#...I have to remember to do a base layer or else find out too late I've drawn the whole picture on super low opacity ; ;

[desultory-novice]

[The Duality of Marx] Psst! Magolor, look out...!

Had a joyous time talking Marxolor with the wonderful @clown--bunny last night, who was tempting me to the side of bat-eared Marx...! XD

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 3

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: fluff, smut, hurt/comfort, fingering, frottage, breeding kink, praise kink, needy!Seb, good boy!Seb, and a lot of love confessions

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: The third and last chapter of the fic requested by my dear @pugsnotdrugs92 💕 It was a lot of fun writing this, and it might be my first time writing pregnancy sex? 😳 Or I just don't remember, I don't know, it's very late. Anyway, the prompt requested smut, so here you have it. Seb is extra careful and gentle in this 👉👈 Hope you enjoy, my dears! 😘

— TAGGING: @rbdiggory @sammysgirl1997 @bellstwd

They retreated into the bedroom for the evening, a small and narrow chamber with a bed enchanted to just about fit the both of them. She offered to arrange something else, but Sebastian wouldn’t have it.

“As long as you’re comfortable,” he said, his arms circling her swollen middle, “I’m comfortable.”

“You might eat those words later,” she laughed.

“Oh yes, I wouldn’t want that,” he purred, “I’d rather eat something else.”

“Seb!”

“Chocolate, I meant chocolate,” he said smoothly as he nuzzled the back of her neck.

“Of course you did,” she grinned.

“Well... you are rather appetizing,” Sebastian whispered. His fingers trailed gently along her hips and stomach as he smiled lovingly at her. “I think I'll have to have a taste, actually,” he said, lips softly pressed against the base of her neck, then moving up towards her ear to give her a playful nibble. “Is that alright, darling?”

She breathed out a long, happy, murmuring sigh, melting in his arms as they walked slowly together closer and closer to the bed. She'd dreamed about this for so long and sometimes feared she'd never even have his arms around her again. But her dreams had come true and her Sebastian was back, and even if he was a little worse for wear he was wholly himself: sweet, playful, and devastating. She turned her head toward him and nodded, tucking herself deeper into his arms.

By now, the edge of the bed was at her knees. He set her down gently on the mattress.

“How about we change you out of these stiff clothes first,” he smiled. “Where's your nightgown, my sweet?”

“There,” she pointed, “in the chest of drawers.”

Sebastian took his time undressing her, picking the heavy gown apart layer by layer and setting it aside, much like she'd done earlier for him. and all the while he looked into her eyes.

As he helped her out of her clothes, he gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

“You look gorgeous in whatever you wear, darling,” he grinned as he pulled away. “But the nightgown is definitely my favourite.”

Her skin shivered with excitement at his every glance and touch and kiss, and she found she ached to have him close again. As soon as he was done dressing her for the night, she raised her hands to him and moved up the bed, inviting him to lay down with her.

“I thought you had another favourite,” she smiled cheekily, “but I'm a little too cold tonight for that.”

Sebastian chuckled and followed her, lifting the duvet for her to snuggle beneath before slipping in behind her. “I'll do my best to keep you warm, then,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said, closing her eyes in pleasure. “I love it when you hold me…”

“Hmmm, but I think I have one other way to warm you...” Sebastian smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist and caressingly trailing his hand down her stomach.

She inhaled sharply.

“Shhh, not like that,” he whispered. This was a delicate time for a woman, he knew that much, and he didn’t intend to do anything too dangerous for her — he’d die before he hurt her. “Just something very gentle, alright?” he said while his hand tucked her nightgown upwards and trailed up the skin of her thigh.

“Alright,” she said in a small voice.

“Very gentle,” he repeated solemnly with a kiss to her temple.

He kissed lower, down her cheek, then kissed the length of her jaw, and then his lips fell onto hers, this time with a greater passion and longing than before. Moving carefully, he pressed himself up against her from behind.

“That's all we'll do for a while,” he muttered, his hand resting over her stomach. “This is all I've wanted for so long… To hold you close like this. To simply live together.”

“I know,” she said with a tense smile, feeling on the verge of tears. “That’s all I’ve wanted too… I missed you so much, you can’t imagine…”

“I can,” he said, his eyes closed and his lips just on the surface of her skin. His left hand trailed up and down the swell of her stomach, teasing her by coming closer to her core. “I was so terrified I’d never get to see you again…”

Her hand went up to where his right one lay above her on the pillow and grasped it tightly. “It’s over now,” she said. “It’s over, forever. You’re here now with me, you’re safe.”

Sebastian sighed and kissed her neck again, her jaw, her chin, her cheek, and finally her sweet and gentle lips. His were dry and thinner than before, but he could still make her feel all the love he had for her. He ran his hands down her skin as he kissed her with all the passion and desire he possessed.

“You're mine,” he whispered to her, his lips touching hers in a long, loving kiss. “And I'm yours. I will love you until the end of time.”

“Until the end,” she whispered back, her head turned toward him. She leaned up and kissed him, smiling at the taste of chocolate that lingered on his lips.

Beneath, his hand cupped the bottom of her tummy, the broad warm palm heating her up.

“That feels nice,” she smiled, her eyes lazily looking up at him through the dark.

“Well, I can think of something that will feel even better,” he teased.

“Can you?” she asked, a smile growing on her lips until it burst into a giggle and she hid her face in the crook of her arm. “Show me,” she said, looking up at him again.

It was all the invitation Sebastian needed. His fingers slid lower, his knees spread her legs, and with her upper thigh supported on top of his, he touched her at her core.

“Aahh…” she gasped, her head instantly leaning back against him.

The skin was a little rough, but his fingers were still as thick and skilled as she remembered.

“Shhh, there we are,” he whispered, looking at her blushing face with his lips so close to hers.

He remembered bits and pieces of that night they had together, and with the greatest care, he explored her further. She was so warm and wet, getting wetter as he spread her, leaking out of her clenching hole and dripping down her skin.

“Oh, do you hear that?” he chuckled as his fingers began to slosh through the dampness between her folds. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

“How could I not?” she moaned. “To see your body again, to touch you, to feel you… But it broke my heart, too,” she sighed, her voice trembling, “to see you so hurt after —”

“No, none of that,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lips again. “I’m alright, see? You’ve mended everything, you’ve made me better… Like you always have.”

“Seb…”

“You’ve always been so good to me, my sweetheart, my love, my darling,” he sighed. “Let me be good to you now…”

He continued to gently massage her, tending to her in teasing circles. His middle finger tickled her nub, rubbing her own essence into it before going back down for more.

“Does that feel alright?” he murmured lovingly, his head resting on her shoulder. “Tell me if you want me to... give you a little more...”

She bit her lip and nodded, her hands going to her side of the bed and gripping the sheets in an attempt to centre herself.

He pleasured her nub a little more, then his hand stopped its motions. Behind her, she felt Sebastian undo the front of his trousers, and then she felt his hands at the front of her nightgown. When she opened her eyes, she saw him part the front of her gown to free her left breast.

She barely felt the cold of the room before his mouth descended on her, covering as much of it as he could at once. She moaned and arched her back, letting him feed on more of her flesh while he suckled on her. Between them, his hand gently pulled his manhood out. She whined when she felt it against her rear.

“Shall I take care of you, darling?” he asked with a smile against her breast, her tip right between his teeth. “Give you what you need?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, “please…”

Sebastian chuckled and sucked her deeper into his mouth, nursing on her puckered bud while he worked to slot his manhood in between her thighs. She gasped and jumped at feeling his tip, so hot and thick and dripping wet.

“Mmmm there we go,” he groaned as he finally tucked his length between her thighs. It rested right between her folds. “You like that?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered, back arched, heart beating frantically.

His warm breath fanned against her skin as he trailed kisses up from her breast to her neck and the little hollow beneath her ear.

“Is this alright?” he asked, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. It was a question he probably knew the answer to, but he wanted to be sure. “I can stop if you want me to,” he told her lovingly.

“No,” she pouted, shaking her head. “It’s good, it’s…”

“Is it just what you wanted?” he cooed.

She moaned and nodded for him.

“My good girl,” he sighed, “my darling…”

Sebastian buried his face in her neck, smiling against her skin, while his left hand went up to cup her naked breast and his right one stroked her hair. Very gently, he began to cant his hips, moving his length against her.

“Aaah, Seb…” she moaned.

“Good?”

“So good…”

He kissed her again and kept going, moving just as softly, just as carefully. He pawed lightly at her breast, mostly just letting its weight rest in it, moving it enough to harden her bud again. Between her legs, he felt her folds drip all over him, and he thrust until he was flush with her body. His tip peeked on the other side of her thighs, the hot and blushing head sitting right beneath her nub. At her back, his sac was pressed between his closed thighs and her rear.

She moaned and gripped the bedding in front of her with both hands, leaning forward slightly, parting her torso from him but keeping her hips right there, against his. Sebastian’s body followed, covering her without putting too much pressure on her, just to let her know he was right there with her, all the while keeping hold of her breast, fondling it, teasing it with a pluck of her sensitised tip before soothing it with his big hand again.

“You're doing so well,” he praised her with a whisper, his eyes half closed in a contented smile. “I couldn't ask for a sweeter woman.”

She whimpered, pleasured by everything he was doing, his whole presence working to make her feel good. She knew she couldn’t take him inside, where she wanted him, so she tightened her thighs around his length, working her muscles until she felt him shiver and breathe in through his teeth. Her thighs were getting wetter as his leaking tip dripped right against her core, spreading their combined juices whenever he thrusts back and forth.

“I love you,” he groaned, “so, so, so, so much.”

“I love you too,” she said, turning her head to look at him. His brown eyes had never looked sweeter. “Sebastian, my Sebastian, all mine…”

“All yours,” he nodded. “Forever.”

“I’ll never let you go again…”

“That’s right, my love. I belong to you, don’t I?”

She nodded, her loving gaze trapped in his.

“I’m not to go anywhere without your approval, am I?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

He smiled and nuzzled her neck again, smiling with pleasure into her sweaty skin. Gingerly, his hand left her breast and travelled down, beneath the covers, toward her core.

“Tell me you love me again,” he begged.

“I love you,” she said.

His fingers trailed the swell of her stomach teasingly slow as his hips thrust in their steady and relentless rhythm against her plumping gash.

“Am I yours?”

“Mine, all mine.”

“Tell me I’m your good boy…”

“You are,” she smiled, biting her lip as she looked up at him in a drowsy, lust-drunk gaze. “You’re my good boy, Seb.”

He groaned and licked his lips at that, and through the dark, she could just about see a blush grow on his freckled cheeks. Her back arched to push her hips against him possessively.

His fingers were at her womanhood. He relentlessly teased her nub, and every time his head peeked out, he teased himself as well. After one long, full thrust, he rested there, letting her juices drip on his sac while he played with his tip and her pearl all at once, strumming them together.

“Aaah… aaahh,” Sebastian gasped with a dumb and happy smile, his whole body shaking.

Her words had sent a shudder through his body. The simple statement that she claimed him filled him with such a warm, loving feeling that he thought his heart would burst. He just about closed his eyes, but he wanted to keep looking at her. He could feel an orgasm building up in the bottom of his stomach, and with his last bit of strength, he leaned down to peck her lips again.

“We're going to be a family,” he murmured between soft, delicate kisses. “I can’t wait for you to have our child… And then I can put another in you. Would you like that?” he asked as he smiled down at her, his hips starting to thrust faster.

“S-seb,” she moaned, “yes… yes, so much…”

“You want that?” he breathed, leaning down to tease her with the promise of more kisses. “Want me to stuff you full again?”

“Yes, please,” she cried, clinging to the bed harder, her eyes tearing up with desire.

Her legs tightened more strongly, trapping his length, but he thrust through it. His manhood caressed her swollen folds, pleasuring her, making her drip so much it sprinkled against his thighs with each pump of his hips.

“You want that?” he whispered, his gaze holding hers. “Want me to breed you again?”

“Yes, I want it, I’ve always wanted it,” she cried, and her head tilted back in a sudden rush of pleasure. Her cheeks warmed in a violent blush and she moaned loudly against his mouth. “Sebastian!”

He kissed her. His hand left her womanhood to cup the swell of her stomach. Against his throbbing length, he felt her womanhood pulse and a new rush of wetness leaked out as her body surrendered and shuddered in orgasm.

He moaned into her mouth as he felt his cock twitch upwards violently, yearning for her, aiming for her hole just out of reach before finally releasing its spill. He kept kissing her, both of them whining and breathless, while his length pulsed and poured and poured out the lust he had for her. When it was almost over he pulled back a little, just enough to paint her thighs white. His muscles tensed and relaxed in afterpleasure, and like a wave on a soft shore, he slowly thrust forward, pleasuring himself in his own slick.

“Love you,” he gasped when he finally released her mouth. “I love you so much…”

“I love you too,” she whispered, reaching up to catch his lips in another little kiss. “Sebastian…”

He felt her relax in his arms. Her body lost the arching tension, her heartbeat slowed, and her thighs gradually lost their grip against his shaft. By the time he pulled away, they both were filthy, sweaty and soaked.

Sebastian let her body rest back, soft and sleepy, on the bed while he got up to look for a cloth to clean her with. He found one in the second drawer of her bedside table.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured as he joined her on the bed again, careful not to move her too much. His eyes shone with fresh delight at the very sight of her silhouette in the dark. “You look so lovely when you’re pleased and sleepy...”

She smiled at the sound of his voice, but her eyes stayed closed. He leaned down to kiss her again and gently pushed back her hair. His lips rested on her forehead and he sighed contentedly.

“I’m so lucky to have you... To be with you,” he whispered.

Sebastian gently cleaned her thighs, her hips, and then his own loins. After he was done, he got up and disposed of the cloth in the bathroom sink. He returned to find her curled up and facing him, folded to the side to make room. He smiled and lay down on the bed, in her arms, and tucked them both in. As soon as he was within her reach, before he even lay down properly, she wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m so happy you’re here again,” she sighed, kissing him with the last bit of energy she had.

Sebastian gave her lips a light peck and tied her nightgown up again, then tucked her head beneath his shoulder. “As am I,” he quietly said.

In a slow and lazy motion, she wrapped herself around him. Her arms and legs covered him like a second blanket while his went underneath and held her. If the room was cold anymore, neither of them felt it. She was sure that she had never been happier before in her life.

“Welcome back home,” she whispered against his chest with a proud and pleased smile.

“Home is in your arms, sweetheart,” he said as his thumb caressed her shoulder. “Go to sleep, now… I’ll be right here in the morning.”

They fell asleep clinging to each other, resting on each other’s bodies, and the happiness and safety that they felt together drowned out every other thought or feeling. They were truly home.

[junii-moony]

Hey I'm autistic as shit so I'm going to go on a rant (/pos) about Firefly now that her new animated short is out. If you wanted an in-depth character reflection on Firefly, you won't find that here because I'm fucking stupid and don't know every aspect of Star Rail lore to do so. I'm just yapping about it from what I know. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So, to begin with... Can you even fucking begin to imagine how scary of a situation she went through was? Like we obviously knew the Swarm was powerful. I would argue even more so than the Antimatter Legion, based purely on a factor of sheer numbers, but wow... How do you even begin to fight against something like the Propagation? It's impossible without the help of an Aeon (which is why Qlipoth eventually stepped in and sealed Tayzzyronth away). It just adds to that cruel aspect of Firefly's past. The Iron Calvary is fighting a battle that's already lost. It's a war that's unwinnable by all means. Senseless death, fighting for a kingdom that no longer exists, all because of blind faith that was hammered into their very souls as soon as they were born. They quite literally have nothing else to live for but fighting. Firefly specifically being the last of her kind is so fucked when you realize that, out of everyone in the Iron Calvary, she was the first person to question whether or not what she was fighting for was worth it. She only realized that a bit too late, and now she's the only one left. It really sheds light on her joining the Stellaron Hunters, because after being "controlled" (I used that term loosely, but you know what I mean) for her whole life, who wouldn't want to try and control their destiny? When you're given a new sense of purpose, you want to hold onto that tightly. I think other big reason why Firefly joined the Stellaron Hunters is in one part due to the fact that, in my opinion, she can't stop fighting. Even after separating herself from Glamoth and allowing herself to be her own person, she can't help but subconsciously follow her previous orders. Which is why she's so "violent" when she's in the Sam armor. It's a subconscious need to fight, due in part to trauma, which is why you could argue that Firefly is a "different person" while in the Sam armor. It's her military roots coming back, just a bit. Now getting back to more recent things, it's extra depressing when you think about her constantly running away from her supposed "death" in the future. Being the last of her kind, I think her fear of dying comes not only from a personal place, but from the factor that she is quite literally the last remnant of Glamoth. Once she's gone, the entire legacy of Glamoth will fizzle into memories, and then eventually disappear. Firefly may have removed herself from Glamoth, but it was still her home after all. It's just sad, she has no "family" to reach out to. Obviously all this in tandem leads up to her "death" in 2.0. Now, while we know now that Dormancy is just a gatekeeper for the Land of the Exiles, back then it was a lot more depressing in context. Like yeah, obviously Firefly's "death" was disturbing as is, but you gotta remember, she came to Penacony to escape her fate. She wants to be herself, not the battle-hardened weapon she was made to be. Even in a land of dreams, she couldn't, and that's sad as shit. There's more meta layers to how fucked everything is, like the fact Firefly's best support is a scientist who tried TO FUCKING CLONE AN EMANATOR OF PROPAGATION but it's fine. I'm so normal. I'm gonna end this long rant here, even though I do have more I could say, but I'll spare you the time. Can't wait for 2.3! Here's to Firefly, my actual daughter who I love.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Day 3 prompt 3 nr 4 - vongola squad and anyone else you really wanna add

Of course, my lovely! Thank you so much for sending in this request; it took me some time to really settle down on things for some characters, but it was interesting to think about such small little tidbits for these wonderful characters! I hope you’ll enjoy what my brain came up with!

Your character has to leave the house shortly and they have very little time to prepare. What’s the one thing they will choose over others – breakfast, washing their hair, painting their nails, replying to e-mails, etc.?

TSUNA

Tsuna is used to being forced to leave the house in pretty short notice, so he’s gotten really skilled at quickly getting ready. When this happens to him, it’s a case of getting dressed and making sure he’s wearing clean underwear, getting his wallet, giving his mom a heads up that he’s going out, and then shoes and any outdoor clothes he might need.

The most important thing to him though is to ensure, beyond all else, that he has his copy of the house key with him. Even if he’s heading out with someone else who would have the house key, Tsuna needs to know that he has his own house key with him, just in case the two of them get separated, get into an argument, or the other person needs him to run back to the house for something.

He has experienced being locked out of his house in his childhood and it terrified him a little. It’s not something he wants to ever repeat because it was scary but even worse, it was so humiliating.

GOKUDERA

There’s a lot of small little things that Gokudera insists on doing before he leaves the house, even if it makes him a little late. Because the weather in Japan can get chilly, and because temperatures fluctuate pretty quickly, Gokudera likes to have layers. Not only does he have to quickly figure out a base outfit but the proper layers for it.

He also makes sure he has an extra pack of cigarettes, as a ‘just in case’ moment, along with a fresh, unused lighter. He’s been stuck without cigarettes and especially without a lighter because of people punking his lighter or it accidentally slipping out of his pocket, and he knows both things suck.

He will make sure he has the other necessary things for him to leave the house with – his keys, his phone, a hair tie,  a coin purse, etc.

He also absolutely makes sure to put on anti-perspirant and a body spray for males that he likes before he leaves the house. He’s not stupid and knows that most places are scent-free environments, so he’s careful not to put too much of either thing on and keeps the scents hie wears kind refined and understated.

YAMAMOTO

Okay, hear me out here, because this is a weird one that makes a lot of sense once you know the context.

Even if the house is completely empty, even if he hasn’t lived with anyone for years and years, Yamamoto always gives a cheerful ‘be back soon’ when he leaves the house and a grinning ‘I’m home!’ every time he comes back home.

