#I still don’t know the detail but for him to be kicked out so fast

[iceyrukia]

Man I’m so glad I’m not a kpop fan anymore ( specifically an N//C//T fan as it was my bias group or a fan of any boy group) with the whole Ta3il SA accusations going on. Like I’m in shock and I know men should not be trusted in general but man he just had a very unalarming persona one of the least rancid or fishy when it comes to kpop men.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hey, I do not think I have asked this before, but if I have please ignore it. I have seen on social media where the wife will ask the bf, or husband to leave the room, so they can get changed. I was wondering what would Ari, and, or Andy's response to this be?

Guessing Games

Summary: Ari doesn't like being kicked out of your bedroom. Also be sure to check out Guessing Games: A Fast Car Interlude.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Future Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Discussions of Body Image, Manhandling, Discussions of Lingerie, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Wisps of steam curl around you as you step out of the shower. Snagging a nearby towel, you take your time drying off before reaching for your favorite body butter, leisurely applying it all over your thirsty skin. Once you’re finished, you carefully don your robe and make your way into your bedroom. 

Of course you’re not the least bit surprised to find your bounty hunter laying on your bed, eyes closed, with one brawny arm tucked behind his head. To the average person it would appear that he was sleeping. But you knew better. 

Last night you’d promised to take a day trip with him to a classic car show that was happening a couple towns over. And, ever the early riser, your man was itching to get on the road. Which meant he was trying to keep a handle on his patience so that he didn’t accidentally piss you off while trying to hurry you along.

The last thing he needed was to be stuck in a car while you pouted for two hours. Having experienced it once before, it was definitely not his idea of a good time. 

“You were in there so long I was beginning to worry you might’a drowned.” Although his tone is deceptively light, there’s no missing the hint of impatience. 

“The hot water felt extra good this morning. Besides, it's not gonna take me long to get dressed.”

“Eh,” he sighs, adjusting his position so that he’s now sitting up in bed, his big body resting against your numerous decorative pillows. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you make a beeline for your closet. You’d already picked out your outfit the night before, which made things a hell of a lot easier. Grabbing one of your more colorful sundresses off the rack, you hold it up to yourself in the mirror.

“Well, that’s certainly a pretty little number.” Ari muses, sitting up a little straighter so that he can get a better look at your dress. “Christ, I already know if I bring you to the show wearing that, every fella in a ten mile is gonna forget all about those damned cars.”

His words make your cheeks heat. Even though you were pretty sure he was exaggerating just a tad, it still made you feel good. But just in case…

“Um…” Turning to face him, you once again hold the garment up to your chest. “Do you think I should maybe wear something else then?”

“Hell no.” He growls, tossing a pillow into the air and catching it with ease. “Let ‘em look. I don’t give a fuck about you showing off those gorgeous legs – as long as you remember you’re coming home with me.”

“Now how could I possibly go and forget a little detail like that, sugar?” You giggle, blowing him a tiny kiss which he then pretends to catch. As gruff and rough-and-tumble as your man could be at times, he also had no problem making you melt.

It was just part of his irresistible charm.

“You’d better not, baby. Otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what happens if I’m forced to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to my truck.” He gives you a hard look before reaching for his phone, letting you know he’s not kidding.

It might sound crazy, but the longer you two were together, the more you’d begun to realize that there was a small part of you that got off on riling him up. Not all the time, mind you…

But you’d also learned that sometimes pricking your bounty hunter’s temper was well worth whatever punishment would ultimately come your way.  

Clearing your throat, you attempt to refocus on the task at hand. You needed to get dressed rather quickly so that you could spend a little extra time in the bathroom putting on your face. Even though you planned to go for a more natural look today, you still wanted to give yourself enough time to be satisfied with the results. 

However, before you did all that, there was one more thing you had to take care of. And you were better off doing so without the benefit of an audience.  

“Alright, Beast.” You hum, gingerly draping your dress across the end of your bed. “How about you give me a little privacy so I can go ahead and get changed?” 

During your latest social media deep dive, you’d come across videos of women asking their significant others to leave the room while they changed their clothes. Many of the reactions had ranged anywhere from confusion to concern. Although there had been a few who seemed not to care one way or the other. 

And while you were pretty sure that Ari would fall into the first category, there was a part of you that wanted to see for yourself. So what better time to try it than on a day where you already planned on teasing him for the next few hours anyway?

“Huh?” He sets the device on his chest so that he can give you his full attention. 

“Ari.” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “I need you to step out so I can get dressed.”

“Oh. Right.” Your man grunts dismissively before swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “Guess I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

‘Wow.’ You think, cocking your head in surprise as you watch him give a brief stretch. You honestly hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Sometimes this man really was something else.

“Wait a minute – hold on.” Ari rumbles, dragging a hand through his shaggy locks. “How come I gotta go?” The roughness of his tone alone is enough to make you want to clench your thighs together.  

“Because I wanna put on my clothes.” You reply innocently, as if it should be obvious.

“And why the hell would I need to step out for that?” The tell-tale tick of his jaw and flare of his nostrils lets you know that he’s not happy.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Maybe because I’m not really in the mood for an audience right now?”

“Baby. Swear to God.” He groans, briefly closing his eyes long enough to count to ten. “I have seen every inch of your body more times than I can count. And let me be the first to tell you, it has been the honor of a lifetime.” “I…um…okay.” You hadn’t really been expecting him to say that.

“Which is exactly why you don’t need to hide from me.” Your man continues, gifting you with a dazzling smile. “I love your curves, Bird. Love explorin’ every sweet, soft inch of ‘em every chance I get.” 

“Beast…” 

“I mean, how many men can really say that they’ve actually gone and found the woman of their dreams?” 

The sheer adoration in his eyes is enough to make your heart skip a beat. Unable to hold his gaze, you choose to look away as you work to swallow the lump in your throat. While you weren’t entirely sure what you’d done to deserve someone as wonderful as Ari, you had no plans on letting him go.

Come hell or high water.

“Seriously. No matter how you shake it, I’m a lucky man.” He gently lobs a pillow at you, making you squeal. “And I plan to keep saying it until the day I die.” 

“Jeeze.” You sniff, dashing away a quick tear with your thumb. “You, uh, really know how to boost a girl’s confidence.”

“I only care about my girl and her confidence.” Comes his gruff response. “That’s it. Everyone else can kindly fuck off.”

“Duly noted, handsome.” You tell him, suddenly feeling bashful. “But I, um…” Tamping down a giggle, you try to choose your words carefully. “I’m not kicking you out because I’m ashamed or anything. I’m kicking you out because I bought you a present…for later.” You toss the pillow back at him. It hits square in the chest before falling to the floor. “And I’m not ready for you to see it just yet.” 

“Oh, is that right?” A wolfish grin spreads across his features as understanding dawns. “Go on and lemme see. Give me a little somethin’ to look forward to.”

“I just said it’s a surprise.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“If I guess right, will you let me see?” Ari tries again, not bothering to hide his excitement as he launches himself off the bed. 

This man loved watching you walk around wearing nothing but lingerie, almost as much as he loved peeling it off of you.

“No, Ari.” You can’t hold back your laugh as you take a step back. 

“Is it red?” You’re forced to bat away his eager hands when they reach for the belt of your robe. “Maybe with a little ribbon and some silk?”

“None of your business!” You squeak.

“It’s my surprise. Meaning it’s meant for me.” Grabbing your hips, he pulls you flush against his hard chest. “Which definitely, most certainly, makes it my business.“ He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

God, he was such an incorrigible menace.

“Be a good boy and go downstairs so I can finish getting ready or we’ll be late getting to the show.” You tell him, squirming in his hold. 

“What about something tight, black, and lacey?” His voice dips an octave as his hands to the globes of your ass, giving them a proprietary squeeze. “I’m thinkin’ with a set of thigh highs and garters. You know - like the ones you wouldn’t let me buy at that shop back in Crendlewood.”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see — stop that, damn you!” You cry when Ari begins nibbling along the column of your throat in between teasing kisses, making you giggle. 

“C’mon now, darlin’.” He rasps, his thick fingers digging into your tender flesh. “We both know I’m not gonna last that long.”

“I believe in you.”  

Undeterred, your stubborn bounty hunter decides to change his approach. Abandoning your neck, his advances move lower, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as he does.

“It’s your fault I already have such a hard time keeping my hands to myself.” He tells you as he nuzzles his nose against the thin fabric of your robe, his warm breath making your nipples pebble. “You can’t just tease me like that without giving me a taste.”

A sharp nip of teeth has you rising on your toes, unintentionally giving him better access to his intended target. Followed by your strangled moan when you feel him release his grip on your ass so that he can undo the ties of your robe - finally revealing your nude body to his heated gaze. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He snarls reverently, making your core spasm. “And all mine.”

“Yes, yours.” You agree, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Later.”

“Now.”

“Beast.” You breathe, doing your best to ignore the slick coating your thighs. “Later.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ari levels you with a glare as he takes a step back. You didn’t have to ask to know that he was currently weighing his options.

On one hand, he really did want to go to the car show – almost as much as he wanted to unwrap you his surprise. At the same time, he also hated whenever you made him wait for a taste of you. It always made him so damned impatient.  

“Fine.” He grunts, his face looking like he just swallowed something supremely unpleasant. “I’ll go. But you gotta give me a hint first.”

“I do?” You reply, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“‘Fraid so. You either give me that or no deal.” Ari crosses his arms over his broad chest, making it clear that he’s not moving until you give him what he wants. 

“Fine.” You parrot, before spinning on your heel to retreat to your closet. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.” 

Tossing a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s not looking, you pull out the gift bag you’d hidden under a pile of blankets. Digging through the tissue paper, it actually takes you a few seconds to find what you’re looking for. Clutching the item in your hand, you return to stand in front of your bounty hunter before handing it over, pressing it into his palm.

It’s a pale pink garter. That came with a matching colored bustier and g-string. A fact that your man would no doubt appreciate later. 

“Well shit, Duchess.” Ari groans, staring down at the lacey scrap of fabric in his hand. “I think I might’ve just changed my mind about this whole darn trip–”

“Nope!” You swiftly interrupt, snatching back the garter. “A deal is a deal, cowboy. Now, out you go.” 

“But what if we–”

“I will meet you in the living room.” Ignoring his protests, you waste no time shooing him out of your bedroom before brazenly shutting the door in his now-pouting face. “Go watch TV or something until I’m ready.”

“This isn’t fair.” Your grumpy bounty grouses, banging his fist against the wall. 

“I promise to make it up to you later.” You tease, allowing your robe to fall to the floor as you begin putting on your jewelry. “I might even let you take a few pictures if you ask nicely.”

“Damn it, baby!” Ari hisses as he finally heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time while he debates the best way to go about dealing with his increasingly uncomfortable hard-on. 

It was going to be a long fucking day, especially now that he’d gotten a glimpse of what you planned to wear underneath that flimsy little sundress. Opening your freezer, he wonders if it’s too early to consider icing his balls. Perhaps he’d be better off waiting until after your road trip. 

“God, I am so fucked.” He mumbles as he fishes out a half-frozen bottle of water before twisting off the cap and taking a sip. “And all because my girl has the nerve to look so goddamn pretty in pink.”

END

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[marauder-misprint]

Earning Trust

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.8k words

cw: fluff

If you weren’t talking to anyone last week after your date with Sirius, you weren’t make any sounds now. You stare into your mug of tea like it personally offended you. You could feel Regulus, Pandora, Evan and Barty staring at you, waiting for you to say something. They all saw you leave the common room last night to go to the Gryffindor party and all had retired to their dorms before you got back; Pandora was fast asleep when you entered your room. So far, the only information they had besides you getting back late was that you slept in your clothes, observation courtesy of Pandora, and Dorcas stayed with Marlene, evident from her empty bed that morning and her current presence at the Gryffindor table. 

Regulus holds out the bowl of sugar. “Sugar?”

You silently take one and drop it into your cup. You swirl the hot liquid around to dissolve it. 

“My money’s on sometin’s happened,” Barty says casually. The other three immediately look at him. “Between her ‘n’ other Black. Otherwise she wouldn’t be so…” He waves his hand at you haphazardly. “Whatever the hell this is.” 

“Mopey?” Evan offers.

“Grumpy?” Pandora suggests.

“I was going to say murderous.” Regulus says. “Didn’t even thank me for the sugar.”

You lift your gaze to glare at Regulus. You don’t mean to be grumpy, mopey or even murderous. Well, maybe a little murderous since you would’ve liked to have stayed in bed longer. More than anything, your silence is due to thinking about last night. You didn’t drink nearly enough to black out. No, you remembered all of it. You did drink enough for your filter to be essentially nonexistent, which is why you are questioning every little thing you said. 

Pandora waves her hand in front of your face. “Hello? Frowny McGrumpface?”

You turn your glare to her. “What?”

“She speaks!” Barty declares, throwing his hands up with so much momentum that he almost falls off the back of his seat. 

“We all know you were in Gryffindor Tower last night,” Pandora says matter-of-factly.

“So?” 

“Sooooo,” Barty says, “we know Meadowes didn’t drag you up there kicking and screaming.”

“You’d be correct,” you reply flatly with a roll of your eyes. 

“Did other Black invite you, did he?” Evan asks. “Is he why you went? Bloke’s not even on the team.”

You stand up, still holding onto your mug, and start to walk away. A bit dramatic, maybe, but you are more confused about your feelings than you were after your date with Sirius. You didn’t need your friends prying for every detail of your night. To your slight dismay, Regulus is quick to follow you.

“If it’s my brother, I think I have the right to-” Regulus starts to say as soon as you’re outside the Great Hall’s side door.

“He showed me your constellation.”

He blinks at you with a blank expression. 

“Did you not… learn that third year?”

“No, I did.”

“So why did he-”

“I don’t know, Regulus. Do I look like your brother?” you snap at him, interrupting him for the second time. 

You sigh and take a sip of your tea. Regulus stares at you before rubbing his chin and echoing your sigh. 

“He, erm, was the reason you went, right? He invited you?” Regulus’ voice is soft as he asks this, as if he knew you would clamp up again if he came at it too aggressively.

You nod and take a breath before saying, “I’m glad I went.”

A small smile appears on Regulus’ face. He reaches out to hold your shoulder. You take a tentative sip of your tea, unsure what he was going to do or say.

“If he hurts you in any way, they’ll never find the body. I’ll make sure of it.”

You struggle to swallow your tea so it doesn’t come spurting out of your nose. Regulus slips back inside while you try to compose yourself. You didn’t need to be at the table to know the rest of your friends would be trying to milk Regulus for information, nor that he wouldn’t tell them anything. 

You didn’t make it a full minute outside without Regulus. The biting winter wind was too much for you. You take two more sips of your quickly-cooling tea before going back inside. You set your cup back on the table and then leave the Great Hall. You aren’t particularly hungry, certainly not enough to endure Pandora, Barty and Evan, so you head back to the dungeons. Sleep is really what you need, you decide. 

You didn’t look over at Sirius while you were in the Great Hall. He, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off you. He walked in after you did, spotting you immediately at the Slytherin table with hunched shoulders. He could barely look away to load his plate with food. He wasn’t even listening to whatever drivel his friends were talking about. He watched as you exited and were followed by Regulus, keeping his eyes on the door you disappeared behind until Regulus came back in and then you. From the moment he saw you to when you left the Great Hall alone, Sirius couldn’t rid himself of his smile. 

“Why’re you so chipper this morning?” Peter asks, reaching for his cup of coffee. 

All but Sirius were drinking coffee this morning. 

“Last night.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows. “What about it?”

“It went well. I really think it did.” 

“Does she, ahem, like you?” Remus asks. 

Sirius can’t help the slight blush that dusts his cheeks.

“Oh my Merlin, she does!” James gasps, slamming his hand on the table. “Pads, what?” 

Sirius doesn’t miss the way Remus shifts in his seat before hiding his face behind his cup. Sirius shrugs before stabbing the sausage on his plate. 

“It’s more than her thinking I’m attractive. She said I’m a good time,” Sirius says, his smile growing with each word. He can’t help the feeling of pride blooming in his chest.

“Okay, and?” Remus asks, clearly unconvinced about you coming around to Sirius. 

Sirius presses his lips together as he figures out how to phrase the tipping point from last night. He takes a sip of his tea to buy himself a moment more. 

“And… She trusts me.” 

“Lil’ dog person trusts you, huh?” Peter says.

“What do you mean?” James questions, waving his fork about. “Like you’re a trustworthy bloke but what happened? Did she just say that she trusts you? What does that even mean that she trusts you?”

Sirius chuckles with a shake of his head. “She knew she was drunk and chose to be alone with me.”

Remus waves his hand in a circular motion in front of him to encourage Sirius to go on.

“She was drunk and said, with confidence by the way, that she knew I’d get her back to the dungeons safe. From the Astronomy Tower.”

“That’s a distance,” Peter says with a snort. 

“Yeah, it is. And she was fully convinced that I’d get her back safe ‘n’ sound. If that doesn’t say she trusts me, I don’t know what does.” 

There’s a knowing glint in James’ eyes.

“So, would you say she’s a Sirius person now? Has she fully been converted?” he asks Sirius. 

Sirius didn’t answer right away. Part of him wanted to immediately say yes, you were. But you were drunk last night. He knew better than to confirm anything based on a drunk person’s words. He so desperately wanted everything you said last night to be true, to be how you felt about him. He knows he needs a sober conversation with you. 

“More than she was before,” Sirius says solemnly. 

That much he could say. If he had invited you to a party back when you first approached him this year, you would’ve turned him down with a sneer. You certainly didn’t verbally protest to him spinning you around after the quidditch game. And you danced with him. You invited him to the Astronomy Tower. Even if you were drunk, that had to mean something. 

Despite having homework he could’ve been working on, Sirius wanders the castle for most of the day. He has too much restless energy to sit still and focus - plus, he can always copy off Remus later. Not that anyone was asking, but if someone did, he was most certainly not looking for you. It wasn’t like he kept circling back to the library, the Astronomy Tower and the dungeons. It wasn’t like he kept that route on loop for hours. It wasn’t like he had your words from last night on loop in his mind. It wasn’t like he was hoping to run into you so he could ask you out on a proper second date. It wasn’t like-

“Sirius.” 

He stops in his tracks. The voice of his brother brings him out of his thoughts as he passes through the Slytherin Dungeons again. 

“Regulus,” he replies firmly. 

“Why’re you down here?” Regulus’ voice is flat, emotionless. He has suspicions as to why Sirius is down there, but he wants to hear him say it.

Sirius hums indifferently. “Just walking.”

“In the Slytherin Dungeon. Bit far from your tower, isn’t it?” 

“Taking a long walk.”

“Uh huh… So… you’re not looking for anyone?” A rare smile appears on Regulus’ face. “No one you want to discuss star charts with?” 

Sirius feels a blush creep up his neck as he takes a step toward his brother. 

“What’d she tell you?” he hisses as he flexes his hands within his pockets.

Regulus lets out a singular laugh. He caught his brother. 

“Not much. You showed her Leo and she’s glad she went.” He pauses to let that sink in for Sirius, before adding, “And then I reminded her that if you cross her, they’ll never find the body.”

“Ah, so you’ve decided,” Sirius says, not acknowledging the prior statement. “So, ah, where is she?” 

“Dorm, I think. Haven’t actually seen ‘er since breakfast.”

Sirius frowns. “That’s hours ago.”

“And you haven’t seen her on your… long walk? That’d put her where we can’t go.” 

Sirius clicks his tongue, about to turn away from his brother and go to Gryffindor Tower, when he decides to say one more thing. 

“Don’t tell her I was looking for her?” 

Regulus lets out a real laugh. “Oh, if she appears, I’m telling her.”

Sirius nods and says, “Thought it was worth a shot.”

“It wasn’t,” Regulus tells him flatly before turning away himself and heading back towards his own common room.

Sirius reluctantly heads to the Gryffindor Common Room to work on his homework with the Marauders. If he couldn’t find you to talk about last night, he might as well pretend to be productive. 

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Truth Serum

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: While searching for an abducted child, you and Tim are abducted and injected with truth serum.

Warnings: fluff, angst, child abduction, drugging, Tim and reader make out while working

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “We got an anonymous tip about the AMBER alert. The caller said a car matching the alert description was parked outside the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena.”

“We’re responding,” Tim replies. “Why the arena?” he asks you.

“It wouldn’t be very busy this time of day. Stay low there until there’s a crowd tonight and disappear with them,” you hypothesize. “Or something happened, and they had to stop.”

Tim nods as he turns on the shop’s lights. He doesn’t want to alert the abductor that the police are coming, but he needs to get there fast. Once you find the car, you’re a step closer to recovering the kidnapped child. The AMBER alert is several hours old, and the longer it takes, the more your chances of finding the child healthy and alive diminish.

“Take the next left,” you tell Tim. “If we can get in the back way, they shouldn’t see us coming.”

Tim takes your advice without argument, which surprises you. Calls with kids are some of the hardest, but when you know one’s in danger, everything changes. Part of what makes Tim such a good cop is his ability to separate his emotions, but the moment you got the AMBER alert notification, he tightened his grip on the wheel and told dispatch to let you and him patrol for the car.

“There it is,” Tim murmurs as he stops behind a partial wall in the parking lot.

The silver sedan you’ve spent the morning hunting for waits in a parking spot as if it’s just a normal day. You can’t see signs of anyone in the car, and Tim opens his door quietly and steps out. As you open your door, you notice something under the sedan less than 100 yards from you.

“Tim, it’s a trap,” you say quickly.

He turns toward you and gestures for you to get back in the car, but the car explodes, and you’re slung back against the shop before you take another step. You reach toward Tim where he lays behind you, but a booted foot kicks your hand away.

“Time to serve and protect,” the man standing above you says.

He drops a wet rag on your face, and you lose consciousness before you realize it’s not water.

 “Hey, c’mon,” Tim whispers.

He jostles your wrist with his fingertips as he demands you talk to him. When you realize that he’s asking for a response, you squeeze your eyes closed and grunt. Tim takes it as enough of a sign that you’re still alive and stops talking.

“Where are we?” you ask, blinking slowly. “Are you tied up?”

“Welcome back,” Tim murmurs grumpily. “You don’t handle chloroform very well.”

