#and for my skin to start being soft and wrinkled around my bones

[juice-box-addict]

i don’t know about the pretending but you’ll definitely be alright.

AAA GROWING OLD!!!!!

the older i get and the closer i am to reaching 30, the more the people around me try to deny me my age. it’s a constant ‘oh you’re just turning 29 again teehee 🤭’ or ‘dont tell your SO that, he’ll leave you for a younger model 😉’ and i just???? hate it?????????

i spent my entire teenaged years fighting for my life. i crawled through the deepest pits of my depression to cling to the promise of a life beyond that pain. i was so convinced that i was going to die young, that i would never see the grace of my age starting with a 2, let alone 3.

so im going to turn 30, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me from loving it.

[cybersunnie]

So Divine ✶ Steve Harrington

18+ / MDNI — literally just smut w/ some fluff, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart, baby) got inspired by @/season4steve's comments (wc: 1k)

Steve was a gentle lover.

Compliments, spontaneous gifts, late-night calls because he wanted to hear your voice before bed. He was always soft and sweet with you, all boyish charm and smiles.

With his parents out of town again, you and Steve had the house all to yourselves. It started innocently. A movie night at his place, cuddling on the couch, the light touch on your hip growing more greedy as the night went on. You tried to ignore it, eyes trained on the screen, but you were still all too aware of his glances and smirks that meant no good. 

Your efforts were pointless.

The cheesy horror flick Steve had mindlessly picked out at work turned into background noise when he leaned in and kissed you slow, testing the waters. Your lips melted between his, warmth blossoming in your chest, your skin tingling. Whispers of I want you filled your ears, and you were suddenly putty in his hands—a mindless thing made of flesh and bones.

One thing led to another, and the both of you stumbled up the stairs and to his bedroom, giggling into the other’s mouth.

Your curves and edges, and his scars and birthmarks.

Steve had you pinned beneath him, his sheets wrinkled and a mess, clothes discarded and forgotten. You gasped so prettily for him, your face crumbling with ecstasy every time his hips snapped forward to meet yours, the slow drag of his cock making your head spin.

Even as he took you, Steve was nothing but gentle. Every kiss and touch ghosted over your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. 

As if you were a delicate flower, each limb a petal he wanted to preserve, to dote on. 

“You’re so pretty,” he rasped out, his nose nudging yours, urging you to look at him.

You keened, cheeks burning, eyes hazy with pleasure. How Steve looked at you was overwhelming—like you were the only good thing in the world.

"Yeah? You like being my pretty girl?"

You nodded and held him tighter, not wanting this to end. Your nails dug into his back, the crescent indents adding to his constellation of moles and freckles.

With Steve, all you saw were stars.

His gaze softened, a crinkle between his brows. "I know you do," he murmured, ducking his head down and kissing your jaw. Steve felt you shiver, your cunt squeezing his cock, snug and warm. He fought the urge to bite your shoulder as he buried himself deeper inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're killing me."

You wondered if Steve knew how much control he had over you. If he knew that his voice made everything around you feel light. If he knew that, in your mind, he embodied the night sky.

That he was timeless. Divine. A mysterious beauty.

He deserved to know.

But your voice was gone, the words stuck in your throat. The knot in your stomach grew tighter. The inevitable inched closer. You could only utter a meek whimper of his name with your fingers digging into his flesh. 

Steve pulled his face from your neck and looked at you, stilling himself. “What, baby?”

He sounded so concerned, so sincere—it just made you want him more.

You whined and pressed the heels of your feet against his ass, begging him to move, to keep fucking you. Thankfully, Steve took the hint, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in, his heart swelling with pride when you whimpered.

Steve knew you were close. He could fucking feel it.

"Keep squeezing me like that—holy shit," Steve groaned, almost whining, as your cunt pulsated around his cock. "You're close, huh? You gonna come for me?"

Overwhelmed, you shut your eyes. It was too much. Steve's body flushed with yours, your ears buzzing, your heart pounding so hard it rattled your ribcage—it was all too much.

And Steve noticed. He always noticed.

Soft and soothing, he whispered your name and grasped your chin, your skin warming under his fingertips.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes. Steve smiled the same smile that swept you off your feet the first time you met him. He leaned his forehead against yours, his usual sweet brown eyes hardened with lust, with the desire to please you.

"There we go," Steve murmured, kissing your lips. He let go of your chin and moved his hand, his large palm enveloping the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, your brows drawing tightly together as Steve kept fucking you nice and slow. "You still with me, yeah?"

You nodded, mind-numbing.

"Yeah," he cooed, his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling. A pitiful whine escaped you, and he swallowed it with another kiss. "You're okay. You're doing so good."

It was all tangled heat and longing. Your hands trailed into his hair, soft and roots drenched with sweat. Mouths hung open, moans and gasps, your hearts becoming one.

Steve grunted, head dipping down into the crook of your neck, his hips rocking into yours. "C'mon, baby, give it to me."

You were at his mercy, unprotected, bare of armor.

The knot snapped.

Pleasure erupted in the pit of your belly and wrecked through you. You cried out his name in gasps and moans, your legs locking around his waist, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve whimpered as if he was wounded, his thrusts faltering, tongue swirling over your pulse points, and teeth nipping at your skin.

Wrapped up in the other and your sweaty limbs entangled, the intensity died down, heavy breaths filling the air. Neither of you moved—a silent agreement to stay connected a little longer. 

"I love you," Steve whispered, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw until he reached your mouth. He stared at you with adore-filled eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair disheveled from your own doing. "I love you so much."

Through your haze, you grinned, fingers sowing through his hair, "I love you more."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. "Impossible."

author's note: yay i finally finished something!!!!! it had been such a long time since i wrote smut so i'm sorry if this wasn't up to par LMAO but i love me some soft and sappy sex

anyways i hope you enjoyed this!!! tysm for reading! <3

[buckysgrace]

Wanted to start with, I looove your work. And wanted to submit a small request

Billy and female reader are best friends. They end up at a party together and get drunk. They argue over something and billy kisses her. She gets freaked out and leaves him there. Then he just acts like an ass about it and doesn't k ow how to fix their friendship. 🫶🏻

Thank you so much for enjoying my work! I hope this is what you were looking for <3

The music was loud, hammering around in your head as the alcohol swished around in your body. Your mouth was moving but you didn't quite understand what you were saying. But you could tell you were mad.

"It's not your business," You slurred out, pointing a finger roughly at the dirty blonde in front of you, "I can be with whomever I want to be with."

"He's a dick," Billy grumbled as he swatted your finger away, looking just as annoyed as you felt, "He just wants to get into your pants."

"He sounds just like you." You pointed out, feeling like it was only a fair accusation. You'd seen Billy woo people more than once to get into their pants.

"Are you serious?" He asked you in disbelief, blue eyes filling with anger as he looked at you.

"You're always fucking around with someone new," You reminded him, "Some of them even friends I had. How are you any different?" You asked seriously, reaching out to point at his chest. You were angry now.

"Because I don't want you for just some quick fuck." He stated softly, more vulnerable this time. But you were too far gone to really notice, buried in your feelings and your former shot simmering in your stomach.

"Then what do you want?" You huffed in irritation, "Because you get so mad anytime I start to see anyone else." You didn't think you could continue to be friends with him if he kept ruining every relationship you got into.

He was silent for a heartbeat as the music blared around the both of you, so loud that you swore you could feel it thumping in your bones. At this point you just wanted to go home. Your night had been ruined.

You wrinkled your nose, eyes fluttering as he gripped your face. You stalled for a moment, eyes drifting over the freckles on his nose and the twinkle in his eyes before he brought his lips onto yours.

Your mouth dragged against his, smooth and light as you tasted the old beer and nicotine on his tongue. Electricity spread across your skin, spreading through your veins and blood as you fell into a soft rhythm with him.

You were friends with Billy, but that didn't mean you kept yourself from imagining how he kissed. How he tasted. He was handsome, you couldn't help it.

And God, did it just feel right. You were almost desperate to taste more of him, your head swarming at the feeling of his tongue grazing against yours. It made the muscles in your stomach clench, twisting with bliss before it all came crashing down.

You two shouldn't be kissing. You were friends. More than that, you were both drunk. Neither of you were thinking straight. You didn't want this to be a mistake, you couldn't handle being another notch on his belt.

"I gotta go," You breathed out quickly, forcing yourself away, "I'm sorry. I just-," You couldn't meet his eyes as you turned away, missing the hurt look on his expression. You needed to get away, far away. And fast.

-

Things changed in the following weeks. And not in a good way. Billy refused to speak to you, to hang out with you or look in your direction. It was like you didn't exist. No matter what you tried, he gave you the cold shoulder. It seemed like he was keen on forgetting your shared kiss.

Sitting all day across the pool from him didn't help either. He refused to be near your rotations and if you got the same break, he took it somewhere that you weren't. He changed his shifts too, making sure that he didn't ever have to open or close with you.

Except for today. Too many people were gone on vacation this week, leaving you two to close. You wouldn't usually mind, but anytime you were near him you felt tense. Overbearingly tense. You didn't understand what you'd done wrong. Not really. You wanted to talk about it, but he seemed persistent that the kiss had never happened.

"Are we going to talk about this?" You finally asked him, unable to handle the tension between you any longer. You didn't like it. You truly felt like he was one of the only people you could be open to.

"Talk about what?" He asked dryly, eyes staying peered to the pool as he lazily took another drag of his cigarette. He didn't even spare you a glance. Or if he did, you couldn't tell. His glasses were so dark, hiding away the color in his eyes.

"You kissed me," You said as you wrinkled your eyebrows together, "And now you act like I don't exist." You did your best to keep your composure, but it hurt. In some way you felt like you had been right. You didn't give Billy what he wanted and now he wouldn't even look at you.

"You ran away." He stated dryly, furrowing his eyebrows together as he took another puff from his cigarette. You had a strong urge to grab it and throw it as far as you could. Maybe he'd look at you then.

"I was drunk," You defended yourself, "I didn't want to mess up our friendship." You ran your fingers over your thighs, heart lurching your chest as Billy finally turned towards you.

"Didn't sound that way when you ran." His tongue was gruff, rough as he scoffed and tossed the butt of his cigarette from him. You paused, reflecting on what he must've been thinking.

"I panicked," You said softly, "I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have run." You told him honestly, waiting for him to say something. Anything. You could work it out, you just needed to talk. That was it.

He flicked his tongue out, licking his bottom lip as you felt your insides melt at the sight. You wondered if he remembered what your mouth tasted like too.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," He mumbled underneath his breath, making your heart snap into tiny little pieces, "But sometimes I don't say the right thing." He watched you for a moment, expression remaining stoic as you tried to piece together what he meant.

"What do you mean?" You questioned him as he pressed his fingers together, beginning to bounce his knee up and down. A telltale sign that he was nervous. You'd learned that a while ago.

"I didn't want you to be with him, because I wanted to be with you." Despite the sunglasses on his eyes, you could tell he wasn't looking at you anymore. Like he was nervous.

Oh.

"If you like me then you should've just asked me out!" You told him in disbelief, shoving at his knee in irritation. There was no reason for this argument to span out of control. It shouldn't have even been an argument. He should've just said something.

"You said I was like that asshole." He furrowed his eyebrows together, making you roll your eyes dramatically.

"Because you never asked me out," You reminded him, "I would've said yes." You told him honestly, watching the way his expression relaxed.

"Really?" He asked with a small tilt of his head, "Because you seemed worried about ruining our friendship." He pulled his sunglasses down, getting a better look at you as you examined his pretty blue eyes.

"I don't think we can be friends again," You admitted, swallowing roughly at the way his eyes softened, "Only because I'm a little crazy about you now."

"Yeah?" His smirk grew cocky as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You supposed it was good that he hadn't lost his ego through the whole ordeal.

"I am," You told him honestly, "But if we start dating that's it. You're stuck with me." You told him seriously, feeling a little giddy as you clasped your hands together.

His lips curled into a little grin, eyes twinkling as he nodded in agreement, "I'm sorry for being an ass." He apologized, making you feel a little better.

"You can make it up with dinner," You smiled, enjoying the way he snorted, "I hope you remember what my favorite flowers are."

[raspberrybesitos]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward. 

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food. 

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way. 

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter. 

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet. 

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby. 

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles. 

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him. 

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat. 

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?” 

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving. 

“I’m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

[here-but-forgotten]

authors note: i don't fucking know man. i listened to "becoming the lastnames" and this happened.

content notes: rudy x reader. young, before he joins the military. talks of marriage. valeria and alejandro mention. mainly fluff. mentions of death.

becoming the lastnames

pre-military! rodolfo parra x reader

“Do you ever think we’ll make it?” He whispers, breaking through the shrouded dark, the cool air seeping through your skin.

“I don’t know,” You whisper.

He shifts beside you, the blanket wrinkling under his shifting weight. The night is cool; the stars are out; the city is far enough away to be forgotten but not to far away to become imaginary.

“Why do you say that?” Rodolfo asks, softly, no bite of argument on the back of his tongue.

“I mean, what if I end up just like my parents?”

“I’ll love you.”

That stupid, sweet, sticky, suffocating warmth seeps into your bones to your ribs, filling your throat with a burn.

“We could try to be like my parents,” he jokes, “we could work until we’re 40 then go insane.”

You laugh, breaking the warmth off your ribs, letting yourself melt into the blanket again. Your fingers tingle, cold.

“But what if you die?”

“Baby,” Rudy murmurs, half a scold and half a pity.

“I’m serious,” You whisper, barely making noise, the heat that chokes you catching cold air in your throat, “what then?”

“Then you can come talk to my headstone, I’ll listen.”

“Rudy.”

He laughs. You sound like his mother. His pinky wraps around yours, pulling your hand closer to him; he is warm.

“I don’t plan on dying.”

“But what if you do?”

“I just won’t.”

You sigh, defeated, that stupid boyish reasoning and manly cool. Infuriating.

“I’ll crawl back to you if anything happens.”

“If you die, I’ll kill Alej to keep you company.”

Macabre. He laughs.

“I’ll have to haunt you if you do that,” He smiles into his sigh, “If I don’t die, we’ll grow old together.”

“I’ll get all wrinkly.”

“Yeah, and so will I.”

“Marriage has always scared me,” You admit, his pinky tightening, keeping you close, “But I want to have a last love.”

“We can be just like my parents, then.”

You tighten your grip on him, his fingering wiggling out just to grab your whole hand, paw covering your hand.

“What about forever?” You ask.

