#I lifted a piece of carpet in a corner bc that corner is close to tge shower

[im-not-a-sheep]

there's ants in my walls...

[kodaiki]

highlights! ⇢ luna had to stay in satoru's bedroom bc she could choke on the lego pieces :( no cameo from her today ⇢ gojo never told anyone any of that... ⇢ gojo was shocked to learn that those were y/n's first official bouquet of flowers given to her

author's note! ⇢ we love a deep conversation moment, bonding over legos <3 okay now kiss :] this was basically the talk they had mentioned in the last part!

꒰ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ꒱ ↳ as a rising star in the tumultuous world of hollywood, you're handed a golden opportunity to boost your career – a fake relationship. what your manager forgot to mention? your leading man is none other than satoru gojo, hollywood's notorious fuckboy. easy? well, not exactly.

PART TWENTY ½ | NEXT

ʚĭɞ rbs and interaction always appreciated! ʚĭɞ

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[below is the written alternative to the pics above! enjoy <3]

SATORU’S HOME — 10:08 PM

the soft glow of the dimmed lights over your head illuminates the cozy atmosphere as you and satoru sit, plopped on the floor, surrounded by lego pieces scattered around you both. convenience store meal containers are pushed aside, replaced by the colorful array of lego blocks for the assembling of the flowers you’re making. 

you can’t help but chuckle softly as you clip a piece together. “who knew assembling lego flowers would be so therapeutic?”

satoru glances up at you from his craftsmanship, his face lifting into a lopsided smirk as he raises a brow. “therapeutic and much more enjoyable than a dinner at a five-star joint, right?” he asks in a sly tone.

“definitely,” you admit – but give an eye roll, too – finding enjoyment in the quiet concentration of your activity. “i mean, who needs caviar when you’ve got legos?”

satoru wiggles his brows with a drawled, yet all the same, teasing tone. “you expected caviar?”

“you brought up a five star restaurant place first! i’m just playing along,” you reply with a pointed tone, jabbing the start of a lego flower stem at him. 

the atmosphere is light as you continue your tasks, planted in place as you furrow your brows in concentration and deep thought. 

“you know,” you begin, trailing up your gaze to glance over at his progress. he’s piecing the petals to the stem of his first flower. “i expected hollywood glamour and red carpets when i signed up for a fake relationship…definitely didn’t expect this.” your tone remains light and amused, almost whimsical, as a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

satoru snaps his fingers in an ‘aw man’ type of gesture. with mock disappointment, he juts bottom his lip out. “well, i’m sorry if you’re disappointed, princess.”

you scoff playfully, rolling your eyes at his exaggerated display. “oh, i’m terribly disappointed. no paparazzi, no fancy dinners, just legos and premade meals. what a letdown.”

you meet satoru’s eyes when you finish speaking, tone laced with sarcasm. he’s grinning at you, finding your tone amusing. as the playfulness subsides and you’re left in silence again, a more contemplative air settles between the two of you.

you don’t notice at first, but satoru sets aside his made flower and leans back on his hands, gazing at you, his blonde bangs brushing against his forehead. “in all honesty, y/n, the hollywood life can be exhausting. sometimes, a night like this feels more real that those red carpet events.”

the shift in his tone catches your attention, making you pause in your movements and look up at him more intently. you notice his eyes, usually filled with more mischief, now hold a smidge of… is that vulnerability?

“you ever feel like you’re playing a role even when the cameras aren’t rolling?” he continues, a genuine curiosity in his expression.

the legos forgotten for a moment, you nod thoughtfully. “yeah, sometimes, depending on where i am. it’s like there’s ‘public me’ and then the ‘real me,’ and they don’t always align.” you recall the amount of pr training you had to do in your agency, solely to maintain a specific image.

satoru’s gaze lingers on you as if searching for something deeper behind your gaze. “well, you’re not alone in that feeling,” he confesses in a low tone, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare sincerity you haven’t seen before. “sometimes, i wonder if anyone really knows the real me.”

his words make your head cock to the side in interest. “what about suguru and your other friends?” you ask softly.

"well, yeah, i guess they know me on more than a superficial level. but even then, sometimes it's like i'm still playing a character." he shrugs with twisted lips – a habit of his you realize means he's in deep thought. "don't get me wrong, it's nothing wrong with them but my guard is still up… it’s kind of like a default thing engrained in my head since i first started acting.”

your brows dip into a slight furrow as you take in his words. had acting really gotten him to a point of building a hypothetical shield around himself?

you can sense a hint of sadness in his admission, a vulnerability laid bare in his words. it’s a satoru you haven’t seen before, a crack in the facade of the confident, charming persona he presents to the world. truthfully, you didn’t think you’d ever witness this side of him.

“i get that,” you reply softly, setting aside your own lego flower to change your sitting position to hugging your knees as your chin rests against the top of them, giving him your full attention. with a bashful chuckle, you continue, “i mean– i can’t say i relate since i’m far from where you are… but i guess i can see how it’s easy to blur the lines between who you are and a role you’re trying to uphold. it’s like the more successful you become, the more layers you add to protect yourself.”

he blinks owlishly at your words, face appearing blank. you think, for a moment, that you’ve said the wrong thing but he releases a chuckle himself, head tilting to the side thoughtfully.

“exactly,” he murmurs in agreement. “you sure you’re an amateur actress?” he raises a brow, a teasing glimmer in his blue eyes.

you laugh again. “definitely an amateur compared to the hollywood veteran sitting across from me,” you tease, a genuine smile playing on your lips.

satoru visibly shudders at the word ‘veteran,’ shaking his shoulders and head as he sits up straighter.

"was it tough getting to where you are?" you ask, treading the water first, wondering if he's even comfortable sharing this side of himself to you.

"i wanna say i got lucky with my first role at just fourteen. but everything after that? I can’t even tell you which was media-driven and which was self-motivated,” he shrugs with a sigh, briefly looking away from you as if pondering.

"what do you mean?" you furrow your brows. it's no surprise he's technically a 'child' actor, having starred on a popular netflix show in his early teenhood, skyrocketing him to instant fame, a much starker contrast than the typical child actor on daytime t.v.. his viewership was massive from his debut, having scored such a prominent role. 

"after my first show did well, apparently several representatives for different projects wanted me and, well, for my management, that was a lottery. and – it's all a blur now, really – but soon enough I was an overworked sixteen-year-old starring in some show I hardly couldn't care less about, and then-"

"savage satoru," you finish for him, connecting the dots of his story.

he snorts at the cringy title. “was that really what they referred to me as?" he visibly winces, probably wishing for a nickname that didn’t sound like dated twitter jargon.

you nod, remembering how he'd blown up for acting out and being messy, as told by online tabloids on twitter and other social media sites. it’d been so many years ago but it was a pop culture moment; one of those ‘you just had to be there’ moments.

"so you remember the headlines then. i turned eighteen and started being a complete asshole on set, dating around, y’know the whole ordeal. my management had to step in and have a whole intervention with me if you can imagine it. damage control, really. they blamed it on the fact that I was eighteen – young and dumb bullshit – and sure, that had a part in it. but it has more so to do with how exhausted and overworked I was...

but despite all this damage control, i gained the label of some bad boy in hollywood who was objectively attractive and had a fanbase full of girls, so hollywood went with it. as long as i wasn't acting out on set, they'd embrace this new version of myself skewed by the media. anything for some exposure and quick bucks. and me? well, I still needed a check of my own so... i went with it. i think that's when i put up my first layer, hiding myself behind someone who wasn't me but doing it anyway because realistically, what else could I do?”

“it sounds toxic,” you murmur with a frown. 

satoru's gaze becomes distant for a moment, a hint of nostalgia or maybe regret flashing in his eyes. “yeah, it was. it's a strange thing, trying to navigate your identity in an industry that's constantly shaping and reshaping it for you."

you reach down to pick up a stray lego piece from the floor, turning it over in your hand as you absorb his words. “but why go along with it even now? couldn't you have rebelled against the image they were trying to create?"

satoru chuckles bitterly, shaking his head to himself. "it's not that simple, y/n. in hollywood, the image they build for you often becomes more real than your true self. it becomes a survival mechanism. if you're not marketable, then they find someone who is. it's a game, and sometimes you have to play along to stay in it. think about it, you’re part of the game, too."

you gnaw at your lower lip, taking in his words. what he’s saying is true. if it hadn’t been for this fake relationship, you wouldn’t have the place – the opportunities – you do now in hollywood. without you even realizing, it’s a story built by hollywood for hollywood.

satoru looks over at your expression, a rueful smile on his lips. "it's a double-edged sword. the fame, the adoration, it comes at a cost. and often, that cost is your own self.”

the room is filled with a contemplative silence, broken only by the occasional click of lego pieces coming together. the atmosphere shifts once more, a newfound understanding settling between you and satoru.

“i didn’t mean for this talk to get so gloomy,” he mutters with an awkward chuckle amidst the silence, rubbing the back of his neck.

“that’s okay,” you offer a smile of understanding. to be honest, you’d much rather have talks like these with people than a superficial one while brushing these topics under a carpet. “is it bad that i’m rethinking my whole career now?” you ask with a humorless laugh, picking up the flower again, now nearly finished.

“i’d be more surprised if you didn’t,” he retorts with an amused scoff. “but it gets better, trust me.”

“if it’s any consolation, i’m grateful i got to fake date you out of the other actors in hollywood,” you admit with a soft smile.

“yeah?” he raises a brow, partly in amusement, the other part in pure intrigue. “the infamous satoru gojo?” before you can answer, he leans back on his hands again, shooting you a smirk. “i knew you’d admit to my appeal one of these days. they always do.” he glances back at you, winking to let you know he’s partially kidding.

“oh, shut up,” you fire back, but a grin tugs up your lips. “i take back what i said.”

“too late!” he gives you a shit-eating grin, teasing you.

you can only roll your eyes, knowing if you tried to argue with him, your tone would give yourself away. 

perhaps, amidst the legos and vulnerability, a genuine friendship is taking root, growing from the foundation of shared experiences and mutual understanding.

and surprisingly,

you don’t mind it one bit. 

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[anachronismstellar]

Listen, this is hauting me, I keep closing my eyes and imagining all the scenarios in which they got to this point so here, have a little thing:

Uh no TW but I'd say Mature Rated bc they are Horny™️ so,,, yea

Anyway

Three times Dabi caught Shiggy working out and one time he helped

The first time Dabi caught Dusty working out, was purely an accident.

It had been a bit of a slow day, just a little while after he had joined the League for good. The base seemed to be empty, and even the bar wasn't being occupied by its Foggy resident, so Dabi went to help himself for a drink, using the opportunity to grab the top shelf stuff. The plan was to get some nice whiskey, sit on the sofa, and play something stupid on his phone until someone showed up.

That's it, until he'd found the trap door.

He only noticed because the carpet was scrunched to the side. It was probably Kurogiri's stach, nothing to bother with, but Dabi wasn't the type of person to let an opportunity go to waste like that.

He opened the trap door slowly, holding back a grunt of surprise to see a faint light coming from downstairs. With a final look around he decided "Fuck it" and went down, closing the door carefully behind himself.

It didn't take long for him to get to the bottom of the stairs and find the source of the light. The door, which was ajar, opened up to a room filled with, to Dabi's disbelief, gym equipment.

Now, he wasn't stupid, and he knew that Dusty must have been training probably his entire life, but he's never stopped to consider what his training might be.

Or what the training results would be.

Because at the further corner of the room, lifting what probably was more than Dabi's weight was Shigaraki Tomura, wearing a tank top and low hanging sweatpants.

Dabi was frozen on the spot. Ironic, considering that his body temperature started to rise the minute he noticed Shigaraki’s arms, the tank top clinging to his back from the sweat, making it impossible to hide his broad shoulders.

Dabi was so caught off guard by the sight that he couldn't hold back a "Holy fuck", startling Dusty so bad that he dropped the weight, cursing a storm.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Went to get some booze, found the door, here I am," Dabi answered without blinking, not bothering to lie. He had more important things to care about now.

Like Dusty using his tank top to clean up the sweat from his face, showing off his abs and the subtle v on his underbelly.

Those pants were hanging by a thread, and Dabi never wished to burn a piece of fabric so much as he did right now.

"-bi?!" He finally noticed that Dusty was calling him, forcing himself to look up at Shigaraki’s face. He knew he had called the guy a creep the first time they met, and if anyone asked he would say the same thing again, but Dabi was only human and even he had his weaknesses.

Shigaraki sweaty and showing off his strength was one of them apparently.

"Stop gapping like a fuckin burnt fish, idiot, if you have something to say, spit it out and let me finish here!" Dusty snapped at him, scratching his neck, face getting redder by the second. Dabi didn't know if it was because the staring or because he was embarrassed for being sneaked on, either way, that finally made Dabi shake himself off his stupor, walking backwards towards the door.

"Nothing to say, boss, just wasn't expecting you to be a gym rat, that's all. Anyway, I'm going back to my booze, have fun with..." he trailed off, gesturing the entire room. He didn't wait for Dusty to answer him, closing the door behind him, laying on it for a second, taking a deep breath, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, trying to get his temperature back to normal.

And if he had run to take a cold cold shower, it was no one's business but his own.

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

The second time Dabi caught Shiggy working out was after the kidnapping disaster. They had lost the bar, Kurogiri, and All for One resources, along with all their possible safe houses.

He didn't mind the moving around. To be fair, Dabi was used to it from his time before the League. What he did miss, though, was the slight privacy that the base seemed to offer, the easy access to booze and his painkillers.

But most of all, he missed not having to take cold showers every day. Not because of the lack of hot water, oh no no no.

But because of Shigaraki Fucking Dusty Tomura.

With the loss of the bar, Dusty also lost his gym, which made him have to improvise to keep up his workout routine. And Shigaraki was very creative.

Anything could be used to train: old tires, broken furniture, debris, and, to Dabi's despair, the League.

"Dabi!" Toga waved excitedly at him as he walked in their improvised shelter. It was an old building, already picked clean by other homeless people, nothing left but a dirty couch and a wobbly table. He ignored all that in favor of blinking at the bizarre scene in front of him, trying to understand what the fuck was going on.

"Dabi come on! Switch places with me I need to pee!" Toga whined, making grabbing hands at the arsonist that couldn't stop staring at her unconventional seating arrangement.

A.k.a. Shigaraki’s back.

"Shut up you brat, I told you that it's gonna take just five more minutes, stop complaining," Dusty grunted as he completed another push up, arms not even trembling under Toga's weight.

"You said that thirty minutes ago, Shiggy! I need to pee!" the girl insisted, pocking at the back of Shigaraki’s head, making him grunt again. "Besides, it's not like I weight anything to you anyway, Dabi will be a better challenge. Right, Dabi?" She turned to look at him with a smirk, golden eyes glinting with mischief. Fucker.

When Shigaraki didn't say anything else, Toga hopped off his back, practically running out of the room, shouting a "Have fun~!" as she vanished towards the corridor where the bathroom was, slamming the door loud enough to make the broken windows tremble.

There was a pause as Shigaraki got on his feet, patting his hands on his pants to clean them off. Only then Dabi realized that he was wearing gloves. He wondered what would be like to feel the fabric against his heated skin, holding him down while-

"You don't need to help me, it's fine," Shigaraki grumbled as he grabbed a water bottle, not looking at Dabi at all. Dabi could see that his shoulders were tense, as if Dusty were ready to run away the moment Dabi cracked a joke.

"I wouldn't mind," he blurted before he could even think about it, swallowing dry as Dusty turned to look at him with a funny face, nose scrunched, looking Dabi up and down.

"You wouldn't?" Shigaraki asked as if not believing what he had just heard. Which. Fair. Dabi wasn't the most forthcoming person from their group. He was very good at his job, yea, but if it wasn't a direct order, he couldn't be bothered to move a finger to help.