“My bad,” you reply sarcastically. “Have they been back?”

“No.”

“How mad are you?”

Tim makes a sound that you take as a sign to stop talking. For someone so eager to hear your voice a moment ago, your questions changed his mind quickly. Behind you, metal scrapes as a door opens. You hear heavy footsteps and assume that it’s the man who knocked you out.

“Glad to see you’re both feeling better. Need those minds as sharp and clear as we can get them,” he says. “I’m George.”

“And I’m the man in yellow,” you reply under your breath.

“Cute,” George murmurs. “You’re just here to help. If you found the car, you know about the kid.”

“The kid you abducted?” Tim asks.

“Details, details… Either you start telling me what you know, or I beat it out of your friend here.”

Tim’s fingers press against your wrist as he flexes beneath his restraints. George laughs, and you turn your neck painfully in an attempt to see him.

“You’ll get a turn,” George promises when he notices your movement. “If neither of you is feeling talkative, perhaps you need some courage.”

George walks around Tim, and you track him as he stops before you. He’s larger than he seemed in the parking lot. As he smiles down at you, you relax. If he thinks you’re intimidated, he has you where he wants you.

“Do you want to tell me anything?” George asks.

“Your right boot is scuffed,” you answer. “Little saddle soap would buff it right out.”

George clenches his jaw as he reaches into his pocket. He withdraws a syringe, and your eyes widen as you push back against the chair you’re tied to. His smile grows as he reaches for your forearm.

“Don’t,” you demand. “Don’t touch me.”

Tim moves behind you, but there’s nothing he can do to help.

“Don’t worry, Officer Bradford,” George calls. “You’ll get a turn too.”

George slides the needle under your skin and looks directly into your eyes as he depresses the syringe. He pulls the used needle out and tosses it into the corner of the room. After he pats your arm, he returns to Tim’s side.

“What was that? What is it?” you demand, pulling against your restraints.

A bead of blood appears on the surface of the skin. Tim is likely being injected too, but you need to know what George is pumping into you.

“Back up,” Tim growls from behind you.

“Gladly,” George answers. “To answer your question, sodium thiopental. Enjoy the next few minutes of control.”

As the door slams behind George, you exclaim, “Truth serum?”

“It doesn’t work,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But this idiot doesn’t know that.”

“And you want to pretend it does?” Tim questions. “For what?”

“He gets fed up and tells us what he knows… I hope.”

Tim hums and his fingers press against your skin. “Let’s try it.”

“Hello again,” George says as he returns.

“Hi,” you blurt out.

“So glad to hear some excitement. We’ll start easy. Why are you here?”

“Because we’re cops and someone said the AMBER alert car was here,” Tim answers.

“Oh, so grumpy does speak,” George muses happily. “In that case...”

George grabs the side of your chair and spins it quickly. You’re beside Tim now; his arm is pressed to yours and you can look at him without straining. The plan is working already.

“Glad you’re okay,” Tim tells you.

“Not the truth we’re looking for,” George interrupts. “Tell me, what do the police think?”

“Lots of things,” you answer. “You-“ you interrupt yourself off with a giggle – “you have to be more specific.”

“Where do they think the kid is?” George clarifies.

“With the bad guy,” Tim says. “The guy who drives the silver sedan… Did you steal it?”

“Do they have a name, a face? Who is the suspect?” George is getting agitated, exactly as you hoped.

“A face...” you repeat. You look toward Tim and say, “You… you have the prettiest face ever. I want to marry you.”

Tim takes the confession in stride, likely assuming that you’re still playing I’m high on sodium thiopental.

“You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” Tim replies, leaning toward you.

“Listen!” George demands. He places his hand over your jaw to direct your face toward his. “Where is the kid?”

“The kid?” you ask, your voice distorted by his grip on your face.

“Mmhmm. Where did they take him?”

George releases your face, and you stretch your jaw out as you turn toward Tim.

“Kids… Tim, I want to have your babies. You’d have pretty babies. And smart babies.”

Tim nods along, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that you don’t recognize. He’s either playing up the truth serum bit, or something else is happening. George slaps the side of your face before he storms out of the room. You smile at Tim, despite the deepening hand print covering your jaw.

“Pretty and smart babies?” Tim asks.

“You weren’t giving me anything to work with,” you point out with a shrug.

“I like listening.”

“Well, it is truth serum,” you murmur.

When George returns, he shoves a picture in your face.

“My son, where did they take him?” he demands.

“Son?” you and Tim ask together.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you see the picture. “George, listen, we can help. But you have to let us go.”

“Why would I do that? You people are the reason he’s gone!”

“George,” you repeat softly. “We know that the man who reported his abduction is really his stepfather, and half of the LAPD is looking for your son, but we don’t know where he is yet.”

“He never would’ve disappeared if you hadn’t taken him away from me!”

“Then let me help,” you implore.

George stares at you for a few seconds before he nods. He cuts your restraints and steps back as you stand. You pull Tim’s handcuffs from his belt as you move, just in case.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

You shake your head and point to Tim. “Both of us.”

“No,” George answers. “Help me and I’ll let you come back to get him later. We’re going.”

George grabs your arm and shoves you harshly toward the door. You could fight back, but without Tim to back you up, it would go poorly fast.

“Tim, I’ll be back,” you promise.

“Be careful,” he mouths silently.

You nod and hold his eyes until the door closes. As you follow George through the underground tunnel, you watch him closely.

“Dad!” someone yells deeper in the tunnel.

“George,” you say lowly. “What did you do?”

“He’s my son!” George bellows.

He turns toward you with your gun aimed at your chest. You raise your hands and maintain eye contact with him.

“This doesn’t end well for you,” you tell him. “What was the goal?”

“His stepdad is looking for him,” George explains. “I can’t lose my son again.”

“So… what?”

“You would bring him here, lure that monster here, and I would save my son!”

“George, it doesn’t work like that. You kill his stepdad, you injure me or my partner, and you go to prison. So that little boy in there still loses you. You’re stuck, George.”

“No!” he yells. “No, I have the gun and my son.”

“And when you have to run? You drag him with you?”

“I- we-“

“You didn’t think that far?” you guess. “You don’t get out of this, George. Not like this.”

“Dad!” his son yells again.

“He needs you right now. If you let me go, surrender, and return that little boy to his mother-“

“The court takes him again.”

“But you still get to see him. What’s better, George? Taking him from everything he loves or seeing him when it’s good for him?”

The gun falters in George’s hand, and when he begins to lower it, you surge forward. As your shoulder collides with his chest, you pull your gun from his grip. It fires into the tunnel as you wrestle George to the ground. The moment you push him to the concrete and secure your cuffs on him, George begins crying.

“Save the tears for your court date,” you respond. “Where’s my radio? My phone?”

George shakes his head, and you sigh in exasperation. You pull his shoulders to help him into a seated position against the concrete wall.

“Stay here,” you demand. George nods vehemently, and you ask, “Where’s your son?”

“Third door on the left,” he answers through sniffles.

You walk to the third door and open it carefully. The little boy runs to you and hugs your legs as he rambles about how his father took him from his mom’s house and won’t tell him anything.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you assure him. “Here, can you hold my handcuffs? I need someone to keep them ready until I come back.”

He nods and accepts the handcuffs. As he sits on the thin mattress behind him and toys with the mechanical lock, you return to the main tunnel. George doesn’t speak as you pass him, nor when you take the knife from his side.

You open the door to the room where Tim is waiting and step inside. He looks up quickly and blows out a large breath. His jaw tightens quickly, and you notice blood running down his left hand.

“George is in cuffs outside,” you say. You squat before Tim and begin cutting his restraints. “And his son is fine. Babysitting your cuffs at the moment.”

You set the knife aside and focus on gently freeing Tim's bloodied wrist, oblivious to how he watches you. His skin has been scraped raw from tugging against the rope to get out and get to you. He heard the gunshot and assumed the worst, then you came in like nothing happened.

The moment Tim is free, you stand and offer a hand to him. Tim knocks your hand out of the way as he stands. You begin to ask him if he’s okay, but his hands rise to your shoulders, his thumbs against the pillar of your neck. Before you finish the question, Tim presses himself closer to you and kisses you. You blink in surprise but melt into his affection quickly. As you slide your arms over his shoulder and move with Tim, you wonder how much of his action is adrenaline and if there’s anything in this that he means.

“Officer?” George’s son calls down the tunnel.

You step back and Tim drops his hands to your waist.

“That was…” you begin.

“Truth serum,” Tim finishes. “Let’s go.”

He brushes past you, trailing his right hand over your waist. Outside, he leads George out as you carry his son back into the sunlight. The young boy clings to you, and you comfort him as Tim uses the radio in the shop to alert dispatch and request backup.

“Where’s our stuff?” Tim asks George as he shoves him against the dented back door.

“Threw it in here,” George mumbles against the glass.

“He may be a kidnapper, but he’s no thief,” you murmur.

“You see those dents?” Tim asks lowly, so George’s son doesn’t hear. “Those were made when you tried to kill two cops. All of this for a little boy you’re never going to see again.”

George begins crying again, and Tim rolls his eyes as he looks away. Tim may be good at hiding his emotions on the job, but you know better than anyone that he still feels them and feels them deeply.

The first of many patrol cars pulls into the parking lot, and you nod at Tim before you’re pulled away in the hectic moments that follow your heroic recovery.

You knock on the door once, then pull your hands behind your back. Part of you expects that the door will remain closed, but Kojo barks as Tim opens the door.

“Hi,” you greet, rocking back on your heels. “I- uh- I just wanted to thank you for everything today.”

“Come in,” Tim invites.

You walk past him, remembering what it felt like to have his hands on you and his lips against yours. As you turn back to Tim, he steps into your space.

“Was any of it true?” he asks.

“It’s called truth serum for a reason,” you whisper.

Tim fails to hide his smile as he says, “Then you think I have a pretty face?”

“The prettiest ever,” you agree.

“And you want to have my babies.”

“I’m pretty sure I said I wanted to get married first,” you point out happily.

Tim’s hands raise toward your face, but he stops when he sees the bruise along your jaw. You catch his left arm and kiss his bandage, the injury underneath caused by concern for you.

“I was going to say I love you,” you murmur. “But I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“It’s truth serum. I wanted to believe it all,” Tim answers.

“Then kiss me again,” you request softly.

Tim does exactly as you ask, takes your face gently between his hands, and kisses you. It’s just as shocking and enlivening as the first time, and you smile against his lips because it was true. It was all true.

[causenessus]

cold kisses

part 0.3. USER 7193

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . feels by calvin harris

maybe he should have expected this. 

nearly all of his posts have been overrun with questions about y/n in the comments. the comments range from simple “who was the girl in your cooking stream??” demands to extremely specific ones detailing her exact hair color, height, and voice pitch as if he’s had another mysterious girl on a stream that he’ll confuse her for.

he’s been doing his best to avoid questions about her but it could only work for so long. now there’s only questions about y/n left in the chat and he’s not sure what to do. it was easy to ignore the questions when he wasn’t doing an entire question and answer live stream but he’d promised to do one soon and he thought having shoyo with him was going to help. 

it did for the most part, and everything seemed normal but he was at a loss for words when the chat started to flood with questions about y/n.

shoyo leaned closer to read a question outloud, “‘girl from the cooking stream?’ i keep seeing that, do they not know–”

a reflex kicks in and he slaps a hand over shoyo’s mouth, pushing him away from the screen again before removing his hand trying to act normal.

the ginger looks at him, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. “sorry,” kenma apologizes quickly, shocked by his own actions. “no, they don’t know anything about her,” he answers, trying to make it clear that he wants to keep it that way.

but the chat is already too far gone, using this one mention to run wild with theories. he can’t blame them, really. sometimes they’re a little over the top and unnecessarily pushy as if they have no sense of respect but in this scenario what else could they talk about besides a mysterious person that just entered the picture? but that didn't mean he enjoyed dealing with it.

messages transition quickly from asking what they “don’t know about” to inferring that he has a secret girlfriend. he groans, looking away from the screen. his mind working fast to try and come up with an excuse or explanation; a single mention of her and they already think he’s dating someone. he’s sure that the internet would go crazy with this information as well, fabricating stories, scandals, and everything in between.

his phone starts to buzz.

speak of the devil.

it’s a notification from twitter, some unofficial update account that’s tagged him about having a secret girlfriend.

he needs to think.

he can see shoyo eyeing him out of the corner of his eyes and he knows he’s been silent for too long on camera.

god, someone was going to find out who she was soon, right? weren’t fans supposed to be good at doxxing each other?

but how does he play off being roommates with an olympic athlete? an olympic athlete whose currently being shipped to the max with the most typical copy and paste guy everyone has the hots for?

maybe it’d be better for him to leave it to a random fan to find out who she is and announce it to the world–no, then he’ll just look bad for hiding things after so much has already come to light. it’s best for him to come up with an excuse right now. if he said she was his girlfriend maybe he could ask them to leave her alone. maybe they’d listen to him.

it sounded like his best option but he couldn’t just make that decision on his own without talking to her.

but he also couldn’t stand up and the leave the room for an unprecedented amount of time after keeping quiet for so long.

he looks at the chat one more time, seeing the word girlfriend in nearly every message. if they already think they’re dating it can’t be that bad, right?

“kenma…?” shoyo breaks him out of a trance, touching him on the back.

kenma looks at him, unsure of what to say. he feels dizzy and his mind won’t stop whirring with thoughts and worries.

“you’ve been really quiet,” shoyo lowers his voice so that only kenma can hear him, “i think you need to say something.”

he glances at the chat again. still stuff about y/n.

she’d be okay with it, right? maybe if she isn’t he’ll just tell twitter that his girlfriend broke up with him because his fans are pushy little shits and he’ll agree with her word for word and then his fans will cancel him and he can move to another country and live a happy little life working in a cat shelter–

no. he likes his life the way it is now. he’s winged everything so far but he’s grown quite a small community for himself this way. he can do this. if y/n doesn’t agree, he’ll figure something out later.

“okay,” kenma finally speaks, dropping his hands that he’s been running through his hair absentmindedly. “since none of you guys are gonna leave this alone, yes. the girl from that last stream is my girlfriend, happy?” he watches his chat run wild with numerous exclamations. he thinks finally about his poor moderators. he’ll definitely have to give them something after this stream. “i’ve been trying to lay low about it because i didn’t want the world to freak out but now it’s out. just try and be respectful, okay? i love her a lot.” the words aren’t hard to say when they’re about her. he can say them honestly and play them off as a joke later, but for now he enjoys how nice it feels to say it.

he can see that shoyo has frozen up out of the corner of his eye. he needs to end this stream before either of them say something else they shouldn’t. he’ll answer a few more questions and slowly ease into a goodbye so that he can end the stream and debrief shoyo.

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

this is a long chapter i'm sorry 💀 literally there's more but i tried to split this evenly into two chapters

kenma was literally just going through some random person's account who made edits of ice skating partners to self sabotage himself

yn wasn't sure when they'd be releasing partner pair ups and really freaked out when they were announced

she was texting everyone and tweeting a ton

she messaged her media girl like "hey i'm not comfortable with people sending me writing shipping me with atsumu can we please do something about it" and the girl replied, "what do you want me to do?? report them?? write you a message that you can tweet about your boundaries?? (yes) if that's what they want to write deal with it at least they like u"

and they wonder why she just posts whatever she's feeling on her main unless iwa tells her otherwise

noya has gotten distracted from the main topic of a chat to reply with a <3 to something nice y/n says multiple times

they're fr just best buds holding hand in the middle of a warzone where iwaizumi reigns over all

(the only two soldiers are suna and tsukishima)

suna's a lot softer without tsukishima around

he just feels like he needs his guard up around such a salty person

do not ask me why i made rofltropper an antagonist for no reason

kageyama was really just trying to finally do his english homework while waiting for hinata to come home and then he heard kuroo and oikawa start to yell

he was a little scared but then was like "if they can't reach me i'm safe" and they they slammed the door shut and his room shook a little

someone on the floor probably wrote up a complaint about them

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @eggyrocks @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @whykirbo @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @starxq.zip @skylarkalchemist @kunimix @sereniteav @kodzubaby (form to be added to taglist! <3)

[2demondogs]

When You're A Stranger | Kieran/Male Reader

Tags: First kiss AGAIN!!, Kieran had PTSD and he's a little autism coded Words: 2k A/N: For Kinktober (SFW). Originally I was going to fill the frottage prompt but it was NOT sparking joy.

You know you put Kieran on edge. Kindness seems almost painful to him, and fear that you’ve pushed too hard follows whenever he has shied away from you.

Kicked dogs don’t cozy up fast, you’ll remind yourself, and then he’ll come around again.

He’s starting to learn that you aren’t intending to backhand him if he looks at you too long or speaks too softly around you. Even beyond the sweetness you’ve got stored on him, or maybe because of it and the strength love seems to give people to accept lonesomeness in favor of their darling’s happiness, you want him to have… someone, in some sense, that he doesn’t have to fear. Whether, in the end, it’s you or not— that doesn’t matter, but you’ll be the placeholder while he needs it.

His burgeoning confidence is starting to put you on edge, too, if it could be called confidence.

Kieran is bad at hiding his emotions, a real travesty as far as his general safety is concerned. You couldn’t place your finger on what exactly it was in his eyes until an evening where Molly had decided it was your turn to listen to her strife. She had glanced at Dutch the same way: soft-eyed, yearning, that little curl to her mouth. She hadn’t been angry anymore, merely… sad.

Good God, you’d thought, after she’d left you to sulk. He’s in love with me.

A lot of pieces fell into place, then: the patchy rosiness on Kieran’s cheeks that you chalked up to rosacea or sunburning; how he would straighten up when you did, sliding clumsily into mirroring your body language; his clinginess, laced with anticipation that kept him still-distant but much closer than he would ever be caught standing or sitting next to anyone else.

And those eyes, a cloudy color you haven’t gotten close enough to make out yet. They glaze over when you talk as if he’s in a trance — Jesus, you knew that your attention to detail had gone to total shit when that clicked into place, because it’s been painfully obvious ever since. You’d asked him once why he always stared when people spoke to him, and he told you his father had beat his ass raw for not looking him in the eye when he spoke.

That sufficed for the fact he stared, but not the way he did it. It had always been different, with you.

Meatier.

Kieran’s inhibition is palpable once he’s been drinking. Sean had been trotted into camp, loud as ever, and the group beer rations were quickly broken out to celebrate as dusk settled into the skyline beyond the Overlook. For the redhead’s piece, you’d asked him how the O’Driscolls didn’t fear what the rest of you were like after kidnapping his ass; more seriously, you’d ask how he was doing. He’d brushed you off, apparently preferring the taunting to genuine concern. Fair enough. You left him to talk someone else's ear off and wandered to a man you knew would enjoy your company.

He is nursing a beer, watching the campfire crowded ‘round with half of the camp. The tangible longing depresses you in its familiarity. Hosea's doing the same, from a fold-up chair beside his bedroll; Kieran squints when you greet him with: “Hey, old coot. Gonna join the party?”

It takes a second, but he huffs a tense laugh as you glance between him and Hosea. “Don’t think I’m missed,” he says, meeting your eyes.

There it is, that expression. It’s full to bursting.

“I’m missin’ you,” you say, nodding to the hay bale. “Mind if I join your party?”

“Sure thing." His voice sounds strained.

His beer is barely drank from, and neither is yours. The redness of his cheeks and nose, well— you don’t know what it’s from, and the daylight is so faded that it simply looks dark. Maybe it’s been a tan all along.

Or so you’d think, if he didn’t turn to you as soon as you settled a tad too close to him, eyes stuck on your face. The alcohol takes the edge off of your own carefully woven respect for his personal space, and by the time you realize how near you are, it has been too many peaceful seconds to excuse his staring for indignancy. His brows pull together like his mind has blanked in the middle of a thought before it could leave his mouth.

“Kieran?” You ask, and he blinks himself back to earth.

“S’rry,” he says, quick, mouth cracking back in a half-smile. “Real tired.”

“Oughtta be,” you say, taking a drink. He turns back to his own bottle and mirrors you. “All those gray hairs you got comin’ out, I’d be shocked if you weren’t tired. Stress’ll wear you out.”

The air eases. Stress is a word Kieran is familiar with.

“Aye,” he agrees. “Guess I do look pretty rough for my age.”

You smile some. “I was only teasing.” When, predictably, he turns to you— you wink. “Promise.”

He offers a short up-curl of his lips. It stutters when Javier’s guitar starts, sudden and sharp.

“I know,” he says. He tongues the inside of his cheeks, eyes glancing to the ground as if he’d like to watch it instead of you and yet can’t help himself. They roam over your face instead, as he struggles for the words; you let him find them, brows raised. “You never are mean to me. Not really.”

Simple. No juicy tell-all, but simple and sweet. The men start to sing around the fire, a song you don’t recognize.

“Never would want to be,” you say.

He swallows, and you’re certain now of everything you’ve suspected but found difficult to believe. Sure, the signs were damning on his part, and you’ve spent enough time mulling over each and every action to think of someone who does the same things, yet certainly does not fancy you; each one came up with an answer, except that look.

“Why not?” He asks, then, and you’re a little surprised.

“Oh, Kieran,” you say, gently. In your peripherals, Hosea raises to get another beer and Lenny tosses in his sleep. “Men choose to be mean. Well, maybe they’re mean by design, but they choose to show it, at least.”

The concept seems as comforting to him as it does alarming. “Most of ‘em choose it,” he says, eyes squinting. It’s a tic you’ve noticed he has, an irregular twitch of his muscles.

“I know,” you say. Chancing it, you lay an open hand on his upper back; he flinches, but then his shoulders fall an inch or two. “I don’t know what it is about you,” you answer the question before he can ask. “Maybe 'cause you never choose meanness yourself. Makes a man look inside of himself when someone makes a different choice than him, and I doubt they like what they see. To them, that's your fault, so they gotta beat it out of you.”

Kieran thinks the words over. To be honest, you have little idea what you're really saying, are flying off-the-cuff about a subject you probably shouldn’t be — but it feels crucial to answer fast, to speak whatever comes to you first whether it makes sense or not. Some people call gut reactions true feelings, anyways.