“I don’t know anything about forever, but I know I wouldn’t mind spending it with you.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“I want to push Alejandro off a bridge sometimes, but I know I want to be his best friend till I die,” he starts, his voice soft, “and I feel like that with you.”

“You want to push me off a bridge?”

“I feel like the second part of the sentence.”

“I mean, I get it if you do, I can be annoying—”

“I don’t want to push you off a bridge—”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did—”

He pushes his hand and yours against your mouth, gently, hushing you.

“I am not going to push you off a bridge.”

“That sounds like a Dateline intro,” You joke.

“I am not going to kill you.”

“Sounds like something a killer would say.”

Rodolfo dramatically sighs, pulling the hands back to him.

“I don’t think we have to wait on becoming insane like my parents, I think we’re already there.”

You chuckle, scooting closer to him, your shoulder touching his.

“Love can last a pretty good long while, you sure you want to give that to me?”

“I already did.”

You hum.

“Love doesn’t go away. It either sticks around or it was never there. It changes shape though, and it’s just about keeping shapes that go together.”

“You sure you want to go get shot, you could be a poet.”

“I don’t want to get shot, it’s just a part of the job description.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be a bit of a masochist.”

He squeezes your hand, a light little non-existent warning.

“Being a poet doesn’t pay too well, I don’t think. Unless we have World War III soon, then I can be sad and traumatized and publish 15 books.”

“If you make it.”

“I will,” Rodolfo lowers his voice, pulling you against him, head resting on his shoulder, “I will make it, and I’ll come home to you, and we can go crazy together until Alejandro tries to get us admitted.”

“If we pull him down with us, he can’t admit us.”

“That’s the plan.”

He rests his nose against the crown of your head, kissing your head softly, his arm around your shoulders warm as his fingers rub your skin, your body melting against his.

“Do you think Valeria and him will make it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Confident.”

“They are oil and water. The flame is whatever they’re feeling. And it’s just whoever gets to the fire first and does something with it.”

“Are you comparing their relationship to a grease fire?”

“Yes.”

You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.

“Have you been in a room with them for longer than 30 minutes?”

“I mean, yeah.”

His thumb rubs you.

“He just wants what he never got to have. And he doesn’t get that what he wants doesn’t have to be painful.”

“Do you think that’ll kill him?”

“It won’t kill either of them. It’ll just tattoo them.”

“Do you think they’ll kill each other?”

“They might try but that’ll just end in them being bickering skeletons.”

“Are they both that hot headed to where death won’t make them stop?”

“Probably. I don’t want to find out though.”

“I don’t either.”

There’s a bug, or something, making noise. The moon is high. The stars have shifted.

“We’ll be just like my parents, and we’ll grow old together, and when all of that is over, we’ll have forever. Does that sound alright?” Rudy asks, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“Yeah, I think that sounds alright.”

[tofu-loverx]

Summary: Your Boyfriend defends you in insulting or annoying sites Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Scaramouche,Kaedehara Kazuha ,Childe x gn!Reader Warnings: anxiety, insults,bullying, blood, insults, self-humiliation . Type: HCs Note: English is not my mother language, sorry for any spelling errors.

You don't know how it all started, but the most important thing is that you were the (g\b)friend of your beloved Scaramouche.

The two of you went on a date as usual, until your way was interrupted by a creepy man with a crooked smile.

"Can I have your number, beautiful?"

You replied nauseously, "Of course not, I am engaged."

"You're a bad liar," the man sneered.

"Do you have rubbish instead of a brain in your head?" you replied with obvious rage. "My Boyfriend is right next to me."

The creepy-man looked at Scaramouche and laughed out loud, "He's more like your little brother than your boyfriend."

Your lover's eyebrows wrinkled from obvious sarcasm and he hit the man's testicles until he fell to the ground in pain, then scara put his foot on top of the man's head.

"Scumbags like you, they have no right to look at my property."

Let's not deny Kazuha's cute and soft appearance, however, there is a side of him that should not be shown to the general public.

You've been etching this into your mind since your last incident at school.

You had just entered the classroom a little before the teacher arrived, and as you pulled up your chair and sat down, you felt a cold substance stain your short skirt.

You stood up and saw your skirt stained with red paint. One of the girls , who were jealous of you, shouted, "There are those who did not take precautions."

The whole class laughed at you, your face turned red and tears formed in your eyes and you ran out of class crying and your best friend followed you. Of course your boyfriend was sitting at the back of the class and watching this farce.

While you were crying in the bathroom and refusing to go out despite changing your clothes with the help of your friend, you heard a crash and screaming.

you ran rushing into class and saw Kazuha headbutted the bully girl and smashed her skull on the table and she was already unconscious and her face is barely recognizable now.

He noticed you entered the classroom and smiled with blood on his face.

" took revenge for you"

Being dating the most handsome and richest boy with a bad reputation in school makes you the focus of attention and caution.

Of course, it had more positives than negatives, such as feeling safe, the boys kept away from you, even the teachers did not dare to make mistakes with you because of their authority.

Once you went to buy juice from the vending machines at recess, and they were located down the stairs on the other side of the school.

One of the delinquent boys took advantage of this, who had always hated Ajax because of his money, power and prestige.

The boy grabbed you and closed you in the mouth and then locked you in the storage of the gymnasium, tying you to a chair.

"Why does he have everything? Why does he always get what he wants? Handsome, rich, and even dating the (g\b) i love," the boy looked angry and jealous.

You opened your mouth to say, "He got my love in an attractive way, not by locking me in the gymnasium storage… a coward."

As soon as you called him a coward, he kicked you in the face causing you to fall and make a fuss.

He slowly opened the storage door, "I forgot to bring my pho-… What's going on?"

The boy's eyes widened at Ajax's presence here, "B..Boss!?…Why did you come?…Haha…Didn't you finish your training for today?…"

Ajax closed the door behind him and looked at your soft scratched skin, gently untie you and asked what was going on and you told him.

"Sit here on the chair and leave the rest to me…okay?" He gave you a kiss on the cheek and turned around.

Before the boy could speak and justify his position, he got a strong kick on his jaw, and you swore to hear the sound of the bone breaking and started raining punches on him.

"Before you kidnap my sweetheart, think twice…or don't."

[yelena-bellova]

The First You - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plot: Soldiers don’t start out scarred, there was softness once where bitterness now lives.

Word Count: 753

Warnings: one curse word, too angsty to be fluff, lil’ spoon Joel

A/N: Had zero intention for writing anything TLOU related, seeing as I have zero knowledge of it…but fucking Joel Miller’s living in my brain so I figured I’d put it to good use. Wrote this in about 30 minutes, might delete this in the morning depending on how I feel.

————————

The ache in my bones belonged to someone older.

I considered the pointless thought as I turned my key in the door, rubbing my shoulder with my free hand. Double shifts were going to permanently alter my posture. But the longer I worked, the less time I had to think about how everything around me had gone to complete and utter shit.

The smell of whiskey permeated my senses as soon as I entered. A sign that things had been particularly bad today. Usually he’d wait for me to being drowning our memories. I swiped my finger across the kitchen table, picking up a stray morsel of a pill. Something had triggered this.

I almost didn’t want to look across to the bed, knowing what I’d see. In a world where everyone was at their peak point of suffering, he somehow made mine worse. The knots in my stomach, the pain in my chest, the fear lighting up every one of my nerves. Was love supposed to feel like this? Or had the Cordyceps infected that too?

Working up the strength, I turned around and saw Joel, in a dead sleep that couldn’t be achieved without chemical aide. I took calculated steps, avoiding the floorboards I knew creaked. Getting a closer look, I waited for the worry wrinkles in his forehead to disappear. People were supposed to find peace when they slept. Or maybe they were twenty years ago. Joel looked as hardened as he was when he was conscious.

Twenty years. Joel didn’t speak of his life straightforwardly. It happened more in passing and involuntarily. His knowledge of construction came out when we’d slip in and out through the skeleton of a building. His love of music peeked its head out when a signal would come through the radio. His foot would let out a single tap. Never more. And I’d figured out what food he’d liked by which meals he ate the quickest. Decoding him was both a hobby and a religion.

I sat down on the bed, biting back a groan as my muscles screamed. Working extra was good in the moment, horrible in the long run. I felt Joel stir behind me and as quick as I could, which wasn’t very fast at all, I gently rolled him onto his side. He was so far gone, he didn’t fight at all. The pills were in full effect.

I wrapped an arm around him, taking in the warmth of his body. His frame was solid, developed from years of manual labor and later, brutal confrontations. His clothes smelled of sweat and smoke, telling where he’d worked in the afternoon. I wiggled up on the bed and pressed my nose to the back of his neck, searching out any part that just smelled like him. As soon as our skin touched, I felt Joel shift his arm to sleepily grab my hand. That was the catalyst to let my thoughts wander all the places I stayed away from…

Had he slept in on Saturday mornings? Did he watch football? Were the Cowboys his team? Had he ever wanted to see the world, or was Austin enough for him? What games did he and Tommy play as kids? What was his favorite color? Had he celebrated his birthday, or gruffly brushed it off? What kind of guy was he in high school?

What kind of father had he been? Had he played Barbies? Attended tea parties? Painted a bedroom pink? Made pancakes into shapes? Watched weekend cartoons? Eyed any boy that looked his daughter’s way?

What kind of partner had he been? Was he romantic? Spontaneous? Did he do the whole candlelit dinner thing or had he liked cooking at home? Had his kisses once been soft and tender? Had he taken his time instead of urgent because how much time could truly be left? Did he like to go dancing or did he just randomly grab his girl’s waist and sway in the kitchen? Did his brown eyes light up when his love entered the room? Had they ever been filled with anything other than pain deep enough to have put down permanent roots in his heart?

Who was the man I could have had?

It didn’t matter, I told myself as a tear fell, it really didn’t. I’d have taken Joel any way I could have him. His strength, his resilience, his heart…I wanted it all. But that didn’t stop my heart from knowing he deserved better. We deserved better.

[bandsandwristbands]

P H O T O S Y N T H E S I S + Agoraphilia 🖤🖤🖤

shgdbcfsjkl you picked two of the horny ones lol

one gaalee and one lulaw comin up

P H O T O S Y N T H E S I S

I wanted like a summer vibe and I wanted to write Gaara's versionn of seducing Lee which I think would be very tongue in cheek and coy. I especially wanted it to take place in Gaara's personal greenhouse and have lots of plant motifs lol

Here's the first couple blurbs that started the idea

Gaara in all white soaked through from greenhouse sprinklers. Gaara is made of a beautiful juxtaposition of hard angles and poking bones into soft sloping lines of muscle and flesh. The wet cloth reflects brightly in the sun, casting a dream like haze as it clings to Gaara's sparkling skin. The soft plains of Gaara's relaxed lower half is contoured so beautifully by the more visible white wrinkles of fabric. Lee pinches himself as Gaara coily glances at him from folded arms. Water droplets run winding paths down his skin, plops from slightly overgrown strands of fiery red. He must know how he looks. Like an otherworldly being, kept in a beautiful garden, glowing seductively like a lure, nymphlike. His eyes are even a bit devious, an innocent turn to his mouth that feels a little too exaggerated. Lee thinks someone else might be intimidated, with such a lurid trap laid out before them. Lee, however, had never been one to heed such threats. Nor has he ever been able to resist the pull gaara has on him. Oh how Lee is a goner.

Gaara does not ever ask but Lee knows that he gives something to Gaara that he cannot trust anyone else to give him. He drinks in Lee’s love, overdoses on affection and intimacy and allows Lee to overwhelm him with sensation and touch. He allows his empty hollows to be filled with life. Green plooms take root in the mud of his heart and sprout up to push his thoughts out of his ears. Sunny warmth burns on his skin and his eyes sting with it. He thinks himself a starved, neglected orchid now being overhydrated and burned up in the sunlight. He overindulges on everything he’s ever needed and wanted until it hurts; heedless. Lee strips his armor away until he is undeniably human. He is methodical, determined and reliable and safe. Lee reads Gaara without needing to ask, knows exactly what he wants and when and is diligent in meeting those needs. Gaara thinks Lee and his big, calloused hands could wrap all the way around him sometimes, repotting him from the ultimate defense into the absolute comfort of warm skin and round, sparkling eyes.

This one is almost doneeee so I'll probably post it soon lol

Song inspo Sunny Delights by iMonster

Agoraphilia

I have very little actually written out for this one lol It's a lulaw/lawlu smut fic about banging in semi public/ public spaces.

My little inspo bullet points are as follows

You already know Luffy is like yum at a party where Law looks extra pretty and Laws like stoppppp we can'tttttt maybe he fingers law under a table! 😱

Orrrr maybe the running from the marines idea? (What I mean by this is they're escaping from some low teir marines and the adreneline gets them all horned up so whilst hiding somewhere cramped close in an alley, Luffy gets handsy and Law is like Okayyy)

Law's like "😳😳this is illegal"and luffy is like "we're literally pirates"

Something about Luffy makes Law's own eyes bigger than his stomach. Always biting off more than he can chew when Luffy's involved. Law always ends up a bit overwhelmed (in the best way??) 

Song inspo Agora Hills by Doja Cat

[sicknessbysalem]

Do you still write for simplysickness characters? Could you please write something for Lex and Soren? Really miss them… 💜

Something with a lot of comfort

i don't know if you're still around since this has been in my ask box for a long time. let me explain: i have been avoiding this ask literally because i got spooked about people coming at me for 'stealing' characters even though @simplysickness themself gave me these character to continue them once they moved on with their current job. so long story short I got too stressed to write this but i think i'm good now.

not sure if sparrow had ever posted fics centric to it, but in the canon lore of lex and soren, lex quit music and was able to work as an emt which he thoroughly enjoys. (also the canon lex and soren lore has been worked by me and sparrow for a long time)

since you asked for comfort, let's do it! if you have anymore requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, migraines, nausea, overwork

Lex stumbled through the door of their shared apartment, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. His uniform was wrinkled, stained with the remnants of a long shift that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The familiar scent of home—faint traces of Soren's cologne mixed with the lingering aroma of morning coffee—welcomed him, but the usual comfort it provided felt distant, unreachable.

The dull throb that had started behind his eyes hours ago had escalated into a full-blown migraine, each heartbeat pounding against his skull like a relentless drum. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, a fatigue that went beyond just needing sleep. Something deeper was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to concern Soren with it. Not now, not when Soren had his own day ahead of him.

“Hey, babe,” Soren’s voice floated in from the kitchen, light and warm. Lex could hear the sound of dishes being put away, the soft clinking of plates against one another. “Just got done with breakfast. Do you want anything?”