Like I said, there could be absolutely nobody there to hear it, but it’s pretty much a force of habit at this point. During Yamamoto’s youth, he remembered his dad doing this a lot, both at home and on the job. When Tsuyoshi explains to Yamamoto the importance of doing things like that, how good it can be for your mental health and letting go of the crap from the day, so you don’t poison the household by bringing in all that shit from your day, it makes a lot of sense to Takeshi. He’s been doing both of those things pretty much shortly after he is born and it won’t stop, even if his father dies, even if he’s alone.

Takeshi will pass this tradition on to his own children, if he finds himself blessed with them.

RYOHEI

Ryohei’s someone who does get up quite early. It is really surprising for him to be running short of time prior to leaving the house, so this isn’t a choice he would make often. It’s far more likely for Ryohei to run late because he’s gotten caught up in his training, got into a fight, or encountered a slight issue on a mission.

If someone surprises him by telling him they need to leave for something really quickly, Ryohei’s got a very mundane superpower. He can get ready so damn fast. It’s really a little ridiculous. Ten minutes or less and the boy is dressed, deodorant is on, hair is combed, and he has his wallet in his pocket – everything he needs before leaving the house, pretty much.

If he can only pick one thing to do before he leaves the house though, Ryohei would have to go with deodorant any time. Putting on deodorant before going out in public should be absolutely necessary, though Ryohei could just hold this opinion because of his own super-keen sense of smell that makes him really susceptible to other’s body odors. He never wants that stinky person disrupting other’s days with their stench and it’s better safe than sorry.

LAMBO

Lambo likes to think that, if he had the choice of what to do before leaving the house, he would make sure to shower and put on decent clothes every time before going out.

The truth of the matter is he panics about having to get ready so quickly. He rushes to get ready and looks a little disheveled leaving. It’s also guaranteed he forgets at least one thing at home, even though his last act before leaving the house is always to pat himself down, pretty much, at least 81000 times to double-check that he has everything he needs.

HIBARI

In all honesty, Hibari doesn’t really rush anywhere. If, for some reason, he did need to get ready and leave in less time than it would take him to get properly ready, he’s going to be really pissed, so I pity the poor person who has made him rush like that.

While Hibari tends to buck against a lot of what society says is correct and acceptable, in some ways he’s rather staunchly traditional in his views. One of those views, and the one that impacts his day-to-day life and this question, is his views around what is and is not acceptable clothes to be seen in public in.

Hibari’s not a vain man, not in his looks, but he is a man with a lot of self-respect. To him, leaving the house in anything less than clean, neat, and proper clothes is disrespectful not only to the people who are also outside but is a huge sign of self-disrespect, like you don’t deserve to look your best.

Because of this, the absolute one thing he must do before leaving the house is that Hibari must get changed into proper clothes. The only time he allows himself to be seen in things he considers ‘unproper’ is when he’s in the hospital, healing and recuperating, or when he’s become exceptionally close to someone.

MUKURO

Mukuro doesn’t let himself be rushed out of his residence. If someone tries to force plans on him last minute, without giving him enough time to prepare himself, he just doesn’t show up. He has no time for that much added stress and people are meant to bend to his whims, not the other way around.

Because he always makes sure that he has the time necessary to prepare to leave the house (except in exceptional cases such as an enemy attack), Mukuro doesn’t really have to worry about much leaving the house. He does always make sure that he has his weapons on him and that nobody did anything stupid like leaving the water running or such…it wouldn’t be the first time someone did that and he’d like to prevent any further damages to the property.

CHROME

If Chrome is living somewhere with a locking door (i.e.: anywhere other than Kokuyo Land), she does have things she absolutely must do before she leaves. She always makes sure that all of the lights are off and the stove isn’t on.

When she finally gets out the door and locks up, it’s almost a compulsion but she has to try the doorknob out at least two or three times, putting her body weight into it at least one of those tries, just to reassure her brain that the door is indeed firmly locked and that her home will be safe.

[casspurrjoybell-24]

My Unwanted Mate - Chapter 12 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Tatum Briar

For once I'd found the kitchen empty and I was taking full advantage of it.

I didn't think there was ever a time the Luna's mother wasn't running the space with an iron fist.

It seemed with her gone, there was no reason for anyone else to be in here.

It was the perfect hiding place.

Not that anyone was looking for me.

I wasn't that close to anyone in the pack to consider them friends and my twin was preoccupied.

All he talked about was Calvin, who agreed to spend the day with Nathan.

It wasn't that much of a surprise.

It's always been easy for him to get his way.

He's the prettier one.

The charismatic one who's outgoing and charming.

It's easy to love him.

Of course, there would be no difference with our mate.

Spreading an extra layer of cheese over the already covered noodles, I placed the macaroni in one of the many ovens.

The pack kitchen is huge with commercial appliances that all looked really expensive.

To think the late Alpha paid for all of this so the pack could get together regularly.

I wish we would have done things like this back home.

The only time we got the pack together, it was always a show of dominance for Daddy.

It didn't seem like that here.

The pack seemed close, like an extended family.

They had their own homes and families but they made time to come by just to see how others are doing.

Maybe they're just nosy.

"Making anything good?"

My heart about jumped out of my chest as I spun around, almost tripping over my own feet.

The big male chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

I remembered him from a few nights ago.

The Beta lawyer who helped get my mate out of jail.

My face warmed under his attention and I looked down at my sock covered feet.

"It's okay."

He chuckled, coming closer to the island that stood between us.

"Tatum, right?"

"You're the shy one," he chuckled, making my smile slip a little.

"Not that it's a bad thing," he rushed to make clear.

"I think it's cute."

My face warmed again and I distracted myself by looking down at the countertop.

"You're Parker," I peeked up at him from under my lashes.

He's very handsome, like most of the males in this pack.

Not as handsome as Calvin but that's my biased opinion.

"That's me," he said, smiling brightly at me.

"So, what are you making?"

"My pup's favorite. Macaroni and cheese," I said proudly. Parker's brows raised in surprise but I refused to be embarrassed by my slip up.

Technically, Benjamin isn't mine but I already love the little pup.

I had always wanted lots of pups but I would be happy with just him if things don't turn out how I hoped.

If Calvin took him away though, I would be devastated.

"Thank you," the Beta male looked confused.

"For getting Calvin Frey out of jail."

He chuckled.

"It wouldn't be the first time," he laughed harder at my look of horror.

My mate has been to jail more than once?

"Don't worry, Calvin Frey doesn't get into too much trouble, these days."

Parker and I moved to sit on the barstools where he told me stories about the pack and pack-mates but only after I promised not to repeat any of it to anyone.

My favorite were the ones about Calvin who seemed to only get into trouble when Robby was involved.

Based on the stories, Calvin had calmed down a lot after Benjamin was born.

I wanted to ask about the pup's birth mother but I knew that was something I'd have to ask my mate.

I know he'd said something about her finding her own mate.

"The Moon Goddess must favor him."

"Why's that?" I asked, my brows furrowed in confusion.

I guess he was lucky to still be alive and healthy after all the trouble the Alpha had gotten him into as teenagers.

No wonder the Luna is so bossy with that male.

"Because she gave him two mates."

My face warmed and I looked down to pick at the hem of my sweater.

I couldn't tell Parker that Calvin was going to reject us.

The male doesn't want us... or me, as he seems to be warming up to Nathan.

If what I'd walked in on the other day meant anything.

"He'll come around."

I looked up at Parker to see him giving me a knowing smile.

"Tate."

I jumped and spun around on the stool to see my twin rushing into the kitchen.

He paused on his way to me, glancing between Parker and I before his eyes settled on me.

"Momma's on the phone."

I bounced up hurriedly.

It felt like forever since I've seen my parents.

I wanted more than anything to return home, even if I wasn't accepted there.

I missed my family, even my big brother who would annoy me most of the time.

"Hi, Momma."

"Baby. How are you? Are you eating? Has anyone said anything mean? I'll call that Alpha and give him an ear full."

Giggling at the shrieking male I had the honor of calling Momma, the longing to return home only grew in size.

"Everyone's been real nice here, Momma."

Nathan was beside me, using hand motions to remind me not to mention anything about Calvin but I waved him away.

"Good," Momma huffed.

"I'm gonna come visit soon, no matter what your Daddy has to say about it."

"Everyone can come," I say excitedly.

"We can cook like always. You should see the kitchen they got here, Momma. It's huge but don't tell Daddy, you know how he gets," I whispered the last bit in case he was listening in.

It wasn't uncommon for a section of the house to be renovated if he heard about another pack having something he didn't.

"I can't wait to see," he giggled and I smiled at the sound.

I really did miss home.

"Tell me how Nathan is doing, he can be impulsive like his Daddy."

"He's just fine, Momma."

"That's good."

We talked a little longer, effectively avoiding any conversation about how Daddy was handling things with the pack.

We had the solution to their problems, as it turns out we're not just two omegas mated.

Calvin couldn't be brought up though.

Not unless he accepts us or accepts Nathan.

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Always kiss me goodnight

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Content:  Pining, kissing, mention of food, oh no there’s only one bed,   helmetless Din (but it’s dark), baby Yoda is an adorable tiny terror

Word count: ~2200

Note:  I swear I was only going to write one Pedro character fic. Has this   kind of thing been done a million times? Yes. Am I doing it once more?   Also yes. It’s self-indulgent hours and this little love letter to our favorite space dad and his green baby has been nagging at my mind since I  first watched the show.

Tagging the people who asked (If anyone wants to be tagged or un-tagged in any future fics since it seems  I’m well and truly back on my bs just say the word): @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @beccaplaying

———————————————

Fatigue has caught up with the little green child now that his belly is full, and crankiness along with it. The Mandalorian has been known to lovingly  call his adopted son a womp rat, but when the baby gets overtired, a rancor is more like it.

This time, you can hardly blame him. The three of you have spent the better part of the day traveling, finally landing on this backwater planet late in the evening. With some searching and a small fortune in credits, Din managed to find a safe, out-of-the-way place to stay, leaving you and the child to eat and settle in while he went to scout the bounty’s location for the next  day’s work.

As the child’s fussing gains momentum, you hustle to the small sink in the corner of the room.

“We’ll wash your face and go straight to bed,” you promise him, letting the   water warm before wetting a cloth and wringing it out thoroughly.

In the mirror, your own face looks as exhausted as he obviously feels. The bed in question is little more than a pallet with a mattress and some  blankets, but it might as well be a royal welcome at this stage of the game.

Despite your gentleness, the baby erupts in an indignant whine as you wipe the cloth over his face and ears. “I know, little love,” you soothe while he struggles in protest. “Almost done.”

He quiets when you scoop him up into your arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy head. You hum bits of a song from your childhood, rocking him from side to side, and his little face crumples with a yawn. His tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your tunic and his head goes heavy on your shoulder, but still he fidgets, making pathetic little sounds in the direction of the door.

“I know,” you murmur again, still swaying on the spot. “He’ll be back soon.”

You’ve grown to love the child and you know he’s fond of you, but as far as   he’s concerned Din is the one who hangs the stars in the sky. He’s always a little agitated when his father is out of sight, and truth be told, so are you.

“I know what we can do,” you say. “Let’s make a plate for your buir for when he comes back. Don’t you think that’ll be nice for him?”

Neither you nor Din are sure how much the child actually understands, but you don’t let it stop you talking to him. If nothing else it makes you feel a little less alone in the long hours when Din is hunting his quarries.

His drooping ears twitch upward with this suggestion. He watches with interest as you lay a plate with some of the fresh fruit, bread, and stewed meat Din bought from the innkeeper for your supper.

“There we go. Now then, bedtime for little ones.”

You turn to survey the sleeping area with a stab of nerves. The minuscule size of the room isn’t a challenge -- the Razor Crest has made you an expert in living in small spaces -- but the lone bed is a wrinkle you hadn’t expected.

Din, ever pragmatic, had been quick to point out that it was plenty big enough for the three of you, and it was only one night. He was right, of course.

Still, you’d never been so grateful for dim lighting, sure that your secret longing for the Mandalorian was written plainly on your flustered face.

You couldn’t have said exactly when your feelings for Din Djarin had strayed  into dangerous territory. Somewhere in the months of traveling with him, caring for his child, helping maintain his ship, reminding him to eat, and tending the worst of his wounds your initial wariness turned to admiration, admiration to fondness, and fondness to something alarmingly like love.

It’s a fool’s errand.

For all his kindness to you Din is an island of a man, set apart from the world in  his shell of beskar and the even more unyielding armor of his creed.  Even if his heart is big enough to encompass the child, you don’t dare to hope there’s room for you too.

And now this bed -- this one kriffing bed -- sits there mocking you and all your silly fantasies of you and Din and the child being a real family, bound together by love instead of convenience.

You turn off the light overhead, leaving only the small, sickly lamp at the table to light Din’s way to his supper.

The mattress is clean and the blankets are a bit threadbare but soft, and the baby only has the energy to grumble a little when you lay him down on the side closest to the wall and tuck the thickest of them around   him. Yawning widely, he stretches out a hand toward you, fingers grabbing at the air.

The gesture warms your weary heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie down beside him and face away from the table, mindful that Din will need privacy to eat. The little body shuffles closer to you, curling into your shoulder, and a surge of fierce affection pricks your eyes with tears. You wrap your arm around the baby to hold him close as the full brunt of the long day overtakes you.

“Good night, little love,” you say around a yawn, just as your eyes fall closed.

***

You wake with a start. The windowless room is pitch black, and in the absence of any landmarks your brain races to orient itself.

At your back, the child’s soft, snuffling breaths. A well-worn blanket draped over you and a slightly lumpy mattress beneath.

The inn, you remember in a flash.

At your front...something warm and broad and solid. You’ve nestled into it  in your sleep, one arm thrown over it, your hand grasping soft fabric. A familiar, comforting scent surrounds you, a scent you cherish from laundry days and the cramped quarters of a small ship.

Oh, Maker.

You clearly slept through Din coming back and getting into bed, and now you’re wrapped around him like a second set of clothes. The rush of blood into your cheeks flames so hot you worry he must feel it through the base layers he’s wearing to sleep.

Shrinking into yourself, you begin to pull away, as stealthily as you can. If you  can just get back to your own side of the bed and brazen it out in the  morning, maybe he’ll never be the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, you  release the handful of his shirt you’re holding and move your arm from where it’s resting across his chest...

In the darkness, a hand encircles your wrist.

Oh, Maker.

You’ve watched Din wrestle enough uncooperative bounties into the carbonite   chamber to know you’re not getting away from him if he doesn’t want you to. But his grip on your wrist is light, gentle. His thumb rests on the place where your pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird, whether from embarrassment or his closeness you’re not entirely sure.

“Din.” It comes out barely a whisper, sabotaged by the sudden dryness of your mouth. You swallow hard and try again. “Din, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s all right.”

His voice is a revelation. Free of the modulator’s rasp, it’s warmer, richer, somehow softer and more resonant at the same time. You’ve never even been in the same room with him when he has his helmet off, and the realization that he’s right there, a breath away, is dizzying.

Silence stretches before he speaks again, more quietly. “It’s...nice.”

Your brain fails you entirely. “Oh.”

You search desperately for something more intelligent to say, but his thumb is drawing feather-light circles over the soft skin of your wrist and your pulse is thundering in your ears. Those touches, so delicate from a man so strong, blur your thoughts like liquor and drag a confession from your lips before you can bite it back. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

You wait, blessing the darkness that swallows your shame,  and hope he’s not going to tell you to pack your things and find a job in this bleak little skug hole for when he leaves you behind.

Instead, you feel the mattress shift and know he’s turned toward you.

The sudden fear of breaking Din’s creed is overwhelming, even in the dark. Instinct has you squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that white specks float behind your eyelids.

“I can’t see you,” you say quickly. “I promise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves from your wrist across your palm, uncurling your fingers to map each one in turn, trailing up to the tips and back down again. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone’s bare skin.

He sighs, which is nothing new, but this one doesn’t sound exasperated. It sounds almost...content. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Beautiful girl. I thought so the first time I saw you.”

You’re overcome with a wild, childish urge to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

His praise gives you a rush of courage to ask for something you’ve only dreamed of. “Din...can I touch you? Is it allowed?”

His only answer is to cradle your hand in his, bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Stubble prickles your palm as your fingers slowly trace his scruffy jawline and the thick column of his neck, savoring the feel of him. His hair is soft, long enough to curl at its nape, and when you comb your fingers through the tousled strands he makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat. It reverberates through your body like a bell, making your head swim with the thrill of affecting him.

You only just resist the urge to suck a mark into the spot where his pulse races under his warm skin.

Your greedy hands move on to discover a strong brow and the curved bridge of a prominent nose. A mustache frames lips that are more plush than you imagined, a note of sensuality in an angular, warrior’s face.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are?” you ask, fingertips traveling over his cheekbone.

“Brown.”

Brown. You see them in your mind’s eye, soft and dark, expressing all the   things he doesn’t say out loud. Stroking his lower lip, you repeat his own word back to him: “Mesh’la.”

Din’s mouth twitches under your fingers. “You can’t see me.”

He has no idea. His body warming yours and the sweetness of his voice   calling you beautiful is everything you’ve ever wanted and thought yourself unworthy of having, and he thinks you’re only talking about his  face.

You cup his cheek, smile at him, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t need to, Din. I just know it. I always have.”

“You’re so good to me.” His hand catches yours in his large one, his voice   rough with some nameless emotion. “To me, and the baby. All the time.”

“You deserve everything good,” you whisper past the lump in your throat.

He’s caressing your hand again, holding it in place to press his lips to the pad of your thumb. “I want to kiss you, cyare.”

Your exhale is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Please.”

His hand moves to cradle your head as he closes the distance between you. If you were expecting him to pounce, you’re completely unprepared for him to linger, breath hovering over your lips for a long, agonizing moment as he brushes his nose over yours.

You’re almost startled by the first touch of his lips, a little chapped but warm and lush. His mustache is softer than you thought it would be, and so are his kisses, a series of slow, gentle presses of his mouth. Like he wants to do with his lips what you’ve done with your hands, sketching and learning.

It’s only when you slide your hand into his hair again that something inside him breaks. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you to the refuge of his broad chest as he slants his mouth over yours, claiming you in earnest. He’s possessive and tender in equal measure and the tease of  his tongue against yours, his teeth nipping your lower lip, the span of his hand on your back has you drunk on him and whispering his name between kisses like a prayer.

...Apparently not quietly enough.

A little hand scrabbling at your shoulder blade brings you out of your haze. As you pull away from Din the baby is climbing over you as quickly as his short limbs will let him. He wedges himself between the two of you with a delighted coo at Din, hands flailing to find his father’s face.

Din heaves a sigh, but there’s no malice in it. “I’m here, ad’ika,” he says, with unmistakable fondness. “We’re all here.”

You can’t stifle a breathless laugh as the baby snuggles into Din’s arms, making himself comfortable for the night.

Your Mandalorian surrenders good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around you with  the child tucked safely in the middle. He presses a kiss to your forehead before settling on the pillow beside you. “Sleep, cyare.”

Drowsiness is already fuzzing the edges of your mind again, but it catches on the word he’s said twice now. “What does that mean?” you murmur. “Cyare?”

You feel him smile against your temple, one last brush of his lips. “Share my bunk tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you.”

[vs-redemption]

From Cindy: This bad boy got away from me and ended up being 3,674 words. I’m really happy with it though and I hope you think so too. It was written for a writing collaboration on Discord ( @konoblog-simps )

Gray - Soulmate AU (Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader)

Read a similar soulmate AU for Levi here

You hated winter.

You supposed people found something magical about the view of fluffy white flakes catching the light as they drifted down from the sky and created a thick white blanket across the ground and trees. However, the fairy tale description was only true when observed from the other side of a window where the protection of four walls and a fireplace could block out the harsh reality.

“Don’t forget the shopping on your way back.” Your grandmother’s raspy voice cuts through the morning silence as you go through the tedious process of bundling up against the frigid weather you knew you’d be facing as soon as you stepped outside. The elderly woman was sitting in her favorite spot on the sofa, lap covered by one of the many blankets she’d made over the years. You grandfather shuffled into the room as if on cue with two piping hot mugs of tea. He hands one to his wife before settling happily into the place next to her.