“Think I understand." He’s quiet, for a moment. “Y’never get tired of me?”

You huff a laugh. “I get tired of everybody, but I rest up quicker if it’s you.”

He seems to appreciate the lack of sugarcoating. “Me too,” he admits. Lifting his head again, eyes lingering beside your face and then at your jaw, he starts: “You’re really— you’re, uh, real,” — the scramble inside of his head to read your emotions is almost audible, and he finishes uncertainly — “Good to me.”

“You’re talkin’ in circles,” you point out, tone easy.

Kieran flushes. “I appreciate you,” he corrects, tears his eyes away. More to himself, he mumbles: “Yeah, ‘preciate you a lot.”

You smooth your hand across his shoulders. He tenses, but it doesn’t feel as flighty as it usually does. Disappointment might even flicker in him when you take it away. “I appreciate you, too, Kieran,” you say, and can’t help smiling.

Silence passes. Both of you watch the merriment around the fire, Kieran cringing when Dutch starts up his wailing gramophone and takes Molly by the hand. You’ve been thinking, now and again, of how she looked at Dutch just seconds after saying she hated him. Sometimes, I wish he’d grab me by the hair and put me on the boat so I could finally leave him. And then that longing, wanting the very thing you're sitting here watching.

At that, you feel shamefully voyeuristic. Sean is nowhere to be found, and you feel even more voyeuristic when you hear his voice alongside Karen’s over the cacophony.

God, there isn’t anywhere safe to turn your eyes or your ears in this goddamn place. You hope Kieran will start talking again, and then you remember it’s Kieran, so you’d better say something first or you’ll sit in silence the rest of the evening. For someone so stuck in his head, he doesn’t seem to think about many things he’d like to share.

You don’t know he’s looking at you until you turn to speak. It’s your turn to pause, the few lingering seconds of tolerance you have left for not bringing it up passing in the bated breath you share with him.

“Why’re you staring?”

He takes a breath. “You’re nice-lookin’,” he says, voice shockingly calm and even in a rare show of confidence. Then he takes a swig, much healthier than the rest he’s drank. “I jus’— you’re nice to look at.”

You bite the bullet. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Kieran blanches, apparently not expecting an equally as tactless dive-in response. A story crosses his face in an instant: relief, panic, pain, happiness, a few more expressions that you don’t believe have been named by science. “Why?” He asks, but his eyes aren’t behind the question. It’s a knee-jerk response, a self-defense against the idea that he might be worth something kind.

A smile finds you then. “Aren’t you flirting with me?” You ask, partially to get him to admit to it and partially to ease the doubt that prods at your insides.

He nods, and then pauses. Suddenly, he laughs. “Shit, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t— ‘m sorry, I’ve never… with a man? I ain’t even kissed a girl.” He flushes as if he didn’t mean to say that aloud. "Honestly, it kind of doesn't make sense how I'm s'posed to—"

“Kieran,” you interrupt his babbling, itching to grab him but knowing it would scare him. “Look me in the eye.”

He obeys instantly.

His face melts, and so does your heart. If watching the others feel voyeuristic, this feels exhibitionist; his adoration is so clear on his face, and you can’t help letting your own seep through the mask of nonchalance you try to uphold. To look sweet is one thing as a man; to look sweet on another man is something you avoid at all costs. Yet it doesn’t matter, without anyone watching, even if it chafes on your skin for the mere air of camp to contain it.

“Forget everything. Whether it’s right or wrong or new or old or whatever the Hell,” you say. He nods, throat clicking as he swallows. “Tell me: do you want to kiss me?”

“O’course I do,” he says, as if it’s a dumb question.

He tastes like beer and one of Sean’s terrible hand-rolled cigarettes, must’ve bummed one before the man hit the hay with Karen. The thought is humorous. His beard is scratchy on your face, and his mouth doesn’t move, uncertain how to work against yours — until it makes more sense, and his lips shift slightly, still inhibited.

You lean back first, because you aren’t sure he would even realize he’s supposed to.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

I have two things to ask:

1.-Can we be friends?

2.-Do you have any Outsiders headcanons (or any that you haven't submitted yet)?

I mean sure?? Idk who you are since you’re on anon, so not REALLY, but I’m always down to talk!

2. Yeah lol- tons. Too many. Here’s a few (okay like 25 oops) off the top of my head lol, some serious/angsty and some lighthearted/kinda stupid without any real order. (Lotta ‘em are about Steve tbh -there’s so little to him in canon that I have the freedom to hc pretty much whatever I want)

Steve Randle’s nearsighted and has no idea, which is why he’s literally always squinting. (I’ve had that one for like months but only recently mentioned it on here lol.) Steve thinks his vision is completely normal

Dally and Sylvia genuinely cared for each other, but they were both so horrible at having healthy emotions that they just made each other worse. In a bad way, not a fun way.

When Steve gets kicked out, sometimes he hangs with Johnny in the lot. They don’t really talk about anything important like their shared experiences of having lousy parents. Instead they talk about cars, girls, music, school…lighthearted stuff. Sometimes Johnny will find Steve crying, which he never mentions- he’ll just sit down as per usual, which Steve appreciates. Steve almost never finds Johnny crying though. Johnny doesn’t cry much.

Okay tangent- I love how Steve and Johnny are low-key foils. Like Steve always seems tough but then cries when pushed to his limit, while Johnny always seems skittish until he’s under a bunch of pressure- in which case he suddenly is confident. (Not necessarily thriving obviously, but confident yk? Like grinning while saving those kids in the fire.) I know SE Hinton probably didn’t intend that at all, but it’s just such an interesting detail to me. One of these days I’ll put it into words better

Johnny’s jeans-jacket is a hand-me-down from either Steve or Two-Bit. (I can’t decide which lol) (obviously Dally would make sense too, but honestly I think it’d add more depth to flesh out Johnny’s relationships with the other members of the gang)

After the events of the book, Two-Bit starts hanging around the Curtis’s place even more. At first the gang assumes he’s trying to lighten the mood. It’s only after he gets sent to the cooler for a month due to drunk driving that they realize he was actually hanging around so much because he was trying to keep his kid sister from seeing him so drunk…

Two-Bit likes to joke that he keeps failing junior year so that him and his sister can graduate together. Which is a very bad idea since his sister is a year younger than Ponyboy.

Sodapop often feels like he’s only good for looking pretty and not all that useful or interesting otherwise. He likes himself, but when he stops to think about it too much, he starts to wonder if he really has anything going for him at all

My H/C for Steve’s home life is that his Mom is sick w/ like cancer or something. Before she got sick, Steve’s life was pretty alright for an eastsider- he and his dad fought, but they always made up for the most part. They weren’t perfect, but they loved each other. But after she got sick, she wasn’t there to mediate between Steve and his Dad anymore, and the fighting got worse and worse. And then Steve’s dad started drinking more and it was pretty downhill from there. Steve’s Dad still loves him, but sometimes Steve wishes that he didn’t. If he didn’t, then he could hate him. But his dad does love him, so he can’t get himself to.

Steve and Dally taught Johnny to drive when they were all like fourteen-fifteen-ish. Johnny is a very reckless driver. He loves speeding.

Johnny also loves fast roller coasters and stuff.

Dally doesn't ‘cuz he’s low-key scared of heights- he likes riding broncos and rodeos, but put him at the top of a roller coaster and he’s convinced that it’s gonna break and he’s gonna die. He pretends he doesn’t mind. The only people who know he’s scared of them are Johnny, and before she died, Mrs. Curtis.

Steve has a napoleon complex. Johnny, who is shorter than him by a few inches, likes to bully him for it sometimes

Ponyboy and Cherry don’t interact much in the school year after the book, but in the summer after, they start to hang out. Eventually they become pretty close. They fangirl over Paul Newman together

Ponyboy still doesn’t let Cherry read his theme though until years later

Marcia and Two-Bit re-meet a few months after the book. (Two-Bit is really scared that she’s embarrassed to be dating him, and Marcia is really scared that he’s embarrassed to be dating her. Neither of them are embarrassed. They both adore each other.)

Two-Bit likes to watch Marcia barrel racing. One time while he’s there, he runs into Ponyboy watching Cherry barrel race and immediately tells everyone much to Pony’s chagrin

Evie knows a little bit about cars, and she sometimes helps out at the DX during summers. Steve is so whipped for her lol (and Soda too Steve has two hands)

Evie and Sylvia are besties, but Steve and Sylvia hate each other. They act civil in front of Evie, but as soon as her back is turned they’re growling at each other like dogs. (Well Steve is. Sylvia just acts condescending as hell. Sometimes it goes over his head, so Steve knows she’s insulting him but isn’t sure what the insult is/means. Which makes Steve kinda want to kill her.)

Steve and Soda are low-key co-dependent. (Steve more so- Soda has his family at least, while to Steve, Soda and Evie are his whole world pretty much) It’s probably not super healthy, and both of them are vaguely aware of that, but are trying not to think about it too hard rn

Ponyboy’s friend group in high school consists of Curly Shepard, Mark Jennings, Scout Jenkins (from the tv show), and eventually, in her senior year, Cherry Valance. (There’s others too but those are the main ones.)

Pony dates Cathy Carlson for a while too, idk if they’re good for each other or not- I kinda like the idea of them being a sweet couple tbh, but no one else on here seems to care about them so I haven’t really explored the idea much lol

In a Dally lives au, Mark Jennings and Dally end up spending a bit of time together through Pony, and at some point they realize that they’re half-brothers lol. Mark is a deeply obnoxious little brother to have, and he drives Dally nuts on purpose. Weirdly I think Dally’s a relatively good influence on him, as much as someone like Dally can be. And Dally does care for Mark, though not as much as he cares for Johnny- Mark is, in his head, not exactly his responsibility.

Well I have (so many) more, but I think that’s enough for now lol. Point is, even though I haven’t drawn in a minute, I love these characters and their romanticized version of 1960s Tulsa so much and I think about them way too often lol

(dw once i get more into the swing of school I’ll be doin more art!)

[captn-trex]

a tricky situation

Kix x F!Reader

word count: 2.8k

description: you're used to the antics of the 501st as a mechanic aboard the Resolute, but one clone takes it too far. when pulling one of his typical pranks on you, kix does something you never expected.

warnings: angst, swearing, miscommunication, kinda enemies to lovers I suppose, blood & injury but not in detail, not really proof-read

a/n: I maintain that Kix is a massive tease, but also a massive softie so... here's this. feel free to tell me my characterisation is wrong, I'll probably agree with you

You were grumbling to yourself once again.

It was something you found yourself doing too often, and you worried that soon enough your colleagues would stage an intervention and send you to get psychologically evaluated. You weren’t actually going crazy, but sometimes it felt like it.

Being a mechanic that worked aboard the Resolute, you frequently found yourself at the mercy of the clones of the 501st. Everyday, there was some new trick, some prank they were pulling. Today, it was the classic hiding your tools that they did at least twice a week, sometimes even twice a day. It was the first of the day, but it still had you ready to pull your hair out.

There was very few of them that actually let you get on with your job, and they were unquestionably your favourites. Though, that only amounted to being Captain Rex and Dogma. The rest, were positively menaces.

You had already searched through their barracks, unapologetically waking a few clones up, you had been to the engine room, the control centre, and through every side room you could possibly find, and you still hadn’t found them. You could use the ones belonging to the other mechanics, but it was late at night, and there wasn’t anyone else working. You stood in the middle of a corridor with your head in your hands.

Where haven’t I checked?

It then occurred to you who would’ve played this stupid prank on you, someone who would also be up this late at night, and you ground your jaw. Kix. You stalked off to the medbay, and if anyone had walked past you, they would have seen the steam coming out of your ears.

There was something particularly irritating about the clone medic, something you couldn’t put your finger on that made him be able to get under your skin like no other. He didn’t even try as hard as his brothers, but every single conversation with him felt like a game, an infuriating dance of taunting and tormenting. It didn’t help that you found him to be the most handsome among his brothers. Perhaps that was the reason you found him so annoying, but you weren’t going to analyse that right now.

You kicked the door to the medbay open with one swift motion and stormed inside, a surprised look on the face of the one you were after.

“Kix, so help me maker, I will shoot you if you don’t give me them back now” You growled at him, and he stood, setting down the datapad he held on one of the cots.

“My dear, I have no idea what you are on about” He said, a small taunting smile gracing his lips.

You clenched and flexed your hands at your sides, “Kix, this isn’t funny, I’m on a deadline with this one. Give them back”

The medic came to stand in front of you and placed his hands on your shoulders, running them down to your biceps. If it wasn’t him that had made you so angry, you may have even enjoyed it.

“Give what back?” He asked plainly, and you shook your head, your teeth grinding together so hard you were positive they would break. Kix could see the flame of anger in your eyes that he so loved. Winding you up was certainly his favourite pastime.

“You know what. I need my tools”

“Why would your tools be here?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, then came in closer, “You do know this is the medbay, right?”

You rolled your eyes so fast they could have rolled out of their very sockets. You ripped your arms from his grasp, and stormed around the room, turning over every single thing and huffing to yourself when you didn’t find anything. Kix watched you with utmost amusement. He would have to tidy up after you, but it was almost worth it to see you so worked up. Almost.

“Alright, alright. Relax. They’re in the closet” He called, and you rushed to the door that he was pointing at.

You switched on the light, which afforded little more visibility, but you saw your toolbox sat on the floor just by the door. You picked it up as you heard the door slide closed, and turned to see that Kix had closed you in with him.

“Get out of my way” You huffed, giving him your best withering look.

“What? No thank you?” He grinned. That damn beautiful smile of his.

“Thank you? You must be joking”

“I helped you find your tools, I think I deserve a little something” He reasoned, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“And what, pray tell, do you think you deserve?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of… a kiss?” He suggested.

All of your insides constricted as the word left his lips, and you were frozen on the spot.

“What?” You almost whispered out, eyes still burning with some form of rage.

Kix smirked, “You see, I know you think you’re pretty slick, but I see you looking at me when you think I’m not paying attention-”

“I do not!”

You do.

“- and I know the reason you pretend to hate me so much is because otherwise you’d just be falling at my feet-”

“I hate you so much because you do things like this!” You argued, holding up your recently stolen toolkit.

“Is that right?”

It was then that you realised that you were only a hairbreadth from his face, your nose almost touching his. You breathed heavily, not daring to utter even one word for fear of losing your composure in an entirely different way. Your eyes burned into his with an intensity that you couldn’t control, and his infuriating smirk only made it worse. After a moment, his mouth uncurled from the taunting expression, looking at you only with interest and nothing else.

Your eyes fell to his lips, and he leaned ever so slightly forwards, brushing his nose against yours gently. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, and you breathed out shakily. Your mind was screaming out and silent at the same time, it couldn’t make sense of what was happening, and your heart took precedent, giving into whatever it was.

Kix then brought his lips to your ear, brushing back a piece of hair behind it with his hand.

“Gotcha”

You were immediately snapped from your trance and recoiled, a look of absolute shock plastered across your features. Kix just watched you with his knowing smirk, and your anger flared once again, but this time, it was underpinned by an emotion he wouldn’t have expected. Hurt.

“You’re a cruel man Kix” You seethed out as you shoved him aside, opening the door and storming out of the medbay.

He watched you go, his insides twisting with guilt. He had only meant to tease you, but he had taken it too far, and now you were actually upset. You were usually too mad at him to ever let any other emotions slip through the cracks, but now he realised that maybe he had just never pushed you to a breaking point before. He was foolish to think that you didn’t have a limit.

You fought to keep tears from spilling from your eyes as you finished your work that evening. You were so frustrated with yourself for letting your guard slip, and even more for reacting this way to what was really a stupid prank, and nothing else. It hadn’t occurred to you before that your attraction to Kix was anything more than that, but now that he had truly embarrassed you, you realised it was more deep-set than that.

You actually liked him, he was right, and he used it just to trick you.

“Hey, I need to talk to you” You heard a voice, his voice, call out as you were slid under a gunship the next day, your arms elbow deep in wires and grease.

“I have no interest in talking to you” You stated plainly, all emotion stripped from your voice.

Kix’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

“Please” He said your name in such a pleading tone, “I need you to know I-”

“Just can it Kix, I don’t want to hear it” You slid from underneath the gunship and looked up at him sternly.

He didn’t intend for this at all. In truth, it was him that really wanted to kiss you. While it was true, he had caught you looking at him sometimes, he had no reason to believe that it was because you liked him, and he only really said it to hopefully push you to a confession. Every time he had wound you up, it was just an excuse to see you react to him, to grab your undivided attention. It was a cowardly approach, making you confess before he did, but now he may never even get the chance if you wouldn’t let him.

“You don’t understand, I-”

“I understand just fine, you used my feelings as fodder for another prank, how surprising” You rolled your eyes, “Leave me alone from now on, if it’s not too tempting to try and embarrass me again”

Kix was floundering for the right thing to say, “It wasn’t a pr-”

“Fuck off Kix, can you not hear me?” You almost shouted, gaining the attention of a few of the nearby clones.

His amber eyes burned into yours. You could see he was sorry, but you’d rather let him feel guilty for what he did than accept any apology he could offer. As you stared each other down with an intensity to rival the previous night, you could feel your emotions getting the better of you.

“Just go away” You said quietly, sliding back underneath the gunship without another word.

You could see Kix hesitate, but you watched him ultimately decide to leave you alone, and walk away. You sighed, feeling your eyes well up with frustration. You were embarrassed all over again.

It had been a week since what the other mechanics were just calling ‘the incident’. They had no idea why you had shouted at the clone, and you wouldn’t tell them, but that didn’t stop them teasing you about it. A silver lining about the whole ‘incident’ was that the clones had started leaving you alone, and your tools had not been stolen once. It was certainly peaceful, and you were reluctant to admit that life now felt boring, for fear that the clones would all suddenly come out of the woodworks with the worst prank of them all. Not that they could top the one already pulled by their medic.

You hadn’t even seen Kix since said ‘incident’, but your head was still maddeningly filled by him. The most maddening fact of all being that it wasn’t your argument that was stuck in your head, it was the way he looked at you as he pretended he was going to kiss you. It had felt so real, so sincere, and as it kept replaying in your head you found yourself wishing to go back in time and just kiss him.

But that would do no good, it was still a prank at the end of the day.

You were working under a ship, your hands buried in wires and a tool between your teeth. You heard someone call out for you and sat up, whacking your head on the underside of the ship in the process, the tool falling from your mouth as you shouted out in pain. You vaguely heard the person shout something along the lines of ‘nevermind, got it’ and cursed them for speaking in the first place. You brought your hand up to your head and felt small trickle of blood, or was it grease?

Then there you were, grumbling to yourself once again.

You stormed off to the medbay reluctantly, but this time you had no intention of speaking with Kix. You opened the door forcefully with your shoulder and made a beeline for the nearest cot, rifling through the draws next to it for a bandage or anything else.

“What are you-” Kix had watched you come in, and was utterly perplexed by your actions until he saw the mix of grease and blood trickling down your forehead. “What happened?” He asked, coming over to inspect the wound.

You just stayed silent.

He said your name gently, drawing your attention and you glanced at him briefly, “What does it look like? I hit my head” You said, finally finding a small bacta patch in the draw. You took it and peeled off the back, sitting down to apply it.

“Woah” Kix reached forwards and took your wrist before you could place it down, “Let me clean that for you first”

You grabbed your wrist back, “I don’t need any help”

“The grease will only infect the wound” He said, grabbing the patch from you, “Sit still”

You glared at him, “I don’t care, I’d rather let it get infected”

“Well it’s a good thing I care then isn’t it” He replied, pulling out an antiseptic wipe.

You sat in silence with what he’d just said. Is this part of his latest trick? Kix gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head to get a better look at the wound. He brought the wipe up to it, “This is going to sting a bit”

And it did.

You hissed as the wipe came into contact with your wound, moving away from the clone inflicting the pain, but he just kept going until there was no more grease or blood dripping out of it.

“Wait here. Please don’t leave”

You watched him suspiciously as he moved away to retrieve something. He was being uncharacteristically serious and kind for someone who loved to tease you. He returned a moment later with some bacta and a bandage, and applied it without another word.

“You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me” He said, the corners of his lips turning up at the attempted joke.

“Well clearly you don’t know any better then” You rolled you eyes.

He spoke your name in a soft tone as he finished applying the bandage, “That hurts” He said in mock hurt, a hand resting on his heart.

“Good” You replied instantly, looking up to his eyes to find him now looking at you seriously. He just watched you for a moment, and your own scowl softened slightly without your permission.

“I’m sorry” He said softly.

You bit your lip a little, looking away, “I know you are”

He brought his hand back to your chin, forcing you to look at him as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I-” He gulped, “I wanted to kiss you”

Your heart leapt to your throat and your eyebrows furrowed, and then scrunched up, going through a million emotions at once.

“Is this a joke?” You asked, your tone hesitant and unsure.

“No” He said firmly, stepping forwards and finding himself between your knees, “I’m sorry for… the way I went about it. I only wanted to tell you that…”

You looked up at him with widened eyes, hanging on every word.

“I wanted to tell you that I have… feelings for you, and it- well, it all backfired” He chuckled slightly, and you let your mouth form a small smile.

“And this is real? You actually like me?” You asked once more for conformation.

“It’s real. I like you, I really like you” He admitted, his hand moving from your chin to cup your jaw.

You leant into his touch a little, and his heart did a flip, “I… I like you too, but I think you already knew that” You grinned a little and his lips formed the smirk that you usually found so maddening.

“I might’ve had some idea” He spoke teasingly, then stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Care to try that kiss again?”

You didn’t reply, and instead pulled him down by his chest plate to meet his lips with yours. It was a slow and meaningful kiss, both you and Kix making no haste and just savouring the moment. You felt him hum contentedly against you, and you smiled into the kiss, breaking away to catch your breath a little. He placed his forehead on yours, but you pulled away quickly when your wound began screaming out against the action.

“Sorry” He chuckled then placed a light kiss on top of the bandaged area, “There, that’ll make it all better”

You smirked, “Is that a treatment you give all your patients?”

