Obi-Wan at all - his master, Qui-Gon, would she go to him next? Would Obi-Wan have to stand here as she plunged her lightsaber through his chest, or across his neck - he had to get out, he had to find Qui-Gon, he needed to get them out of this place - 

But the woman was already leaving, she was already back at the door, and it was already open, she was already stepping out, but Qui-Gon - ) 

“I can feel the fear rolling off you, Jedi. You might want to work on that.” 

And with the last words spoken over her shoulder towards him, she was gone. 

What was he going to do? 

- - - 

What he was going to do, in the end, was have what may have been a small panic attack as he remained in his cell for another hour. 

His lightsaber couldn’t free him from the cell - the bars, whatever they were made of, seemed to absorb the energy. 

He couldn’t persuade anyone to let him out - not a soul had graced his presence since the woman’s exit, leaving him with nothing but her ghost and the fear and the images. 

(The woman, unmasked and beautiful and terrible. Qui-Gon in a cell of his own, weaponless and restricted, and her over him, and her lightsaber in hand, and would Qui-Gon be able to fight her off? Surely Qui-Gon would fight, and surely Qui-Gon would win, he always won, but what if he didn’t? What if he died there, or died trying to escape her, dead on the floor like an animal or worse, his corpse taken by the woman like a trophy back to wherever she had emerged from. Would Obi-Wan ever leave, would he ever become a Jedi, could he without Qui-Gon, and - ) 

Breathe. Fear is the path to the dark side. Breathe. Fear leads to anger. Breathe. Anger leads to hate. Breathe. Hate leads to suffering. Breathe. 

Qui-Gon is going to be fine. She may not even be here from him, Obi-Wan reminded himself. And realistically, she can’t have been - she clearly did not recognise him as a padawan, and if she had been here for Qui-Gon and known the man was nearby, she would surely have taunted Obi-Wan with whatever her plans were, knowing that the younger man would be able to do nothing about it. 

But what if - 

Safe to say, it was a very long hour until his Master walked back into the room, alongside one of Gardinoan jailors from earlier, looking unharmed and only mildly annoyed. 

Qui-Gon nodded towards his padawan: are you okay? Unhurt? 

A smile, small and quick, back. 

A sigh of relief from the older man, and a look towards the Gardinoan. 

“Now that you have your answers, can my padawan be released?” 

The Gardinoan - as thinly necked and heavily armed as ever, but now with a distinct look of embarrassment on his face, pale skin flushed and gaze almost constantly lowered - nodded quickly at the Jedi Master, hands quickly finding the keys to open the cell’s door and free the younger man. 

(And Obi-Wan really did need to do some digging into exactly what the bars were made of, when they were free and away from the whole damn planet.) 

Once free of the cell Obi-Wan walked quickly up to his mentor, and the two of them turned and left the room, leaving the Gardinoan behind them with their longer strides. With neither of them particularly looking forward to remaining amongst the people that had imprisoned them - and for no reason, at that - Obi-Wan was not surprised to see the Jedi lead him back towards the hanger in which their ship had originally landed. 

“What in the world was that, Master?” 

Qui-Gon sighed, resting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. 

“Unbelievably, mistaken identity - apparently, the two of us resemble a pair of bounty hunters some of the locals had a fair bit of issue with a few years ago. You would think that given we are very clearly Jedi here on Jedi Council business,” he spoke louder now, with the Gardinoan that still trailed a distance behind the pair able to hear him if their now redder cheeks were any indication, “a few moments questioning would be enough to convince them that we are not two low-rate rogues, but alas. Apparently not.” Qui-Gon dropped his voice again, concern colouring his words. “How were you, young one? Nothing too unpleasant?” 

Well, Master. There was, or at least I’m fairly sure there was, a Sith in the room. Her force aura was barely any different than yours, or Master Windu’s, or mine own, and she was quite beautiful, and she didn’t kill me, but a Sith nonetheless, I think. I barely listened to a word she said, and I hadn’t even thought to try and question her until she was halfway out the door, but - 

No chance. 

“No, Master. I was left alone for the most part, anyway, aside from someone who came in to watch me for a while. I - I am just glad you are well. I was worried for you.” 

At Qui-Gon’s weary smile at Obi-Wan’s barely half truth, the padawan’s heart seemed to stutter. 

What in the world had he just done. 

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #glass #my writing

[chaniters]

Training Montage

Next part of @kruk-art’s Awan Cormac fic.

Heavy Chargestep in the Ranger’s training room.

 Anathema in here too. 

Mild spoilery stuff 

Enjoy!!

___________________________________

You gasp for breath, lying motionless on the ground. That actually hurt. 

“I DID IT!!!!” Anathema cheers loudly. “I really did it!”

“Of course you did” you grin weakly “Ouch”

“Darn are you ok?” he says turning to you

“Yeah, I'm ok, don’t worry. That’s why we’re using a matt” 

Anathema extends a hand to you, smiling broadly. You get up only to get hugged

“Thanks!” he says

“Anytime” you chuckle. It’s weird but you never feel uncomfortable when he’s around. There’s something in his mind that inspires safety. That should make him dangerous in your book but it’s actually the other way around. Or perhaps you just enjoy taking a break from being suspicious of everyone and everything.  

“I need to take a break,” he says heading for the large couch by the pool.

“Oh you’re the one tired?” you say smiling.

“Well, it was me doing all the job! I was the one learning the throw, remember? All you had to do was fall flat on your ass”

“Fair point” you laugh taking a water bottle from the fridge. 

You always loved training, but you’ve never done this with an actual friend. The closest was learning with Nathaniel but he never really saw you as an equal. There’s something intoxicating about it. 

“What are you two up to?” a voice comes from the elevator. Ortega, wearing no shirt -because Ortega-, training shorts and a towel on his neck. 

“He just taught me the throw he did on Psycopathor!” Anathema answers excitedly.

“Oh, he did…?” 

“Yeap. I can throw anyone now. I don’t even need superpowers anymore.”

“That’s not fair!” he says turning to you, and stepping into the combat training matts the two of you assembled

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask 

“I want to learn that throw too. You know, for super-heroic purposes. Also, lots of people who need to be tossed around. ”

“You already have enhanced speed and strength. And you can fry opponents who get too close. Why even train martial arts?”

“There’s always someone stronger or faster than you. Just want to be ready, isn’t that why we train?” 

“It is” you concede 

“So teach me” he grins confidently, facing you.

“I don’t know... It’s getting late“ you say, though there’s no one else for you to be right now. Still, you start walking away. 

“Oh, I understand… I mean, I get it, if you’re not confident in your combat skill enough to teach me just because I'm stronger or faster than you then you don’t need to....”

You turn to face him again, your lips moving before your brain has time to process.

“Who said I'm not confident in my combat skill?!

“Well, I don’t know… You’ve been training with Anathema a lot, but you always leave when I come down here.  Sounds like you’re avoiding something. But it’s ok, you’re sort of good with martial arts,  and it’s probably easier to train with someone with your same build, losing’s not fun after all”

“Sort of good? Losing?” You say, venom dripping from your lips “You know what?  Maybe I can teach you that throw right now.”