"Sure. I don't think I'm that much heavier than Toga, though," Dabi answered with a shrug, trying to play it cool. Literally. Otherwise, Shigaraki would see his scars starting to smoke, and that wouldn't be good at all.

There was another pause as Dusty opened the bottle, taking a very long sip. He wasn't as sweaty as last time, but his hair was sticking on his forehead and neck, his skin slightly red from the workout. And Dabi couldn't stop staring at Shigaraki’s lips, the sneak peek of tongue when Dusty lowered the bottle, licking his own lips as his eyes followed the movement of Shigaraki’s throat. He could feel his own mouth drying up, hands trembling with the desire to throw Dusty on the couch and kiss him until he was red for other reasons, to see how strong those arms really were and-

"Whatever, I'm done for today anyway. How's the recruitment process going?" Dusty said, making Dabi blink and come back to the room. It was the worst attempt on changing of subject ever, but Dabi would take it. Especially if it helped him not lose his control and jump on Dusty right and then.

"I had three candidates that I think might be interesting but-" he said after taking a moment to gather himself, getting in work mode.

And again, if he took a freezing shower after their meeting was done, no one needed to know.

----------

The third time Dabi caught Shigaraki working out, he started to have the suspicion that Dusty was doing it on purpose.

Deika city laid in crumbles, they were all more fucked up than ever, but they've won and victory tasted sweet as expensive champagne and sushi. He didn't like the ReDestro guy at all, but his unlimited credit card was nice, and it has been a while since they could indulge in the little pleasures of life.

Like having a nice place to crash with a stoked kitchen, a room for each one of them, and much more. The villa was so big that it was able to house a smaller version of the Doc's lab and even a heated pool. And, of course, a gym with all the equipment one could dream.

The last detail was important because now Shigaraki didn't have the excuse of working out at odd places. So there was no reason for him to be at the League's quarters, shirtless, doing a side plank while reading a book, with the most unbothered face ever.

And, look, Dabi would never admit, not even under torture, but he wasn't blind. Anyone could see that Shigaraki’s shape got even better after the Deika fight. He always had an amazing body, but now? Long gone were the slim muscles, the shrieked posture. Dabi didn't know how it was possible, but his shoulders got even broader, his thighs thicker enough to crush someone with them, and - what a way to die. If Dabi would be completely honest, this Shigaraki was way more dangerous than before, not just because of his new strength but also because of his charisma. There is the air of confidence around him, as if he had realized how good he looks, fucked up cracked lips and all.

It made Dabi go weak on his knees, especially when Dusty looked at him as if he could read his mind and see every filthy fantasy that he had had in the past months.

The way he was looking at Dabi right now as he closed his book and put it to the side, getting up in a blink.

"Do you need anything, Dabi?" Shigaraki asked as he walked closer, making Dabi bite his lip to force himself to focus. Now wasn't the time to look down and admire his boss arms. Or his chest. Or his abs. Or-

God fucking dammit, Dabi thought as Dusty stops right in front of him. Even though they were practically the same height, it surly didn't feel like it, not when he could feel Shigaraki’s aura surrounding him.

He could snap Dabi and half without even breaking a sweat.

"Just, uh," Dabi tried to say something, voice a little bit higher than usual. And just like a shark smelling blood on the water, Shigaraki smiled, taking a step forward, and another, and another, until Dabi’s back was pressed against the wall.

Oh shit.

"Just going to my room, boss. It's been-" he tried to talk again, breath hitching when a deadly finger brushed against his collarbone, right on top of one of his staples. "It's been a long day." he managed to say, eyes fluttering as another finger layered on him, brushing his shit to the side.

Shigaraki hummed as he moved his fingers again, this time up to Dabi's neck, pressing a little harder on the scarred tissue. "You're not as subtle as you think you are, Ashtray," Shigaraki said as he scratched Dabi's skin until he reached for the back of his neck, pulling his hair down, baring Dabi's throat. "You really think I couldn't feel your stares? Or that I couldn't feel the heat coming from your skin?"

"Dusty-" Dabi tried to hold him back, but as soon as he touched Shigaraki’s chest, he knew it was a losing battle. Especially when Shigaraki pressed his cracked lips on his throat, biting hard enough to make his damage nerves sting, smoke already leaking from his seams.

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice the way you almost drowled every time I picked up something heavy?" he kept going, biting and kissing as his other hand went lower, grabbing Dabi's thigh, pulling him closer, as he pressed Dabi even harder against the wall.

And just like that, Dabi was gone, whining as he clawed Shigaraki’s back, pulling him closer.

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice your long showers?" Shigaraki asked, and in a blink, he let go of Dabi's hair, grabbing his other thigh, hauling Dabi up. "Tell me, Dabi, did you try to cool yourself down?" Shigaraki asked before biting on Dabi’s shoulder, right where charred tissue met healthy skin, making Dabi sob, trembling under Shigaraki’s kisses. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't answer, all he could do was sob a moan, eyes closed, doing his best to not lose control over his quirk. "Or did you touch yourself while thinking of me fucking you against a wall?" Shigaraki chuckled, finally pressing his lips on Dabi's, more a tease than a kiss.

"You're such an asshole," Dabi snapped, grabbing Shigaraki’s face with both hands, smashing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. That only made Dusty chuckle again as he walked away from the wall, carrying Dabi like he weighted nothing at all.

Dabi broke the kiss as soon as he noticed that there's nothing against his back, looking down at Dusty's smug face, lips plump from their kiss, eyes darkened, messy hair.

If he had any dignity left, he would hold back his whine. But he lost it the moment Shiggy adjusted his grip from his thighs to his ass, squeezing it.

"I swear to God Duster if you don't take me to your room right now-" he grumbled as he grabbed Shigaraki’s hair at the back of his neck, pulling it, finally getting a moan from the other man. And it was more than nice to see all Shigaraki’s training being put on use to get as fast as he could to his room, slamming Dabi against his door as soon it was closed.

It was even better when Shigaraki actually hold him up and fucked him hard enough to make the wood crack.

------

The first time Dabi helped Dusty with his training, was out of boredom. He had nothing else to do but wait for The Chicken to respond to his text for the next meeting, and it was too late for him to work on any lieutenant stuff.

It was late for anyone to work, period, but still, his Grand Commander was nowhere to be seen on the League quarters. Which meant that either he was sulking on his his office, or he was at the gym.

Considering his options, Dabi decided to check on the gym first. Not just because it was closer to the League's quarters, but also because of the lower chance of bumping one of ReDestro's minions.

And lo and behold there he was, in all of his sweaty glory, his long hair messy and sticking to his back, skin glistening under the artificial soft light, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. It almost gave Dabi a sense of déjà vu. But this time, he didn't froze up. Instead, he got closer, sneaking behind Shigaraki, touching his shoulders with a sigh.

"It's almost midnight, Dusty," he mumbled as he leaned forward, plastering himself against Dusty's back. "Come to bed."

His touch didn't startle Shigaraki at all, in fact, he didn't even put the weight down, finishing his series first, before turning to look at Dabi.

"I know, but I can't fall behind my training. Even more now," he said with a sigh, an argument that he has been repeating for the few past weeks. He let go of the weight, grunting while opening and closing his hand, looking carefully at his prosthesis.

"But tomorrow we have an important meeting or some other shit that ReDestro wants us to sit down for, and you're going to be grumpy if you don't rest now," Dabi insisted, tugging on Shigaraki’s hair.

"I'm not sleepy." Shigaraki pushed Dabi's hand, reaching out for the weight again. That made Dabi pull his hair even harder, forcing Shigaraki to look at him.

"I don't care if you're not sleepy, I am, so you're going to sleep as well."

"Since when you can boss me around?"

"Since you decided to ask me to date you," Dabi said, stealing a kiss, letting go of Shigaraki’s hair to slip his hands down his chest, pressing down his nails on one of Shigaraki’s nipples.

But instead of being thrown on Shigaraki’s shoulder and getting carried to bed, Shigaraki took a step away from him, glaring at Dabi when he turned around.

"I'm serious, Dabi," Shigaraki said with his best Commander voice, which helped nothing on Dabi's desire to drag him to bed. However, he could see that just asking again wouldn't help, so he had to change plans.

"Fine. But no more forcing your hand. Even the Doc said you should take it easy." He put his foot down, grabbing the weight before Dusty could. Holy shit it was heavy as fuck, but he didn't need to carry it too far, just enough to put a distance between Shigaraki and it.

"Fine," Dusty repeated right back at Dabi, crossing his arms. Dabi could see it as a distraction tactic that it was, so he kept his eyes on Shigaraki’s face. "What do you think I should do, then?"

Dabi looked around, biting his lips, trying to think of something fast. He knew some of the equipment, but his childhood training was very different. His eyes went back to Shigaraki, taking all in. Damn he didn't know what the Doc had been giving him, but...

"Legs," he said with a snap of his fingers. "You can do some squats without using your hands."

"Squats are boring as fuck though," Shigaraki complained, but Dabi knew that he was winning this battle. He just needed to seal the deal.

"Yeah, they are, but I could help you," Dabi said while pressing the tip of his hot fingers against Dusty's arms. "You can use me as weight, I wouldn't mind climbing on your shoulders, boss."

Oh, how fun it was to see Dusty fighting against his desire, red eyes darkening when Dabi did his final strike and took his shirt off, the delicate lines of red lingerie hugging his hip bones, accentuating how tiny his waist was. He could see the moment Shigaraki caved in as he pressed his thumb on the soft elastic, dragging it up and down.

"You were wearing this the whole day?" Shigaraki asked, hooking his finger to pull the thin band, the snapping sound of it on Dabi's skin making him gasp.

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I put it to wait for you, but someone decided to get sweaty in other ways..." Dabi said as he turned around, showing off his back, smiling at Shigaraki’s groan. But as soon as Dusty tried to touch him again, he moved away, ignoring Shigaraki pouting at him.

"No way, you made me wait because you wanted to workout, so you're gonna workout. Come on, ten series of squats and then off to bed."

"What about five?"

"What happened to 'I have to do this, Dabi'?"

"Shut up," Shigaraki said, not letting Dabi even reply before grabbing him by the waist and putting him on his shoulders. No, Dabi didn't shriek, but he did slap Dusty on the head, complaining about Shigaraki’s lack of warning.

From his new position, he couldn't glare directly at Shiggy, but he could glare at the mirror in front of them, giving Shiggy the finger. Fucker. If weren't for the fact that he was sitting on Dusty's shoulders, he would have kicked him as soon as he saw Dusty rolling his eyes at him. Again, without warning, Shigaraki started to move, ignoring Dabi’s complaints as the arsonist held on for dear life.

Dabi grumbled a bit more, just for the sake of being contrary, but as soon as he noticed that Shiggy wouldn't budge, he stopped to enjoy the view. From the mirror, he could see Shigaraki’s face, focused on counting his reps. And every time Shiggy went down, he would press his feet harder against him, feeling the muscles work under the pale skin. It was a vision, all that strength, all that power, just using Dabi as an accessory... he gasped, wiggling as he tried to adjust himself without falling, making Shigaraki grab his thighs, pinky fingers carefully raised.

"Stop moving so much," Dusty said as he pressed his nails on Dabi's pants.

"Or what?" Dabi smiled at the mirror, a shiver going down his spine as Shigaraki’s glare got more intense.

"Or I'm gonna drop you off," he threatened, but they both knew it was an empty promise. And that knowledge only made Dabi smile even more, turning around to glance at Shigaraki’s ass, trying to reach out his shoulders.

"Come on. One more rep, boss~" Dabi said as one of his feet went a little lower, teasing the elastic waist band.

"One more round tonight," Shigaraki growled in response, lowering himself down one last time before going back up. He took a deep breath, patting on Dabi's thigh before slowly putting him back on the ground. Dabi hopped of Shigaraki’s shoulders, turning to look at him, smiling like the cat who got the cream, pressing them chest to chest.

"Good job. Feeling better?" he asked, just to he a little shit. He only realized that he had pressed his luck too much when Shigaraki grabbed him by his ass, pulling them even closer.

"This is what we're going to do now, Dabi," he said as he pressed a sweet kiss on Dabi's cheek. "I'm going to carry you all the way to the League's quarters," he continued as he lowered the kisses, nipping on Dabi's collarbone, deadly fingers playing with the waist of his pants. "Then I'm going to bend you over the sink while you are wearing these panties..." Shigaraki bit hard, making Dabi swear under his breath, holding Shigaraki’s arms, knees too weak to keep him up. "And then we're going to take a nice shower. Got it?"

"Yes, boss." Dabi answered with a sigh, nodding his head, dizzy from the lack of blood on his brain right now.

"Good." And once more, Shigaraki threw Dabi over his shoulder, this time firefighter style, giving the arsonist the most amazing view of his boyfriend's ass. And as they walked to the League's quarters, all that Dabi could think was that helping Dusty workout wasn't so boring after all.

🚶🏻‍♀️

[akaluan]

An AU where everyone has wings but they're hidden unless willingly shown. Most people leave them out with pride, but some hide them away. Because each feather is a thought someone has had about you where they were thinking of nothing but you, and to some, this is a beautiful experience.

For Kisuke, his wings have screamed of Aizen's obsession for a century, and he had learned how to consciously turn his own thoughts away from adding feathers to others. Because the idea of Aizen wearing his thoughts was nauseating.

And then he met Erich.

((Okay, so there's definitely going to be more of this, but it'll come Later (TM) bc right now I just want to get something written for things and posted XD Hope this suits!))

(Warnings for Kisuke's anxiety and the whole apology-after-SS-arc thing)

\\\

Kisuke hid a smile behind his fan as he watched the teens tumble from the gate into midair, their panicked and confused shouts both hilarious and reassuring—

(They’d survived.)

(They’d survived, they’d survived, they’d survived…!)

—especially as they were caught in a rug and batted towards Tessai who spilled them out atop Kisuke’s flying carpet. He needed to apologize to them all — especially to Kurosaki — but in this brief, wonderful moment he could simply watch and enjoy.

Movement from the gate made Kisuke jerk back around, staring up at the stranger who strode from the closing gate and then stood there, his sharp eyes scanning the scene and one corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused smile. His gaze caught on Kisuke and his head tilted slightly, amusement fading and stance shifting into something watchful-wary-thoughtful as his wings flared slightly to make him look bigger.

Kisuke swallowed at the sight, at the sheer array of colors on the man’s wings, a patchwork quilt of bright-beautiful-loving thoughts laid bare for the world to see. His primary feathers were alternating sky and midnight blue, marbled with threads of copper and gold, and the rest of his feathers were equally bright, equally distinct, proof of how many people thought of him — thought well of him — in his life.

(Unlike his own wings.)

(No, don’t think about it.)

The man abruptly twitched, right wing spreading slightly more as the man cast a glance at it, and Kisuke froze at the sight of a feather turning sunshine yellow right in front of his eyes.

(No, oh no, he hadn’t meant to—)

(Damn!)

Kisuke yanked his thoughts back in line. Buried his admiration of the man’s wings deep-deep-deep into the midst of a jumble of thoughts-calculations-plans where it couldn’t stain the man’s beautiful wings.

(No one needed his thoughts directed only at them!)

“Ah, Rerugen-san!” Inoue said cheerfully as soon as she got to her feet and waved at the man overhead. “Come down and meet Urahara-san and the others! They’re the ones that helped us get into Soul Society so we could save Rukia-chan.”

The man nodded slowly and folded his wings, then appeared next to Ishida in a burst in hirenkyaku that Kisuke had to strain to follow.

(A Quincy soul?)

(Fascinating.)

“Maa, find a new friend in Soul Society?” Kisuke asked, trying to figure out how and why the Quincy soul had followed the teens home. The man wasn’t wearing Shinigami garb so he probably wasn’t part of the Gotei Thirteen, but how, then, had he convinced the Shinigami to let him follow the teens back to the Living World?

Ishida shrugged and looked away, his shoulders hunching a bit as he tucked himself closer to Rerugen’s side. “Something like that,” he muttered as Rerugen’s wing partially spread to wrap around him in a protective gesture.