"Not yet, no," Lex said, undoing the braid that was already half falling out the rest of the way, "I need to take a shower and get out of this uniform."

"Tell you what," Soren said, "You do that, and I'll make you some lavender tea and something to eat."

Lex winced, the thought of eating, or drinking for that matter, anything making his already queasy stomach twist in protest. He pushed a weary smile onto his face as he dropped his keys on the entry table and forced himself to respond. “Sure, fine."

Soren smiled, "I'd kiss you but I don't want anything you have on you from work."

"I would probably push you off if you tried," Lex said, "I'll be back in like fifteen."

For as tired as he was, Lex was quick to grab something to change into and start the water, letting it heat up as he stripped off his uniform. He'd take care of washing it later, for now he stepped into the bathroom, the cool tile under his feet grounding him slightly as he leaned heavily against the sink. The mirror reflected his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath them more pronounced than ever. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. Every movement felt like it required twice the effort it should and he hated it.

As the water cascaded down, hot enough to almost sting, he hoped it would wash away some of the tension knotting his muscles, the ache in his head, and the bone-deep fatigue that clung to him like a second skin.

But as he stood under the stream, head bowed, the migraine only seemed to intensify, the heat doing nothing to ease the relentless pounding. He clenched his teeth, trying to will away the pain, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. The water wasn’t helping; it was only making him feel worse, the heat adding to his nausea. He quickly shut off the shower, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped out. He dried off as quick as he could, pulling on a t-shirt and some joggers.

For as much as he wanted to just go back to bed, that would make Soren worried. Soren was stressed, meaning he had somewhere to go. Lex wasn't going to stress Soren out, not more than necessary.

Lex tried to brush through his wet hair, grimacing as another sharp wave of pain lanced through his skull. He needed to pull it together, at least until Soren left. He finished brushing, by now the pain making his hands shake. He put his hair in a loose braid as he walked back to the kitchen.

The smell of lavender greeted him, and he saw Soren placing a steaming mug on the table, along with a small plate of toast. The simple gesture was filled with care, and Lex’s heart ached with guilt for not being able to appreciate it more fully.

Soren looked up as Lex entered, his eyes immediately narrowing in concern. “You okay, Lex? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Lex forced a small smile, waving off the concern. “Just tired, you know how it is. Long shift. But I’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Soren wasn’t convinced; Lex could tell by the way his boyfriend’s gaze lingered on him, the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly. But Soren had learned to pick his battles, especially when it came to Lex’s stubbornness.

Instead of pushing, Soren simply nodded and gestured to the tea. “Well, drink up. It’ll help you relax.”

Lex gingerly took the mug, cradling it between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He took a tentative sip, the fragrant tea soothing his throat but doing little for the churning in his stomach. He set it down after just one sip, hoping Soren wouldn’t notice.

“So, you heading out soon?” Lex asked, trying to sound casual as he leaned against the counter, the cool surface a small relief against his heated skin.

“Yeah,” Soren replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Ksenia and I have that recording session, but I should be back by late afternoon. Are you sure you don’t need anything before I go? I can call and reschedule if you’re—”

“No,” Lex cut in, a bit too quickly. “I’ll be fine, Soren. You’ve got your own stuff to handle. Don’t worry about me.”

Soren’s eyes softened, a mix of love and worry shining in them as he stepped closer, resting a hand on Lex’s arm. “I always worry about you, you know that, right?”

Lex’s resolve wavered for a moment, the urge to just let Soren take care of him, to admit how much he was struggling, almost breaking through. But he couldn’t. Not when Soren had so much on his plate already. Lex mustered another smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Soren’s cheek.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you for it. But seriously, I just need some rest. I’ll be good as new by the time you’re back. Literally as soon as you walk out that door I will absolutely be sleeping."

Soren hesitated, his hand lingering on Lex’s arm before he finally nodded, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you need anything, call me. Promise?”

“Promise,” Lex replied, hoping the smile he offered was convincing enough.

Soren sighed, clearly not fully satisfied, but he knew better than to push Lex when he was like this. He walked over and kissed Lex's cheek, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

Lex watched as Soren grabbed his things and headed for the door, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the now silent apartment. The moment he was alone, Lex’s facade crumbled. He slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands as the migraine pounded mercilessly against his skull, and a wave of dizziness made the room spin.

Lex sat in the chair, trying to steady his breathing as the relentless pounding in his head sent sharp jolts of pain through his temples. The room felt like it was spinning ever so slightly, a disorienting, subtle tilt that made him grip the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, trying to suppress the growing nausea that gnawed at his stomach.

His migraine had progressed quickly, the dull throb from earlier now a vicious, stabbing pain that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Every sound, even the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, grated against his senses, amplifying the pain. The dim light filtering through the curtains felt too bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the world and focus on anything other than the turmoil inside his body.

But the vertigo wasn’t something he could ignore. It was as if the ground beneath him was shifting, tilting, and spinning all at once, making every movement feel like an uphill battle against gravity. Lex had dealt with migraines like this before—too many times, really—but that didn’t make it any easier. The nausea that accompanied the dizziness was creeping up on him, a sickening wave that rose higher with each passing minute. He needed to get to bed, to lie down somewhere more comfortable, but the thought of standing up and moving was daunting.

Lex took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and slowly pushed up from the chair. The moment he was upright, the room tilted violently, and his stomach lurched in protest. He paused, gripping the edge of the table, closing his eyes against the spinning sensation that threatened to knock him off balance. Nausea twisted his gut, and he fought the urge to retch, knowing that any sudden movement would only make it worse.

Theoretically he could lay on the couch, but his bedroom was darker, specifically for this reason. And the couch wasn't the most comfortable. If it was this bad, Lex wanted to do what he could to be even slightly more comfortable.

Gritting his teeth, Lex forced one foot in front of the other, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. The walls seemed to close in on him, the world narrowing to the few feet in front of him as he concentrated on just getting to his bed. But as he reached the doorway, another wave of vertigo hit him hard, sending him stumbling forward.

He barely made it into the room before his body was ready to give in. Lex could feel he either had the choice to lay down now or probably end up vomiting all over his sheets. The floor seemed like the better option.

He collapsed to the floor, the cool wood against his cheek a small mercy. He lay there, breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to regain some semblance of control. The dizziness was worse now, making his stomach roil, and he knew if he moved again, he wouldn’t be able to stop the inevitable.

The choice was simple, but neither option was appealing: he could stay on the floor and hope the nausea passed, or he could risk getting to the bathroom and throwing up. But even the thought of moving made the bile rise in his throat, so he stayed where he was, too exhausted to do anything else. The pain in his head had reached a crescendo, a throbbing, searing agony that made him feel like his skull was going to split open.

Time blurred as he lay there, the minutes stretching into an eternity as he battled the pain and nausea. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the tension he couldn’t release. He didn’t know how long he had been lying on the floor, but it felt like hours. Maybe he dozed off, maybe he didn't.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered in his foggy mind. It wasn’t until he heard Soren’s footsteps approaching that he realized Soren had come home. The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Soren’s concerned voice cut through the haze.

“Lex?”

Lex didn’t have the energy to respond, but he heard the soft sigh of understanding from Soren as he stepped into the room, his presence a comforting, familiar anchor in the chaos of Lex’s mind.

“There you are,” Soren said, “Why are you on the floor?"

"Well, the floor needed a hug," Lex said sarcastically, "Plus it was between puking my guts out and laying down immediately, so it was a win-win honestly."

Soren sat on the floor next to him, "Bad one, huh? How many hours have you worked this week?”

Lex managed a weak nod, not trusting himself to speak without setting off his already churning stomach.

"Five shifts," Lex forced to answer the question.

Soren placed a cool hand on his forehead. The touch was soothing, grounding him just enough to focus on something other than the pain.

“Alright,” Soren said softly, “just stay where you are. I’ll get you some water and a cold pack.”

Lex barely registered Soren leaving the room, his mind too fogged by the migraine to process much of anything. The nausea was getting worse, and even lying still wasn’t helping anymore. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit, knowing it was a losing battle. But before he could spiral further, Soren was back, his calm presence and soft voice cutting through the noise in Lex’s head.

“Here,” Soren said, helping him shift just enough to place the cold pack against the back of his neck. “This should help with the nausea. Just breathe, okay?”

Lex focused on Soren’s voice, the coolness of the pack, and the steady rhythm of his own breathing. It was all he could do to hold on as the migraine continued to wreak havoc on his senses. He didn’t have to say anything for Soren to know how much he was struggling; Soren knew him too well for that.

“Take it easy, Lex,” Soren murmured, sitting down beside him, his hand still resting gently on Lex’s back. “I’m here now. Just rest.”

Lex let out a shaky breath, the tension in his body easing just slightly at Soren’s reassurance. He didn’t have to fight this alone, not with Soren by his side. And as the nausea continued to churn in his gut and the migraine pounded in his skull, he held on to that one small comfort—the knowledge that Soren was there, and he didn’t have to face this pain alone.

“Here,” Soren said, “Let’s get you to bed?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lex nodded slowly.

Soren carefully helped Lex shift from the floor to the bed, moving slowly and with as much gentleness as he could muster. He knew that any sudden motion would only make things worse for Lex, whose body was already betraying him with a migraine that had escalated to a point of pure agony.

The bed was a relief, at least more comfortable than the hard floor, but Lex’s relief was fleeting. As he lay there, Soren’s presence a steady comfort beside him, the nausea refused to subside, growing stronger with each passing minute.

Soren sat next to Lex, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from his forehead before rubbing his hand along his upper back and shoulder. “You’re alright, Lex. Just try to rest. I’m right here.”

Lex nodded weakly, though resting was easier said than done. The room continued to spin, a nauseating whirl that made his stomach churn violently. He tried to focus on Soren’s voice, on the coolness of the pillow beneath his head, Soren moved the cool pack to rest better on his head, but his body wasn’t listening. The nausea was rising, a relentless wave that he could no longer suppress.

A low groan escaped Lex’s lips as he clutched his stomach, the pain in his head intensifying with every attempt to stay still. He knew what was coming, and he hated it—hated the helplessness that came with being so sick, the feeling of losing control over his own body.

His breath hitched as his stomach twisted, and he instinctively rolled onto his side, his hands trembling as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

Soren was immediately alert, noticing the shift in Lex’s body language. “Lex, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Lex barely heard him, too focused on trying to hold back the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him. But it was too much; his body was too overwhelmed, too worn down by the migraine that had pushed him past his limits. He gagged, his body convulsing as the nausea hit its peak, and before he could stop himself, he was retching, the force of it making his entire body seize up.

Soren was right there, his hands gentle but firm as he reached for Lex’s hair, carefully pulling the loose braid away from his face, holding it back so it wouldn’t get in the way. Lex realized at some point Soren must’ve grabbed the trash can by his desk.

“Easy, Lex,” he murmured, his voice calm and soothing even as his heart ached for what Lex was going through. “Just let it out. I’m here.”

Lex could only cling to the bed as his body gave in, vomiting violently, the migraine amplifying every sensation—the taste, the sound, the pain that shot through his head with each heave. It felt like an eternity before the wave of sickness passed, leaving him breathless and trembling, his body weak and spent.

Soren’s hand was still on his back and Lex was thankful for it and aggravated by it at the same time. Everything was too much. The waves of vomiting—another one coming up, he was sure out of spite the second he thought about it—, the taste, the sound, the feelings of everything all at once.

Soren offered him a small sip of water to rinse out the taste when it was all said and done.

“Just a little,” Soren coaxed, holding the glass steady as Lex managed a tiny sip, his hands still shaking.

Lex leaned back against the pillows, too exhausted to do anything but close his eyes and try to breathe.

The nausea had eased somewhat, but the migraine was still there, a brutal, unrelenting force that kept him trapped in misery. But now, there was something else—a warmth that had been creeping up on him, something he hadn’t noticed until Soren’s cool hand brushed against his forehead, surely trying to push more hair out of Lex’s face.

Soren’s brow furrowed as he felt the heat radiating from Lex’s skin. He had initially thought the warmth was from the strain of being sick, but now, he realized it was more than that.

Lex felt Soren’s hand which felt cool touch both his cheeks and his neck. It was a relieving touch, easing everything for a moment.

“How long have you had that fever?” Soren asked, “Since you got home?”

“Fever..? No, I couldn’t have. They check us when we come in…” Lex said, “I’m just exhausted into a migraine, I don’t—“

“Lex, you’re burning up,” Soren said softly, concern lacing his voice as he placed the back of his hand against Lex’s cheek, confirming what he already knew.

Lex opened his eyes, bleary and unfocused, and managed a small, weak shrug. “Just… a little overheated. It’s nothing.”

But Soren wasn’t convinced. He could see the flush in Lex’s cheeks, the way his skin was damp with sweat, and the fevered glaze in his eyes. “Lex, this isn’t just overheating. You’re sick, more than just the migraine. I think you might have a fever.”

Lex groaned, not in pain but in frustration. The last thing he wanted was to be more of a burden, especially when he knew how much Soren already worried about him. But even as he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his limbs, the way his body ached in a way that went beyond just fatigue. “Maybe… maybe a little,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Soren sighed, his concern deepening. “Okay, we need to get you comfortable. Let’s see if we can bring that fever down.”

He moved with quiet efficiency, heading to the bathroom to grab a cool, damp washcloth. He returned and gently pressed it to Lex’s forehead, the coolness providing a small bit of relief.

“Just relax,” Soren murmured, sitting beside Lex and stroking his hair with one hand while keeping the washcloth in place with the other. “You’re going to be okay.”

Lex didn’t have the strength to argue or to hide how awful he felt. He let his eyes close again, focusing on the cool touch of the cloth and the comforting presence of Soren beside him. The pain in his head was still unbearable, the nausea lingering just below the surface, but there was some solace in knowing that Soren was there, that he wasn’t alone in this.

Time seemed to stretch and blur as Lex drifted in and out of a restless half-sleep, the migraine and fever battling for dominance in his already worn-out body.

“You know, for an emergency medical technician, you’re a real idiot,” Soren said, offering an affectionate smile.

“Yeah, well,” Lex said, “I’m your idiot.”

[dyrewrites]

Writing Patterns Tag Game

@owlsandwich got me, and I don't know if I've done this one...so let's check it out!

I am tagging @aziz-reads and @stesierra =P

Rules: List the first line(s) from your last 10 WIPs/fics and see if there is a pattern.