“I never do.” Your words come out harsher than you’d intended, but your grandparents pay you no mind. They were either used to your attitude or too wrapped up in their own happily ever after. You finish off your ridiculously bulky outfit by shoving a knit cap over your head and then heading out into the cold.

You hated your job

You knew you should be grateful that you had the luxury of owning an apothecary. It was the type of establishment that would never want for business. There was also a certain pride in being able to provide people with medicines to relieve them of their aches and pains, allergies, and illnesses. The difficulty was in being surrounded by the memories of your parents and the perfect life they’d lived, as well as the constant reminder that you’d been robbed of the chance to experience that type of fantasy.

Trudging through the deep wet snow had made you a few minutes late, and there were already a few customers waiting outside the tiny shop you’d inherited by the time you arrived. You apologize politely as you unlock the door and let them inside, shedding the layers of your winter clothes as quickly as you can so that you can get to work. It was always a little busier in the winter months, but finding the right remedy for each person was something you’d gotten good at over time. Most customers came and went without much trouble, but assisting the regulars who’d known you since childhood was always a bit awkward. You did your best not to notice the pity and judgement on their faces as you prepared their orders with the same forced pleasantness as you did for everyone else.

You hated shopping

Having a job that earned enough wages to properly provide for yourself and your family was a blessing most people in your city could not enjoy. Your parents had always made sure to remind you of that fact whenever they came home with baskets full of fresh fruits and vegetables, cheese, bread, and sometimes even meat. As an adult, you still appreciated the fact that you did not have to know hunger, but it was always such a hassle to deal with the crowded market after getting off work.

When your parents had been alive, they had loved going out to run these types of errands together. It had always surprised you how they would choose to spend more time together even after living and working with each other every single day. They never seemed to get tired of each other, and you could remember vividly the way they’d smiled at each other with pure happiness and love in their gaze. It was hard to forget when you saw the same blissful look on every couple you happened to encounter as you went about your day. It made you feel so incredibly alone sometimes, but you did your best to bury those emotions deep down out of fear that they would consume you completely.

“How much is the bread today?” You ask the baker once you make it to the counter through the throngs of people. He tells you the price and begins to wrap up your order when you agree to it.

“You’re lucky,” he tells you conversationally. “This is the last loaf of the day.”

“Tch!” A frustrated sound comes from behind you and you turn around instinctively to make sure nothing was wrong. Standing next to you was a grouchy looking man with silky black hair, styled in an undercut. The long, soft looking strands on the top of his head came down to frame his face, drawing attention to the most important feature; his eyes. You notice right away they are both the identical shade of gray, which told you a lot about him already.

“Were you waiting in line?” You ask curiously even though meeting his sharp gaze directly was a bit intimidating. He regards you critically for a moment before sighing and looking away, probably forming his own judgments based on the incorrect story told by your own eyes.

“It’s fine,” his tone of voice is flat and a little dismissive. “I should’ve gotten here earlier.” He turns to walk away but something makes you call out to stop him.

“Wait,” you give him the friendliest smile you can muster before looking to the baker. “Please, wrap this up for him instead. I insist.” The baker shrugs, not really bothered by the change as long as he got his payment. The scowl on the man’s face gave way to surprise, and you thought the softer look suited him much better. You could see that he was preparing to reject your kindness, so you mutter a quick goodbye before turning away and blending in with the crowd.

You hated your eyes

In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. They were more than just a mere window into the soul, they were also a glimpse into the future. As a child, you could recall the excitement of your friends as they studied the mismatched colors of each other’s irises, speculating wildly about which shade truly belonged to them and which was borrowed from a stranger that they were destined to meet sometime in the future. Their enthusiasm had been contagious in the beginning, and you’d enjoyed listening to people discuss their predictions about the background, appearance, and personality of their future partner.

“Did you get everything on the list?” Your grandfather asks as he takes the basket of food from you once you finally return home. The walk back from the market had been miserable. Your feet were cold and wet from sloshing through the snow, but the rest of you was warm and sweaty from the exertion of hauling the purchases all the way back while wearing so many thick layers.

“They were out of bread,” You inform him while shrugging out of your coat. A look of displeasure passed over his face but vanished just as quickly when your grandmother called to him from the kitchen. You were relieved that she was volunteering to make dinner this time, because the exhaustion from your day was starting to catch up with you.

You head into the bathroom, ready to warm up with a hot shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes while the meal was prepared. As you wait for the water from the tap to heat up, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Usually you avoided looking at your face for too long, but every now and then you decided to stare back at yourself for a moment. You frown as you meet the gaze of the two identical eyes that you’d be born with. They looked mockingly back at you from the glass, their dull gray hue like a running joke that you’d never found remotely funny.

Washing away the grime of the day helped clear your head of negative thoughts, and soon your mind drifted back to the man you’d helped at the market. The memory of his eyes reminded you that you had made the right decision. He was the one who had someone important waiting for him back at home, possibly even children that needed to be fed and taken care of. You and your grandparents would be just fine as you always had, even if there was a spark of jealousy in you that the man got to have the type of wholesome future that you could never enjoy.

You hated soulmates

The idea of having the comfort of knowing there was someone out there born specifically to fill your life with joy, support, and love was an overwhelming one. It was hard for you to really imagine what it must be like for people to be filled with that nervous anticipation every time they got the opportunity to meet someone new. You’d had secondhand experiences as you watched friends and acquaintances around you find their destinies in one another, but while those meetings spelled out the beginning of something wonderful for them, it only served to make you feel the bleakness of your situation more profoundly.

It was extremely rare for someone to be born without a soulmate, and although your parents tried to have a positive outlook, you had still felt the stigma associated with your condition every single day of your life. It had been impossible to escape the stares and gasps of astonishment from both adults and children alike during you school-age years. Most of them had never seen a child your age with two of the same colored eyes, so it was inevitable that you’d garnered quite a bit of unwanted attention. The people you met were merely curious at first, but as you got older the intrigue turned to pity.

As hard as it was to deal with the people around you who knew the truth, meeting strangers was almost worse. Those who still walked around with duel colored eyes held little interest in someone who had seemingly already found their partner, and everyone else was too preoccupied with their own established lives to pay attention to you at all. In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. Unfortunately, your eyes had landed you into one of the loneliest roles imaginable.

You hated your luck

It should not have surprised you as much as it did when the man from the market walked into your apothecary a few days later, but considering the fact he’d been popping up in your thoughts sporadically ever since the first meeting, it certainly caught you off guard to see his face again. By the way his familiar gray eyes widened upon seeing you standing behind counter, you guessed he hadn’t been expecting to see you again either.

“Hello again,” you smile awkwardly to try and clear the air. You weren’t sure if it would be weird to mention the bread incident or not.

“Hello,” the man nods, his facial features relaxing into a neutral expression. You were glad he didn’t seem to be as agitated as he’d been in the market. “I’m looking for something that might help my mother. She’s recently fallen ill and nothing I do seems to be helping.”

“What are her symptoms?” The question falls naturally from your lips. As the man describes his mother’s condition, you find yourself taking in his appearance in more detail. His black hair looked as soft as you remembered, but now you were noticing other things like the shape of his nose and sharp angle of his jawline. The clothes he wore were on the nicer side, and it made you wonder what he did for a living. His stature was a bit on the shorter side, and although his build was lean, you got the impression that he was healthy and strong.

“Well, it seems like she may have caught a flu,” you explain once the man finishes speaking. You turn to grab a few items from the shelf behind you and place them on the counter. “These should work to control the symptoms and reduce her fever until her body is able to fight off the infection.”

“Thank you,” he sounds genuine as he pulls out some money to pay for the medicine. You accept the payment, taking note of his long, elegant hands and fingers.

“Not at all,” you assure him with an easy smile. “I hope your mother recovers quickly.”

The man nods in gratitude while scooping up the goods he’d purchased in his hands. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking back up to catch your gray eyes with his own.

“My name’s Levi, by the way.” The confidence in his voice did not match the anxious set of his features. “We didn’t get to have a proper introduction the other day.”

“O-oh,” there was no way to conceal the shock you felt in that moment. It was out of the ordinary for anyone to give you their name, especially a man who had obviously had his encounter with fate already. You manage to stutter out your own name, wondering if you were having some sort of intensely realistic dream as you watch the man’s lips twitch into the smallest, briefest of smiles.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he repeats your name to himself thoughtfully. “Have a nice day.” With all his business with you completed, he nods his head and exits your shop, leaving you to try and tame the wild racing of your thoughts and heart.

You hated false hope

It was embarrassing how often you had to remind yourself over the next few days that a person simply introducing themselves to you should not be taken as anything more than polite kindness. You had seemingly lost all control of your mind and feelings though, since scarcely a moment went by now without thoughts of Levi sending butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. It didn’t seem fair that you knew so little about him, but you understood that you’d have to be content with the memory of his ghost of a smile and the echo of the way your name had sounded as it escaped his lips. Part of you hoped you’d never see the man again so that you could get over your delusions as quickly and easily as possible, but another part of you longed to bump into him again.

“What are you doing in here?” Your grandmother walked into the bathroom to find you leaning over the sink, eyes wide open and focused so intensely on your reflection in the mirror that you hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Huh?” you whirl around to face her, finally blinking once you realized how tired your eyes were from the thorough examination you’d just given them. “What did it feel like after you met Grandpa?”

Your stomach sank immediately at the pitying look that grew on the old woman’s face. She reaches out to rub your arm sympathetically with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry sweetie,” is all she tells you before changing the subject completely. “Excuse me now, I need to use the restroom.”

“Right, sorry.” You offer a dry laugh as you move out of her way, reality rushing back like a harsh slap to the face. You’d known all along that you’d never really have a soulmate, but it was hard not to have grasped on to the small shred of a possibility. It hadn’t slipped your attention that Levi also had gray eyes, but plenty of people had the same or similar shade. Besides, the likeliness of soulmates having the same exact eye color was even rarer than someone being born without a soulmate at all. You vowed to keep these cold hard truths at the forefront of your mind from now on, and resigned yourself completely to the fate you’d been dealt.

You loved Levi

It had been a whole week since you’d given up the last loaf of bread that had sent your life into a strange whirlwind of new, unexplored emotions. The days between then and the present had been interesting indeed, but now you were determined to go back to life as normal. The weather wasn’t so terrible today, but you still bundled up to prepare yourself for the cold morning walk to the Apothecary. You arrived at the shop with plenty of time to remove the layers of winter clothes and do a quick inventory of items you’d soon need to restock.

It was around lunchtime when you really started to relax back into your routine. The steady flow of customers had helped to keep your mind occupied, and once things slowed down around midday, you picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counters and windows absentmindedly. The sound of the bell above the door alerted you to someone’s arrival and you quickly tossed down the rag and turned to greet them. Once again, you find yourself startled to be standing in the presence of the man from the market.

“Levi,” you mutter his name before shaking out of your daze. “Excuse me,” you look down and apologize in embarrassment. “Um, can I help you with something? Is your mother feeling better?”

“She’s much better, yes. Thank you.” Levi clears his throat awkwardly and you can’t help but think his posture is stiffer than you remember. You wonder again what he did for a living because he seemed to be a bit overdressed for a simple trip to the apothecary. He looked incredibly handsome in any case, and it was doing nothing to help quiet your wandering imagination.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you weren’t sure what else to say. You walk over to the small faucet behind the counter to wash your hands since you’d just been cleaning. The silence between you both grew more and more uncomfortable until Levi’s face suddenly contorts with frustration. You open your mouth to apologize for whatever you’d done but he cuts you off by coming forward suddenly and placing both hands on the counter.

“Your eyes,” he forces out the words before averting his own gaze. Any hope of keeping yourself grounded in reality seemed to go up in smoke as your heart rate kicked into overdrive.

“Yes?” you say breathlessly and the fact that you weren’t kicking him out for being incredibly inappropriate was enough to spur him on with whatever point he was trying to get to.

“How long?” he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, “How long since they’ve changed?”

“They’ve always been this way,” it should’ve been harder to admit, but the way Levi was acting was distracting you from the shame you’d normally be feeling. A soft sound, like an intrigued sigh, escapes his lips and he covers his mouth with those beautiful long fingers you’d been trying not to think about. All you can do is stare at him as he comes to terms with the information you’d just revealed. You wondered why he’d even want to know and what he would do now that the truth was out in the open. Finally, after an unbearable stretch of time, Levi lowers his hand back onto the counter, revealing a faint but amused looking smile.

“Well,” his confidence began to return. “They look much better on you than they do on me.”

“What?” Every cell in your body seemed to be buzzing with anticipation. You wanted to believe that this was all leading up to something good, but a nagging fear in the back of your mind warned you against giving in to the false hope that you’d vowed to ignore.

“I was born with these eyes as well,” Levi confesses calmly while gesturing to his face. “Both of them.”

It was your turn to cover your mouth, wondering desperately if it was all right yet to dare to dream that there was meaning behind what was happening after all.

“I have no idea if this is all a coincidence or not,” Levi shrugs as his mouth pulls into a frown. “To be honest, I gave up on the idea of soulmates a long time ago, but I cannot ignore the fact that you’ve consumed my thoughts from the moment I saw you in the market.”

Tears unwittingly begin to blur your vision as all the tension inside you finally reaches a tipping point.

“I…” You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Levi’s hand appears in front of your face, offering a handkerchief. You accept it gratefully and wipe the wetness from your eyes and cheeks. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you either.”

Levi folds his arms over his chest as if contemplating the matter seriously, but the pause only lasts a few seconds this time. Before you have time to worry about what he’ll say, he’s offering you his hand.

“Would you like to be my soulmate then?” he asks, a hint of teasing in his voice despite the nervous energy surrounding you both. You don’t hesitate to place your hand into his. You weren’t sure if your matching eyes was a sign that you were meant to be together, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to throw away the shot of having the kind of life you’d watched other people enjoy your entire lives. If you were able to bring each other happiness, you could care less if it was what fate had planned.

“Yes,” Your voice shook with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you, “I think I’d like that.”

“As would I,” Levi replies as a real smile takes over his face at last. The hope you see in the depths of his beautiful gray eyes makes you appreciate the matching color of your own for the very first time, and the idea of a happy future finally seems within your grasp.

[carrotmakar]

undrunk

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: When Y/N receives Harry’s wedding invitation with a picture of him that she took on it, she’s sent back to the night where she threw everything important to her away.

Warning(s): a relationship that’s not really a relationship, overall sadness, a flashback, alcohol, language, mistakes, and i didn’t go back and edit it, sorry :/

A/N: Okay I tried something just a bit different with this one so if you have any thoughts, please don’t hesitate to let me know)!! This is my second submission to nat’s ( @harrystylescherry​ ) song based writing challenge!! This one is based off of Undrunk by Fletcher, so if you haven’t heard that, I recommend giving it a listen either while reading or before!! If you couldn’t tell by the first submission I did, The Weekend and by this one, when I picked these prompts I was feeling just a bit messy, so just know that going into this!!! Also, a quick thank you to fay ( @glowunderthemoon​ ) for making this amazing visual!!!

Masterlist | Request + Inbox | Patreon 

A reminder to reblog the fics that you like before there are no more for you to consume!!

*

“Technically, he wasn’t an ex-boyfriend, but he was an ex-something. And ex-maybe. An ex-almost.” - unknown

There aren’t a lot of things about life that Y/N will openly admit that she regrets. She believes that she should live life to the fullest, and that has landed her in some pretty sticky situations. She doesn’t truly regret them, though. She doesn’t look back on them and wish that things had gone differently, mostly because the experiences that she’s gone through have made her who she is.

There is one thing that she wishes she could go back in time and undo, however. The one single night in her life that made everything take a full one eighty and sent her entire world spiraling.

It’s something that she’s tried her hardest not to think about since it happened, but when she got his stupid wedding invitation in the mail, with a picture of him that she took when they were still “seeing” each other, all the memories came washing back.

The moment she saw his smile brighter than ever, from the day they went to the pumpkin patch and he was so giddy to have something to decorate for Halloween that his dimples were popping and his smile was so big that it was almost contagious. The memory hit her like a truck, and now she’s sitting with her back against the counter, trying her best not to let the tears fall, because the second that they do, she knows that she won’t be able to get them to stop until there are no more tears left for her to cry. 

As the seconds pass, she begins to think about how much she fucked everything up, and it’s suddenly like she’s right back to that night.

<i> “Y/N, come on, we’re gonna be late!” Harry yells from the other side of her door. She texted him not even twenty minutes prior telling him to let himself in the door once he got to her place.

“Harry, you just got here!” she responds, looking in the mirror as she applies a layer of mascara. “Plus, I’m almost done, go sit down or something!” She hears him sigh dramatically before trudging off to sit on the couch until she’s done, or at least that’s what she assumes that he’s going to do. Knowing him, he’ll just go stand in the kitchen. She chuckles lightly at the thought, he’s such a weirdo she says to herself as she places the applicator back in the tube of mascara and screws it shut.

Standing, she takes a look at her outfit. The black material of the dress falls to her mid-thigh. The form hugs her curves nicely and the cut of the top shows off just the right amount of cleavage. She smiles at her reflection before slipping on a pair of silver heels and grabbing her purse, slipping her ID and her phone inside.

She saunters over to the door, and right before she twists the knob, she takes a deep breath. Tonight, she’s going to try to finally take things to the next level with Harry, and she needs to summon all of her courage to try that. They’ve been sleeping together for months, but Harry refuses to acknowledge that they’re anything more than friends. It’s tiring, and Y/N really needs to know if he’s worth holding onto or if she needs to let go and find someone else that will give her more than a fuck.

She twists the handle and swings the door open before making her way to him. Like she assumed, he’s sat on the couch, legs spread in a way that would look obnoxious if any other man were doing it. She doesn’t hesitate to stand between his legs and look down at him. He meets her gaze for just a moment before letting his eyes travel down her body. His tongue pokes out, running across his bottom lip. Her eyes follow the movement, watching as the skin becomes wet with his spit. It takes everything in her to will her mind away from other things that make his lips shine like that.

She opens her mouth to ask how she looks, but he circles his hand around her wrist and lightly tugs her down so that she’s sitting on one of his thighs with her side pressed against his chest. He dips his head to place a kiss to her lips, molding them together as he breathes in the scent of her vanilla perfume that she frequents whenever she wants to smell good but not have it be too overwhelming. He smears his lips across hers, fitting her bottom one between his two as he pulls her closer and deepens the kiss just a bit. 

When she whines into the kiss, he pulls away from her mouth, looking at her with hooded eyes. “You look absolutely fucking gorgeous,” he gushes, squeezing her closer to his body. “My girl is so pretty, I can’t even believe it.” Y/N’s cheeks heat up at him calling her ‘his girl’ and there’s nothing more that she wants than to really be his. 

Clearing her throat, she stands up as she pushes all thoughts out of her head. She doesn’t want to work herself up too early in the evening and then psyche herself out before she can even get the full courage that she needs to bring up the idea with him. She reaches for his hand and he gladly lets her take it in his own, squeezing it lightly before she pulls him up off the couch and over to the door. 

��Come on, Harry,” she mocks his tone from when he yelled through the door earlier, “we’re going to be late!” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head as he willingly follows behind her. 

He pulls his keys from his pocket and clicks the button to unlock his car. Once he hears the click of the doors, he pulls the passenger side open and ushers her inside the vehicle. After she’s safely inside, he shuts the door and walks around the car, slipping in himself before starting the car. 

“Are you not drinking tonight?” Y/N asks, finding it just a bit peculiar that he’s driving to a club when he hasn’t done so… ever. He always has someone else drive him because he always gets wasted when he goes out.

“Nope,” he states, shaking his head. “I want to remember tonight.”

The words have butterflies erupting in her stomach, but they also have it twisting into knots. There’s an unknown about why he wants to remember tonight. Is there something that he plans on doing that is too good for him to forget? Or does he want to end things and doesn’t want to forget to do so? 