“Rerugen-san is going to teach Ishida-kun!” Inoue announced with a bright-sharp-pointed smile, and Kisuke couldn’t help but admire the technique. She was a bit rough at it, but… well, she was still young and didn’t have quite the… incentive… to do well at it that Kisuke’d had at her age.

(Perhaps he should keep an eye on her, give the occasional bit of advice on how to get her way without seeming to do so.)

(She seemed like she’d be good at it.)

“Is that so?” Kisuke tapped the edge of his fan against his chin as he examined Rerugen again: a warrior for sure, and clearly protective over Ishida—

Kisuke suppressed a frown as he turned his attention to Ishida, trying to figure out exactly why something felt off about the teen. Ishida had always been clever-controlled-certain, but… his lack of presence didn’t feel like control. Especially not next to Rerugen’s own control, so strong that Kisuke could only sense the barest edge of presence from him.

(What had happened in Soul Society?)

(He had hoped…)

(Well, one more thing for him to apologize for, it appeared.)

“It is,” Rerugen answered firmly, his attention fixed on Kisuke, and—

Kisuke tried not to shiver as he felt the tell-tale brush of someone’s thoughts running down his spine and into his right wing, already bracing for the dirty-oily-clinging sensation that Aizen’s obsession always left behind, but… it didn’t come. Instead, it felt like cool water across his back, sluicing away the memory and making his hidden wings feel slightly lighter.

He resisted the urge to reveal his wings, no matter how much he wanted to see what had changed; he refused to let the teens see his wings, refused to show a complete stranger that someone was obsessed with him.

(He’d just have to wait until he was safe in his lab to see.)

(He could wait that long.)

Kisuke took a careful breath, shunted his thoughts aside, and turned his attention to the teens in front of him. They deserved an apology for all he’d forced them through, especially Kurosaki, and he wasn’t going to let a stranger’s presence deter him from doing so.

He went to his knees and leaned forward, head bowed and hat pressed to his chest, and announced, “I’m really… really sorry for… everything.”

Shocked silence met his words, but he forced himself to remain in place, not wanting to face the looks the teens were likely giving him. Sensation rippled down his spine and spread to his hidden wings, proof that he had everyone’s attention, and he swallowed. Squeezed his eyes shut. Knew he’d be spending the night in his lab, obsessing over whatever he could sense from his new feathers.

(He deserved this.)

(He deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it.)

(He did.)

Kisuke braced himself as Kurosaki’s reiatsu roared to life and the teen stalked forward, uncertain what was to come but knowing he wouldn’t protest whatever the teen chose to do.

“Don’t do that,” Kurosaki growled as he stood over Kisuke. “Don’t bow to me,” he insisted when Kisuke didn’t move. “You did what you could to help us, and we all knew something was up beyond the obvious.”

“You could have died,” Kisuke tried, still not looking up. “I sent you into dangerous territory with little explanation or preparation. I lied to you, led you right into a trap—”

Pain exploded across his cheek, the shock making him jerk to the side and drop his hat. He reached up to touch his stinging cheek with one trembling hand, mind trying to piece together what had happened.

(Kurosaki had… slapped him?)

(That was… less than he’d expected to happen.)

“Done trying to make everything about you?” Kurosaki asked sharply. “We knew what we were getting into,” he said, then huffed when Kisuke made a noise of protest and added, “Okay, we didn’t know exactly what we were getting into, but we knew it was worse than you were making it sound. We’re not ignorant kids, Hat’n’Clogs, we know when things smell rotten.” He clicked his tongue and took a step closer, nudging Kisuke’s side lightly with his leg. “I can’t control how you feel about what you did,” he said more softly than before, “but I can say that none of us blame you. And if you’re apologizing about it, then you probably feel shitty enough to not do it again, right?”

Kisuke swallowed at the forgiveness in Kurosaki’s tone and words. “I can’t promise to always tell you everything—”

“Tch, I wasn’t asking for you to do that,” Kurosaki grumbled as he knelt in front of Kisuke and poked his shoulder. “I don’t want everything,” he said firmly. “I want you to promise that next time something like this happens, you’ll lay out the dangers and your suspicions. And if there’s something you can’t tell us, just say that. We won’t be offended.”

“Maa, if you say so,” Kisuke said as he lifted his head enough to eye Kurosaki warily, wondering exactly how long that permissiveness would remain. Eventually the teen would get tired of Kisuke’s everything, just like everyone else did: Tessai and Yoruichi were the exception, not the rule, after all.

“I do,” Kurosaki said, a stubborn cast to his features that surprised Kisuke not at all. The teen truly was Masaki’s child.

Kisuke gave him a shallow nod and said, “Then I will do my best to do so.”

“Good.” Kurosaki settled back on his heels, a pleased air about him. “Thank you, Hat’n’Clogs.”

Kisuke huffs a laugh and straightens up a bit, fidgeting with his hat and doing his best not to rub at his still stinging cheek. “Well, I suppose if no one else wishes to add anything—” he paused and cast a wary glance over the rest of the teens, waiting for someone, anyone, to speak up. But no one did, not even Rerugen, despite the man watching him intently.

The moment their eyes met, another brush of clear water sensation slid down his spine and settled into his wings, making Kisuke twitch at the unexpectedness of it all.

(Oh, that wasn’t good, that wasn’t good at all.)

(No one thought kind things about him after watching him apologize.)

“Ah, well, as I was saying!” Kisuke continued with as much cheer as he could, flashing a smile at all the teens to mask his growing discomfort. “If no one has anything else to add, then I suppose it’s time to head home!”

(The sooner he could tuck himself away in his lab, the better.)

(He needed to see, needed to know—)

(Just a little longer.)

(He could wait.)

(He could.)

[mercifulbutbroken]

vh angst

*cracks fingers* Welp, time to live up to my name again. Ending edited a little bc I said so. CW for death, fire. Also on AO3

Metal.

The taste of coppery metal lingered as Charles had Henry’s arm slung over his shoulders, helping them along as the two hobbled along the broken down hallways and corridors.  Support beams and wall panels were ripped from their places, exposed frames and wires sparking every so often.

Ash.

The smoke from the other room spat out shoot and ash, which clung to the both of them, darkening Henry’s stark white hair, onto Charles’s jacket, which was slung around Henry’s neck, supporting their sprained arm. Crashing into the station’s docking bay wasn't Charles’s intention, but a shot, breaking into one of the engines said otherwise. It was lucky enough that nothing was too broken. Lucky enough that the exploding ships did not catch them as well.

Blood

Both of their legs were aching as they finally reached the final escape pod hallway… only to find all of the windows empty, leading out to empty space. The void, bespeckled with small spheres of hot gas, creating clusters of stars. The earth shining up to them both, the sea and lands swirling together with blues and greens, swirled beneath white clouds. Charles winced, leading Henry down to the wall, where a window stood, looking over everything.  Henry looked up to him, then to the other pods.

“ … none left for us? “ Henry asked, voice low, gravely.

“ None. “ Charles shook his head, sliding down the wall as well, finding a spot next to them. “ We checked all around this ring, anything else would have been taken or destroyed. “

Henry tried to lift themselves up, leaning into Charles’s side more. He obliges, wrapping his long arms around them, pulling them close to him. Another hand came to reassuringly brush away their hair, and Henry looked back up at Charles, a weak smile shining through the dim flashing lights.

“ … Can we stay like this? Please? “ Voice low, quiet, almost not heard over the distant alarm and the rumbling of the station.

Charles only responded by holding Henry closer, opting to lift them into his lap. “ Wouldn't think of anything else Sunshine. “ He reached his hand forward to catch Henry’s free one, and smiled as his head leaned against the plating behind his head.

The two stayed like that for a minute or so, before Henry spoke up again, fingers twirling around Charles’s bracelet. “ . . .  Ellie’s is going to worry about us… Do you think she would know at first? “

“ Most likely. “ Charles let out a sigh, then a grim chuckle. “ Man… she would think we’re doing another dramatic entrance. Always late to the party, coffee for everyone in hand.. “

Henry laughed. “ Coffee with milk, cream, and a pump of caramel, stirred… “ The warm, overly sweet beverage… they could almost smell it. Charles’s own black coffee mingling with their own, and Ellie’s, the sugar wafting from it. They tried to laugh again, but ended up coughing. Charles rubbed Henry’s back, comforting.

“ … Coffee would be nice… if we get down to see her again… You would get a moca, right? “ Charles joked, Henry chucking as another rumble shook the station, their hands gripping at Charles’s shirt. “ Y- Yeah… moca… “

The ship rumbled again, and Henry gripped onto Charles’s shirt tighter. They started to shake, trembling in Charles’s arms. His head went down, nuzzling Henry as he leaned back, holding Henry tighter. Charles’s fingers clung to Henry’s own sweater, still soft…

They seemed so happy to get it on their birthday….

“ I’m… I’m scared… Charles… I… “ Henry’s voice was shaking as well.”  I don’t want to… don’t want to… “

“ I know hon… I know… “ Charles’s hand went to brush at their face, pushing away the tears that started to appear at the corners of their eyes, ignoring the ones on his own. “ I don’t… “ A sharp breath as another rattle made both tighten their grips on each other. “ I… don’t want to either. “

The rumbling was constant now, pieces tumbling down from the walls, away from the mechanics. Flickers of flames were evident at the very end of the hallway, as more supports crashed down. It took another minute before Henry could find the voice to speak again.

“ Y… you know… back at home… that lill jar we were saving up for? “ Henry chuckled at that memory, dumping out an old jar, washing it out before placing it back on the bookshelf. It was so faint by then, Ellie and Charles asking what it was for, and them never telling.

“ Yeah Hen? You emptied it again last month… what for? “ A chuckle. “ What, are you going to tell me now? “

“ In my room… under the mattress...  “ A cough, the air getting thinner by the minute. “ … I got you something. Both of you… “  A smile cropped up again, tears now fully flowing. Then, sobs. Full out sobs. Charles held Henry close as he too began to cry now. He didn't know, but the emotions were so heavy…

“ I wanted to travel the world with you two, I wanted to get a nice home with you- “ A heave for air. “ A home with a garden… a home with the dog… the dog you always wanted, a cat Ellie wanted….. “ Another heave. Charles kerning in on the both of them.

“ I… I wanted to marry you guys…”

The rumbling of the station ripping itself apart exploded into silence, as Charles gripped onto Henry, who then mimicked them, as the both of them felt the burst of heat of the coming explosion, consuming the toppat station in a magnificent, massive fireball.

Fire

The heat was immense, the flames licking up everything in its path. Consuming the fabric of suits and dresses still hung up in closets, bedsheets and pillows charring up in rooms. The chairs in dining rooms, uneaten food still left out in the panic, and in the unoccupied kitchens. Carpets in hallways, curling with the heat generated. The metal plates glowing a fire engine red, radiating more heat. And fire consuming the two still stuck on the station.

Silence.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can you imagine Chris with a fever? Trying to tell jake he doesn’t feel well, he wants to be held, but the high fever only makes it harder to talk? Everyone in the safe house crowded around, desperate to cool him down bc they can go to a hospital?

CW: Feverish, sickness, mentions of symptoms of sickness + references to past noncon/dubcon, plus fucky thought processes around that. Vague references to past torture.

Timeline: Chris’s first week at the shelter.

Tagging:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

His bones hurt, but he keeps that to himself. It's just bones, after all, and he's had way more of him hurt much worse than this.

At least, it starts with bones, just in his upper arms and in his thighs, and he thinks maybe it’s because he is always tense in this strange new place. The house seems small compared to Sir’s mansion but he is allowed to move around all of it, not just one hallway of rooms. 

This makes him nervous but he does, anyway, padding silent and still as a mouse around the hallways and down the stairs at night, searching for signs that this will be a life he understands. 

He finds none. 

There is no basement, or if there is, they don’t show him. He doesn’t know what happened, exactly - there was a night where Sir had a party, and then he was put in a car and then another car and then there was this new place, these new people.

No, at first it’s really just his thighs, an ache buried so deep under the skin that no amount of rubbing against it seems to work it out. After that, his arms start to hurt, and then down his calves, and finally it settles in at his hips like two hands are gripped on tight. The ache is familiar, a memory of a life he doesn’t have to live any longer.

They tell him he doesn’t, anyway.

They tell him he doesn’t have to do that, here, but there are two men and three women and he thinks maybe eventually he will have to be good. He’s not trained for women but it can’t be that different, can it? He tries not to think about it very much, and hopes if he just stays quiet, and still, and holds his hands in little stone fists at his sides that no one will notice him.

If they don’t notice him, they won’t ask, and he won’t have to, even though he kind of wants to, but also he doesn’t, and he can’t remember if he ever really did or if it was always a voice inside him that someone put there on purpose to make him like this.

He wants to be held but he is scared of what it means, because it’s never just holding. It always means having to be good. Maybe not right away, but always, sooner or later. 

Does he actually want to be held? Or did they do that to him, with all the time he spent alone, praying someone would open the door to the white room? 

He wants someone to hold him while he feels like this, but… his bones hurt too much for what happens after the holding, and he feels so cold, like being back in the white rooms that have all blurred together. 

Once all the other hurts are joined by a strange, pounding headache that won’t lift, a weight like his brain is solidifying inside his skull, the boy takes a big soft blanket right off the bed of the larger man who lives here and finds a place to hide. 

They're all downstairs, the other people here. 

There’s a storage room at the end of the hallway where all the bedrooms are, and the door isn’t locked - at Sir’s all the doors are locked except the rooms he’s allowed in, so that must mean he’s allowed in here.

He’s having trouble walking, there’s a dizzy lilt to his footsteps and he seems to keep bumping into the wall even though he thought he was walking straight. He trips on the blanket as it trails the floor, over and over again. Somehow it never occurs to him to pick the blanket up.

The door looks wrong, for reasons he can't explain. The boy gets briefly lost in the swirl of the woodgrain, staring at what looks like another set of wood-eyes, frozen in surprise, staring right back. 

He has to blink again and again and again to get the wood-eyes to fade away. 

They are laughing at something downstairs and the sound makes the boy nervous - Sir laughing usually meant things Sir thought were good, and the boy had to be good but he never thought they were good. He has to hide, or they'll see his wobbly legs and play games with him.

Sir likes games, when the boy is tired or sick from the pills or sad. The boy doesn't want to play games, here. They have said they won't hurt him but games don't always hurt the outside. 

He gets the doorknob to turn after three tries, slips into the little storage room, and sees the perfect hiding spot.

There’s a huge wooden desk shoved up against one wall, stacked high with what looks like photo albums, folders stuffed until they’re bursting, loose stacks of paper, brochures and flyers, plus old books and all kinds of things. 

On top of one stack of flyers, there an ancient stuffed puppydog, with floppy arms and legs and floppy ears and a strange bronze yellow no-color fur, threadbare in patches where someone loved it, once. The boy could almost see the way a child must have petted along the back, wearing it to nothing bit by bit, day by day. 

Something about the sight of it makes the boy's throat want to tighten and close. He doesn't know what or why - he's never had a stuffed animal, all he remembers is the white walls and the cold and then the warmth of Sir burning him alive.

He takes a sudden breath, shivering as cold snaps through his body, his muscles contracting like aftershocks from training, chills that roll through him, bounce around inside his skin.

The desk is like Sir's and not like that at all. He doesn't want the desk - he wants the hollow spot in the center under it. It feels safe and familiar, sliding to his knees under a wooden desk, Position Two, effortless as breathing. Tip his head up, chin at rest on Sir's knee, waiting. Making his thoughts stutter-skip to a stop until all his mind is a vast and empty place he never looks too far into. 

He is not empty, now.