“No” He smiled, “Only my favourite one”

[sakuralovespossums]

Pickles x Artist/Painter Reader

You two actually knew each other since high school and started off as strangers to unlikely friends to eventual lovers

Pickles, as much of a rebellious punk he was, couldn’t help but find your detailed artworks interesting and decided to ask you about them one day

“Ey dood, you the one behind all these paintings?”

“Uhh yeah, why?”

*Shyly shrugs his shoulders* “Cool if I like……take a look at how you make em?”

Fast forward to today and you guys are still together

Pickles is now the drummer for Dethklok, while you continue your passion of painting for money and love

You’ve also done a lot of artwork for the Dethklok albums

And Snakes n’ Barrels

It’s still a shock to everyone that you, a soft-spoken person who likes spouting poetic words, is with a stumbling short-tempered drunk like Pickles

But thats one of the reasons why he loves being with you. He likes listening to you share your philosophic words and questions as he drunkenly listens while resting his head on your lap

It calms his brain as lets himself get lost in your serene voice and deep words

He’ll often stop by while your working on a new canvas and plop his chin on your shoulder, asking what your painting this time

Pickles can be a reckless drunk, but he knows to be careful around your artworks and avoids your canvas room when he’s out of it

He also tries not to bother you when your really invested in your work but will occasionally wine for your attention outside the door

Seth has def tried to charm you into working for him but you rejected his offer with a kick to the groin

Pickles loves you even more for that

One of your paintings actually foreshadowed the events of army of the doom star, but nobody ever noticed

Pickles always makes sure your not overworking yourself and taking breaks

“Hey dood, cool stuff so far! Wanna get a sandwich?”

“Don’t forget yer water, babe.”

“You look kinda sleepy, babe. You need a nap? Dat paintings not goi’n anywhere.”

He finds your deep thinking and creative outlook so attractive

When he first mentioned you and your art profession to the band, he was so casual about it lol

“I guess my s/o can help us think of a cool album cover. Hm? Oh, yeah they’re an artist.”

[vibratingskull]

Hello ☺️

I love your work, your stories. They are absolutely amazing. 🤍

Could I request a story with Samakro x reader (female)? Something about the way he falls in love with her.

Thank you my dear, have some Samakro the ride or die man ❤️

art by @jun-c

Samakro x F!reader

“You are a human, you are feeble, you are weak.” Samakro hisses. 

“I am... not weak.” You respond back, completely out of breath, sweaty, and hands on your knees. 

“You are weak. You cannot even last a training session.” 

You straigthen your back and crack your neck, getting back into position. 

“I am not weak!” You repeat with more force and anger in your human eyes. 

“Prove it to me.” 

You launch yourself on Samakro again, punching and kicking his gloved hands as he showed you too. 

“Harder!” He orders. 

You increase your strength, hitting away as hard as you can, as fast as possible. 

“Keep going.” He demands, “Harder!” 

You feel your lungs burning and your muscles screaming in pain. You are not used to such intensive exercises. You are a civilian, not a military member. But the rules are simple: adapt or get debarked on the first planet you come by. 

You don’t know why Captain Thrawn is imposing such rules on you, but since they found you wounded and drifting in space he dictates your life and you have no choice but to abide by his rules. Mid-Captain Samakro is now your new tutor on the Springhawk, spying on what you do at all hours of the day and night. He is merciless, imposing the strict Chiss military lifestyle no matter how tired you appear. 

“Again!” He hisses. 

You give him two powerful punches and a spin kick right into the targets he’s holding. He seems taken aback for a split second before recovering his hard expression. 

“Better. Give me more of that human.” 

You throw your last strength into it until you hear the liberating timer.  

“Time out.” Samakro announces to your relief. 

You fall to your knees, drenched in sweat and without any more breath. You cough painfully, feeling on the verge of passing out after such intense exercises.  

“Hey!” Samakro calls for you. 

You raise your head towards him only to receive a towel in the face. 

“Do not stop like that, it is recovery time. Go on the treadmill.” 

You groan, painfully raising on your feet and leaving the ring to hop on the treadmill. You feel your pounding heart pumping blood furiously and painfully. You hold the two bars on the side so as not to fall as Samakro hops on the treadmill beside you. 

“You did a good job today.” He lets you know after five full minutes of complete silence. 

“Thank you, sir.” You nod. 

“Do not forget to take out the electrodes and the monitor once you’re done.”  

You nod again. You jump off the treadmill and take off the monitor's electrodes off your chest and stomach. You turn to Samakro for further instructions. 

“You have the rest of your day.” He simply announces not even looking at you as he keeps walking on the mill. 

“Oh... Thank you sir!” You answer joyfull and heads toward the communal showers. 

Samakro keeps walking rapidly on the treadmill until he hears Thrawn’s steps pattern entering the gym of the Springhawk. 

“What are the results today?” Captain Thrawn asks evenly. 

“Let’s discover it.” Samakro responds. 

The two men approach the laying monitor and plug it into a questis, running the data on the screen. 

“This is her results on her first session and here is her progression’s curb.” He explains to his Captain. 

Thrawn remains mute, observing the data on the screen, detailing every high and low, the picks and the depressions. 

“Fascinating.” He finally lets out, “Almost the same as a Civilian Chiss curb.” 

“Indeed, the results are uncanny.” Samakro adds, scrubbing his face with a towel. 

“And what of her mental? Her dispositions?”   

“She did not understand the necessity of the exercises at first, and I think she still does but she submits to it.” 

“Do you push her to her limits?” 

“Yes. She doesn’t like to be looked down upon, it gives good results.” 

“Do not destroy her mentally. I have more tests to run on her.” Thrawn advises. 

“I am careful, she seems to hold on well.” 

Thrawn looks back at the results with interest in his inquisitive red eyes. 

“Humans... Fascinating.” 

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

Samakro silently looks at you over his questis. You are fully focused on your test on your own questis. 

Obviously, you don’t know Cheuhn, but you are proficient in several trade languages and writing systems the Chiss use outside of their realm and displayed your polyglot talents early on. He concocted a series of tests to measure your mental plasticity and  I.Q. And you’ve been going at it since 6 am. 

Some maths and logic problems with dissertations in different languages, a philosophical question, and a moral dilemma. 

It is actually an IQ test that the entire Springhawk crew had to take at some point in their career, he simply translated it into a trade language and script and took the liberty to take out the General Knowledge questions about Chiss culture and literature for obvious reasons. 

He is already checking your responses from this morning, comparing them to the average Chiss responses. 

Your I.Q. is average, nothing really special to note, but your way to the responses is truly... alien. You are coming from a completely different thought system and it shows, you are creative in your responses in a way that the Chiss test has difficulty measuring. Your responses to the philosophical and moral dilemmas are completely misaligned with Chiss values but are terribly interesting if they are standard for your human species. 

When he thinks back Chiss and Humans used to trade and exchange millennia ago and everything stopped after the supernova explosions, erasing all hyperspace lanes of the Chaos and cutting all communications.  

How did humans evolve deprived of the wisdom of the Chiss? 

“Five minutes left.” He announces. 

You grumble, taking your forehead in your hand, he can almost see the smoke of focus escaping your ears. He should compare your responses to the archives about humans they have, Captain Thrawn will also be interested. 

Samakro wonders for a second what was his results for those tests, they never communicated them to the candidates. If he reached the rank of Captain it means he must have done good. 

You would never reach the rank of Captain. You are not made for war, neither in body nor in mind. You would surely be a good historian or archivist, a scholar career where you classify data seems perfect for you. 

But on a Chiss warship, you have little to no value. The only civilian job in it is caregiver for the skywalker and they surely won’t let an alien approach their precious little girl any time soon.  

He keeps looking at you discreetly. He remembers lying to you, telling you that if you didn’t obey they would debark you on the first wild planet they found and leave you to die there. 

Which is obviously false for several reasons. They are not barbaric monsters and mostly Captain Thrawn and the UAG are terribly interested in meeting a Human after so many millennia. All your test results are sent to the UAG  for them to get a foretaste of what they will work on once they send you there. 

But you refused to obey and sit down and he had to resort to menace to force you to submit. Are all humans that rebellious? Do you all have problems with authority? A Chiss would have never posed such problems... 

If the current mission wasn’t capital for Chiss security, Thrawn would have ordered the Springhawk to go back to Csilla to offer you to the lab as his new catch. But fortunately for you, they must keep going, you escaped the rat lab existence. 

But for this time only. 

The scientists of the UAG are drooling at the idea of studying a human after so much time and they keep sending them new tests and procedures to experiment on you. Samakro doesn’t understand this fascination for aliens, for him they are all the same: 

Not worth his time and attention. 

But Thrawn thinks differently and locks himself with you in his office for long discussions every day. He is learning the maximum he can on this “new” species, evaluating the level of threat you will pose or not. He is less invasive in his questions and remains courteous with you but you shouldn’t get used to it. 

“Time is over.” Samakro says. 

You sigh and fall back in your chair with a defeated look. Visibly maths is a serious adversary for you.  

“May I go now?” You ask, visibly tired. 

“No. Remain.” He orders sternly. 

He looks at your new results while you are forced to wait in silence. It is obviously another test, how well do you do when things don’t go your way?  

He takes is sweet time comparing the results with the archive and while he isn’t a scientist something is very clear to him. 

You’re going to be a problem. All humans will. 

You are unruly and disorganized, messy and libertarian, prone to rebellion. 

He hardly sees what good would come up for the Chiss to align themself with humans.  

You’re just going to be a pain in more ways than one. 

He now knows how humans evolved without Chiss’ wisdom... 

“Senior Captain Samakro? (Y/n) (L/n)?” Thrawn enters the little conference room, “I need you.” 

Samakro jumps on his feet, ready for action while you look put out, only wanting to enter your bed for a good night’s sleep. 

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Samakro inquires. 

“We crossed paths with new aliens. I would like to have a word with them to test the water.” 

Samakro frowns turning his head to give you a look. 

“Is her presence necessary?” He asks in Cheuhn, earning a bad look from you. 

“Indeed. She is more fluent in their language than I am and I would like to observe their reaction to a near-Chiss individual.” Thrawn responds in the same language, “Who knows, maybe humans already are in contact with this species.” 

Samakro nods obediently. 

“Follow us (F/n)” He orders you. 

You sigh but obey. 

“I need your talents in a specific language.” Thrawn lets you know in a trade language. 

“Other humans?” You ask, accelerating your pace to place yourself next to Thrawn. 

Samakro fights the urge to grab your shoulder and yank you backward. Nobody walks alongside a Captain, even his bodyguards remain two steps behind. But Thrawn doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.  

So Samakro remains silent but mentally adds “Impertinent” and “unable to follow protocols” to his list of cons about humans. 

“Unfortunately no. A group of alien nomads of whom our archives are incomplete.” 

“Nomad? Are they numerous in the region?” You inquire curious. 

“Indeed there are a few clans. Most of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, selling their services to the most generous.” 

 “Oh... I mean... Should I really be here?” You worry. 

“Everything is going to be fine. I simply need you as a translator no harm will come to you.” 

Samakro remains silent. A group of mercenaries with whom the alien they happened to have rescued and helped can speak with? The timing is a bit suspicious. He received the orders to tutor you but he also had to honor his duties as Mid-Captain, who knows how efficient the officers he gave you to were in their surveillance? 

Did they invite a snake in? 

Thrawn must also have these suspicions and take the opportunity to test you. 

You all enter the new conference room where the Aliens are waiting. Samakro remembers reading some archives about them but they are quite obscure, but he remembers them being known to undergo heavy surgical operations to make their entire bodies a weapon.  

And evidently, Thrawn lied to you. He mastered this language years ago, Samakro heard him use it so many times as he is himself quite fluent in this one. It allows them both to fact-check what you are translating to them and to the Aliens. 

Hum... 

Up until now, you have diligently reported the correct info, not trying to subtly twist Thrawn’s words or veil info from the aliens... But that is not enough to erase suspicion. 

As for the aliens’ pretense as to why they are on Chiss territory, it is clearly a lie. Those have something behind their minds. Samakro subtly caresses his charric at his hips. They took out the Aliens’ weapon but something in his mind was telling him to be cautious. 

“They ask if you could draw them a safe route for their travel. Their navigator died.” You explain. 

Bullsh... 

But Thrawn takes out his questis where a map of the Chaos appears. He hands it to Samakro to give it to the Aliens that are on the other side of the room, a long table separating them from the Chiss. Samakro takes it and heads toward the group.  

Suddenly, when he is mid-way through and away from Thrawn the aliens jump on their feet with their hands in their mouths, dislocating their jaws in an impressive fashion, to take out hidden miniguns off their throats. 

And fires. 

And in a flash, it is over. When Samakro recovers his senses he has his fuming Charric pointed at the now-dead aliens, the questis now exploded on the floor. 

A suicide commando. Surely the Grysks. 

A good chance Samakro and Thrawn’s bodyguards are fast. 

He spins towards Thrawn to see if he is all right. He discovers him kneeling with you in his arms. 

“What happened?” He asks kneeling next to his superior. 

You have been hit, the smell of burning flesh rising to Samakro’s nose. It is not pretty. They both lay you down on the ground, Thrawn taking his comm to call for the medics while Samakro applies pressure on your bleeding wound. 

Warrior, if they lose the UAG’s new toy... 

If they lose you... 

“She took the fire for me.” Thrawn explains. 

Samakro freeze. 

You what? 

He raises his eyes to his Captain, incredulous. 

“An alien did that?” 

“Apparently. Keep applying pressure Mid-Captain.” 

Quickly the medics comes to take you away in the medbay, leaving Thrawn and Samakro to investigate the scene. 

But Samakro’s mind keeps coming back to you. 

Why did you do that? 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Why would an alien risk its life to save somebody else? He wouldn't have taken a fire for an alien. 

“Mid Captain, you are not listening.” Thrawn’s voice calls Samakro back to reality. 

Samakro shakes himself. 

“Sorry Sir, you were saying?” 

Thrawn lets go of the alien’s shoulder he was holding to get a closer look at their face. 

“Go to her.” He simply orders. 

Samakro raises an eyebrow. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you are evidently disturbed and unfocused on your task.” 

“I am mostly disturbed I wasn’t able to protect you.” 

“You shot them. You did your job.” 

“An alien had to protect you and this is a failure.” 

This time it is Thrawn who raises an eyebrow. 

“After all this time you are still calling her an ‘alien’?” 

“This is what she is.” Samakro responds, not understanding his superior puzzled expression. 

Thrawn tilts his head. 

“Is she now?” 

Samakro opens his mouth to close it back immediately. Where is Thrawn going with all of this? 

“How curious... I thought your relation deepened after all this time.” Thrawn ponders. 

“She hasn’t been here long.” Samakro argues. 

“She has been with us for 8 months.” Thrawn informs him. 

8 months?! 

No. 

Impossible. He feels like they discovered your ship three weeks ago, how has it been already 8 months? 

Samakro remains mute in shock, taking the info in. 

“Time flies in charming company, does it not?” Thrawn notes with a tight smile. 

Samakro exhales though his nose. Ridicule! 

Absolutely ri-di-cule! 

“She is a task you gave me, nothing more.” 

“I asked you to look over her not send me an extensive list of her food’s likes and dislikes.” Thrawn says almost mockingly. 

Almost. 

“I thought you would have appreciated to learn humans’ nutritional habits.” Samakro defends himself. 

“I would have simply asked her, Mid-Captain.” The Captain tries to gently guide him to the obvious conclusion. “I also heard you kept deterring colleagues from her.” 

“I was not going to let them defile themself with an alien sir!” Samakro explains like his outrage made sense. 

“Why immediately assume they had a romantic or sexual interest in her?” Thrawn asks more and more amused. 

This is a new side of his Mid-Captain he is discovering, and he is terribly curious. 

“Because she....! Because...” Samakro tries again to justify himself only to have no sound arguments. 

Indeed, why his first fear was that his Chiss colleagues would be interested in her? For what possible reason? Why did it displeased him so much he had to push everyone, male and female, away from you? 

Samakro stretches his lips in a thin line at that bomb, trying to make sense of all the moments he had with you.  

Could he...? 

“Go see her Mid-Captain. I can investigate the scene by myself.” Thrawn finally says, turning his back to Samakro signaling him that his words are final. 

Samakro bows and leaves the room. 

He entered confident and exited it in shambles. 

Obediently, he goes to you, trying to silence that little voice bugging his mind. Of course, he isn’t smitten! That’s ridiculous! What does Thrawn even know about love anyway?! 

He enters the med bay ready to chastise you for merely existing and being in his way but he looses all of his energy seeing you in this state. 

You are dressed in bandages, lying on a bed with a painful expression on your face. 

Maybe... this is not the right time for chastising. Later. Yes... later. 

Surely... 

You wave at him forcing you to smile through the pain. He comes close, sitting on a stool next to you. 

“Why?” He asks. 

“Why what?” 

“Why protect him? Why not let him die?” 

You look at him confused. 

“Isn’t it your job too to protect him? Why are you mad at me?” 

“I am not mad. I am trying to ... Understand.” 

You shrug like he isn’t making any sense. That’s the second person looking at him like that today and one was already enough... 

“Do I truly need a reason to save someone in danger?” You ask him, genuinely confused. 

“We are not the same species. You had no interest in protecting one of us.” 

“I don’t need to be part of the same species to empathize. Captain Thrawn is an honorable man, it would pain me if he died.” 

“Really? Would you have done the same for any of us?”  

“Why not?” 

“Even... me?” 

“Yes. Every life deserves to be protected, alien or not. Do you not think the same?” You look at him with a clear gaze. 

He purses his lips. No, he doesn’t think the same, he is a warrior, a cannot fodder meant to die in battle, Thrawn too.  

But you’re a civilian.  

You’re what they die for. So why put your own life on the line for them? The roles are reversed. 

Does he have to add ‘selfless’ to his list of pros for humans now? 

“We are soldiers. Dying is our job.” 

“Your job is to protect, not die.” You counter with a soft voice. 

“Easy for you to say.” He grumbles. 

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it with a contrite smile. 

“Yes, I would take a hit for you, Mid-Captain Samakor.” You repeat. 

He snarls a scoff, incredulous. 

Why would you do that? Since the first day he had the bad role, ordering you around, forcing you to obey him, imposing you a lifestyle different than yours, prevented you from forming meaningful relationships with others. He is a jailor, your torturer. 

You must hate him. And he is fine with that, Thrawn ordered him to look over you and he will do it even if you despise him. 

And then... 

Your hand releases his to cup his cheek gently, inviting him to raise his head and look at you. 

“Come on now. This is not you Mid-Captain Samkro.” This time your smile is wide and franck, “Where is your Chiss attitude?” 

He can’t help but chuckle before quickly hidding  his mouth. 

“You call that an attitude? I call this honor.” 

“Meh. I’m not big on the military things. Call it what you prefer.”  

He should push your hand away, not tolerating a single act of promiscuity or even friendliness. 

But he likes the warmth of your palm... It is incredibly soft and smooth. 

When was the last caress he received, and when was the last tender act toward him? Long ago in his childhood. 

Maybe he will not add “selfless” to the pros human list, but yours. 

And this one is longer... 

@bluechiss @Thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe 

[steviewashere]

In it For the Long Haul (And Then Some)

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Minor Internalized Ableism Tags: Post Canon, Post Season Four, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Medical Conditions, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma (Brief Mention), Amputee Steve Harrington, Amputee Eddie Munson, Disabled Steve Harrington, Disabled Eddie Munson, Whump, Implied/Referenced Depression, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve's Injuries Actually Have an Effect On Him, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names, Medical Accuracies (Surprising, I Know), Tattoos, Implied/Referenced Sex, Getting Together

Guys, oh my god, my Apple keyboard has prosthetic emojis?! That's so cool.

🦾🦿—————🦾🦿 He thought it’d be another concussion that would put him out this time. It’s practically the stamp of approval left on his body by the Upside Down. Should be bright green and sticky on his forehead and in big bold letters for everybody to read. But it isn’t a concussion. And he’s not sure what to do with himself.

Maybe they should’ve taken him to the hospital to get medical treatment after the bat bites. It wasn’t just on his back and arms and stomach. The marks were on his legs, too. Even though he had tried to kick the demobats off, they still sunk their teeth in when they had the chance, albeit briefly. Considering, too, he also walked through that hellhole without shoes on. He should’ve seen a doctor. First thing, he should’ve seen a doctor. But he didn’t. And he had the infection to show for it. Except, his body hadn’t healed the way it was supposed to. His immune system didn’t cooperate. It didn’t keep up.

The infection spread through the muscle of his left foot. And when it didn’t go away fast enough, it worked its way through his toes, shot up his ankle, and into his calf. Right below the knee.

His pinkie and ring toes went first. They—and he wishes he could spare the gruesome details—turned purple and swollen and numb. That’s when he knew things would be different. As soon as those parts were gone, he had begun to turn his face away from the window of hope. Instead, he looked out at the deep ocean waves of regret and grief, and imagined himself as a sinking ship. Filling with water. Plummeting to the bottom. Rotting.

Robin and the kids would all come around. Flood into his room. Talk to him while he was delirious from anesthesia first, then morphine next. Spoke to him when he hissed through phantom pains. Looked away when he had to be wheeled into the all too spacious hospital bathroom. “Tug the red chord if you get stuck,” he recalls a nurse saying. “Don’t put pressure on this foot, it’s still draining,” another had said. And by the time he could stay out of the wheelchair, he forgot what it was like to pee without the reminders, what it was like to go to the bathroom and be able to stand on his own.

Because of his luck, though, he lost the whole foot next. The infection had worked its way into his tibia. Didn’t fall asleep willingly after he was taken off of medication. Just sat in his cramped hospital bed, staring down at the stump of where part of him once was, and wept. Hands curled over his thighs, nails digging into his flesh, lips tight against his teeth, unblinking and weeping softly into the silence of his room. The first night without morphine and without the foot, he sat in the dark. In the black ink of his room. Choking on himself. Uncaring towards his limp and greasy hair dangling in front of his eyes. And he didn’t sleep. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t take the glare off his absent foot.

He stopped flexing the other foot, stopped running it against his left leg when he did try to sleep, stopped wanting to use it all together.