She inhales shakily, pushing the thoughts from her mind as she sees the club come into view. Harry parks and opens her door for her, taking her hand and leading her into the building. 

Once they’re inside, he drops her hand and speaks directly into her ear so that she can hear him over the music, his breath making her skin prickle. “I’m gonna go get us drinks, yeah? Go find somewhere to sit,” he pauses for a few seconds, placing a hand on her waist. “Or go dance, know how much you love to do that.” She can feel his smirk against her skin, and it makes her melt as she stands there. 

When he pulls away, she makes her way towards a table near the corner, knowing that Harry will want a bit of solitude when they decide to just sit down and have a drink or two together. She takes a seat and pulls out her phone, wanting to look busy so that nobody would come up to her and try to talk. The only person that she wants to talk to right now is Harry.

A few minutes pass and she begins to grow just a bit bored. She knows that he had to go order them drinks, but it normally doesn’t take this long. 

When she looks up, scanning the room to find him, she sees something that makes her heart fall and her stomach clench in the worst way. He’s leaning into a tall blonde, his hand on her lower back to hold her closer to him just like he does with Y/N. The sight makes her sick, but what makes it even worse is the way that he laughs and his eyes light up more than they ever have when looking at Y/N, her heart cracks. 

Her first instinct is to go over to him and interrupt, but she doesn’t have any right to do so. He’s not hers. As much as she wants him to be, he’s not, and that’s something that she has to live with.

So, instead of going up to them, she puts her phone back into her purse and goes onto the dance floor, finding someone to dance with and not wasting any time in molding their lips together. It feels wrong, kissing someone that isn’t Harry, but he doesn’t want her, so she’ll just have to do everything in her power to forget about him, even if it’s just for the night. 

After a while of dancing and drinking things that she probably, definitely shouldn’t be drinking, she meets his eyes across the room and the look on his face makes her realize that kissing strangers while he was flirting with someone else probably wasn’t the best idea.

He just shakes his head before walking out. His head is hung low, and if it wasn’t for the low lighting that she swore had to be playing tricks on her, she would have thought she saw tears streaming down his face.

After she got home that night, she tried to text him, but all she got was a green message instead of a blue one. He blocked her.

All she had left of him were the memories that he had left and one single text message that she had received from him before he blocked her.

Thanks for letting me know that you didn’t want what I did, it’s what I needed to let go.

When she falls asleep that night, there are tears streaming down her face and her pillow is soaked beneath her.

Oh, how she wishes she could go back and erase every time she’s ever gotten drunk. That would solve a lot of things. If she hadn’t ever gotten drunk around Harry, they never would have started sleeping together. Which means that she never would have fallen in love with him, she never would have gotten jealous of him flirting with someone, and she definitely wouldn’t have kissed the first person that she laid eyes on to get back at him.

If she could just get undrunk one time, she wouldn’t be looking down at the wedding invitation that’s now stained with tears, wishing that it was her standing next to him in the engagement photos.

*

[jinkicake]

no thoughts just running away in a flowy gown through the streets of Italy from don giorno

((((anon... ANON... okay give me like ten minutes to post my other works and then Imma come back and just dump my entire BRAINROT that I have because of this post WAAIIITTT this is so good,,, you’re.... a genius))))

A/N: Okay..... this is so messy, so rough and I can’t believe I wrote 1.6k words in less than an hour BUT... here you are Anon~~~ a little something based off of your message hehehe it’s lowkey yandere :0 (Also... in part five theyre in naples right? LMFAO i can never remember) Anyway I have an early class tmr so I have to cut it short so this is not editied and -again- very messy,,, I will try to fix it later but for now~~~ here is my take on running away from Giorno LOL 

Giorno x Reader

This has lowkey yandere themes... 

WC- 1,637

All you want at this moment is to rip your constricting dress off. The thin, pale blue material is suffocating, every layer tightens around your skin and makes it that much harder to run. You’ll do anything to help you free yourself from Giorno’s clutches. And as of right now, you have your foot in the door. 

At least, you think you do. Unbeknownst to you, the little ladybug necklace adorning your neck has other thoughts. 

It was smart to leave (escape) in the early afternoon, right as your fiancé was in the midst of all of his meetings and when it was most crowded in the streets. You could easily blend in with all the other people, at least until nightfall. 

It has become your mission to get as far away from Naples as you can before the moon starts to rise. You quickly found out that is easier said than done. 

If only the streets weren’t filled with his men, if only every single person who makes eye contact with you wasn’t on his side. 

You knew that the moment Giorno had found out about this, about your betrayal, that there would be dire consequences. Yet again, it was never your intention to allow him to ever find you again. 

Given by your own personal estimation, you had about another five minutes before he was alert of your missing status. The guards stationed at your shared apartment change positions every twenty minutes to ensure that not one of them gets any special amount of time with you. The helicopter gaurds hovering over you were such a pain. Too bad you had already disposed of those on stand, it’ll be a quick affair once everyone notices your lack of presence. 

“Fuck,” You murmur as your flat, clearly not made for running, catches on one of the cracks in the street. Your chest heaves up and down with each breath as you stare at the unfamiliar crowd trying to pick up on any familiar face. A wave of relief washes over you when you realize that you don’t recognize any of them. 

You can do this, you can do this. Start over, somewhere new, somewhere like France or Switzerland. You can escape. 

And you truly believed that, you kept running with all of your might and didn’t stop to look back once. After some time, the streets started to mesh together and it felt as if you had started running around in circles. You didn’t have time to worry about that, not as the sun was setting and the streets were starting to clear up. Any leverage, any chance of escape that you had, would be lost if you did not make it out of Naples. 

Maybe you could find a bus that would take you up to Rome, then up and the hell away from Italy. Maybe a boat would be quicker, a motorcycle? 

All at once, your senses start to close in as you realize that you did not take advantage of your situation. You did not think this through, you saw a chance and you took it. You’ll fight until your last breathe, until Giorno finds you again. There is no way in hell you’re going to let this golden opportunity go to waste. 

But, God, had you fucked up. You fucked up, really bad, but deep in your heart you know it was worth every single second. 

It doesn’t matter how far or how fast you run now. 

The abandoned alleyways tell you everything you need to know, it’s now completely dark outside and late into the night. The streets are cleared, silent, except for the telltale sounds of your shoes lighting pounding into the pavement. 

You tightly bunch your hands up in the sides of your dress before pulling the fabric up and running with all of your might. You should have ditched the dress earlier, it was only ever holding you back but it’s not like you had another change of clothes. 

Giorno always liked you dressed up. 

Almost as if you were his little doll. 

A black car stops suddenly at the end of the street, blocking off the entire road and cutting through the silence with a loud screech of its tires. It’s not enough to intimidate you, you still refuse to give up. 

Almost too quickly you swiftly turn around, hot on your heels ready to run away, right into a broad chest. 

The black suit fills your vision before you can actually see the figure, but you can still feel their presence right away. You’re done for, you’re done for. 

“You ruined your pretty dress,” Giorno’s soft face portrays a frown as his eyebrows furrow in disinterest. His light eyes still hold concern only for you. He reaches his hand up to brush the stray strands of hair from your cheeks and you immediately flinch, taking a step back only to bump into something else.

This time you’re almost too scared to turn around, you would much rather face Giorno than the other figure. An unpleasant huff causes you to shakily glance over your shoulder and face Golden Experience Requiem. It’s staring down at you with betrayal deep in its eyes, hands twitching next to your own.

You couldn’t take the stand on even if you wanted to. 

You try to move, step away, but the stand is much quicker and grabs your biceps to hold you still. Its pants rest heavily in your ears and you don’t even dare to look up at Giorno who has started pacing in front of you. 

You feel so stupid, oh so stupid, the dress is filthy and dirty. Everything is torn at the seams, your shoes are worn down, your hair is flung all over your face, you’re a complete and utter mess. 

It only gets worse when you hear the robotic sounds behind you. Still gutted with betrayal, Golden Experience Requiem utters a single word in his polite tone that matches his user’s. 

“Why?” 

Your eyes slightly widen at this and as a result, the grip on your biceps grows tighter. 

“Why? Why?” The mechanic voice demands and you’re nearly shaking beneath its grip. Now, you know why Giorno is so silent. He never loses his composure in front of you, he is always calm and ahead, always one step in front of you. With his stand, however, he can’t help but express all his feelings as he desires. 

An apology feels heavy on your tongue because you’re not sorry, you have nothing to apologize for. 

“I wanted to go home.” You daringly lift your gaze to look straight at your fiancé, glaring at him as if it could make him disappear. 

“Then let’s, we can discuss the matters of this evening there,” Giorno takes a step toward you, and he is beside you, resting his hand on your shoulder as he waits for you to turn around and follow him. 

Your stubborn eyes, filled with tears, nearly makes him sigh. 

“Please don’t be difficult,” He tries to cup your face but his own stand pulls you tighter into its chest. Golden Experience Requiem has always been so possessive over you and never afraid to show it. Giorno knows that he couldn’t call his stand back even if he tried, not until you were safely in the car. 

“I want to go home.” You repeat, too calmly for your current panicked state. A long, cold arm drapes over your chest and you feel your feet start to rise against the hard road beneath you.

The stand is literally dragging you back to the car with no remorse. 

And stupidly, you make another mistake.

“Not with you,” At this point, you’re sure you won’t make it out of this experience alive. You keep making it worse and worse for yourself as if you can’t help it. 

Giorno stills, and the slight clench of his jaw is enough to have you sprinting back into his car. 

“Then with who?” He asks through his teeth, glaring harshly at the side of your face as you continue to look away from him. It’s not enough for him and he tightly grabs your jaw with his hand to force you to look at him. His fingers dig into your cheeks when you still refuse to look at him. “With who, darling?” 

No air is flowing through your system. You can’t concentrate on anything, not on the stand behind you tugging on your body possessively or your fiancé holding you just as angrily. 

“Myself,” You finally tell him honestly and look up at him, Giorno physically calms down at the sight. 

“I can take you there if it means you will stop acting out,” The offer, the bargain, falls short on your ears and a new frown takes up your face. 

Giorno is taunting you, teasing you.

You know there is no chance in hell he would let you go home, let you visit the place you miss the most. He knows he’ll never get you back if he does. Giorno is just using this to get you back in the car.

He’s done it once before, and this certainly won’t be the last time he does it either. 

“I will bring you there, (Y/N).” He restates and you stubbornly hold your place. “You don’t want to go anymore?” His jaw ticks and you can hear the irritation filling his voice. “It’s so hard to please you,” The tightening grip on your biceps shows his frustration even if he doesn’t physically face you with it. Golden Experience Requiem has you under lock and key, hugging you so tightly that you’re almost gasping for air. “One last chance.”

One last chance to take him up on his pseudo offer, to entertain his twisted fantasy. 

This is your split road, lick your fiancé’s wounds or let the gash grow bigger and bigger. 

Either way, you’ll end up back at his estate, now all that matters is the punishment waiting back for you. 

You can’t find it in yourself to move your legs. 

[sunshineandcybertronians]

Enchanted - Smokescreen x reader (TFP)

Word Count: 2,272

Warnings: None

A/N: I wrote this about two year ago after seeing fireflies one night and it made me think of ‘Enchanted’ by Taylor Swift

~

"So these are humans?" Smokescreen asked when he walked into the base the first time and saw you and the other three humans.

"Hi," you smiled and waved. There was something about the rookie that made you smile, happy, and at ease.

"Hi," he waved back and returned the smile.

"Oh, tour!" Miko jumped up. You drooped knowing that she'd get to spend more time with the new Cybertronian. Then she looked over at Bulkhead and seemed to remember that she wanted to be there for him while he was healing, as well as his negative emotions to believing that he may be replaced. "Actually, (Y/n) offers a very informative tour

You perked up and felt flustered when he looked to you expectantly. "Of course! My name is (Y/n), as you just heard since Miko said it," managing to force words out in your nervous and excited state, you walked down the stairs towards the stairs.

"Nice name," he beamed, "I'm Smokescreen."

A happy laugh escaped you. "It's very nice to meet you, Smokescreen."

That was the first day, the start of something beautiful. You two had immediately clicked and became inseparable. It was a magical first meeting, one that made you quickly open up. Now, you sat in Smokescreen's alt mode, driving on the empty road in the desert at eighty miles per hour.

"So your saying you could go faster?" You responded to his previous statement. You believed him.

"Yep. Should we see just how fast I can go?" The engine revved after his question.

"I don't know. If you do, just make sure you don't get seen by a cop or wipe out."

"Smokescreen," Optimus Prime's voice came through the comm and flooded the air.

"Yes, Optimus?" Smokescreen eagerly responded.

"I would like you to return to base with (Y/n)," he politely, yet sternly commanded. "Since you do not know Earth's rules and human habit, nor what exactly is safe for a human or not, I believe it would be best to not remain out for long. I fear staying out for a such a period of time would put your cover in jeopardy as well as possible put her in danger."

"Yes, sir." He turned off the comm to talk to you. "Aww, I guess we have to go back." He changed direction.

"Maybe it's for the best. You could have lost control and we would have both gotten hurt. If that happened, Optimus wouldn't have been very happy." You shrunk in the seat at the thought of his disappointment.

Smokescreen seem to do the same and sink closer to the pavement. "Yeah... Oh well. Maybe next time I could drive as fast as I can and you could watch on the side of the road."

"Sounds nice, just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt." You placed a hand on the dashboard and the air vents rattled.

You promptly returned to base and spent the rest of the day talking or playing videogames with Smokescreen. Soon, when no one was in the main room besides you two,  you looked at the time and realized it would be dark soon.

"Oh, I didn't know it was this late. I guess I'll need to go home soon," you sighed, not wanted to leave Smokescreen's side.

"Yeah," he typed something into the large console, you were surprised that he knew how to do it since Ratchet typically did it. Although you assumed you shouldn't have been, since it was something common for Cybertronians.

He picked you up, then transformed with you in the seat. He drove through the swirling, glowing vortex, but what you found in front of you wasn't your home. It was a meadow somewhere in the middle of a forest. The door opened and you stepped out to take a better look.

The soft, green grass reached to your waist, with tops of white wildflowers sprinkled into the sea of green. The dark blue twilight light made the scene look deep and mysterious, adding a layer of nighttime beauty. Apparently wherever you were, it was already dark.

"This isn't my home," you said as your eyes scanned the area.

Clicks of rearranging metal cut through the air and next to you Smokescreen now stood on his pedes. "I know," Smokescreen admitted,  sounding slightly nervous like he was worried you'd be upset. "But I read about something that happens this time of year and I wanted to show it to you." You had looked up to him while he was speaking.

At that time, lights flashed in the corner of your eye and you finally noticed the fireflies. They twinkled in and out in the cover of darkness.

"This is beautiful," you breathed.

The trees surrounding you didn't seem scary, but a protection and shield from a harsh world, creating a small pocket world. A place you could enjoy without worrying about the outside world or anything monsters that would normally come for you.

Smokescreen sat down, with you sitting on his leg. In that position you and the white Cybertronian admired the sight in silence. He shifted every now and then, since the mech can't sit still for long. Although he made sure to keep his leg still. A few minutes passed in a comfortable silence.

"Why do they flash like that?" He asked, his optics training the fireflies.

Not wanting to get caught up in the details or ruin the moment, you decided to mystify and explain it like a poem.

"They use the lights to call for and find a friend, or love. They need to find that other firefly before they leave this world." You impressed yourself with your own words.

"Wow." He stared at them again, then his glowing optics met your eyes again. "I'm happy I found my friend."

Your mouth spread into an even bigger smile and your heart fluttered at the sweet words. "Thank you." You hugged him as best you could.

He picked you up gently and held your close to his chassis in attempt to return the hug. When you, to your displeasure, pulled away from his embrace, he set you on his shoulder.

Being there in the beautiful place beside him, with the fireflies twinkling. It felt so perfect, a kind of happiness that makes you fear that something terrible is about to happen. You prayed it that wouldn't happen. The moment reminded you of a song.

"This night is sparkling," you whispered, then laughed,  "and flawless." Smokescreen looked over to you with curiosity and you answered before he could ask, "It's a song."

"Can I hear it?"

"Sure." Within a minute, your phone was playing the song Enchanted by Taylor Swift on Smokescreen's speakers through Bluetooth. The sweet melody drifted through the air and gently settled onto your ears.

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

Walls of insincerity

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you

Once you heard her sing that it was enchanting to meet him, you immediately thought of when you met Smokescreen and how you felt.

Your eyes whispered "have we met?"

Across the room your silhouette starts to make its way to me

The playful conversation starts

Counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

And it was enchanting to meet you

All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you

That could describe your meeting very well and your conversations during the tour and after.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

The chorus felt perfect with the night and beauty around you, especially with Smokescreen there. You leaned against him.

The lingering question kept me up

Two a.m., who do you love?

I wonder till I'm wide awake

Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say, hey

It was enchanting to meet you

All I know is I was, enchanted to meet you

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

You caught a firefly that was hovering near you. Lifting your hand to examine it, be lifted its wings and began to fly away. Smokescreen's optics followed it with wonder.

This is me praying that this was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

I was enchanted to meet you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

You resisted the urge to hug Smokescreen that was welling up in you, knowing that it might make things weird.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

"I should go home, but I don't want to leave," you gave a sad smile.

He sighed, "Me neither. But I probably should get you back. Don’t wanna get yelled at for keeping you out too long." After comming someone at the base to bridge you back, he picked you up in his hand and carried you through

Back at home, you paced around your room. Reminiscing about the night. Thinking about the song. The bedroom was dark, the only thing that kept you from tripping was your knowledge of the layout of the room. It was late, but you were restless, mentally and physically. Your mind spun as you thought about Smokescreen. He was so amazing, cool, and energetic. You could easily open up around him and he made you laugh like no one else could. It almost startled you, and yet came as no surprise since the beginning, that you were starting to think of him as more than just a friend.

Maybe it wasn't just now that you were developing this, you just hadn't realized it before. In a way, you knew it would happen and it started the second you saw each other, something about the special magic feeling that was present then. It was simply enchanting to meet him, and you hoped he felt the same way.

You found that you wished he was there, that he'd tell you he felt the same, and that he didn't have some sort of Cybertronian girlfriend before he went into stasis in that escape pod. It was just a daydream, you acknowledged, yet you wanted it to come true.

A sudden knock at the window nearly made you jump out of your skin. Your head jerked to see what made the noise. You made out two blue, comforting, glowing optics. The light from his optics helped to recognize Smokescreen. You rushed over to him.

"What are you doing here?" You asked while opening the window. "My parents might see you."

His optics flickered like it couldn't decide what to focus on as if he was nervous. "Um, I just wanted to ask... did you like the surprise had tonight? With the fireflies?"

"Of course," you nodded.

"Good. I just wanted to ask," he paused while rubbing the back of his neck. His optics flickered to the ground for a second. "Do you... like racing?"

"Um," you were confused by the question and disappointed it wasn't something else. "I guess. That's kind of a random question."

You couldn't have known it, but the rookie was mentally screaming at himself, "Seriously? C'mon! You know you're awesome! Just ask her!" His voice box didn't seem to listen to his processor.

"Do you like being with me?" He mentally facepalmed.

"Yeah!" you immediately  "You're one of my favorite people in the world, and the universe."

His faceplate and optics lit up, but still seemed anxious. His mouth opened, but nothing came out until he finally said quickly, "Doyoulikeme?"

It was dark enough that you hoped it covered the blush creeping onto your face. "Of course, I love being with you. you're my friend."

"No. Like, crush, love," he blurted out without thinking, attempting to clarify. "Do you love me?"

You hoped it was dark enough that he couldn't see the blush creeping onto your face. "What...?"

"Ugh, what was I thinking? She'd never like me back," his voice was filled with frustration.

"You like me, in that way?"

"Oops, I said that out loud?" His optics widened in terror.

"Yes, I like you too. Maybe ever since the beginning, it was enchanting to meet you," you smiled while quoting the song, wishing your arm was long enough to touch his cheek.