The boy does not feel empty at all. Instead he feels too much. He feels the strangely rough carpet under his knees, hard floor through the soft fabric of the pants they gave him to wear. He thinks of the stuffed puppy alone in the room - is he lonely in here? nobody to rub his fur all to gone any longer-

"'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse." The voice in his mind is soothing and soft. It is a woman's voice but he doesn't know who it belongs to. He knows there was a book, can almost feel the texture of the cover, slippery-smooth, the shine as it caught the dim, yellowed light. He can feel the warmth of a soft arm around him, a hand ruffling into his hair as chubby fingers tap on his own legs, feet swinging off the side of a tiny toddler bed. "'It's a thing that happens to you.'"

His headache gets worse all at once, a thunderclap of pain, and the boy whimpers and pushes himself until his back is against the other side of the desk, curling knees to his chest with the blanket wrapped around himself. 

The chills roll through, his fingers shaking too hard to do anything but hold onto himself and hope it will stop. Teeth chatter, clattering together like someone is playing dice inside his mouth, and his tongue feels like leaden weight in there, too large for the space. 

Under the desk it is dark, no light in the room but a clouded sense of sunlight finding its way through off-white blinds, covered in dust, cutting stripes of yellow over the opposite wall.

The boy sees tiny dust particles in the air, floating. Dancing. His eyes follow them, and he almost smiles. Sir used to leave him alone for hours and hours locked in the room or the basement with nothing, but there was no such thing as nothing when your brain could follow specks of dust…

He feels no warmer, even as he sits under the blanket. The cold is too deep in him, settling into his bones alongside the pain, which has sharpened, gone from dull sawing to a sharpened blade. He whimpers, curling up even tighter.

Even now, he has hurt worse than this, and for worse reasons. He knows how to stay still, has learned to keep his palms pressed flat against his stomach to stop himself from tapping, to let the lead weights roll around inside his head to keep himself from hitting it on anything to calm down. Silence is better than screaming.

He learned his lesson. Sir may have given him up, but the boy has not forgotten. 

Footsteps move in the hallway, and the boy does not look - does not try to peek out the door and see. Now that he has curled up so tightly, he's not sure he could uncurl. His legs feel locked tightly, every muscle tensed around his hurting bones. 

Where is he? The woman's voice, the older one. The one he thought must be the owner of this household and all its pets. He's not in his room.

He is not in the bathroom, a male voice says, the slightest, barest hint of an accent to it. 

I hope he didn't run away. A girl voice. The boy shivers. 

He's not Kauri, a second girl voice says. He won't just run without saying anything. He's scared, he probably found a crawlspace or something.

A crawlspace, the first girl repeats, a little plaintively. She repeats things a lot, the boy has noticed. 

We should keep looking. The man, the one he thinks must be the Sir. But he doesn't act like one. 

The boy tucks himself back into the corner of the spot under the desk, closing his eyes as they just don't want to be open any longer. 

He wants his Sir, suddenly, so badly it burns under all the chill, like holding a piece of ice to your skin so long that the cells forget they feel cold. Sir would hold him tightly, would wrap him up or give him lukewarm baths or just hold him, in his lap, whispering things into his ear. Reading aloud the news reports, the new poll numbers. Speaking with his friend Mr. Alexander who is like me, in a lot of ways that go beyond just our career aspirations, darlin'. 

Sir would make him feel better, even if it felt awful all the same. 

A different awful. He would trade that awful, now, if he could. At least Sir's did not live so far under his skin, was only in those first few layers he could scrub away if he stayed in the shower long enough. This kind wouldn’t come out, only burrowed deeper and deeper.

He falls asleep - or into something like sleep, anyway - there under the desk, like he has on many afternoons, lulled to boredom by long days where he isn’t allowed to move or feel or think. It’s not the same desk and there is no one to nudge him awake with a perfectly shining leather shoe. 

The boy dreams uneasy dreams of vast bedrooms swathed in navy silk and uncertain worn-out fabric creatures with threadbare patches are peeking from behind the drapes, beckoning to him to come closer and hear what they have to say. Only he can’t move, because the sheets are wrapped too tightly around his wrists. They hold him to the bed or the wall, he can’t think of where he is, lying down and standing up all at once. He has to hear what they want to tell him.

He’s too far away, and they are whispering.

Real isn’t how you are made, said the Skin Horse. It’s a thing that happens to you.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up-

“Hey.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and the boy jerks awake with a gasp, flinching back so hard his head smacks back into the back of the desk. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, you were talking and I thought maybe you were already up. Hey, are you okay?”

The boy stares, wide-eyed, at the man he thinks is the Sir of this house. He’s younger, but the others except for the older woman all do what he asks them to do. He has blond hair and blue eyes and he’s so tall the boy has to crane and crane his head to look up at him sometimes. He swallows, as he shivers all over again. “My… bones… hurt.” 

His voice is slow, evenly paced, a little hoarse. He sounds like he’s been screaming, but he hasn’t. When he swallows, his throat hurts, like swallowing glass. He winces and puts a had up to feel at the outside. His throat feels odd on either side, just under his jaw. Sort of lumpy.

“Your bones hurt? What the fuck-... hey, come out so I can see you a little better, okay? Come on, man.” The man grips onto his hands, and the man’s fingers are big and warm and the boy moves almost helplessly towards the solidity and warmth that those hands represent. 

His mind is a woozy swirl of trains, careening back and forth, his eyes drifting over dancing bits of dust and the piles of papers everywhere and old broken computer chairs, that one’s padded, should have slept there, he hears a robin call outside and fights the urge to purse his lips and whistle back. 

When he is out into the dim light in the room, the man’s eyes trail over his face. The boy feels the weight of the look, and thinks he might blush, but his face felt hot before, too, even though the rest of his body feels like it’s carved from blocks of very pretty ice.

He’s much nicer-looking than Sir is, the man. Younger, too, and something about him doesn’t seem uncomfortable and strange, but instead open and genuine. The boy can almost read him, and he never knew what Sir was thinking. But in the look on the man’s face, he thinks he can read a simple concern.

“You look like shit,” The man says - he said his name was Jake, right? - and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. “Oooh, you feel like shit, too. Clammy as hell.”

Is he clammy? The boy hasn’t noticed. He feels too cold for sweat, everywhere but his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. 

The man’s fingers prod just under his jaw, and the boy winces and whimpers when he hits the swollen little circles that seem to have stuck up from his skin there.

“Yep. Your lymph nodes are all fucked up. One more thing, okay? Just here. Right here, and nowhere else.” The man slowly lays a cool hand to his forehead. The boy’s eyes flutter closed at the simple, comforting, soothing touch.

I could be good for him. The thought is brief, there and then gone, carried further down the track with other thoughts he tries not to linger on. 

“Well, I have a diagnosis,” Jake says, sitting back on his heels. “You’re sick as fuck. Come on, we need to get you into an actual bed. And I need to tell Nat you didn’t wander off, she’s losing her shit downstairs about it. Were you scared?” His voice dips down into something soft. It’s a voice the boy wants to fall into. It’s kind of like the voice that belonged to the warm arm around him, in his dreams.

The boy shakes his head. You’re not supposed to admit you’re scared unless they want you to, and he doesn’t think this man wants him to.

He lets the man pull him to his feet. Jake notices the boy’s hands pressed still against his stomach and asks if he needs to throw up, but he shakes his head - he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to get in trouble. When he can’t keep his hands still, he is punished. 

“Then why were you in here?”

The boy doesn’t speak. He can feel his tongue in his mouth, every one of his teeth. He might speak too quickly, stumble over himself. Silence is better than stammering. He only shrugs, a movement of thin shoulders under the heavy, soft blanket he wears. 

“Okay, fair enough. Come on, let’s get you laid down and get some Tylenol in you.”

He doesn’t remember what Tylenol is, and lets himself be led, shivering and chattering teeth, laid down in the little bed in the room where the other Box Boy sleeps. There is a framed drawing of a bird above the bed he sleeps in, and he looks up at it, feeling dazed by all the colors that want to bleed right out and down the wall and maybe he could get some color in his skin if he catches the paint…

The man is gone, for a few minutes. There are talking-sounds downstairs but the boy can’t understand them. Too muffled or too loud or too something. He gets lost in the bird.

“Here we go.” Jake reappears and gives him a cup of water as he pushes himself up to his elbow and he drinks it obediently, sipping. It’s cool and clean-tasting on his tongue. Then Jake holds out a little cup with a purple liquid in it and the boy stares down, then back up at him. “It’s… not Tylenol. Nat said her contact told her you were drugged, so I figured… maybe no pills?”

The boy shakes, all at once, a full-body shudder that wracks his tensed-up muscles and makes them burn around his bones. He bends himself nearly in half, shaking his head, again and again. “No… no pill, please,” He whispers, barely able to form the words. “Please, please, please-please no, no, no no no no-”

“It’s okay,” Jake says quickly. “No pill. So this is, um, this is like a liquid fever reducer. We keep it for the rescues who can’t… can’t swallow pills. Okay? Just drink it down and you’ll feel better, I promise.”

It could be just like the pills. The boy hesitates, looking up into the man’s eyes. Something in them seems like he can be trusted to tell the truth, and after a long hesitation, the boy takes the tiny plastic cup from his hands and drinks the sticky fake-grape taste down, wrinkling his nose. It clings to his teeth and his tongue, and he washes it away with more water from the glass. 

“Perfect. I had to guess on dosage, but that should be okay… Will you stay in the room, if I go?” The question is there, underneath the words - the boy can read them just fine. Are you going to hide under the desk again?

“I don’t… want to… be alone.” He has to carefully space words. He has to be good, that way. He didn’t understand yet what everyone here wanted. 

“Is that how you really feel, or what you’re saying because you think it’s what I want?” The man asks, his voice still soft, and gentle. “You won’t be in trouble no matter what you say.”

The boy doesn’t know how to answer this - no one ever asks him his wants. What he wants isn’t important, it’s not relevant. He grips the blanket in his fingers and twists the fabric, quilted and so soft it feels like it will float away from him. He stares down into his lap and says nothing, only shaking his head, not quite a yes and not quite a no.

“I’m… very cold,” He offers, finally, in a small voice, when the man doesn’t say anything right away. “And my… bones hurt.”

“Right, you said, your bones-... must be something to do with the fever, maybe? Something… look, lay down and I’ll get you all covered up, there are some more blankets in that storage room you were hiding in. I’m surprised you didn’t just make a nest.”

The boy hadn’t noticed the other blankets then. If he had… he might have. He lets himself be laid on his back, looking up, watching the dust spin and move and dance, as the man leaves the room once more. He hears footsteps in the hall, lighter ones, and looks to catch a glimpse of a swinging ponytail and a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. The girl doesn’t look at him. She goes into her own room and shuts the door.

Jake comes back with a heap of folded blankets. “You’ll shove these off once your fever breaks, but they might make you feel a little better while we wait. Oh, and I saw this in there!”

He holds up the stuffed puppy, with beady black eyes barely hanging on from old thread, the little bare patches on the rump part, where somebody petted off all its fur.

His throat closes again. He doesn’t know why looking at the dog makes him feel that way.

“Thank… you,” He says, and holds out his hands like a child, and the man drops the puppy into his arms. The boy makes a sound and rolls onto his side, letting the man cover him in blankets, tuck them in around him, with the puppy’s head tucked securely under his chin.

He feels… better.

“There you go,” Jake says, running a hand across his forehead, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “There you go. That’s better. I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Pretty sure you haven’t slept since you got here, huh? You should think about what name you want, while you sleep.”

“Sir chooses my, my, my name,” The boy says, already starting to drift, forgetting to space out his words, his thoughts. They start to run again on their natural tracks, splitting into a thousand different focuses at once. He thinks about the birds outside and the ones in his wall and the feel of the stuffed animal in his arms, surprisingly solid for its age, heavier than he thought it’d be. He thinks about his dream and how to keep waking up.

“Not here, he doesn’t,” The man says, voice firm, almost commanding. “Your name’s all you, man. Just tell us when you decide, okay?”

“Okay,” The boy whispers, and thinks about a warm arm around him, a woman’s low voice reading him a story with a deliberate, spaced-out rhythm. 

In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon

Maybe they read him a story in training. He can’t remember. But he thinks he was too small for that. Someone else, maybe, once.

He winces as his head starts to ache and chases the thought away, sends it rolling down its track to where all the other thoughts stay that make him hurt. 

“I’ll come back to check on you in a few. Just… stay in the bed and get some rest.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his eyes have gone too heavy to open, his grip iron-tight on the stuffed puppy in his arms. He’s too old for stuffed animals - I’m eighteen, all pets are of legal consenting age - but he feels good holding it, anyway.

“Once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Do you know what that means, T-

“Chris,” He says, without opening his eyes. He hears Jake stop in the doorway, turn to look at him. “I like Chris.”

“Chris it is, then,” Jake replies, sounding pleased. “That’s a good one. I’ll tell Nat. Get some sleep and feel better, Chris. That’s a solid name. I like that name on you.”

Chris waits until he hears the door close, and the sound of the man’s footsteps on the stairs, before he smiles.

I like that name on you.

He likes it, too.

Chris feels like a person. Chris feels real.

The boy falls asleep in the bed in a new place and with new people and for the first time since he got here, he falls asleep without feeling scared of what he’ll see behind his closed eyes. Baldur is scared, and the number boy was scared, but Chris, he decides, is going to live in a totally different way. 

Chris is going to be real, and not be scared of anything. 

Just as soon as he isn’t sick.

[adorethedistance]

Chapter 7: Boyfriend? - JJ Maybank x Reader

Photo cred: I made the aesthetic but if you own any of these images I will take them down per your request.

Warnings: swearing (a recurring theme), mentions bombs, use of the word psycho, if I missed anything potentially triggering PLEASE let me know.

Words: 2007

Previously in part 6: You and JJ tried to settle in for a goodnight’s rest, but you’re both too restless for sleep. Instead, you both decide stargazing is a nice way to spend the evening. Just a peaceful night of arguing about how and when you first met. The usual. JJ is such an amazing friend, that’s what that feeling is, right? The warm butterflies in your stomach. Your admiration for your best friend is cut short when the ��green goblin” tries to fucking blow you up.

A/n:  I’M SORRY THE HAND HEART ISNT INCLUSIVE BC OF THE GIRL’S SKIN TONE BUT THE BOY HAS JJ VIBES AND THAT’S WHY I PUT IT I’M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO HAS A DIFFERENT SKIN TONE AND DOESN’T FEEL REPRESENTED.

Hoisting myself over the ledge of the rooftop, JJ is quick to recover from nailing the bomb back in the psychos direction and is right behind me. The cold of the metal railing is no longer a shock. Instead, it burns underneath my palms, scorching my nerves as a result of my panic.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”

“Hurry!” JJ ushers me back through my half open window before frantically diving in after me. Who would’ve thought we were peacefully enjoying each other’s company not just 10 minutes ago, and now we’re being hunted by some loon in a goblin furry suit? And are goblins even furries?

The SLAM of the window draws me from my panicked stupor and I can see the fear radiating off of JJ. I struggle to my feet to face his anxious figure, yanking the curtains shut behind us. He has to do this every week? I mean he’s just a kid.

“Who the fuck was that?!”

“His name is Green Goblin. He’s the guy that made me look like this,” JJ gestures to his busted appearance.

“Did he follow you here? How does he know your name?” “I don’t know I-”

JJ’s pacing comes to a screeching halt. His hands are tangled into his knotted hair, his breathing is sharp and unstable; his eyes are wide under his furrowed brows as they flick from my freshly vacuumed carpet to my own widened eyes. JJ then dashes out of my bedroom, which leads me to follow closely behind in confusion.

From around the corner, I hear JJ’s labored breathing from inside the bathroom. Once I’m standing in the doorway, I can clearly see JJ is practically turning the room upside down. He has clumsily knocked the leftover first aid supplies off the counter, and into the sink. The trashcan is on its side and it looks as if a raccoon had gotten into my bathroom. Toilet paper and flossers are flying as JJ frantically digs through the trash.

“What the hell are you doing?”

