#haven’t been talking to a lot of people lately tbh

[rosicheeks]

🙃

[hypmicdaydreams]

is anyone still in the mood for a hypmic imagines blog these days lol

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : This is so fun to writeeee.Also would you guys like a series masterlist… or does my current Main masterlist do the job? Btw just another reminder ~ no hate to the people referenced in this fic.

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Warnings : Mild cursing , Grammar Errors

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 2 | Next >

landonorris 1h

*messages are disabled

Notification : You received a message from Oscar

Notification : You received a message from Max

*Message sent

*Incoming call from Oscar

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hi Y/N”

“Hi Osc”

“So how have you been?”

“Really Oscar? how have I been… could you be more awkward?”

“Yes really, now answer the question gremlin”

“Ok fine. I’ve been feeling shitty lately, because your teammate decide to cheat on me. How about you Oscar how have you been?”

“I’ve been feeling like shit too. Because my high school girlfriend decided to cheat on me then proceed to dump me over text”

“Wait… what?? She broke up with YOU? and she did it over text too? I did not know that”

“Yup, honestly couldn’t get more sad than that I guess”

“Well if it helps, Lando did the same to me… so yeah.”

“Wow. What amazing exes we have huh?”

“I know right? were just so lucky on that department. So what are you doing to cope?”

“You know, I have racing and training to keep my mind off it. Logan’s trying to be there for me as much as he can. How bout you?”

“Hmmm~ thats great to hear. Me? I uh guess writing songs really helps”

“You know, talking to you really helps too.”

“Really?? Well i like talking to you too Osc”

“Yeah, you’ve been a surprising addition to my schedule. Never imagined being this friendly with my teammates’s girlfriend”

“EX-girlfriend. And yeah same … and I’m grateful that I got to talk to you. SEE I told you Heartbreak Club will help us!”

“Alright, Nerd. I admit it”

“Hmm. I just realized something.”

“What?”

“I’ve never heard you talk as much before. Oh my! did I just influence you to becoming a yapper??”

“Ok dork shut up”

“HHAHAHAHAAH”

“Where are you now? Your in England right?”

“Yes. I’m at my condo… why?”

“how about a coffee run?”

“Since when did you drink coffee?? and now??”

“Since you forced me drink the latte at the MTC and yes now. Are you in or not?”

“YES! i’m down”

“Alright. Dress up and I’ll pick you up.”

“Mkay! drive safe. Byeee”

“I will. Bye Y/N”

*Call ended

Y/N. 45m

*comments are disabled

oscarpiastri 30m

story replies

Y/N. Wow since when did you start taking aesthetic photos 🤭

oscarpiastri I get tons of practice because a certain someone makes me take soo much pictures.

landonorris I thought you broke up with your girlfriend

oscarpiastri I did.

landonorris oh? who’s she thenn

oscarpiastri someone special to me.

lilyz who’s the girl?

oscarpiastri it doesn’t concern you.

Y/N.

liked by y/bf , oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter, charles_leclerc, and others

Y/N. You embarrassed me motherf—

sabrinacarpenter YES. Slay Mama~ I see you 🤭.

Y/N. did I do justice with your lyrics Luv?

sabrinacarpenter I knew smth hot was coming when you asked to use my lyrics!

Y/N. 🤭🤭🤭

user1 That body bang! y/n really said not yours anymore.

user2 she’s hot, talented and successful. Lando fumbled BAD.

user3 Not Y/N casually letting us know she’s booked Calvin Klein. 🥵

user4 Ok but who’s that on the 2nd and 5th slide thooo.

user5 if its a friend or smth more who caresss if Lando could jump into a relationship that fast, Y/n could as well.

user6 Oscar in the likes, I see you.

user7 I lowkey ship 🫣

user8 maybe its oscar in the photos too!

user6 Y/N and Oscar have been interacting lots lately

user9 Oscar’s with lily tho.

user10 I haven’t seen them together for so long. Smth seems off tbh.

user11 Oscar and lily are both private people so of couse we don’t get to see them.

Y/N. why are y’all gossiping in my comments 🧐

user6 WTF hello @Y/N??

oscarpiastri

liked by Y/N. , mclaren, logansargeant, charles_leclerc and others

oscarpiastri Change of plans. I’m into coffee now ☕️

logansargeant in my years of knowing you , you never drank coffee

oscarpiastri well taste changes mate, what can I say? liked by Y/N.

charles_leclerc now you’re really my son!

user1 WHO TAUGHT OSCAR HOW TO POST CUNTY PICS?

user2 show yourself! we need to thank you 😭

user3 I choked on air when I saw it was posted on Oscar’s personal ig! i thought it was a fan page or smth.

user4 3rd slide had me on a chokehold!!

user5 Oscar’s hotness aside. Why does the caption sound so cryptic.

user6 Right?? is it really about coffee tho… ur very suspect Oscar Jack Piastri.

user7 specially when rumors of Oscar and Lily breaking up???

user8 What do you mean? where did you hear that??

user7 check twitter girl!

user9 Ok now Y/N’s in the likes and her liking Oscar’s reply!! What is happening yall 😭

user10 everything has been so messy. but ngl when Y/N used Oscar’s Tweet format? Iconic.

user11 Y/Nscar interactions are migrating to instagram.

*Incoming call from Oscar

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hello, Osc. What’s up?”

“I need your help.”

“With what exactly?”

“Making an announcement”

Anyone interested to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or DM me!

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd open for tag request

Main taglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v : open for tag request

[goosewriting]

Warmth

summary: now that reader got to look underneath the surface, they discover the not so pretty parts about being an inquisitor

relationship: inq!Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: 18+, semi-graphic violence, mentions of blood, trauma, it gets pretty steamy, but still fade to black, implied sexual encounters, cal being emotionally constipated because what else is new, dom cal, soft cal, dirty talk? sorta?, talking about killing people, reader being a nerd, having a bath together, non-sexual nudity, reader gets choked, a lot is happening ok

word count: 12k … this one got away form me, i–

A/N: tbh when i started this i had no idea where i was going with it; this just took on a life of its own. i guess this one’s a little more grounded than the previous one, as reader and cal explore what it means to be an inquisitor. it’s a bit different to my usual stuff but i hope you like it nonetheless :’D

this can be read on its own, but it's technically a sequel to underneath!

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It’s rather calm today, uneventful, as you sit at your office desk doing your work absent-mindedly.

You think back to your first night together with inquisitor Cal Kestis. It’s been some time since then, and you’re glad that there were more nights after that one.

Whatever is going on between you two, you try to be discreet about it. But it didn’t go unnoticed by others how Cal would approach you in the hallways to say hi or have a quick chat to check in on you. At first, you were nervous that it would affect your job in some way, negatively change your relationship with your boss and colleagues (not that you’re too close with them, but you still want to keep it professional and respectful with them). To your surprise though, the others seem to respect you more because of it. Apparently being able to hold your ground against an inquisitor isn't a small feat. ‘Hold your ground’... More like being wrapped around his finger. 

You smile to yourself as you think back to a couple of nights back. Your heart quickens and the tip of your ears burn as you remember the trails of kisses Cal left on your skin, setting your whole body on fire, accompanied by words of praise and adoration, words only for you to hear. 

Shaking your head to rid yourself of the slippery slope that is your current train of thought, you refocus on the screen in front of you and continue clacking away on the keyboard. You haven’t really defined or put a label on what you two have, but you know it’s special, and it is real. And you’re content with that for now. You like the current dynamic, where you have dinner together as often as your jobs will allow it, and you sleep over at his quarters every other day. 

However, lately there’s been a habit of Cal’s that worries you a bit. There’s been several instances now when you wake up in the middle of the night and your hand reaches out to find him, but his side of the bed is empty. Sometimes he’s not in the room at all. Other times you can see him standing at the window with his back towards you; his red hair seems to glow above his dark silhouette contrasting with the dim fiery glow coming from Mustafar, appearing from behind a veil of clouds. You know he knows you’re awake, but you stay still, pretending to be asleep. Whatever is weighing on his mind, whenever he feels ready, he’ll come to you. And you’d wait for as long as he needs.

Still, getting up so often at night starts to take a toll. You notice he’s more irritable, you see the dark bags under his eyes. But when you try to confront him about it, he dismisses it as unimportant, saying he’ll get better sleep that night. But it’s just the same thing over and over again.

One night after dinner, you’re both sitting on his couch, and you finally manage to pry out what has got him unable to sleep: nightmares. You don’t really understand what the problem is; everyone gets nightmares every once in a while. Even if he were to move around a lot, you’d try to calm him down and get him back to sleep.

“Do you know how inquisitors are made?” he asks seemingly out of nowhere while on the nightmare topic.

You take a moment to think about it, and realise that you do, in fact, not. So you shake your head.

“The Empire captures Jedis, to torture and remake them however they see fit”, he explains and stops from a moment to let it sink in.

“Part of them is lost forever,” he continues, his gaze moving to the side, looking at nothing in particular. “The other seems to be trapped, unable to move or escape. Jedis are trained to not give in to hate or anger. For inquisitors, those are the only things keeping them going. Ironically, feeling an enemy’s life force fade away… It makes you feel alive again.” He looks down at his hands. “It lets you feel something again at all: the rage, towards oneself and towards everyone who’s ever wronged you. It’s an addicting feeling, all-consuming. But much too short. So you seek it out again. And the Empire has plenty of enemies they need gone, so you comply.”

He pauses, allowing you to interject if it’s too much, but you remain silent, listening attentively. You’ve never heard this side of him, of how it felt being an inquisitor. 

“In those moments–” he goes on, clenching his hands into fists. “–feeding off of someone's desperation and pain that you can feel through the Force, it also opens a minimal gap for you to feel other things too. Things you thought you had forgotten or want to forget, like regret, fear and doubt. Or things you think you don’t deserve to feel anymore, like warmth. Happiness.” He pauses for a moment. “Love.”

You remain silent for a moment longer in case he wants to add anything else, but it doesn’t look like it. So you ask something instead. 

“And what do you remember in those moments?”

Cal closes his eyes and throws his head back slightly, taking a deep breath.

“The smell of the temple library on Coruscant,” he replies. “The rare sound of the clones laughing in the mess hall. How safe I felt with my master.”

You tilt your head with a slight grimace; it breaks your heart to hear he thinks he can’t have those things anymore because of what he is now. Or rather, what he was made.

“You still deserve all of that, the warmth and feelings of safety,” you say, and reach out to run your fingertips over his cheek, but he turns away.

“You don’t think I’m a monster? Like everyone else does?” he asks with a wry chuckle. “You know what I do. I don’t deserve any of it.”

Or you.

He doesn’t say the words aloud, but they hang heavy in the air between you two. 

“Okay, Kestis,” you say as you stand up, one hand stretched out towards him. “No moping, c’mon.”

He gives you a suspicious look, but accepts your hand nonetheless. You guide him to the washroom and run a bath for him, using one of your nicer bath bombs which you kept for special occasions. 

“Time for some pampering. You deserve it,” you enunciate that last part. “Clothes off.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unsure of what you’re scheming. You can’t help but laugh at the faint blush spreading on his freckled face as you start to strip yourself. 

“Now, don’t get any ideas. No funny business, I mean it. Just a bath,” you say, pointing a finger at him.

“Alright, alright,” he gives in with a low chuckle, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. 

Not long after, you’re both in the tub, with you sitting behind Cal, both enveloped by fragrant bubbles filling the warm water surface. You instruct him to lean back so you can wash his hair. Using your own shampoo instead of the boring, Empire-issue one, you lather up his hair, massaging his scalp, which earns you a grunt or two, and you can’t help a triumphant smile.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, and you get another grunt in response, so it must indeed feel good.

After you’re done with the hair, you tell him to turn around, and you squirt some soap onto a wash cloth. Starting at his neck, you scrub gently in circular motions, making your way down over his shoulder and his arms. Then you repeat the process on the other arm. As you lift it out from the thick layer of bubbles, you notice some reddening on his skin at his bicep. You take a closer look.

“Is that a new scar?” you ask.

“Yeah, don’t know where from though,” he says, and you get the impression that he does, but you don’t ask him about it. 

“Is that so,” you mumble, then lean in to place a soft kiss on it. “There, now it will heal faster.” 

Cal snorts and rolls his eyes, but his gaze remains soft.

“What, you don’t believe me?” you retort in mock offence. Then you start placing kisses on all his scars, the ones on his face, at his jaw and over his nose. The scars on his chest, his shoulders. You end by placing one last kiss on the tip of his nose, and grin up at him, but your face changes into worry when you see his expression. His brows are furrowed, as if in pain, his eyes shut tightly, his shoulders tense.

“Cal, are you okay?” you ask, and his hand comes out of the water to hold your face. You place your hand over his. He blinks a couple of times, and when he fully opens his eyes again, his features relax, and he smiles warmly. But what shocks you the most is that his eyes aren’t their usual yellow; they’re greenish blue. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. His gaze is not only a different colour, but also as vulnerable and tender as you’ve never seen before in him. 

“You’re too good to me,” he whispers, leaning in to place a single, lingering kiss on your cheek. 

Suddenly, his face contorts in pain again, this time more than before, and his hands shoot up to either side of his head, pressing onto his temples. When he opens his eyes again, they’re back to the yellow you know and love.

“My head is killing me suddenly,” he says through gritted teeth. “Can we wrap it up?” 

“Uh, of course, yeah,” you answer, making quick work of rinsing off both of you and getting some towels. 