It wasn’t until the calf was removed completely, leaving him with half a leg and just his knee, did he stop talking. He just sat in the bustling white noise silence of his room. Wide eyes that were dry and red and bloodshot staring down at the thin cloth blanket draped over himself. An even thinner hospital gown stuck to his sallow skin. Stomach rumbling with hunger, but he couldn’t eat in the presence of himself. He just sat and thought of blankness, of absence, and of loss.

He’s been in the hospital nearly a month—endless surgeries and endless bouts of infections—when Eddie finally visits. Steve barely glances at him. Notices his silhouette and odd gait and the hiding of his right arm, but nothing more. Goes back to his lap with a raw emptiness, gaping and pulsing the more and more he sits in this room. Still recovering. Not even at the point of physical therapy yet. Still trying to heal his, how he views it, now useless body.

Eddie sits down in the chair to his left. Grunting with the exertion. He releases a measured, deep breath. “I heard from Robin that you were up here,” he states conversationally. “Thought I’d come up and see you now that I’m not stuck in my own room.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Just traces his thumbs over the hem of his blanket. He thought he’d be angrier at the mention of Eddie being discharged. Filled to the brim with bitter jealousy. But all that tinges in his chest is a beastly want. An ache. The sizzle of something dwindling out.

“Haven’t had the chance to thank you, Steve,” Eddie murmurs. “I thought I’d die down there. Figured it was the best option, y’know, considering my circumstances? But then you and Dustin did the whole tourniquet thing and risked your lives and welcomed me in like a friend. So, my mind’s been changed. Hate this town and how it hates me, but I’m glad to still be here with some of the best people I’ve met,” he says sincerely. “But—I, uh—I wanted to come keep you company, as a friend. Show you something, too.”

At that, Steve raises his eyes slightly. Enough to catch on where Eddie’s knees are pressed firmly against the side of his bed. Angled oddly to stretch out and wiggle his right arm in sight of Steve’s vision. That’s when his eyes catch on the limp sleeve of the flannel he’s wearing. How it just flattens to the bed, red and black, lifeless.

The sleeve rolls up to reveal the stump of Eddie’s arm. His hand, wrist, and half of his forearm completely gone.

“We match,” Eddie says. And it should be grim. It should be a devastating statement to make. But something in Steve starts to warm. A desperation sort of growth, one that comes from the want and need to be seen. Eddie continues, “And—Look, I know it’s not ideal. It really isn’t. If anything, this is like majorly fucked up for the both of us. But…We’ll figure it out, you know? Get prosthetics. Cut up our clothes to accommodate our limbs, or well, lack of. But you aren’t alone; that’s my point.”

Hesitantly, Steve raises his head. Finally looking at Eddie in his entirety. The palm sized scar on his cheek, pink and shiny and stark against his face. The ring around his neck and the other red raw scars that creep into the collar of his t-shirt. And his hair. It’s gone. Shaved down. Replaced by a bit of fuzz and one long scar that goes from the widow’s peak of his hairline, to where it tapers at his neck. Steve doesn't remember Eddie getting injured there, but it must've been from when he fell through the portal—limp and loose.

He realizes, looking down at himself, that there are swirls of scars from the back of his own arms, deep white lines on his knuckles, the ring around his neck surely present, and that doesn’t even include the ones that ache on his back. He looks back to Eddie.

Eddie reaches out a slow hand, cupping his cheek, wiping at something. That’s when Steve realizes that he’s crying. “Hey, oh, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t think that—“

“You get it?” Steve squeak-rasps. His throat throbs. It's dry and brittle and painful all the way through him; down to his stomach, into his sweaty palms, at the base of his stump. Phantom stings that make him twitch. But his voice...It's nothing like him. It's haunting to hear himself. And for a moment, he wishes he didn't speak. Eddie, however, startles and softens all at once. Eyes glistening at Steve, worried and concerned and cautious, but also enamored and welcoming and empathetic.

Nodding, Eddie says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I do. I’m still getting used to it, too.” He pushes up into Steve’s messy hair, swiping it away from his forehead. Doesn’t even grimace at how gross it surely feels on his fingers. “You don’t have to sit alone about this. ‘Cause I’m right here with you. And…” His eyes grow immeasurably softer. “…I may not have both hands, but I’ve got both arms to hold you," he breathes.

It’s easy to lean into Eddie’s hand. To close his eyes and let himself feel this. Sobbing quietly, muffled behind his lips. Shoulders shaking with it. He blubbers, “I hate this, Eddie. I hate this, I hate this, I—“ And cuts himself off with a loud, unashamed, explosive sob.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie is saying as he wraps himself around Steve. Tucks himself in close, to where Steve is able to set his head on his shoulder. He sits on the edge of the bed so that he doesn’t overcrowd. And just holds on tight. “You feel how you need to feel, Steve. Get it out, it’s okay.”

Steve groans harshly in the back of his throat. Gasping in short breaths, chest rattling with the effort. He slams his forehead into Eddie’s chest, over and over. Muffling into the fabric of his shirt, “Nobody else gets it. They don’t understand. They don’t…All of them.” Eddie doesn’t speak. Afraid that Steve will stop if he does. “They think I’ll just bounce back, but everything is different now, Eds,” he cries, “Everything.”

And he finds that he does mean that. He knows he's too quiet. Knows he's behaving too serious for his bones. Too mature for his lungs. He's hollow to his core, and bleeding between his teeth. There's something deeply fractured in him now, even if he were to ever show a sliver of who he was before.

He allows himself to cry for a few minutes more before slumping with exhaustion, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Doesn’t let sleep pull him under. Just shakes and shivers and twitches in Eddie’s warm hold. Until, Eddie pulls back. Arms set firmly on Steve’s shoulders. Eyes wandering his face, his hair. “You look so tired, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “When’s the last time you’ve slept?” Steve shrugs in lieu of a response. Eddie's eyebrows twitch down, a frown wanting to form, but he worms it away. Offering with a well-crafted small smile, “How about you sleep and I keep watch for you?”

He shakes his head. “They’ll take more of me if I close my eyes. They keep doing it,” Steve mutters. His voice is weak and slightly petulant.

“What do you mean, Stevie?” And Eddie's face drops again. Frowning through the floor.

“They come in here and tell me the infection spread. Tell me about how it goes bone deep. Or how my limbs are turning purple. Or how something doesn’t look good,” Steve rambles on, “Then, they have to take me back for surgery. And I have to let them because I get it, I do, because my body isn’t healing right. And it's not something I'll just make up for at home, so I let them. I let them and then...I wake back up and more of my leg is gone. I can’t let them take more from me. I can’t lose more of myself. I can’t, Eddie, I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—“

Softly, Eddie shushes him. Rubbing his remaining hand up and down Steve’s arm in long stripes, carefully avoiding his still agitated scars. “Shhh, baby, you’re okay. It’s scary, I know. But they said that you’re doing better. Treatment is working, Steve. You won’t lose anything else, okay?” His eyes are wide and imploring. Deep brown, enriching, swallowing Steve whole. “You won’t. This is it. They just need you to rest. I’ll be right here while you do so; I won’t let them do anything to you that you wouldn’t want. But you need sleep. You’re wasting away on me.” His hands push firmer on Steve's shoulders. Imploring again, searching and hoping for Steve to understand. He reiterates, “You’re wasting away.”

“I’m not,” Steve weakly argues.

“You are,” Eddie whispers, “You look like you haven’t slept in days, Stevie. And the doctors already told me how you’ve been refusing to eat. That’s not good. You gotta rest and get healthy, to a place they need you to be, so that you can go home.” Steve doesn't like that idea. Back to his big, almost always empty house. Eddie must read that, somewhere, on his face. He gently splays his hand over Steve’s chest, shoving at it with light force. Promising low, "Home can be with Robin or Nancy or me, Stevie. But you have to get better first. You have to. Just lay down and talk to me, sweetheart."

Hesitantly, Steve lays down with Eddie’s push. Head lolled on the pillow so that his face is pointed towards where Eddie sits. He stretches out his hand and weakly grips to Eddie’s fingers. “I’m scared,” he finally confesses. The words falling heavy from the tip of his tongue.

And though Eddie knows, Steve can see it in his eyes, he asks anyway, “What’s got you spooked?”

Steve blinks groggily. Wrung out from the tears. From the sobbing. The speaking. From existing the way he has been. “Of not being myself,” he answers, muttering. “I can’t drive now. I can’t work out the way I used to. Can’t even stand to use the bathroom. I’m not losing more of my limbs, but it’s like I’m gone.”

Eddie’s thumb pushes firmly into the back of Steve’s hand. And he looks straight on at Steve’s tired, tired, tired eyes. “I ain’t letting you go,” he swears. “We’ll find what works. We’ll find you again, I promise. Especially now that we have all the time in the world.”

“It’s going to take so long, though. You don’t want to be stuck with me during that.”

Simply, Eddie shrugs. “So, what? I’ll be figuring out myself again, too. And from what I’ve heard, you’re the kind of guy to take no shit. If anything, you’re going to be the one stuck with me.” His voice grows lower and lower as Steve’s eyes dip to a near close. “Go ahead and sleep, Steve. It’s okay.”

With a long, grieving sigh, Steve closes his eyes completely. Mumbles, “You’re a good guy, Eddie.” Voice slow and sticky. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

As Steve’s grumbling snores fill the room, Eddie stands to lightly open the curtains. Soft sunlight pooling through the room. It makes Steve glow in yellows, his hair shiny and his skin glistening. He’s worse for wear, that much is evident to Eddie. But he can work with that. He’ll accommodate all that Steve is willing to give. And he’ll keep an eye and an ear out, too. Even if that’s all he’s allowed to offer.

He sits back in his original chair. Stretching himself so that he can lean over Steve's bed. And swipes the stray hair away from his eyes. “I’m glad you’re my friend, too, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs into the white noise of the room. He stays until visiting hours are over.

And comes back every day until Steve gets to go home.

——— Their prosthetics don’t match perfectly to their skin (the prosthetic’s skin being a shade darker than what they’d usually have), but they make do with them. And they find a way to joke about it. To mingle with the still raw ache of what they’ve lost.

Steve ends up painting the nails of Eddie’s prosthetic hand to match his real fingernails, black and shiny. Eddie aids with changing out Steve’s sneakers so that they match his polos and sweaters. And they find it especially funny, when they get together and hook up for the first time, to be laying in a pile of limbs quite literally on Eddie’s bed—but to look off at his side table, their arm and leg are cradling each other. Just as they do. Holding one another on the worst days, through the phantom pains and the afternoons where they sob. It comes easily, being with one another.

It takes time, like all things do. Like watching paint dry on some days. Or waiting for water to boil on others. Prone to lash out, sure. Prone to stay stock still in bed with far away eyes. But they’re in it. They live it. And as time pushes, days grow to be normal. To be expected.

“We should draw tattoos on our limbs,” Eddie suggests one day.

“I can’t draw, Eds. But what do you have in mind?”

In it for the long haul, with a drawing of a hand, is put on Steve’s prosthetic calf.

And then some, with a leg wearing a Nike sneaker, goes on Eddie’s wrist.

“Can’t believe my first tattoo literally cost an arm and a leg,” Steve mutters later, admiring the work Eddie’s done. And all they can do afterwards is laugh until their stomachs hurt, air is impossible to catch, and their cheeks are wet with tears.

🦾🦿—————🦾🦿 When my mom was alive and, obviously, still used her prosthetic leg, she'd threaten to beat up my bullies by taking her leg off and whacking them with it. Also, her leg had a piece of see-through plastic on it where she could have something customized in it, it said "Kicking ass and taking names."

[the-nysh]

Hi there!! I just saw your tags on the Vash marksman appreciation post and I really REALLY gotta know your thoughts on the fight choreography bc while I did martial arts as a kid I don’t remember everything and just extremely curious!! Wanna appreciate the thoughts put behind making this boyo!!

👀👀!!! Yes, hello! (Note: I'm also about 10yrs rusty out of practice in hapkido--a Korean defensive art that combines many styles from judo/aikido/etc, so while I may not remember all the formal terms and stuff, I can still SEE the very real and very sexy close combat choreography + randori/grapples/ground work they're smoothly throwing in there!) I've briefly tag-ranted on some former gifs I've reblogged here & here but OK, I can indulge into a little more detail! :D

Let's start with this gif, which is such a nice introductory tease!

The point-blank bullet dodging is some of that sick looking 'rule of cool' inhuman spice, but oh what's this?? 👀 The other dude is dumbly holding his arm out (non-defensively, since if that guy were smart about close fighting, he'd have his other hand up at the ready too) right in Vash's personal space, ripe for the taking - to which OH YES he easily blocks with the prosthetic arm and transitions right into a throw for the takedown. Where he shoves the fool over his shoulder with a lot more power (which is hard to do, esp from a standing position without a solid grip on any lapels either; woo he just goes right in for it), rather than using the dude's own momentum against him, since the guy's literally just standing there (as a stationary weight) rather than trying to punch him in a brawl. But LOOK what else Vash does!!! His block with the prosthetic becomes a grip that both holds/pulls onto the guy's arm during the throw and disarms the guy - by tossing his gun away, in one swift movement! :O Not only that, but there!! We see the first quick tease of him reverse-griping his own heavy brick of a gun into a tonfa position to strike the guy at the back of the neck for a non-lethal stun!!! That is SO cool!!! ;o; Some galaxy-brained application of his no-killing fighting style (using both arms + his revolver in his repertoire...oh wait, that already makes up the title's literal 3 guns *gets shot*) where it looks so fresh and seamlessly smooth af. Great stuff.

Then the Livio fight, despite him being double-armed with long-range weapons, is full of close-range gold from the way Vash tackles him, straddles him, and pins him to the floor with a (forceful!) choke to the throat (like whoa excuse me hello), but ALSO from the self-aware way Vash always has his guard up to keep both of Livio's guns out of the way at all times. D: Whether parrying bullets with his prosthetic, blocking/holding the guns away with that arm too (as shown), or even using his own gun defensively as a tonfa-shield to reinforce his blocks as well.

So then we get to THIS GIF, the same sequence that drove you insane for his smooth marksmanship tracking, drives ME insane for his immediate close-quarters holywhattheflyingshit did he just DO!?!?!?! 👀👀

LOOK AT HIM!!! Honestly it's kinda hard to see everything from how fast he goes, but I love the way he zips in there to grapple Livio off-balance, and ahh!! Look at the way Vash ducks and defensively keeps both arms up (this is SO important, because once you've trained you'll notice how in so many movies/comics' 'rule of cool' martial arts moves, they'll often have a character wildly swing their arms out to the sides to counter-balance kicks and stuff, but no--that's bad/unsafe form; bc if you're in a real fight you need to keep both arms up and ready at all times if you want to protect your core/face from getting blown off! Which just as you've noted, is something that needs to be practiced! The fact Vash has kept his unblemished pretty face for 150yrs is testament to that~) Vash knows how to simultaneously use his prosthetic AND his gun as needed--cause look at that, he swiftly holds it reversed as a tonfa again to block Livio's gun swing, which is a really cool way to use a gun as a shield to protect his own flesh arm from the incoming blows.

But that's not all, because ahaaa~ Fighting defensively is not all he's got up his sleeve! The little boxing jab he throws to Livio's face with his prosthetic arm makes me giggle, because OH YEAH that's a real thing! A type of distraction strike you pull - the same as stomping on a foot or kicking someone in the balls, to disorient your opponent off-guard first before you serve your real (offensive) move. Which in Vash's case leads up to a....O___O;;!?!? TF is THAT.

Here's where they're teasing in more of that inhuman spice again, because Vash holds Livio's guns out of the way (as usual) and revs up for a....fucking one-punch to the solar plexus at point-blank?!? D8 Whatwhatwhatwhat!!! Because that wasn't his gun's doing at all; he was still holding it defensively in that arm as a tonfa! That was his real arm's natural brute strength bitch!!! aaaahaha!!! wow I love it. The guy modestly says he's not much of a fighter but that's not trueeee at all, is it~ ;) I can SEE real proof of that otherwise and I can't wait for what else studio orange will show us to blow our minds.

*Ahem* So anyway did I ever mention how much I like the way he reverses the grip on his gun to use as a tonfa? (both defensively as a shield to protect himself and offensively to stun/strike his opponents with) For thematically how much it seamlessly works for his fighting style to never kill, for how the improvised (but practiced!) close-range practicality and versatility of it looks crazy awesome, and because damn, that shit's hot.

[natasaa13]

"You’re trouble" ft. Choso Kamo

Part 4

18+ minors do not interact!!!

Previous

"You’re trouble, you know that?” Choso murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Musa laughed softly, her hands still resting on his chest. “You’re not exactly innocent yourself.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his smirk widening.

The air had taken on the distinct crispness of late October, carrying the faint smell of fallen leaves and wood smoke. The park, one of Musa and Choso’s usual meeting spots, was alive with the vibrant hues of autumn—fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows. They walked side by side, their footsteps crunching against the leaf-strewn path, the faint sound of distant laughter from children playing nearby filling the air.

It had been a month now since Musa and Choso’s relationship began, their moments together tucked into the cracks of their carefully constructed lives. Whenever Suguru was with Shoko, Musa would slip out with the excuse of catching up on schoolwork at the library. Other times, Shoko would cover for her, giving her the freedom to meet Choso at random cafés or quiet corners of the city where no one would think to look.

She had learned a lot about Choso during their secret meetups. He wasn’t just the quiet and mysterious guy Suguru called a friend—he was far more complex. Through their conversations, she discovered he had two brothers: Yuuji and Sukuna.

Choso lived with Sukuna, though he admitted his older brother was rarely home. Sukuna split his time between school and boxing, leaving the apartment eerily quiet most days. Yuuji, on the other hand, lived with his friends Nobara and Megumi but visited Choso whenever he could. The way Choso spoke about his brothers made Musa’s heart soften—there was an unspoken protectiveness in his tone, even when he joked about Sukuna’s endless energy or Yuuji’s goofy antics.

And then, there were the little details she hadn’t expected to learn, like the fact that Choso had a tongue piercing. The first time she noticed it, a brief flicker of silver as he spoke, she’d been caught completely off guard. How much more attractive could one man get? It was almost unfair.

“Hey,” Choso said, breaking the silence. He glanced at Musa, his dark eyes warm against the cool backdrop of the season. “You’ve been quiet. Everything okay?”

Musa nodded, pulling her cardigan tighter around her body. “Yeah, just... thinking about how fast this month has gone by.”

Choso’s lips curved into a small smile. “Good fast or bad fast?”

“Good fast,” Musa replied, her voice soft. She turned her head to look at him, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Definitely good fast.”

Choso chuckled, his breath visible in the cool air. “I’ll take it.”

They walked a little further, the world around them peaceful in its autumn stillness. Choso broke the quiet again. “So… Halloween’s coming up. Big plans?”

Musa shrugged. “Not really. Suguru and Shoko might do something, but I haven’t heard anything solid yet. Why?”

“Satoru’s throwing a party,” Choso said, kicking at a stray leaf. “You know him—loud music, questionable decisions, and probably some over-the-top costume. Should be fun.”

Musa laughed. “That sounds like Satoru.”

Choso grinned. “You should come.”

Musa blinked, her laughter fading into surprise. “Me? At one of Satoru’s parties? That’s... not exactly low-profile. Remember what happened last time?”

“Think about it,” Choso said, his tone light but persuasive. “Big crowd, plenty of distractions. Shoko can keep Suguru busy, and we can just… blend in. Get lost in the chaos for a bit.”

Musa hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground as she considered it. “I don’t know, Choso. What if someone sees us? Or worse—what if Suguru sees us?”

“ He won't, won't worry too much okay?" his tone is soft and reassuring

“I’m serious, though,” Choso said, his voice softening. “You deserve a night to just… have fun. No sneaking around, no excuses. Just us.”

Musa looked up at him, her heart swelling at the sincerity in his gaze. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Choso smiled, his expression lighting up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Musa said, returning his smile. “But if this backfires, it’s all on you.”

“Deal,” Choso said with a laugh. “Now, any ideas for costumes?”

“Something subtle,” Musa said firmly. “We’re supposed to blend in, remember?”

“Subtle,” Choso repeated, his tone teasing. “Got it.”

As they rounded a bend in the park, the distant hum of the city blended with the rustling of leaves. Musa’s thoughts were already racing ahead, the idea of sneaking off to Satoru’s party equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.

“Got any ideas?” Choso asked, glancing at her curiously.

She paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she thought. “How about… Pucca and Garu?”

Choso raised an eyebrow. “Pucca and Garu? Like, the cartoon characters?”

Musa grinned, her excitement bubbling over. “Yeah! It’s perfect. Pucca’s always chasing after Garu, and Garu’s… well, he’s quiet and kind of mysterious. It fits.”

Choso laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “So, you’re saying you’re Pucca?”

“Obviously,” Musa said with a mock-serious tone, crossing her arms. “And you’re Garu. It’s not even a question.”

Choso shook his head, still smiling. “Alright, Pucca. I’ll bite. What do I need for this costume?”

Musa’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she clapped her hands together. “Okay, so here’s the plan. You’ll need black pants, a black shirt, red gloves, and—oh, a red heart on your shirt.”

Choso raised an eyebrow. “A red heart? Is Garu secretly a romantic?”

“Of course,” Musa teased, grinning. “He’s just subtle about it. And your signature pigtails are already perfect. You don’t even have to try.”

Choso ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “Guess I’m a natural ninja, huh?”

“Something like that,” Musa said with a laugh. “And for me, I’ll wear a red dress and put my hair in buns. Simple and cute.”

Choso tilted his head, his eyes softening as they lingered on her. “You’ll look perfect.”

Musa’s cheeks flushed, but she quickly waved him off. “Focus, Garu. We’re talking strategy here.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Black shirt, red heart, gloves, and my hair. Got it.”

Choso leaned closer, his smirk softening. “You really thought this through, huh?”

Musa felt her cheeks heat up, but she held his gaze. “Maybe I’ve been wanting to dress up as Pucca for a while. You’re just my perfect excuse.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Choso teased, his tone light. “Alright, Pucca and Garu it is."

------------------‐---------

Musa stepped into the house after her “study session,” the cool autumn air still clinging to her jacket. The soft hum of the TV filled the space, and she spotted Suguru lounging on the couch, his long hair tied back as he flipped through channels.