JJ doesn’t answer. Instead, he pointedly extends his arm toward my face. I had to take a step backwards to get my eyes to register what he’s trying to show me. Pinched between his thumb and index fingers is the tiny piece of shrapnel I removed from his body not that long ago.

JJ wordlessly places the chunk of metal on the lip of the sink, and balls his hand into a fist. Then, he lifts the fisted hand above his head and swings it down to smash the chip into a million tiny pieces. Apparently, JJ still isn’t used to his super strength because alongside smashing the shrapnel into dust, what was the ledge of my sink, is also on the floor in a bunch of broken pieces. Backtracking his movement leads my eyes from the rubble, to JJ’s fist-sized disparity in my sink, to his equally as shocked expression.

“What the fuck, JJ?”

“That was a GPS! He must’ve used it to track me. We have to go.”

“What the fuck do I tell my mom about the counter, JJ?”

“We aren’t safe here, Y/n!”

“Where the hell are we going to go at 1 AM on a Thursday night?”

“We’ll figure it out. For now we just gotta get out of the building!”

And before I can protest, JJ grabs my hand in his larger, calloused one and pulls me out of the bathroom.

__________________________

“Stop... I think- we lost him,” JJ gasps for air throughout his sentence as we’ve been sprinting for at least 8 blocks, “Here.” He extends his hand to mine once again and leads us into a dark alleyway so that we don’t compromise our position to goblin.

“We should go to my house.”

“JJ, no, your dad will kill you if you set foot in there while he’s intoxicated.”

“I have to. My only other suit is in my room,” JJ says whilst doubled over, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Are you stupid?!”

“What?”

“You cannot fight Goblin again. Not tonight.” “Why not?”

“Look at you, JJ! You have a hole in your stomach!”

“It’ll heal, Y/n.”

“And what if it doesn't?”

My infuriation doesn’t fall on deaf ears. JJ might have limited emotional intelligence and availability, but he can sense just how upset I am. Why would he even consider suiting up tonight?

“Okay…” JJ puffs out one final sigh and then returns to a neutral standing position, “What do we do?”

An uneasy lull of silence settles over the two of us in this dank alleyway. I shake my head,  unsure.

Looking across the street I recognize the accounting firm that sits on the corner. Which means… I jog out of the alley and into the streetlights, turning right to round the corner of the block.

The laundromat.

The laundromat reminds me of the night I first ran into Spiderman, well, JJ as Spiderman, and that reminds me that I was carrying a to-go box, and that reminds me of Ozzy’s, and Ozzy’s reminds me of…

“The Pogues.”

“Huh?”

“We need the Pogues. Goblin can never find you if you’re hiding in plain sight.”

“Okay?” JJ looks at me, puzzled, “So, where is plain sight?”

__________________________

“Y/n, you better have a damn good reason for bringing us out here at one in the morning,” Kiara scolds me with a yawn. Her bed-hair clearly indicates that my text woke her from a deep sleep. Kie was the last of the group to show up which isn’t usually the case but it is after midnight.

The gang slowly piled in, each of us greeted by the ever-chipper graveyard favorite, Jennifer. She brings us coffee which we could all probably use to stay awake for the insane conversation to come.

“We can’t tell them. It’s too dangerous,” JJ whispers to only me. All six of us are crammed into our usual booth, but I can tell everyone is too tired to care to hear our sidebar. The unfortunate fact is, they’re all awake enough to be concerned as to why JJ and I needed them to gather ‘ASAP’.

JJ leans down to whisper something else that, due to Pope’s exhausted glaring at us, I don’t register immediately.

“What is going on with you two?” He finally speaks up from across the table.

“Why are you sweating? Did you guys really hook up in the bathroom before we got here?” John B teases from behind his already empty coffee mug. JJ is usually a master-bullshitter but right now he’s sputtering like an untouched car from 1980.

I can’t compromise his identity, but it doesn’t seem like he’s able to offer an explanation right now, judging by the lack of color in his face. Against my better judgement, I open my big fat mouth (prematurely because I haven’t thought of a thorough explanation).

“JJ and I are dating!” Oh boy. As the restaurant falls silent, I realize I yelled my declaration of our romance, and now I want nothing more than to dig myself a hole to die in. Pope is the first to speak up,

“I’m guessing you found what you were looking for in Brooklyn tod-“ JJ cuts him off with a harsh wide-eyed stare. Weird, but I’m just gonna ignore it.

“I think it’s great you two are together,” Sarah attempts to ease my embarrassment. I just know I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight, I’ll be too busy cringing at what is now my most embarrassing moment.

All JJ and I can do is nod awkwardly at the others, and I’m doing everything I can to avoid eye contact with him.

“Is that why you guys brought us here tonight? Your emergency meeting was to tell us you’ve been macking on each other?” John B seems less than thrilled at the ‘news’, but amused nonetheless.

“Mhm.”

“We wanted to… come clean with you guys… because friends don’t keep secrets and we didn’t want… our relationship, to potentially ruin the group dynamic… of the pogues…” I trail off, making the situation 1000 times more awkward. My inability to shut up ruined the light Sarah made of the conversation, and the group has simmered into a weird, exhausted silence.

Suddenly the bell on the front door signals a god-given diversion, and the pogues all turn to see who’s entered the restaurant. As if anyone could relieve the tension of the group.

We’re on a roll with bad luck tonight.

Because in through the door comes Mr. Osborn, bitter as ever; he immediately notices us and delivers an intense stare that we all subconsciously take as a cue to leave. All of our farewells begin to overlap with one another's.

“It’s been swell.”

“See you guys in the morning.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

__________________________

JJ and I are the last to leave the diner, but the first to resume the awkward silence. I pretend to be distracted by the moon’s reflection in the windows of the adjacent buildings on our walk back to my house. JJ insisted on walking in front to make sure everything was ‘safe’ but he’s somehow ended up walking behind me.

“So,” he breaks the silence with a mischievous tone, “I’m your boyfriend, huh?”

“Stop! I know. I literally couldn’t stop myself, it was just word vomit.” He laughs at my misfortune. JJ’s laughter settles into a fond smile once he sees that I’m beyond mortified,

“Not your finest moment, I’ll admit.” another moment of silence settles between us, but it’s short lived as we’ve reached the bottom of my building’s fire escape. JJ lowers the ladder for me, “After you, madame.”

I hesitate to climb, wondering why we can’t just go inside. But then I remember my house key remains untouched on the granite kitchen counter. Good call, JJ.

Despite how uncomfortable the night has been, I dread each step up the escape. I don’t want JJ to leave. I feel safe knowing there’s a superhero to look after me - who cares to look after me. Maybe he won’t leave.

All I have to do is ask, right?

I’m building my courage to ask once we reach my bedroom window. I know the fact about when you’re faced with a split decision, if you don’t do it in 10 seconds, you’re not going to do it… but I like to defeat the odds sometimes. 1...

“Thanks for not getting us killed, I guess?”

“I’ll let you off on an IOU,” JJ teases. The air falls quiet once again, but this time it’s serene. 2... It’s lovely to just be in his presence, just the two of us. 3...

His ocean blue eyes focus on mine, 4... they ignite a warmth in me that the air of Queens can’t provide. 5... Without the explanation of words, I can tell JJ feels the exact same way. 6. The feeling falters only slightly because his eyes flick down to my flushed lips, 7, then back up to my eyes.

“Thank you… for everything,” JJ says before enveloping my cold body in a hug. 8. I feel him place a kiss on the top of my freshly shampooed hair. 9.

“Of course. That’s what best friends are for…”

“Yeah… best friends.” 10...

“You know, you don’t have to go home. You can stay here tonight.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Hey. I love you, but you smell so bad right now,” I say as he still hasn’t released me from his hug. Above my head, I hear JJ giggle evilly. Before I can speak, he squeezes his arms around me tighter, smothering me in his gross boy germs.

“Ew! JJ!”

His evil laugh becomes a genuine one and he releases me from his suffocating grip. His eyes lazily encapsulate mine, and his smile makes my heart beat a tiny bit faster. Scents aside, he looks beautiful in the moonlight, with the shitty background of Queens skyscrapers to frame him.

“Maybe we should stay off the roof for a little while.”

“Yeah, good call.”

__________________________

Link to next part here.

A/N: check me out on AO3 if you want, the difference there is that the chapters are better proofread and they have titles. lol.

Taglist strikethrough means I can’t tag you for some reason: @jellyfishbeansontoast @swervavery @wh0reforharry @merismind @danicarosaline @o-b-x @beautyandthebleh @harrysbaby @sexualparkour @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @sovuckie @obxmxybxnk @lovelymaybankk @rockyyc77 @obxlife @cece-lives-here @obx-beach​ @ilymarkchan @yeehaw87 @lopineapples  @sspidermanss @poguestyleskye @jj-maybank-stan @socialwriter @pao-styles-blog @amberritonicole @orangutangua @baby-pogue @drewswannabegirl

[professional-benaddict]

Starker ficlet - BSDM auction AU

For the moodboard and drabble here

Dom Tony, sub 18+ Peter, Dom Stephen, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, humiliation, crying bc it’s not a fic of mine unless Peter’s crying, 1.5k

----------

“Oh, back so soon, Stark. What happened to Keener?” Stephen purrs smoothly when he sees Tony walking into the backstage. Let’s just say that not everyone makes it past the bouncers to get backstage, unless Stephen has put you on the sacred list. 

“Dumped him. He could hardly take a beating.” Tony responds simply. “I heard you got a dozen new subs to show off tonight.” The Dom says, cutting right to the point of why he is at Stephen’s secret underground club. Stephen is hosting another auction and Tony is aching to get his hands on a new sub since Harley hardly lasted a month. 

“Two dozen actually, and a good amount of twinks this time too.” The other Dom says, knowing that his friend has a peculiar taste, and is not interested in female subs. 

“This better be good Strange.” Tony grumbles as he moves to walk past Stephen and to the audience to sit down. “And get me a scotch, will you?” 

Stephen scoffs in return, taking the clipboard that his assistant is showing him. 

“I’m not your sub, Stark, but I will provide you with one.” The other Dom chuckles before heading off when it is announced from somewhere above that the auction is starting in ten minutes. 

After getting his scotch, Tony goes and finds himself a free booth and enjoys his drink as he waits for the auction to start. But, even when the auction starts, Tony pays more attention to his phone and his drink since Stephen always does the girls first. Half an hour later, Stephen finally brings the first boy on stage and Tony starts paying attention, but after the fourth boy, Tony starts to lose hope of finding himself a new toy tonight. 

When Stephen announces that this is the second to last boy, Tony finishes his drink in one big gulp before getting up, ready to leave the auction empty-handed, but then his eye catches something glorious on stage. It is the boy, number 42, standing there in all his naked glory with nothing but a simple, black leather collar around his neck and his delicate hand in Stephen’s much larger and stronger one. Before even considering for a brief second, Tony shouts out his offer, which is so high already that only one other person in the dark room challenges it, but it is all pocket money for Tony and he raises once more. And so, the sub is Tony’s and Stephen says he can collect his belonging backstage once they have gone through all the subs. Half an hour later, Peter’s delicate hand is in Tony’s.

“All yours, Stark. Enjoy.” Stephen grins widely and waltzes away now that all the money has been transferred by his customers to his account. The sub looks as Stephen walks away longingly before turning to Tony, but he does not raise his head to meet the older man’s eyes. 

“What’s your name, boy?” Tony asks, almost already bored, but he has to give the sub a chance since he paid so much to get him. The boy flinches visibly before speaking, but that might just be from the cold since he is just dressed in a black silk robe that was provided by Stephen’s staff. 

“Peter, Sir. Peter Parker.” Peter squeaks out. 

“I’m Tony Stark, but you will refer to me as Mr Stark at all times. Understood?”

“Understood, Mr Stark.”

“Good, now let’s see if you’re trained at all. Undress and present.”

“R-right here?” Peter asks unsurely. 

“Yes, right here! Who’s in charge, huh?” Tony snaps with a raised voice and Peter snaps into action. “Christ, who trained you?” 

“Mr Beck, Mr Stark.” Peter replies quickly after folding his silk robe as neatly as he can before placing it next to his feet. The sub then spreads his legs to be at shoulder-length, straightens his back, lifts his head and raises his arms to intertwine his fingers behind his head. 

After being a Dom for most of his life, Tony can recognise a good presentation posture from a mile away, and this boy is a horrendous sub, but also a stunning sub. The boy jumps visibly when the older man begins touching him and corrects his posture. His collar feels tight around his neck when he feels his new Dom’s keen eyes on him, examining every bit of his naked body. A group of people walk past right when Tony is groping at Peter’s exposed cock and balls, but the boy can hardly say anything to protest the suffocating embarrassment but to keep his gaze down and mouth shut. 

“I’ve heard that Beck’s subs are the worst ‘round here.” Tony muses and straightens up after inspecting his new belonging. Peter gulps a little, but does not reply as he was not directly addressed in the form of a question. “But, you’re such a pretty thing, that I guess I’ll give you a chance.” 

Peter sighs in relief and for a brief second, he lets his posture down, but he straightens up as soon as he realises his mistake, glancing up nervously at his new Dom before dropping his gaze. Tony smirks, thinking that perhaps the sub is not so hopeless after all. The Dom snaps his fingers. 

“Get dressed. We are going home.” 

A week later, Peter is less of a horrendous sub, but still far from the standard that Tony is used to. Half of the time, the Dom wonders how on Earth Peter even made it to Stephen Strange and put up for auction when he is clearly barely trained. He also thinks about how bad of a deal it was to pay so much money for a badly trained sub, but the other half of the time, Tony marvels at the sheer beauty of the boy that is now occupying his guest room, right next to his own master bedroom. 

Despite his bad posture, lack of manners and half-assed training, the boy reminds Tony of a fairy. He is light as a feather on his feet and mostly walks on his toes, but when he does walk with his heels on the floor too, it is soft and delicate. The Dom wonders if the sub is afraid of angering him, and that is why he is tip-toeing around, so he assures him that he can roam around freely, except for the playroom, his bedroom and the office. Peter must get permission to enter those rooms. 

To balance out his light and delicate form, Peter’s eyes are dark and carry a lot of history for such a young man. Tony hopes that he can get the privileges of knowing the sub’s backstory one day, as there is a hint of sadness is those dark brown eyes that catches his curiosity. But, for now the Dom has to focus on training his sub. 

“No, hands flat on your thighs.” Tony corrects for the third time after commanding a naked Peter to kneel by his feet. The Dom kicks the boy’s hand lightly with his Oxford shoes, which matches his three-piece suit. 

“Sorry, Mr Stark.” Peter says a little thickly as being corrected for all his failures since waking up is taking its toll on his self-esteem. He swallows down a sob, but he is a fraction too late and catches Tony’s attention. 

“What’s the matter?” Tony asks and remains standing in front of Peter. 

“I-“

“Speak up!”

“I’m humiliated!” Peter yelps out and sobs again, but does not lift his hands from his thighs to wipe at his eyes. 

“Well, you have to put those feelings aside, because this is not humiliating in the slightest. If only you knew, boy.” Tony scoffs and goes to get himself a drink from the stand in the corner of the living room, leaving Peter on the carpet. He could have made the sub kneel on the wooden floor, but he decided to be kind and chose the carpet instead. “Posture!” 

Peter flinches and puts his hand back on his thigh, biting back another sob. 

“One more mistake and I’m spanking you, do you understand? But, I highly doubt you want that since you cannot even take verbal correction. So, I highly suggest you start behaving like a proper sub and not like a crybaby, or I’m spanking you till you cannot walk and then returning you to that shit Beck who apparently ‘trained’ you.” 

Peter’s expression hardens, but he does not say anything. After swallowing his sobs down and sniffling the last tears away, Peter corrects his posture without Tony prompting him to do so. The Dom hums quietly and goes to sit on the leather sofa, watching the sub closely while sipping on his drink. 20 minutes pass, then 40 and then an hour has passed, and Peter has kept his posture perfect without making so much as a peep. With a pleased smile, Tony rises from his seat and offers his hand to the boy who looks up at him with a bewildered expression. 