“Maybe I can teach you a thing or two as well!” he says, the smile still stuck to his lips. It’s infuriating. 

“I doubt it. Also, I have terms. If I do this, I get to use this training room whenever I want. And I get free energy drinks from the fridge. And Steel doesn’t get to kick me out”

He flinches before smiling again.

“You know the fight with Steel I'll have about that?”

“Take it or leave it!”

“Fine, you’ve got a deal. But my Mom’s home meals in that fridge, are off bounds, you monster!”

“We’ll see about that,” you say as you motion for him to come closer. “Let’s go. Hit me”

“I won’t hold back” 

“It’d be your funeral if you did” you grin.

“Someone’s confidence is high. Let’s see how that holds up!” he charges at you.

He’s fast. Really really fast, very strong, and you can’t read his mind. On the other hand, his posture is sloppy, the attack reckless and his movements careless. 

You deflect him with an inner forearm block, immediately pulling his arm around with a circular motion as you move in, shoving your back against his chest as fast as you can, grab him by the shoulder, and then simply tip him over using his own impulse. 

He looks completely confused as he lies down on the matt. 

“Ow?” he asks tentatively. 

“Hey, that wasn’t the Psycopathor throw!” Anathema points out.

“You’re right. That wasn’t Aikido. It was Krav Maga”

“… how many martial arts do you know?” Ortega asks as he takes your offered arm and stands up.

You’d rather not answer that one. He really has no idea. “Let’s try again!” you say with a mischievous grin.  “This time I'll show you the actual throw”

You gon on explain the move, letting him do it on you a few times slowly. Then Anathema joins in, and they both practice together for a while before he heads towards the treadmills. 

You keep training with Ortega, and you’re surprised to find he’s a really fast learner, taking in the basic moves much faster than you expected.  

Minutes go by faster turning to hours. Anathema’s comings and goings are your only time measurement in here. He comes back to do some weights, then boxing practice against the punching ball, finally heading to the pool. Steel shows up to do some treadmill too, staying only for a short while, observing you an Ortega with mild disapproval before heading back to the quarter’s area. 

There’s something joyous about this that you can’t outright explain. It’s exhausting and you’re getting all manner of bruises by competing against Ortega’s mods (which he keeps apologizing for) but there’s nothing you’d rather be doing. Your mind starts to wander into the past, to the long training with Nathaniel and other instructors. 

But this is infinitely different. Even if you liked the training, it was always about punishments or rewards. Beat enough of your peers and Nathaniel would arrange for you to get the violin lessons you wanted. Fall down on your ass enough time, and you’d be downgraded for weeks. Be the worst, and you’d be the automatic volunteer for every experiment they needed. 

You really hated losing.

But there’s no punishment now. Training with him is its own reward. He looks so darn pleased when he gets a move right. Because you taught him. Because he actually likes you. 

A really close friend. You’ve both saved each other’s lives more than once now. 

You notice you’re losing focus as the training goes on. You can’t manage to time your breathing right, you’re getting clumsy and your stomach keeps tingling inexplicably. More worryingly, you don’t want it to stop.   

By the time Anathema comes back from the pool and sits on the couch to watch some TV you’re both exhausted. 

“One last round?” He asks panting

You just nod, too tired to speak. You walk to the center of the matt, and get ready, inviting him to try to attack you again, just like when you started. 

He comes at you with a feint to the side which you see coming, forcing you to step back. He throws a few punches, much shorter and fast this time, not giving you a chance to close in the distance. You take your time, until you see a mistake on his posture, and move in to try to knock him off his feet… 

… and then you’re lying on your back. It was so darn fast you couldn’t even see it. He did the Aikido throw on you.

He pins you down, holding your arms to the side as you struggle fruitlessly.

“HEY! ANNIE! I DID IT!” 

“What?” Anathema asks without taking his gaze from the TV

“I fucking got him! Look!” 

“Good on you Marshal,” Annie says dismissively.

“Noooooo you have to look!” he goes on, while you struggle fruitlessly under him. “I need a witness!”

Something’s definitely wrong, and you’re feeling weirded out by the second. 

His hands holding your wrists apart, his bare chest against you, his legs against yours…  It’s not the first time you’ve been pinned down but you’ve never felt this. Something’s making your stomach tingle and you’re getting really scared.

You’re panicking, and your struggle becomes more desperate.

“Hey hey, don’t be a sore loser!” he says turning to you, his leg rubbing against your thigh...and then both of you freeze on the spot.

 You’re trapped. Trapped in a way you’ve never felt before. He’s shocked because he’s clearly seeing something in your own expression that he didn’t expect to see, and you realize too slow that you’re blushing intensely. 

His grip softens and you feel yourself trembling, but you can’t bring yourself to try break free… he opens his mouth, about to say something…

“Hey, guys! Guys! Come see this mess right now, it’s all over the news! We might need to do something. There’s a new villain lose!”

“W...What?” Ortega asks distracted letting go. 

You take the chance to quickly crawl from under him, your whole body still tingling for whatever reason.

 He turns to you but you quickly turn away, focusing on the TV screen. You have to look away. 

You can’t let him see your face like this. You never want anyone to see you like this. 

You hate whatever *this* is. 

_______________________________________

My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #Chargestep #Awan Cormac #Anathema #fallen hero spoilers

[aq2003]

today is international fanworks day, heres a list of some of my favorite fics

-star wars

The Silent Song by Eirian Erisdar When Qui-Gon Jinn is told to take a new padawan, the Force pushes him towards a certain initiate - but when Qui-Gon is told that Obi-Wan cannot speak, he hesitates. And all the while, Palpatine moves in the shadows... 

A Trophy, Nothing More by solojones After killing Obi-Wan Kenobi in 'A New Hope', Darth Vader takes a moment to reflect on what he's done.

Adagio by ruth baulding A slow movement, in a minor key, set on Tatooine post-Mustafar.

The Weeds in the Wilderness by ealcynn A man wakes on a cold and desolate moor. He knows he is hurt. He knows he is alone. What he doesn't know is what he is, or where he came from. He doesn't know even his own name. But there is something else that this man knows, and that is that if he doesn't get help soon, he is going to die. And on this strange new world, there are so many dangers.

Teachers by Selena "Remember, Anakin, the master learns as much from the padawan as the padawan learns from the master." Eight lessons Anakin Skywalker learns through Ahsoka Tano, and one Darth Vader does.

one door closes, another opens by isabilightwood Ahsoka runs through a portal in the Lothal Jedi Temple, and finds herself seventeen years in the past. Only to find everything is slightly different - her seventeen-year-old past self was just executed, Obi-wan is missing, and Anakin fell eight months early, prompting Order 66 just after her arrival. With only her questionably useful knowledge of the Empire as a guide, Ahsoka finds herself helping to build a rebellion from scratch. Again. But this time, with a few more Jedi left in the galaxy. Some of whom could cause more problems than they solve.