He met your gaze with so much happiness and love. The small amount of light reflected off of his armor. "Same here."

It was the second beginning of something beautiful and enchanting.

[zirkkun]

just before.

just before. (Undertale fanfic - based off of Wickedtale by @alch3mic​ - rated M by AO3 standards.)

+ soldier!sans x dancer!reader (they/them prns)

+ 4456 words, english

+ prologue to soldier’s story. first time he ever meets dancer.

+ cw: mentions of murder, classism, yandere/obsessive personality, abusive/controlling parents

+ “he hadn't heard that phrase in years. so constantly aware of the corruption plaguing the world... well, as it seemed, there was still one highlight to live to protect.”

+ AO3 link

Ebott City. The corrupted hell hole that was somehow above ground, while the actual hole the "monsters" came from had been far more palatable. At least, in one case. Many didn't have the same experience he did, but… whatever. That didn't really matter. He didn't really care about it anymore. Why dwell on the past? There's too much shit going on in the present to even have time for something like that.

Day-to-day life was flooded: constantly moving, constantly working, never slowing, never stopping. There's no time for that. The day he gets time to take off and sleep, get whatever medication he's sure he needs for his horrifically weak non-stomach, and lead a healthy and safe lifestyle while retaining his wealth? Ha. In dreams, maybe. This city wasn't kind enough for that. Though, maybe if his ambitions weren't so specific, he wouldn't have fallen into this path of endless work… but it's a little late for that.

His brother had made use of their skills the two of them had attained growing up, and with that opened a dance studio where others of all sorts could come through and learn how to dance. A small corner of peace in this awful world, that little building, where monsters and humans could both dance without feud, where rich and poor could both talk without judgement. Maybe it was ironic, maybe it was fate, or maybe it was straight coincidence that his brother had named the place "Enchanted Dancing." He knew that the name was merely in reference to the magic of their home where everyone had their own sort of dances they practiced, which they all soon found was very different from most other monsters who had battle magic specialties. But even still… heh, ah, it just further proved his point. The only decent place in the world was the Underground, before they ever surfaced.

A beep. 6:00 P.M. Work.

Or, rather, his second line of work.

While he'd abandoned his dance skills long ago, he never really fully disconnected with music as a whole. It's not like he really could when he doesn't have anything else to his life or history -- he doesn't know anything else. So, he made it a pastime to make his own musical works, trying to sell them online for money, but quickly found it's not exactly easy for people to find your work… let alone get them to pay for it when they do. He had run low on money fast -- so fast that he needed something quick and easy that he could do to not end up on the curb in a weeks' time.

He doesn't remember how he heard about it, or really what possessed him to go along with it anyway; but somewhere along the line, he'd caught word of some pretentious wealthy human furiously rattling off how their reputation would be "demolished" if the rumor that had begun about their business didn't come to a halt. How they would pay "insane amounts of money" to have that rumor "eradicated." You know, without really doing any work themself, or trying to better the work that they were doing, or fixing the root of their problem to begin with… Yes, because throwing money at the problem until it's pushed onto someone else is the better solution.

And yet… when someone comes up to you in your hour of despair, presenting to you an arguably invisible layer of protection in this world of work or die, something to get you out of the dark and stop the ticking clock of your otherwise inevitable doom…

It's not like he was going to turn down the offer.

He'd forged some sort of alias -- whatever it was at the time no longer mattered, since he'd had many over the half year or so he's been doing this -- and scribbled out a note of sorts explaining what was, at the time, a feigned, short "resume" for work as an information broker. The note was left with the pretentious prick, who did, in fact, end up contacting him in the end, offering more money than he thought he'd ever see in his waking life. Needless to say, he took the job… and found the issue to be so incredibly simple to resolve that even a child could have done it.

Well, no.

A child would have had more sense of morality.

... probably.

Who was he kidding here, honestly? He complains about the rich on a regular basis, their foolish waste of money, their apathy towards those that didn't have any money, just pure care for only money.

But here he was.

Morality erased.

Lives ruined.

Bank account overflowing.

Doing the same things they were doing.

The very least he could do -- and the very least he does do -- is support those whose music he'd wanted to support while he was on the edge of homelessness. Even some of his online friends, music composition friends, were consistently met with the cash they needed in a moment's notice. "Where did you even get this kind of money?" they would ask him. He would just jokingly say that an old witch blessed him with unending wealth, or something else to that extent of unbelievable ridiculousness.

But, unfortunately, not all of his money could go towards such good causes. While he did have far beyond the money to sustain multiple dozen families, at least a third of it was thrown right back into the exchange as he paid person after person for job after job he was unwilling to do.

There was no blood on his hands. No dust caked into his bones.

But it was splattered all over the money he handed out like trick-or-treat candy.

He'd met two others, notably, that did a lot of work alongside him. A crafty cat and a wily wolf… figuratively, of course. The three of them sharing the same first name, they merely tossed nicknames at each other. More often than he probably realized, they took much of his budget for work he was far too lazy to bother with. You know, scouring the dark web for information, stalking people to track their pathing… the occasional hit here and there. Sometimes, he would do it himself, but only if he really felt up to it… and frankly, he was never in the mood for murder. But that damn wolf was shockingly willing -- for the right paycheck.

He did recognize, however, the two of them did seem to have a mutual similarity that he, personally, did not share.

… he did not have anyone close to him. He didn't have anyone who looked after him, cared for him. It didn't bother him until recently, when apparently that damn wolf managed to lock the object of his affection into a relationship. Even the cat seemed bitter when he heard the news. Someone so fucked as him still manages to find someone?

… the world was just trying with his emotions at this point. Taunting happiness at the end of a pole taped to the back of his head, leaving it just out of reach, but always in his way and always in his line of sight.

Of course, he had his brother…

... who he doesn't talk to for weeks at a time…

... and he keeps turning down his offers to meet up again…

… yes, he had his brother. A strong emphasis on the "had."

He was alone. He knew that. But, at least for the case of his brother, he'd done it on purpose.

The last thing he wants is to have his brother, someone so passionate and pure, hands still clearly clean of sin; find out he has the richest humans of the city wrapped around his fingers out of both fear and dependability.

So, frankly, sometimes he found himself jealous of the other two. The other two who had someone to care for them.

He supposed the trio of them could sort of be friends…

He'd met the wolf a few times in person, both intentionally and not.

He'd bumped into the cat, wasted in a bar, more than once.

… No, they really weren't his friends. Co-workers is the best way he could probably describe them.

Yes, he was just jealous of them.

He was alone.

…

… Well, work isn't going to start itself. He pulled his phone back up to his face, clicking it on to see how long he'd zoned out for. 6:03 P.M. Not too terrible. He slammed shut his laptop, pushing back from his chair as he went to put on the outfit that had practically become his "uniform" at this point. A dark under layer of tight leggings and a fitted long-sleeve athletic tee with a zip-up turtleneck; a desaturated over layer of a baggy, now sleeveless hoodie and equally as baggy gym shorts. And, of course, a hat, as usual… but he wore those no matter the time of day.

His apartment door clicked shut behind him as he left, and once the door was locked, he evaporated into thin air.

-- only to appear, moments later, in front of one of the most lavish mansions in the richest part of Ebott City. It was so bleeding with "I'm such a rich, extra asshole" energy that it made his Soul twist with disgust. The walls were marble, shimmering from small lights below them to show off their sparkling, smooth surface. Each edge of the building was lined with gold-plated metal, even the rails to the stairway. Arching windows stood on either side of the front door, which was probably big enough for an average sized elephant to fit into with some extra ear room to boot.

Thank the stars he didn't have to go inside again. He already knew what his job was for the night, and to be back inside that disgustingly overdone building these pretentious humans called "home"... Just thinking about it made him feel beyond insulted.

He took another shortcut -- this time, finding himself on the rooftop. Although the sun had not yet fully set, even so, it was still much darker here than standing in front of the artificially-lit trophy they called a front entrance. He popped open his phone again. 6:05 P.M.

Unlocking it completely, he pulled up a message from the cat he'd gotten this morning.

morning soldier~ i managed to get done what you needed me to for today last night. which, you owe me BIG-TIME for, mister.

i was up until 4 am doing this!!

Soldier checked the timestamp. Yesterday, 11:34 P.M. Does that cat think he's an idiot? Whatever, it's not like this was the important part of the message. But, if anything, he's getting docked pay for really bad lying. It's not like the guy needs more alcohol money, anyway.

here's a list compiled of all the parties in ebott tonight. i only looked for ones starting after 6 pm like you asked, but there was still far too many… the list is very long (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

[file download link]

i hope you're happy!!! cause im not looking any more than that!!!!! ☆⌒(> _ <)

He downloaded the file to his phone, browsing through it to see what parties had been collected into the spreadsheet. He only could assume that's what was bringing them out, at the very least.

Oh, yes, his job for the evening. That's integral information, I suppose.

The mansion whose roof he sat upon currently was owned by a human family with the surname King. They had twelve children, all adopted, but were all also kept on very rigorous and strict schedules. The eldest of the children very recently had been caught sneaking out of the house every evening by one of their siblings, and sleeping noticeably late in the morning, their final semester of university was suffering from this all as they refused to finish their thesis. So, naturally as it is for all the rich, they threw their money at the problem hoping that would fix it.

Today's "that" was the skeleton monster sitting on their roof, waiting to see when someone would eventually leave the house.

With a hefty sum of money, upfront payment, as usual; Soldier was told to follow their child for three nights, and to report back after that time with what they had been up to. Seemed easy enough. Of all the jobs he'd gotten, tailing someone for a few days and tracking their every move was probably the easiest he's ever had the misfortune of doing.

He continued to scroll through the list. He had been given absolutely nothing to work with from the Kigngs as to where their kid was headed or when they tended to leave the house, or any information of actual use; so he was going into the job without a clue as to what he was really looking for. It was probably the most difficult aspect of the job -- hence why he outsourced the bulk of it. As for the "where," parties seemed like a reasonable assumption to make for a human college student. That's a rather common stereotype of sorts, college students getting drunk at party after party, is it not? Better than nothing, he supposed. Nothing else really came to mind anyway, but that doesn't mean there wasn't another option. Even still, it's a better start than nothing.

Now he had to just wait for the "when." He had the list in front of him, hoping he could deduce when the human would leave their house… but the more he read it over, the more bored he got. Guess the cat wasted his time. Oh well. That's not Soldier's problem.

Just as he locked his screen shut, planning to come down from the roof and investigate any exits that might be hidden to most of the house, he heard an absurdly loud sound he initially thought was a gunshot, followed by a raspy huff of various curses. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, after shortcutting there silently to avoid making attention towards himself; he noticed there was, in fact, no gunshot, but rather, an awfully messy and junky trap door of sorts, seemingly made of plywood. A human, who he assumed was the one who swore earlier, grabbed a bush that had been sitting next to it, picking it up like it was nothing and placing it over the door. It was in line with several other, similar bushes. The human dusted off their hands before walking, keeping a close eye on the mansion walls to their side.

Well, looks like he's found who he's supposed to tail.

He kept watch over them for as long as his eyes could follow, and then, the moment they left his vision, he shortcutted to where they had been moments ago, though slightly distanced as to be hidden nearby; and simply repeated the process. Soldier knew this part of the city better than the back of his hand, so he knew where he was at all times, as well, making shortcutting silently even easier.

… However, what he didn't understand was where the hell this human was headed. A few times he tried clicking on his phone, scrolling through the list again, but they weren't headed in any direction towards any party. And even when they started heading in the direction of one… they would end up taking a "wrong" turn and dodging it completely.

…

… this was taking a really long time…

It's… almost been an hour by now. Soldier's starting to recognize this area a little less. He knew the map layout, but not all of the details about where they were or what was distinctly different about each street. They were outside of the rich part of town, but not quite in the poorer side that he was used to, either. If he was remembering correctly, this was in the direction of downtown. Unless this human's planning on breaking into some probably-already-crashed college dorm party for the night, they definitely weren't planning to party at all. Okay, well, that throws that plan out the window.

But now he had no idea what to expect. Were they banned from getting help, so they're actively seeking it out? Unlikely. Were they secretly addicted to drugs? Unless it was alcohol, getting away with drug smuggling in downtown was a horrific, nearly impossible idea. Did they have a significant other that their family wouldn't let them see? Well… he had no idea. Thoughts and questions and possibilities kept cycling in and out, but he never lost sight of where they were going.

And, sure enough, the bright downtown lights descended upon them as they started making their way across the long bridge leading to the most eventful point of the city. Due to the sheer length of the bridge, and the fact that Soldier was not as well-versed in the map of the downtown Ebott area… he resorted to traditional stalking, mimicking their every step as casually and nonchalantly as possible, as though to avoid being spotted.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. One new message.

weeeeell? was my work useful? >:3c

He merely huffed half a laugh before typing out his response.

i didnt use it at all

what?! Σ(･口･) soldier, i went through all that hard work, and you didn't even LOOK at it???

i looked at it

i didnt use it

...you're at least still paying me, right?

no

you are the WORST 凸(｀△´＋）

i'm never doing anything for you again >:(

you dont need the alcohol money anyway

But the cat never responded to that one. Well, Soldier's never been the best at landing most jokes, despite his tendency to make them. Clearly sarcasm wasn't his strong point either. Whatever. He'd pay him later.

He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his attention back to his job as the bridge finally began to end. If the human was suspicious of his following them, they showed no signs of it. Good. Frankly, being silent by stalking someone in this manner isn't his strong suit. He had assumed they would have stayed nearby… not gone to the other side of the city.

The sun had set, but even still, downtown was overwhelmed with artificial lighting, and frankly, it was already giving Soldier a headache and he hadn't even been here for more than 10 minutes. Curse his ridiculously weak and sensitive body.

The human kept walking along, though their pace was beginning to hasten as they flickered their gaze between stepping and a phone screen. Naturally, he also quickened his footing, although unsure as to why. Maybe they were running late for something?

They took a sharp left into a shady alleyway; Soldier shortcut to its entrance, spotting them sprinting down it as fast as they could before eventually climbing up a wooden fence at the end, reaching its peak and jumping over it with ease. Like they'd done this many times before. Soldier, confused, checked the name of the buildings on either side of the alleyway… but neither were significant. One was even an apartment building of sorts, but it looked abandoned at best. Well, might as well continue.

Reaching the end of the alley and pushing himself over the fence with magic to avoid making as much sound as possible, Soldier's feet landed on the concrete of the other side. It was surprisingly… clean. As if someone kept it nice regularly. He went to take a step forward when he heard chattering, and instead, tucked himself behind the smallest edge of the nearby wall, barely peering over its edge to see the rest of the area.

It was like a very small park. Perhaps a courtyard? But it was too barren for that. Well, all except the trees. There were four skinny trunks sprouted from the ground, all of different kinds, and probably no more than two and a half meters tall. Around them was a square-shaped sidewalk of the same concrete he was standing on.

But, at that center of the trees, were two humans, not one. He recognized the one he'd been following up until this point -- vaguely, and mostly just from the color of their clothing -- but the other was new.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I was held up worrying I was going to get caught…" the human he'd followed spoke. "My dad apparently hired someone to follow me for a few days. One of my sisters told me… she apparently ratted me out -- she was forced to -- and now my dad's on a manhunt to find out what I'm doing."

"Yikes," the other person responded. They had a higher pitched voice, but a lower tone of interest. "Sorry to hear about it. You didn't need to come racing here to tell me that, you know. You could have stayed home and texted me to move the lesson."

Lesson?

"No, it's fine. I came because I wanted to. It probably would have been better if I waited… but I was too excited about tonight," the human explained. "It's the first time we're practicing the whole dance routine straight through. I've been practicing on my own some other nights, too."

… dance routine?

The other human let go of a heavy laugh. "You've really been practicing for two weeks straight with no other dance party breaks?"

"I said on some other nights!"

The both of them laughed.

But Soldier was stuck on "dance routine."

A phrase he typically only heard from his brother anymore, and he barely talked to him as is.

A phrase he'd never said himself in… so long.

An act he hasn't tried since they were still trapped Underground…

An act that, even back then, he'd sworn off doing after so many years of it.

It's like he'd been punched directly in the Soul. Possibly even with a knife.

"Well, are you ready to start, then?"

Soldier's attention peered back to the two humans.

"Yup, whenever you are!"

There was a brief period of silence.

Then the music started. He didn't recognize it at first…

But the realization that it was his own piece hit him in the face like a truck. Some sort of shivering heat rushed through his body. … embarrassment? ...maybe? He… wasn't sure.

But even still…

He soon became entranced by their dancing.

Only the human he had been following was dancing the routine. Every step timed perfectly to every beat and measure… so meticulously performed with such dedication. But then, some old part of him started to creep back from where it had been shoved away, as he started judging the technique of their every move. Sure, they had a… beautiful dedication to every step they took… but much of it was wrong. Though, they were not missteps. Everything planned was executed with confident perfection. The moves themselves were wrong. Some of them didn't match the tone of the piece at all, and it was clear that they were self-taught, just based on how they were moving in between each one. He wasn't mad, no… no, rather… he was utterly fascinated.

Soldier stood and watched the whole routine, start to finish. Though, he couldn't help but have a yelp from his own Soul every time they did something his own memory was screeching to be incorrect. It was yelping because… he wanted to correct them. He wanted to walk up to them, tell them what was wrong with their choices, and point them in the right direction. He wanted to… take them by the hand, directing their movements through his, teaching them how to dance the way he was taught. He… couldn't stop staring…

A scream. Soldier shortcut in a panic. He was now on the opposite side of the wooden fence, back in they alleyway.

"What, what is it?" The voice of the second human.

"I… I thought I saw someone." A breathy, horrified tone from the dancer. "I thought someone was watching me but… th-then I blinked and… they were gone."

The second human huffed angrily. "You haven't been getting proper sleep lately, have you? Maybe you should go home and rest."

Still breathing heavily, the dancer hummed a sound of malcontent. "I… Can I finish the routine first?"

"Really, now…" But with a sigh, the second human allowed them to start again from the beginning.

Meanwhile, Soldier…

He was doing his best not to scream on his own. So many emotions overwhelmed him entirely. Most of which he could not identify. But one thing would not stop looping in his mind. One thing other than a raging beat echoing in his skull from the sound of his own Soul racing, that was. In fact, that only heightened.

The thought of taking their hand. Teaching them to dance.

The overwhelming feeling of hearing someone else not just listening to his work… but expanding upon it. Being able to express themself through it. Being able to see themself through him.

The raging passion burning deep inside of him, regretting his forgone dancing career. It ate at his Soul, bit by bit. Begging his laziness to cave for them and them alone.

The fact that all of these thoughts happened in the very same millisecond that he made eye contact with them… he felt unexplainably and weirdly hot.

That eye contact. Their eyes, their face. They were almost as beautiful as the dances they performed… no… perhaps even more so.

Another loud beat echoed in his skull. The song was reaching its end. He knew he needed to start going home before he was caught.

But part of him wanted to be caught.

Part of him wanted to catch them.

… And all of him wanted to see them dancing… just one more time. Once more, that's all he asks.

Just one more time.

Maybe… maybe that will suffice.

Maybe that will drive away the fortissimo thoughts clouding his sense of reality. Maybe he'll be able to go back to…

A thought. A separate one, remembered from earlier this same evening.

"Alone."

He was… alone.

…

Did he really want to go down the same paths as…?

No, not really.

But it seemed his Soul was not giving him much other option. The mere thought of never being able to label himself as lonely… and if it was because of someone as beautiful as them…

Well. He already was a hypocrite, chanting against a society he partook in regularly. What other damage could be done by reaffirming what he already knew?

Besides. His Soul was desperate.

He wanted that dancer for his own.

No… no, this was most certainly a need.