Soon you’re both in bed, with your back against his chest, as he holds on to you like his life depends on it. Cal falls asleep first, but it’s rather restless. He keeps twitching and flinching, and with every sudden move, you’re dragged back out of your almost drifting to sleep. When he seems to finally have calmed down, you exhale deeply, eager to follow suit and drift into dreamland as well. Instead, Cal groans loudly, and you lean onto your side to look up over your shoulder. He looks distressed, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Cal, are you okay?” you ask, placing your hand on his shoulder to try and wake him, but you retrieve it quickly when his eyes shoot open, wild and angry and disoriented. 

“Prauf!” he screams, grabbing you harshly and rolling over so he’s straddling you, one of his hands fisting the sheets while the other goes to your throat, starting to choke you.

“C-Cal…!” you rasp out, holding onto his wrist to try and get him off of you. “You’re hurting me!”

He puts more weight into his hold, and you start seeing white dots sprinkled in your field of vision.

“It’s me, please,” you gasp, raising your hand to hold his cheek instead, and that seems to work. Slowly, his eyes seem to focus again, and his ragged breathing calms down slightly. When he finally sees you under him and understands what he is doing, he lets go and jumps off of you, off the bed, and slams his back against the opposite wall. You take a gulp of air, falling into a coughing fit. 

“Are you okay?” you croak when you can finally talk again, and you see him holding his head, trembling. 

“I- I’m sorry- This-” he starts, but can’t form a sentence. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he lets his hands fall back down to his sides. “I’m sleeping on the couch.” 

Cal leaves the room before you can protest, and the doors close behind him. Just like that you’re left alone, wondering what in the world just happened. Does it have something to do with his eyes earlier? And what, or who, is Prauf? 

— — —

The next morning, you’re awoken by the alarm clock on his night stand, and it takes you a couple of tries to turn it off. Sitting up on the bed with a yawn, you start remembering what happened the night before, and your hands comes up to your neck, where you can still feel some soreness from being choked like that.

You tiptoe out of the room, but just as you expected, Cal is gone. Taking a quick look at the clock, you yelp as you realise how late it is, and you hurry to the washroom to get ready. 

Once you’re ready to go, you take one last look at yourself in the mirror, and realise that your neck has visible marks, clearly in the shape of a hand. You grimace slightly, propping up the collar of your uniform as high up as it will go, and it covers up most of it. As long as you don’t look up or stretch your neck too much, you should be good. So you leave Cal’s quarters and head to your office. 

The whole day, you’re a bit distracted, hoping that Cal doesn’t feel too bad about what he did. You just want to help; sure, the nightmares are worse than you thought. But you’ll figure it out, together. 

You don’t get to see or hear from Cal the whole day though, or the next, or the one after that. For almost a week, he seems to be avoiding you completely. He doesn’t answer your holocalls or texts. You only catch the occasional glimpse of him leaving a room just when you’re entering. 

Tired of this game of cat and mouse, you decide to go find him. Instead, you end up cornered by the Ninth Sister. You’re slightly scared of her if you’re honest – no, scratch that. You are scared of her; she’s incredibly intimidating, not just by her sheer size and strength, but her presence in general. She always sounds mad, a deep frown etched into her face. So when she suddenly tells you to follow her, you don’t find it in you to refuse. To your surprise, she hunts down Cal as well, and brings you both to an empty hallway.

“Whatever is going on between you two: fix it!” she barks, then turns around with a scoff, muttering something about it being like scolding children. 

You look around, and there’s no one around, so you look up at Cal’s helmet visor, trying to find his eyes under it, but obviously only seeing your own reflection.

“Hey,” you greet him, giving him a smile to signal you’re not mad. “I missed you.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and he looks around as well. Instead of answering, he grabs you by your elbow and guides you some steps down the hallway to a maintenance shaft. He flicks his wrist, and the doors open, he shoves you both inside and closes the doors.

Only now does he take off his helmet, and you can’t suppress a gasp, horrified at the sight. His hair is sticking out everywhere, the bags under his eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen, and he not only has new scratches on his face, he also a black eye that seems to be a couple of days old. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, and you’re aware that it’s not a great opener, but you’re genuinely worried. Your hands gingerly run over his face as you inspect the damage. Cal shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’ve been distracted lately and it affected my performance,” he says with a wry smile. “So they had to correct my bad behaviour.”

You take a moment to make sure you’re properly understanding what he’s implying. By the look in his eyes, kinda sad and a bit ashamed, it seems you are.

“Do you get corrected often?” you ask carefully.

“Sometimes. When I get greedy,” he answers. You think back to your conversation about being an inquisitor, and remember how he said that he only got a glimpse back into his own heart when he was out there, doing horrible things. Does that mean he was defying orders just to be able ‘to feel something at all’? 

“Do you usually get corrected… after being with me?” you ask this time, almost scared of the answer. 

“It’s not your fault,” he indirectly answers your question, taking your hands in his. “Being with you is just as addicting as being out there. I’m just… weak like that, I guess.”

“Oh, Cal,” you whisper, giving his hands a squeeze. “The warmth you yearn for and that you seek, it may make you feel vulnerable, and you think that makes you weak, but all it does is make you real. You’re real, Cal, and so am I. And I don’t want you to get hurt. You don’t need to be greedy; I’m here, I always will be. You deserve that warmth, and if you’ll have me, I’ll give you all of it.”

His brows rise slightly in surprise, and you realise you basically just professed your love for him. Heat erupts on your face and in your panic, you grab onto his collar and kiss him, hard at first, but then you’re both moving in unison with a rare softness you don’t always get to experience from him. 

Suddenly he pulls back with a pained grunt, and he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. 

“Cal, are you okay? What’s wrong?” You kneel down beside him, and you lift his face to look at him. Once again, you’re met with blue eyes, this time like an ocean about to erupt into stormy waves. He’s close to tears, and he looks so scared, so small, it breaks your heart. If only you knew how to mend the broken pieces of his soul, you’d kiss them all better if you could. 

“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” he suddenly says, hugging you into his chest. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you again. What if I don’t snap back in time? What if I do something worse?”

You rack your brains for something reassuring to say, and finally land on something.

“You know, as a kid I used to have this recurring nightmare,” you start, hoping to not only get your point across better with your story, but also getting him out of the rabbit hole he was about to go down. “I kept dreaming that my parents abandoned me. We would all be together somewhere, and I looked away for a moment, but by the time I turned back around, they were gone. And I would feel so alone, and full of dread, I felt like I was going crazy. I’d often wake up screaming and crying.”

You take a moment to gauge his reaction; talking about your pasts has been kind of a taboo topic between you two. He openly said once that he doesn’t want to talk about his past, which you respect, but it also meant he never asked questions about yours. Maybe he’s scared to know more because it would reawaken memories of his own. Maybe he just doesn’t want to pry. Maybe he doesn’t care. Either way, you’re now crossing that invisible line and hope it won’t scare him away completely.

“No matter how much my parents reassured me that they wouldn’t abandon me, it always played out the same,” you continue your story. “One night, I was so scared of having the nightmare again, that I straight up refused to go to sleep. That’s when my mother told me this: sometimes, dreams are just your mind and soul processing something that actually happened. But other times, it’s the mind’s way of trying to find closure for something that hasn’t happened. So even if the dream isn’t nice, you have to wait until the end. Only then will your mind be able to tell you what it needs, even if it’s something you don’t want to hear.”

Wiping the silent tears off of Cal’s cheeks, you give him a comforting smile.

“And I know this doesn’t compare in any way to the nightmares you have,” you say. “But, maybe, you just need to let them play out. What if it’s your subconscious trying to tell you something and you cut it off before it has a chance to? What if… it’s the Force trying to tell you something important?”

This seems to click in some way with Cal, and he takes a moment to think over your words.

“Whatever happens, when you wake up you won’t be alone. I promise”, you assure him.

Cal is about to say something, when his eyes shut closed and he claims his head hurts again. He blinks a couple of times, holding his head, and his eyes switch between greenish blue and yellow. 

“Don’t block it out,” you encourage him, removing his hands from his temples and bringing them to your face instead. “I take back what I said earlier. You can be greedy, but not out there. Be greedy with me. Take everything you want, Cal. As much as you need. It’s all for you.”

He blinks one, two more times, his eyes fully reverted to their usual fiery yellow, and the fear from before is completely gone, now replaced with something sharp and dark.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says through gritted teeth, his whole body trembling in anticipation or self-control, maybe both.

“But I do,” you reassure him, climbing over his legs so you’re sitting on his lap, and gently press your forehead against his. “That yearning is eating you up from the inside. You’re hurting. It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Cal’s hands wander from your cheeks over your shoulders, down your arms, until they rest on your waist. He looks up at you, still a little unsure, and you roll your hips against his to further encourage him and tell him it’s okay. You both can’t help the low moans that escape your lips.

“It’s okay, Cal,” you whisper, leaning in and stopping just above his lips, where you feel his shaky breath. “Consume me until there’s nothing left.”

That seems to snap him back to his usual, more dominant self that he is in intimate moments like this. Adjusting your position in his lap, he presses your body into his, kissing you passionately. It’s just as intense as your make-out sessions usually are, but there’s something else lingering as well. You can’t quite describe it, but it’s like there’s a newfound meaning behind his actions. As if he is trying to pour his whole being and soul into it in an attempt to reach you. And it does. In fact, he’s using all his senses, Force included, to breathe in all of you, and his presence envelops you like it never has before.

You start undoing both your uniforms, and you pull back for a moment to take a much needed breather. 

“You’re doing great,” you pant, not really thinking about what you’re saying as you try to undo the clasps and buttons as fast as your trembling hands will allow. “Such a good boy for me.”

To say that his whimper takes you by surprise, is an understatement. You stop your movements and pull back a little more to take in the image before you: Cal’s partially exposed chest is rising and sinking rapidly, a violent blush spreading from the tip of his ears all the way down to his sternum. His usual confidence and cockiness seem gone, and biting his bottom lip, hair completely dishevelled, he gives you a flustered look you’ve never seen on him.

“Don’t call me that,” he breathes, trying to pull you closer again so you can’t look at him.

“Call you what, a good boy?” you tease him, and his whole body tenses up under you as he takes a sharp breath. “I think you rather like it, no? Being such a good boy for me. C’mon, keep going.”

He relentlessly attacks your neck just the way he knows you like, biting and licking and nibbling along your pulse. 

“Ah, kriff, these uniforms, I swear–” you curse under your breath into Cal’s temple, trying to rid yourself of your jacket without losing contact with him. You only manage to push it down to your elbows. Cal’s hands slip under your shirt and start wandering up and up. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, goosebumps erupting on your arms and back as you arch yourself into his hold. Another moan escapes your throat as he bites down hard, immediately licking the darkened spot. You finally manage to shake off your jacket and–

Your comlink beeps and you groan. Cal seems unbothered, as he’s still going, now moving back up to finding your lips, tongue darting out to meet yours. After blindly tapping around to find the device in a pocket of your discarded jacket, you take it out and look at the caller ID. Your blood freezes when you recognise it to be your boss. Right, you’re in a maintenance shaft half naked with the inquisitor when you should be at your office. 

Shoving Cal away begrudgingly, he growls in annoyance, about to flick the still beeping comlink out of your hand.

“Wait, wait, it could be important,” you say through heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself down enough to sound somewhat normal. Cal merely pushes his face into your chest with a defeated sigh. After clearing your throat, you take the call.

“Took you long enough, officer,” your boss says in a clearly annoyed tone that makes you cringe slightly.

“Sorry, Sir, I was, uh, occupied,” you stumble over your words and mentally slap yourself. Cal doesn’t even try to hide his snort at your response. You smack him lightly on the back of his head.

“Whatever you were doing, officer,” the man says in a way that he knows exactly what you were doing and with whom. “Prepare your things and get ready, you’re to leave for an off-planet mission by tonight.”

“Yes, Sir,” you reply, instinctively straightening your back.

“You’re to meet us at the hangar by 1900 hours. And officer,” he adds with a sigh, his voice adopting a strange tone of embarrassment, almost. “If inquisitor Kestis happens to be there, tell him to come as well.”

“Understood, Sir,” Cal replies with no qualms, and you’re petrified. 

After one more sigh and some unintelligible curses, your boss hangs up. 

You blink a couple of times, trying to recover from the shock. Great, now your boss knows for sure what you were up to. 

“We’re not done here,” Cal says, as he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth and stands up, helping you get on your feet as well. “We’ll pick up where we left off later.”

“At a different location though, I would hope,” you chuckle as you two get ready to leave the little room.

After a quick detour to the nearest washroom, where you both fix your messy hair and uniforms (his smirk as you’re barely able to cover all the hickeys with your propped up collar will be the end of you), and one to your office for you to pick up some supplies, you make your way to the hangar. A group of people is already waiting for you two; two purge troopers, two stormtroopers of your own squad your boss stand next to Cal’s ship, a zeta-class shuttle: black, sleek and menacing. 

After the debrief, you review the data on your holopad. It’s a mission on another planet, and you’re always excited to get one of those, as you don’t get to go out “into the field” often. In this case there’s a possible rebel cell, but their transmissions are set up in a way that decoding them from the Fortress Inquisitorius would take a considerable amount of time, so it’s quicker to get close to the base and physically infiltrate their comms system to get the information you need. Additionally, there’s been a tip about a possible Jedi being hidden within the rebel group, that’s why they’re sending an inquisitor as well. You’re to stay on the ship working on the decryption while they do their thing.