Reprise by Elfpen Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Part 1 of Reprise

Hard Deviations by flute25 “The snares of the world were its ways of sin. He would fall. He had not fallen but he would fall and surely, in an instant. Not to fall was too hard and he felt the silent lapse of his soul, as it would be at some instant to come, falling, falling, but not yet fallen, still not fallen but about to fall.” James Joyce - Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Obi-wan Kenobi goes undercover, fighting a battle against Dooku, the Sith, and himself. Takes place during the Rako Hardeen arc. Part 2 of Divergences

Drifting Starlight by Pandora151 Just before the fateful Battle of Naboo, Qui-Gon Jinn is brought to the future, to the Clone Wars. He doesn't know why or how, but he knows one thing for sure: He never, in a million years, expected the galaxy to end up like this. Part 2 of The Journey of the Lights

-mcu

for good by Madelinedear "Sorry, May, we can't all be best friends with a celebrity.” May opens her mouth to retort reflexively, the words 'we aren’t even friends' on the tip of her tongue before she closes her mouth. Because they are friends, now. They’re way past that point. Oh my god, she thinks somewhat hysterically. Tony Stark is my best friend. (or; Tony Stark, May Parker, and the road to something like friendship) Part 1 of call you home

Exclusive by copperbadge Heroes In Manhattan: From Captain America's Hidden Talents To The Truth About The Hulk, We Debunk The Myths And Expose The Daily Lives Of The Avengers. Part 1 of Magazineverse

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the rattle of their hearts by iron_spider Tony deals with the aftermath of Infinity War. He needs to get things back to normal. And Peter is an essential part of normal. Part 1 of rattle universe

home training by theformerone T'Chaka takes Erik back to Wakanda. Erik is a problem child. Part 1 of erik stevens, prince of wakanda

We've Made It This Far, Kid by EmAndFandems Tony's just trying to protect the kid from SHIELD. Why does everything have to be so hard? Meanwhile, Peter's biggest problem is buying movie tickets, until he gets a harsh awakening.

the spider-man conspiracy by tempestaurora  WHO IS SPIDER-MAN? The screen showed Peter Parker, sixteen years old and determined to prove the identity of Spider-Man over the course of the three-part documentary he was making, unknowing that it would become viral within days of the first part being released. Behind the camera, way off screen, was Harley Keener, Tony Stark’s other prodigy child, grinning like crazy as Peter started the documentary. Only a few people knew what was to come, and those few people were about to have a great few weeks. “My name is Peter Parker, and with the help of my friends, Ned Leeds, Harley Keener, and my Aunt, May Parker, who provided me with a lot of red yarn for this project, we’re going to uncover the identity of Spider-Man.” OR "what if peter just decided to fuck with everyone who didn’t know he was spider man and make a documentary about him trying to uncover the Truth." Part 1 of the conspiracy kids

Below Freezing by aftersoon (notboldly) When Rhodey crash lands in the Himalayan wilderness, it tests more than just his survival skills.

-marvel 616

Resurrection, Reconstruction & Redemption by Elspethdixon, Seanchai Doom brings Steve back from the dead. Hijinks ensue, some of which might vaugely be considered plot. Part 1 of Resurrection-verse

Winter Is All Over You by Kiyaar Tony can't remember why he's running.

Sea Stars by Muccamukk Summary: Steve comes back to life somewhere entirely unexpected; Tony doesn’t remember being a hero; something is rotten in the province of British Columbia, and the 2010 Olympics are doomed.

(Not So) Lonely At The Top by foldingcranes Summary: Riri has a bad day, and Tony tries to be An Emotionally Available Adult for her. It doesn’t go so bad.

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Changeling by Sineala Instead of deleting his entire brain and reloading from a backup, Tony attempts to erase just the SHRA database from his mind. As Steve later finds out, this is unfortunately not what he actually did. Part 1 of Changeling

Zero Sum by Crait Did you do your best, Anthony? And did your best only make things worse?Series Part 1 of Stark Disassembled

-jojo’s bizarre adventure

nothing like the sun by succubused

“All Jotaro’s other targets are dead. Except for you.” Malika cocked her head, considering Kakyoin. “After he came back the last time and he was…alone in there, I…grew him flowers, a few times. I wasn’t supposed to. But he was in the dark for so long. I thought he wouldn’t mind losing a little bit of blood as long as it reminded him there was still something left.” “What do you mean,” Kakyoin said slowly, “‘in the dark’?” Malika didn’t answer. White flowers unfurled from her forearm, gentle trickles of blood rising up the thin stems. She watched them thoughtfully. White poppy; consolation. She plucked a poppy out of her arm and held it carefully between two fingers. “You have to get him out,” she said. “You have to.”

AU where Jotaro is the evil brainwashed assassin sent to kill Kakyoin, who makes life very complicated for Dio by being better at counterpossession than he is. Part 1 of nothing like the sun

somebody's baby boy ain't coming home tonight by simkjrs He rolls back the sleeve on his left arm and looks at the scabbed-over words that have been cut into his skin.

KASAI 181 BRING PEN

It’s not like Jotaro makes it a habit to listen to what other people say to him, but this is too strange of a case. He doesn’t remember doing this to himself, but if he didn’t do it, then who? And if he did do it, then why can’t he remember? ---- Four months after Egypt, and there is something strange happening back at home.

I am the desert by catboysam Jotaro hated to admit it to himself, but despite the fact that he hadn't teared up when they left Japan, he missed his grandfather’s presence. After having him beside him for so long and through so much, being separated from him felt… almost wrong. Like another thing was missing. And the more he lingered on that thought, the more the lack of Polnareff's presence felt wrong too. Jotaro invites Polnareff to his high school graduation.

the sidewalk soldiers sing the midnight blues by queenieofaces In hindsight, he doesn’t know why it didn’t occur to him that losing a hand might affect his hamon. His lungs are fine, but the flow of energy through his body is different now, no matter how imperceptibly.

The Best-Laid Plans by deuil Jotaro'd mentioned to Josuke on a few occasions that every plane that Joseph Joestar's ever been on has crashed and burned. Josuke wonders now if he's somehow managed to metaphorically inherit that trait.

Can't Go Back Now by etymologyplayground "No, no, he was not the devil. It is just that he was called Diavolo. … Well, maybe he was, I don't know," Giorno says. "Bene, he was the… director? Of Passione." "Boss," Fugo supplies him. "He was the boss." Giorno snaps his fingers at Fugo gratefully. "He was the boss. I should not care about him personally except that he made Passione sell drugs, and weapons. That's no good, you know." Jolyne slides her eyes over to Hermès, who is very resolutely looking at the road. She bites her lip. Jolyne thinks about the dime bag of weed currently sitting in the glove compartment. "Oh, yeah, for sure." -- Giorno and Fugo visit the Florida crew. Jolyne figures some stuff out about herself, her dad, and Hermès.