I'm counting anything unpublished as a WiP, so we'll see how many that gets me. >.>

We're ignoring Prologues and starting in first chapters, so...I dunno.

Before Deluca (sidestory // companion to a series)

1700 held promise for my hometown—a tiny seaside port near the tip of Calabria, in Southern Italy, you need not know which—we had seen some fame and a great deal of loss and were running headlong into a fresh year with a fresh century on top.  But right then it was not yet 1700, it was the eve of the last night of 1699 and I, well, I was pensive, cautious, perhaps even cynical while I stood gazing at the moonlit sea. My family consisted of silk traders; producers and vendors and while I contributed to their business for thirty of my forty-five years…I had nothing to show for it. Nor did I particularly want anything. Being foreman had served me well for the last fifteen of those years, and I earned much in my place among my workers, not only their respect and admiration but valuable skills I could take anywhere.

Pale Blood (first in a series)

The city of Dolor reached, with all its metal fingers, for the bright hot eyes that warmed it. Eyes too weary, too ancient, to worry of the lives that scurried under their gaze. But those lives worried of them and of the grand and terrifying wyrm that bore them. Or they should have. On the whole, those desperate to avoid the wyrm’s glare were the ones to take note of its sinewy, slithering sky long enough to be concerned. And it is one such desperate soul that our tale begins with. Well...half of such a soul—though fully desperate—as through no fault of his own he was born an abomination. Half bloodsucking fang, half man, and entirely too tired to care which one had decided to make him their doormat on any given evening.

Weald and Wen (first in a series)

Mar's life-choked Shell delayed its weary orbit and the pale burn of the Lady's Heart, ever-pulsing in its violet sky, beat faster. But it did not do so in the blush expected of a rising firstlight. It had shone in gentle hues long enough that rotation, warming the life around it in soft pinks and cool blues…and the Heart yearned to sear. And sear it did, to raging fuchsia, burning hotter with the dreams of its sleeping captive to usher in a dreaded cycle of Full Bright. Relucent heartlight swelled with the culmination of its desire. Then it burst upon all the lands and seas that stretched and clawed and sloshed within the Shell. It radiated from the Heart in jagged spears to burn up every scrap of life that dared step into its path. Harder still it shined upon the woods of the Weald, catching and spreading to scald the myriad leaves of its canopies, to scorch all but its deepest shadows.

Rite of the Dinfa (novella // Mar sidestory)

They packed us tight in the chill cave, with its bone white walls shining and wavering beneath the firelight, darkened by a single dancing shadow. Bare as we were, and huddled to braided, our flesh kept us heated more than the meager light of the smoking wood as the Cardinal leapt and spun—our Cardinal, as ourselves, could be whatever they wished but right then they were she. And she threw all four of her slender arms up and out and bent her back further than her wrinkled skin and creaking joints suggested possible. She was consumed by her tale as much as empowered by it, flailing and moaning with each shared memory. Her branched antlers scraped the walls and the vines of her hair slapped and snapped against her naked flesh…and her scars gleamed. Many of us fleshlings had heard whispers, murmurs of how the Dinfa began but here she writhed—the first of us—to share it in her own words. With her own flesh. 

Notes in the Undersong (first of a series -- this may not be the first lines later but they are right now so we countin' it)

“You know what would be great, Sarah? You know what would be great? If the walls could stop fucking bleeding, Sarah!” Despite my insistence, the blood ran thicker from the ceiling, forcing me to snatch my beaker off the burner for the third time before that glowing shit ruined another potion. “Oh, I'm sorry, miss Ash, is the eternal sorrow of my miserable afterlife interrupting your oh-so-important work?” The moaning echo on that woman was impossible, right through the walls, the floor, my godsdamned skull. But I had work, important work, and brewing potions tended to go a lot smoother when one didn't have to keep moving the beakers to keep spectral blood from tainting the magic. “You know damn well it is!” I screamed upward, more than aware how little it mattered which direction I faced, she'd hear me, she always heard me, “And that sorrow is a fucking joke, you were over that faeshit of a man at least fifty years before I got here. So can the waterworks, or I'm getting the chains!”

Gravedust (standalone novel)

They say that, in my line of work, there are no accidents. That is true. There are eons of intent and planning. You have to make it look like an accident, however, or the critters start to get suspicious. Natural disasters are the easiest, of course, but you try getting all of that chaos to line up in just the right way every time you need it to. The second best are crashes; whether plane, train, ship or automobile. A crash is hard to top, plenty of shades available to paint the scene you want without drawing any attention. These divisions are considered menial labor, any fresh bag of bones off the rack can handle faulty brakes and an icy road. The real work is the stuff none of the other bonebags like discussing, because they are messy and ugly, and slow. Too much watching and waiting. I enjoy the oddity, however and find the extreme emotion involved fascinating. We feel nothing in our bones, not for ourselves or our charges…but for those brief moments attached to a life there is a hint. A brief, succulent sip of humanity. Be it those tortured by internal agonies that ultimately do our job for us, those that take their aggression out on one another, or criminals and the heroes that lock them away—ever in turmoil, teetering on the edge of the blade. Their taste is a bittersweet sunset on a chilly autumn eve.

Ruddy Cheeks (standalone novel)

It was warm, balmy and bright that summer. The sort of weather that itches, that burns redhot on any bare scrap of skin not slathered in sunscreen. An average summer for the land without seasons. The city of sun and sea, of transplanted palm trees and overreaching cartoon mice… And it was during that painfully average summer that Lexi died. Her heart continued to beat after, her blood pumped, her neurons fired and she even reacted to outside stimuli. She smiled, she laughed, when appropriate, when expected. But, despite her best efforts, Lexi wasn't alive and, as she stared into the too-clean mirror of her bathroom at the emptiness overtaking her eyes, she worried. No, she concluded, with absolute certainty; she never would be again.

Mr. Friendly (children's story)

Tap, Tap, Tap There it was again, coming from somewhere in Maisy’s room, somewhere she couldn't see. Was it in the walls, in the floors? Daddy told her nothing was in the closet. He even checked, twice! Still the tapping came, softly, like little claws on hardwood. Tap, Tap, Tap The kitty made that sound sometimes, when his nails were too long. Is it Teddy, tip-tapping through the halls...? Mrreow! As if he could hear her thinking about him there was Teddy, her big orange fluff, and in a few not-so-graceful motions he was up in her bed and snuggling her face with his. "Silly ol' thing, can't even jump right," She said, in a well-meaning sort of way, as she pet his head. She loved the furry old thing, even if he wasn't very good at being a cat.

The Roommate (short)

I'm starving. It's been a week now since you went shopping, since you made a meal, and there's nothing to eat. Nothing to sup or chew or even gnaw.  And I see you, every day I see you, in this deafening quiet that used to be our home. You leave our bedroom, eyes forward, steps stiff and dig in a closet by the kitchen. Rope then in hand, you check the front door but you don't open it.  On your way back to the room you turn on every light. They're blinding, crackling, begging to burn out and still you leave them on. You're in there now, again, you've shut yourself in. Alone. I cry and scream and still you stay inside that room. You won't let me in. But I know you'll be out again tomorrow. You'll get the rope and check the door and turn on every light and shut yourself away.

You're Here, Good, Good (flash fiction I want to expand into a short, so I'm counting it >.>)

"You're here, good, good." The voice is rich, deep and soothing, but its source is unknown; out of reach, vibrating at the edges of consciousness. What was darkness, whole and absolute, burns away in brilliant whites and the voice speaks again. "Come in, yes, right there please. That's it." But that isn't it, is it? The voice pushes inside, singing its throaty song directly through every thought, every worry, and every nerve. It is cold and wriggling; too sharp, too rough. No, that isn't it at all. "You are not what we requested," the voice speaks, the soothing lilt of it returned—full and bright as the light that heralds it. "But…we can change that." Darkness pours through the bright and it is thick and black and endless. What felt as ground, as some semblance of stability is lost with the shadows that build–that grasp and coil. They devour all else, those shadows, until all that is left to see, to feel, to hear is... Nothing, the voice presses, insistent, its tone even but echoed as it smothers all else. There is nothing, and then…there is you.

[wordingg]

Shock

Summary: Barry has electrical burns across his chest from being struck by lightning. He's caught Clark looking before, but this is the first time he's asked about them.

Whumptober Fill. Day 4. Prompt: Shock

It was a beautiful day for a late morning in bed. And it was a miraculous day that saw both him and Clark having the day off together. They had celebrated the rare occasion last night and well into the early hours of the morning.

Barry would have remained asleep a while longer, even with his frankly monstrous metabolism, because he had built up such a sleep deficit that he doubted much more than borderline starvation would have woken him up. But, the feeling of fingertips gently tracing over his chest, following swirling patterns on his skin, patterns he himself had followed himself many times while staring at himself in the mirror, slowly drew him back to wakefulness.

"They're electrical burns," Barry mumbled, his voice sleep thick and raspy.

Clark's fingers paused briefly before continuing their path around the side of his left nipple and up around toward his collar bone.

"Did it hurt?" he asked. He sounded solemn and worryingly awake.

Barry blinked his sleep gummed eyes open. Clark was leaned up next to him on one elbow, his square, blunt fingers followed the scars that curled away from the initial point of contact on his sternum.

"It hurt a lot at the time, but luckily I passed out for a bit right after and I think my healing factor kicked in while I was out and fixed up the worst of it," Barry explained. He felt more awake, but still a bit off kilter. Clark's eyes were so serious, his thick dark brows low over faintly luminous blue eyes, his mouth turned down just at the corners.

"You should have died," Clark said. The words should have sounded amazed, but instead they sounded sad and almost grief stricken.

"But, I didn't," Barry said softly, catching Clark's fingers in his own. Clark could have shrugged his grasp off like a fly, but his hand went pliant, and he let Barry pull his knuckles up to his mouth and kiss the little wrinkles in his skin.

"No, you didn't," Clark agreed, his expression lightening, his eyes crinkling in the corners with a soft smile. "It feels horrible to say, but they're beautiful."

Barry snorted a laugh through his nose. He had caught Clark looking at the scars before, but had assumed that he found them off-putting. Clark's body was perfect and only just starting to assume small wrinkles from constant skin folding. His invulnerability meant that actual scaring or other blemishes were almost impossible for him to develop. It was a relief to know that the staring was for another reason than distaste or even just sadness.

"Thank you," Barry said, using his other hand to haul Clark closer. "Fractal patterns are always pretty pleasing to the eye. I'm glad to have one of the more aesthetically pleasing scar patterns that are available."

It was Clark's turn to snort. "Yes, very fortunate for you."

"What can I say? I'm a lucky guy," Barry laughed and leaned in for his good morning kiss.

[sirendeepity]

[ Selene one-shot ]

A/N: so this fic took me way too long to write/edit and is 100% self-indulgent. Past tenses are my worst enemy now so if things don't make sense time-wise(?) then close your eyes and look away because if I have to read this thing one more time istg I'm gonna lose it. English is so fun! Anyway, consider this also canon-defiant, as in Nesta kept her powers (as she should've). I am Selene, Selene is me, what I was thinking, she was thinking too. Also, can we all agree Selene was the best sibling? Enjoy! <3

W/C: 1.9k

T/W: --

Death was not what I’d imagined. My idea of dying has always been a cold embrace, yes, but also a release. Leaving a soft knock at my door once my skin had wrinkled and my wings had thinned and my trembling, aching bones had turned into stardust.

That desired rest after a long, fulfilling life. Little did I know.

My life had not been long and my body was not the battered rag of what it once used to be and my death couldn’t have been any less poetic, really.

I used to be bitter and resentful about everything and anything, but, well, you get used to it after being dead for centuries. Throwing tantrums is not the key to resurrection, apparently. One would think the Otherworld would be at least fun—as fun as being dead could be—but no, not even the company of other stolen souls was enough. Because there were none. Not even my mother’s. There had been, at first, when everything was new and strange and filled with sorrow. We only had each other, as we did in those last dreadful moments. We’d spent days and years and ages together, watching over what was left of our hearts, the part of us that was still alive and well. He was most of the time, at least. Well, I mean, he’s always been alive. Kind of. But as the years went by, as I watched him grow into the male and brother and High Lord he was always meant to be, my mother’s essence had grown tired of the stillness, that limbo, and had started to long for the Afterlife that was promised. Her face had turned more frequently, more easily, and her gaze had fixed on the darkness between the stars. Still, she’d stayed. Waiting, holding on to that last thread of hope.

It took five hundred years or so, but as the mating bond snapped into place, securing their souls to one another, my mother kissed me goodbye. It was out of her hands now, was all she’d said. It’s out of yours, too, she’d then added, urging me to follow.

But I couldn’t leave just yet. I didn’t want to. Because what my mother didn’t know was that I hadn’t been watching only my brother and his family—once my family as well. That had been the plan, yes, but plans change. Mind did so very quickly.

There was a very peculiar female that caught my eye. A woman.

She was a vicious, prideful thing, her spirit an inferno burning around a heart made of steel, too big and bright and hot to be tamed and kept confined inside skin and bones so… Mortal.

I was rooting for her—for Cassian, even. He had seen right through her, too—had seen that shivering, weeping, scared girl who had no idea how to give love because love had never been given to her, never felt like it was. She’d been hidden, kept under lock and key. A silver beast prowled her silver cage, keeping guard. Protecting her in the only way it knew how: Nothing was getting through.

That little girl was the reason I’d stayed. And the bickering, too.

Had Cassian always been that annoying? Or was it only for her? The female clearly knew how to hold her own, but still. Their banter was entertaining, almost comical. When it was not gutting them from the inside out, that is.

I felt so helpless when Hybern had thrown her and her sister inside the Cauldron.

What came out was not what went it, the Bone Carver would say weeks later.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

I felt it the moment it happened. Everyone did, even in the Place-That-Was-No-More.

That— Well, that changed everything.

And so I waited and waited, and waited. Oh, that stubborn little—

Weeks had gone by and Nesta still refused to acknowledge the immense power within her, although she did practice with Amren, which was a feat on and of its own. It still wasn’t enough to prevent the war from happening.

Once again, I found myself in the position of begging whatever bastard—sorry, god—was willing to listen, asking them to turn their gazes somewhere else, far from that battlefield. I hoped that none of my beloved would become the company I’d so desperately craved. Cassian, the idiot, had really tried his best on more than one occasion. I’d risked losing Nesta, too, so I’d helped a little, found a loophole of sorts. It only took the whisper of an idea planted in the right mind, a mind that could see past barriers and borders, and the King’s crown fell with his head. She had some backbone, the flower girl.