The ship takes off, and once you’re far enough, you make the jump into hyperspace. During the trip, both the purge troopers and Cal sit unnervingly still, probably power napping and saving their energy for the possible fight ahead. Your two troopers are in the cockpit flying the ship and having a chat, so you have a lot of time for yourself. You mainly work on preparing your equipment, revising your software and getting all the tools you’d need ready. It doesn’t take long for you to have everything prepped; the moment you’d enter the planet’s atmosphere, your scans would tell you the rebel’s comm system location within seconds, and once you land, you can head right out to hook up your own tech. There’s still a good portion of waiting after you’re done though, and with the constant hyperspace humming, you find yourself dozing on and off, replaying the earlier conversation you had with Cal in your mind, wondering how to act and what to say once you get back to base. 

After what feels like an eternity, the piloting troopers finally announce you’re here. The drop out of hyperspace shakes you slightly, and as you look out the window, you see your goal: a small planet on the very edge of the Outer Rim; you’ve never been this far away from the Core Worlds, and as you see the vast expanse of pitch black void surrounding it, you notice the lack of starts in the distance, and you almost let yourself be swallowed by the dread that runs a cold shiver down your spine. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of any distracting thoughts and get to work. As expected, your holopad is already beeping, alerting you that it found your target location. You stand up from your seat and approach the cockpit, for which you have to walk past Cal. His helmet visor is aimed at the floor in front of his feet, and he doesn’t look up as you walk by. For all you know, his eyes could be trained on you though; there’s no way to know for sure. 

Standing between the pilot seats, you show one of the troopers the coordinates on your holopad, and he punches them into the console. Holding onto the back of the seat, you stand there as the ship approaches the area you marked, and the landing is swift and almost motionless. So this is what the good ships feel like, you think to yourself. And the troopers seem to be thinking the same, if the slow whistle coming from one of them is anything to go by.

You turn around to go inform the purge troopers you’re here, but Cal is already standing in front of you, blocking your exit from the cockpit. 

“My men and I will look for our target, you two stay here,” he says as he points at the two stormtroopers. Then he gestures towards you with his head. “The officer is in charge while I’m gone, and better be unharmed when I come back, understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” they respond in unison. 

Cal seems to linger on your form for a second longer, then turns on his heels. The cargo door opens and the smell of humid, tropical air reaches your nose. Cal and his troopers take off, and you nod to yourself with an ‘alright’, as you get to work. Connecting a couple of wires here and there, you call one of the troopers to you.

“We need to bring this–” you point at your contraption. “–to the base of this structure.” You show him the red dot on the holomap at the edge of a water body. “That seems to be the backbone of their communication system. There have to be wires that we can hook the machine into.”

“Understood.”

He picks up the machine and starts heading out. You gather a couple more tools, throw them into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. As you approach the cargo door, you turn to the other trooper one last time.

“You stay here and hold down the fort. Keep the usual channels open for us and for C- Inquisitor Kestis.”

“Yes, Sir!” 

And off you go.

After a while, you get to the point at the cliff as indicated by your holomap. Both you and the stormtrooper stand at the ledge, carefully looking down. At the base, a broad river runs along the cliffside. Scanning the rocky walls with your eyes, you find what you’re looking for.

“Jackpot,” you say, pointing at something, and the trooper follows your line of sight. “That’s our transmitter.”

It’s essentially a big metal box built into the side of the cliff, with an antenna on one side and a rather wonky satellite dish on the other, partially hidden under a rocky overhang. You’d have to climb down quite a bit to reach it.

“We didn’t bring any climbing equipment,” the trooper points out. 

“We improvise,” you retort with a shrug.

You take the rope out of your bag and tie one end to a nearby tree that looks sturdy enough, and the other around your legs and waist.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Sir,” the stormtrooper starts. “If anything happens to you, Inquisitor Kestis will–” He’s stopped by the stern look you shoot him. 

“I know how to take care of myself, trooper,” You say firmly. “Now, help me get down there.” 

You plug in one of the thicker wires into your machine, holding the other end between your teeth. The trooper helps you climb down the cliffside step by step, slowly letting you down. Once you reach the desired point by the transmitter, you take the wire out of your mouth.

“Here’s good! Hold it there!” you call. A  grunt is all the response you get. 

You plug in the wire, and your holopad starts beeping, starting to intercept the messages. But they’re not written words, voices or even proper sounds, it just sounds and looks like static. 

“Guess I have to calibrate my receiver,” you think aloud. “Pull me up!”

Climbing back up the way you came, you untie the rope the moment you find your footing again, which left a slight stinging sensation at the back of your legs, and you absent-mindedly rub your bum to alleviate the sensation. You notice the trooper giving you a strange look, and heat spreads on your face.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say as you straighten up, looking for an order to give. “Go, uh, go collect the rope.”

“Yes, Sir…” he responds with a snicker.

You roll your eyes, but you’re not really mad at him. That must have just looked really funny. Either way, time to get to work: you kneel down next to your contraption, holding your holopad next to it, adjusting some levels here and pressing buttons there. But no matter how much you try to isolate the signal, it still doesn’t get cleaner or clearer.

The trooper places the neatly tied up rope next to your bag which you left on the ground, then holds up his blaster, undoing the safety. You look up at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m not sure…” he answers. “I have a bad feeling about this place. Let’s get what we came for and go back to the ship.”

“Okay…” you stretch out the word, unsure what put him on edge like that. Yes, there’s known aggressive fauna here, but all in all the planet is abandoned, there's no particular danger. Not documented, anyway. You keep looking at the static on your holopad, trying to make sense of it. But the more you see, the less random it seems. That’s when it dawns on you. 

Suddenly, you furiously type away on your pad, trying to translate the encoded message, but it’s just gibberish. You tilt your head in confusion, revising your translation; it should be right. But it isn’t. Why?...

“Oh!” You say after a few more seconds, getting up to your feet so quickly that it almost makes you dizzy. “Oh, this is actually quite brilliant. Ah, these rebels sure are getting crafty. Come here, you’re gonna love this.”

The stormtrooper shoots one last look over his shoulder into the vegetation, then turns to you, still holding tightly onto his blaster.

“You ever heard of Dadita?” you ask, not bothering to hide your excitement.

“No?”

“Of course you haven’t,” you say with a click of your tongue. “It’s an ancient Mandalorian code consisting of short and long bursts of static, where each combination stands for a letter. But these rebels combined it with Mon Calamari blink code, which is the same principles but with light sequences. They used Dadita static, but the sequences actually correspond to the blink code letters. No wonder back at HQ they thought we couldn’t intercept proper comms. It’s made to look like static.”

“Uh-huh,” is all you get out of the trooper, still nervously looking around.

“C’mon, this is cool,” you try, but to no avail. Sighing in defeat, you add, “You know what, nevermind. Let’s just go back.”

At least Cal will show interest in your find. Or so you hope. Speaking of, you wonder how he’s doing. You know you shouldn’t ping him as it could interfere with his mission, but you just hope they made it back safely to the ship by the time you’re there.

“Contact the ship, will you? And tell them we’re going back,” you instruct. The trooper presses some buttons on the console on his wrist.

“Ground team to ship, do you copy?”

The only answer is static.

You look in the direction of the ship as the trooper tries again, and you feel something cold on your nose, then on your cheek. You look up; it’s starting to rain. Great. Your machine shouldn’t have trouble with a little rain, but you still don’t feel great about it. You kinda made it up on the spot, so there are a couple of exposed wires. 

“We need to go get something to cover the receiver. Any answer yet?” you ask, and it’s really starting to come down now. You have to blink several times to get the water out of your eyes.

“No,” he responds, nervously looking around. “I told you, something is wrong.”

“Okay, no need to panic,” to try to calm him down; his demeanour is starting to make you nervous as well. “Let’s just quickly go back; I'm pretty sure I saw a piece of canvas that we can use to–” You sling your bag back onto your shoulders as you speak, but the inertia of the bag makes you lose your balance for a second, and with the ground now turning into mud, your boot loses its grip on the ground, making you slip and your knees give out under you. 

“Officer!” You hear the stormtrooper call as he stretches out his arm in a vain attempt to catch you, but you’re already falling backwards off the cliff. Seemingly in slow motion, the trooper and the treeline disappear from your view, being replaced by a grey, cloudy sky. You close your eyes, feeling the droplets on your face and the air rushing by your ears, and you’re strangely calm. All you can think of is Cal.

Are you okay? I wish we had properly made up before this. 

When your back hits the water of the river at the base of the cliff, your survival instincts are awoken all at once. The current is stronger than what it seemed from up the ledge. You swim with all your might, trying to stay afloat and taking gulps of air whenever you can. it isn't long until your arms are burning from the sudden effort, and you scan your surroundings, desperate to find something to hold onto. The river seems to open up and away from the cliffside. Here, the shores are filled with mangrove-like trees, their roots thick and plenty, some of them stretching out like low-hanging branches over the water surface. You try to hold on to one, but your gloves don't provide much of a grip, so you take them off and ditch them. Nearing the next big branch, you ready yourself and throw your upper body out of the water so that you can hold onto it with both your arms, and it works. Slowly, you inch closer and closer to the tree trunk, until you reach the shore. Letting yourself fall onto the mossy ground, you take some deep breaths trying to calm down your breathing, racing heart and aching limbs.

You pat your uniform and conclude that you lost your bag somewhere along the way, which had your holopad and all your equipment. You sit up and wipe the back of your sleeve over your eyes, but the constant rain keeps hitting your face. You pop open the collar of your uniform and it feels like ridding yourself of a chokehold. The uniforms were never particularly comfortable, being on the stiff side, but drenched like this, it’s much worse.

Looking around, you stand up; you have no idea where you are or where the ship could be. Giving yourself one more pat down, you find your comlink in one of your zipped up pockets, and thank the Maker under your breath. 

“Hello? Does anyone copy?”

You can hear static, so you assume that it is working, but it’s the mic or speaker, or both that are ruined. At least from the ship they should be able to locate you with it. 

A gust of wind makes you shiver slightly; despite it being a rather tropical climate, being completely wet does make you feel the dropping temperatures that will probably await you at night. In fact, it’s starting to get dark. 

They’ll find me. It’s fine. I just have to make sure I’m alive by the time they get here, hah, you tell yourself with a wry chuckle. 

First thing you have to do is seek shelter from the relentless rain. Hugging yourself, you cringe at the sensation of your feet against the wet boots, but you still take step after step into the vegetation, looking for some place to dry off. Completely lost and giving up on the idea of ever getting out of this maze by yourself, the only information you keep in your head is the direction of the river; you'll be needing water after all. For now, you could just drink rain water though, so you venture further and further away into the forest. With the dense branches sporting big, round leaves, they already stop part of the rain, but not enough. Finally, you come across a big tree, the roots lifted into the air so that they form something akin to a cage, and the ground beneath it is dry; that's exactly what you need.

Hurrying through the gaps between the roots, you take off your boots, jacket and trousers, giving everything a good squeeze to wring as much water out as possible. Left in your underwear and a black short sleeve shirt, you wonder what to do next. You’d need food soon. You sigh, leaning back onto the rough surface of the tree.

“This is exactly why I wanted an office job,” you say bitterly. So much for being excited about a mission ‘on the field’. 

For now, you decide to wait out the rain, which could hopefully stop just as suddenly as it started, and you just sit there, holding your comlink in your hands, looking at it intently. 

After a while, the rain finally seems to subside, and while your clothes are nowhere dry, you don’t exactly want to explore a jungle half naked. So you put your trousers back on, which takes a while, as the wet fabric keeps sticking to your legs. After what feels like another workout, you finally zip them up, and put on your equally wet boots. Oh, how you crave a warm shower right now. 

Taking the jacket into your hands, you feel the wet fabric and decide to leave it. Your skin dried much faster, so it was better to be a little cold without a jacket than very cold with a drenched one. Placing your comlink into your pocket, you go foraging for some sort of fruit or berry. After the rain and with no equipment, you doubt you’d be able to start a fire to cook anything, so you have to find something you can eat raw. 

As you’re picking some reddish purple berries from a bush and contemplating if you can eat them, you hear some rustling behind you. Dropping the berries and immediately turning around, you’re met with a human and you notice several things. First of all, they’re holding their side, which is bleeding a lot, their clothes stained in a dark red. Second, you see the lightsabre in their hand, emitting a blueish hue, its electric hum the only sound aside of their ragged breathing. And third, you see the plea in their deep brown eyes, silently asking you for help. Almost in the same moment, you also see their eyes dart down to your uniform and back up to your own, realisation spreading on their face. And you’re conflicted.

You know who’s after them. You know what’s going to happen. So it’s not like you don’t want to help; you can’t. If the circumstances were different, would you help? You realise you don’t want to know the answer to that. Either way, you're unarmed, hungry and shivering, so you can't really put up much of a fight against them either. 

“I'm sorry,” you say instead, and you're not really sure which part you're apologising for. You're about to take a step to the side and gesture them to go past you, but you hear footsteps approaching quickly.

The stranger winces in pain as they try to take another step, but collapse onto the ground, the sabre retracting with a whirr. They look up at you again, this time enraged, a deep frown etched into their face, and you're about to say something, but a modulated voice is quicker.

“Officer, what are you doing here?” It’s the purge trooper.

“I- I fell,” you say sheepishly. He scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head.

“Well, good job stopping our target. It’s a slippery one, this one.”

The trooper picks up the sabre, and turns around the Jedi onto their back with his boot, earning a pained grunt. From behind him emerges Cal out of the vegetation, and you’re horrified at how he looks: helmet gone, hair wild, and face partially covered in blood. If it’s his own or not, you can’t tell. He looks frustrated and beyond angry. You’re about to say something, asking if he’s okay, but the sharp look in his eyes freezes you in your spot. 