[olivinesea]

In the Golden Dark

a/n: Having never done any ship writing before I’m just going to jump feet first into the deep end with a little Hotchreid for you today. It’s nice. No warnings except maybe some angst because we are who we are. Probably the softest thing you will see from me so enjoy the moment. Completely unnecessary disclaimer that I would find this relationship wildly inappropriate in real life but thank god we’re out here in the lawless fiction of the internet. And you’re getting full on song lyrics bc Hotchreid is nothing if not decadent af. There’s more but I’m impatient so here’s the first bit. ~ 2.7k

what the hell am I doing here in the golden dark? feeling like I’m someone else who looks the part I built up barricades to block my heart cause I don’t wanna fear you

He leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms up and clasping his hands behind his head, arching his back slightly. With his eyes closed it could be any time of day. He inhaled deeply and pretended for a moment that he was nowhere. He even gave himself a few extra seconds, indulging in the quiet that was the office at night. If only he could feel so peaceful in the right moments—before sleeping perhaps. When he opened his eyes all he could see was the reflection of his office light in the black windows. There hadn’t been daylight for hours. He’d switched off the overhead lights in favor of the small desk lamp that pooled the light only in the area of immediate relevance. Everything beyond its reach faded in and out of existence as his focus fell deeply into the forms in front of him.

He pressed his elbows back as far as they would go, pulling up slightly on the base of his skull, stretching out a day’s worth of stress, countless hours spent bent over report after report. He never could have imagined that saving people would require so much paperwork. Reducing the chaos of the lived experience, the searches and the takedowns, the intricate patterns of dozens of personalities layering choices upon one another; it turned out to be quite difficult to do. It took him hours to wrap up cases, even with everyone doing most of their own reports. Which, through no fault of their own, wasn’t always the case. He usually ended up siphoning off a fair number of those reports in addition to his own.

He didn’t mind, he needed to go over everything, needed to make sure that any possible negative feedback that came back would fall to him and he would be prepared if it did. His team were his responsibility, he would be neglecting his duties if he didn’t ensure that things were handled properly. None of them needed the headache of administrative errors. He was good with details, good with forms, good with protocol. He would happily be the filter that saved them all the trouble of little errors even if it hadn’t been part of his job.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was eleven o’clock on a Wednesday and everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the late night janitorial staff wandered in and out occasionally, nodding at him in silent greeting as they reset the offices to give the illusion of an endlessly renewable supply of fresh starts. People that didn’t stay late never gave this transformation a second thought. They left the office with full trashcans and small debris scattered on the old carpets, only to return the next morning to find a place untouched by human presence, metal fixtures shining and glass doors free of oily fingerprints. That was just how the world worked for them, generous with new beginnings. People who lingered knew better, that effort was put into the effect. Beginnings were never easy, never flowed so inevitably as the set and rise of the sun.

Hotch had been working late for many years, long before he was even in the BAU. He had learned in law school how to brew the coffee strong enough to stay up all night if need be. How the indoor lighting changed without the support of daylight, tinting the world a thin sickly green color without the natural light to round out the fluorescence. He only got worse about it once he joined the Bureau, the stress of the job causing old habits and old secrets to float to the surface. He compensated by working the hardest, doing the most, never allowing anyone to see him need things that other people needed. He could handle this job, this was all he ever wanted after all. To save the world. Or maybe, more modestly, to save the world of a few.

Now, with Haley gone, Jack with her, somewhere well out of his disastrous reach, there was no reason at all not to fully give in. No reason not to let his insomnia at least be productive. To let the latent self destruction that fueled his actions at least have a positive impact on the people he cared about. He could do that at least.

He rubbed his face with his hands, he was getting loopy. There was no reason to be letting his mind wander so far, there were still reports he could get through. Perhaps, as unlikely as the idea felt, he could even get ahead. He looked back down at the paperwork, letting his feet settle flat on the floor. The letters swam in front of him and he sighed, rolling his pen beneath his thumb, considering. He could probably make it another hour. He could get another pot of coffee into himself. He cast about for his mug, finding it empty on the shelf behind him. He sometimes kept it there to prevent his reports from acquiring telltale dark rings. Rolling back from the desk, he hooked the handle with two fingers and headed out to the kitchenette.

Wrapped up in making plans for what he could finish tonight and what could be left for the morning he was startled to find a light still on in the bullpen. He was certain everyone had gone home long ago. They’d each passed by his office, offering him an out as they made their ways home—perhaps their exit could be the motivation he needed to break out of his office, to head towards his own home. What they didn’t realize was that home was not better for him. Work was far better, far safer, with tasks to complete, a purpose. If he was smart he would stay at work forever.

So he waved to them as they checked out, giving them small smiles that, though imperceptible to strangers, they recognized as both apologies and well-wishes. He knew they worried, that they didn’t like to see him tied to his desk late into the night. They thought it was one of his many methods for making himself suffer but he didn’t have the heart to tell them that this was him making a good decision, this was him trying his very best. In his experience, nothing good happened at home.

He thought he remembered everyone leaving, each goodbye. But every day was the same and they all bled together so he must have missed one because he cannot deny the light down below. As he walked down the stairs, confused by the discovery that he was not as alone as he had been imagining, his tired vision focused better. He could make out dark blond curls and a darker sweater hunched over the desk in the middle of the room.

“Reid?” The name came out as a croak, he hadn’t spoken in hours and probably hadn’t had any water in that time period either. He cleared his throat and said it again, louder and closer to the other man than before. Reid’s head snapped up, expression as guilty as a child caught out of bed.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Hotch frowned, not because he was upset but because he was still a little disoriented and his muscles fell back into the most familiar actions.

“I—“ Reid ducked his head and started pushing papers together on his desk, shoving them haphazardly into a file folder. “I was just…” he trailed off, not really having intended on explaining himself. He was simply also startled and reverting to the familiar.

Reid explained compulsively, able to handle the world when parsed down to facts and numbers. He didn’t have a fact for why he had stayed so late, only a feeling and that he didn’t know how to explain. Nights had been particularly lonely recently so he had allowed himself to stay later and later, getting lost in his thoughts at his work desk. Even without people around there was a sense of occupancy, their faint impressions lingering in the air. Plus there was always Hotch up in his office. He didn’t actively think about him or what he was doing but he liked knowing the man was nearby. Hotch’s solid presence always made him feel more secure, less concerned with whatever might jump out at him from the shadows overlapping the world and his mind.

He couldn’t tell Hotch that, was far too embarrassed to admit that sometimes, even with all the lights on, it was too dark in his apartment. No matter the illumination, he couldn’t quite dispel the unease of the night when he was alone. It wasn’t always like this, sometimes he had enough brightness to spare. Recently, however, things had been hard. So much had been going on, he couldn’t quite pinpoint why but he knew he felt uneasy. Too much had changed, there was too much risk that the floor could still fall out beneath him at any moment. And it hadn’t been so long since he’d escaped the consequences of his kidnapping, his addiction, that he trusted himself to be able to manage too much more uncertainty. Backsliding was always a risk and right now the world tilted at a frightening grade. So he let himself stay late in the safety of familiarity, sometimes working but more often not, idly rereading the books he had brought in and forgotten around the office. Tonight he had actually started to doze off, which contributed to his shock upon being discovered.

Hotch continued to frown at him, watching as the thoughts raced across Spencer’s face. He noticed how deep the shadows were beneath his eyes, the way darkness pooled in the space below his cheekbones, as if they were concave impressions filled by seawater. He knew Spencer didn’t eat enough, was all too familiar with the ways too much coffee and not enough calories pinched the skin and exposed the fine lines of capillaries beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” Spencer repeated.

He looked genuinely ashamed and it made Hotch a little sad. Couldn’t Spencer see that he was just as guilty of whatever it was he thought he was doing wrong by being here? He made a conscious effort to soften his expression, to show the warmth he felt for the younger man. After having spent his entire life masking his emotions, protecting himself one of the only ways he could, it wasn’t always easy to show his affection. Especially not at this time of night, when all he could do was cling to his walls and hope to find himself still on solid ground when the sun rose. Spencer wasn’t looking at him, too caught up in his own maze.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Hotch said, trying a different tactic. He was smart, he knew not to make it a demand or a comment on Spencer’s health. It was only an invitation, firm enough for Spencer to know he meant it, that it was not just a pleasantry or an obligation he’d rather avoid. A hand extended, an offer of easy company to pass through a little more of this unwanted time. Spencer looked up from where his fingers were worrying at the corner of the file in front of him and smiled shyly. Hotch smiled back, a real smile that scrunched up his dark shining eyes.

“Give me five minutes to close up,” he said and turned back toward his office. As he packed his briefcase, his heart felt like it had been wrapped in a soft blanket. He didn’t bother questioning it—who didn’t like finding someone to commiserate with when they’d only expected more of the lonely dark?

*

Their late night meals became a regular occurrence. Not every night but once, maybe twice a week, they found themselves the last ones in the office. They fell into a rhythm, each learning to read more from the other’s subtle cues. They almost always went to the same place, a 24-hour diner near the office with deceptively strong coffee and a seemingly endless variety of pancakes. Hotch rarely ordered food, though he encouraged Reid to get anything he wanted. He accepted bites of whatever the younger man ordered, happy enough to reciprocate the excitement over strawberry rhubarb or cinnamon blueberry pancakes.

They talked about inconsequential things, mostly Hotch listening as Reid spun out information on whatever topic was on his mind that day. Reid, for his part, made mental note of the things Hotch responded to and had opinions on. Spencer sought out more information in that vein to bring up. He loved to talk, sure, but what he loved more was to discuss. During the day there was rarely time to let his thoughts wander so freely. It was a dream to have someone there, following along and challenging him with questions, building up new conclusions.

On the nights that followed difficult days, when they were both too stubborn to order anything of substance, they drank their coffees and avoided looking at each other too directly. Those nights they were both tied up in their own thoughts, islands separated by more than just distance, but there was something undeniably pulling them together. It was probably just the natural consequence of having opposite dominant sides but they mirrored each other perfectly across the table. Once, they both happened to reach for their mugs at the same time and the backs of their hands brushed against each other. They each noticed but responded differently. Hotch repressed any reaction, pretending the quick touch of bony knuckles and cool skin hadn’t registered. Maybe it hadn’t. Reid, on the other hand, jumped as if shocked, sloshing the hot coffee into a puddle on the table. This only flustered him more and he yelped at the sting of the liquid and the sting of embarrassment. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. But here, in this nowhere time they’d constructed, it felt different. In his mind that brief touch became nails dragging across his skin, impossible to ignore. But he pretended the mug was too hot and Hotch didn’t argue, quick to assist with napkins and sounds of agreement to accompany Spencer’s half-coherent excuses.

When their meals were done, mostly cleaned plates of syrup and crumbs stacked to one side, they hesitated before standing up. Hotch always offered to give Reid a ride home, Reid always declined, insisting he could get there himself. This led to Hotch giving him a doubtful look and insisting that it was no trouble. Reid, secretly wanting a ride the whole time, struggled to argue for his self-sufficiency a little longer before giving in. It became a silly thing, both of them knowing exactly how the argument ended but they held onto it for some reason. It was a part of their ritual now, an important piece of the night. It kept this, whatever this was, contained, strictly occasional, random even. Not something they planned for, not something they looked forward to.

Hotch waited for Spencer to get in the door of his building before driving away. He knew it wasn’t necessary, Spencer was a grown man and a trained FBI agent with a weapon. Still, it made him feel better to see him safely inside. Sometimes he thought he would feel even better if he could walk Spencer all the way to his front door. But he knew that would be asking too much. As it was, the nights when they shared this extra hour or two together, extended further by the drive home, had been giving him more than he could have imagined. He wouldn’t dare impose himself further. The brittle excuse of safety would crumble if he were to start following the other man inside. He was not ready to find out what that would mean. He smiled unconsciously as he drove to his apartment. For now, it was enough that he had found companionship on these late nights when he would otherwise be slowly, meticulously, working his way into the grave.

~Part 2~

[heliads]

Radio Silence Chapter Six: Over and Out

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

previous / series masterlist

Poe wakes up early. He stares at the ceiling for a second, mulling over the rush in his head. Something is telling him to get up, to go check the command center for any updates, but he lets his eyes flicker shut once more. Y/N arrived back at the base three days ago, he doesn’t have to worry anymore. She’s safe, he’s safe, they’re as good as they’re going to get in the fight against the First Order.

After he had kissed Y/N, he had made time for his apologies and explanations. Y/N had smiled, saying that she was just glad to be back. Maybe that was true, but Poe still felt like he’s missing something, like he had to do something else to make it up to her. If they aren’t back to normal again, he’ll feel the guilt lacing his movements every time he passes her in the corridors of the base and sees hurt flaring up in her eyes at the sight of him. So, they make amends, and Poe promises himself that they’ll stay like this. Good, even in the middle of a battle.

Even though he knows Y/N is safe, Poe still feels like he can’t go back to sleep. He’s used to the constant gnawing of nerves at his temples, and besides, it’s too late now for him to fall asleep before duties around the base start up again. The pale light of dawn is just beginning to thread across the base when Poe steps outside, wincing slightly at the crisp air. He’s tugged a jacket around his shoulders, but it’s still not warm enough to go without at least one layer.

Poe walks around the outskirts of the base until he reaches the outer boundaries of the encampment. The base itself is situated around rolling, grassy hills with buildings constructed around them. Poe wanders towards a taller one, climbing up the side and sitting down on the very top. He takes in the stalks of grass waving around him, the distant figures of Resistance workers ferrying supplies out to the hanger. It’s quiet, peaceful. A new morning.

Poe’s only been there for fifteen minutes or so when he hears someone walking up behind him. He turns his head in time to see Y/N crouching down to sit next to him. She swings her legs around, stretching out across the grassy hillock. 

“Figured I’d find you here.” She says, and Poe frowns. 

“How’d you know?” 

She shrugs absentmindedly. “You mentioned one time that you liked to walk around in the mornings. It was a month or so in, you were trying to assuage my worries that doing recon work in the mornings around town looked strange.”

Poe chuckles. “I’m impressed you still remembered.” 

A light smile crosses Y/N’s lips as she pictures the moment. “I remembered a lot. Those calls were more important than you know, actually. I was terrified that I’d mess up and I’d bring the entire First Order down on my head, but I always managed to come out of the reporting sessions with a smile. I don’t know how you did it.” 

Poe glances over at her. “I never knew you were that worried. You always seemed so confident, like it was just a vacation instead of an assignment. Honestly, I figured you didn’t need me at all. Any droid with a datapad could have been a receiver.”

Y/N grins. “Any droid with a datapad wouldn’t have been able to make me laugh so hard I thought I’d alert the stormtroopers. No, I needed you, Poe. I needed some hotshot flyboy who would tell me how to fix power couplings and break me out of a First Order detention block even though he hated me.” 

Poe holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t know that was you. Besides, I think your first words to me were insults, so it’s not like I was entirely to blame.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t drop for a second. “I was locked away in a prison cell, getting tortured by the hour, and you waltzed in like you were the Resistance’s golden boy. I didn’t think you could be the Bravo who looked out for me on the comms for a second.” 

Poe looks down. “I was a wreck when I found out you were captured. You have no idea. That’s the reason I even found you in the first place, actually. Finn was sick of me moping around and he talked me into leaving the base on a mission.”

Y/N leans forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. When Poe looks up, the wind is gently blowing her hair away from her face. “At any rate, I’m glad you came. I’m glad you worried over me, and I’m glad you were there when I was on my latest mission.” 

She sighs suddenly, looking out over the grassy hills. “I was terrified on that ship. We barely made it off the planet, and then when the TIE fighters showed up I thought we were done for. We were missing an engine, and nothing was working. I thought I was going to die.”

Y/N fiddles with the edge of her jacket. “I was actually preparing myself to die, and then you came on the comms. I knew from the second I heard your voice that I was going to be alright. It was like the radio days of old, and I could feel myself starting to relax. I just kept thinking over and over that I wasn’t going to die without talking to you again and making things right, and then you showed up.”

Poe feels the familiar knife of guilt starting to prick at his insides. “I never should have yelled at you, Y/N. I know that. Especially not before a mission like that.” 

Y/N holds up a hand. “You had no way of knowing that I was going on a mission in the first place, and I should have told you that I was Acer after all. I guess I was just worried that you would be disappointed to find out that I was her all along.” 

Poe shakes his head. “I could never be disappointed in you. We’ve got each other, right? We’ll see each other in the fall.” 

Y/N smiles at that. “In the fall. I guess we didn’t need that after all. The war isn’t over, but we still got to meet.” 

Poe places a hand under Y/N’s chin, gently guiding her lips to his. “That’s the best part of all of this.”

They stay out on the grassy hills for a while longer, finally retreating indoors when they’re able to escape the call of their Resistance duties no longer. Poe knows that the fight still isn’t over, and it likely won’t be over for a while. He will be called away to pilot dangerous straits in First Order territory, Y/N will be sent on recon missions even more dangerous than before. There is no rest, no retreat. But Poe doesn’t need a lull in the fighting, not right now. He has Acer back beside him, he has Y/N for the first time. She is just within reach, a step away and a smile across the room. He can finally rest now, knowing that they will be together for the years to come. No matter what the war brings, they’d still be by each other’s side. Until the fall, until the war ends. That’s how it will always be.

a/n: thank you for all of your support for the series!

radio silence tag list: @kesskirata​, @ubri812​, @itsnottilly​, @20th-centu-fairy-girl​, @imabeautifulbutterfly​, @cp11​, @chocolitelady​, @aprilfire18​

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Awaited Reunions.

Commissioned by the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi/Hawks.

Synopsis: Keigo’s never been the paranoid type, but when he’s ingrained with the League of Villains, acting as a double-spy too distant from both fronts to count on either’s supports, it’s difficult not to imagine all the grisly ends he could meet, if he’s ever found out. But, when it finally comes time to bite the bullet, Keigo finds out there are things much worse than death.

TW: Alternative Timeline, Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Smoking, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, and Explicit Language. 

**Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga, so if some minor details are incorrect or misinterpreted, I apologize in advance. This piece deviates from the canon early enough for Keigo not to have completely earned the League’s trust, yet, but late enough for much of his behavior to be considered incriminating to the general public.

Keigo couldn’t remember the last time his wings felt heavy.

Or, this heavy, at least. He could always feel them, he was always aware of the breeze on his feathers, the pull on his shoulder blades, the way his spine began to ache whenever he’d overworked himself, but that was different, it was presence, tense and rigid and stiff but alive, nonetheless. This was different. It was dead, alien, wrong, as if someone had taken two metal rods and driven them into his back where his wings were supposed to be. As if he was being dragged down, and there was nothing he could do but fall.

Weakly, he tried to unfold his wings. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to think about something so simple, the last time he had to genuinely try, but he still did, he still put every ounce of concentration into one motion, one twitch, one sign that there was still something attached to him, something he could use. He tried, and he tried, and he tried, and...

And, nothing happened. Keigo slumped against the bare wall in defeat, letting his hand curl around the collar resting around the base of his neck, the metallic source of his current problem.

A quirk-cancelling collar. It was almost ironic, in a way.

There was a chain connected to it, the links bulky, leading back to a radiator that, thankfully, didn’t work. There were shackles on his wrists, too, and his ankles, but he’d already given up on prying them off. It was a futile effort, anyway. It was an old-fashioned method, but an effective one, too tight and too straight-forward not to be effective. Clunky, but not clumsy. Ugly, but purposefully so.

Then again, he wasn’t sure what else he could expect from Dabi. Bruised, battered Dabi. Simpering, smirking Dabi.

Dabi, who hadn’t said a damn word since Keigo woke up on the floor of this shitty, empty basement, the back of his head throbbing and his wings frozen to his back, despite his best efforts to thaw them out.

For the first time in the handful of hours he’s been conscious, Keigo let his attention drift to his silent companion. He’d changed since the last time Keigo saw him, put on a thinner coat, one without the fine layer of ash that turned a pitch-black to a muddy, distorted grey. He hadn’t combed his hair, but Keigo might’ve been more surprised if he had. The same went for the cigarette caught between his pointer and middle fingers, a new facet, but one that felt right, one that filled the air with a cloudy, darkened smoke that made Keigo squint and frown, despite knowing he should be doing his best to stay neutral in every capacity, right now, expressions included. If Dabi noticed the slip, though, he didn’t bother with a verbal critic. His eyes were the only thing that moved, flickering in Keigo’s direction from where he leaned against the furthest wall.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, waiting for the other to cave under the pressure. Keigo was the first to relent. He could take the hit to his pride, as long as it meant finding out what was going on. “Those things can kill you, y’know.”