Untitled (1980-2014) by platinumfinale Jotaro Kujo, and his family, grows up. Contains spoilers for parts 3-6.

and the PTA meetings are worse by shonens Love thy neighbor. Or hate them. Hate them so passionately you trim your hedges in the shape of 'get fucked' in hopes of ruining their day. A collection of AU short stories about mudad, oradad, and suburbia.

#i put some fics that are part of a series here. this means that you should read the whole series it's just that fic thats my personal fav #i also didnt put more than 1 fic from an author so this post wouldnt have gotten 3 miles long #but pls check out other fics by the writers on this reclist . pls do they're very good #in terms of fanart: just scroll thru my sw + jojo tag on this blog and my 'save' tag on my iron man blog all the good stuff's there #who am i.txt

[heesgf]

basketball player! byounggon

in honour of my baby’s birthday, here’s a cute + lighthearted basketball player! gon fic that i’ve been dreaming abt for eternity :’)) as per usual, the beginning is a little slow, but it’s worth ur patience, i promise💞😚

warnings: vvvv sweet (might give u cavities), BASKETBALL PLAYER GON BEING THE HOTTEST MF ALIVE, hyunsuk bff tomfoolery (what’s new lmao) 

in which Lee Byounggon is basketball team captain, and you’re suddenly a sports fanatic. 

             Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself in a crowded gymnasium, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the shrieks of devoted sport fanatics.

      This morning, like any other, had started quite mundanely. You were perched against the headboard of your dorm’s single bed, doodling carelessly onto sheets of chemistry homework, while Hyunsuk mused a brightly coloured fedora in front of your full length mirror.

“Listen,” You shouted across the room, in between bites of your buttered croissant. “I invited you over to study, not to commit fashion atrocities in my dorm room.”

      Hyunsuk, still balancing the horrendous garment over his head, shot you a pained expression, and rolled his eyes in distaste. He waves his hand vaguely in your direction and grimaces.

“Says the girl wearing a shirt that says ‘caffeine queen’.”

“Hey, you asshole, my mom got me this! I think it’s cute.” You cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes, while Hyunsuk shakes his head deliriously. He eyes you up and down once more, and then scrunches his nose.

“Sure, Jan.” He says slowly, and you contemplate throwing the pillow wedged behind your back toward his head. You opt against it, but the look on your face might be just as scary.

You stick your tongue out. “No one says memes out loud like that, you doofus!” 

He spares you a lopsided shrug and giggles, then he breaks out into a smile and looks toward you once more.

“You’re coming to the game later, right?” He starts suddenly, and you bite your lip.

“I don’t know, Suk. I’m trying to stay focused on chem and stuff.”

      Hyunsuk launches toward your spot on the bed, and reaches his hand out toward one of your stray sheets of paper, filled to the brim with miscellaneous stick figures and, in Hyunsuk’s opinion, the worst cartoon images of a corgi he’s ever seen.

“Yeah.” He baits, swinging the paper in front your wandering eyes. “You really look like you’re invested in learning.”

“Shut up!” You mumble out in a laugh, and then you roll your eyes. Hyunsuk still waits for an answer, and you purse your lips.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe, okay?”

      Hyunsuk’s nod seems uncharacteristically tame, but there’s something about the devious look in his eyes that makes you think this conversation is far from over. When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and his iron grips closes itself around your wrist, you find yourself yanked out of your room, into the hall, and most likely toward the gymnasium. In that moment, you think Choi Hyunsuk might be the worst person you’ve ever met, and the next couple hours, spent watching a college basketball game, were going to be completely unbearable.

***

      Two minutes into sitting on painfully cold bleachers, having popcorn spilled over your lap, and your cheek elbowed by the rowdy couple next to you, you think you might be having a basketball induced aneurysm.

      Hyunsuk is seated calmly next to you, and staring serenely into the crowd; every once in a while, he waves to someone you can’t recognize, most likely one of his teammates, and he looks back at you with a reassuring smile.

“Why are we here if you’re not even playing?” You groan, sliding your head onto his shoulder, and shutting your eyes tightly in discomfort.

“I told you, [Y/N].” He sighs into the crown of your head. “I have dance practice later. I gotta keep my calves limber. We’re here for the sportsmanship.”

      You playfully roll your eyes and feign a barfing motion. Hyunsuk pushes your head away from his shoulder and pouts.

“I don’t even know what that means and I’m still disgusted.” You retort. “Besides... what do you know about sportsmanship? Literally every time we play Mario Kart I catch you cheating.”

      Hyunsuk starts talking about how ‘you’re in great need of a chill pill’, and though you fight the urge to slap him silly, you instead find yourself staring intently at the court, eyes glazing over the lines of male athletes running drills across the gymnasium floor. As you watch, you notice the beads of sweat, the graceful strides, the cohesive movement, and as you watch, your eyes seem to close in on a particular someone—and suddenly, Hyunsuk’s words feel like they are worlds away.

      The boy is standing in the centre of the court with his hands pressed against his knees, and his eyes trailing sporadically across the room.

      His jersey, like all his teammates, is a blinding crimson, and against his honey sodden skin, a seemingly perfect contrast. His hair, slightly damp, is a disarrayed and glossy black, but something about the way it presses against his forehead, frays upward on the sides, sways lucidly when he runs, is wildly cinematic, and you think it just might consume you, like your favourite movie. On his back, there is the stark white outline of the number nine, and on the bottom, in between crinkled fabric, you think you can make out the name ‘Lee’. He’s waving his arms at a teammate, shouting something incoherent, and when the ball makes contact with his hands, his lips break out into the purest of smiles; it radiates an energy that is lively, almost impossible to miss, and completely intoxicating, even at your distance in the stands.

      When that smile transforms into the shell of laughter, there’s something about the crowd’s cheering that suddenly feels rhythmic.

“Hey.” You whisper, poking into Hyunsuk’s rib cage. “Who’s that guy over there?”

      Hyunsuk squints at your bewildered expression, and then looks onto the crowd, following the path of your eyes.

“Who? The guy in the hat? That’s coach Yang. God, I hate that guy. He’s always on my ass about making it to practice. And if you think my fashion is bad, Jesus Christ, you should see him at Sunday morning practice; crocs and socks all da-,”

“No, not him, you idiot.” You shake your head erratically. “T-the guy in the middle, look, he has the ball right now.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well that’s Byounggon.”

“Byounggon.” You repeat. And then your bottom lips find it’s way between your teeth. Hyunsuk sits back against his seat, and focuses in on the game once more. And you, well you’re enamored by the rapid movements of a lanky boy with a smile that’s strikingly tender.

Byounggon.

You think maybe basketball isn’t so bad after all.

***

      When Byounggon’s team wins the game, Hyunsuk tackles you in a tight side hug that feels almost violent. He is jumping up in his seat, screaming toward his teammates, and coincidentally, dragging your body with him. When he finally pulls away, and you can catch a string of fresh air, you ponder the appropriate time to start asking questions. You’re trailing down the bleacher steps when your voice finally breaks out, and your eyes are glued to the floor.