“It’s the end of the line now, Jedi,” he spits through gritted teeth, and holds his red lightsabre a little tighter. He shoots you a quick look, then at his trooper, and motions with his head to the side. The man nods and turns to you, grabbing you by your bicep, and starts dragging you away. 

“Wait, wait!” You try to turn back around, but the trooper’s grip keeps facing you forward. When you reach a thick tree, he slams your back into it rather harshly, and tells you to stay there. He doesn’t move from in front of you, holding onto his electrostaff with both hands. It emits an electric crackle of purplish hue, clearly warning you not try anything funny. And to be honest, you don't have the energy right now, so you just rest the back of your head against the bark. You can hear the stranger starting to plead for their life, trying to get under Cal’s skin, saying something about a time before being an inquisitor, but Cal is fresh out of patience, and the Jedi chokes on their words. Their laboured breathing fills this corner of the jungle, and after the sound of a lightsabre swinging and the distinct sizzling of flesh, there is silence.

The purge trooper stretches his neck to see past the tree, then gestures to you with a quick nod.

“Let’s go,” he says, and you comply.

Cal stands in front of the body, partially shielding it from your view, and you walk past him as well, following the trooper. As you three make your way back, you notice there's no trace of the second purge trooper that had left with them.

“The other one's dead,” Cal says before you can even ask, and gets handed the Jedi’s lightsabre, which he clips onto his belt. “Why are you down here? And where's your jacket?” You sigh.

“I fell,” you say, and it still sounds as stupid as it did before. “I slipped, and fell down the cliff. I left my jacket by the river. But before that I did get the receiver hooked up and I know how to decrypt the messages. Do you know if my squad made it back to the ship?”

“Don’t know, our comms don't really seem to work down here.” He suddenly stops and looks around, gesturing to a different direction, and the purge trooper takes off through the bushes. Cal turns back to you, and you shoot him a questioning look. 

“You fell from a cliff? Just what were you doing.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly distressed by your reckless actions. “I pinged you several times, and you didn't answer. I knew it probably was the signal being jammed but… I thought that– What if–”

“Hey, it's okay. I'm okay.” You place your hand on his chest and that's when you notice several gashes on his uniform. “Are you okay, though?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, his worry replaced by exasperation.

“You really shouldn't have–”

He stops in the middle of his sentence and takes a quick step back away from you as both your heads turn towards the sound of approaching footsteps. The purge trooper approaches Cal and hands him his helmet. Or what's left of it, anyway. The visor is broken, the part that sits above the jaw seems to have been sliced off entirely, and there are several dents on the other side. Your eyes meet Cal’s again in worry, but he avoids your gaze entirely. 

“Let’s move.”

The trek back to the ship is quick, as per the relentless pace of the two men. There are some obstacles on the way though, where you need a little help. When crossing a river with a particularly strong current, you lose your footing on the rocky riverbed, and find yourself holding onto the next best thing, which happens to be the purge trooper. He lets you hold him as he guides you across to the other side, where he quickly shakes you off. You wonder if he’s really that uncomfortable to be close to you, and you make a mental note not to ask purge troopers for anything in the future, especially if it entailed physical contact of any kind. But what you didn't see were the Force daggers that Cal was stabbing into the back of the poor man’s head.

Not long after the river, you come face to face with an abrupt slope with a flat, rocky surface. It’s almost like a wall, leading to the plateau above. It’s too high to jump and too even to climb, so you wonder how you will get up there. Once again, Cal seems to read your mind, as before you can even ask, you see him essentially levitating up and onto the ledge above. Now that's a handy Force trick. You expect him to throw down a rope or something for you to hold onto, but instead, you're being lifted off the ground by an invisible force, as is the trooper next to you. Once you reach the top, you’re gently placed back on solid ground, while the trooper is let go far earlier, which he is unprepared for, so he falls forward and onto his knees with a grunt. But he gets back up onto his feet without complaints or remarks, simply dusting off his thighs and continuing the way back to the ship. You want to scold Cal a little for being unnecessarily mean, but the harshness still etched into his face, now stained with dry and flaky patches of blood, refrains you from making any comments. 

Finally, you make it back to a place you recognise, where the ship isn’t far away. You run off first, despite your muscles screaming in pain to finally give them some rest. The cargo door is closed, and you bang your hand on it twice.

“Open up!” you order, and the ramp opens with a mechanical hiss, then gets lowered down. You quickly climb up before it even completely reaches the ground.  

“Officer!” both stormtroopers exclaim in unison and in apparent relief when they see you alive and in one piece. One of them runs off to the equipment storage to get a blanket for you, and you gladly accept it. Only now do you realise how cold and stiff your whole body feels. 

“Have you been intercepting the messages?” you ask, grabbing a spare holopad to log into your receiver’s software to start decrypting. 

“Yes, and as you said, it’s a coded transmission made with static bursts” the first trooper explains, the one you had been on the cliff with. “I covered up the receiver with the canvas as you asked, and we’ve been monitoring it this whole time, but we didn’t know how to decrypt it without you…”

“That’s okay, that’s my job after all.” You playfully shove your elbow into his side. “I’m just glad you’re both alive.” You smile genuinely at them, and you wonder if they're smiling back at you from under their helmets as well. The Empire may think that stormtroopers are easily replaceable, but this is your squad. And you intend to take care of them.

You take a step back to take a seat and start decrypting, but your back bumps into something, or rather someone. You turn around just in time to see Cal gesture to the purge trooper, who once again merely gives a short nod, then heads to the cockpit.

“Let’s get out of here,” is the last thing you hear him say before the cockpit and cargo doors close with a hiss, and the engines start.

Cal and you just stand there for a moment, looking at each other. 

“Are you going to say something?,” you go first. “Because if not, I have work to do.”

You sit down and he doesn't stop you, instead taking a seat next to you. You type away on the holopad, letter by letter, and the message starts forming. By typing with both hands you’re quicker, but the blanket keeps slipping down from your shoulders. Cal notices and picks it up, wrapping your form in it properly again, and then leaving his arm around you so it would stay there. You give him a quick ‘thanks’, but don't stop what you're doing. For a moment you wonder if you're giving him the silent treatment, and if so, why, but you really have to get this thing decrypted, so you focus on that for the time being. 

At some point, Cal carefully places his head on your shoulder, and when you don't shoo him away, he properly gets comfortable. By then, you've written a program to automate the decoding. It's a bit crude and not your best, but it works. Now the decrypted message appears much faster, and it seems to be mostly correct, except for the occasional letter here and there. The message is still clear and understandable, though, and you can feel your focus and energy quickly depleting, so you decide it’s good enough for now. You set it up so that the live decryption gets sent back to HQ as your receiver feeds the rebel comms into it.

Setting down your holopad on the seat next to you with a yawn, you gently stroke Cal’s cheek.

“You awake?” you ask softly, and he hums.

“You done?” he asks back, and you hum as well.

Then you sit in silence again. The constant rumbling of the ship, combined with your adrenaline completely gone now, is all inviting you to the sweet embrace of sleep.

“We have to talk when we get back,” is the last thing you manage to mumble before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

— — —

You wake up to your shoulder being shaken and the repeated call of your name. Your eyes shoot open and you sit up straight, immediately slumping back down with a wince as your whole body aches, both because of the whole river action earlier, and sleeping in such a weird position. 

Standing up with a grunt, you shiver as you look down at yourself: still without a jacket, your boots and trousers are stained with dirt, moss and sand. Your upper half must look even worse. Especially with the marks on your neck and who knows where else, courtesy of the inquisitor himself. So you grab the blanket and wrap it around yourself like a hooded poncho of sorts, hoping to hide most of your face and dirty clothes.

“I called earlier and they're waiting with a stretcher for you at the hangar,” Cal says as you try to hide both your head and legs, but the blanket clearly isn't big enough for that. You turn around with a raised eyebrow. “They're going to wrap you up and take you straight to medbay. So no one will see you.”

“How–”

“I may or may not have said that you might have a slight case of hypothermia.”

“We were on a planet with tropical climate,” you retort.

“I was convincing,” is all he says.

You can't question him further, as you feel the familiar sway of a landing ship. When it hits the ground with a ‘clunk’, everything happens so quickly: the cockpit and cargo doors open, and Cal suddenly picks you up bridal style. He places you onto the promised stretcher which is already waiting at the base of the ramp, and two med troopers quickly wrap you up in an emergency foil blanket. Just like that, you're taken to the medbay. 

After your check-up, they tell you that other than being a little shaken and dehydrated, you're fine. You're free to stay a little longer to rest up, but you can also leave if you feel like it. And just like that, you're alone in the little room. How Cal managed to convince them to give you the private medbay room, you still don't know. But at this point, you should probably be used to it. Inquisitors seem to get almost anything they want here. Albeit at a cost.

The cot is decently comfy, and you consider staying here for a couple more hours to nap and rest up, knowing you won't be interrupted. So you get comfortable with a sigh, and just as you find a good position to sleep in, the doors open. You groan, lifting the blanket over your face. 

“I thought you were asleep,” Cal says as the doors close behind him and he approaches your bed. 

“I was about to be,” you reply with a sigh and fold the blanket back down to sit up properly. You're about to ask him what he wants, when you see that he’s sporting several bandages, one on his jaw, and some on his torso, visible through the white shirt he’s wearing. 

“Are you okay?,” you ask and scoot over on the bed to make what little room you can spare for him to sit. However, he stays where he stands.

“Just a couple of scratches, I’ve had worse,” he replies, but it doesn’t make you feel better. “What about you?”

“Well, it’s not hypothermia,” you joke, in an attempt to ease the strange tension building between the two of you, but he doesn’t react. “I’ve basically been discharged. I was just about to nap, but… what is it?”

He looks at you as if he didn’t know what you mean. But the whole time, he’s been chewing the inside of his cheek. Clearly something is on his mind, and right now you don't have the energy to play the back and forth game.

“You want to tell me something, right? So, tell me.” You want to sound trusting, but it comes out harsher than you meant. He seems slightly taken aback.

“You said earlier you wanted to talk,” he retorts defensively. “And I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitates for a second.

“We don’t need to keep–” He looks for the right word. “–seeing each other.”

You pause for a moment, trying to dig deeper behind his words and try to get the real meaning out, but you're lost and rather shocked by his words.

“What do you mean?” you repeat yourself, alarmed.

He sighs, running his hand through his hair; he's nervous.

“I didn’t want you to see it,” he starts, avoiding looking at you. “It’s a side of me I didn't want you to see.”

“Oh,” you say, and you understand what he's getting at; the whole hunting and killing Jedi business. 

“What do you mean, ‘oh’?” he asks, his eyes finding yours and narrowing them at you. “Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I mean, we can talk about it if you want to. I–” You sheepishly fidget with your fingers on your lap. You actually wanted to talk about how he treats his purge troopers, but this is far more important, you realise. “Yeah, let’s talk about that.”

Before he can inquire what you actually meant to talk about, you gesture for him to sit next to you. He still doesn’t move.

“Please sit,” you insist, and finally, he does. With the extra weigh dipping the mattress, you kind of lean into his side. You keep talking, both of you looking ahead. “Everything I said earlier, it still stands, you know.”

He doesn’t respond, so you continue.

“About the… warmth. And you being you and still deserving it.” You gingerly place your hand over his, and he momentarily flinches, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m not stupid, Cal. I know what you do. I’ve been aware of it from the start. And I simply don’t care. It’s not like my job is any better. My work also has… certain consequences, for others. And I’ve made peace with it.”

Finally you dare look up at him, his gaze still cast down. You can feel him trembling slightly though.

“You may be an inquisitor to others, but to me you're just Cal.” You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. “Cal who makes pancakes with me. Cal who calls in a stretcher for me so I can save myself the embarrassment of my boss seeing me being a dirty, flustered mess. Cal who would stab someone else for looking at me the wrong way.”

He chuckles lightly at that. You reach out to cup his face, and make him look at you.

“But also the Cal who has nightmares. Cal who is sometimes scared out of his mind. Cal who asks me to stay the night because he doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. I want all of them.” You pause for a second, but you’re too tired to fight the question that’s been pestering your mind for ages now. “And all those versions of Cal… they give me warmth too. Right?”

His shoulders slump slightly with a sharp exhale.

“They do,” he finally answers in a voice so small you almost miss it. 

“Glad we could clear that up then,” you say just as softly, and close the gap to place a kiss to his lips, and he reciprocates so tenderly, holding your face like it could crumble any moment and disappear through his fingers. 

You want to pull back from the kiss, but his lips follow yours, capturing them once again. Cal climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the mattress.

“Don’t you want to get back to–” you try offering to move to a better location, but your words are interrupted by the squeal you let out as he pinches your side. 

“We have to make up for lost time,” he states, getting back to attacking you with kisses, each one more and more ferocious.

You hear the distinct hiss of the doors opening, but Cal is quick to close them again with a quick flick of his wrist. From the other side, you can hear the nurse complaining. 

“The officer is busy,” Cal calls over his shoulder, looking down at you the way a predator looks at its prey. “Come back later.” 

— — —

Later that night, after a shower and slipping into your comfiest PJs, you’re both in his bed. Cal lies on his back and you have your head on his chest, drawing random figures onto his shirt. 

“Are you sure about this?” Cal asks for the hundredth time. 

“Yes,” you reassure him, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can place a kiss on his nose. “I’ll talk you through it. Just, try to stay in the dream. It will all work out, I promise.” 