“Come on, training is over for today. Let’s get you a hot meal and then to bed.” Tony says, his voice much softer than before and Peter almost wants to cry again, but he doesn’t. 

“Thank you, Mr Stark.” Peter replies politely and holds onto his Dom’s hand tightly as he leads the way to the kitchen. Smiling softly, Tony nods back. Perhaps the boy is not so horrendous after all. 

[spin-birdie]

there was a conversation in the rk1k discord about a spiderman au a while back and i decided to try write something about it bc its consuming like 30% of my brain

idk if i’ll write more (im way better at writing ideas down as bullet points instead of prose) but man it just seems like a neat idea idk

word count: 1.6k

pairing: general

additional tags: human au, physical violence, gavin is an unsympathetic rat boy

Look, Connor considers himself a calm person. He’s level-headed at the best of times. But he’s pretty sure even the calmest person would panic at least a little if they got stuck to their bedroom wall.

One hand is completely splayed out on the ceiling, the other one still stuck to his sneaker. His feet aren’t quite flat on the ceiling, but he certainly wouldn’t have a comfortable fall if he stopped sticking to everything. Why he’s sticking to everything, he still doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know why anything that’s happened to him today has happened; he grew a good three inches taller overnight, he accidentally stuck to his biology textbook - and subsequently tore it to shreds - this morning, and it’s like he’s jumping at the slightest provocation. There’s been a foul taste in his mouth all day, and he swears he somehow burned a piece of paper he chewed on, but he hasn’t got a fever. It doesn’t make any sense.

Even so, the thought sends Connor’s anxiety through the roof…more to the point, his anxiety is making him stick to the fucking roof.

For no good reason, he keeps thinking about yesterday. The field trip to the CyberLife Lab, the spider that crawled onto his hand and left him a painful, bruising bite. The tour guide said something about the experiments they were running on arachnids and other small animals, genetically enhancing them with nanobots in an attempt to slow or prevent extinction, or…something. But that doesn’t make sense. There’s no way to confirm the effects are transmittable to humans.

It’s probably not helping him at all to scream his head off, but he’s not sure what else he can do. He’s pulling his hand away from the ceiling as hard as he can, even trying to pry it off with the sneaker in his other hand, but it’s not working. He’s just putting more cracks in the paint.

He can’t see the door opening from his angle, but he hears it, followed by his dad’s voice: “Connor, are you o-- What the fuck?!”

At the same time as his dad swears, Connor finally frees his hand with a startled yelp. Drywall flakes off with it, but it doesn’t quite fall into his face before his entire upper body falls down with nothing to hold it up. The upside-down view of his room, of his dad’s confused and horrified expression, makes Connor nauseous.

And just a second too late, it strikes him that he’s hanging from the ceiling of an old house by nothing but the balls of his feet. With a dull crunch, the drywall above him gives out and he plummets to the floor. Connor’s fall is half-broken by his bed, but his knees land straight on the floor. Carpet be damned, it’s a rough landing.

And now there’s a perfect handprint of missing drywall on Connor’s ceiling.

---

Okay. So maybe Connor has unhuman abilities thanks to a genetically altered spider. That’s fine, probably. Kind of. Once he figures out how to ignore them, everything can go back to normal.

And for a few weeks, it’s almost like Connor gets away with telling himself that blatant lie. Ignoring them during school is hard and stressful, but at home, he’s free to throw theories (and himself) at the wall to see what sticks; and once he’s done that, he knows how to avoid triggering them. It gets a little bit easier to stop sticking to everything, to stop burning whatever enters his mouth or visibly jumping whenever something sets off his fight-or-flight reflex.

Maybe it’s a smarter idea to tell someone. Or maybe telling someone would be the fastest way to be locked up in a government facility and experimented on until someone wrote a book about him. Or maybe he’s being paranoid, but still, Connor has a bad feeling that he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s happening to him. And apart from his poor father, no one seems to know.

“Hey, jackass! I’m talking to you!”

That might change if this guy doesn’t leave him alone, though. Connor’s sharpened foresight allows him to step out of Gavin’s reach before he can grab Connor by the back of his sweatshirt. Instead of turning back to face Gavin, he pulls up his hood and keeps walking as fast as he can without looking conspicuous.

Gavin reaches out again, successfully pulling Connor back by his backpack. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

As Connor is forcefully spun around, he barely stops himself from glaring. “I’m pretty sure I’m not. And I’m pretty sure this isn’t even the way to your house, so you ought to turn back and go home.”

Predictably, Gavin ignores him. “Don’t play coy. You promised to help me out with exams, remember? I just need your English notes; I’ll bring them back safe and sound tomorrow, alright?”

“When I promised to help you, I thought that meant tutoring you. I’m not letting you copy my notes. Especially if you’re copying them word-for-word.”

“That was one time--”

“If you don’t want to listen in class, that’s your own problem.” Connor can’t quite stop spite creeping into his voice when he continues: “I’m not letting you get us both in trouble just because you don’t want to stop being an asshole.”

“Watch the tone, robot,” Gavin sneers.

“If you literally ever watched your own, I’d consider it. Instead, you have to waste all your energy on being the biggest dickhead on the planet and pretending you’re not just like every other mediocre straight guy ever.”

He shrugs Gavin off and steps back. “Ask someone else for help. I’m done talking to you.”

That proves to have gone too far as soon as Gavin shoves Connor back into the wall of a nearby building. His backpack stops his body from colliding at full force, but his head still gets knocked pretty hard. Right before Connor recovers, Gavin moves forward and punches him straight in the diaphragm. He doubles over for a moment before Gavin grabs him by the jaw and shoves his head back against the wall.

“Alright, smartass! I’ll give you one more opportunity to do this the easy way.”

It dawns on Connor just then; they’re alone. Connor is the only kid who goes home this way, and he doesn’t live in the nicest part of town. At school, there are always witnesses, no way for people to get away with beating each other up for very long. Out here, people probably won’t step in unless Connor runs for help, and he’s not sure if he can get away fast enough. At least, not without setting off his powers.

Connor bares his teeth. “Smartass this, retard that, do you even know my real name? Is your brain that small?”

Gavin hits him in the stomach again. And again. Connor thinks he hits a kidney on the third strike. And then he makes a snap decision, jerking his head to the side and biting down, hard, on Gavin’s finger.

“Ow, what the fuck?! Ow!”

Gavin recoils, clutching his hand like it’s on fire. Connor didn’t expect such a strong response, but he’s just glad he hasn’t got his back against a wall, and he wants to keep it that way. Without thinking, Connor grabs Gavin by the ears and headbutts him with all the force he can muster.

He promptly realizes a human skull is harder than he thought, so he hurts himself just as much as he hurts Gavin. And he’s within range for Gavin to reel back and knee him directly in the groin. As he curls in on himself, Gavin throws him to the ground and kicks him again in the stomach. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He doesn’t stop, he even kicks and stomps on Connor’s ribs and face a few times for good measure. There’s blood in his mouth, and he’s not 100% sure it’s Gavin’s. He pulls his hood all the way over his face in an attempt to protect himself.

And a few moments later, it abruptly stops. Gavin breathes like he’s tired, but he’s not kicking Connor anymore.

“What are you doing?!” an unknown voice shouts. “Leave them alone!”

Gavin swears through gritted teeth, and Connor hears footsteps sprinting away. He doesn’t get up. The newcomer murmurs under his breath - their? It’s a masculine voice, at least - before more steps are heard. A hand rests on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

It takes Connor a few moments to find his voice. In the meantime, he drags himself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. He’s definitely going to have some spectacular bruises, and that’s a best-case scenario. “I think so,” he grits out.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Connor lifts his hood enough to look at the stranger. A tall guy with tawny skin, who looks to be a little older than Connor. His head is shaved, but there’s a ghost of stubble on his jaw. His eyes are heterochromatic, focused intently on Connor even as he not-too-subtly gawks at the stranger’s arms. He’s obviously athletic, and the tank top he’s wearing doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

Oh, right. Still bi.

And still in immense physical pain. Connor leans over and cradles some of the worse pain spots. “I’m Connor.”

“Markus,” the stranger replies.

Something feels amiss all of a sudden. It’s close to that distinct feeling Connor gets when he’s in danger, but there’s something off about it. It’s pulling him towards something instead of away; towards Markus, specifically. Some unheard epiphany is pulling at the corners of Connor’s mind, stronger and stronger until it snaps. Almost simultaneously, they speak:

“You’re like me…”

[cherylblsom]

The Definition of Perfect - Ch.1

(A/N): I got a couple different requests for a pregnancy fic so here you go, it’s split into chapters bc I got a bit carried away oops

Pairing: Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz 

Word Count: 2,423

Warnings: honestly nothing?? a couple swears here & there

Summary: (request for pregnancy/parenting fic), Cheryl & Toni’s journey in creating a family for themselves 

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Cheryl shifts in her sleep and lets out a soft groan as she attempts to get comfortable, her eyes flicker open in the dark and over to the alarm clock, the bright green numbers which read 3:48 A.M cast an eerie glow throughout the room. She looks over to Toni who’s sleeping beside her tangled in the blankets with her face pressed against Cheryl’s arm. A strand of her pink hair is laying across her face and moving ever so slightly with every soft breath that blows out of Toni’s nose. Cheryl reaches out carefully and tucks the strand behind her ear, Toni mumbles something before shifting and reaching her arm over Cheryl’s body to run it over her rounded stomach. 

“Babe?” Toni groans, she blinks her eyes open to look up at Cheryl in the darkness. “You okay?”

“Mhmm” Cheryl mumbles “just can’t get comfortable”. She places her hands on either side of her body and shifts over to close the space between them, Toni reaches out in attempt to wrap her arms tightly around Cheryl’s body despite her protruding stomach. Cheryl’s head comes to rest on Toni’s shoulder and she turns her head to nuzzle into the curve of her neck. 

“How’re my babies?” Toni hums happily while she begins to run her hand over Cheryl’s stomach in gentle strokes. One of the babies kicks at Cheryl’s stomach as if responding to Toni’s questions all on their own, this earns a soft laugh from Toni and grumble from Cheryl. 

“Not allowing me to sleep, that’s how they are. When are these babies gonna come out?” Cheryl groans before trying to nuzzle deeper against Toni. A light laughter falls from Toni’s mouth again and she props herself up on on elbow to look down at Cheryl. 

“You look gorgeous” she says. Her eyes travel up and down Cheryl’s body taking in every curve and beautiful inch of her. 

“No I don’t.” She huffs in response. “I’m fat. I feel huge.”

“Cher baby, you’re pregnant with twins not fat.” 

“Fat” she repeats.

“Beautiful” Toni says, her eyes rolling in response to her wife. She presses a soft kiss to Cheryl’s forehead and settles back down against the pillows. Toni slides her hand under Cheryl’s faded pink shirt and rubs her stomach in gentle circles so she can soothe her and the babies into slumber.

-

**flashback**

Toni moans loudly as Cheryl’s lips connect to her’s in a heated kiss. The pair are laying on their bed, Toni straddling the taller girl with one hand curled into her red locks. She pulls away reluctancy and looks down at Cheryl. Her lips are swollen and her pale cheeks have a light blush to them, her fiery hair is splayed across the pillows with a couple strands framing her face. Toni feels her heart swell as she takes in the girl below her, she looks gorgeous. 

“Let’s make a baby” Toni says softly.

Cheryl laughs lightly in response. “Babe, I don’t think our uh - anatomy allows that.” She looks up at Toni and realizes her face is set in a sort of frown. “Oh you’re… serious?”

“I mean, yeah?” Toni says, she moves from her position on top of Cheryl to sit against the headboard, Cheryl moves to rest her head in Toni’s lap. “Obviously it’s not simple but there are options, I just want to start a family with you, of course if you-“

“I do.” Cheryl interrupts, she shifts her position to look up into Toni’s deep brown eyes. “Want a family, with you. What were you thinking? We could adopt.”

“Actually I was uhh, wondering about maybe IVF? That way the baby can have some of your genes.”

“Oh, I guess that didn’t come to mind right away.” Cheryl pauses for a moment before her face scrunches in confusion. “Wait, why my genes?”. Cheryl hears Toni sigh then she breaks eyes contact and leans back against the headboard. “Babe?” She prompts before sitting up and curling in beside her girlfriend. 

“I can’t… get pregnant.” Toni says quietly. “Well I mean, I can. But there’s always been a lot of complications in my family with pregnancy. My mom had a lot of trouble with me, she was really ill. So maybe it would just be better if you were the one to get pregnant.”

Cheryl nods in response, her eyes are full of concern and she rubs Toni’s arm gently. “If I’m being honest, I’ve always thought about being pregnant one day. So I would absolutely love to have our child. But we could still use your eggs.”

“Mmmm, but I want to use yours.” 

“T-T, what if we used both? Just see which one gets fertilized, leave it up to fate.” Cheryl looks up and catches Toni’s eyes light up in response and she nods while a smile crosses her face.

“You and your idea of fate” Toni laughs, her eyes rolling in response. “But yes, let’s do it.” 

“Let’s make a baby” Cheryl says faintly before leaning up to press a kiss to Toni’s lips.

-

Cheryl jolts awake suddenly, it seems like she’s only been asleep for moments but when she steals a look at the clock it indicates an hour or so has passed since the babies last woke her up.

“Cheryl? What’s wrong?’ Toni voice says from beside her. 

“I- I don’t know I just feel different”

“Different how? Does something hurt? Are you okay?” Toni’s voice comes our frantically as she scrambles into a sitting position, Cheryl’s eyes are focused on the celling and she takes a deep breath before reaching out for Toni to help her into a sitting position. The second she moves a rush of fluid is flowing down her legs and soaking into the bed sheets. Cheryl’s panicked eyes make contact with Toni’s and she can feel her heart hammering in her chest. 

“Babe.. the due date isn’t for a few more weeks” Cheryl says, she lays her hand on her stomach feeling a small wave of pain wash over her. Toni’s fingers wrap around Cheryl’s and she gives them a reassuring squeeze to calm her.

“Its okay, breathe baby, we just need to get to the hospital it’s all okay.” Toni moves from the bed and reaches for her phone, she dials in the number quickly and hopes to god the other girl has her phone sound turned on.

“H-hello?” Veronica’s sleepy voice comes from the other end. “Toni? What’s up?” 

“We need a ride to the hospital” she responds, she’s digging in the closest now searching for the bag the couple had packed for the hospital. 

“Bottom right” Cheryl’s voice calls from the bed, she grunts softly as she moves herself off the bed slowly and waddles over to the bathroom in search of a glass of water. 

“Is everything- OH! Oh god okay it’s happening, I’m coming right now” Veronica puts the pieces together in her mind without even having to be prompted and Toni rolls her eyes in response, she barley has time to thank her before the line clicks off. Toni locates the bag and throws it onto the foot of the bed before making her way to the bathroom. Cheryl is leaning heavily on the counter, her head bowed and her breathing coming out in short gasps. Toni can see her arms shaking the tiniest bit and she approaches her slowly before resting her hand on her lower back.

“Cher? Talk to me baby” 

Cheryl lifts her head to make eye contact with her wife, Toni notices the tears building up in the corners of her eyes and the fact that her bottom lip is trembling. “Toni… I’m scared”

“Come here” Toni says gently, she helps Cheryl shift so her head is resting against Toni. One of Toni’s hands slides under Cheryl’s shirt to rub soothing circles into her back and she uses to other one to tangle it in her deep red locks and stroke her temple with the edge of her thumb. 

“What if something goes wrong or - “

“Shhh, baby breathe. Take a deep breath with me” she guides Cheryl in a couple deep breaths until she’s not trembling quite so harshly.

“I just don’t know what to expect” Cheryl says in a small voice. 