“So... when is your next game?” You ask nonchalantly.

      Hyunsuk looks at you once in confusion. Then he makes a double take. And then a triple.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Then he waves his hands in front of his eyes and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I must be dreaming.”

“I’m serious!” You laugh. “I wanna watch your next game. I genuinely had fun!”

      Hyunsuk still looks weary, but he nods his head halfheartedly. When you think he’s stopped looking at you, you turn your attention back to Byounggon, who is currently standing in a crowd of his teammates, and giving high fives all around. You’re distracted by the way his eyes crinkle when you hear Hyunsuk emit an amused ‘huh’, and when he points a sly finger in your direction, you know he’s put two and two together.

“I see what’s going on here.” He whispers excitedly. “You have a thing for Byounggon!”

“What? No I don’t! I don’t even know him!”

“Oh really?” He teases. “Then stop drooling over him like an animal.”

“Suk, y-you’re being ridiculous right now.”

“And would you look at that!” He whistles. The mischievous glint in his eyes makes you nauseous. “Looks like he’s coming over here, right now.”

“Hyunsuk, don’t you fucking dare. I’m serious.”

“Hey Byounggon!”

“Ohmygod.” You whine, smacking a palm to your forehead as your heart overcomes itself with panic. “I hate you. I genuinely hate you.”

      Hyunsuk rolls his eyes, and then erupts in a laugh that makes the pits of your stomach twist.

“Trust me, [Y/N]. You’re gonna love me after this.”

You think that’s highly improbable.

***

Byounggon is more illusive when he stands in front of you.

      Now, jogging toward Hyunsuk, tufts of raven coloured frame the cusp of his forehead, and the slight peak of his neck; his eyes narrow, but it’s far from hostile, and rather, a tinge of warm familiarity.

“Hey, you came!” Byounggon remarks, pulling Hyunsuk into a tight hug, and you realize his voice is gruffer than you would've thought.

“You guys were awesome, dude!” Hyunsuk gushes with a smile, and then he looks towards you, and gestures a hand in your direction. “This is my friend, [Y/N].”

      Byounggon’s eyes shift to meet yours. He lifts his head in your direction, and waves his hand with a shy smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You respond awkwardly, raising a hand to match his stance.

He raises a brow and grins. “Did you like the game?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you guys were all really good. I loved it!”

“Really?” He breathes out in a giggle. “Because when I was sitting on the bench I could’ve sworn I saw you sleeping?”

      Hyunsuk breaks into a hysteric fit of laughs, and you shake your head rampantly, hoping the scarlet tinge of your cheeks doesn’t give you away. There was some truth to what he said; of course, when Byounggon wasn’t playing, the court seemed a little less compelling...

“Me?” You exasperate, face still flushed. “N-no, I would never!”

“Oh yeah, dude, she totally was. In the third quarter, she was knocked out! Almost drooled.”

      You shoot Hyunsuk a glare, but he’s too caught up in his own laughter to notice; Byounggon throws his head back in a soft chuckle, then he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you.” He smooths over. “I’m glad you guys liked the game.”

      His smile, like that smile on the court, is wide and contagious. And though you’re immersed in the plans of Hyunsuk’s murder, you can feel the corners of your lips drift upward, and the soft glimmer of a smile take over. When you hear someone shout Byounggon’s name across the gymnasium floor, you’re not sure if it’s the voice of one of his teammates, or the soft call of your heart.

Byounggon looks back at the sound and smiles apologetically. “That’s me. I’ll see you guys later?”

      Before he leaves, Hyunsuk pulls Byounggon in for another hug, and you offer an awkward wave. You watch as he drifts away from you, and toward Yang Hyunsuk, who you know knew was his coach.

Damn. His style really was awful.

“See, now that wasn’t so bad, right?” Hyunsuk’s voice breaks you away from your train of thought, and on instinct, you smack him across the chest.

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” He groans, running his hand over the tender spot; you roll your eyes and trot forward, Hyunsuk trails behind you.

“That,” You shout. “—is for being the world’s WORST wing-man!”

“[Y/N]... You don’t mean that.”

You meant that.

***

      A few days later, and you’re sitting in the campus library, buried in Calculus homework. If you were being completely honest, the past few days had consisted a little too much of ‘finding Lee Byounggon’s Instagram and Facebook’ and not enough ‘finding the derivative of f’(a)’. You may not have been prepared for your upcoming midterm, but you were, however, well informed on the kind of memes Lee Byounggon liked to use on Facebook circa 2011; knowing that Byounggon was an avid watcher of Naruto made him somewhat less intimidating in real life.

      You’re still working through your Calculus workbook when the silhouette of a particular someone looms over the table, and when you look up, he’s flashing that smile that gives stars a run for their money; you think maybe his shadow made the room a little brighter.

“Hey! Whatcha’ doing?” His voice rings, and you remove a headphone from your ear.

      Byounggon is wearing a sleek black crewneck and light grey sweatpants that hang low on his waist. His hair, unlike at the game, is neatly tussled, but it still has that vibrant sheen. He’s standing at the end of the table, and looking at you curiously; at his side, he holds a black drawstring bag.

“Calculus.” You groan, and his face twists to match yours. “What about you?”

He shrugs. “On my way to practice.” 

“Through the library?”

He laughs. “It’s a shortcut.” Then he pauses, and continues. “By the way, if you like watching us play, you should come to our game this weekend.”

“Yeah, I might! I like watching you guys play, it’s kinda... surprising?”

      Byounggon scrunches his eyebrows together and tilts his head inquisitively. His gaze, at the moment, is soft and gentle; and you wonder just how much that gaze would change if you told him basketball was anything but stimulating, and it was instead the smooth curve of his lips that had kept you on the edge of your seat. But of course, you knew you couldn’t tell him that.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Your face twists into a sideways smirk, and you think you should have a little fun. “I guess I just thought basketball players had to be tall?”

“Wow, wow, wow. I’m tall.” He argues. “Very tall.”

     Now, you lean back in your chair, and size him up and down; then you shake your head and grimace.

“Mmmm...I don’t know about that.”

Byounggon straightens his back, and at the same time, puffs out his chest. He gestures up and down, and stares at you wide eyed.

“I’m 180cm tall.” He reassures. “I measure myself everyday!”

You tilt your head. “A little obsessive, don’t you think?”

His face, while tight, breaks out into a wholesome laugh, and he bites his lower lip.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“Aren’t you gonna be late for practice?”

       For a moment, Byounggon sticks his tongue of his mouth and smiles. Then he bites the inside of cheek and shakes his head at you, wagging his finger disapprovingly.

“This isn’t over.” He ventures, flashing you that smile once more. And when he walks away from your table, looking over his shoulder every so often to make eye contact, you find yourself overwhelmed with fluttering emotion.

“I’m tall!” Byounggon shouts one last time into the silent library, and various heads, all buried in books, lift to stare at the both of you. You glare at him, but the smirk that tinges on your lips tells a different story.