“Right,” he sighs, closing his eyes, and takes a deep breath. 

You get back to cuddling into his side, and the even drumming of his heartbeat does quick work of lulling you to sleep.

It doesn’t take long, however, and you wake up to Cal twitching again. His brows are furrowed, his hands holding onto the bedsheet for dear life, and you sit up next to him, caressing his hair and holding his hand, whispering words of encouragement.

Cal is back on Bracca, collecting scraps from the same ships that he used to call home back when he was a Padawan. That seems so long ago now. Lifetimes ago. And maybe it is. 

What would his younger self think of what he is now? 

Cal stands at the edge of the partially stripped apart engine, impossibly small against the size of the machinery. A voice calls out to him, and he turns around. The world around him spins, turning into a blinding white, and he shields his eyes from the sudden change with his hands. 

“Why are you here?” a trembling voice asks.

Cal looks up, meeting his own eyes, still a greenish blue, of his 13-year-old self. Disappointment and horror etched into his little face.

“What have you done?” another voice spits condescendingly.

Cal whips around, now looking at his master, Jaro Tapal, looking at him in disgust. 

“Cal!” 

He turns around again, starting to get dizzy, and his body freezes up, he can’t breathe. He’s standing at the edge of a scrapper platform now, surrounded by other people he used to know, but all their faces are blurred or scratched out. However, he can clearly see Prauf, his good friend Prauf, confronting the Second Sister. She holds her sabre at his throat, the blade sizzling in the rain. The red hue reflects in Prauf’s eyes.

Cal instinctively reaches out to his belt, expecting to find his own lightsabre, but it’s not there. He looks down at himself, and sees that he’s donning full inquisitor armour. 

“Kill him,” the Second Sister orders.

Finally, Cal seems to be able to move and breathe again, and he takes a huge gulp of air. 

“I said, kill him,” she repeats.

“No,” Cal says, and she slowly turns around to him. 

“No?”, she chuckles, but the venom spills out of her voice like an overflowing glass of spotchka. It burns. 

Suddenly, Cal is shoved in her direction against his will, and his inquisitor lightsabre appears in his hand. His arm is lifted into the air by an invisible force, about to swing down on top of Prauf’s head. 

“Do it!” she yells, and Cal screams as well, trying with all his might to hold back his arm. 

He hates this, he wants out. It hurts too much. The force trying to push down his arm and the sad look in his friend’s eyes tear into his heart like iron claws, shredding everything in its way.

Cal can hear the Second Sister’s voice yelling, urging him to get it done, but he hears something else too: it’s you. Your voice cuts through the cacophony of the scrapping grounds, pushing away all sounds of machinery, drills, saws, the rain itself and the inquisitor’s voice. Shoving it all aside, there’s just you.

“It’s okay, Cal,” you say, and the oppressing force on his arm is lifted with every word of yours. “I’m here, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Finally, the force is gone entirely, and he screams in both pain and relief. Cal lets go of his weapon, which retracts mid-air with a whirr, and it falls to the ground. 

The world around him freezes, and everyone disappears. He’s back in the blinding white room, now  in his old scrapper outfit.

“Cal,” Prauf’s voice comes from behind him, and the redhead whips around. 

“My friend,” Prauf says warmly, as he always did, and stretches out his arms. A silent invitation. 

Cal hesitates only for a second, then gives in. Taking the few steps that separate the two, he lets himself be embraced by the Abednedo. Unable to hold back, he cries into his friend’s chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps between sobs. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” the older man comforts him, lightly patting Cal’s back. “It’s not your fault.”

After a few more moments, when Cal’s cries subside, he pulls back to look up at Prauf.

“Why am I here?” he asks.

Prauf smiles down at him.

“I just wanted to let you know: it’s not your fault,” he says, placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “And to say thank you, for being my friend. I hope you found your way off Bracca and can have a peaceful life. You’ve been through so much, kid.”

Cal feels another wave of tears prickling behind his eyes.

“You never really belonged on Bracca, but I’m glad I met you,” Prauf says, his voice trailing off, as if swept off by the wind, as his image also starts disappearing from in front of Cal. “I hope you found your place.”

“No, wait!” he calls, trying to hold on to him, but his hands phase through the shadow of the figure still left.

Suddenly, Cal sits up on the bed with a scream, which takes you by surprise and you flinch backwards, falling onto your hands on the bed. 

He holds his shirt over his heart so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and with a broken sob, he lets himself fall back onto the bed. You hurry to scoot closer.

“You were right,” Cal says between sobs. “The Force was trying to get a message to me.”

That night, you hold him as he cries, this time not out of fear, but because he can finally allow himself to grief the loss of a friend from a long time ago.

I found my place, Prauf, Cal thinks, about to drift off to sleep after the exhaustion of crying takes over. He looks at you lying on his chest one last time, a soft smile spreading on his lips.

He hopes that some day, he’ll be able to find warmth just with you, not needing to resort to other methods ever again. And maybe then, finally, he can offer you all the warmth back that he forgot he held.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover, @lovelyygirl8, @cathyket

[unformula1]

everything fell apart (CL16 x reader)

everything fell apart (CL16 x reader)

part 1 (everything's falling apart) | part 3 (everything's gone) series masterlist- everything (you're losing me)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

synopsis: choose something babe, i got nothing.

“When were you going to tell me that this is happening?” He says, his hands gesturing at you two.

“Charles don’t say stupid things.” Arthur intervenes which gets him the deadliest glare from Charles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairing: charles leclerc x reader / arthur leclerc x reader

word count: 1299

a/n: wasn’t planning on part 2 but here we go!!! also Charles’ personality is COMPLETELY fictional, I promise he’s NOT like this. also sorry if this isn’t how yall want this to go :\ I tried. pretty rushed too. leave suggestions in comments or requests or anything tbh.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @janeholt3 @boherahpsody @kryingkat22 @iamkaku @vizzzashley

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi.” He finally picked up.

“Hi Arthur.”

“Hola. What’s up?” He sounds like he’s chewing something, you hear distant keyboard clicking sounds in the background.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask, holding back the sobbing.

“No! Never a bad time!” He excitedly says, his voice resembles Charles’ a lot. 

“Can we talk?” 

“Sure!” 

You hear more keyboard clicking and shuffling of stuff before Arthur lets you start.

“I love your brother.” You start off strong.

“Mhm. Clearly.” Arthur replies.

“Does he love me back?” You ask.

“Of course he does.” Arthur responds, pretty naively.

“Because lately he’s been a lot more… aggressive and he’s been going out a lot. We haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks.” You ramble, still trying your best to hold back your tears.

“Oh.” Arthur hesitates, “Really?”

“Mhm.” You respond, “And he’s definitely not the sweetheart I fell in love with.” 

The first sob comes out, along with a teardrop. You quickly wipe it off with your hands, taking a deep breath.

“Mon ami, don’t cry.” He says almost instantly after your first sob.

Arthur and Charles were brothers, but they were also vastly different in many ways. Arthur definitely read people better but Charles treated them like royalty (used to). 

Right now, Arthur’s voice is all you need, him and his calming voice. You desperately needed someone who could understand you, someone who would get what you were going through.

Arthur.

“I’m trying really… really hard.” You say in between sobs, which were growing much more intense.

Arthur doesn’t respond, you can hear his breathing. He hesitates. You don’t care, all you need is someone to listen to you.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m losing him and it kills me every time that shows.” Your filter completely turns off as your sobs turn into full-on crying.

You’re tired of this.

“It’s okay darling…” Arthur whispers across the phone.

His voice is the most comforting thing in the world. Charles’ voice too, but that was before all this happened. 

“What if…” You let out a loud cry, just thinking about it, “What if… he’s found someone else.” 

You let out a louder cry and you descend completely into tears and rambling. Across the phone, you hear shuffling of feet and footsteps.

“Please stay on the phone. I’m coming over. You’re at Charles’ house right?” He says, door locking can be heard, “Stay there.”

You try to reply to him but you just let out more cries. You manage to will out a mhm for him which earns you a sigh.

You stay on the call, no words are exchanged, you’re just crying and he’s doing whatever he can to comfort you.

“Charles would never.” Arthur reassures you, “He’s faithful.”

You hope so too. You desperately hope so.

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

It doesn’t take long before you hear a doorbell ring. By now, your entire face is red and your eyes are puffy. You’re not a pretty cry-er but you could care less. Your hands are clasped together with tissues lying all over. 

You quickly walk over to the door, adjusting your hair to at least look partially presentable for Arthur. 

You take a deep breath and you open the door.

“Charles?” Your voice raises an octave or two. 

“Yes?” He responds, as cold as he can sound.

“What are you doing-” You stutter out whatever words you can say.

He looks up from his phone, looking at your red and teary-eyed face, turning his attention to the couch which is ridden with crumpled up tissues.

He looks at your phone, and the call with Arthur.

“What were you doing?” Charles questioned, it sounded harsh and brutal, like an interrogation.

“Talking… and crying.” You hold back the tears just thinking of everything that happened.

“Talking to Arthur?” He says, even more suspiciously.

“Yes.” You reply.

He looks at you dead in the eye and keeps his phone in his pocket, taking a few steps toward you. Naturally, you take a few steps back. He stops and glares at you. You clutch onto your phone. 

Looking at your phone, Arthur has muted himself in the call but a message drops from the top of your phone.

what now?

You didn’t know either. 

Your head spun round the different possibilities right now.

“Mon amour… give me the phone.” He says, stretching out his hand to take the phone.

You scoff in your head. Mon amour. As if.

Another message from Arthur pops up.

give it to him

You look at the message and look back up at Charles, whose hand is still outstretched.

Give it? What were you? You weren’t just something Charles could command around. 

“No.” You shakily say out.

Charles' voice grows angrier, “Please.”

“I want to hold onto it.” You insist. Your heart pounds hard against your ribcage.

Your phone buzzes a few more times before the call disconnects. 

Charles’ face looks mad and horrified, maybe a mix of both, added with a little bit of anger. 

“Don’t make this hard… please.” He says, the “please” feeling more fake than ever.

Arthur appears at the front door, which is still wide open.

The Leclercs share a glance before Charles returns his glare to you. 

“Charles.” Arthur says, with that accent which you fell in love with one too many times.

“Arthur, please leave… right now.” Charles demands.

“Charles.” Arthur repeats, taking a step closer to you two.

“So when were you going to tell me?” Charles scoffs, alternating between looking at you and Arthur.

“What?” You say.

“When were you going to tell me that this is happening?” He says, his hands gesturing at you two.

“Charles don’t say stupid things.” Arthur intervenes which gets him the deadliest glare from Charles.

“I’m not stupid.” Charles says, taking a few steps backward, “I know what this is.”

Is he being serious? After all you’ve done for him? The audacity of him to think you were unfaithful. It killed everything inside of you knowing you would never do such a thing. 

You snap.

“Are you fucking serious?” You say, the essence of sobbing is still there.

“After all I’ve done for you?” You continue, taking big steps toward him. This kills you too, it hurts everything inside you, “I loved you. I loved everything about you.” 

“Liar.” Charles scoffs harder.

Your eyes widen. You had to process his words. Liar? Liar? LIAR? 

“What?” It was less of a question and more of infuriated word placement.

“I fought for this. I fought against the world for me to be able to have you. And all I did was bleed.” You shout, your voice raising with every word.

Charles looks shocked. His face is blank and unreadable, his eyes glow an unfamiliar glow. It’s not angry or sad, it’s like he’s…confused.

The realisation of what you said quickly hit you back. You love Charles, you really do. Were those too harsh? 

“Guys…” Arthur quickly breaks the tense silence, “Maybe we should sit down?” 

“No- I’m not doing this.” Charles slams his hand onto a nearby table, grabbing his bag and storming out of the house, not forgetting to push Arthur out the way.

“Charles!” Arthur calls out to no avail as Charles storms down the corridor.

Arthur quickly turns his attention to you.

“I-” He doesn’t know what to say, “I didn’t know what to say-”

You look at him, your eyes watering up and before you knew it, you were running into his arms, breaking out in tears.

He hugged tightly onto you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating in your ears as you slowly descended into just crying and sobbing. Your tears staining his shirt.

“What do I do now?” You say in between deep breaths.

“I…” Arthur looks at you, then around you, “I don’t know.”