“You’re back,” he said, glancing up with a small smile. “How was the library?”

“It was good,” Musa replied, setting her bag down by the door. “Caught up on a lot.”

Suguru nodded, stretching slightly. “You hungry? I was just about to make something.”

Musa’s stomach rumbled at the suggestion, and she laughed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help.”

The two moved to the kitchen, working side by side as they prepared dinner—a simple stir-fry with rice. It wasn’t long before they were seated at the dining table, the warm aroma of their meal filling the room.

As they ate, Musa hesitated for a moment before bringing up her idea. “So, um, I heard from Shoko that Satoru’s throwing a Halloween party.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Yeah, I know. Not even surprised.”

“Well,” Musa continued, her voice carefully casual, “would it be okay if I tagged along? Shoko mentioned you guys are going. Well obviously since Satoru is you best friend.”

Suguru frowned slightly, his protective instincts flaring up. For a moment, he considered saying no, but then a thought stopped him: Maybe I’ve been too overbearing. Maybe that’s why she’s been acting distant.

He sighed, setting his chopsticks down. “Yeah, okay. You can come with us. Just… be careful, alright? And stick with Shoko.”

Musa’s face lit up, her excitement unmistakable. “Really? Thanks, Suguru! I promise I’ll behave.”

Musa twirled her chopsticks in her hand, the warmth of the meal and Suguru’s rare relaxed demeanor easing her nerves. She leaned back in her chair, her smile lingering. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re letting me go. I thought you’d say no right away.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, giving her a mock-offended look. “What, you think I’m some overbearing tyrant?”

“Well...” Musa teased, dragging the word out. “You do have your moments Suguru.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Can you blame me? You’re my little sister. It’s literally my job to keep you out of trouble.”

“I’m three minutes younger!” Musa protested, playfully glaring at him.

“Still younger,” Suguru countered with a smug grin, taking another bite of his food.

Musa huffed, crossing her arms, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. “You act like I’m some reckless kid. I can handle myself, you know.”

“I’m sure you can,” Suguru said, his tone softening. “But I’ve barely seen you this past month. You’ve been running off to the library or Shoko’s all the time. It feels like you’re avoiding me.”

Musa froze for a moment, her heart skipping a beat. She quickly recovered, forcing a casual tone. “It’s just schoolwork, Suguru. Midterms are no joke.”

He nodded slowly, but his dark eyes studied her carefully, as if trying to read between the lines. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been so caught up with Shoko that I haven’t noticed what’s been going on with you.”

Musa’s guilt tugged at her, but she pushed it down, smiling brightly. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine, really. Besides, it’s nice to see you happy with Shoko. She’s good for you.”

Suguru’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, she is. She keeps me grounded.”

Musa chuckled, leaning forward. “And by ‘grounded,’ you mean she puts up with your nonsense and calls you out on it.”

“Exactly,” Suguru said with a grin, not even trying to deny it.

They both laughed, the sound filling the kitchen with an ease that hadn’t been there for a while.

“What are you planning to dress up as?”

“Pucca,” Musa declared, grinning. “It used to be our favorite cartoon, remember?”

Suguru laughed, the sound warm and nostalgic. “Yeah, I remember. You used to run around the house chasing me, yelling, ‘Garu!’”

Musa laughed along with him. “Well, I’m bringing her back for Halloween.”

“That suits you,” Suguru said with a smirk. “Shoko and I are going as a priest and a nun.”

"Seriously, a priest and a nun? That’s... a choice.”

Suguru chuckled “Shoko’s idea. She thought it’d be ironic and hilarious. Who am I to say no?”

Musa shook her head, laughing. “You two are something else. It’s so dark, but I kind of love it.”

“You should’ve seen her convincing me,” Suguru said, leaning back in his chair. “She said it’d be the talk of the party. ‘Suguru Geto, the rebellious priest.’”

Musa laughed harder, almost choking on her rice. “She’s got a point. You do have the vibe for it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru said, rolling his eyes but smiling.

After a pause, Musa tilted her head, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “So, what’s Satoru’s costume? Do I even want to know?”

Suguru groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t know. He says it’s a surprise, which scares me more than it should. You know how he is—he’ll probably go all out just to make a scene.”

Musa grinned. “Now I’m intrigued. I mean, it’s Satoru—how bad can it be?”

Suguru gave her a deadpan look. “You remember last year’s toga party?”

Musa winced. “Oh, right. The golden laurel crown. The glitter. The... extremely short toga.”

“Exactly,” Suguru said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up as, like, a vampire with a 12-foot cape or something equally ridiculous.”

They both dissolved into laughter again, the conversation flowing effortlessly. For the first time in weeks, Musa felt a sense of normalcy with her brother—a reminder of the bond they’d always shared.

As dinner wound down, Suguru glanced at her, his tone soft "You know I love you right sis?"

“I love you too Sugu,” her smile softening.

And for a moment, as they cleaned up the dishes together, everything felt almost perfect

------------------‐---------

Halloween night approached, Musa stood in front of the mirror in her room, her red dress laid out neatly on the bed. She ran her fingers through her thick black hair, sighing in frustration as she tried to gather it into buns.

“Suguru!” she called out, her voice carrying through the house.

A moment later, her brother appeared at her door, leaning against the frame with a raised eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Musa turned to him, gesturing at her hair. “I need help.”

Suguru blinked, looking mildly confused. “Help with what?”

“My hair,” Musa said, exasperated. “It’s too thick, and I can’t get the buns right. You’re the only one here, so congratulations—you’re my hairstylist tonight.”

Suguru sighed dramatically but stepped into the room. “Alright, Pucca, let’s see what we can do.”

Musa handed him a brush and some hair ties, sitting down on the stool in front of her vanity. “Half down, and the other half in buns. You think you can handle that?”

“Of course I can,” Suguru said, feigning offense. “I’ve mastered more complicated things than this.”

“Uh-huh,” Musa replied skeptically, watching him in the mirror as he picked up the brush.

Suguru stared at her hair for a moment, muttering under his breath, “You have way too much of this stuff,” before starting to brush it out.

“Hey!” Musa protested, laughing. “It’s not my fault I was blessed with amazing hair. Anyways your acting like yours is shorter than mine”

“Sure, let’s call it a blessing, plus mine isn't as thick nor wavy” Suguru teased, sectioning her hair.

As he worked, carefully parting her hair and securing half of it down, the usual teasing fell into a comfortable silence. The sound of the brush gliding through her waves was soothing, and for a moment, it reminded them both of simpler times—times when they were kids and used to help each other out without hesitation.

“Thanks for doing this,” Musa said softly, breaking the silence.

Suguru glanced at her reflection in the mirror, his expression softening. “Of course. You’re my little sister—it’s my job.”

Musa rolled her eyes but smiled. “Three minutes younger doesn’t make me that much smaller, you know.”

“It’s enough,” he replied, smirking as he twisted the first section into a neat bun.

They fell into silence again as he moved to the other side. Once he was done, Suguru stepped back, admiring his work. “There. Not bad, huh?”

Musa turned her head slightly, her eyes lighting up as she admired the hairstyle in the mirror. The buns were perfectly even, and the loose waves framed her face beautifully. “Wow, Suguru, you’re actually really good at this.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said with a smug grin, crossing his arms.

Musa stood and gave him a quick hug. “Seriously, thank you. I owe you one.”

“You owe me about ten,” Suguru quipped, ruffling her hair slightly just to mess with her.

Musa swatted his hand away, laughing. “You’re the worst. Now I have to fix that!”

“Better hurry up,” Suguru said, heading for the door. “Shoko’s already texting me, saying she’s ready to go.”

“Alright, alright!” Musa called after him, shaking her head as she adjusted her hair.

For a moment, Musa stood there, the warmth of their shared moment lingering. Despite everything, Suguru was still the brother she’d always looked up to.

She quickly finished adjusting her hair, smoothing out any stray strands. As she turned back to her bed, she picked up her long-sleeve red dress, slipping it on carefully. The fabric hugged her chest and waist snugly before flowing out softly, the hem stopping at mid-thigh. She added knee-high black socks and wedge boots, completing the look with a satisfied glance in the mirror.

The outfit perfectly captured Pucca’s playful yet bold style, and Musa couldn’t help but smile.

Suguru’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Musa! If you don’t hurry up, we’re leaving without you!”

Rolling her eyes, Musa grabbed her phone and stepped out of her room. In the hallway, Suguru and Shoko were waiting. Suguru, dressed as a priest, looked his usual composed self despite the irony of his costume, while Shoko, dressed as a sexy nun, was grinning mischievously.

“Hury, we're already late,” Suguru said, crossing his arms.

Musa struck a playful pose. “Worth it, though. I look amazing.”

Shoko nodded in approval. “You do. Pucca never looked so good.”

“Thanks,” Musa said with a grin. “And you two look... disturbingly good. Very morbid. I love it.”

Suguru smirked, adjusting his collar. “We’re stealing the show tonight. No contest.”

“You might have some competition,” Shoko teased, nudging him. “I hear Satoru’s costume is going to be... something.”

Suguru groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m mentally preparing for whatever nonsense he’s planned.”

The three of them stepped outside, the cool autumn air greeting them as leaves crunched beneath their feet. The faint smell of woodsmoke lingered in the air, adding to the Halloween ambiance.

As they walked toward Suguru’s car, Musa couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. The night promised to be unforgettable—and full of risks.

“Let’s get this over with,” Suguru said, unlocking the car. “The sooner we deal with Satoru’s antics, the sooner we can all just enjoy the night.”

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

The drive to Satoru’s house was lively, the car filled with the hum of conversation. Shoko sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with her phone, while Musa leaned back in the rear seat, gazing out at the glowing orange streetlights lining the road. The autumn evening was crisp, the occasional breeze stirring the fallen leaves.

Suguru, ever the careful driver, had one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gear shift. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, glancing at Shoko. “If Satoru starts anything tonight, you’re on damage control.”

Shoko smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “What makes you think I can control him?”

“You’re the only one who even tries,” Suguru retorted, rolling his eyes.

Musa chuckled from the back seat. “Honestly, I think we should just let him run wild. It is Halloween, after all.”

Suguru groaned. “Don’t encourage him, Musa. The last time we ‘let him run wild,’ we ended up explaining to campus security why there were goats in the library.”

Shoko burst into laughter. “That was a good one. Admit it, though—you had fun.”

“I had a headache,” Suguru corrected, though his lips twitched into a small smile.

Musa grinned, enjoying the banter. Despite her nerves about sneaking around with Choso, being with Suguru and Shoko always felt like home.

As they approached Satoru’s house, the faint thump of music became audible even through the closed windows. The sprawling property was lit up with strings of orange and purple lights, fake spider webs covering the hedges, and carved pumpkins lining the walkway.

Suguru parked the car, and the three of them stepped out into the cool night air. Musa adjusted her dress, smoothing the fabric, while Shoko tucked a stray lock of hair back under her nun’s headpiece.

“Looks like we’re early,” Suguru said, scanning the driveway.

“Early?” Musa asked, raising an eyebrow. “There’s already a crowd inside.”

“That’s not a crowd,” Suguru replied dryly. “That’s the warm-up group.”

Shoko looped her arm through his. “Come on, Priest Geto. Let’s see what chaos awaits.”

As they walked toward the house, Musa hung back slightly, her heart pounding in anticipation. She knew Choso would be here—he’d promised. They’d already coordinated how to find each other without drawing Suguru’s attention.

They stepped into the house, greeted by the booming bass of the music and the chatter of partygoers. The air was warm and filled with the smell of cider and faint hints of sugary treats. Satoru, dressed in an over-the-top vampire costume complete with a dramatic cape and fake fangs, immediately appeared at the door.

“Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “My favorite trio has arrived!”

Suguru sighed. “Do you have to announce us like that?”

“Absolutely,” Satoru replied with a grin, his fangs gleaming. His eyes landed on Musa, and he raised an eyebrow. “Well, look at you. Pucca never looked so terrifyingly adorable.”

“Thanks, Dracula,” Musa quipped, her confidence returning.

Satoru laughed, turning his attention to Shoko. “And my favorite nun! Forgive me, Sister Shoko, for I have sinned.”

Shoko smirked. “Don’t worry. Your penance will be delivered later.”

As they moved further into the house, the energy of the party surrounded them. Suguru immediately gravitated toward the quieter corner where some of their mutual friends were lounging, while Shoko slipped away to grab drinks.

Musa scanned the room, her eyes searching for a familiar figure. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Choso leaning casually against the far wall, his Garu costume unmistakable with the red gloves, heart-emblazoned black shirt, and his signature pigtails.

Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a small, knowing smile. Musa felt her cheeks heat up, but she quickly schooled her expression, focusing on maintaining her cover.

They found themselves gravitating toward one of the main living areas, where couches and beanbags were scattered around a large television. People were mingling, drinks in hand, and the buzz of conversation filled the space.

Suguru leaned against the armrest of a couch, his casual stance at odds with his priestly costume. Shoko handed him a drink—a dark, bubbling concoction Satoru had labeled “witch’s brew.” Musa declined when Shoko offered her one, opting to stay sharp and keep an eye on Suguru’s movements.

“Is it just me, or has Satoru outdone himself with the decorations this year?” Shoko asked, gesturing to the fake cobwebs and glow-in-the-dark skeletons that adorned the room.

Suguru snorted. “That’s what happens when he discovers Pinterest. He’s been sending me mood boards for weeks.”

Musa laughed, imagining her brother enduring Satoru’s hyper-enthusiasm. “I mean, it does look good. But did we really need the fog machine in the kitchen?”

“The better question,” Shoko interjected, “is whether we needed two fog machines in the kitchen.”

They all laughed, their voices blending with the surrounding chatter. For a moment, Musa felt a pang of guilt. Here she was, sneaking around behind her brother’s back, and yet these moments of normalcy with him and Shoko felt so comforting.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Suguru said, turning to Musa. “What’s on your mind?”

Musa blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, nothing. Just soaking it all in.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t press. Instead, he took a sip of his drink and leaned back. “You know, it’s nice having you out like this. Feels like old times.”

Musa smiled softly. “Yeah, it does. I’ve missed it.”

Shoko tilted her head, watching them both. “We should do it more often. Minus the fog machines.”

“Agreed,” Suguru said with a chuckle. “Though I doubt Satoru would tone it down to something simple”

As if on cue, Satoru appeared, his dramatic vampire cape billowing behind him. “Are we talking about me?” he asked with a grin, sliding into the empty seat beside Shoko.

“Unfortunately,” Suguru deadpanned.

“Good,” Satoru said, ignoring the sarcasm. He looked at Musa. “You’ve been mingling, right? It’s not a party unless everyone knows you’re here.”

Musa raised an eyebrow. “I think your party is doing just fine without me making rounds.”

“Nonsense,” Satoru replied. “You’re the Geto Pucca. You’re obligated to make an impression.”

“She’s doing just fine blending in,” Suguru interjected. “Don’t make it weird.”

Satoru threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But if you change your mind, the karaoke machine is in the den. You’re all welcome to serenade us later.”

“Please tell me it’s broken,” Shoko muttered, earning a laugh from Musa.

“It’s not!” Satoru declared, already heading toward his next victim.

Suguru shook his head, sipping his drink. “This party is going to get out of control.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Shoko teased.

Musa watched them, a sense of warmth settling in her chest. Even with her secret relationship lingering in the background, moments like this reminded her why she cared so much about keeping things peaceful. Suguru deserved his good mood, and Shoko was always the glue that kept their group lighthearted.

Still, her gaze drifted back to the far wall where Choso lingered. He was talking to someone now, but his eyes flicked toward her for the briefest moment. Her heart quickened.

She tore her eyes away, forcing herself to stay engaged in her brother’s conversation. After all, the night had only just begun.

Musa caught Shoko’s eye, it was a brief glance, but the small, knowing nod Shoko gave her was all she needed. Taking a steadying breath, Musa excused herself from the group and slipped through the crowd, weaving between costumed partygoers until she reached the quieter, less crowded side of the house.

Choso was already there, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. When he saw her approaching, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” he teased, his voice low and smooth.

Musa rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face. “Suguru was hovering. I had to wait for the right moment.”

“And let me guess,” Choso said, pushing off the wall to stand upright, “Shoko was the distraction?”

“She’s the best wingman I could ask for,” Musa replied, stepping closer. “You should really thank her.”

“Maybe I will,” Choso said, his smirk softening into something more sincere. His eyes flicked over her, taking in her Pucca-inspired dress. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Musa’s cheeks flushed. “You’ve already said that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he shot back, the teasing edge returning to his voice.

Musa shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible, huh?” Choso stepped closer, his tone playful. “Well, in that case, you’ll just have to dance with me to make up for it.”

She raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider. “Hmm, I don’t know. You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” he said, offering his hand.

Musa hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into his. Choso led her back toward the main room, where the music was louder and the energy palpable. The dance floor was packed, but he found a spot in the middle of the crowd where they could blend in.

The music shifted to a bass-heavy beat, and Choso turned to face her, his hands settling naturally on her waist. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, placing her hands on his shoulders.

They started to move, swaying to the rhythm of the music. At first, their movements were small, hesitant even, but as the song picked up, so did their confidence. Choso’s hands gripped her waist a little tighter, guiding her closer until there was barely any space between them.

Musa felt her heartbeat quicken—not from the music, but from the way Choso was looking at her. His dark eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. She felt like everyone else in the room had disappeared, leaving just the two of them in their own little world.

“You’re not bad at this,” she said, her voice light despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

Choso chuckled, leaning in so she could hear him over the music. “Neither are you.”

Their movements became more in sync, a natural rhythm forming between them. Musa’s hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, her fingers brushing against the red heart on his shirt. Choso responded by pulling her even closer, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured, “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

Musa smiled, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “So are you.”

The next song was slower, its sultry rhythm setting a different mood. Musa’s heart pounded as Choso’s hands moved to the small of her back, his touch firm but gentle. She let herself relax into him, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as they swayed to the beat.

For a moment, it was just them—the music, the closeness, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

When the song ended, Choso leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded, her pulse quickening as he took her hand once more. Instead of leaving the house, Choso led her through the crowd and up the stairs to the quieter upper floor. The hum of the party below faded as they stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the noise muffled by the thick walls.

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

Choso leaned against the wall, his smirk returning as he watched her. “You’re really good at sneaking away.”

“Years of practice ” Musa winked, leaning against the opposite wall.

“Lucky for me,” Choso said, stepping closer. His voice dropped lower, softer. “So, what now?”

Musa’s breath hitched as he closed the distance between them, one hand coming to rest against the wall beside her. His other hand brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering against her cheek.

“This,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Choso’s lips curved into a soft smile before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and electrifying. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

Musa’s fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, her knees weak as the world around them seemed to disappear. She could feel the faint chill of his tongue piercing, adding an intoxicating edge to the softness of his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing heavily.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Choso murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Musa laughed softly, her hands still resting on his chest. “You’re not exactly innocent yourself.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his smirk widening.

The kiss between Musa and Choso lingered, the moment between them so sweet, so private, that they both almost forgot where they were. But just as their lips were about to meet again, they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Before either of them could react, the door at the far end of the hall creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was Satoru Gojo—his tall figure framed by the dim light of the hallway. His vampire costume, complete with a dark cloak and sharp fangs, made him look both intimidating and oddly regal.

Musa’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Satoru!” she gasped, pulling away from Choso in a panic.

Choso, equally shocked, quickly straightened, glancing nervously from Musa to Satoru, who stood there with his usual smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Guess I’m not the only one sneaking away from the party,” Satoru said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Musa immediately stepped in front of Choso, trying to block Satoru’s view, her face burning with embarrassment. “Satoru, please… Don’t tell Suguru,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with urgency.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, studying her with an expression that suggested he was weighing his options. “Musa,” he said, his tone turning serious, “you’re taking a pretty big risk sneaking off like this. You know Suguru could show up any time, right?” His gaze flickered to Choso, and a knowing smile curled on his lips. “And you two, well…” He shook his head, a slight chuckle escaping his throat. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”

Musa’s face was flushed with anxiety, her mind racing as she tried to figure out how to handle this. She knew that Satoru wasn’t the type to keep secrets for long, but something in his expression suggested he was giving her a chance.

“Please,” Musa said again, her voice softer now, pleading. “I can’t have Suguru finding out like this. I’ll tell him soon, I promise. Just don’t tell him yet.”

Satoru stared at her for a long moment, his lips still twitching with a mischievous grin. “I can’t exactly lie to my best friend,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “But... I guess I’ll keep my mouth shut for now.”

Musa exhaled in relief, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since Satoru appeared.

Satoru continued, his voice shifting to something more playful. “But you should tell him sooner rather than later, Musa. The longer you keep this a secret, the more awkward it’s gonna get. Trust me.” He gave her a teasing smile. “And don’t make me come up here again, okay? You’re making this whole thing way too fun.”

Musa nodded quickly, her face still flushed but thankful for his understanding. “Thank you, Satoru. I’ll tell him soon.”

Satoru's expression softened just a bit. “Now go back to Shoko and Suguru before they start wondering where you went. I’ll stay here and have a little chat with Choso.”

Musa’s eyes widened, but she nodded again, stepping toward the stairs. “Thanks again,” she muttered, her heart still racing as she made her way back to the party.

Once she was out of sight, Satoru’s smile faded, and he turned his full attention to Choso, who was still standing against the wall, arms crossed, clearly trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

“You and I need to talk,” Satoru said, his voice becoming more serious, his eyes narrowing slightly as he approached Choso. Choso’s eyes flicked to the door where Musa had just disappeared, then back to Satoru. “You’ve always got something to say,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable under Satoru’s gaze.

“You're playing a dangerous game” Satoru began, his voice low but firm, “She’s Suguru’s sister, if he finds out you're messing with her ..actually he will find out then you'll be dead”

Choso remained silent, his jaw tense as he weighed Satoru’s words. Satoru wasn’t wrong—Suguru was a force to be reckoned with, and if he found out about this... well, it wouldn’t end well for anyone involved.

“I know,” Choso said quietly, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m not trying to make trouble. I really like her.”

Satoru’s eyes softened for a moment, though his smirk never fully left his face. “I can see that but you’ve got to think about the consequences, not just the fun.”