       You’re still staring at the library’s double door entry when Lee Byounggon leaves.

***

       Somehow, it’s a Thursday evening and you find yourself sitting in the bleachers of Byounggon’s basketball practice, rather than going to the gym like you had promised yourself.

       Byounggon is jogging across the gymnasium floor and running drills; he is clad in a large grey hoodie and fitted black track pants. At the end of practice, he talks with his coach, and his eyes twinge in confusion when he sees you in the stands. He grabs his bag, and while everyone trails out of the gym, he jogs toward you.

“Hey! Have you been here the whole time?” He breathes, running a hand through his dampened hair.

“No, no, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Hyunsuk kept asking me to watch him practice so... here I am!”

Byounggon bites his lips, and his eyes narrow, like he’s had a realization. His lips stretch into a smirk.

“But.” He ponders. “Hyunsuk wasn’t at practice today.” 

Your throat grows tight. “Oh.”

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep and transparent red.

“That is... so weird!” You exclaim dramatically, but Byounggon can hear the panic in your voice, and he’s giggling. You hope he can’t see the red of your cheeks underneath the gymnasium’s orange lighting, too.

“I-I should probably get going.”

You turn your body toward the gym’s exit, and as your footsteps get heavier and heavier, you feel Byounggon’s fingers clasp onto your shoulder.

“Wait, [Y/N]! I wanted to ask you... do you wanna maybe, uh, get some ice cream?”

“Yeah.” You beam. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

***

       With some persuasion, Byounggon leads you into the boy’s change room. He sits on one of the wooden benches, in front of the row of lockers, and he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Just give me a second, I’m gonna change out of this, and then we can get going.”

Then suddenly, without warning, he takes his sweatshirt off, and you, are left winded at the sight of a shirtless Lee Byounggon.

Before you can marvel at the way his muscles tightly outline his abdomen, you slap the palms of your hand over your eyes, and scream.

“Jesus, can you give me a warning before you take your shirt off like that?” You groan, eyes still shut tightly through the protection of your fingers. Byounggon, now shrugging a fresh black t-shirt over his shoulders, chuckles deeply into the empty locker room, and the heavenly sound bounces off the walls. You know he’s coming closer because you can hear the sound of his footsteps, and your warm cheeks seem to fire up again. He outstretches a hand onto the crown of your head and ruffles your hair.

“You’re cute.” He says affectionately, and you suddenly think your hands would be better suited if they covered your cheeks, and not your eyes.

***

“I am not letting you buy butter pecan that’s disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with butter pecan? It’s like... sweet and savory.”

“Ohmygod, I’m gonna barf.”

       Byounggon sits back onto his chair and shoves another spoonful of butter pecan ice cream into his mouth, and you playfully gag in response. He’s laughing and rolling his eyes, but in the sparkling daylight, he still looks like something out of a spring catalogue. The sky’s vivid blue is complementary to the golden hue of his skin, and against the rosy pink of his lips, you think butter pecan might not be so bad.

      The two of you are sitting on the patio of an ice cream shop just off of campus, and maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but the scenery seems to amplify every emotion you feel. The pots of summer flowers at the shop’s entryway makes your anticipation grow tenfold, but the winding music of passing shop vendors soothes your beating heart with every note.

“Wait, hold on sec.” Byounggon mumbles.

      He leans forward into the patio table and his face, only centimeters from yours, makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat. His eyes are focused on something you can’t quite capture, and he outstretches a tentative hand to the side of your face. His fingers brush against the expanse of your jaw, and instinctively, you nuzzle into his touch. You think he might kiss you, because there are twinkling hearts where his eyes should be, and you feel your lips part in preparation. Byounggon’s fingers latch onto a single strand of your hair, and he twiddles with the bottom in between the pads of this thumb and index finger.

“You had ice cream in your hair.” He explains quickly, and then he moves back to his original position, and you hope you don’t look too disappointed.

“O-Oh.” You laugh. “Thanks.”

“So are you gonna come to the game tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“I hope you do.”

      The smoothness in Byounggon’s reply makes chills run up and down your spine, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. He notices the rashness of his words and before you can respond, the words rush out of his mouth.

“B-because Hyunsuk!” He interjects. “I uhhh... know he’d be really bummed if you didn’t come.”

        Maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but you suddenly feel a rush of confidence spring through your body. Lee Byounggon may have been illusive, but he was always so candid, too; you could hear it in the airy quality of his laugh, like he’s gasping for oxygen, like he’s searching for answers, like he’s uncertain; uncertain about you.

You grin at him, and he licks his lips expectantly.

“Nice save, Gon.”

He looks down at his fingers.

“I’ll be there,” You bite your lip. “For sure.”

He looks up again.

      As you walk away from Byounggon with lips perched in a shameless smile, the giddy feeling in the pits of your stomach just might consume you. He’s still staring when you look over your shoulder, and if you listen close enough, you think you can hear him whispering to himself in complete elation;

Gon.

***

      ( Later that evening, you are home in your dorm and deconstructing the events that occurred only minutes prior, and your heart palpitates in your chest. It isn’t until you change into your pajamas when you notice it; a crumpled frock of red fabric shoved into your backpack.

      Your mind races when you guess what it might be, but the feelings don’t set in until you unfold the red fabric, and the stark white outline of the number nine greets you with a blinding sheen. Blinding like those eyes, Ike that smile.

His jersey.

      You don’t know when he’d put it there, or how, but those questions seem irrelevant when you push the material against your nose and breathe his soft scent; like spearmint and timber. You throw yourself against your bed and grin wholeheartedly.

That night you dream of Byounggon.

And now you think he might be dreaming of you, too. )

***

       You decide to wear Byounggon’s jersey underneath a sweatshirt because it all feels a little too cliche. Well, that, and because you don’t think you’ll be able to take Hyunsuk’s incessant teasing when your heart is beating out of your chest.  

      The gymnasium, like usual, is filled to the brim with amped-up sports fanatics, and if you squint your eyes, you think you can make out the face of Coach Yang standing across the court. (Although, you really wish you hadn’t; his sense of fashion seemingly degrades by the day.) This time, Hyunsuk is warming up with the rest of his teammates, with Byounggon, and you are sitting alone on the bleachers with a tight smile.

      You watch as Byounggon looks into the crowd, once, twice over, and when he finally makes contact with you, you watch as his eyebrows push together in subtle concentration. He beams a sideways grin, but it’s not quite as full as you’re used to. That’s when you push down the collar of your sweatshirt, reveal the patch of scarlet fabric beneath, and you think Lee Byounggon might look happier than he would have if he won this game.

      Moments later, Hyunsuk pushes himself next to Byounggon, catches your eye, and begins to wave erratically. Then he takes in your expression, and then Byounggon’s, and he nods slyly at you, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s worlds away, and yet, you give in, laughing with full vigor.

***

      You know Byounggon’s team has won the game when Hyunsuk removes his jersey off his body and flings it into the air, and then he screams like a madman across the court (somehow, over the crowds’ cheering). Byounggon, on the other hand, hugs his teammates, and once the chaos settles, he turns to look at you.