My joy didn’t last long. Nothing in my life seemed to—no pun intended.

It happened so fast, I barely caught it.

Our eyes had met, a mirror image of each other, and held long enough for me to shake my head. Left to right, right to left. As starlight slid down my cheeks, I could offer him no more than a faint smile as I said, “Not yet.”

And then he was gone. Taken away from me. Again.

But as much as I’d longed for his embrace, I couldn’t help myself but feel relieved. My brother lived—all of them lived when many others did not.

As the Afterworld got crowded, albeit momentarily, and the thread between the worlds stretched further and thinner each day—sometimes I could see and feel little to nothing, others I thought it might snap completely—I kept my vigil. There had been moments when I felt distant, unmaterial. Which is weird to say, considering that I am distant and unmaterial. (Dead, remember?) But as Nesta got lost in herself, I did too. Maybe that’s what my mother had felt when she’d forced herself to stay rooted in place, afraid to inhale and exhale too deeply as if she might start floating if her lungs stretched too much. Maybe that was a sign—my sign. It was time to let it go, to let it fall.

The bridge was crumbling. What had once been inside the Cauldron was now kept chained to the bottom of an icy core, not even an ember of it allowed out, and the flesh of its vessel was giving out. She was giving out—giving up.

Nesta Archeron was giving up.

Please, please, please…

They had tried a last, desperate attempt. I can’t tell how that went down—those days used to blend and blur with one another. It felt like having clouds inside my head. Would not recommend, not remotely as fun as it sounds. One moment I was in a darkened dumpster, the next in a lovely house with one too many people, and then I was going down, down, down some stairs.

My mind was crystal clear when Nesta took a wrong step and went tumbling down—ouch—and I kept it sharp and focused as she pressed her forehead against the wall and started… Pulling. I don’t think that was intentional—as anything that had to do with her power ever was—still, I reached out and pulled back, answering her call. Something had shifted then, and I found myself with a brand new asset: a House.

Safe to say, I peeked through that window as often as I could, helping Nesta get back on her feet in all the ways my brain managed to conjure. New books (her taste was immaculate), cakes and pastries (for her soul), keeping her warm but away from fires (she really did not like those), and, yes, even forcing her to talk when communication was needed. That had proven harder than I thought, especially since said communication took a wrong turn. Who knew someone could be so verbal and physical at the same time? The horny animals currently living in the House had a lot to say, apparently.

Still, Nesta was not the biggest fan of the well of power within her, but I kept trying to lead her toward the right direction—my direction, that is—leaving hints and clues any chance I got. A book here, some candles there, a crystal thrown in for good measure.

No one had ever opened a portal to the Afterworld—I could count on one hand the number of folks who dared try but had still hesitated to take that last, some might say even foolish, step. Myself included.

But Nesta Archeron was not no one. She was a very fancy, very powerful, very deadly someone.

If only she deigned to listen to me, goddammit—

I had almost managed to rope her into it, once. One foot inside the library and her gaze had snapped to the grimoire I’d left on the desk; she’d felt its presence immediately, heard that voiceless call. And had then proceeded to eye it in that wary but curious way of hers for a few moments. That was until Cassian had snatched her attention elsewhere. Nesta had very clear priorities.

So the book had stayed right where it was, and soon enough she’d sat down in front of it, resumed the interrupted staring contest, and then finally—finally!—opened it. Right to the bookmarked page. Good girl.

It didn’t take her long to read the chapter, her eyes eating up the words as they went, and soon enough she was sitting in silent contemplation. Again.

Get there faster, Archeron.

Well, at least now she knew. Small victories.

My kindness backfired, as everything in my (not)life seemed to do, because the two days of freedom I’d rewarded Nesta with had turned into two months, along with a mate—that took longer than I expected—, a miracle, and a nephew. None of this was part of the plan, for your information, but it made Nesta a lot happier. It also made me screech with jealousy. Little Nyxie should’ve been my nephew, too.

Pettiness was motivation enough for me to get back on track, and keep Nesta on a tight leash.

Day after day, I kept working my “insanely annoying for a House” magic—not my words—until, on one fated night, my patience and tyranny finally came to fruition.

Cassian was supposed to be back from Illyria for dinner, so Nesta, as the loving mate that she was, waited for him. Apparently, she also felt bored enough to take pity on my efforts and pick up the chalk, along with every trinket I’d ever given her, and took that final step. If I still had a beating heart, I’d say it was close enough to burst right out of my chest. Was this real? Was it happening?

I felt the cold breeze first. The whispers came right after, then the tingles.

Just as the sun slipped under the horizon, and the last ray of light went out; just as time stilled, stuck in a dance between day and night, I closed my eyes. The moon grinned down at the world, and so did I.

Nothing changed, nothing felt different. But I knew it was, it had to be, because—

A soft gasp reached my ear, and when I opened my eyes, Nesta was right in front of me.

I waited, too scared to move, as her eyes widened with surprise, then confusion, and then wonder. I knew the exact moment she registered the violet of my eyes, and the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

“Who are you?”

It sounded more demand than question, but I obliged her anyway.

“You already know who I am, Nesta Archeron.”

She swallowed, her delicate throat bobbing with the movement. “Humor me,” she breathed.

“My name is Selene, darling.”

[lagncx]

Pheonix heart ch 4

Tw: Descriptions of astarions abuse, Cazador, y/n being mean, Gore. mmm not sure what else there is a line where astarion talks ab his body not belonging to him but not in a nasty graphic way.

Word count: 2282

  You sat in bed mind wandering, you made it back, you brought Astarion as promised and you got to keep yourself safe for another day. But something was looming over you. You shook your head hunched over. The air was warm like your skin, you heard faint whispers from around you, and the sound of your name your eyes burned so you closed them allowing yourself somewhat a rest.   

  Fingers trailed up your spine. It was cold like death's grip as it roamed up your back making you take a deep breath as you felt its full palm press into you. 

  “Darling.” 

  “Astarion?”

  You snapped open your eyes looking around the room for anyone you groaned, your eyes heavy begging for more rest. “Miss…” you turned to look at one of Cazadors mindless servants holding a silver goblet and a pitcher “It’s great to have you back. I’ve brought you well wine and some of the other stuff. Lord Cazador said it was special for you.” The servant smiled sitting next to you on your bed handing you the goblet first. You sighed, taking it “thank you.” You said drinking the blood, and you pulled away coughing the taste was sweet too sweet it was old but preserved. “Master Cazador asked you to see him in his ballroom. He’s planning a get-together with the other nobles.” 

  Your nose wrinkled thinking about all of the people drugged out of their minds to have bruises and bites in the morning with no clue who did it. 

 ——

You walked into the room looking at the servants putting up the decorations and mumbling to themselves. “Ah little bird.” You felt your spine shiver as you turned to face Cazador “Hello master.” You bowed, he only clapped and that made you stare at him with a puzzled look. “I congratulate you, bringing me back to my property with barely a few bruises.”    

   Your jaw clenched people, victims of his brutality, calling them his property. You felt that same chill from your dream was this guilt or just another insignificant fantasy? “Did you enjoy that catch? He was so far away I know. When I carved that beautiful piece into his soft skin, I couldn’t let a night of making him truly my masterpiece get away. I must seem petty.`` Cazador sickly giggled to himself “Was it tasty? To get back at the pathetic pup who stabbed you in the back?” You closed your eyes conflicting feelings. You opened your eyes feigning joy “Yes…master it was delicious.” You could feel the taste lingering and it was disgusting your mouth watered ready to regurgitate the small sip of the substance you had taken half an hour before. “Would you like to see him?” Your ears twitched “Astarion?” You looked at him “No I’d rather not. If that’s alright master.” Cazador hummed “I will not force you. You were so beat up when you got home. In fact I had to use the others rations to help your wounds heal. What happened to you, little bird?” He said as someone brought him a book with different art patterns for the decor

    “His freinds…fought hard to keep him safe I was tied down…then..they let me go. Trying to talk to talk to me-“ you were cut off by Cazadors giggle “Talk? Friends? Him?… And did you punish them for taking what’s mine? Did you cover yourself in their blood and leave them as just viscera? Was your nose filled with the stinging desire to feed on them till they were bones?” He started to rant his body melting with his own arousal humming softly to himself licking his bottom lip. You simply responded “No. they’re…still alive. I pushed Astarion into the river and knocked him out.” He looked disappointed but took a breath and going back to smiling “not without a fight of course? You came in with a large bruise to your chin. He did that?” You nodded “He’s slippery.” You sneered “like a snake.” He only shook his head looking at flower arrangements for the hall “No no…hm, like a cat. They squeeze out of your grasp but as soon as you break those legs they can only throw themselves around like rag dolls till…well they die. And I don’t mean to spoil it for you but I doubt Astarion will be squeezing back out of here anytime soon.” You felt a sense of dread “Did you…kill him?” Cazador scoffed “No little bird the kitten is still alive. But the stallion spirit has been broken and godey is taking good care of him. He’s not leaving his sight.” 

  The kennel. That’s where Astarion is..where godey brutalizes his pets. Now you were curious…maybe even concerned to see what happened to the runaway elf. Cazador seemed to have forgotten your presence cause he continued to the balcony with the decor organizer. You looked around and saw Petras. You went over to him as he was talking to Leon “Petras.” You stated almost like an order making him pause the conversation and turn to you he lowered his head “Yes?” He whispered almost scared he’d make you repeat yourself “Hello, where’s Godey?” Leon jerked his head back scoffing “Why would you want to know that?” He laughed. You shrugged “Need to know, Master Cazador…sent me to fetch him.” 

Petras looked up at you but you glared back at him. A warning. “You got something you want to say pea brain?” He took a moment but looked up at you “Why would he be looking for Godey? When Godey is on the balcony with him.” 

Fuck. You cursed yourself “Alright never mind.” You made your way to the door Leon hurried behind you though and so did Pea brain “Where are you going?” Leon whispered, Stopping the rest of his question when a housekeeper walked by “Nowhere. Go away.” You hissed Petras only grabbed your arm pulling you from taking another step “You’re going to see Astarion…” he cursed under his breath “Why?” you ripped your arm from him and leaned your head to a level with his ear “You really should mind your own business” You warned he just went stiff and you could've sworn he stopped breathing. Leon stepped in “You go in there without supervision You'll come out with Cazadors grip on your neck. He forbade anyone from even looking, or thinking! About Astarion.” 

   You chuckled as you continued down the hall with a misty step “Thing is Leon im not just anyone. Im Masters favorite.” You turned the corner. Leaving the two.

  —------

You mustve looked like a damn maniac to the servants your hands and body up against the wall sliding down the hall hands tracing and your knees bending as your body followed you were listening then you felt a tear in the wallpaper so you stopped you held your breath and you listened. There was some shuffling behind the wall. You pushed until it opened then closed it behind you suddenly you felt a sharp pain against your arm making you yelp and stumble back “Motherfuc-” you seethed before the person attacked you again letting out a yell it was Astarion..but it wasnt so obvious he looked like shit. And his attacks were messy. You charged at him shoving him agaisnt the wall dropping him to the floor making him gasp out for air his lungs burning you stepped on his wrist his hand letting go of the rusty nail. You sighed kicking the nail out of his reach “Get up.” You whispered. He didnt move. “I said get. The fuck up.” you grabbed his arm pulling him up but when you let go he went limp falling into you. His hands gripped onto you for support. “You cant stand on your own?” He remained silent. You let your anger pass and slowly laid him on the bedroll his back against the wall. His eyes looked sunk in. Was godey starving him?

 Was Cazador ordering him to..asshole. You mustve been sleep for a while. You looked down at his leg his feet were bruised with what looked like rope burn and maybe a sprain. You got closer touching his leg hands glowing only for him to kick you on your back “Dont..Touch..” He mumbled him dozing off in the middle of his sentence “Asshole…im trying to.” You choked on the word

  Help…youre trying to help him. No you want to. But why? 

  You shook your head standing up causing him to jolt looking up at you his hair stringy and damp “Forget it. Hells…this is what you deserve” You turned to look at the table of torture devices all still wet..freshly used “No…no I dont deserve this.” Astarion whispered “I was free…I made friends and theyve put themselves on the line for me. I cant stay..I have to get back.” You laughed to yourself “Oh you HAVE to?! No your staying here. Like the rat you are You stay in this damn cage!” you felt your chest burn. Cazador needs you. You turned to him kneeling in front of him “The ones who prey on the weak and vulnerable always” You grabbed his chin “Always! Gets what coming to them.” you let go standing up “This is your sentence. For everyone youve lead to there demise. Me included!” You wiped your eyes feeling tears well up. You turned to the exit “Im leaving you wont see me again.” Astarion looked up at you “I lost everything too.” He shifted a bit sitting up more. You closed your eyes. “My family, My friends, My future hells my identity. And my body. Everything I did I did because I had to. Because he made me.  but you're just like me now he's making you do stuff for him too your hands are just as dirty as mine”  You shook your head “ no.. no don't try and compare us. Do not. Try to make you and me seem like we're the same.Because we're not.” you stated but he just chuckled laying his head back “Yes we are. We've both been tortured used and abused.. and yet you think that you're some superior to me? I was in your shoes once. Cazador gave me high praise I was his favorite once and I wasn't the last but I didn't want to be So I ran away and that was the best decision I ever made instead of kneeling down just like you are his new play thing” You went back to kneeling to his level “Maybe but did he steal the heart from your chest? So that everynight you didnt please him hed squeeze and poke and prod at it watching the sweat drip off your brow breathing in your fear and relishing in your cries?” Astarion furrowed his brows “Cazador, took your heart?” You clenched your jaw before whispering “Right out of me…” Your eyes locked with Astarions hand as it came up to your face “Im sorry.” his fingers wiped the tear on your cheek he took a deep breath before continuing “If you get me back to my friends…away from here. If you stay with us. We will. Get your heart back” 

  You shook your head “No its not possib-” Astarion only grabbed your face with both hands pulling you back “Yes it is. It is. Weve achieved so much you wouldnt believe I know we can do this.” Astarion nodded as you shook your head “Listen to me..” You looked at him “The worst thing to do is lie down and let people hurt you. I promised myself i would never let anyone hurt me.” Astarion looked at his leg seeing the bruise around his ankle and the way it felt to him he could barely move “...Not again..not without a fight.”  