“I know princess. But you got me and Ronnie and the doctors who will all keep you and the babies safe okay? And so many other people who will be cheering you on.” She soothes gently and the other girl nods in response. A gentle kiss is pressed to Cheryl’s head and then another one to her lips. “You’re the strongest person I know Cheryl Blossom.”

-

**flashback**

“The doctor will call Cher, come here” Toni says, she reaches out to Cheryl from her spot on the couch but the other girl continues her pacing across the living room, her eyes flicking between the clock and her cell phone.

“She said at 2”

“Its 2:01 babe, breathe for me okay?”

“I am I just-“ Cheryl is interrupted by the sound of her cellphone casting it’s ring throughout the room and echoing off the walls. Toni clicks the answer call button and puts it on speaker, she motions for Cheryl to come sit beside her but the redhead turns away and continues stalking around the room.

“Hello!” The doctor says on the other end, her voice sounds a little too cheery if you ask Cheryl but maybe that’s just her overthinking. “I have news, really good news”

“Do continue” Cheryl says, she’s stopped in the middle of the room now frozen to her spot as she awaits the results.

“You guys are pregnant, times two” the doctor’s voice comes out slow and deliberate.

“Times two?” Toni questions.

“Two of your eggs got fertilized, you’re having twins. Congratulations!!”

Cheryl makes a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a squeal of excitement and Toni catches her eyes light up at the information, her heart feels as full as it ever has in this moment. The call ends hastily with the doctor confirming an appointment and next steps but right now it goes over Toni’s head. Because all that matters in this moment is that Cheryl, the love of her life, is pregnant with her children. She’s finally going to have a family again, a real family.

“TONIIIIIII” Cheryl squeals, she runs towards the other girl with such force that her feet echo even on the carpet and Toni barley has time to react as Cheryl comes barreling towards her and jumps up into her arms. Her legs and arms wrap around Toni’s body as she’s spun through the air. “Baby we did it” 

Toni leans in to kiss Cheryl hard, there’s so much force behind the kiss that Cheryl feels lightheaded for a moment. Toni pulls back with a huge smile on her face and rests her head against her wife’s. “Holy shit” she whispers. 

“We’re pregnant” Cheryl says softly, smiling back just as hard. 

“We’re pregnant” Toni repeats in an almost whisper. She connects their lips again, softer this time and she can taste salt between their lips as tears fall down Cheryl’s face. Toni lowers Cheryl to the ground and moves her hand slowly to her stomach to stroke it gently, causing Cheryl’s eyes to flutter shut. 

“It was worth it. The egg retrieval, finding a donor, the hormone injections… it all lead to this” Cheryl says, she feels like her smile is forever pasted onto her face and she can never wipe it away, she opens her eyes and pulls Toni back in for another kiss.

“I’m going to give you guys the world” Toni says softly before pulling Cheryl into a tight embrace. 

“You already have” she whispers softly in her ear. 

-

“Did I mention I hate these stairs?” Cheryl grunts as she leans heavily against the banister and clings to Toni’s shirt causing it to wrinkle in the back. Her palms are sweating heavily which isn’t helpful to the situation even in the slightest. 

“I’ve got you babe, we’re almost there I promise.” Toni arm is tightly wrapped around Cheryl’s waist and the other is gripping her free hand tightly. The pair move down the stairs slowly, with Toni walking down them backwards, her feet rubbing against the rough carpet. She’s holding on to Cheryl as tightly as possible despite the fact that the fabric of her shirt is slippery and not ideal for a good grip. The door swings open just as they reach the bottom and Veronica is quick to rush over to Cheryl’s side and help her move outside to the car. The sun is just starting to rise causing the sky to radiate a deep orange and yellow colour with hints of blue among it and Cheryl pauses for half a second to take in the view. Cheryl slides into the backseat of Veronica’s s.u.v. with caution, one hand balanced on her stomach. Toni had ran back inside to grab their bag and ensure the cat had food and water so it was just Veronica and her right now, suddenly a wave of pain washes over her and she whimpers softly without meaning to.

“Deep breaths Cher” Veronica soothes, having a child of her own already she understands exactly the pain Cheryl is experiencing right now. Another whimper falls from the redhead’s lips and Veronica reaches for her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ronnie what if - fuck, what if I cant do this?” Cheryl says, she takes a deep breath trying to push the pain away but its insistent right now. 

“Cheryl I’ve seen you go through hell and back, trust me you can deliver your children” she reassures, she runs her thumb over Cheryls hand trying to comfort her more. The door on the other side of the vehicle opens and Toni slides in with a bag and fuzzy blue blanket in her arms. 

“Ready for this babygirl?” She asks while shifting to the seat beside Cheryl and clicking her seatbelt in place. Cheryl nods in response before resting her head on Toni’s shoulder and letting her eyes flutter closed. 

“I’m ready to meet our babies” she mumbles, the pain has faded for now but she knows its only a matter of time before it hits her again, she feels Toni’s lips press lightly to hers and is reminded why this is all worth it. A family. Finally a family she can be proud to call her own.

(next)

[cheydoesfandom]

first scene

so, here’s the first scene of my fic! it is in no way perfect or even as good as I’d like it to be, but since about half a dozen people were interested, I’ll post it.

this scene is Angus arriving at Taakitz’s home, from Angus’s POV, and Kravitz isn’t actually in it. I, uh, am unsure exactly how I want to write Krav, bc he’s not nearly as developed in canon as Taako and Angus.

anyway, read more under the cut!

The gravel crunched under their shoes as Angus and Ms. Sloane approached the front door of the house.  It was much smaller than his grandfather’s home in Neverwinter, which had been huge and sprawling, with more rooms than Angus ever knew what to do with.  And it was much nicer looking than the group home he had been placed in after his death, and then again, each time another family member decided they couldn’t keep him, where the yard was unkempt and the paint was peeling.  Angus was nervous, but he did his best to hide that.  He wasn’t a child, he was about to turn twelve, and he couldn’t let Ms. Sloane think he was frightened.

She didn’t try to hold his hand like she had when he was younger, which he appreciated.  He didn’t need to have his hand held, he was perfectly capable of following on his own.  He had a rucksack on his back and that bag held all of his worldly possessions: three sets of day-clothes, two pairs of pajamas, a week’s worth of underwear, two volumes of his favorite book series, Caleb Cleveland, Kid Cop, a couple of notebooks, a magnifying glass, and the last piece of his Grandfather’s silverware set.

Ms. Sloane had told him he was going to stay with a distant cousin.  Hopefully, this would be a good place for him.  Ms. Sloane certainly seemed to think so, but Angus couldn’t help worrying that something would go wrong, something always went wrong, but this was the last family she could find, which meant it was probably his last option before being sent somewhere more permanent, like an orphanage.

He had spent a long time at the home since his great-aunt had sent him away, nearly six months, which was the longest he’d stayed anywhere since his grandfather died two years ago.  Half a dozen other people that were supposed to be his family had turned him away already, which left him with little hope that his cousin Kravitz would keep him around very long.

Angus shifted his weight as Ms. Sloane knocked, standing up straight and putting a smile on his face.  People liked it when he looked happy to see them, even if it was their first time meeting.

A tall, plump elf answered the door, and Angus beamed brightly.  “Hello, sir!” he greeted cheerfully, despite the twisting of his stomach and the fact that this was clearly not his cousin.  For one, he was an elf and Angus was human.  For another, this elf was fair-skinned and blond, while Angus’s complexion was dark and he had a messy mop of black hair.  “I’m Angus McDonald.”  He offered one hand to shake the stranger’s.

The elf glanced down at him and lifted one perfectly-shaped eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.  “Mm, yes, I suppose you are,” he said, extending his own hand and shaking Angus’s.  “I’m Taako.”  Then he let Angus’s hand go and turned his attention to Ms. Sloane, which was hardly a surprise.  Adults always paid attention to each other rather than him.  “Please, come in, come in, I just put the kettle on,” he said, smiling broadly and stepping back to let them in.

Angus followed Ms. Sloane inside and, while Mr. Taako led them through the foyer, glanced around.  The house was clean, but not neat, making it looked cared for but lived in.  Most of the places he had stayed only looked like one or the other, but this house was different.  There were magazines and books laying out, jackets hung over the backs of chairs, and knick knacks of all sorts on almost every flat surface Angus could see.  But the carpet was swept, the windows clean and curtains open, letting in the warm mid-day sunshine.

Mr. Taako showed them to a cozy kitchen, where a kettle was on the stove and a plate piled with fresh teacakes on a small table.  Angus hesitated until Ms. Sloane sat to pull out a chair and set his bag down at his feet.  He didn’t dare reach for a cake, however.

“I know he should be here, but I’m afraid Krav was called away by an emergency at work this morning,” Mr. Taako said as he gathered teacups from the cupboard.  “But he’ll be home as soon as he can.”

“I hope everything is alright?” Ms. Sloane replied.  The anxious bubble in Angus’s chest grew, realizing his cousin couldn’t even be bothered to be home to meet him.

“Oh, I really couldn’t say one way or the other,” Mr. Taako sighed, setting the cups on the table.  “It’s all very hush hush, you know?”  And then, without even a beat,  “What kind of tea do you prefer?”

Ms. Sloane asked for “Anything caffeinated, it was a long drive this morning, and I still have quite the trek home.”  Mr. Taako hummed, nodding, and turned back to the cupboard, pulling out a tin.

“How about you, Agnes?” he asked, opening the tin to put some loose leaves into a cup for Ms. Sloane. “I have some peppermint, or if you prefer hot chocolate, I could whip some up.”

Angus was a little surprised to be asked, Mr. Taako hadn’t so much as looked at him since they came inside.  Being called the wrong name was less surprising.  “O-oh, um, I-I’m alright, sir,” he stuttered, hands folding over one another in his lap.

Mr. Taako looked over his shoulder at Angus, eyebrow once more quirked as he considered him.  “Are you sure?” he asked, closing the tin again.  “It’s no trouble, little dude.”

“Uh, a glass of water is fine, sir,” Angus insisted.

Taako blinked and then turned back to the cupboard, putting the tin away and pulling out a glass.  “Alright, then, suit yourself,” he said airily, shrugging as he put back one of the teacups.  He filled Angus’s glass at the sink and brought it to him just as the kettle started to whistle.

Another moment of silence passed, Angus sipping at his water while Mr. Taako poured the boiling water for Ms. Sloane and his tea.  Mr. Taako sat at the table with them and nudged the plate in Angus’s direction.  “Feel free to have a cake, you must be famished after your trip into town.”

“Oh, th-thank you, sir,” Angus said, watching him closely as he reached for the plate and took one of the teacakes.  Mr. Taako gave a small smile, and Angus, as a very observant investigator, thought it looked rather pressed, which put a heavy weight in his stomach.

This man already didn’t like him.

Angus didn’t know what the elf’s relationship was to cousin Kravitz, but he was certain Mr. Taako would be trying to convince him to send Angus away within the week.

Angus nibbled at his cake, humming appreciatively at the taste.  It was delicious, and Angus took a larger bite, chewing enthusiastically for a moment, before realizing Mr. Taako was still watching him.  Angus stopped chewing and swallowed, looking up to meet his eyes.  “It’s very good, sir, thank you,” he said, giving the best smile he could manage.

Mr. Taako’s smile widened and relaxed somewhat.  “Well, naturally, they were made by yours truly,” he said.  Then Ms. Sloane bit into her own and started asking about the recipe, and the adults were distracted, their attention on each other again.

Angus continued to eat his cake slowly, making it last as long as he could, since Mr. Taako had only offered him one, while the adults talked.  Normally, Angus took advantage of these sort of moments to gather information; adults were always talking as if he weren’t sitting right beside him, and it was an easy way to find clues.  But between the nervous twisting of his stomach and the fact that they were discussing baking, Angus didn’t bother.  There was not much of importance to be learned from a few traded recipes and he was too anxious and hungry to focus on much beyond his snack.

His mind must have wandered while he ate, because he was startled at the touch to his shoulder.  He looked up sharply, eyes wide and surprised, to find Mr. Taako looking at him, frowning slightly, one hand on Angus’s shoulder.  “Hey, Ango,” he chuckled, forcing another small smile.  He had gotten his name wrong, again, but differently this time.  Maybe it was on purpose?  Angus still didn’t correct him.  “You enjoying that cake?”

Angus swallowed, nodding.  “Yes, sir.”

“You sure?  You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, I’ve got plenty of other stuff around here.”

“Oh, no sir, I, I like it very much!” Angus insisted, not wanting to offend the man who was feeding him.  To prove his point, Angus put the rest of it in his mouth all at once.  It was only a little big for a single bite, as he’d nearly finished it, but if he’d continued to ration it, he could have made it last quite a bit longer.

Mr. Taako watched him for another moment, and Angus could sense Ms. Sloane watching as well, though this wasn’t such unusual behavior, Angus always tried to do what he could to please whomever he’d come to stay with.  He gave a tense smile, hoping they wouldn’t press him further, though what they could possibly press him on, Angus didn’t know.

And then Mr. Taako removed his hand from Angus’s shoulder, clapping his hands together and smiling.  Angus was proud of himself for not flinching at the loud sound of his hands coming together, but he had a clear view of his movement, he’d seen it coming.  “Alright, then.  Why don’t we show you to your room, hmm?”

Angus swallowed his cake and nodded.  “Certainly, sir,” he said, wondering briefly if there were any other children living here that he might have to share sleeping quarters with.  It wouldn’t be the first time, but Angus prefered having his own space when he could.  He’d lost several possessions to roommates who were careless or ruthless and damaged or stole his belongings.

He and Ms. Sloane stood when Mr. Taako did, following him down the hall.  Angus clutched his bag in one hand, looking around at the photos on the walls.  There was a lot to take in, but Angus did his best to quickly catalogue what he could.

Most of the photos had some of the same dozen or so people in them.  There was an elf whom Angus assumed was a sibling of Mr. Taako’s, and two human men, one taller and broad shouldered, the other more heavy set and almost always wearing a pair of bluejeans.  There was a dwarf, Angus wasn’t sure if they were male or female, sometimes depicted with a pair of dwarven children a little younger looking than Angus.  A human woman and a gnomish man were also in many of the photographs, as well was an orc and a dragonborn.

Angus saw several wedding-party pictures of them all, at what appeared to three different weddings.  The first seemed to be the orc and dragonborn’s wedding, the two of them in the center of the party, both wearing extravagant gowns and holding hands.  Another photo showed Mr. Taako’s sibling, also in a gown, this one shorter to show off more of their legs, with the man that wore jeans in any casual photo beside her, now dressed in a very nice tuxedo.  There was also one of Mr. Taako and the only man in any of these photos that looked like he was related to Angus.

Cousin Kravitz was very tall, his skin darker even than Angus’s own, and his long, black hair was in gorgeous dreadlocks.  Mr. Taako was beaming beside him, surrounded by the people who must be their friends and family.  Cousin Kravitz was wearing a navy tuxedo with black accents while Mr. Taako was in a three-piece-suit, also navy with black accents, and they both had several silver piercings.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, but he hadn’t considered that Mr. Taako was his cousin’s husband.  The weight in his stomach felt heavier, realizing just how much influence Mr. Taako had over his cousin.  He’d have to impress them if he wanted to stick around.  And he did, he really did.  Angus was so tired of being shuffled from place to place.

[archiveofolives]

Ring of Keys and Other Stories VI

A/N/SUMMARY fun fact: i finished the first draft of soulmate/soulbond in a day. which should tell you that i feel very nice about this fic and it’s my favorite bc of that. set in yavin 4 between eadu and scarif in the canon timeline. inspiration also comes from one of my most favorite films and love stories of all the love eterne (whose influence is also in the last fic if you know where to look)

RATING/WARNINGS pg or smth idk/n/a

WORD COUNT 3,484

AO3 here

—

The hangar bay was empty. There were no technicians, no rebels, no ragtag crew standing around, screaming and shouting at each other near the cargo shuttle they’d commandeered from Eadu. After the long journey from Jedha, after the life and death situations they’d put themselves through, there being no other path to take, the silence and the emptiness were suddenly so jarring. That was the point that Baze realized that an empty hangar bay with an empty cargo ship with no soul to speak of was the picture definition of depressing.