Another drag, slow and careless. When he exhaled, the smoke was black, sooty. As if Dabi’s lungs were just as burnt as his skin. “If they want to get the job done, they’ll have to work a little faster,” He muttered, his voice so low, Keigo wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to overhear. “It’s a steep competition. I’ve got other ‘suitors to entertain’, and all that bullshit. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

“If you want me to know about anything, you’re gonna have to stop talking in fucking riddles,” Keigo groaned, letting his head fall back against the bare wall. There was a jolt of pain through his skull, the ghost of something hot and thick dripping down the back of his neck, but Keigo elected to ignore the bolts of reflexive panic that shot up, in response. “This is a joke, right? The last thing I remember is you storming into the bar, hitting me over the head with a pint I wasn’t finished with, and the next thing I know, I’m tied up in some dark basement, listening to you rant about ‘suitors’ and ‘competition’. If either of us should be asking questions, it’s me.”

Now, that got Dabi to laugh, a deep chuckle that, for whatever reason, did little to ease Keigo’s nerves. He almost regretted trying to keep the tone so light. “That’s cute,” He said, letting his heel knock against the skirting as he pushed himself away from the wall. “I thought spies were supposed to be good at sweet-talkin’.”

Keigo felt his heart drop.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sort of dread, all hollow fear and sore tightness, the same thing he felt every time someone mentioned lying, or how close he seemed with the Heroes he supposedly hated, or stared too long or failed to smile or made a comment that just wasn’t trusting enough, for Keigo’s sense of skepticism. If he’d been able to use his wings, he might’ve taken his chances, running Dabi through like an especially hostile pin-cushion or going on the defensive and hoping most of him wasn’t burnt away in the process, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything, and fuck, he was starting to get sick of it.

He couldn’t do anything, so he didn’t try to. For a long, calculated second, he held Dabi’s gaze, his expression shocked and confused, and then, he cracked a smile, bowed his head, and forced himself to laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.” Blatant, simple, vulgar. He spoke Dabi’s language, spoke like his friend. Like he was one of them, really one of them, rather than a poorly-crafted imitation. “You have to be fucking with me. A spy? Really? If you wanted to scare me, you could’ve just--”

“The League already knows,” Dabi cut in, not bothering to indulge Keigo’s attempts to backtrack. “Took a while, but no one was that surprised to find out the hero might not be on our side. Funny how quickly all that hard work goes to waste, right?” The cigarette fell from his hand, soon caught under the toe of Dabi’s boot. “Don’t worry about the Hero Commission comin’ for their golden boy, either, I’ll make sure no one puts you over daddy’s knee. The news about our dissatisfied, glory-speaking hero should start spreading in three... four hours? Just the part about you working with us, obviously. If the rest of your valiant friends want to save face in front of their adoring fans, they’ll drop the case quickly.”

In his defense, Keigo didn’t break down. He didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t do much of anything, not as Dabi laughed, not as he stretched, and not as slow, careless footsteps made their way across the otherwise empty room, only stopping once he reached Keigo’s kneeling form. Keigo didn’t look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, concentrated on one particular crack in the concrete as Dabi lowered himself to one knee, taking his time to settle into the position. He didn’t want to look up, but he didn’t have a choice, not after Dabi’s hand clamped around his jaw, his thumb just digging into Keigo’s cheek and forcing his head back. Forcing him to take in the glint of silver staples, those hooded eyes. That smile, crooked and sharpened and so, so satisfied.

Keio felt sick.

“The guys wanted your head on a platter for it, but let that scare ya’. Took a while to calm ‘em down, but your new jewelry helped, and no one hated the idea of seeing you placed in my loving care.” There was a slight squeeze, a sudden jerk that left Keigo scrambling to catch himself and Dabi releasing an amused huff, one seemingly unaffected by his hostage’s silence. “Think of this as a favor. A gift from an old friend, an act of mercy from the only person who’s ever going to care about you, going forward.”

It was an instinctive reaction, one Keigo didn’t have to think about. Not anymore. “You’re not my friend.”

“This again,” Dabi sighed, his tone anything but sympathetic. “Need another hint, Takami?”

Keigo opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to answer. Dabi was already wrenching him forward, chapped lips soon pressed against his own. The kiss was harsh, sudden and forceful enough to be bruising and thankfully, thankfully cut short as Keigo shoved at Dabi’s chest, forcing him to draw back with a throaty laugh. It only lasted a second, less than that, but it lasted long enough for Keigo to remember the last time someone kissed him like that, long enough to remember his training, the cramped rooms and thin mattresses and the tiny cots that only seemed smaller when another warm body found its way onto his. To remember a boy with white hair and smoke on his breath, a boy who died, a boy who was still dead. A boy who Keigo had to tell himself time and time again couldn’t be in front of him, couldn’t be alive, couldn’t be Dabi.

A boy with a cracked smile, one that never seemed genuine, whose touch was too harsh and whose kiss was too hard and who thought he loved Keigo, who thought he could love Keigo.

Who thought Keigo could love him back, if he didn’t have another option.

“Touya.”

Dabi only let go of his jaw, taking Keigo by his collar, instead. Keigo didn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at Dabi, but he didn’t have to. He could feel the tug forward, the smile as a soft, chaste kiss was pressed into the top of his head. “I thought you’d never come around,” Dabi, no, Touya whispered, his teeth ghosting over Keigo’s skin.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

[cno-inbminor]

domus (pt. 2)

a/n: i found some motivation to write part 2, so here we are! it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. you will need to read part 1 for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~5.5k, will probably have one more part

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; two mentions of alcohol and sex

pt. 1 | pt. 3

The sliver of sunlight peeking through the blackout curtains gently draws you from your sleep, peeling away the exhaustion that sits atop your eyelids. They creak open as your body shifts and stretches, and you bring a curled hand to rub your eyes awake. You don’t remember the last time you slept so deeply, and part of you wants nothing more than to burrow back into the gray sheets.

Gray sheets?

The world teeters on its axis as you abruptly sit up in an unrecognizable bed – colors dance in splotches across your vision as panic seeps into your lungs – and then you remember last night’s events. That’s right. You’re at Keiji’s nice apartment where he so kindly offered you his bed, taking the couch for himself, and you’re going to be here for the week.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself before burying your face into the palms of your hands, trying to calm down. Your phone rests neatly on his nightstand and seems to taunt you as you lift your head back up. You wonder if Tetsuro texted last night, but if you had to be honest with yourself, you genuinely hope he didn’t. He might be anxiously waiting for your promised correspondence, as you imagine him checking his phone with hopeful eyes every time it vibrates in the pocket of his white coat. But you still needed some time and space.

Your body slides off the bed, stretching once you’re on your feet. With phone in hand, you check your emails and notifications while making your way to the window and then pulling back the curtains. Sunlight softly pours in as the rays just begin to peak above the horizon, painting the sky in gradient shades of marigold and fuschia pink. Tokyo seemed to be just as beautiful in the morning as it is at night, only that the pollution and smog in the air was more visible.

The digital clock hanging on Keiji’s bedroom wall indicates it’s barely past 7AM – in the past, Keiji could be a bit of a late riser on the weekends. Judging by the silence on the other side of the door, you figure he’s still asleep. If you are lucky and quiet enough, you could whip up some breakfast as a thanks for last night. In fact, you decided you’d do your best to make most of the meals. Surely Keiji wouldn’t mind a week without having to worry about meal prepping.

The bedroom door silently opens as you gently pad to the restroom – you freshen up a bit and swig around some mouth wash, staring into the mirror. Given Keiji’s comfortable state of dressing down last night, you figured it was fine to change into a large t-shirt and gym shorts for now. If he ever looks uncomfortable by your attire, then you could easily change into something else that’s a little more formal. Once you’re ready, you take a deep breath, slightly psyching yourself up for the possibility that Keiji is awake and kicking.

As you approach the living room, catching sight of your host’s sleeping complexion facing you, your heart skips a beat. One thing that you are unprepared for is just how beautiful Keiji is. It would be silly to deny this fact – you didn’t have to be in love with the man to say so. In addition to that mysterious aura he carried around, the ethereal and angelic beauty that Keiji possessed only enticed his admirers further. A smile cracks on your face as you muse the idea that it should be a crime for someone to look so delicately celestial, especially in sleep.

Keiji lies on his back with one arm bent over his head, the other atop his stomach. It seems that his blanket slipped to the ground at some point, and you could see a faint layer of goosebumps dancing across his skin. Slowly, you pick it up and gather the gray cotton blend into your arms, laying one end of it on his feet and moving up to cover the rest of his body. You leave the excess scrunched up right under his chin, taking a closer look at his face.

Keiji’s skin is smooth and dewy, eyelashes dark against his cheekbones. They flutter in dreams as his lips are slightly parted with even, soft breaths leaving them. You feel some concern when you spot the dark eye circles, hoping that he wasn’t overworking himself too much. But being an editor at a major shonen manga company must have its long list of demands, and Keiji was never short of doing his best.

Suddenly, he shifts and seems to burrow himself in the comfort of his blanket, effectively ripping you from the trance that you were in. You quickly tip toe away towards the kitchen, doing your best to stop your heart from beating so hard that you could feel it pulse in your ears. Your purse sits open on the counter and you pull your earbuds from it, slipping them in and connecting it to your phone. Putting on a soft indie playlist, you begin to become familiar with Keiji’s kitchen.

Much to your amusement, the placement of his pots, pans, cooking equipment, and more, resemble that of how things were arranged in his parents’ house. This makes your task much easier, and you grin to yourself even more when you open his refrigerator. Just like back then, the milk and cream are on the top shelf, egg carton in the middle pressed against the left wall, vegetables stored in the drawers, sauce jars on the door side, leftovers just beneath the eggs, and fruits by the eggs. It seems that some old habits really do die hard.

With the smile still lingering on your face, you begin cooking.

-

Keiji’s heart might just beat out of his chest any second now, and he thinks it’s a miracle that you didn’t realize he’s been awake all this time.

He first woke when he heard the water running from the sink in the bathroom, wincing slightly at the slight ache in his back. Keiji wasn’t lying when he said the couch was truly comfortable, but his mattress had undoubtedly spoiled him. It also would have been a bonus to wake up next to someone for once, but that was a thought he quickly squashed. Just as he was about to reach down for his blanket, the bathroom doorknob turned and he panicked. Keiji was quick to assume his previous sleeping position and shut his eyes, breathing as evenly as possible. He’s not quite sure why he’s feigning sleep, but part of him didn’t want you to feel bad for waking him up. It wasn’t terribly late in the morning yet, and he was usually still asleep at this time. Knowing you, you would feel awful and probably spend the rest of the week trying to make up for it, or worse, leave to spend the nights at a cheap hotel. He refuses to let such a thing happen under his watch, not if he could help it.

So caught up in his thoughts, he commends himself for not flinching when the blanket begins to cover his legs, and quite nearly bursts at your gentle movements and the way you tuck the edge under his chin. He remembers doing the same thing to you last night and wills away the blood from flooding his face at the memory of kissing you on the cheek. How could he be so reckless?

Unable to keep his position, he moves just slightly, and based on the tiny, distant creaks of his floorboards, you’ve probably walked away. As his ears catch the opening of cupboards and the fridge, only then does he dare to peek his eyes open again. He wonders what you’re thinking about with the small grin on your face, if it has anything do with the fact that you’re cooking for someone or whatever you might be listening to. Keiji’s gaze softens, watching you bob and sway to the music in your ears, remembering the times he drove the both of you home from university. Even though you could easily commute, Keiji’s mother demanded that he use his car and offer you a ride home for the holidays, and he’d give you full control of the music playing. You’d always try to play something he was okay with, bless your soul, and sometimes he would even sing along. He pretended to ignore your incredulous side glances when you realized he was singing as well, and would always look out his window to hide the smile that matched yours.

While he’s been in the city his whole life, living alone really does hit sometimes. It’s one thing to have his parents visit from time to time, but coming back to an empty and dark apartment can really take its toll. Perhaps that’s why he feels so fond right now, observing the way you move around his kitchen with so much familiarity. Adorned in your casual clothes, Keiji realizes that this is what it’d look like if you actually lived with him – except he’d probably still be asleep in his own mattress, a little nonplussed at waking up to an empty bed with the sheets fighting to retain some of your body heat. And he would get up and watch from the doorframe as you whipped something up for the both of you, perhaps walking towards you to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and—

No, you were still Kuroo’s.

And that fact hurt him more than he ever expected.

-

You let out a shrill yelp and nearly drop the silicone spatula when you turn away from the stove, only to spot Keiji resting his elbows on the countertop and placing his chin on top of folded hands. An amused smirk crosses his face as you rip your earbuds out and fling them over one shoulder, one hand reaching over to your heart. “Fucking hell, Keiji,” you pant. “Warn a girl, will you?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he reasons, moving to grab a couple of plates from the drying rack by the sink and handing them to you. “Here.”

You thank him and bring them by the stove, lifting the frying pan to distribute the scrambled eggs. They’re just how he likes them, he notices, and also doesn’t fail to spot that his portion is larger than yours. As you begin to spread butter on a couple of pieces of toast, Keiji sees the that his coffee brewer is still open, believing that you haven’t caught the chance to start it. He makes sure there’s enough water and grounds for two cups, starting the machine and grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. One of them was brought from his parents’ home, and had been the mug you frequently used whenever you were there. Keiji knew you were a creature of habit, and once that porcelain had been lent to you at the age of thirteen, you would forever be its second owner. Why he brought it when he moved in was a bit of a mystery, yet deep down inside, he knew exactly why.

It was the same reason why he would buy that specific bottle of dessert wine, why he kept tabs on the ramen shop you liked, why he kept some of your song recommendations saved on his Spotify account, why your Instagram and Snapchat stories were always one of the first few to view on his respective home pages. But he’d keep that reason to himself for now.

“A splash of cream and a small teaspoon of sugar?” Keiji calls out curiously, silently praying that he remembers your coffee preferences correctly. He’s rewarded with the beam on your face as you nod, watching you bring the toast to the plates as he stirs your coffee. You spot the unaltered coffee and take it in your hands.

“Two splashes of cream and half a small spoonful of sugar?” You ask and Keiji nods. Inside, you pump your fist in delight. Keiji brings the two cups to the dining table while you bring the food and utensils – he could get used to this, really. The two of you say your thanks and dig in. When Keiji takes a sip of his coffee, he has to hide the upturned corners of his lips behind his cup because it’s exactly how he likes it, exactly how it tastes like every other morning he drinks coffee. And it baffles him to no end.

Unbeknownst to him, you feel the same way, eyes almost widening in surprise when you taste your own. Another detail that Keiji seemed to keep over the years was being added to this list you didn’t realize you would ever make, but you weren’t complaining. After all, he did assure you last night that you two were friends. It wasn’t all in your head and the time spent together hadn’t been for naught.

“Do you have any plans while you’re here?” He inquires behind a bite of toast.

“Not really,” you reply quietly, chopsticks now picking at the scrambled eggs. “The most I thought was to visit some museums that I missed going to, check out some of the food stalls maybe. I didn’t really think things through.”

“That’s okay,” Keiji comforts. “If you’d like, I can work from home for a few days and we can go do something. I don’t want to leave you all alone here for the whole day.”

“You don’t need to!” You wave your hands frantically, feeling like the worst imposer now. Not only have you showed up at his apartment unexpectedly and staying for the time being, he was offering to work from home to spend time with you?

“I haven’t used any of my vacation days this year anyways. I have a good reason now, and they don’t mind when I work from home either. I don’t ask very often, but I still get work done so it doesn’t bother them.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? Really, I can go find another place to stay and—”

“No.” Keiji’s tone is firm and final, leaving any words of protest to die on the tip of your tongue. “Seriously, it’s okay,” he reassures you softly. “Plus, I have a few ideas in mind.”

“I’ll cook most of the meals then,” you attempt to compromise. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Only because you won’t stop asking until I say yes,” he jokes with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll split the cost of the groceries.”

“Then I’ll just send the money right back to you.”

“Remember when you tried to give me gas money for driving us from and to uni for the holidays?”

“You always refused it,” you smile fondly at the memory. “Eventually I just started slipping it into the middle console when you weren’t paying attention.”

“That would explain the stray bills and coins in there,” he mutters. “My mother would throw a fit if she knew you gave me gas money.”

“Which is exactly why I told you not to tell her.”

“Should I tell her now then?”

“And have her call me up to scold me for doing so? Please, you’d be in just as much trouble for taking it.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t aware of the last few times, so I’d be safe.”

“…you’re ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Keiji chuckles, arching an eyebrow playfully as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Shut up,” you grumble over a mouthful of eggs.

“So,” he leans back in his chair. “How do you feel about going to Osaka on Monday?”

-

While Keiji had a mental list of things that have cheered you up over the years, he figured you needed to see some friends from home. And to him, there was no better reminder of that than seeing Bokuto in the flesh.

Koutaro was aware of the friendship between the two of you and had always been kind to you, engaging in light conversation whenever you visited the volleyball courts to drop something off for Keiji. Kuroo had taken notice of you then as well, but nothing came of it until uni. Koutaro was also privy to some of Keiji’s affection, knowing how much the latter had kept an eye out on you during their last year of high school. So when he got a call and a short explanation of what happened, he was more than happy to hear that the two of you would be visiting.

You and Keiji hop on one of the earliest bullet trains to Osaka, where the grey-haired friend would meet you two at the station. Not long after the train gradually lurches forward, traveling at almost inhuman speeds, the food cart starts to roll down the aisle. You let Keiji take the window seat for this portion of the ride, quickly paying for two flavored onigiris before he can protest. After thanking the kind worker, you place his preferred filling in his lap, watching in delight as he thanks you and unwraps the item with care. Two and a half hours later, you find yourself wrapped up in Koutaro’s strong arms, struggling to catch your breath as he nearly squeezes the life out of you.

Much of the morning until lunch is spent observing their practice – you feel like you’re back in high school again with Koutaro’s excitement practically radiating off of him and into the stands. Keiji’s just glad that your mind is focused on something else, recalling the pensive yet troubled look on your face during most of the train ride as you stared down at your phone. Koutaro has kept his mouth shut for now, but Keiji could tell that he was dying to ask you some questions. After all, both of them had been good friends with Testuro, and there was no doubt that the former Fukurodani ace still kept in touch with him from time to time.

After being introduced to the team, shaking hands with the other players and bowing politely at a reasonable distance away specifically for Kiyoomi, you and Keiji leave with a wave, promising to join them for dinner. Koutaro had given you a list of possible places to sightsee, as well as a few recommendations for lunch near the gym. Eventually, you two settle on a nearby curry restaurant, and needless to say, your waiter had to witness some bickering over who would pay the check.

“Please help me out with this,” you pleaded, pulling a pout with the unsuspecting waiter who certainly feels like he’s caught in a lover’s quarrel now. “He paid for our train tickets, it’s only right that I pay for the meal.”

“Erm—”

“She’s been cooking all of the meals for the last few days, as well as for the food on the train, so I should be the one to pay.”

“You’re letting me stay at your apartment, of course I’m going to help cook, and I like cooking!”

“But still—”

In Keiji’s moment of argument, you snatch the ticket and slam it into the waiter’s hand with your credit card. “Take it. Take it and run.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I’m just going to listen to the lady this time, I’ll be right back,” the waiter says nervously before scurrying off, and you shoot Keiji a victorious look. He only shakes his head in response, but more amused than anything at your antics.

“You can’t win all the time,” he warns.

“I will most certainly try.”

-

Keiji certainly does try and wins when it comes to dinner, Koutaro watching with a grin on his face as you protest and whine when their waitress walks away with Keiji’s card in hand. Next to him, Atsumu murmurs, “Are they dating?”

“Nah, she’s dating another guy.”