  Astarion looked back up to you “Get me back to my friends. And we will kill Cazador toghether and you can take his heart and eat it while his fingers search the hole in his chest for the damn thing.” Astarion pushed your hair back looking into your eyes “Please.” he whispered “Please…” You felt your body shake in his hands your throat closing up before taking a deep breath “Yes…ok..ok.” You nodded pulling away. You looked at his legs “Your gonna have to heal up before you go.” Astarion shook his head “No we have to go now” He said trying to pull himself up “No. sit down.” you ordered before putting your hands on his legs healing some wounds the best you can “I feed you. You rest. I keep godey away the best I can… then we leave.” Astarion cursed under his breath “How long? How long until?” he asked watching you get up 

  You went out the makeshift dungeon “3 days…Feed you. Get your rest. Make a plan.” You looked at him “And if you try to cross me Cazador will be the last person youll worry about. I can walk in the sun just like you. But I also can control flames to be as hot as it. Do not fuck with me.” You gritted your teeth 

  Astarion chuckled “I dont need flames to turn you inside out darling. Watch who your threatning.” 

  You rested you face “3 days.”

—----------------------------------

FINALLY IK IT TOOK LONG MY LOVES ITS BEEN A HARD TIME COMING BUT FOR FUKS SAKE I MISSED THIS.

@beepersteeper

@chaoticgoodstuff

[lost-little-fawn]

there really is something different about my suffering

something special and secret, sacred, something 

about it being mine. something about how 

thoroughly ive pored over these memories like scripture. 

i know every line, and wrinkle, and pore, and hair, and atom, cell 

just like the back of his hands around my throat, my fingers pressing hard

into the sinew n vein, eyes searching his for empathy, making sure he'll

stop this time, making sure his wolf smile is kind enough to give me mercy 

i am a sacrifice and i feel my veins carry the ache, feel the transit

my skin slices itself open on the film negatives as the flashbacks

press plum bruise fingerprints into my shoulders as they shake me.

knives slice the world into wedges and the pain bleeds through.

silence carries his voice. my own touch feels like his fingers. i want

to place myself on an altar. i want to offer myself to something more holy than me

than the bent halo that blinds me when i look thru my eyelashes. 

i did love him, maybe,

but was that my fault?

havent i loved everyone who hurt me? 

havent i placed the same knife that gutted me into the hands of my hunter, 

every single time?

isnt every single thing that ever happened to me my own crime to repent?

this is my purpose, this is my worship. 

i do not deserve softness, i wanted it to hurt. i wanted it to kill me. 

except

thats what he whispered into my ear as i slept, injected into my brain matter

thats what he pavloved, that's what i learned thru the breaking 

he tossed parts of me aside that i havent seen since, i watched them die. 

the puzzle of me is missing the corners, bent and warped. the robotics 

are so deeply ingrained i cannot deny them. his voice is more familiar 

to me than my own. inherently, he won. my life holds more stains of him than my 

months old laundry. he still lives in my mattress. he still reaches for me in my sleep. 

the love i felt for him was service. kneeling, outstretched, my skin taunt, 

set in only after it got so bad i ceased being human and started being meat, 

started dotting my i's with my own arteries, cut my tongue out, spoke no evil, 

shed my skin and molted, renamed, desecrated, rebuilt. 

his teeth sunken into my bones, my eyes downturned, my mouth sewn shut. 

butterfly heart, watching the strings that controlled him for sudden movement, 

so high strung i walked a tightrope n he walked securely on the ground, 

my throat screamed as i begged god for sleep each night, lying next to him

as his breaths, even and whole, unbothered, watched over me, 

a nervous, flighty hope in the moments that he almost was kind. 

when we half laughed for just a moment, when his hand lightened its grip and

something soft was draped over his claws and he held me, in that 

shipwreck bed, in that cavernous hole, in the sheets that held my screams. 

i loved him like a burning house and everything i owned burned with it

i loved him with my everything, with more than i had, i put myself into debt

i loved him like the barrel of a gun

i loved him like a becoming, like a monsoon, like a cold, uninhabited need, 

because that's how he built me. i was pinocchio, i was unfinished, fragmentary, 

so wasted, so braindead, an empty shell, a ripe home for him to nest. 

i do not know how to remodel myself into a home i can inhabit 

when my rooms can only ever fit the shape of someone so much bigger than me. 

[therooftopsofketterdam]

The warmth of his skin radiated to the soft material of his shirt between her fingers. It was a solid in a world that spun her upside down and pulled her into different directions counterclockwise. The shackles dragging her down the chasm into an abyss of her own making. Her grip tightened, bunching the black material into wrinkles someone would have to straighten with a heated iron again. Inej gripped at it until her knuckles turned a shade lighter then her dark skin.

Meet me outside. The thought of setting her feet back into his quaters caused her to shiver. Inej couldn't stand the thought of being surrounded by walls right about now. Without another word Inej vanished into the shadows, who welcomed her back like an old friend simply slipping back into old habits. She swung her legs over the edge of the building and dropped without thinking, her feet catching the crooked stones and edges on the side of this building, hands finding familiar holds and new spots to dig into. It was a steady climb down.

The building had been rennovated not too long ago, but patched cracks and paint couldn't hide the routes that were muscle memory to her. The steady rhythm of jumping, holding, pushing up and dropping down helped to clear her mind of the darkness lingering just beyond the acrobats field of vision. Familiar movements, down and down she went with elegance and efficiency and when the shadows parted for her again Inej felt steady enough to walk next to Kaz again.

"I'm glad you can aquire your hats without me by now." Her voice held a teasing tone that was reserved for the banter they shared only. It was softer then when she spoke to Jesper but nowhere less vicious if it needed to be.

They started walking down the street keeping the canal to their right as they crossed through the Barrel towards East Stave. The steady thunk of Kaz's cane was the only noise between them for a while. Inej wanted to reach out, take Kaz's hand into hers, but when she tried her hand started shaking again and a cold feeling crept up her arm, like a fingernail trailing down the back of her arm suggestively. Gooseflesh followed the sensation and Inej tucked her hand around the handle of Sankt Petyr instead, the bone handle rested cool against her palm. Kaz broke the silence.

Inej visibly flinched when Kaz spoke of beating and selling her again, her heart picked up a few paces and not in the good way that came from being close to him and feeling his lips on hers. It was panic starting to close in again as they came to buildings that started to look familiar. Inej didn't say anything for a bit longer. She pushed herself off the ground with one leg, easily landing on the small cobble stone wall that seperated the walkway from the canal and the gondolas. Her arms outstretched, Inej balanced herself out, then started walking, keeping pace with Kaz, her feet light and sure on the thin part of stone as she leaped over the gaps and obstacles in her way, always landing back on the thin wall.

Harsh truths were better than kind lies... and she needed the truth more than anything. "But what does she actually deserve?" Inej echoed the question walking circles around her thoughts. "Whenever I apprach the topic it feels like the world tumbles out of it's hinges. So I try not to adress it but then I wake up screaming again. I haven't been home in a couple months. I can't take the way they look at me." She confessed between a hop and a jump. "It's not their fault, sometimes I feel like my parents are struggeling with what I had to become, how I changed in between all of my time in Ketterdam and how I was before. I should be free as the find and the open sky before me, picking wild giraniums. They didn't know I was listening." The implication was clear to Inej, though she wasn't sure if Kaz would understand. She didn't need him to, but she did need to say the words out loud and he would always listen. Inej didn't mark the pain in her voice. The thought of her parents unable to accept the person she had become due to circumstance affected her deeply. She knew she was a monster, but the look in the eyes of the people she had lost and found again made her feel like one as well. Inej was poisoned, tainted, broken in so many places that they all healed together jagged and wrong. It was easier to admit it here, walking next to propably the only person who could truly understand.

They walked over the bridge that lead the Barrel into West Stave, then turned right to walk the road up to the Menagerie. There weren't many people around at the moment. It was the time between shift changes, before the pidgeons left their roosts to mingle and gamble away their night or find themselves in whatever bits of fun they could find.

Inej faced the walkway, the steady thump of the cane becoming her lighthouse in between the places of horror she remembered. When Kaz stopped she had to steady herself, her eyes closed. She could see the peacock feathers in the window outside, see the intecrate scripture edged into the double doors that would lead into the parlor, the hideous turqoise in which the outside was painted... She reached out then, finding Kaz's hand gloved in leather and gave it a little squeeze as if to make sure he hadn't simply disappeared the way she liked to do. Then Inej opened her eyes and instead of the nightmare that haunted her for every beat her heart managed to stutter along, there stood a splendid building, it was grand without being tacky, open and welcoming and decorated intricately.

"Saints, Kaz..." She breathed, thoroughly impressed, but then he led her inside and her heart forgot how to work for a second. The windows weren't only stained glass, they were murals, laden with details and care. There were pews facing different angles of the church, small plates and places of offerings were placed all around, differently colored candles burned along the windows, dipping them into a warm shine, despite the twilight.

Inej let go of Kaz's hand and walked further into the building again, coming to a stop before Sankta Alina. Her hand came to rest against her chest in a fist, then opened back up, spreading her fingers over the fabric of her tunic. She bowed deeply, then moved on to the mural created for Sankt Petyr. She repeated the same gesture along a little prayer. "May love my blade protect, may I return to the bone at it's end, may it's intention echo across the oceans and back." She spoke the prayer out loud. One that she had sent over the waves and up to the stars plenty of times when she held onto the blade that shared this Saints name, hoping her words and intentions would reach Ketterdam and keep Kaz Brekker safe.

When Inej rose again to face Kaz tears filled her eyes. This church felt like it was meant to be familiar, something that was so inherently tied to her it reached past the shadows and the walls and touched the vitals part of her heart. The very core of her being that was undeniably and profoundly herself. In this moment she felt understood and loved beyond anything words could ever express. Her hands still held on to the knife, but she settled it back into it's sheath, then, slowly, her hand came to rest above his on the crows head cane. She couldn't find it in herself to retort his tease. This was beyond words, but her eyes shone with warmth as the first tear losened from the corner of her eye and fell against her cheek.

A weight had been lifted from her chest and it felt like coming up for air for the first time in forever. It was gone. The Menagerie was gone and Kaz had built this decleration in it's place. Turning hatred to sanctity. She thanked the Saints and everything beyond as an involuntary sob rose in her throat and tore free, heartbreakingly loud. A second one followed, before it turned into a laugh. If sunshine had a sound Inej was sure this had to be it. It was the laugh of a girl that had all her firsts stolen and now found herself with something better, pure relief and joy danced up into the vacant spaces of the church and echoed back at them, welcoming as Inej beamed up at the boy with hard edges and tailored lines, tears still falling.

He still kept the slight curls of his smile on his lips. "Please tell me it's alright to kiss you again, Kaz Brekker." Was the first thing Inej said, then: "I don't know how to say thank you... how. It's truly gone."

This wasn't the end of the Menagerie. Inej knew. It had sunk it's claws too deep into her being to ever be fully cleansed. But this was as close to true freedome from it as she would ever get. Tomorrow she might be reduced to darkness, but at this moment the shadows and sensations were blessedly silent and she thanked all twenty-seven saints that she was able to stand here and see this day come true. "Jijivisha" Inej said. "There is no way to describe my gratitude but I will carry this with me for the rest of my days."

   Given that Kaz had tilted his head toward her somewhat, he was able to anticipate her touch easily, catching sight of it in his peripheral. He leaned slightly into it, a silent indication that it was welcome and that he understood the gravity of what he was telling her. If course Inej had never shared any details of what had happened to her at the Menagerie and he had never asked — but when he was paying Heleen for information, he’d often received far too many details he'd never wanted, caught glimpses of things he'd wished he could unsee, heard things he’d wished he hadn’t. It wasn't difficult to imagine; her reactions sometimes painted clear enough pictures for him and seeing her struggle was difficult.

   Her words, hearing her say his name with so much pain elicited a twinging ache in his chest. He wanted to comfort her, he wanted to tell her that she didn't have to forgive anyone, least of all someone who wasn't even sorry. He wanted to tell her that she couldn't follow a route to healing that wasn't crafted with her own needs. Kaz remained silent and, as she asked to see what he'd built for her, he resigned to speak his mind when they were outside. ❝Meet me out front,❞ he said with a nod. Inej agreed and just like that, her presence simply vanished — as if the shadows of the night had simply enveloped her. Oddly, Kaz realized he’d missed that… the smooth, effortless way in which she seemed to disappear while knowing he’d mastered the art of seeing her, even when she didn’t want to be seen.

   Kaz let out a long, wavering sigh before he stood from the windowsill and made his way to the coat rack. He placed his hat on his head, slid on his leather gloves and shrugged into his long coat before limping out the door of his room, making his way down the stairs. When he stepped outside the door, Inej was waiting for him — and the thought of reaching out to take her hand crossed his mind, but … given her earlier need of a break from their contact, he decided he’d let her reach out if she could. Kaz too had missed simply walking beside her, feeling her presence; it felt as though a part of him had been missing, so long now that he’d gotten used to it … but now, with Inej by his side, things were right with the world again.

   ❝If forgiveness is what you choose,❞ he began, picking up where they’d left off. ❝It should be because it’s what you need, Inej. Not because you feel obligated to. What’s the point of forgiving someone if they’d just go right back to selling you to the highest bidder or beating you half to death given the first opportunity? ❞ Inej deserved so, so much better than that. He sighed, his slight frustration with the mere idea of the things Heleen had done to her coming across easily. ❝Giving someone what they deserve can heal just as well … but it’s your decision, Inej. Not mine, not your parents, not even the Saints. Yours.❞

   As they approached the building, Kaz began to feel a peculiar twinge of nervousness, uncertainty even — he'd been confident about this choice, about the design and the color, the interior. It was different when the person you'd devoted something to was able to see it for themselves, he supposed. He'd believed it had been the right choice and he still mostly did, but ... he worried nonetheless. This place had been the scene of Inej's nightmares and he'd known for a fact that if he was going to build something here, it couldn’t be in the original building. He'd torn it down, enjoyed it, and created something new.

   The church wasn't overly extravagant, but it was far from simple, either. It was, in his opinion, the perfect middle ground between the two — it had a subtle elegance, something that made one feel they were approaching something that held power ... but the closer one came, the more one could see the details that made it softer, more welcoming. It was angular, the roof reaching up into the sky above with a tower on the right hand side that reached a bit further still. At the top of that tower was a flat, rounded platform with a decorative beam pierced through its middle. It was too dark to see in great detail, but the building was a rich, dark teal while the roof and the doors were a greyish brown color. The bright white trim seemed to gleam in the dark along with the large glowing window, despite its lack of luminosity.