Choso nodded, though he still looked a little conflicted. “I’m not trying to hurt her. I just—it’s different this time, she's different. I don’t want to play with her, it's something I haven’t felt before" He paused, looking down for a moment.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight of Choso’s words. “You guys going to have to tell him soon. Suguru may be angry with you at first but he'll ease up eventually. ”

Choso gave a short, sharp nod. “I know.”

Satoru took a step back, his hands back in his pockets as he flashed a quick grin. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to figure that out. Just... don’t cause too much chaos, alright?”

Choso watched as Satoru turned and made his way down the hall, back toward the party. He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as he mulled over Satoru’s words.

Suguru will find out soon enough, he thought, the weight of the decision pressing on him. But for now, all he could think about was the way Musa looked at him when she asked him not to tell.

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

Musa made her way back down to the party, feeling a little light-headed from the conversation with Satoru. As she walked toward the living room, she spotted Suguru and Shoko sitting on the couch, sipping on their drinks and laughing. Their conversation was lively, but when they saw her, their expressions softened.

"Hey, Musa," Shoko called out, a teasing smile on her lips. "You find your way to the bathroom okay?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.

Musa smiled awkwardly, trying to shake off the tension from the hallway. "Yeah, all good. Just... needed a bit of air," she said, her voice sounding a little too forced.

Suguru noticed her discomfort and raised an eyebrow, though he didn't press the matter. "Well, you're back just in time," he said, holding up a beer. "We were about to play a round of beer pong. You want in?"

"Yeah, come join us," Shoko added, her grin widening. "It’s going to be girls versus boys, obviously."

Musa’s stomach twisted for a second as she remembered the recent encounter with Satoru.

Before she could answer, a familiar voice interrupted. "Don’t leave me out!" Satoru said, strolling over with his signature playful smirk.

Musa’s heart skipped a beat. She had just spent the last few minutes with him, awkwardly navigating their brief conversation. Now, here he was, joining the game like it was no big deal. She tried to hide her discomfort, but the way Satoru’s eyes briefly flicked toward her gave her away. He knew what had just happened between her and Choso, and that made everything a little more complicated.

"Great," Shoko laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. "The more, the merrier. Boys versus girls it is, then."

Musa managed a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Sure, I’m in."

She sat down on one side of the table with Shoko, as Satoru and Suguru took the opposite side. The game quickly kicked off, and the atmosphere lightened as the cups were filled, the ping-pong balls bouncing from one side to the other.

Musa found herself gradually getting into the game, her earlier discomfort slipping away as she focused on the competition. Shoko was always an expert at beer pong, but Satoru and Suguru were no slouches either. There were a few good-natured jabs thrown back and forth between the two teams, with Satoru mocking her aim and Suguru pretending to be shocked every time she scored a point.

"Nice one, Musa!" Shoko cheered, laughing when Musa made a perfect shot, sending one of the balls into one of the cups.

Musa’s competitive side kicked in, and she playfully teased, "I don’t know, I think I’m carrying the team here."

Suguru smirked, leaning over to Satoru. "Don’t let them get ahead, or they’ll never let us hear the end of it."

As the game went on, Musa felt the tension between her and Satoru gradually lessen. His teasing comments weren’t about her being caught earlier, and she appreciated that. Instead, he was focused on the game, making the whole situation feel more normal again. Still, she couldn’t help but occasionally glance at Choso across the room, wondering what he was thinking and hoping their secret would remain safe, at least for tonight.

Eventually, the game ended in a close victory for the girls, with Shoko giving a dramatic cheer as they claimed their prize of a round of shots. Musa’s mood lightened as she laughed with her best friend, the unease from earlier nearly forgotten. She was starting to have fun, despite the chaos in her mind.

After the game, Satoru raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, we lost fair and square. But just know, I’ll be getting you back next time, Musa."

Musa grinned, relieved that the tension between them seemed to have dissolved. "We’ll see about that," she teased back, as Shoko winked at her.

Musa felt more at ease now that the night had settled into a familiar rhythm,.

The night was winding down, and the atmosphere at the party was slowly settling into a more relaxed vibe. The sound of chatter and laughter echoed through the house, but at the beer pong table, it had become clear who the true champion was.

Shoko, ever the skilled drinker, had effortlessly outlasted Suguru in the drinking game, and now her best friend was slumped on the couch, looking a little worse for wear. Suguru’s face was flushed, and his movements were slow and sluggish. He'd been drinking a little too much, and it was starting to show.

Satoru, always the responsible one (when he wanted to be), had moved to help him. With a playful smirk, he slung Suguru’s arm over his shoulder and started guiding him toward the stairs.

"Guess I’ll be taking my best friend to my room for the night," Satoru said with a grin, glancing back at the girls. "You guys can crash here, or if you want, I can call an Uber to take you home."

Shoko, looking more than a little tipsy herself, gave Satoru a wave. "We’re good," she said, already making her way to the front door. "Call an Uber. No need to stay here, especially if Suguru’s going to be sleeping it off in your room."

Musa nodded, grateful that she wouldn't have to spend the night in the same house as her brother in his current state. She followed Shoko toward the door, her mind still slightly clouded.

Shoko stopped and turned to Musa with a sly smile. "You should call Choso," she said, her voice a little quieter now that they were alone.

Musa blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice low and cautious, though a hint of excitement bubbled beneath the surface. "I don’t want to make it too obvious, you know?"

Shoko gave her a knowing look, a slight grin tugging at her lips. "Of course I’m sure. You’ve been sneaking around this whole time, and now is as good a time as any for you two to have a little more alone time. Besides, you’re not going to keep him waiting forever, right?"

Musa felt a wave of nerves and excitement wash over her. Shoko was right, of course. It had been a while since she and Choso had been able to spend any real time together, and tonight had been full of so many distractions. She took a deep breath, her heart racing a little.

"I guess you're right," Musa said, nodding with a small smile. "Okay, I’ll call him."

Shoko gave her a playful wink before continuing to walk "Good girl."

Musa pulled out her phone the call Choso letting him know they're leaving and to meet her outside.

As they stepped out of the house, she noticed Choso leaning against his car just across the street, his figure illuminated by the dim streetlight. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he stood up straight with a casual smile, his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, there you are," Choso greeted her, his voice warm and inviting.

Musa smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at the sight of him. She was finally getting the time alone with him that she'd been craving, away from all the distractions and pressures of the night.

"Hey," she said softly, walking toward him.

Before she could say anything else, Shoko, who had been waiting by the side walk gave a playful wave to Choso. "You know, Choso," she called out, "you should take Musa home first. I’m good, the Uber’s almost here."

Choso turned to her with a raised eyebrow, offering a polite smile. "I could do that. But it’s no trouble, I can wait and—"

"No, no," Shoko interrupted with a dramatic wave of her hand, a mischievous grin on her face. "I’m fine. Go have fun, you two. I’ll be okay. The Uber will be here in a minute, and I’ll be home in no time."

Musa glanced between them, a little unsure. "Are you sure, Shoko?"

Shoko flashed her a wink and a teasing smile. "Absolutely. You two have a good time. Don’t keep him waiting, now."

Musa let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Alright," she said, though a part of her was still a little nervous. "Thanks, Shoko."

Choso opened the passenger door. "Shall we, then?" he said in that low, teasing tone that made her heart flutter.

Musa nodded, a smile tugging at her lips as she slipped in the seat of the passenger side. "Let’s go."

Shoko gave them a final wave before climbing into the Uber that just arrived, leaving them with nothing but the cool night air and the promise of some much-needed time alone.

Once they were inside the car, Choso started the engine, the soft rumble of the car filling the space. The drive was quiet, but comfortable—neither of them feeling the need to fill the silence. Musa leaned back in her seat, her mind racing with everything that had happened tonight, from the Halloween party to the kiss they had shared earlier.

Choso glanced over at her, his expression softening. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Musa met his gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she said, her voice quiet but sincere. "I’m good. Thanks for waiting outside for me."

Choso chuckled, a hint of mischief still in his eyes. "I wouldn’t have left without you. You know that."

Musa’s heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something about how he said it, how serious he sounded, that made her feel both a little lighter and more nervous all at once.

The drive continued with an easy, unspoken understanding between them. Musa wasn’t sure where they were headed exactly, but she was content to simply be in Choso’s presence, away from the chaos of the party and her family. Tonight was theirs, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she could breathe freely.

As the car came to a stop, parking into the driveway. Choso followed Musa to the front door, the quiet night only addig to the anticipation. Once inside, they both paused for a brief moment as the door clicked shut behind them, the stillness of the house amplifying the tension building in the air. Musa's heart was beating so loudly, she was sure Choso could hear it too.

She didn't say anything, with a glance at Choso she stepped closer, hands sliding up to his chest. Choso didn't hesitate - quickly closing the distance between the two, immediately leaned down to capture her lips. The kiss was slow at first but quickly became more urgent and hungry for desire. Musa’s hands roamed too his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as the intensity of the kiss deepened, igniting something in her that she couldn’t quite control. He licked her bottom lip, asking for entrance which was granted without hesitation. Their tongues fought for dominance and the little metal ball making Musa slowly lose her mind.

Choso’s hands moved to her waist, gripping gently but firmly as he slowly began leading her backwards. Neither of them broke the kiss, and soon, they were navigating through the dimly lit hallway toward her bedroom.

The air between them thick with tension, both of them knowing exactly where this is heading, yet neither of them in a hurry to rush it. Choso’s movements were deliberate, guiding her every step without breaking their connection, as if everything in the world outside of them had faded away. The moment their bodies brushed against the doorframe of her room, he leaned her against it briefly, his lips never leaving hers, before he gently nudged the door open with his foot.

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

Once inside, Choso pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. "You sure?" He asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Musa’s answer was immediate, her hands tugging at his shirt to pull him closer again "I'm sure" she breathed out.

And with that the kiss resuming, with renewed passion. Choso’s hands found the zipper on the back of her dress, slowly zipping it down and slipping it down her body ever so teasingly. He gently pushed her down on the bed, guiding her down onto the soft sheets as he hovered over her. His hands were carefully caressing her body, never rushing as if savoring every second of this moment with her.

Musa’s heart raced, hands moving to tangled in his hair. Every touch sending jolt of electricity through her, she couldn’t think of anything else but him.

She couldn’t help the small noises that left her lips, the moment getting more intense by the second. Her hand trembling slightly but filled with determination, found the hem of Choso’s shirt. She hesitated for only a moment before tugging gently, signaling for him to take it off. Choso noticed her movement and pulled back from their heated kiss, dark eyes locking with hers. Without a word, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head with one swift motion, tossing it to the side.

Her breath hitched as her eyes traveled over his toned chest and arms, the piercing on his tongue now matched by the faint glint of a small barbell on his nipples. Choso’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as he caught her staring. But when his gace dropped back to her, his breath catching in his throat.

Musa layed before him, her long black hair fanned out over the pillows, her baby blue eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and desire. She was clad in delicate lingerie that hugged her figure perfectly, her skin glowing in the soft light of her room. The black lace contracted her beautifully against her complexion, and the knee high socks added a touch of innocence that only made her look even more enchanting.

Choso exhaled slowly, his voice low and filled with awe. "You’re perfect" his tone so sincere that it made Musa's cheeks flush even deeper.

Her gaze flickered away, "Don’t say thay" she mumbled, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed how much his words affected her.

Choso leaned down, cupping her cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing over her heated skin. " I mean it, you are perfect Musa, every single part of you"

Before she could respond, his lips where on her jaw, placing soft, lingering kisses along the curve. His free hand rested slightly on her waist, grounding her as he continued his tender exploration.

Musa let out a soft gasp when his lips trailed lower brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. Choso paused for a moment, his warm breath fanning over her collarbone. He placed gentle kisses over it, careful not to leave any marks.

She couldn’t control the little moans escaping her lips, each sound making it harder for Choso to control himself.

He was treating her as if she were the most delicate thing he'd ever held, and yet there was an unspoken promise in the way his lips lingered against her skin - a promise that he wanted to worship her, to show her how much she ment to him.

Choso pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he looked into her eyes " Tell me if I'm going too fast, okay?" He whispered, voice filled with concern and affection.

Her hands finding his, fingers interlocking together. "Okay" her voice was soft, filled with trust and she leaned up to kiss him again, pulling him back into the moment.

Choso’s lips never left hers as his hands slid down her back, his fingers deftly finding the claps of her bra. With a soft flick , he unhooked it, the tension of the fabric realesing instantly. Musa froze for a moment, her breathing uneven, "Relax Princess" he softly whispered.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with hers, giving her a chance to stop him if she wanted. When Musa didn't protest, he carefully slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders, discarding the fabric to the side. His eyes roamed her body with a look of awe, his hands moving to gently cup her breasts.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with admiration. His thumbs brushed over her sensitive peaks, and Musa gasped softly at the sensation.

He leaned down, his warm lips leaving soft kissed along her jaw, trailing lower until his pierced tounge flicked over her nipple. The cool touch of the metal sent a jolt through her, and she arched into him, one hand quickly flying to his hair and the other gripping the sheets below her.

"Choso..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, her body reacting to every flick and swirl of his tounge.

He took his time worshipping her with his hands and mouth, one tongue-twisting sensation after another building the heat between them that she could no longer ignore. Her thighs pressed together instinctively and she could feel the growing ache pooling low in her stomach.

Choso trailed his lips lower, kissing down her sternum and across her stomach, his movements slow. When he reached the waistband of her panties, he paused glancing up at her for permission. Musa nodded, her cheeks flushed and Choso smirked softly below pressing a gentle kiss just above her belly button.

Hooking his fingers into the side of her panties, he began to slowly, ever so teasingly pull them down. He loved how she squirmed under his touch, his eyes fixed on her face, to capture every reaction. Once the fabric slid down her legs, joining the pile of clothes on the side, Choso slightly leaned back to admire the view.

"You're perfect" he said softly

Before Musa couldd respond, Choso grabbed her legs, gently placing them on each side of his shoulders. He pressed a kiss inside her thigh, then another and another, inching closer to her core. Musa’s breath hitched as he finally dipped his head, lips brushing over her folds in the lightest touches.

Small noises of pleasure escaped her lips, and Choso groaned quietly against her skin, the sound vibrating through her.

When his tongue made contact, she gasped, hand flying to his hair. He started slow, his pierced tongue exploring her carefully.

"Choso, you're teasing..." she moaned, her voice high and breathless, hip bucking involuntarily.

"Patience princess, I want to enjoy every second"

His hands gripped her thighs firmly, holding her in place as his tongue delved deeper, alternating between long, languidly strokes and and precise flicks over her most sensitive spot.

Her body grew hotter with every movement of his tongue, her moans getting louder. She couldn’t think nor speak, only feel as Choso worked her over with a skill that left her trembling beneath him.

"God, you taste so good" he murmured against her, voice muffled.

She gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckle turning white while her other hand slightly tugging at his hair.

He shifted, angling his tongue just right while one of his hand slipped between her legs, teasing her entrance with a single finger. The combination of sensations was overwhelming and Musa’s back arched into his touch, her cries becoming more frantic.

Hearing her like this only encouraged him more.

"You're close aren't you?" He smirked

" Let go for me Musa, I want to feel you come on my tongue."

His voice was enough to send her over the edge, body tensing as the pleasure washed over her. Choso didn't let up, his tongue continuing it's ministrations to draw out every last tremor of pleasure until she was left panting and trembling beneath him.

When she finally relaxed, he pressed gentle kisses along her thighs before lifting his head, his lips glistening as he looked up at her. Musa couldn’t form words ,her body still tingling from the aftershock. She watched with hooded eyes as Choso stood and began to undress. Her eyes flowing his movements, glued to his body, down to his happy trail ever so slowly. When he slid his pants and boxers off, leaving him bare Musa’s eyes widened. God he's huge.

He leaned over her again, hand brushing her cheeks as his gaze locked with hers, "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

" I trust you"

"It might hurt a little at first, but if you want to stop at any point, just tell me."

Musa nodded and smiled nervously. His eyes flicked down to her knee high sock, a smirk tugging at his lips.

" I'm leaving these on, way too sexy to take it off of you."

Musa let out a nervous laugh, her face heating up even more.

Choso kissed her softly, his body settling between her legs as he slowly positioned himself. He interlocked his fingers with hers by her hand, as she lightly squizzed it signaling she's ready.

His other hand gripping her waist as he slowly inched himself inside of her warmth, allowing her to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation.

Musa gasped, her body tensing as she felt him strech her. Choso immediately paused, forehead resting against hers.

"You're doing so well," he whispered softly " Just breathe for me princess"

Her breathing slowed, giving a small nod, encouraging him to continue. Choso pushed further, bottoming her, he stilled, his own breath ragged as he fought to control himself.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort.

Musa opened her hooded eyes, small smile playing on her lips despite the painful strech.

"I'm okay"

Choso kissed her forehead tenderly as he pulled back just enough to set a slow rhythm. His thrusts were deep and measured, his focus entirely on her and how she responded. He wanted to know every inch of her.

Musa couldn’t control the soft moans that left her lips as the initial discomfort faded, replaced by a building pressure that had her gripping Choso’s shoulders.

"Cho..." his name leaving her lips like prayers.

"God, I love it when you call me that"

His pace getting faster, sinking deeper inside of her, drawing moans after moans out of her and each getting louder.

The room filled with the sound of their bodies moving together, their shared breath fogging the room.

Her soft cries of pleasure, the way her body arched to meet his every move to meet his thrusts almost drove him to edge, but he held back to savor this moment with her.

"Cho it feels...ah...s-so good,"

He groaned low, lips vibrating against her neck as he pressed kisses against it. Her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, bodies melting into each other as she was getting close. He noticed how her body's reacting, clenching down onto him, her moans getting louder, he new she was close and so was he.

"Let go princess, I got you"

His words encouraged her as she reached her climax, she cried out his name. Her body trembled, her walls tightening around him making him cum in an instant. He held her close, his arms wrapping around her as he rode out his high, breath ragged and uneven. The two of them layed intertwined, their body still trembling from the aftershock. "You’re amazing" pressed a gentle kiss on her cheeks.

Choso gently brushed a strand of Musa’s hair out of her flushed face, his thumb softly tracing her cheek. “Stay here,” he sat up and grabbed his discarded boxers.

Musa watched him with a tired but content smile, her heart fluttering at how thoughtful he was. He slipped on his boxer and disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm, damp cloth.

“This might be a little cold,” he said softly, sitting beside her and carefully wiping her down, his movements tender and deliberate. Musa’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shy away, appreciating his gentleness.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft and a little shy.

Choso offered her a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his tone warm. After ensuring she was comfortable, he discarded the cloth and helped her pull on a loose shirt she’d grabbed from the edge of her bed.

Once she was settled, Choso slid under the covers beside her, pulling her close. Musa nestled against his chest, her head resting over his heart as she listened to its steady rhythm. His arms wrapped securely around her, one hand gently running up and down her back in soothing strokes.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble in the dimly lit room.

“Very,” Musa mumbled sleepily, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his chest. “You’re really warm.”

Choso chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Good,” he murmured. “You deserve to feel safe and cared for.”

Musa tilted her head up to look at him, her baby blue eyes meeting his soft gaze. “I do with you,” she said honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Choso’s heart swelled at her words, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips before pulling her even closer. “Get some sleep, Musa,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Within minutes, Musa’s breathing evened out, and she drifted off to sleep, her body relaxed in his embrace. Choso watched her for a while, marveling at how peaceful she looked, before closing his eyes and letting himself be lulled into sleep, the warmth of her presence grounding him.

The night passed quietly, the two of them lost in their own little world, safe and content in each other’s arms.

[freckledjoes]

For the FRECKLEDJOES' JOLLY REQUEST CORNER, could you maybe do some drabble of Steve finding Eddie in the Upside Down, who is alive and more than a little confused as to why and how that happened. Last thing Eddie remembered was dying, bleeding to death. Now here he is, panicking in front of Steve Harrington, of all people.

Hi there! Thank you for the request :) It was quite an idea to put into a little drabble so I fear it may feel a little rushed for a big topic like this, but I hope you'll like it either way! <3 I didn't go into detail about the how's and why's too much and focused on their dynamic instead. Sorry if that makes it a bit vague here and there!

Time and time again

His ears were ringing. It was maddening how loud, really. The world around him was black and his eyelids felt heavier than ever. He could feel a sore pain around his wrists, which… didn’t make sense. Right? He died, fighting those goddamn bats. He was alone— or wait, no, Dustin? Dustin was there too… right? He tried to move around but the cuffs didn’t budge. It seemed like he was hugging some type of pole that was stuck in the ground. A small voice in the back of his head told him that it made no sense that his sides weren’t hurting, but the next moment he wasn’t sure why. Everything made sense and yet nothing didn’t. He groaned as he tried to move around again, kicking his feet to feel out his surroundings. Nothing. Except the grass licking into the small gap between his jeans and his boots.

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned. The heaviness finally lifted from his eyes enough to blearily open them and take in his surroundings. Still as dark and dull as ever. Great. But…

He was alive.

And alone. Where the hell were the others? Vecna didn’t seem the type to deal with handcuffs, with all those vines on hand. But whoever did, for some reason, they only captured him. Which… he had zero collection of. What the fuck was going on? His vision slowly got up to speed with the darkness, his surroundings becoming more distinguishable by the minute now. A creak on his left made him shift suddenly as he cautiously turned his head to the sound.

A swing.

Looking further, he realized he was stuck on a playground. He vaguely recognized it, wouldn’t know the street it was on but would know how to walk there from his home. His home… which suffered destruction thanks to— right, yes, Vecna.

“Hello?” Eddie called out, getting impatient now that he’d spent almost ten minutes (his patience wasn’t all that admirable) of waiting and kicking around. He sighed loudly and tried to remember if he had anything useful on him, if it hadn’t been taken by his captor. Looking down, he noticed the shimmer of a silver bobby pin he had secured to the pocket of his jeans. Hell yeah. With that, he could get the cuffs off in no-time. If… he could reach it, that was.