“So what’s happenin’ here? Why’s she stayin’ with him again?”

“We don’t know the details – sounds like there was a falling out with her boyfriend and she showed up in Tokyo, called Akaashi unexpectedly. They’re old family friends, grew up living down the street from each other.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Who knows?” Koutaro shrugs, denying the itch to text Testuro this second and ask for answers. You seem happier, however, genuinely listening to Shoyo’s animated storytelling of when he first practiced with the Fukurodani duo. Keiji chimes in from time to time, but otherwise staying silent and basking in the nostalgia. The team members sitting across from you find it difficult to not notice how often Keiji steals glances at you, who is none the wiser. There are a few times when Shoyo mentions a name you don’t quite remember, turning towards Keiji for answers. You don’t even have to say anything – one pair of furrowed eyebrows and he knows exactly what you’re asking about. Koutaro gathers that perhaps the last few days spent together have caused you two to fall in sync.

He wonders what Testuro would think about that.

-

“Come visit anytime you’re nearby!” Koutaro offers you with another tight squeeze, later releasing you to pull in Keiji for a more manly hug. The two of them knock fists together before Keiji guides you through the station with a hand on the small of your back, giving one last wave to the ace of the Black Jackals.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you tell him once you’re seated in the train. Keiji has the window seat again. “It was nice seeing Bokuto-san again.”

“I’m glad this could cheer you up a bit, really.”

“It helped me a lot, more than you know.”

“That’s good to know.”

This time, you buy a couple of juice boxes from the cart and hand one over to Keiji, who gives you a teasing admonishing look. A glint in his eyes says that he’ll pay you back for this some day when you least expect it, and you won’t be able to do anything about it. As you quietly suck on the straw, you loosen the seatbelt around your waist and turn your whole body to face him, all while searching for the right words.

Keiji waits patiently, mirroring your movements to face most of his body towards you, only half his back resting on the back of his seat.

“Testuro told me he doesn’t love me anymore,” you quietly confess, peeking a look at your companion’s face to gauge his reaction. Keiji remains stoic, but you find it in yourself to continue.

“He sat me down after dinner about a week and a half ago, told me he couldn’t keep it in anymore. At first, he said a bunch of things about how I didn’t deserve to be strung along or left doubting myself – that it was all him and had nothing to do with me. And then he said he wasn’t in love with me anymore, but that I was still a really important person to him.”

Deep breaths.

“I didn’t know what to do, you know?” You ramble, meeting his gaze with wide, tired, frantic eyes. “What do you even do in that situation? And how am I not supposed to feel like it has something to do with me – like, am, am I not pretty enough now? Was the sex not good anymore? Did—did I change into someone that he couldn’t love? I just, I just couldn’t help but think it’s all my fault, that perhaps I changed into someone he couldn’t see the future with anymore. In some unknown time span, I went from being his everything to just…nothing.”

“You’re not ‘nothing’”, Keiji interjects. His eyes are hardened and dark again, much like when he asked you if Testuro had cheated on you the first night you arrived. You crack your best smile of gratitude, feeling the tears beginning to form.

“Perhaps you’re right – but you know what’s the worst part though? I shouldn’t even be mad at him,” you chuckle bitterly. “Immediately after that was dumped on me, he told me he would try to love me again, that he’d do his best because that’s how much I still mattered to him. I just needed to give him time, but I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong to force him. Whatever his reasons may be, I don’t want to force him to feel something for me again just for my happiness. Even then, I wouldn’t be 100% happy either, always worried that maybe he’d be faking his love for me, wondering when he’s gonna snap and call it all off. I might as well let him go now and revamp on my own, you know?”

Keiji keeps to himself and you can tell he’s trying to process your words. You didn’t mean to spill everything out on a bullet train of all places, but it just seemed like the right time after everything he’s done for you these last few days. Seeing Bokuto was another breath of fresh air that you didn’t realize you needed, and you would have to be completely oblivious to your environment to not notice the many questioning glances the ace had sent you throughout the day.

“I think you’re right in wanting to let him go – he shouldn’t feel like he has to try because of some obligation due to the bond you two have,” Keiji says carefully. “I’m sorry it happened though.”

“It’s nothing you could control, silly,” you let out a watery laugh, wiping tears away with the sleeve of your jacket. Keiji fishes out his handkerchief, gently swiping beneath your eyes. You can do nothing but sit there and wait for him to finish, feeling the care in each stroke against your skin. Never in a million years would you have predicted the two of you would be in this position, and part of it leaves you lightheaded. When he’s done, you open your eyes to meet his, though they flicker down to the silk cloth in his hands. That design…

“Is that the handkerchief I bought you as a souvenir from Kyoto?” You blurt out. Keiji looks at down at his hand and nearly curses at himself. For the first time in your life, you see him look somewhat sheepish and at loss for words.

“It came in handy,” he says fondly. “It’s really good quality, and I figured I’d keep it with me just in case. Thank you for this, again.”

“Well, you bought me that keychain from your senior class trip – it only seemed right that I give something in return.”

Keiji lets out a small, teasing scoff, deciding to remain silent for the time-being. It’s after a couple of minutes does he choose to speak up.

“You’re justified in how you felt, (y/n). I don’t know what it’s like to be in that situation, but I can only imagine how heartbroken you must have been. You’ve always given 120% to the important people in your life – I’ve seen it. So if you wanted to run away for a little bit for some space and time to think, that’s completely understandable. You’re allowed to be angry and bitter, but there is one thing I’d rather you not feel.”

“What would that be?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Keiji leans the side of his head against the headrest, staring at you with a gentile fondness that you also hadn’t seen directed towards you before. “I don’t want you feeling insecure about yourself. You’re a wonderful person, (y/n), and just because Kuroo-san doesn’t love you anymore, it doesn’t mean you’ve become any less than that. He just might’ve not been the right person. I can guarantee there’s at least one person out there who will love you until the day you die.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“I most definitely can,” Keiji challenges firmly, leaving very little room for argument.

“For a man who hasn’t dated, you’re definitely a bit of a hopeless romantic,” you laugh, ignoring Keiji’s eyeroll.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

You doze off in the Uber back to his apartment building, and even when he gently shakes you, you’re still incredibly groggy. Keiji has to practically catch you when you lose your footing, apologies spilling in slurred words from your lips. At this rate, one of you is going to get hurt on the way to his unit, and he’d rather have it not be you. Luckily, he’s not carrying much and makes the executive decision to crouch in front of you.

“Keiji…?” You murmur, trying to put together the pieces in your exhausted brain.

He holds his arms out behind him. “Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the unit.”

“But…”

“The sooner you get on, the sooner we can get home and sleep.”

With no energy left in you to deny him, you climb onto his back as carefully as you can, wrapping your limbs around his neck and waist as his arms latch around the backs of your knees. Keiji hoists you up, shifting your body slightly to center your weight, and begins the trek. He nods at the security guards before angling his head to face yours. You’ve pretty much passed out again, but he needs you to do three more things.

“Can you punch in the passcode for me?” He tells you the numbers slowly, making sure you’re inputting them correctly. Keiji asks a similar question when they get into the elevator, and one last task when they reach his door.

“You did such a good job,” he praises you, the warmth in his tone washing over you like freshly dried sheets. Keiji sits on the edge of his bed and lets you fall back into his comforter, laughing to himself when you curl up on your side without a care left in the world.

“Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds onto your hands before pulling you up. Your hair is mussed and he attempts to fix it while coaxing you to properly get ready for bed. “You’re gonna need to take off your jacket before you go to bed – I don’t mind if you sleep here in your jeans, but it won’t be comfortable if you keep your jacket on.”

You grumble something unintelligible but start removing your arms from the sleeves. Keiji nearly coos, folding your jacket over the seat in front of his desk before returning to you. Somehow, you’re still sitting upright, and he kneels in front of you so he can maintain eye contact to keep you awake. “You’re doing great. Now do you want to brush your teeth?”

At first you shake your head, but then pause, and nod instead. “Okay, stay awake for me, all right? I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Keiji comes back promptly with your toothbrush already damp and holding a dollop of toothpaste, placing it correctly in your hand. You have enough muscle memory left to aim for your mouth, languidly stroking the bristles against your teeth. Keiji joins in, accompanying you until you’re ready to spit out the toothpaste. He lets you lean into him as he half-carries you into the bathroom, holding your hair back as you rinse your mouth and wash away any excess toothpaste. You sit on the toilet lid still half-asleep as you wait for him, somewhat expecting him to help you back into bed at this point.

“Good job, now you can go to sleep,” Keiji murmurs, once again supporting your weight on the journey back to his room. He first flips the comforter and sheets away so they can cover you once you’re in bed, again tucking you in properly. “Goodnight,” he whispers before moving to grab a change of clothes, but a pull on his sleeve stops him. He turns back to look at you, noticing how much you’re struggling to stay awake.

Your arms pull out from underneath the covers and shakily reach for his face. Completely unsure of what to do, Keiji stays still and waits with bated breath. Your fingers grasp the arms of his glasses, sliding them off the bridge of his nose and folding them at the hinges. They gently place it by your phone on his nightstand, a smile creeping onto your face as you snuggle back into the sheets. “You can’t sleep with your glasses on, silly,” you slur.

That’s the last thing you say before you’re out like a light.

Keiji doesn’t know how long he stands there, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. All he knows is that the moonlight spilling from his window makes you seem surreal. He wonders if you’re truly, actually here in his bed, and just did something as trivial as taking off his glasses for him. But that gesture alone sends his heart into overdrive, remembering the care you put in to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break them with your sleep-addled clumsiness.

He ponders on it for the next few minutes until he’s once again laid down on the futon, throw blanket strewn across his body, and eager to follow you into the dreamworld.  

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Snow Days // G.W.

Summary: Snow falls in the night. Hogwarts is a boarding school that has never had a snow day... until now.

A/N: More Professor!George Weasley... because I have taken this headcanon for myself and will run with it until I find something else to hyper fixate on...

Warnings: snow, fluff, cute, established relationship.

Word count: 2.3k

Sometime in the night, the rain that had been forecast changed. Sometime in the night, it froze, becoming snow. It started slow, a few flakes here and there.

The flakes then turned larger, growing heavier as they blanketed the floor. The flurries becoming too much for any creature to stay outside for too long; seeking out warmth and comfort as the snow continues to fall.

Instantly the castle that had always a charm about it was transformed to an ethereal state. The grounds accepted the snow, taking it in, accepting it as if it had always been there. Watching the snow fall from your window, you take in the rapid transformation of the grounds you call home, knowing that in a few hours, the fresh snow would be trampled upon by masses of students rushing through the cold.

Hogwarts was a boarding school. The students lived on site meaning that there was no commute to be disrupted and no excuse for not attending classes. Throughout its long and colourful history, Hogwarts had never known a snow day.

Stepping away from the window, you shake your head, already knowing that your lessons that evening would have to be cancelled. Snow was lovely, and snow days were non-existent at the school, but the sky would not be visible enough tonight to seek out the stories amongst the stars.

Turning to the bed, you spy George’s form amongst the pillows and blankets. You smile softly to yourself, his snores punctuating the air. You don’t rush through your routine, savouring every step as the weariness settles over your body, calling for your bed and the warm embrace of George’s arms. Tonight’s lesson was one you would remember; students too excited about the change in the weather instead of the stars, but their distraction provided ample entertainment.

Settling in next to the love of your life, George’s arms automatically find you. As your eyes slip shut, you’re already thinking of your plans for the snow.

----------

George Weasley woke that morning, ambled over to the window and promptly groaned. For some, snow was a blessing. To George, it meant grumbling students and complaints about the coldness of his classroom. It didn’t matter what spells he used; the Dungeon classroom was doomed to remain cold no matter how long he remained teaching at the school.

It’s going to be a long day; he thinks to himself as he doesn’t rush his morning routine. He sets the kettle on the stove to boil before returning to the bedroom where he finds you sleeping soundly, curled up on your right side with your left arm outstretched to his side of the bed as if seeking his warmth.

He perches on the bed, reaching out to run a gentle hand through your hair. Your nose wrinkles as George’s touch brings you back from your dreams, bringing you to consciousness.

“Have you seen the snow?” You ask, voice harsh with sleep.

George hums in answer, leaning down to kiss your head. “I have,” He whispers, “I’m already dreading class.”

You laugh, stretching into a comfier position, pulling the blankets closer to your body. “Is it bad to say I’m glad it’s you and not me?”

George chuckles, “Not bad at all. Go back to sleep, love. I’ll find you later.”

His words are answered with a mumbled ‘love you’. Years, he realises as he shakes his head, returning to the kitchen. It’s been years now, and still those words leaving your lips continues to make his heart race and leave his mind in a whirl.

George dresses quickly after downing the remains of his tea. He needs to be in his classroom early to heat it as best he can for the students that will have no doubt been out in the snow before beginning their classes for the day.

Students arrive in dribs and drabs from the sounding of the first bell, but they all have one thing in common. They’re all covered in melting snow and would have preferred to remain outside than come to class.

“Why can’t we be out in the snow?” A student demands, throwing his hand dramatically towards the window where flurries of snowflakes are just visible.

George tries his best not to throw a withering look in the direction of the teenager. He understands; whenever he was in their shoes, he spent more time skipping lessons and running around in the snow with Fred causing all sorts of mayhem. He’s a teacher now, however, and there are rules to be followed.

Though… those rules can always be bent.

George searches the classroom; eyes landing on the student who voice their protest. Matthew Taylor, a Seventh Year, predicted to do very well in his final examinations. The teenager’s hair is still dripping slightly from the snow melting there, and his eyes are bright from the snowball fight he had been involved in before rushing late to class.

Closing the textbook on his desk, George sighs, eyeing the clock. It wouldn’t do them any harm to end their lesson early. George claps his hands together, bringing the attention of the class back to him. “Alright,” He begins, “Have we at least managed to answer questions one to five?”

When most of the class nods, George continues, “Then get out of here. Dress warmly if you’re going out in the snow. Stay away from the lake and don’t get caught.”

His class cheer as they pack away their things, rushing out of the door, wanting to get changed as quickly as possible so they can get outside.

George shakes his head fondly as he watches them leave, thinking back to the days when he and Fred would organise snowball fights between the houses, knowing that Gryffindor would come out on top. They won every time; at one point they had not only himself and Fred, but Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson using their deadly aim to weaken whichever house had been chosen to go up against the house of Godric.

Thinking of you and your place in bed, George sends a quick note to all students, cancelling the rest of his lessons for the rest of the day. He reminds students to be safe if they choose to go outside, to think carefully and to prepare snowballs well in advance of any fight to go down.

With that sorted, George leaves his classroom, closing the door happily.

McGonagall stops George in the corridor with a stern call of his name. “Professor Weasley, would you care to tell me why you’ve cancelled the rest of your classes for today?”

George gestures to the continued snow fall. “They weren’t going to pay any attention; not when they want to be outside having fun.”

McGonagall purses her lips, intent on arguing her point when George interrupts her once more. “Headmistress, think of it this way: Hogwarts has never had a snow day and it still doesn’t have to have one. We could just give the students a break from all the work they’ve been doing. I think it’ll help in the long run.”

A smile crosses George’s face at the exact moment he knows he has won McGonagall over. She uncrosses her arms and briefly smiles at the redhead, “Tell me Professor, what are your plans for your suddenly free day?”

“I have two answers for you, Minnie. Which would you like to hear?”

McGonagall laughs, shaking her head at the Weasley. There were very few people these days who could make her laugh and get away with calling her ‘Minnie’. She stands aside, “On with you. Go have some fun.”

“I plan to,” George answers as he turns away from the Headmistress, listening to her laughter follow him down the corridor where he rushes up the stairs to the rooms he shares with you.

You haven’t moved in the few hours that George has been teaching; you remain fast asleep, curled on your side, cuddling George’s pillow. If possible, George falls more in love with you then and there. He didn’t know you reached for his pillow in his absence; he makes a mental note to sneak some of his clothes into your pyjama draw for you to wear on a night.

Shrugging off his blazer, George situates himself on the side of the bed, reaching out to shake your shoulder gently. “Love,” He calls out quietly, “Love, wake up.”

Your eyes screw up tightly as your brought back to consciousness. You run a hand over your face, ridding it of the sleep that had gathered there. “George?” You question, confused, “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be teaching Seventh Years?”

His hand rubs up and down your side. “I should,” He pauses, “But I thought the snow looked more fun.”

“You cancelled your classes?”

“I did. McGonagall wasn’t too happy, but I persuaded her otherwise.”

“Of course you did,” You laugh, “You’re her favourite.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” George laughs, smiling widely. He shifts on the bed, lying down to next you, running a finger down your cheek.

“What do you plan to do now that you’re free?”

George’s finger leaves your cheek; his hand now gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him as he answers. “I plan on going out in the snow, want to join?”

His eyes are bright with mischief and joy as he waits for you to reply. It’s a sight that you saw often, but it still managed to take your breath away. “I’ll join you. Let me get ready and I’ll join you.”

-----------

You inhale sharply as you take the first step outside; the cold quickly seeping through the layers of clothing worn. George’s hand remains warm in yours as he leads you through the courtyard, dodging the snowballs thrown by Slytherins aimed for the Gryffindors. George cannot contain the laugh that leaves him as he hears the angry cries from his house; he knew from experience it would not be long before the lions would unleash hell on the snakes.

It isn’t as busy the further you walk into the grounds of the school; students preferring to stay where there is natural protection that can be made into bases. The grounds of the school are magical when there is no snow, but there’s something about the weather that adds to the appeal of the school. It stands out proudly amongst the bleak colour of the snowfall; its history emanating from its walls. It has seen a thousand snowfalls and would stand to see a thousand more.

George drops your hand as he bends down to gather some of the snow. You watch him curiously, catching sight of the teenager he had once been.

“Don’t you dare,” You warn, laughter already in your voice as you take a long step back from the redhead. George smiles at you angelically, his eyebrows raised in question before he shows his hand without saying a word.

The snowball flies through the air, hitting you squarely in the chest, knocking the air out of you.

“You’re in for it now, Weasley!” You cry, launching yours over to where George is bent in half with laughter. The snowball lands in his hair and his laughter promptly stops. He falls silent as he shakes the snow from his hair

“George!” You laugh as his arms wrap around you. His body knocks you both to the ground; the snow softening your impact.

“How did you know I wanted to make a snow angel?” You joke, stretching your arms out wide and beginning the process of creating the snow figure.

George laughs, rolling off you but not before dropping a sweet kiss to your lips. “I just know you that well,” He states simply, waving his arms and legs in the snow to form the angel shape.

His words warm you so much that you absently worry that the snow underneath you will begin to melt. “George?” You question innocently, sneakily gathering snow in both hands.

“Love?” He answers from beside you, wondering what could be on your mind as he watches more snow start to fall from the sky.

Refusing to answer, you flip onto your side, throwing snow onto him. You begin to splutter with laughter as you catch sight of the shocked expression on his face. Eyes wide and mouth open as his hair drips with the snow thrown on him.

“That does it,” George announces, brushing the snow off his body.

Your laughter dies at his words; falling silent you wonder what he has in store for you now. George doesn’t give you much chance to ponder that idea, however. He straddles you, no snow in his hands, but a lot of love in his eyes as he presses you further into the ground.

“What do I do with you now?” George questions, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. His hands begin to roam your body, igniting your veins despite the layers and layers of clothing separating you.

“I don’t know…” You trail off with a shiver, refusing to break eye contact. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s get you inside and warm… then you can find out.”

-----------

The fire in your shared rooms throws out masses of heat, warming the both of you up quickly. George places two mugs of tea on the table, settling himself next to you on the battered old couch.

“I think today has been my favourite day of teaching so far,” He murmurs, fingers drawing distracting patterns on your thigh.

“Hmm? Why’s that?” You answer, eyes focused on the way his fingers are circling the skin on your thigh, remembering his promise from earlier.

“A snow day,” He laughs, fingers now absent from your thigh as he fingers grip your chin, turning your face to his.

You hum happily as you respond to his kiss, “Who doesn’t love a snow day?”

******

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