   The window was made of stained glass, decorated with intricate designs of six Saints along the upper half, all divided into sections and bellow were larger sections divided into four. The upper panes of glass were the Saints Kaz had noticed Inej favored more than the others. The larger sections were dedicated to the Sun Summoner. She cast light from her hands to dispel the darkness wrought by the Darkling and in turn, he stood far off to her right, shielding his face from the blinding light. On her left, the shadows seemed to be retreating; it was an illustration of Alina Starkov ridding the world of the Darkling's enveloping shadows. Kaz knew, too, that Alina was one Inej favored the most. There were more stained glass windows and with them, more Saints — he'd done his best to depict all twenty-seven of them somewhere. 

   The front entrance, which was attached to the tower portion, had a window with rounded top edges that came to a fine point above it and steps encircled the tower. From the direction they were coming from, they could see two of the three large welcoming doors along with even more stained glass windows that settled just bellow the tower’s pointed roof, these ones thin and long. He'd opted to stay simple with its name; The Church Of Saints. It was a slight play on the thin red book with its golden lettering titled The Lives Of Saints, a detail he knew Inej would understand immediately. Kaz had learned more than his fair share about every single story in that book to ensure the windows were crafted correctly — he still believed none of it, but ... perhaps the knowledge would help him to understand her more deeply.

   They came to an eventual stop and Kaz rested his cane directly in front of him, both hands coming to rest atop the silver crows head. He was almost a little afraid to glance at her face so he opted to speak instead. ❝I still don't believe in Saints," he said, a faint, teasing curl of his lips following his words. He was hiding his nerves incredibly well, he thought. ❝But I thought ... of all the things I could build here, this … ❞ Kaz briefly struggled to find the words — he felt a bit unsteady saying any of this out loud, fear roaring to life in his chest. You won’t be able to protect her anymore, came the voice that had spent years keeping him alive. But Inej didn’t need protecting … and even if she did, pushing her away only wounded them both. How effective would guarding against an enemy be if you were badly wounded? He pushed himself to continue. ❝ I thought … this would mean the most to you.❞

[lalunanymph]

⇢ peace

and you know that I'd swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches, give you my wild, give you a child

༉‧₊˚. kakucho discovers your pregnancy at the most inopportune time.

pairing. hitto kakucho x fem!reader

cw. fingering, slight nipple play, suggestive content at the beginning, angst, blood, bombs, guns, violence, pregnancy, morning sickness, food, mentions of drugs, languaging, mentions of past trauma, doubts, mentions of vomiting, ran being a good big bro to kaku

a/n. this is probably the softest piece of writing i have ever done. please do not perceive the tears on my face

wc. 5.6k

🏷. bby @multistan-247 ❤️

The sheets were obscenely warm.

You wrinkled your nose and pried your eyes open to find the alarm clock reading 8:00AM. Beside you, your boyfriend was still fast asleep, an unusual phenomenon considering he was up and about getting ready for work before the sun had even risen.

Pushing the swathes of cotton aside, you sat up, wincing at the sudden rush of lightheadedness.

The sunlight casted a halo around Kakucho’s tousled bed head, his mouth parted slightly to emit light snores. Despite the icky sensation settling deep in your bones, you shifted closer to him and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Gorgeous mismatched eyes sleepily fluttered open at the brief contact and he looked like a lost little boy for a moment before he smiled at you.

“Morning, beautiful,” he rasped, voice hoarse with sleep.

You hummed. “It’s 8. Don’t you have work?”

At your words, he groaned and flipped onto his back, the blankets slipping down his shoulders to expose his bare chest and striking tattoo across his heart. A strong arm wrapped around your waist to haul you on top of him and you giggled when his lips clumsily crashed into yours.

You kissed him back, forever amused how handsy and clingy your usually stoic and aloof boyfriend could be in the mornings. His hands wandered down your back, tracing the rise of your shoulders and looping around your form, pressing you flush to his defined body. You could tell what he wanted when you felt the hard length of his cock against your thighs.

“Baby,” you bit back a moan when his veiny and larger palms started to lazily knead your ass cheeks . “D-don’t you have to be at the headquarters soon?”

He snorted lightly and peered at you through half-mast eyes filled with both exhaustion and lust. “I’ll tell them I had a family emergency.”

You resisted the urge to grin when he rolled you onto your back, trapping you under his bigger frame. His lips traced a fiery path down your neck and towards your collarbone, peppering light kisses on your slowly warming skin. “Takeomi is gonna write this down for the record—you being late for the first time.”

He ignored your jab and worked on slipping one strap of your nightgown off your shoulder and then the other, the lace shimmying down your body to expose your hardening nipples to the cool morning air.

“Bonten can wait,” he murmured and gently nipped your shoulder. “Got better things to focus on.”

You leaned into his touch and moaned softly when one hand slipped underneath the hem of your short lace gown, finding your bare pussy. Two thick fingers spread your lips apart to run circles on your throbbing clit and you muffled a shriek into his shoulder when those same digits slipped inside your slick hole, curling upwards in a come-hither motion to graze that spot which had you seeing stars.

Those searing lips that had the power to get you coming undone within minutes were inching down the valley of your breasts, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. But, what you anticipated as a shiver of pleasure when they wrapped around your turgid nub morphed into a sharp point of pain.

Yelping, you pushed Kakucho’s head away from the vicinity of your breasts, cradling your mounds of flesh and massaging them. His brow furrowed and he removed his fingers from your tightening pussy. All traces of playful seduction were gone and the air thickened with apprehension.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You were wincing, kissing your teeth and trying not to hiss in pain. “H-hurts—”

He reached out to inspect them but the thought of him even touching your breasts made you flinch. Kakucho dropped his hands, completely bewildered. “Baby, are you okay? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered, sitting up. He followed you and tentatively wrapped his arms around your waist, inspecting every inch of your body to find the source of your agony. “It was like… something stabbed me when you tried to…” you trailed off, unable to explain. But, he understood what you meant.

“Is your period coming? That’s usually when they’re the most sensitive, right?”

You hitched up the straps of your nightgown and tugged the hem down to cover your bare thighs. “I haven’t checked yet—I think I’m… late this month.” Not wanting to worry him, you plastered on a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing, baby. You should get to work, ‘kay? I’ll see you tonight.”

If Kakucho was exasperated at your forced normalcy, he did not comment on it. Sighing, he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your temple. “I’m not coming back tonight, remember? I’ve got that business trip to Osaka.”

You deflated, but immediately regained your felicitous composure. “Right. It’s fine then, we’ll see each other during the weekend.”

As much as he did not want to leave you alone, work was work and his duties as the third most wanted man in Japan beckoned. He cleaned up, put on his suit and let you slip his tie into a pristine Windsor before pecking you on the lips and leaving straight for the headquarters, an overnight bag in hand.

You dawdled along in the living room, still in your pyjamas. Deciding to take a sick day, you called work to let them know you weren’t feeling well and lounged on the luxurious L-shaped sofa. Even after a quick meal of eggs and toast, you were still squeamish and nauseous. Absentmindedly massaging your breasts, you settled on spending a day watching reruns of Friends, and when that got old, you took a quick shower and laid back down on the unmade bed. A day about as uneventful as they came.

Except…

A sudden weight of fatigue crashed into you and what was supposed to be a quick fifteen minute doze turned into a four hour nap. You woke up, bleary-eyed and still feeling sick. Perhaps the food from dinner was off. Yesterday was your weekly Thai night where Kakucho had gotten you take out from a local shop. Yeah, it was definitely the food…

… But, you had been ordering pad thai from that shop for years and you had never once gotten sick. Ever.

A management change, maybe? Or, the chef was in a bad mood? You didn’t ruminate on it for long and clambered back to your feet. The sharp point of pain was back and this time, it brought along a nauseous wave strong enough to get you hurtling towards the bathroom. You barely made it to the porcelain bowl before you were heaving up this morning’s breakfast, cheek pressed on the cold surface as you took a minute to settle your roiling stomach.

As quick as the feeling of nausea came, it passed and you caught a whiff of something delicious. Gargling your mouth with some Listerine, you cleaned up as best as you could and tried to follow that heavenly scent that seemed like it was coming from another apartment unit. You did not know what possessed you to wrap your jacket around your shoulders and march straight for the source of that divine scent, stopping right in front of Mrs. Iwazuma’s door.

It was pure luck that she opened it without you even knocking, a trash bag in hand. Her initial surprise melted into a warm smile. You and Mrs. Iwazuma had a good relationship—one that consisted of bringing each other a mountain of leftovers whenever either of you cooked. Even Kakucho adored her and he was one of the most closely guarded people you had ever met in your life. “Ah, Y/N-chan! I was just heading out. How are you?”

Apparently you had forgotten basic conversation decencies and quickly asked her, “What is that smell? It’s so—” you took another whiff, and a dreamy smile pulled at your lips. “Amazing.”

“Oh,” she blinked in pleasant surprise. “I’m making cinnamon rolls. Would you like some?”

Common sense and social cues told you to politely refuse her offer, but the strange compulsion that had taken a hold of you since this morning seemed to say otherwise. Soon, you were sitting at her dining table, munching happily on a decadent roll whose icing had not yet cooled off.

Mrs. Iwazuma watched you inhale her food with a crooked smile. “Is it that good?”

You were positively on cloud nine. “It is, Iwazuma-san.” Sheepishly, you smiled. “I’m sorry I barged in like this, but this whole day has been… weird.”

“Oh? How so?” she peered at you over her thick glasses.

You shrugged. “I don’t know—I woke up and started feeling really worn down and fatigued. I think it’s food poisoning. I was just throwing up a second ago but now I feel fine. I—” you mustered another shy grin. “—I guess my body is just a little loopy.”

She gave you a knowing look. “A little loopy… or, are you pregnant?”

You stopped chewing. Swallowing down the last bit of pastry and sugar, you shook off her words with a short laugh. “No, I don’t think so. My period is—” your eyes widened.

I haven’t checked yet—I think I’m… late this month.

“Oh my god.” You dropped the cinnamon roll and pressed your hands to your mouth. “Oh my god.”

Mrs. Iwazuma laughed, her kindly face crinkled in delight. “It’s about time you and Kakucho settled down; give him a reason to stay back home instead of always going on those long trips and leaving you all by your lonesome self.”

You had to call your boyfriend.

“Thank you for the wonderful food, Iwazuma-san, but I have to go,” you stood up and bowed hastily.

“Remember to not eat pineapples or raspberries, alright, dear?” her chiming voice trailed after you as she opened the door and bid you a good evening. You nodded again, more out of obligation than really tuning in to what she said, as you trudged back to your apartment in a daze.

The car ride to the pharmacy was spent deep in your thoughts, the cashier’s wishes of a good night falling on your deaf ears. You practically had to haul yourself back to your apartment and slam the door of your bathroom shut. Three minutes.

Pee on the stick. Wash your hands. Wait.

Three minutes.

The timer of your clock went off and you nearly jumped out of your skin. With trembling hands, you took the test and pried your eyes open.

Two faint pink lines.

The test clattered onto the sink and you covered your mouth to stop a slow spreading grin. Fuck, you were pregnant.

Your smile fell. Fuck, you were pregnant.

How would Kakucho react? The both of you had barely been dating for two years. He hadn’t even approached the topic of marriage or a lifelong commitment, much less children. Despite how much he loved them and how you did too, both of your experiences were painfully limited to the occasional babysitting duty for your nephew. Your chest constricted, breathing growing heavier.

The physical understanding that you were pregnant manifested in bullets of sweat rivulating down your back, and you choked back that feeling of nausea—or should you say, morning sickness.

Oh, god. Morning sickness. Swollen ankles. Painfully sore breasts. Huge stomach. Stretch marks.

You thought you would hurl again.

Fumbling for your phone, you tried his number, but it reached his voicemail. Again. The same result. You were spiralling into your own thoughts.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Your phone clattered to the ground and you tried to stand. A shower would do you good. You could think better after cleaning the day off yourself. But, you were having trouble reaching for your bra hooks, struggling to unclasp them when you gave a cry of frustration and started sobbing.

A minute later, you decided against removing your bra and grabbed the scissors from the kitchen, hacking at the material angrily until it slipped off your body and onto the floor. Kicking the tattered silks aside with a glare, you trudged back into the bathroom. One quick glance at your phone. He still hadn’t called back.

Your heart sank again.

It was no lie that Kakucho prioritised his work. There were nights when you wouldn’t even see him; weeks you spent all alone in this apartment as you waited for him to return home. The fear that something would happen to him, the constant anxiety of closing your eyes and waking up the next morning only to hear that he was gone.

You couldn’t live like this. The warm water cascading over your sore muscles barely afforded you any comfort. You briefly touched your belly, inhaling deeply and trying to connect with the little lifesource you knew was underneath the layers of skin, fat, veins and tissue.

The both of you couldn’t live like this.

Bonten always came first. Not you, not a marriage, and definitely not a baby.

Kakucho’s loyalty was firmly with his organization, so where did that leave you?

Tears scintillated in your eyes and you muffled your sobs with an open palm. Feverishly, you checked your phone again and when you saw that it was empty—against your better judgement—you shot him a text.

Baby, you need to come home as fast as you can. I need to tell you something.

Kakucho wiped off the blood from his cheek.

The group that had ambushed them was dealt with, but there was no doubt that reinforcements would be coming soon. He was supposed to return home yesterday, but a wrench in their plans had delayed that from happening by two days. He couldn't even text you to inform you of what happened because it could be intercepted anytime by the rival gang. They had built an IT empire and would’ve been a good asset if they didn’t get it in their heads that they were better than Bonten.

The truth would be starkly clear to these men when they arrived at the scene.

Rindou was hauling a dead body to pile it onto the heap they had created, and Sanzu was busy wiping off any stains on his katana—be it someone else’s blood or the bits of flesh still connected to the blade.

Ran stood at the corner of the alley, smoke curling around his lanky and lackadaisical form.

While everyone settled down to temporarily rest by the sidelines, he was busy calculating the losses they had sustained to pass it in a report to Kokonoi when the sound of squealing tires raised the hairs on his neck.

“Fuck—”

Kakucho ducked down and barricaded his body behind a huge dumpster just as a hail of bullets rained over them.

The trio scattered as men in slick suits came bearing guns and sneers, making everything from the walls to the mountains of trash eat lead. Bonten returned their zeal. Sanzu fired off round after round and when he was shooting blanks, he reached underneath his suit jacket to remove a M2 Browning.