      You are standing in the bleachers, your sweatshirt now long gone, and the bright red of his jersey, on you, gives him butterflies. Since his victory, you’ve been jumping in the stands with the rowdy onlookers beside you, and for the first time ever, you think you might’ve actually enjoyed a basketball game. When Byounggon waves a hand at you, you take it as a sign, and run down countless steps, all the way to court-side where he stands waiting eagerly.

“Congratulations!” You shout, and he’s surprised when you fling yourself into his outstretched arms. His fingers intertwine in your hair, and he laughs onto the top of your head, placing a small kiss at it’s crown.

“Thank you.” He mumbles into your hair; a gesture with such tenderness, you feel yourself overridden with energy.

      Byounggon pulls away after a few moments, and his hands are still clasped tightly at the small of your back, yours around his neck. He doesn’t let go. Now, you’re staring intently into his eyes, remarking the scarlet hue of his cheeks—from the game, or this moment, you’re not sure—Byounggon doesn’t close the space between your lips because he’s too busy immersing himself in the gentle sparkle of your eyes; so you take it upon yourself, and kiss him amorously.

      His lips, thought slightly chapped, are fervent against yours, and part with a tenacity you’ve never quite encountered. You sigh into his mouth, and he softens his lips, brushing gently over yours; it’s chaste and sweet. You pull away when you feel your body grow weak, and you realize when you’re kissing Byounggon, breathing feels like a second priority.

       He is gasping into the hot air of the gymnasium, and you are biting your lips, hands still loosely clasped around his neck. His hands slide from the base of your jaw and toward your cheek, pinching softly.

“I hope that was okay.” You whisper. He moves his lips to your ear.

“It was perfect.”

       Before you can sigh in relief, hug him tighter, kiss him more, you can see Hyunsuk approaching through the corner of your eyes. He runs toward you with his lips outstretched into a wide grin, and as he comes closer, he opens his arms and envelops the two of you in a group hug.

“I take credit for every part of this.” Hyunsuk states with glee, and you smack him upside the head.

He flicks you against the forehead. “I’m way too happy to complain about your abuse right now.”

       And though the three of you erupt in boisterous laughter, and you shake your head fiercely into their embrace, you think there might be a layer of truth to Hyunsuk’s words. Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself at that first game, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the boy who you now swore had your heart.

       You may not have been the sports fanatic you envisioned, and now, after all this time, maybe you still weren’t; but you did like Lee Byounggon. And now, every time you count to ten, the number nine feels a little bit warmer.

***

a/n: if u made it this far, thank u so much for reading!! im sorry this is mostly plot driven and not necessarily beautiful writing, but i just wanted to post smth cute for gon’s bday!! as always, feedback is appreciated, and ilu all!!! 😚😚💞

#byounggon #ygtb #ygtb scenario #treasure 13 #yg treasure box #lee byounggon #kinda iffy abt posting this bc it's kinda mediocre BUT it's for his birthday so :////

[mskinkyafro]

Home Is Where Your Heart Is (Sawyer x MC)

A/N: Finally took the time to write a Sawyer fic. Only and mainly because I replayed BSC and I missed Sawyer, simple as that. I enjoyed the calm book and even though at first I questioned it getting a sequel I immediately realized “Hey that means more Sawyer! Whoop Whoop!” This is an omniscient POV and takes place in the last scene of the final chapter of book 1. I want an to add an extension of how Roxie  leaving the Oakley Ranch initially affects everyone, mainly Sawyer. And I took some dialogue from the scene and either changed it or added some of my own.

Summary: When Sawyer realizes Roxie has left he immediately runs to bring her back home to where she belongs, with him.

The streams of the early morning sun gently woke Sawyer from his slumber. He slowly sat up in his bed mindlessly rubbing his eyes until he gradually felt less groggy.  As he became more conscious his mind immediately found the person he dreamt of the previous night.

“Roxie…” he whispers aloud to himself.

He smiles as for next few minutes he pictures her. Her thousand-watt smile that would reach her hazel-green eyes to her witty comments, and how everyday when they would watch the sunset the Montana Sun would glisten off her penny hue skin. One of his hands runs through his dirty blonde hair as he just grins at how happy he feels. He removes himself from his bed to get dressed for the day. He slips each leg into his blue jeans, pulls and buttons them up, before turning to his dresser to reach for his signature red plaid shirt.

As he buttons it up, he then reminisces through everything he and his family has been through the last few weeks. Made possible because of the raven-curled beauty across the hall. He thinks of how lucky he is that her car broke down near his home instead of somewhere else. How things haven’t been the same but for the better. His thoughts soon wander to a more intimate nature, memories of all the times they made love. He involuntarily shivers as he remembers how soft she felt against him to her delicate hands that would glide across his torso and make him feel as if he was on fire, and how she fit so perfectly enclosed in his arms as if she was made for him and only him to hold.

He’s broken from his inner thoughts by a sharp glint of light that hits his eye. He swiftly raises his hand to block the light and moves closer to his window to see what’s it from. Peering outside he notices it’s from Roxie’s side view mirror on her car that’s slowly pulling out his driveway. Confused at her car leaving he finishes the last button and quickly runs out his  room down the steps. Before reaching the front door he sees a piece of paper on the kitchen table in his peripheral view and stops to hold it in his hands. Reading the note he crumbles it before tossing it and attempts to catch up with Roxie.

“Hey! Roxie!! Stop!”

His words are lost in the dust that builds in the air from where her car pulled off. Distraught he runs back inside slamming the screen and main door loudly and paces inside the living room, wondering if he did something to upset her. His boots stomping back and forth which causes footsteps up above making their way down the stairs.

Sawyer barely looks up from his movement and ignores Duke and Brooklynne as they enter the room.

“What the hell is goin’ on? You’re waking up half the house.” said Duke annoyed.

“Yeah, Uncle Sawyer it’s like seven in the morning and I actually get to sleep in  today.” Brooklynne whined rubbing sleep out her eyes.

“God Damn it! Roxie just left!”

Shocked at the tone of her Uncle’s voice, she steps backs and presses into her father.

“Jeez take it down a notch Sawyer, you’re scarin’ Brooklynne.”

“I can’t just take it easy, Duke. Roxie just left a goodbye note.” Sawyers voice raises even louder.

“What’s with all that hoop n hollerin’. You boys better not be fight’n it’s too early for this nonsense.”

Cliff’s gruff voice rings clear as he makes his way down the steps joining the rest of the Oakley clan in the living room. Finally calming his erratic movement Sawyer picks up the note he crumbled and handed to Duke. He plops himself on a nearby couch with a forlorn look and buries his face in his hands. As Duke unravels the note he reads aloud to the rest until  reaching the end.

“She just left. After…everything.” Sawyers voice rings out softly stricken with hurt.