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Linger

Sirius Black x rockstar! f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, like pretty rough guys he bites you till you bleed, underage drinking, underage smoking, a lot of smoking tbh, drunkish sex, kinda has a plot so yeah lmk if i missed anything

summary: you and your band mates decide to go out to a pub, where you end up meeting the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: guys i’m so bad at these summaries holy. this is probably my favorite fic i’ve written. the flirting and the tension like omg. trust me. also, let’s pretend The Runaways are british and let’s pretend everything id accurate hahaha. enjoy ;)

~~~

“Do you think we’ll be recognized tonight?”

You turn to your bandmate, Joan, and shrug. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What pub are we going to again?” She asks.

“The one where they let underage people in, of course, you’re still the only one who’s twenty-one in the band you know,” you reply.

The other two members of your band, Sandy and Lita, are ahead of you, engulfed in their own conversation. You slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket and try to keep up. You’ve been in the band for a few months as the new lead singer. Their old one left to start her own band, claiming it to be more successful. Yet your band is the one that’s gotten sold-out shows, interviews on television, and pictures in magazines. Sometimes you like to think it was fate that she left, and you just so happened to be in town the night they were holding auditions. The fans surely enjoy your voice more, they make you out to be the leader even though you’re only seventeen and the newest member. You don’t mind though, and neither do your bandmates.

It’s almost ten when you arrive at the pub and thankfully no one has recognized you yet, or they have and simply haven’t said anything. There’s no one at the door to check IDs just like Sandy had said. The four of you enter fast and find a table. The music is loud, the lights are low, and people are dancing all over. You like it, a lot.

“Drinks?” Lita questions a few seconds after you sit.

“You know it!” Joan replies.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Sandy takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”

“Obviously,” you answer, holding your hand out. She hands you one, you’re quick to light it and stick it between your lips, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. “How come the police haven’t found this place?”

Joan rolls her eyes. “They have.”

“And? Why don’t they shut it down?”

“They have people who come here, of course, sons, daughters, you know that sort of thing. It may be illegal but it’s trustworthy,” she explains. “Why do you care anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious I suppose.”

Lita arrives back at the table, four glasses held in her arms. You take yours fast, eager to taste whatever liquor she got for you. It’s bitter, with a hint of sweetness in it. Based on the color as well, your guess is some sort of vodka mix. You drink it despite the awful aftertaste it leaves in your mouth. The cigarette between your fingers helps a bit. The four of you talk for a while and enjoy the peace of having no fans around.

“You should go to the bar y/n,” Lita says after some time. “Or well it might be too late now, but when I was there, I saw a boy your age, remarkably handsome.”

Sandy laughs. “You’re trying to send her home with someone already?”

Lita nudges the other girl with her shoulder. “No, I’m only trying to get some new song material.”

“We’ll see if there’s any potential,” you say, taking the last sip of your drink and getting up. You brush down your hair. “Do I look alright?”

“You’re always beautiful,” Joan answers, letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Wish me luck.” You chuckle before heading to the bar.

With every step you take, you feel eyes on you. Most belong to older men who shouldn’t even be paying you any mind. You’re used to the feeling of being watched, with all the fans and paparazzi that corner you before and after gigs. So, you move through the pub without a second thought about it.

In the back of your head, you curse yourself for not asking Lita what the guy looks like. For a moment you question how you’re supposed to find him, but then your curious eyes find one guy who stands out. He’s leaning on the wall, a glass in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. Based on his face, you figure he can’t be more than nineteen. And oh, how right Lita was. His hair is dark and long, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a simple white tee shirt and baggy jeans. Despite the distance, you swear you can make out a sliver of a tattoo on his shoulder. He’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous.

You approach him carefully, thinking of different opening lines in your head. Would it be wrong to use your fame to get him to take you home? Probably. But you’ve seen Joan do it plenty of times. She always says it’s simply a tool and that you should use it to your advantage. You’ve never done it though. Perhaps it’s your little amount of consciousness that remains that tells you it’s wrong. You don’t know and the alcohol in your system doesn’t help. So, when you reach him, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

He looks at you, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hello.”

“How old are you?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for such a question.

“What are you a cop?” He chuckles.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “No uh... sorry.”

“It’s fine love, just not a very good pick-up line,” he replies. He takes his cigarette out, his eyes locked on yours. “Especially since you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Seventeen actually.” You correct him.

“Ah, well there’s something we share then.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you comforts you. There’s no recognition in his eyes at all. You can tell. To him, you are just another girl. Not the lead singer of The Runaways. Just a simple girl.

“You can try again if you’d like,” he says. You look at him, confused. “Try another pick-up line.”

You gently smile and think for a few seconds. Nothing better comes to mind.

“Come here often?”

He laughs. “Somehow I think that was worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Usually, I’m better at this sort of thing,” you reply. You put your hands back in your pockets, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment of silence. He takes a sip of his drink; you stare at his hand. The way it looks wrapped around the glass makes your stomach fill with butterflies. You hate how much you want him to take you home. You don’t even know his name. But he’s handsome, so much so it makes you unable to think straight. You need to know more.

“Are you from around here?”

He nods. “Born and raised in London. You?”

For a split second you wonder, if he’s from London how come he doesn’t know who you are? Sure, your band isn’t on the same level of success as Queen or ACDC but you’re also not underground. You push the thought away.

“Originally from Westchester but now I’m here in London for... work,” you answer.

“Work? I thought you were seventeen.”

“Yes but, eighteen next month. I already finished school.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Wish I could say the same, I still have another year left. Though, I rather enjoy school, gets me away from my dear parents.”

“Oh, where do you go?”

You notice the way he shifts his posture. “Out of the country, you wouldn’t know of it.”

“Like a boarding school?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

You look around the pub, a slight feeling of awkwardness blooming within you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve done this before. You decide to blame it on the cheap vodka because really, you’re better than this.

“So, what’s your name then?” You ask after a few more minutes.

“Does it really matter?” He replies, catching you a bit off guard. He flicks the ash off his cigarette, his dark eyes on yours. “All of it’s the same.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t play dumb love, I know this isn’t your first time. I’m sure you’ve chatted up many other lads and had them take you home.” There’s something about the tone in which he speaks that has your knees almost wobble.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, leaning over to a small table discards his cigarette in an ashtray, and leaves his glass. When he leans back on the wall, now with both of his hands-free, he buries them in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He looks down at you with an expression that could send your morals far out of mind. You want him, terribly. And you think he knows this.

“Besides the fact that you said you’re usually better at this, you’re also possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he eventually answers.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless thanks for the compliment.”

“I mean it. Most girls I see still wear those long skirts and sweaters, but you, you’re dressed like you could pass as a rock star.”

Your face heats up once again. You know he’s right. With your leather jacket, flared jeans, high-heeled boots, and small tight top you know it’s clear what kind of person you are. Your makeup only adds to it, black smudged eyeliner and glitter on your eyes. It’s a toned-down version of what you wear on stage. He doesn’t need to know that though.

You give him a smile and shrug. “Rock is my favorite genre, what can I say? You sort of got that look too though, not quite as intense.”

“Not a gentleman?” He chuckles.

“No.” You laugh, shaking your head. “At least I hope not.”

“I see. You don’t fancy the good boys. Well fortunately for you, I’m a bit of a troublemaker. At least, that’s what my schoolmates and family say,” he mentions. “What’s wrong with the good boys anyway? They could treat you like a lady.”

“Too gentle, I’m not a fan of it,” you answer honestly.

He smirks, sending warmth straight to your core. “So is your intention to get me out of here and treat you... not gently?”

“My intention is simply to buy you another drink, maybe enjoy a dance or two. What happens at the end of the night is not particularly on my mind right now. I’m more focused on learning your name. Why? Is that what you’d fancy?” You counter, looking up at him through your long lashes.

It has the effect you hoped for because he stands up straight, his back finally off the wall. He offers his hand to you, and you take it softly in yours. It’s so much bigger, so much warmer. You try your hardest to kill all the thoughts of where else you’d like him to touch you with his hand.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself.

“Like the star?” You question without thinking.

“Yes, like the star. Now what’s your name.”

“Y/n y/l/n,” you say.

“Charmed. So, how about that drink?”

You smile. It’s going to be a good night, you know it.

The next few hours go by in a flash. You and Sirius drink more than you probably should and dance to the many different songs that play on the jut box. A few different times throughout the night you find the eyes of your bandmates, each of them giving you big smiles and thumbs up as they watch you with Sirius. At one point Joan makes a lewd hand gesture, and you barely get a chance to see Lita smack her. It’s past twelve when you find yourself outside the pub with Sirius sitting on a curb sharing a cigarette.

“I hate these bloody shoes,” you mumble as you dig your heel into the pavement. “They make my feet sore.”

“Then why do you wear them?” Sirius asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You exhale a long breath of smoke, passing the half-burnt cigarette back to him. “I dunno. Beauty is pain.”

“For some, but I’m sure even without those things you’re just as pretty. Actually, I would bet pounds on that being true,” he replies.

“I think I’m rather plain without all this. Would you think the same of me without my makeup and outfit?”

You watch him smirk. “I should think you look even prettier without all of that on. Especially the clothes.”

Your stomach fills with butterflies for the thousandth time tonight. Your shyness left hours ago when you took your first shot. So, instead of simply blushing and looking away, you stand and look down at him with your own smirk.

“Quite the charmer. How about you find come back to mine and find out for yourself?”

He takes one last drag of the cigarette before standing, flicking it to the pavement, and crushing it beneath his sneaker. You watch helplessly as he releases a cloud of smoke, his hand now held out to you.

“I’d quite like that. Lead the way.”

~~~

You don’t know how you keep your composure the whole way home, especially with Sirius’s hand handing yours the entire time. On the train, as you sit, your head on his shoulder, he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. It’s a gesture that makes you glad you aren’t standing because your legs feel like jelly. And on the walk up to your apartment, he lets go of your hand and instead places it on the small of your back. You almost fall down the stairs at the contact.

Once you’re inside you immediately take off your boots, leaving them somewhere by the front door. Your jacket follows, only it’s hung on one of your kitchen chairs. When you turn to look at Sirius you find his eyes wandering all over your apartment, examining the details you assume. His sneakers are off, his hands are in his pockets.

“You must have a special job, this place is wonderful,” he says.

“My mates help me with the money, it’s not all mine,” you reply. It’s true, they do help you earn money from performing. You step closer to him, your hands behind your back. “And it’s really not that big. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one very tiny living room combined with the kitchen. But it’s more than enough for me. Would you like the tour?”

“Of course, if the tour starts in your bedroom.”

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face. “Follow me.”

The walk is fast, with every step you feel your heart rate increase. You’ve done this a few times, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s because all the other guys can’t compare to Sirius’s beauty in the slightest. Or perhaps it’s because you already like him a bit more than you should for a one-nighter. You don’t know. And you don’t care to know because you’re about to reach your door.

You open the door fast, letting him in first, and closing it behind you. It’s dark, the only lights coming from outside your small window. You don’t reach for the lights though. Instead, you step closer to the boy, the sound of your breathing suddenly far too loud for your liking. His silhouette moves closer to you as well. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force pushing the two of you together, and you find yourself liking it.

He touches you first. One of his hands finds your waist, he guides you to him faster. Soon enough, you’re practically pressed against him. You can barely breathe from the proximity. You’ve never felt something this intense. You look up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Still want me to not be gentle?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say, pressing one of your hands to his chest. You’re happy to find his heart is racing just like yours. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright.”

Before you can even think of another thought, his lips are on yours. You kiss back instantaneously, your hand moving up into his hair. It’s soft, like you expected. He’s far from gentle with his kissing, and you’re glad. His lips move fast on yours, his teeth scraping your tongue. He bites down on your lip so hard you whimper, and the metallic taste of your blood clouds your senses.

Still, despite the pain, when he pulls back you almost whine from the loss of contact. But his hands move fast to pull your shirt up. You help him get it off, then move to his. Through the darkness, you can see the few tattoos he has on his chest and shoulder. They’re dark, they’re beautiful. You run your fingertips over them as he leans back down and connects your lips once again. You begin to guide the two of you towards your bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. Sirius doesn’t follow you though. Instead, he stands between your legs at the foot of the bed and begins to undo the buttons of your jeans. You watch in awe, lifting your hips to help him drag them down your legs, leaving you only in your bra and panties. You sit up, your eyes on him, as you start undoing his belt.

After his jeans are on the floor he pushes you back down on the mattress, climbing over you this time. You kiss him deeply, dragging one of your hands down his warm back, and weaving the other through his hair. That warmth deep inside you has grown, consuming you entirely. You can feel the wetness between your legs, surely staining your panties. You’ve never been so turned on by a guy in your life.

He suddenly parts your kiss, his lips beginning to move down your jaw and neck. You moan, throwing your head back to give him more access. When he bites down on you, so hard you can feel a stinging from it breaking skin, you pull at his hair, sounds of pleasure escaping your swollen lips.

Eventually, after leaving many hickeys and bite marks on your neck, he pulls back entirely and flips you over onto your stomach. You smirk against the mattress as you feel him unclip your bra. To help get it off, you lift yourself on your hands, and the straps quickly fall. You throw it off without even thinking about it. You’re about to turn back but Sirius presses a hand between your shoulder blades, silently telling you to stay as you are. You don’t hesitate to comply.

You feel him move and instinctively you lift your hips in the air. He places a kiss on your back, it almost makes you shiver. Then his hands are on your hips, pulling your last piece of clothing off. You normally would feel some sense of vulnerability at this point. Completely naked with your ass in the air. But the alcohol mixed with the utter need you have for Sirius takes control. You feel him shift.

“Do you have a rubber?” The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your legs together.

“Unless you have a disease, you don’t need one. I’m on birth control,” you answer, looking over your shoulder at him.

“No diseases I swear,” he says.

“Then proceed.”

You get up properly on all fours, the anticipation killing you. When he positions his tip at your entrance, you inhale sharply. He rubs his cock through your wet folds for a few seconds, brushing against your clit ever so slightly, before thrusting inside you in one quick, hard motion. You can’t help the moan that leaves you. He’s big, stretching you in a way that’s on the brink of being painful. It’s perfect.

He fucks you hard, very hard. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. At one point, your arms give out and your face presses against the mattress. Your hands twist in the sheets, your moans muffled by the bed. Sirius doesn’t like this. He twists one of his hands in your hair and pulls you up, the pain only adding to the building of your orgasm.

“Sirius,” you gasp. “Fuck Sirius.”

He’s relentless. He fucks you through your first orgasm, not faltering for even a second. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, pulling out and flipping you onto your back. You scratch your nails down his back as he begins to fuck you in missionary, your lips on his.