Kakucho reloaded his Glock and fired off a timely shot, catching a goon right between his eyes before he could aim for Rindou. There were six in total to the four of them. A fair fight.

Halfway through, Kakucho noticed Ran answering his phone.

“—Y/N—kinda in the middle of something—”

Y/N?!

He whipped his head around to the opposite side of the bloodstained alley to find Ran in a similar position as him; crouching behind a huge dumpster as a barrack, M2 strapped to his chest. The only difference was that he was grinning maniacally at him and mouthing, “your girl!”

Kakucho furrowed his brow, but was distracted once more when a bullet whizzed past his ear. Plucking a grenade from his back pocket, he ripped the ring off and tossed it at the opposing men.

“Bomb!”

That was all the warning Bonten needed. Under three seconds, they snapped into action, huddling behind a stone wall that Rindou had managed to secure.

Two…

“Cover your ears!” Ran yelled into the receiver cheerfully, pressing the phone to his chest.

One…

A huge explosion that made his whole brain ring, a rush of dust, heat and sand ricocheting around like fragmented glass. The screams subsided. Through the haze of smoke and body parts raining down onto the matted ground, he found Ran still on the phone, chatting away. Staggering to his feet, Kakucho surveyed the damage. In the distance, the sound of faint sirens wailing.

“We gotta go,” he urged, but Ran waved at him to stop. He was serious, holding his bloodied phone out to his superior. “It’s home. You have to take it.”

Seeing your number on screen, he glanced at the sight of dismembered bodies and his mind flashed with the pressing panic of the authorities on the way. This mission was already a fuck-up and he couldn’t afford to face Mikey’s wrath if they came back empty-handed. Hardening his glare, he batted Ran’s hand away. “Stop fucking around, Haitani. Gather your supplies, we’re leaving.”

A firm hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, a barking order on the tip of his tongue when he noticed the unease on Ran’s expression.

“I wouldn’t force you to take this call if it wasn’t an emergency, Kaku-chan.” He gestured at the device again. “Your girl needs you.”

Swearing inwardly, he took the phone and pressed it to his ear, ignoring Sanzu’s jeer of “pussywhipped!” and Rindou’s curious gaze. He found a relatively private nook and inhaled deeply before clearing his throat.

“Angel?”

“Kaku?” your voice was thin and barely above a whisper. He had to strain to hear you, the after effects of a grenade not doing any wonders for his eardrums.

“Baby? What happened? I told you to only call Ran if it was an emergency.”

“I know, I know.” He could picture you wringing your hands and gnawing on your lower lip adorably. “But I had to know if something bad happened—you’re not home yet.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Well. Things happened and we got derailed.” Injecting some warmth into his tone, he chuckled. “I’m fine. Don’t worry your pretty head off, okay? I’ll be back to annoying you with my snores before you know it.”

Silence on the other end. He pressed the phone harder to his ear, trying to make out for your response. When he heard nothing, he started to panic.

“Angel—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Whatever he expected you to say, it was not this.

Ran’s phone nearly slipped out of his grasp to shatter to the ground. Kakucho’s next exhale sounded like a strangled squeak.

Every choked sob you hiccuped felt like another leadened weight on his shoulders. “I-I tried to call you and tell you t-to come back home, but I’m—” you gasped sharply. “—I was fucking scared that something happened to you before you could find out. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have called and it was stupid of me to worry and—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he had to splay his palm on the wall to balance himself. The sound of sirens seemed to be growing closer. Sanzu sped past him, Ran on his heels and Rindou followed last. He broke into a sprint after them, managing to exhale a quick, “We’ll talk when I get back—running from cops. Love you.”

Mochi snarled at them from inside a nondescript sedan. “Where the hell were you guys? We’re off schedule by 3 minutes!”

Ran took his phone back from Kakucho with an easy grin as the other men barrelled into the backseat. “Kakucho’s little wifey had a big announcement to make.”

The moment the door of the car slammed shut, Mochi was gunning it down the streets and merging into traffic, just as a fleet of police cars and ambulances raced past them on the opposite freeway. A close call.

“What fucking announcement was big enough that you had to almost jeapordize the mission?” Mochi glared at him through the rearview. But, he did not rise to his colleagues' bait. Rindou waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. Kakucho remained stonily silent.

It was Ran who told Mochi to ease off him and to continue driving. Sanzu couldn't care less, already preparing to swallow down another handful of pills that would get him riding on a high of this mission.

“I’m going to be a father.”

Mochi nearly T-boned the car into a concrete barrier before swerving it back into the lane with a sharp curse. Several of Sanzu’s pills clattered onto the floor.

“Fuck.”

“Shit, dude.”

“Yikes.”

“Um… congratulations?”

The last one was from Ran whose lilac eyes swam with mirth. Having his own fair share of pregnancy scares with his long-time fuckbuddy had made him immune to these afflictions. Kakucho didn’t know how the lanky, older Haitani brother did it.

His head was spinning as if he had ingested one of Sanzu’s drugs. The whole world was a dull throb of colour and his palms were slick with sweat. With shaky hands, he reached for his phone and switched it on for the first time in three days. Immediately, the notifications came in.

You were always calm and level-headed; that was one of the things that had first attracted Kakucho to you. It was implicit that you would never text him during missions unless it was an absolute emergency. Over the months of dating him, nothing had constituted much of a panic. You would always give him space to do his own thing and return back home safely. Except now.

The string of messages, each one more frantic than the last, made his chest constrict with abject guilt at how something so life-changing had happened during such an inopportune time when he could not be there for you.

He pressed the voicemail notifications and listened to the messages you had left for him.

“Kaku, please answer your phone, I’m so fucking scared.”

“Baby, you never switch your phone off during a mission. What’s happening? Please call me back.”

“Kakucho, I need you to come home. Why’re you not home yet?”

The last one was the message that broke the last of his resolve to see this mission through.

“If you’re gone, I don’t know how to do this. I’m pregnant, baby. You’re gonna be a daddy. Oh god—” your stifled sob that leaked through the line. “—oh god, please don’t leave me alone to do this without you.”

He pocketed his phone and tapped the back of Mochi’s headrest. “Take me to the private jet now.”

“Huh?” Mochi had the audacity to sneer at him. “Mission’s not over yet, pretty boy, I can’t let you—”

Kakucho whipped out his gun and dug the barrel into the back of his thick neck. Sanzu cursed and levelled him with a glare. “What the fuck—”

Rindou tried calming him down. “Hey, easy—”

Ran was the one who spoke reason to the incensed younger man, long fingers wrapped around the wrist holding the Glock to Mochi’s head with white-knuckled apprehension. “Kaku, I know you want to go back to Y/N, but Mochi’s right—the mission comes first. Mikey sacrificed a lot to get us here and with you leaving, he’ll take it as an offence and punish all of us.” Quietly, he added, “We belong to him. He can do anything to us—even get rid of our loved ones. Don’t give him a reason to harm your girl and baby.”

The gun in his hand loosened. Kakucho slipped the weapon back into his holster, Ran’s words ringing in his ears. Bonten’s number 3 was always one to do as his leader said, never straying beyond his duties and loyalty. But, something about having to take down empires and salvage his King’s reputation all while the love of his life was back home, afraid and pregnant, coated the back of his throat with ashes.

A few more days. That was all that stood between him and seeing you again.

It was all that kept him fueled to nod and say, “Okay. Let’s get this mission over with.”

His hands were sweating in the leather gloves.

Kakucho rushed to peel them off before Ran’s car could come to a stop in front of the condominium complex, wiping his palms down the front of his slacks. He had sent you a message, but it had not even been delivered. Those traitorous thoughts conjured up the most horrible scenarios; ranging from an empty house to your presence no longer within those walls. Maybe you had slipped and fallen unconscious. What if you were too sick from the pregnancy to even take care of yourself? What if—god forbid—his enemies had found out about your predicament and used this as the right time to strike?

Then, there was the issue of him being a father.

Kakucho could not find in it himself to remember the face of the man who helped bring him into the world. The day he met Izana was the day he left everything behind—his past, his family, his memories…

And they were now demanding vengeance for years of being suppressed.

A face so much like his own, grinning in pride when he managed to kick a ball straight into a net. The scent of woodsy aftershave. Dark hair between tiny fists and his father’s strong shoulders supporting his smaller frame above the crowd at an amusement park.

A larger hand covered in blood that was seconds too late from shielding the left side of his face from colliding with the fragmented barricade. The scar left behind that mimicked the impact of glass that pierced and tore through his father’s arm that had managed to wrap around him in time.

The older Haitani noticed his white-knuckled grip on the overnight bag and called his name. “You good?”

Kakucho was flaying himself alive silently in Ran’s McLaren seat, steeling himself for the moment when he would have to walk through those wooden doors. Almost inaudibly, he choked out, “I can’t face her. Can’t be a dad. Don’t know how to.”

A large hand clasped his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll figure it out. I just know your kid is going to adore the shit out of you.”

His mismatched eyes were lowered. “How’d you know?”

“You’re a good man,” Ran said mildly, dropping his hand, never meeting his eyes. It was not everyday he found himself having a heart-to-heart with his superior and good friend; the atmosphere in the car both simultaneously awkward and fragile. “Better than us. Kid’s gonna be so lucky.” Who would’ve thought that it would Ran Haitani of all people to comfort him over his fears of being a father?

The car cruised to a stop. “Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get the fuck out of my car and go see your family, papa.”

Kakucho gave him a look, but he was glad that a friendly face was there to ease his nerves. Nodding once, he thanked Ran for the ride and rushed through the lobby. The elevator ride up felt like the longest in his life. The key in his hand that was always effortlessly light and easy to manoeuvre was suddenly too heavy, and he fumbled with it for a few seconds before it unlocked and welcomed him back into a sense of peace no riches, violence or negotiations in the world could procure. Nothing else mattered beyond the light scent of lavender that settled deep into his sinuses, enveloping him in its comforting arms. Home.

The apartment was dark, night falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. To his surprise, Mrs. Iwazuma got up from the sofa, calling out a soft greeting. You were nowhere to be seen.

“Iwazuma-san,” his throat constricted, “Y/N—”

Nodding towards the bedroom, her eyes crinkled with sadness. “She’s resting. I had to take her to the doctor. Poor thing couldn’t keep anything down the first few days and she was slowly becoming dehydrated.” The elderly lady patted his shoulder as she was poised to take her leave.

Kakucho stopped her with a small, crooked smile. “Thank you for helping Y/N while I was gone.”

She returned his cordiality with a friendly nod. “It’s no problem, dear. You both are always welcome to knock on my door anytime.”

With that, she left Kakucho to his thoughts. Unlacing his boots, he set it to the side and treaded softly towards the master bedroom. He opened the door and found you stirring in a pile of comforters, his pillow pressed to your cheek and smaller body wrapped in his black cotton shirt. Sleepy eyes growing sharply lucid as a soft gasp fell from your lips at his familiar silhouette.

“Kaku!”

Before he could warn you to not hurt yourself, you barrelled straight into his arms, clinging onto him. He embraced you back fiercely, burying his face in your sweet-smelling hair, thanking whatever shitty deity above that you were okay.

“I’m so sorry,” apologies spilled from his trembling mouth in a string of penance for his absence. “Please forgive me, angel. I never meant to be gone for so long.”

He expected you to disdain him or push him away; he was never one to anticipate warmth where he had failed a person he loved. It happened once, a very long time ago, and the scars still throbbed over his freshly lacerated guilt. Every single time he thought back on those three bullet wounds.

But, you never let him go.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Your smile was radiating with forgiveness.

He cupped your cheeks, thumbs softly caressing the precious curves of your grin, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You’re a goddamn saint, have I ever told you that?”

You leaned into his touch, smiling softly. All too soon, your face fell slightly. “I had to admit I… I was scared. I thought of leaving because I… I didn’t know if I wanted this.”

A sharp jab of pain stabbed through his gut at your confession.

“But, I know I can’t do this without you.” Your voice strengthened. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

His feathering kisses across your forehead, cheeks and lips were laced with desperation and silent beseeching to absolve him of those nefarious thoughts. “I would fight like hell to keep you with me.”

You giggled, grazing your nose against his lightly. “I know you would—my brave brawler.” He flushed at his old nickname and scrutinised your thinner face and leaner frame.

Resting your face in the crook of his neck, you nuzzled the skin there. “You still smell a little like blood.” Nose wrinkled adorably, Kakucho had to exhale a laugh.

“Ran made me clean up before I came over—said you would probably puke at the smell of blood, gunpowder and sweat. You’re not gonna throw up all over me, right, angel?”

“Ask me again in three business days when the meds wear off,” you joked. “Also, good job, Haitani. I knew he could use his brains once in a while.”

He hummed, concern for your well-being overshadowing this light moment.

“Iwazuma-san said you were sick.”

“Acute morning sickness,” you sighed. “Kakucho Jr. is having a hard time adjusting to my body, I guess.”

At the mention of his baby, his heart squeezed. “You damn near gave me a heart attack on the field.”

His hands dropped from your face to gently run down your body and grip your waist in his larger palms, thumbs stroking the softening curves of your belly. You had not expected him to sink to his knees, cheek pressed right above your womb to where the warmth of your body and the idea of his baby being in there seeped into his trembling frame.

Gingerly, you threaded your fingers in his midnight blue hair. “You’re okay… with this?”

Your words were careful, frail with nerves. You did not expect for him to react this positively; if you were honest, you had your fears that he wouldn’t even come back home.

“I won’t let you do this by yourself,” was his whispered promise into your belly. Glancing up at you with those gorgeous eyes, your heart swelled and you cupped his cheek, fingers lightly skimming over his scar. “I’ll be here. Any way you need me. I promise you.”

His words did not soothe you or to give you a full sense of peace. With Kakucho, the devil was always in the details. You had to take it one day at a time and not look too hard into the future.

But just knowing that he would be a constant was enough.

His soft kisses upon the clothed curve of your stomach was enough.

As much as diving headfirst scared the absolute crap out of you, this fragile fragment of peace was enough.

For now.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, pretty boy, but if you make me worry again…” you trailed off and a smile broke across his face; a charming full tilt of those plush lips that illuminated him with such innocence that you ached at the thought of your future son or daughter looking exactly like he did in this moment.

Free. Happy. Full of love and possibility.

Just knowing that you were the only woman in the world that could bring the third most notorious man in Japan down to his knees was enthralling. Even better? He would happily do it in a heartbeat.

“In that case… you have full permission to kick my ass, angel.”

let’s be real,,, i would stay pregnant and bare foot all day just for kakucho if i could give him the family he never had </33

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