The others look to amongst the other questioning what to do. All saddened by the news at Roxie leaving, Brooklynne’s lips quiver, while Duke crosses his arms staring at the floorboards. Cliff has a grave expression before it disappears just as fast it came. He’s the first to speak.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I raised you better.”

Sawyer lifts his face out of his hands and glances towards his father

“What are you talkin’ about dad.” he says tiredly

“I’m talkin’ about how you’re lettin’ the girl of yer dreams waltz out of yer life. I thought that I instilled in you boys to fight for what you want.”

“But-”

“But nothing. It’s obvious that this girl ain’t like the others. Meaning you can’t find another like her around these parts. She’s one of a kind and y’all made a connection. Lord knows the two of ya kept me awake some nights partaking in your funny business, making a lot of noise…”

Sawyer blushes at his father’s words “Dad..”

“What I’m getting at is you really care about her you’d fight for her. You done gon’ and already burnt up enough time. Go after her son and bring her home or you just going to give up?”

“Yeah, I agree with grandpa. Roxie is the best and this place won’t be the same without her. Plus I was getting used to having a cool aunt.”

“Brooklynne!” Duke chastised his daughter’s implication.

“What daddy?! She basically was. And if grandpa is telling it like it is so should I. Uncle Sawyer, excuse my language everyone but get off your ass feeling sorry for yourself and chase after her.”

“Brooklynne. You’re on thin ice. But seriously brother, what are you waiting for talking to us still? I’d be down the driveway already.”

Extending himself upright again and standing straight Sawyer’s face breaks into a determine look and smiles at everyone before rushing out the door towards the barn to grab Dolly. As he quickly grabs her from her pin and outside he hoists himself onto her.

“Come on girl. Let’s go get her.”

The horse neighs in response to Sawyer and begins to swiftly ride down the way towards driveway. The wind hits his face stinging him but he doesn’t care.

Some time passes as Sawyer and Dolly make their way onto a lone highway. He’s praying that he isn’t too late.As they press a little further, he slows Dolly down to give her break from such speeds.

“Easy girl. I know you gave it your all. How about a nice trot for the moment.”

She neighs back appreciatively and slows her pace. As they move along up ahead he notices a vehicle moving in front of them. Relief flooding his face, he nudges Dolly to pick up her speed just a bit more, and soon enough the car stops moving.

“Hey.” he calls out

“Hey.” he hears her reply softly.

He swings off Dolly and rushes towards Roxie’s car while she gets out to me him.

Huffing just slightly but able to make a sentence out Sawyer speaks

“Where’re you goin’?”

“Uh…Boston?”

“Boston?! Without even saying goodbye.” he whispers the last part as he steps closer to her. His fingers brushing a rogue curl away from her forehead

Roxie mouth opens and closes. She turns her head away from him and closes her eyes moving his hand away from her face.

“Sawyer…I..” her soft voice fades out..

Sawyer shakes his head disbelievingly. His eyes glistening.

“Seriously Roxie? Did everything that’s happened the last few weeks mean so little to you?”

Roxie whips her face so her eyes burn into Sawyer’s. He can see small tears slowly rolling down her cheek.

Her voice wavers slightly as she talks

“God no, Sawyer! I couldn’t say goodbye because the last few weeks have meant everything to me. I couldn’t even look you in the eye to tell any of you goodbye last night. Every time I tried  to tell someone, I just couldn’t do it, especially to you. It hurts so much. I know it’s selfish, but I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore as it did for me to drive away this morning.”

Sawyer reaches for her hand as his eyes silently pleaded with her. Hers seem to look intensely back at him gazing at every small detail on his face.

“Then why you leavin’.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I got an job offer for my dream job…one that I couldn’t possibly refuse. Not after I worked so hard for it…”

He stays quiet for a few moments. He looks away briefly and down the road leaving Montana.

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Of course. I don’t wanna take your dreams from you, Roxie. I wanna make them come true. And if this is the way to do that…We’ll all miss you. I’m going to miss you.” he turns to stare into her somber  hazel eyes as he says the last part.

He hopes his eyes convey all the emotions he feels about her that he can’t find the words to say. His arms encircle her small frame and pulls her so close that she’s molded into his chest, her citrus perfume tickles nostrils as he leans down  to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before pulling back.

Tears are still rolling down her face and he moves his hand to wipe them away

“Please don’t cry. An angel should never cry.”

“Sawyer…I’m going to miss you so much.”

He lets go of her and lets on fingertip slowly graze down her face before he walks back to Dolly only to stop a few feet away before turning around again.

“You know, my dad was talkin’ last night about offerin’ you a permanent position here on the ranch.”

Roxie calms her tears and takes a deep breath

“He was?”

Sawyer looks down to kick imaginary pebbles around with his boots

“Yeah. You’re basically family now. That is if you wanna be…”

He looks back at her with hopeful eyes. He watches as her face contemplates the information he just shared.  As he waits expectantly he notices his favorite smile break out onto her face. His heart leaps in anticipation.

“Is that job offer still on the table?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Good, because I think my definition of ‘Dream Job’ just changed.”

Sawyer lets out a yee-haw and runs to pick up Roxie and spin her around in joy. She squeals in surprise and amusement. Laughing at his antics.

“Aaah!! Sawyer, stop!  Let me go!” she giggled.

He sets her down gently and puts his hands on both of her cheeks and kisses her long, slow and passionately. Every ounce of fear, longing, and relief pour into the kiss. And after a few moments he pulls away allowing oxygen to enter their systems again and moves to pepper her entire face with chaste kisses.

“Never again.”

He moves his right hand to tangle into her black curls and pull into a heart-stopping kiss once more, their tongues battling for dominance. Roxie pulls away first this time. Her eyes closed with a serene look plastered onto her face.

“Good. Because I don’t plan on doing the same ever again either.”

“If you did I might have to make you pay.”

“Is that a promise Cowboy?” her eyes laced with mischief.

Smiling like a fool Sawyer smirks down at Roxie and scoops her bridal style in her arms towards Dolly.

“Oh, Sawyer wait. My car”

“It’ll be fine. Right now I want to get you home where you belong.”

“I’m home in your arms, Sawyer. Anywhere you’re at, I’m home.”

He looks at her softly as they reach Dolly and easily sets her onto the horse before hoisting himself up and signalling Dolly to take them back to the ranch. As they move forward Roxie’s arms instinctively hold tight onto Sawyer and leans her head onto his back feeling his strong muscles..

“You know, you’re not the only one with a new dream.”

“Really? What’s next for the great Sawyer Oakley.”

“Being with you.”

He turns his head as she lifts hers and their eyes meet.

“I know it’s been so fast and only a few weeks. But what we have is so special and once in life kind of thang. It’s still too early to say those three big words but understand Roxie that I’m crazy about ‘cha.”

She leans to press a soft kiss to his lips and pulls away.

“I feel the same, Sawyer. I’m falling for you.”

They both smile and enjoy the rest of the ride in silence as they make their way home.

#choices fanfiction #choices stories you play #choices bsc #sawyer x mc #bsc sawyer #big sky country