With some effort, he pushed himself off with his feet, trying to make a bridge without his arms to get his hips close enough that he could reach it with his fingers. The only sound in the Upside Down seemed to be his grunts, cries and frustrated cursing for some time. Until—

“Oh thank— Eddie— let me help you with that.”

Eddie whipped his head around so fast that he in fact hit it right against the pole, and a million more curse words left his lips. Steve, Steve Harrington, crouched down next to him, key in hand.

“Sorry about all this, it’s just that last time you uh— never mind. I’m so… I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve said softly, without looking at him at all. He released the handcuffs and Eddie took his sweet time rubbing his wrists and stretching his limbs as soon as he was able to get up.

“I’m not following,” Eddie said honestly. “One moment I was— I was with you, and the others, and then I was fighting bats— but—”

He quickly reached for his sides now, lifting up his shirt.

“Nothing,” he whispered to himself. Steve nodded, his gaze lingering on Eddie’s hips.

“And now you are here, and I don’t remember fucking anything, everything is like, jumbled up in my mind. Nothing makes fucking sense, I don’t know what’s— what’s real and what’s not. I thought I was dead, man. No, I was dead. I know I was, I just… Fuck!”

“Eds— Eddie,” Steve said calmly, his hand reaching for his waist before he put it on his shoulder instead. “I’ll explain everything once we get out of here, okay? The others don’t know anything about this. I couldn’t tell them because Dustin, he…” Steve’s voice wavered and he shook his head. “Let’s go home, alright?”

Eddie nodded numbly, still confused about it all. Unsure why Steve Harrington was saving the day right now. How he was alive, how he had died yet never fought the bats, everything was just… a mess.

“The others? Are they okay?”

Steve nodded slowly.

“They will be.”

Eddie had no idea what that meant, but judging from the tired look on Steve’s face, it was best not to ask right now. They walked back to Eddie’s trailer together in silence, with Steve stealing glances at him every five seconds or so. Eddie didn’t really get it, but he wasn’t going to complain. He even stole a few glances back.

It was night in the Downside Up, which is what Eddie decided to call their ‘real world’ now. Steve took him to his place, handed him some Mountain Dew that he apparently kept in the fridge and sat him down on the couch.

“So…” Eddie started, hesitant. Steve had been fiddling with the pull tab of his can of coke. When Steve didn’t look up, Eddie cleared his throat.

“Uhm, right,” Steve said, avoiding Eddie’s intense gaze. “So… the thing is…”

Eddie waited, impatiently, and when Steve shut down again he groaned.

“Come on, Harrington! Spit it out already.”

Steve winced, the corners of his mouth dropped a little and Eddie’s gaze softened.

“Sorry, I just… not knowing what’s going on is kinda scary, man.”

“It’s so weird when you call me Harrington, now,” Steve said softly, a sad smile on his face. “Not that you can help it, you haven’t been… anyway. So, as I was saying,” Steve started again, now finally looking up at Eddie, “you’re right. You were dead. Or at least, at some point, there was a you that was.”

“You’re breaking my brain here.”

“The bats, Dustin being with you, all that happened. But then I went back in time. And it happened again. So I went back in time again and I tried to change things, over and over. But you died every time. And if it wasn’t you, it was Dustin who died. Or Robin, or Nancy. I’ve been— for five years, I’ve been doing this… thing. And I finally cracked it, I think. I mean, everyone’s safely at home, Max is still in the hospital but she did recover from it all previously too so I… she should- she has to be okay this time too. And you’re… here. So.”

Eddie stared at him blankly as Steve tried to blink away tears and duck his head to wipe them away. He was trembling now, the pull tab had been torn off long ago and was now swimming inside the can.

“You, went back in time, for me? How does that even work? What- Why? Why you? Me?”

“Because… I had to.”

“We barely know each other.”

Steve let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. Well. That’s a complicated statement.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve shook his head and got up from the couch to throw his coke away and grab a glass of water instead. Another beverage he wasn’t drinking from.

“I can’t, I can’t say it.”

Eddie got up as well.

“Steve. You’re holding back. What is it?”

He stood right in front of Steve now. Steve Harrington, the golden boy from Hawkins, now stood miserable, disheveled, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Eds I can’t,” he spoke in a whisper, “I’m scared that it’ll mess things up.”

“You said five years… what happened in those five years? Did you just, go back and forth, relive the same day? Over and over?”

Steve shook his head.

“There were times where, for some reason, I couldn’t go back. Not right away. One time you… survived, and, Robin didn’t. And it didn’t let me go back. Eventually, I told you about it. I had never told anyone about it, but I told you. And you tried to help me even though it might mean that you wouldn’t make it and eventually one day, suddenly I was back again, and I have no idea what triggered it, but then, you did die and I couldn’t accept it, because…”

“Because what, Steve?”

Eddie hesitantly took the glass of water from him so he could take his hands in his own and rub soothing circles over the backs of Steve’s hands. When he did, short fragments of Steve flashed in front of his eyes. Not any that he had known… not really, anyway. Waking up next to Steve, talking late into the night, kissing Steve, looking down as Steve got on his knees—

“Steve. Did we— Are we…?”

Steve looked up, shocked, his lashes darker than usual with the weight of his tears hanging on them. He waited for Eddie to continue, a sliver of hope painting those hazel eyes just a little brighter.

“I’m… when I grabbed your hands I, uh, saw things. You, mostly. But I would know if I’d ever gotten a bl— if we were ever, uhm, a thing. ‘S not exactly easy to forget, so…”

“I guess it’s like the uhm, the memories of the demobats,” Steve provided softly.

“Out of those five years…?”

“We were dating for three,” Steve confessed.

“Three?! Fuck.”

“Yeah. And then I went back again. Out of nowhere.”

“That must’ve… sucked,” Eddie provided unhelpfully. Steve nodded weakly.

“You could say that.”

“Is that why you reacted so weird at my speech about Nancy and kept staring at my lips?” Eddie asked bluntly, gaining a surprised chuckle out of Steve.

“That moment was always the most difficult. You just, you got so close, and even though you were rambling nonsense I loved hearing your voice and I just… honestly I don’t even have a clue what you really said,” Steve admitted, a soft smile on his face.

“So what now?” Eddie asked, “I’m like, a bit lost at why I’m not freaking out more but I guess what’s one more freakshow after everything else that happened, right? And to hear that we… I mean, you should know that we should start from the very beginning. Those fragments are not enough. I need the full Harrington experience. Which— You don’t like it when I call you Harrington, do you, Stevie?” Eddie asked with a teasing smile.

Steve’s cheeks turned a little pink as he shook his head.

“I don’t mind it, it just feels weird every time. You barely called me that, when we uh, dated,” Steve explained. Eddie looked at him and released his hands in favor of wrapping Steve into a warm hug.

“Suddenly felt like you needed that,” Eddie mumbled into his hair as Steve wrapped his arms tightly around him. “And I guess… so do I.”

“I missed you,” Steve whispered, “so much.”

Eddie’s heart hurt for him. He could only imagine how hard these past five years had been for him and he couldn’t believe his luck that he had someone like Steve to care for him. It all felt too surreal to take in at such a short amount of time, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like they, Steve and Eddie, just made sense.

“We’ll take it one day at a time, alright? I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”

“Even if you do, I’ll come find you again. No matter how many times it takes.”

“Good. One request though.”

“Hmm?” Steve asked, as he gently rubbed his nose against Eddie’s neck. He should probably resist, but after all this time it was just too easy to fall back into old habits.

“If next time happens, please don’t cuff me like that, my back got twisted all the wrong ways and—”

“Thought you liked that.”

“W-What?”

Steve smiled against his neck.

“Sorry, never mind. Too soon.”

Eddie shook his head, leaning back so that Steve would have to look at him.

“No, not too soon. Tell me now,” Eddie demanded.

Steve shook his head.

“Later, maybe. Right now, I want…”

This was it. The moment of teenage Eddie’s (and honestly today Eddie’s) dreams. Steve, beautiful Steve, closed his eyes way before he found Eddie’s lips, like he had done it time and time again.

He had. And he would.

Time and time again.

[hyuneskkami]

masterlist

💌┊₊˚⊹꒷ TOO SWEET PT. 1 .ᐟ

⤷ leo valdez x fem!reader ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᝰ. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 . . . percy jackson and the heroes of olympus

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 . . . street racing au

ᝰ. 𝐤𝐞𝐲 . . . y/n: your name | y/l/n: your last name | n/n: nickname

ᝰ. 𝐰𝐜 . . . 946

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 . . . y/n and leo are the queen and king of the shinjuku and shibuya street racing circles, respectively. they meet for the first time at the annual tokyo races to see who's better. (ft. best friend!percy fanboying over racer king!leo + an appearance by passenger princess!leo <3)

ᝰ. 𝐚/𝐧 . . . uhtgufshew tokyo + leo + street racing is such a fever dream for me,, and this one, I wrote bc of my love for leo and fast and furious (esp tokyo drift <3) and I totally based y/n's car off han's from td sue me I love him (: so, enjoy! i'll start working on part 2 soon (:

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

'the next station is . . . shinjuku.'

I was busy icing the bruises on my forearm from last night’s race when my best friend barged into the bathroom without knocking.

“HE’S COMING TODAY, N/N!” he screamed, and giggled like a school girl.

“I could’ve been naked, you know,” I muttered, shutting the first-aid box and shoving it into the cabinet under the sink. “who’s coming?”

“ignis-”

“percy, come on, not this again,” I groaned. “you’ve been fanboying about him for the past 48 hours, and I really just want to sleep. and besides, I really don’t see what the big deal about this guy is.”

“uh, hello? he’s the king of the shibuya street races!” percy exclaimed, following me as I walk out, and flop onto my bed. he stops at the foot of it.

“and the people have crowned me the queen of shinjuku’s. so what?” I asked.

‘ignis’, as the others call him, is someone called leo valdez. and apparently, he’s a pretty good racer.

“look,” I continued, interrupting percy before he started fanboying again, with hearts in his eyes or whatever. “if he’s that good, he can come and beat me at the annual tokyo races.” I declared.

“oh yeah, he probably will,” percy commented. I flung my pillow at his head, and smirked when I found I didn’t miss. “OW!”

“whatever. tell me more about him. what’s he like?”

it was almost as if I asked him to marry leo. and this time, he really did have hearts in his eyes, I fear.

“okay, so supposedly, he builds his own car, like you, and started racing at 17! isn’t that cool? I mean, you did too, but still. it’s cooler when he does it. anyway, he’s locally the undefeated champion of street racing, and oh my god, he drives a 1966 ford gt40, it’s so cool-”

“okayyy, i’ve heard enough. I guess it is going to be fun meeting him at the car meet for the races.” I smirked. “let’s battle it out on the roads, ignis.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

✮⋆˙ leo’s pov

'the next station is . . . shibuya.'

“jace, how much farther is the hotel?” I asked, knocking my legs onto the dashboard, and crossing them at my ankles. simultaneously, I pulled down my sunglasses.

“relax, passenger princess, just a few more minutes and we’ll be there.” he replied.

jason glanced at piper in the mirror and smiled.

I would never admit it, of course, but it was terrible being so good at one thing and horribly bad at another. honestly, who would ever believe that the king, ignis, had never been in an actual relationship? the one-night stands didn’t count, obviously. I’d never felt anything close to… love.

pondering my status of being single, I fell asleep in jason’s car.

“dude, bro, homie, my man, whatever, WAKE UP, WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE-”

“did you… did you carry me into bed, jason grace?” I opened one eye and grinned at him lazily.

“you were sound asleep, even worse than a log. I tried kicking you awake, but it didn’t work, so I had to pick you up, ufortunately.”

“aww, don’t sound so happy.”

“shut up. if you don’t get ready to get to the car meet, we don’t get a ticket to race for the entire next month,” he said.

“what- OH, I forgot about that. one ticket’s enough for all 23 races, right?”

“yeah, i’ll explain the details to you in the car, go get ready, dumbass.”

I grinned. “jason grace is cursing, the world is healing-” a pillow hit my face. “i’m going.”

timeskip

“okay, the serious ones you need to look out for are python, shooting star, and tsunami.”

“shooting star?” I choked on my water. “what-”

“weird name, huh?” a girl chuckled behind me, and I whipped around.

“oh no no no no, i’m sorry- are you shooting star? uh, shit, I apologi-”

“nah, but it was funny seeing you get so flustered, valdez.” she smirked.

“do we… know each other?” I asked, confused. her smirk widened.

“not yet, but real soon,” she said, her smirk never faltering and confidence never wavering. she turned and began walking away, and I stood there, mouth open.

“she’s pretty, but she’s also tsunami,” piper commented. oh.

“who said she’s pretty? I didn’t. did you? I don’t know,” I rambled. whatever. “she’s my competition. she’s just in the way of me and my golden trophy.”

“there’s no trophy, dumbass.” jason reminded me.

“a 700$ cash price is equivalent to a trophy, man,” I corrected him.

“ok, well, listen up. she’s called tsunami for a reason. she’s vicious, takes everyone by surprise at every race, and is the queen of shinjuku’s street racing. and most importantly? she’s never lost a single race.” piper explained. I took in every bit of that info, and filed into a part of my brain labelled ‘dangerous and pretty competition, stay away’.

“what’s her ride, then?” I asked, a little curious.

“1997 mazda rx-7 veilside fortune.”

“damn,” I whistled. before I could find out more about her, the announcer on the stage started talking.

“welcome, racers and audience! today is day 1 of the annual tokyo races! here’s a quick rundown about it, in case you haven’t a clue: starting today, there will be 23 races for 23 days, each race held in a special ward of tokyo. we start here, at shinjuku, and end the 23rd race at shibuya!”

everyone cheered and whistled at the mention of shinjuku and shibuya, the two hubs of tokyo’s street racing.

starting at tsunami’s turf, and ending in mine, huh? this was going to be fun.

tags! — @sunnitheapollokid @puffoz

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[so-many-fandoms-here]

(English isn’t my first language so feel free to correct any mistake you notice.)

• Characters: Levi Ackerman, fem!Reader

• Genre: fluff, a bit of angst

• Warnings: describing birthing (not super detailed)

Daughter

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*

-Levi’s Pov-

I was already up and preparing breakfast when (Y/n) stepped into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes tired and yawning loudly. „Good morning Levi“, she mumbled and sat down at the table.

I supported myself on the kitchen sideboards, limped over to my pregnant wife and placed a kiss on her head. „Good morning you two.“

She hummed with closed eyes and rubbed her big belly. „Baby kicks just like you.“ I couldn’t help but chuckle. „It’s my baby after all.“ I placed my hand that wasn’t supporting my weight softly on her belly.

„Out of all qualities it could have gotten from you I really hoped it wouldn’t be your kicks“, she sighs dramatically and leans further back in the chair. I grabbed one of the other chairs that stood around the table and sat down in front of (Y/n) who had her eyes closed again, obviously exhausted from the long night.

„You’re not even born yet and already causing mommy sleepless nights?“ I spoke as I leaned further down until my face was in front of her belly. „Believe me, she’s way more pleasant when she slept well.“

For that I’ve earned a light slap on the head, causing another chuckle to leave my lips. Then I leaned up again and placed a kiss on my wife’s lips.

The amount of love I felt for this little rascal that wasn’t even born yet was overwhelming and sometimes left me scared.

„What if they don’t like me?“, I mumbled one of my many concerns against (Y/n)s soft lips. „Don’t be stupid“, she responded. „Our child is going to love you.“ And then placed another reassuring kiss on my lips.

But I wasn’t convinced. „I never had a father, I don’t even know how that works.“ (Y/n) wanted to say something but I just continued. „What if they’re scared of my scars? What if I can’t show my love enough? What if“ (Y/n) shut me up with a loud Shhhh and placed her hands on my cheeks. „Our baby is going to love you“, she repeated, not leaving any room for complaints.

„It’s time we talk about a potential godfather or godmother, don’t you think?“, she switched the topic while she stood up and grabbed herself a cup to pour some tea in it. I responded with a nod and said: „I nominate Armin.“

I could basically hear how her (e/c) eyes rolled. „It’s not a voting Levi“, she answered with a chuckle. „I know. I’m just messing with you“, I responded with a slight smirk. „Still Armin.“

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, her face decorated with the biggest, warmest smile that she always had when we planned anything related to the baby. „I thought about him too. He is so gentle and responsible. I’m pretty sure he will be so happy.“

„He’s least likely to drop the baby.“

The noise that came from my wife was made from the cup which she placed loudly on the cupboard again. „Levi!“

„I’m just saying what we both were thinking. They’re all just big ass kids, no way I’m leaving a fragile little human in their sweaty meathooks.“ I didn’t see the towel coming that flew in my direction and landed right on my face. While I pouted, acting like I was pissed, (Y/n) knew I was messing with her again and started to laugh so loud and long that I almost thought she would choke on her own voice.

—

Even though we planned everything thoroughly, the day the baby came still felt somehow chaotic. (Y/n) was a mess, I was a mess, everything was a mess.

It was morning when the water broke. I was reading the newspaper and watched the people through the window going to work, taking a walk, whatever normal people do, when suddenly (Y/n) started to whine. It was like a howl, painful and scared. My head turned and I saw her supporting herself on the doorframe to our bathroom in which she went seconds before.

I stood up and got to her as fast as I could, not paying attention to my crutch leaning against the table. It would only get in my way (like always).

„(Y/n)!“, I yelled, clueless what I could do instead. When I was beside her I could see the puddle on the floor. I hoped my fight or flight response would activate itself, like it did on the battlefield, but it didn’t. Instead I stood there with a horrified expression and looked at her. After a few seconds of brain-loss I caught myself again and wrapped my arms around her waist, which was kind of useless when I look back at it. „Come on, let’s get you in the bedroom.“

I had to let go of her immediately since I was no help for her with my broken leg, which I despised even more in this moment, and walked slowly behind her through the hallway into our bedroom.

The thick bedsheets that our midwife gave us where placed next to the bed, waiting for their time. I quickly spread them on the mattress on which (Y/n) sat down right after.

„Breath“, I reminded her (more myself to be honest) and took her hands in mine. For a second the world went quiet.

It’s happening. I am going to be a father very soon.

I quickly got rid of my sentimental thought and limped to the window, which I opened quickly and started to scan the streets, hoping I would see one of the brats.

„Oi!“ I yelled and immediately Armins head popped out of nowhere.

„Yes sir?“ I saw how his hand twitched, still tempted to salute. I‘m starting to believe he will never get used to not saluting.

„Get the nurse!“ I yell and a mix of horror and happiness appears on Armins face. „It’s time?“, he asks to which I nod. „Obviously!“ I yell even louder and watch him with an expecting look.

He took way too long for my liking to find out of his shock, but eventually he started to run to get the nurse while yelling „The baby‘s coming! The baby’s coming!“

I turned back around to face (Y/n) and watched how she shifts in bed to lie on her back. I walked up to her and sat next to her on the mattress.

„She‘ll be here any moment“, I reassured her while taking her hand in mine and waiting for the sound of the front door opening. After what felt like hours, but were probably not even minutes, the door swung open and our midwife, happy as ever, stepped inside the room.

„Well look at that!“, she calls out. „Looks like baby’s ready to see the world her parents made.“

She often told us how honored she was to work with us and she often tended to exaggerate a bit.

She made her way around the bed and asked (Y/N) to help her take off her underwear. She handed me the wet panty, which I quickly discarded on the floor, no way would I crawl away from my wife to tidy up right now.

The nightgown was pushed up over (Y/N)s thighs while the midwife took a look between her legs. „Yep, baby is in a hurry. I can already see the head.“

(Y/N) squeezed my hand tighter. „I’m scared“, she mumbled. I let go of her hand so I could wrap my arm around her. „Me too“, I whispered when she lied in my arms, grabbing my other hand.

„You ready to push momma?“, the nurse asked to which (Y/N) laughed a forced laugh. „I don’t have that much of a choice now, do I?“

A few hours of screaming and crying passed until a different cry cut through the air.

A light, but strong scream.

„There she is“, the nurse announced and took a towel in which she wrapped our child after cutting the umbilical cord. „A beautiful little girl.“

(Y/N) stretched out her arms, silently demanding the woman to give her the tiny being. Once she held our daughter in her arms she fell exhausted against my chest again.

Too stunned to speak I looked at the little human in her arms, looking just as exhausted as her mother.

(Y/N)s struggles weren’t over yet, since the placenta had to come out too, but after that was managed, the nurse gave us some time to ourselves while she would prepare some tea and something to eat.

Thankful for both, the peace and the fact that she would make something for us I nodded and watched how she closed the door behind her.

„She’s beautiful“, (Y/N) whispered. „Yeah“, I answered. „Just like her mother.“

I earned a tired smile from my wife and felt how she rested her head against my shoulder. „Do you want to hold her?“, she asked after a while.

„Of course!“ I said way too excited but got hesitant right after my statement. „But what if I do something wrong?“

„You won’t“, (Y/N) reassured me. „Take off you shirt.“ She giggled at my confused look. „Skin to skin“, she simply said and I remembered what the nurse told us. It’ll help bonding.

So I quickly got rid of my T-Shirt and then took my daughter as gently as possible into my hands. Her head was supported by my biceps and her little hand reached out and touched my chest lightly.

In awe I studied her face. The tiny eyes, the even tinier nose, her sweet cheeks and her lips that I just knew would carry the most warming smile the world would ever see.

(Y/N)s hand sneaked on our daughters stomach, not ready to give up every last bit of skin contact.

Suddenly my eyes filled with tears and my heart felt like it was about to burst from this immense and intense love I felt when I looked at my baby.

„If this is what the war was for“, I whispered with a shaky voice. „Then I would do it all again.“ The tears that at first just lingered in my eyes now streamed down my face. „Every last bit of it. I would do it all again for her.“

I glanced at (Y/N) and saw how she nodded, knowing exactly what I meant and knowing she would do the same.

„You still like the name Mary?“ I asked her to which I earned another nod. „Yes. But to be honest, she looks more like a Mary Isabel, don’t you think?“

My already endless stream of tears just got worse. Mary Isabel. (Y/N)s tears fell on my shoulder while we stood silent in agreement.

„Mary Isabel Ackerman“, I mumble after a while, my chest filled with love and pride. „My daughter.“

And suddenly I knew what peace felt like.