You don’t know how long passes by the time he tells you he’s close. What you do know is that your second orgasm is not far either. With tears in your eyes, you let him switch positions once again, this time you’re on top of him. Your muscles are weak and sore, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him as well as you can. Sweat covers your body, and incoherent words drip off your lips. You can barely take it anymore.

“I-I’m almost there,” you mumble.

“Me too love,” Sirius replies, his breath ragged. “Finish us both off.”

You struggle to hold yourself up, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, just a few more minutes,” he assures you, running one of his hands through your hair.

Much to his word, in a few minutes, he finishes. Hard. He moans your name in an indescribable tone, and his cock pulses inside you so intently, it causes your second orgasm to occur. As this happens, you lie on his chest, both of your breathing very uneven. He holds you tight against him.

Eventually, you roll off him and stare at your ceiling. You try to comprehend what just happened. Never in your life have you experienced something so intense. Most of the time when you told guys to be rough with you, they’d be turned off. But Sirius... You turn to your side to face him.

“Want a smoke?”

“Certainly.”

~~~

It’s safe to say, you don’t let him go all summer. You spend every second you can with him. Most of the time in your sheets, but a good amount doing other things. You paint his nails black, teach him how to wear eyeliner, and how to dress more like yourself. You enjoy every second you get with him.

He never does discover your fame, at least he never says so. You think he would know. Each time you go out you try your hardest to be unnoticeable and you always hide away magazines and switch the channel whenever something about your band is shown. But he never does say anything. Sometimes at night, you sing to him softly and you always laugh when he tells you that you should take it professionally.

You learn how much he hates his family, except for his little brother. You learn he loves Queen and David Bowie. You learn his favorite color is ironically black. You learn as much about him as you can and with each fact you do learn, you only fall more for him. But you never speak of it. You know the inevitable ending.

On the night before he goes back to school, the two of you lay in your bed, a thick silence between you. As usual, you pass a cigarette back and forth. Only this time, there are no words accompanying. Until he speaks.

“For once, I’m not looking forward to going back.”

You turn to your stomach and look at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me either,” he agrees. He holds the cigarette to you; you take it fast. “I can phone you if you want. You know, while I’m there. Or send letters.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” You question.

“I think I really fancy you, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

You give him a weak smile and press a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Sirius.”

~~~

A few months later...

“Five minutes till show time,” an assistant tells you.

You’re sitting in your dressing room backstage. Joan, Sandy, and Lita all have their own space now. You find it funny how much The Runaways have blown up since the summer. Now, everywhere you turn you see yourself in a magazine or a news article. You can’t go anywhere without being recognized, or without the paparazzi showing up.

As you look in the mirror your mind travels back to Sirius. This happens a lot. Right before a concert, you think of him. Sometimes you wonder if maybe he’s out there listening. You haven’t heard from him since he went to school. You aren’t angry, only a bit sad. You’re mostly grateful though. He inspired most of the songs in your number-one album that got the band all the new attention.

You stand from the vanity and sigh. Tonight, your performance is being televised worldwide. Beside the door is your guitar, you pick it up as you begin your journey out to the stage. You’ve got a good lineup, even a small intermission for a happy birthday song. You hope wherever he is he hears it.

After all, it is November 3rd.

[dokidokitsuna]

Magical Girl #1

So I realize I haven’t been posting a lot here lately…there are several reasons.

Most of it was just a garden-variety depressive episode, which was unfortunately extended after I had to go on antibiotics for a couple weeks. It got to a point where I considered canceling a bunch of projects because I just didn’t like to draw anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Still recovering from that, tbh…)

After a while I decided to focus on my writing instead, at least to take my mind off that frightening thought. ^^; I got pretty far into a new novel (which I’ll probably talk about later) but more importantly, I managed to complete a 19-page script for ^this concept, the first new original comic idea I’ve had in years.

It’s basically my take on the idea of a solitary magical girl, which you don’t see so much of nowadays…I think the most famous is Cardcaptor Sakura, and even she had some magical sidekicks (iirc, they just had different sources of power, something like that). I’m not familiar with any examples in the genre where it’s literally just her, ala typical Western superhero…

But that’s not really the reason I wanted to write this story– I developed it mainly to explore the idea of a solitary protagonist, someone who doesn’t have any conventional social relationships outside of their family, AND doesn’t use the story to form any. How could I develop an entertaining story around such a person; what sort of character arc would they go through? Might this character realize, to some degree, that they’re not a ‘traditional’ protagonist, and have some thoughts about this…?

For a while I toyed with the idea of applying this framework to an existing idea, but then I figured it’d be easier (and shorter) to write a completely new self-contained story. Which led to the creation of Anno the magical girl, and her partner Armitage. ^^

My #1 rule was ‘no crutches’: No making her (2) family members stick to her like glue and take the place of the usual friendgroup, for instance. This rule also forced me to change the usual characterization of the helpful fairy sidekick to that of an abusive parasite…which ended up being one of the best writing decisions I ever made. ^^ I love Armitage; not only are he and Anno a great comedy duo, but I think his meanness makes Anno a stronger character.

His worst ‘friendless loser’ insults towards her are just simple statements based (oddly enough) on things I’ve heard people express about themselves. So his dialogue becomes almost cathartic, and Anno’s reactions to it become more realistic as a result. She can’t just brush off his comments as meaningless hate; she kinda has to internalize them whether she wants to or not…if she were just a little more sensitive, this story would probably have a very unhappy ending. ^^;;; But as it is, it’s just an introspective comedy about a neurodivergent girl learning to love and trust herself.

I’m not 100% sure what I’m going to do with the script now that it’s done…mostly I’ve just been using it as motivation to draw for fun again, and to continue developing a manga style (I think I’m getting close to something solid).  But will I actually attempt to draw the manga? Will I try that thing I always wanted to try where I commission some artists to draw it with me…? Or will I just hang onto it and start writing a sequel in my spare time, like I usually do? ^^; Only time will tell…

[shakespearean-dream]

took me long enough

honorable mentions to @vasyandii for general inspiration, @/x_.0rion._x on tiktok for the hate speech on the tie idea and @average-hyperfixator for helping me with AM’s eyes 😭 go look and follow all of them they are all very talented and cool 🙏

WOW my eyes hurt after looking at this for roughly four hours... and 36 minutes 🤦‍♂️ it’s pretty easy to tell if you look at my art for long enough that i very much lean towards desaturated colors, but i wanted to be a little experimental for AM and go neon— but girl. after i applied the effects to him that SERIOUSLY brightened him up and i had to back down and make the bg a darker pink😭 my eyeballs are already not on my side i do not intend to strain them any further💀

here’s the unedited but rendered version as a treat lol. u can for sure see what i mean here 😭

when i was trying to figure out what to do with AM i realized i haven’t put very much thought into my hc’s for him— which ykw that’s okay because there’s never a better time than rn. i imagine AM as more of a really envious toxic guy who claims to hate their ex (humanity in this case) but does literally everything he can to imitate them, mostly thanks to the radio drama cause damn did you hear how jealous he was there???? ridiculous 😭

so with that in mind i tried to give him a bit of the vibe of a kid just now realizing they can actually express themselves through their appearance—hair, makeup etc— but is still kinda being held back by their environment, or in this case his coding. eventually he’ll get it figured out and be able to consistently look human (even as glitchy and game looking as he is now, it takes a lot of energy to stay like that for extended periods of time) but for now he’s stuck as a rock or computer monitor most of the time. and it drives him SO nuts.

i’m not quite sure where to go with my thoughts from there, so if you wanna comment or throw an ask in my ask box we can talk about AM and his silliness 😭 i truly think he’s one of the most interesting characters in media just because of how powerful yet emotionally blinded he is. tbh, i live to create and be emotional and just be human so in AM’s situation i’d go a little crazy too. not kill everyone except for 5 people and torture them for 109 years crazy, but crazy for sure💀💀 i’d like to hear your guys’s thoughts about it :]

ok it’s late i’m gonna go conk out 😭 one more quick reminder to check out my commission page if you have not, there has still not been an update on yolanda 😔

gn!!!!

[karpingaround]

diner shenanigans ˚ ༘ ⋆

- random oneshot i wrote at 3am :’)

A/N : 1.9k words, fluff, mother lowkey evil, mitsuya and y/n being sewing buddies, y/n is used a lot, not checked through cba sorry :), tbh i dont really like this that much but wtv

Mikey x F! Reader

-i love the blob blob blob

The diner was slower than the usual rush of people. It was a Saturday and past noon, and the diner was emptier than any other Saturday! To you, this was bliss. It saved you from constantly running around the building to collect and receive orders from customers, but also to serve the meals that were ordered.

However, now you were bored. You were still scootering around the diner for small check-ins and cleaning, but nothing was really keeping you occupied as usual.

 

If you had a choice, you would be at the arcade down the road with your friends. But since your parents owned the diner, you were basically forced into labour! Although you didn’t mind since the diner mainly revolved around sweet treats and desserts, meaning lots of snacks in case your appetite appeared.

Right now though, nothing was satisfying your tastebuds or boredom.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother shouted, pinching your cheek to grab your attention.

“ouch- ma, that hurts!”

 

“It should do! You’re slacking on the job again.”

 

“Is it really a job if I’m not getting paid? Ya know, this could be considered as forced child labour-!” At your attempt at being witty, your mother, grinned.

 

 

"Well, you eat half of the food we make for the customers, so you don’t need to be paid.”

 

You gasp, offended, while she laughs.

"Ma, I don’t eat that much!”

 

“Sure Y/n.” She took your hand and put your notepad and pan in your grip. “Some customers came in a few minutes ago at table 18. Go get their orders, and after that, I need you to clean up table 3 when they leave.”

 

“They haven’t even finished eating, ma?”

“Just trust me!”

 

At her words, you promptly walked over to table 18. As you approached, you realised that it was a group of boys dressed in black gang uniform!?! You debated turning back, however, it was too late; you were already at the table.

 

“Hi, are you guys ready to order?” You ask, holding your notepad up, prepared to jot down some squiggles of code. While you waited, you looked at the faces of the boys.

 

“I’ll have a-“ A boy with long black hair started before you cut him off.

“Takashj?” You asked impulsively, and in turn, the lavender-haired boy looked up at you.

“Hey-!?” The boy got cut off again as Takashj spoke.

 

“You work here, Y/n?” He smiled, ignoring his friend, who was flaming up in anger.

“Yea! My parents own the place; it’s nice to see you.” You smiled. Takashj was the club president of the sewing club! You had been in there since the start of the club, wanting to try to make an apron for the diner. You talked to Takashi and the boys about his sewing club, completely forgetting about your job until the table went quiet.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother shouts from the counter, and you flinch in fear. When you look back at her, she is irritatedly staring you down as you enjoy your job for a moment. How could she tell?!

 

Embarrassed, you clear your throat.

“Sorry about that. What would you guys like to order?” You completely switch to work mode, taking everyone’s orders.

 

“So, two lemonades, an apple juice, one strawberry shortcake, one coffee jelly, two cokes, and the banana shake special?”

You look at everyone as they approvingly nod before a blonde speaks up.

 

“Add five dorayaki to that, please!”

“Mikey, I told you five is too much!” Another blonde hisses from across the table.

"Well, I want five!”

The bickering carries on for a few minutes as you stand blankly, unsure of what to do.

 

“Y/n can you just add five dorayaki to the order?” Takashj whispers to you, watching as the two go back and forth in a game of rock-paper-scissors, best out of twenty.

 

“Are you sure?” You whisper back, not wanting to interfere.

“Yes, I just want this to be over.” He chuckles, and you smile in response.

“It’ll be on the house then.” You give him a thumbs up.

 

You clear your throat again, catching the two’s attention. “I’ll add five dorayaki on the house.” You smiled, and the two settled down; however, the blonde who ordered in the first place is beaming with joy.

 

“I’ll come back to you guys in a bit!” You cheerfully say, going to the counter and preparing the order. As you make the banana shake, you make sure to add more whipped cream for the blonde boy and give him two cherries on top and-

 

“Y/n, don’t waste ingredients!”

“sorry ma!”

 

You stop at the two cherries on top.

And as you prepare their bill, you make sure not to include the five dorayaki. You already eat that amount when working - what harm would it do if you gave your lunch to the particularly cute boy at Table 18?

 

Nervously, you started bringing their order over to the table. You hoped he wouldn’t notice the excess toppings you added on top of his banana shake or the fact that you only gave him the fresh dorayaki right from the oven.

 

As you neared, you noticed the boys go strangely quiet.

 

Ignoring the forbading feeling, you asked for each order, placing it in front of the person who ordered. When it came to the blonde boy, your face slightly heated up as you placed his banana shake and dorayaki in front of him without a word.

 

“Very cool, Y/n.” Takashi commented, to which you narrowed your eyes at him.

“What? I just gave him his order.” You said, acting clueless as the lavender boy gave you a sly grin.

 

“Anyway, here’s your bill; enjoy the meal!” You bow your head slightly in embarrassment before going off to the table, which your mother had told you to do. They did end up leaving after you served the boys, and thankfully, the table was on the other side of the diner.

 

Once you finished wiping the table, you dropped the dirty dishes off in the kitchen, and your mother was swift to tell you that the boys had left and you needed to clean again.

However, your mother never mentioned the pale blonde who still sat at the table.

 

“oh, can I take these?” You ask, leaning to get a glance at his face as he looks out the window. Quietly, he nods, and you take that as a sign to get out - ASAP! You were not in the mood to mess with a gang member right now, and by reading the embroidery on his jacket, he was the president of his gang!