How apt that he should choose this point in his life to philosophize when he’d pretty much lost what was equivalent to everything. His past, his home. About the only reasons why he was still standing on his own two feet were Chirrut Imwe and the rebel crew they were suddenly a part of. So did that make those idiots his friends?

Baze chuckled suddenly, but they weren’t as bad as they looked; the captain turned out to be competent, his droid the same, the girl managed to earn his respect and even the pilot hid a little fire in himself. People like that, he could learn to appreciate.

Besides, Chirrut seemed to like this dysfunctional group. People Chirrut liked, Baze could learn to like, as well. Where was Chirrut, anyway? Alliance Intelligence—or whoever it was who debriefed them—couldn’t be all that interested in the life of a blind man, could they? Unless they’d made the mistake of asking Chirrut about the Force.

The thought almost made Baze want to laugh if he just didn’t feel so stupid doing it alone where no one else could hear. He decided to wait for Chirrut outside in the hangar bay, exploring its high walls, the panels and screens, and the toys—parts, really, and tools and equipment—lying around, out in the open where they could kill a person, safety warnings be damned. When he’d run out of pipes and plates to knock his fist on, he decided to move onto the open cargo shuttle and tour himself. He was familiar with its interior of course from the days he was away from Jedha. The layout and terminals were all pretty much standard issue (he realized then that the Empire, for all its invasiveness, didn’t quite bother personalizing all their possessions) that he didn’t need more than 10 minutes to reacquaint himself to the ship.

He stepped out. Still no Chirrut. Which volume of the journals was he at now? A deep sigh escaped Baze as he wandered over to a heavy turbine on its side that must be about his height, propped atop two ridged transformers that must be big enough to contain a child each. He sat down on one of them where he could best keep an eye on the entrance to the bay. Folded himself forward to get comfortable, praying hands finding his nose and his mouth.

Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply. In spite of his divorce with the faith, meditation was still a large part of his life. It was a difficult habit to break, having been a part of his daily routine in the days of the Temple, and even as a skeptic, he could find some nugget of peace with himself in it. His red armor wrapped around his collar made it a little difficult to focus, but it could be managed.

Could be forgotten with the rest of the gray hangar, the echoes of footsteps, of distant commands, the fragrance of leaves, of the strange forests that surrounded them, that seemed inescapable. But there he was, floating in the void of his own emptiness, away from the world and alone…

He heard him first before he saw him, as always—like a drop of water that sent a ripple all across his senses and roused him from his deep trance. Baze felt like a statue coming to life after a long century of slumber. His eyes opened to the sound of his steps and the tip of his staff—and true enough, when he turned, he was there, smiling as he would, a female pilot at his side, all but ready to lead this blind man by the hand. Little wonder then that Chirrut should look quite happy and amused. He felt the familiar tugs of his own smile knocking on his cheeks but self-consciousness squashed that like a bug. The flush of relief was an entirely different species, though, and he permitted himself that much.

He folded his arms on his lap while he watched his friend’s progress. The woman caught sight of him, then.

“Oh your friend’s here,” she announced. She was young, idealistic by the tone of her voice.

“I know,” Chirrut assured her. Then with a theatrical whisper that was meant to be carried out to the audience, he leaned to the pilot and explained, “I can smell him from here.”

“I heard that!” Baze snapped.

The pilot looked like she was caught between laughing and blushing but she powered through. “Can you find your way from here? He’s just straight ahead.” She even pointed to Baze on the occasion that the blind man could see her.

“I can do straight ahead,” Chirrut assured her pleasantly. “Thank you, Shara.”

She waved to the sightless man and then to Baze who lifted his brow. While she hurried back the way they came, Chirrut started forward with his uneti staff held away at an angle, one end at the ground. Snakes of cables and discarded canisters and valves littered his path but he kicked away those he could and hopped over those he couldn’t. Baze watched with no expression.

Once Chirrut arrived, he stretched out a leg to mark his finish line. The younger man didn’t stop walking until it hit his tummy. A hand wrapped itself around his ankle on instinct lest he overbalanced. Chirrut’s fat cheeks restrained a laughter from within.

“You want to sit? What took you so long?” Baze asked with a frown, shifting aside while Chirrut tested the side of the transformer with one foot, and then the turbine’s frame next to it.

With hardly a breath of warning, he flew in two kicks, turned in the air and landed quite impressively on his ass. “I got lost along the way,” Chirrut answered cheerfully, staff meeting the ground with a sound tap. “It’s a big place and I took the wrong turn.”

“Mhm.”

“Did you see the giant water fountain in the middle of this base? It’s so huge, it’s big enough to fit a full-grown Hutt!”

“I’m sure.”

Chirrut clicked his tongue and frowned. “You’re no fun.”  

Well, Baze was also sure of that.

He clipped Chirrut’s ear between his fingers and yanked it down. Chirrut yelped, catching his ear before it fell off. He started laughing again.

Baze shook his head, smiling slightly at the blind man. “What sort of questions did they ask you?”

“I think they were mostly concerned about whether or not I was a Jedi,” Chirrut said. He frowned after, tilting his head to one side, brows knotted in deep conversation. “Now I wonder if I should have just said yes. I think they were looking to hire me. That would have made a good income.”

“What use is a good income if you’re going to be dead before you spend it?” Baze asked, one brow up again.

Chirrut turned to return to him the same expression. “I guess you haven’t figured that out yet, have you?” Baze responded by jabbing the side of his head with a strong finger. Chirrut grinned impishly. He knew he got him there. “Well, what did they ask you?”

“They were interested about my cannons.”

“Were they looking to hire you for that?”

Baze frowned, the corners of his lips pulled low. He shrugged and said, “Who knows?”

“Well, it’s definitely not for your winning personality.”

Definitely not. Baze smirked and nudged the man beside him. “You know I’m expensive.”

“Sounds just like the thing a jobless man would say.”

This time he snickered with his cheeky partner. When he shoved him sideways next, it was with the fullest preparation of meeting Chirrut’s blocking forearm, which felt not unlike slamming into a wall, even as Chirrut was shaking with laughter. It felt good to be talking like this again—as if the entire galaxy wasn’t about to come down on them, as if they hadn’t been quite literally chased out of their own home. A home they no longer had.

It hit him then that this was the second time they’d lost a home. He couldn’t say which was worse, though. The first time had been harder, but this time, there was nothing and nowhere they could go back to. No street, no rubble, not even a piece of carpet on which to sleep.

He didn’t even know what was going to happen to them from here on out. A leaf in a storm would probably be a good analogy to their present situation. They’d survived Saw’s rebels, they’d survived the Death Star—one of the few who could say that—and they’d survived the Empire and the Alliance on Eadu. Now they were stuck here in Yavin 4 for no other reason than that they were dragged along. They had no choice. It was run or die, sink or swim.

Baze wasn’t one to panic—that had always been one of his greatest strengths even when the galaxy was already giving him every reason to tear his hair off, screaming. But he wasn’t young anymore and he wasn’t getting any younger either. This life of constantly fighting for food, shelter, survival, day in and day out…it wasn’t meant to go on forever. Just when he thought he’d finally figured it out for Chirrut and himself, here comes a death ray destroying everything they’d built. And then they were back to square one again.

He heaved out a great sigh, staring into nothingness. “How did we get here?” he asked, wearily.

He wasn’t really expecting any answer, but apparently questions were part of Chirrut’s expertise. Bless the man really for still finding reason to smile in spite of their circumstances. Head tilted a little towards his partner, he said, “It’s the consequence of being alive.”

That was true, and Baze was glad for it. Being alive meant more days of worrying and fighting but it was far better than being dead and non-existent. In fact, death and non-existence would be far worse. Baze could never do that to Chirrut—leave him alone again to fend for himself in this vast galaxy, just because this time he’d been too slow, too weak, too stupid. Just because he’d failed. Jedha had already given him too many names to pray for, sagging him under their weight. He’d heard him muttering them even in his sleep, on the flight to Eadu from the ruins of Jedha. That was enough.

“What do you think happens now?” Baze asked.

Chirrut shrugged. “Who knows? No one can tell the will of the Force, we can only follow it. The Force led us to the Holy Quarter to rescue Jyn. It brought us to Eadu for the same reason. Now we’re here.”

“So you think we’re all here just to,” Baze was the one who shrugged this time, “protect Jyn?” He nodded to the entrance to the hangar. “She looks like she gets into too much trouble for her own good, but not someone who needs a sitter. Much less two.” Besides, he was already looking after one fool who liked to fling himself headlong into battle. He wasn’t sure he needed another.

“I think we’re here for another reason,” Chirrut said, furrowing his brows, looking like he was inspecting his dangling feet. “The Force brought us to these people for a reason.”

“You saying the Force wants us to join the Alliance?” Baze’s brows flew.

“Not the Alliance,” Chirrut explained quietly. “But the rebellion.”

His meaning was plain to Baze, but the man still found enough reason to pretend that it wasn’t. In all the time they were running and fighting, he never felt that cold hand of dread wrapping itself around his heart. Funny that it should come now, when they were supposed to be safe among friends. Besides, wasn’t this what he’d been dreaming of in the past? A chance to finally bring revenge to the Empire’s doorstep.

“You think…Jyn is going to keep fighting? No matter what the council says?”

Chirrut raised his eyes to look blindly ahead of him. “I know she will.” He had seen through her heart of Kyber.

Well, that was it, wasn’t it? The truth as plain as day. Whatever it entailed, he didn’t know—but Baze knew for sure that he could finally breathe in relief. The uncertainty had lifted, and the inevitable has come. Now he knew what they were going to do. And what he was going to do.

Whatever gave him the idea, he couldn’t say. Probably some childhood tale from all those old holocrons, during the days they were still learning verses. But whatever it was, it made him glad that he kept a piece of blade in one of his many pockets, and that they’d gotten into the habit of salvaging whatever could be reused and repurposed while they still had the chance.

Baze reached back to his wavy, oily locks and carefully snipped off a finger’s width. The crisp sound drew Chirrut’s attention towards him, like a bird turning so suddenly. “What’s that?” he asked, curious.

“None of your business yet,” Baze muttered, looking for something to pin his hair in.

Chirrut nudged him with a toothy grin. “You’re my business.”

Baze eyed him incredulously. “Are you trying to look cute?” he asked. “Now’s an inappropriate time!”

“I wasn’t saying anything like that,” Chirrut said, sulking like a boy and doing well at it. He was always so good at impressions. He made a bed for his chin with his two hands on his staff and pouted at an unseen object.

Baze snorted, shaking his head and smiling slightly. Eventually, he managed to produce a synthetic red cord from one of his other pockets which he tied around one end of his lock of hair, making it easier to knot the rest in a nice and tight braid. Chirrut started humming a song soon after, tapping the heels of his shoes to the transformer in different configurations to provide the beat to his rhythm. Baze always thought that he had a good singing voice, that he could carry a tune.

He was in the middle of a second repeat of the song when Baze finally jumped off to his feet and told him, “Give me your hand.”

“In marriage?” Chirrut asked, jesting. Excitement filled his smile at the opening Baze had walked right into. He sighed, but that only caused Chirrut to grin wider. Baze couldn’t say if the blind fool would ever get tired of these jokes. He didn’t think he ought to, of course. “We’ve been through this a number of times, Baze.”

“We’ve been through this a number of times!” Baze echoed him to agree although their contexts were definitely different from each other. Chirrut held out his left hand anyway, the one without the impeller gauntlet, and Baze draped the length of his braided lock over the back of his wrist. He made a few measurements and a few quick adjustments with the cord and the end knot.

It didn’t take him long to finish the bracelet after, wrapped loosely around Chirrut’s pulse. It was his hair woven and stitched with the cord, locked with a complicated knot he’d learned from the streets. “There,” Baze said, wiping his hands on his suit and putting away the blade and the little that was left of the cord. “Now you can look.”

Look, of course, was a subjective command here. Chirrut’s idea of looking was running his finger down the plaited locks and testing its width. His brows met in intrigue. “This is…” He brought the bracelet to his nose and sniffed the familiar smell. “Your hair!”

“Mhm.”

“This means ‘til death do us part.” The gravity of which was not lost on Chirrut, who stared perfectly straight at Baze in surprise, as if his milky blue eyes had been suddenly cured.

Baze gave him a small smile. “It seems that you know what’s going to happen now, and I think I do, too—but I’m not the one who’s attuned to the Force here.”

“Baze…”

Baze scratched his head briefly, feeling the part where he’d taken his hair. “The point is,” he continued, “and I know this is a redundant symbol, but whatever happens now, what’s important to me is that you’ll always have a part of me with you.” He slid his hands onto Chirrut’s palms and let the man hold him.

Looking at his blind eyes, he said, “I just can’t bear the thought of you alone without me.”

He always loved the kind of smile that Chirrut put on every time he bared his soul and opened up his weakness. It was at once shy, at once comforting, but the entirety of it was drawn by a deity of love. “Stop being silly,” he chided him softly. “When you left, you came back—because there’s no world that can exist without you beside me. The Force brought us together. And what the Force brought together, no creature, no worldly thing can separate.”

He raised a hand and laid it lightly on the side of Baze’s face, stroking his tired skin. Baze wanted to close his eyes and pour himself into the softness but he wanted to look at Chirrut’s face, too. “Where would I be without you? Nowhere. It’s a fallacy, Baze. It simply won’t work.” His smile stretched out wider, and Baze grinned back.

They kissed, Baze pulling his chin towards him, Chirrut’s breath shuddering under his mouth, eager to pour out the same love through his lips. It was mind blowing, an embarrassment towards them, how little they’d shared a kiss since they escaped Jedha. It was no wonder they were constantly so starved for each other whenever they were alone, no matter how long they spent together or how hard they kissed. Damn the Death Star if it thought it could get in the way of all that was good to them. It may take away their home, their family and friends and past—but they would kill it first before they let it separate them permanently.

Baze pulled free with a wet smack and a heavy breath pouring out of his mouth. Chirrut was catching his own heart even as they connected their foreheads to each other.

“No matter what happens,” Baze growled, looking closely at his love, “I’ll never leave you. I promise.”

“You can’t!” Chirrut reminded him, laughing. They kissed again, hands on their cheeks, lips in perfect unity. They kissed sweetly with the bliss of a reunion after such a long parting. Nothing mattered in their little pocket of the galaxy. Not the heat, not the scent of fuel or of alien trees in the forests.

Not the hurrying footsteps and the excitable, “Mr. Malbus, Mr. Imwe!” Sadly, the shouting was an entirely different story altogether.

The end to such a perfect kiss came abruptly, flesh torn so rudely without the last negotiations for more. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know, I didn’t see!” the visitor cried.

It was a rebel at the entrance to the hangar bay, waving his hands to the Guardians while he averted his eyes, as well. Baze looked at him with immense disappointment while Chirrut sighed, head bowed low. “Y, you can forget I’m here,” he insisted stubbornly. “I, I was just looking for the captain—!”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to knock?” Chirrut demanded sharply, using the voice of an angry parent. The rebel started to stammer again but that was only because he couldn’t hear Chirrut gasping for breath and see his cheeks aching from grinning. Baze groaned, ducking under a hand to hide his own mirth from the poor flustered man.

“I, I said I didn’t see it, okay? I didn’t see it!!” Which made Baze wonder what he thought he was seeing. Well, too late for that, Chirrut was already laughing uncontrollably. What a shame. And that had been a very good kiss. Probably the last they’d have in a while.

They’ll get another chance after all this is over. He swore that on all the stars above them.

“A, anyway!” The rebel persisted stubbornly, even though he was blushing like the lavas of Mustafar. “Where’s Captain Andor! They said he was looking for volunteers.”