 

After collecting the tableware, you counted up the abundance of pennies and notes left behind. With a few hundred yen tip, you smiled. What nice delinquents!

 

Finally, you collected up the tray and the money left behind. “Have a good day.” You muttered, catching the boys attention as you turned on your heel to leave.

 

“Wait, Y/n was it?” He stood up from his seat, seeming to be urgent.

 

“Yes, do you need something?” You smiled, feeling your cheeks burn up as you noticed his happy grin.

 

“Thank you for the extra cherry and whipped cream.”

 

“How did you notice?” You ask obliviously, smiling as you were caught red-handed.

 

“The other booth ordered a banana shake special, and theirs was much less full than mine.”

 

“Crap! Really? I might get sacked.” You joke to yourself, yet the boy laughs.

“and the five dorayaki as well.” He adds on, and you sigh. "Well, that was my lunch, so I won’t really get sacked for that.” You laugh, feeling your stomach grueling with hunger.

“You can still eat more, though, right?” He asks, a guilty smile on his face, and you give him a nod. You usually ate lots of snacks during work hours anyways..

 

“You really wanna work here on your days off from school?” He asks, noticing you drifting off in your thoughts.

 

“I mean, I did wanna go to the arcade today..” You mutter, wondering why you were still talking to the pretty boy that was making your palms get sweaty.

 

“I’m going there now! Wanna join?” He smiled at you, his head tilted like a puppy, as he offered.

 

“I don’t think my mother would approve.” You whisper before you both laugh.

 

“Y/n! Stop slacking!” Your mother calls out on cue, and you can only smile awkwardly at the boy. You look back at her, mouthing ‘one sec!’ before turning back to the boy, who is patiently waiting for you to finish.

 

“I’ve gotta get back to work, have a nice time at the arcade..?”

“Mikey.” His eyes turn to crescents as he smiles again. “See you, Mikey.” You spin on your heel, quickly going into the kitchen and geeking out to your friend, who was washing the dishes, about the boy you had just met.

 

“And then he asked me to go to the arcade with him!” You sulked, imagining what could’ve happened if you were able to go to the arcade.

“What about a lunch break? Maybe you could join him?” Yumi asked, wiping her hands as she finished washing up.

 

“ 'already took one, since I figured it was a slow day and I wouldn’t need another break.”

 

“So you can’t eat lunch with me?” Your friend pouted, taking off her apron, sewn by you.

“I mean, I could ask for a fifteen-minute pee break?”

Yumi laughs at your idea as you try to come up with excuses for why you could get out of work.

 

“Y/n!” Your mother suddenly shouts from the counter, and you immediately appear, worried you were about to be lectured for trying to skip work.

 

“Yes ma?”

 

“This boy wants to take you out.”

 

...

 

“What-?” You stutter as your mother nods her head, smiling at you teasingly.

“Who? Where is he?” You eagerly walk up to the counter, looking around for Mikey.

“Outside on his motorcycle. Another nut head.”

She comments, and you gasp.

"Ma, you can’t just say that!”

 

"Well, he’s crazy for wanting to take you out.” She laughs at her own joke, and you hear your friend and father both laugh along in the kitchen. "Ma, that’s just rude!”

 

“Y/n, are you going to keep the boy waiting?” Your mother asks, watching as you rock on the heels of your shoes in anxiety.

"Wait, I can go with him?” You don’t even wait for an answer as you take off your apron and slip on your jacket.

 

“Wait Y/n-!” Your mother tries to call for you, but you’re already out the door and talking to the delinquent she just badmouthed.

She sighs to herself as she looks at Yumi.

“Can you take her shift?”

 

“Well… it’s kind of my lunch break right now!” Yumi smiles at your mother, taking a strawberry shortcake from the display and heading over to one of the booths.

 

Your mother groans as she slips on an apron and aggressively grabs your notepad that you had left behind. 

 

“stupid teenage love.” She mutters before heading to a table to collect their orders.

“I heard you talking about me in the kitchen! It gave me the courage to ask for your mother’s blessing!”

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!?”

“just kidding! I only asked if you were free.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

You've been talking a lot about dybmn lately, very suspicious! 🤨

Ok guys I’m gonna be completely honest and talk a lot

Me and dybmn…. We have a very complicated relationship!!!

I recently went back and read some of it and while I love to tell myself it’s not that special it just happened to catch on at a good time and people hype it up a lot, I actually was like no fuck like there was just something I was cooking with that I don’t cook with outside of dybmn. Something about allowing myself creative license w Spencer’s character or maybe like building up reader which allows for richness of her character idfk!! All I know is that I love them and they are my favorite spencer x reader pairing/dynamic literally ever in the world!! They’re so special tbh!!!

That said, for a long time I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to write it and make it what people wanted, so after I wrote part seven I just was so burnt out for monthssss. I brought it back briefly last fall but it didn’t last long cause I was like damn it’s just been so long I think my audience kinda dispersed, and people were saying things like “why are u still writing dybmn” AFTER MONTHS OF BEGGING ME TO WRITE MORE OKAYYYYYY YEAHHH but anyways I just got embarrassed and now I’m like omg I’m washed up and clinging to relevancy if I start writing it again😭😭 especially when spencer reidblr is not nearly as active as it was when the series started almost a year ago like I don’t wanna be posting it as a desperate attempt to be like HEYYY LOOK AT ME GUYS REMEMBER MEEEE HAHA REMEMBER HOW AWESOME I AMMM I want to respect and honor it cause it’s my baby and it’s the loml!! Some of u may be thinking Samantha it’s literally just a fanfic!! And yes but also it changed my life so! It matters a lot to me

Anyways, idrk what I’m saying, I’ve been posting about them cause I miss them but I also don’t know how another part would be received. Like how many people on tumblr even know what it is anymore yk like if they were scrolling the tags and they saw it would they be like ugh part ten of a series I haven’t read?? Boringgg!! And then it’s inaccessible and also like maybe I just need to know when it’s time to stop like am I an ex-starlet in the nursing home trying to perform for my grandchildren and everyone is just like okayyy grandma… it’s over now move on let it go the moment has passed… but like I DKNT KNOW IM OVERTHINKING IT OKAY I NEED TO SHUT UPPP MY GODDDD SOMEONE MUZZLE ME

[ddlcbrainrot]

i’m just saying more people should make use of the angst factory that is sayori’s and mc’s friendship

Imagine you have a childhood best friend that you’ve lost touch with, and suddenly you two start hanging out again. You two start spending a lot of time together again, and things are like nothing has changed between you. All that time apart was not enough to strain your friendship, and you think to yourself “ wow even after all this time she still is the same sweet girl i’ve always known”.

Only for you to find out that she’s actually been suffering for as long as you’ve known her. And you didn’t realise a single thing until it was too late.

All the mixed emotions of concern for your friend, guilt of your ignorance (you’ve known her for forever, how couldn’t you tell?) but also the realisation that the person you’ve thought you knew better than anyone was more or less a facade. Now, i’m not saying that Sayori’s cheery personality is all fake, but i imagine MC would have to question where the facade starts and where it ends (did he even know her at all?).

All this and i’ve still haven’t said anything about Sayori’s POV of their friendship, which is just as - if not more - angst inducing.

I think the key factor to understand Sayori’s POV is the word indirect. Because most of the hurt she experiences from MC’s actions is in fact indirect. Even in the game she talks about how his actions were not actively malicious, but they indirectly caused her pain. And yeah, it is because of her feelings for him, but even if we ignore that their friendship alone still caused her indirect pain.

I see a lot of people be like “MC is so mean to her in their base game” which honestly? have you ever been in a long term friendship? idk if it’s just me but the way they interacted seemed like how any childhood friends would. Because no matter how mean your childhood friend is to you, you know they don’t mean any actual malice. It’s basic logic that the person who has been with you since childhood doesn’t actually think of you as just some dumb clutz. But depression isn’t logical. And that’s exactly why Sayori is actually affected by what on any other circumstance would be playful teasing between lifelong friends. It’s actually an issue that, while complicated, could easily be addressed if Sayori communicated to MC her feelings on the matter. But since Sayori is so focused to keeping things the same, how they’ve always been so he doesn’t worry, she doesn’t voice this at all.

I’d like to add that even though Sayori goes out of her way to make sure MC doesn’t find out about her depression, there must also be a part of her that is hurt by his lack of knowledge on the matter. MC in act 1 repeatedly says he knows Sayori better than anyone. Imagine you are Sayori, your friend insists he knows you, fully knows you, and yet he can’t seem to notice this very vital part of you. Again, he is hurting her indirectly, and frankly because Sayori is herself keeping this part of her hidden. It’s a double edged sword, really.

When Sayori does tell MC about her depression however, MC quite frankly responds in a pretty bad way.

I don’t think i need to explain how his response isn’t at all what you should say, i think enough people have done so already. But i will say it makes sense for him to respond that way. I think a lot of people, especially people who are online, have seen so many post or videos about how to handle these kind of situations, so it’s easy to forget that not everyone is that well educated on the subject of mental health (and it makes even more sense for MC in particular to be so clueless on the subject, since men’s knowledge on mental health is literally non existent bc of society’s own view of men as emotionless, but that’s a rant for another time). I think he reacts as a normal teenage guy would tbh. And that is he says the wrong thing.

And as he finds Sayori in the end of act 1, since he doesn’t know of Monika’s influence, he thinks his ignorance costs his best friend’s life.

[rosicheeks]

Have you ever thought about PayPal so your Australian fans can buy lil miss Rosi nudes? 🤭🥺

I’m sorry I’m never going to use PayPal 😔

BUT I do have another option for my Australian friends 😌

[warden-melli]

Getting more work done on my PLA sleeve tomorrow :) I have no idea exactly what is being coloured, but I’ll make sure to update afterwards

Also a little personal update because it’s my blog and oversharing is caring (I insist)

I just want to apologise for not posting as much. I’ve just been super busy, and tbh mentally I just haven’t felt all there lately. Like a lot of others I’ve had a pretty rough year, and I’m not dealing with the stress as well as I could be. I’m only sleeping about 3-4 hours a night, and I just can’t seem to focus like I used to. It’s something I’m actively working on, and I’m really hoping that I can move through this soon

It’s odd, because I still think about Melli and PLA just as much as I always have, and I have so many things I’m dying to draw and talk about, but I’m just having trouble getting those ideas out of my head in any tangible way. Has anyone here ever been through anything similar? Where you love something so much that it’s pretty much all you can think about, but at the same time it’s just super hard to create anything? I had been looking forward to October all year so that I could draw Halloween Melli art, but when it rolled around I barley had the time/energy to draw anything

I’ve also gotten behind on asks/replies, and I feel pretty guilty about that. People have sent some incredibly kind and creative stuff, and I’d hate for anyone to feel like they’re being ignored because I haven’t answered them yet. I really, really appreciate anyone who takes the time to send in an ask, or who leaves a comment, and I can’t stress that enough. Answering my asks is my first priority right now, and I’d like to draw some art and give them the proper responses that they deserve

Lastly, I really want to get back to my analysis series. Yes, the one I said I’d post like a year ago. My Mai analysis has been sitting there like 95% done for literally all of that time, I just need to add my sources/screenshots, but for some reason I’ve just been putting it off. I’ve had quite a few requests for a continuation of the series, and I really want to finish what I’ve started, even if it is super late 🙃

Tldr: The Melli guy is going through it rn, but is trying to get back on track

[aghw18]

i haven’t been online much lately but anxiety is the worst….. uh why don’t you ramble a little on how you first came to like violet and cheslock and why you like them so much?

Basically while i was watching the anime...i realized the very interesting dynamic between them...sorta summarized "the queen & her dog"🥲 then i went back to manga which further confirms my theory of Vi & Cheslock, and the 2021 kuromyu just slammed me with the "u are absolutely right! And guess what, we r gonna show u sth much further of ur theory, and there r a lot of them" hammer

But tbh it started of as "i wanna see them doing seχ stuff (not exactly having seχ)"... Cheslock would be played like a responsive toy XD Cheslock's attitudes towards those little seχ games r: he does enjoy them, not intended but not rejected either

He is also much trusted by Violet ( as a perfect dog)...i wont be surprised if Vi just gradually casually dropping his prefect's work to Cheslock considering Cheslock is already doing so much nanny work (thank u 2021 kuromyu)

But note that only as a secondary role in Violet's heart, as the rest of P4 were more important then Cheslock. His attitude on sending the invitation to Cheslock during the Blue Cult arc explained that he trusted Cheslock on passing on the message to o!ciel and merely that, nothing more, in order to save themselves. Cheslock being the perfect submissive + auto-pilot + doesnt require much care dog.

*based on the cloak hat status of Violet (he let it off when feeling safe - like when he was only around with P3 or purple house students. He always had the hat on during the meetings. He put his hat on when other students arrived during the fire incident) , we can tell that its P4 > Cheslock > purple house >> other P3 fags > pupils from other houses

And Cheslock can be viewed as the amplifier of true thoughts of Violet without the P3 values and traditions. I mean including the aggressive attitudes towards students from other houses as well. Violet is somewhat the initial inspiration and motivator of Cheslock in order to let people like Cheslock being so determined to follow him. Since P3 were so important to Violet, and Violet didn't consider himself to be a rebel on face (ofc he's a prefect)(well i mean on action) he wouldn't overtly show the disagreements of the values the majority believed in.

The 2021 kuromyu had Violet complaining about the traditions: "the tuition fee is too expensive""prefects are all troublesome errands"(bro didn't care about the✨prefect✨title✨even before he became a prefect himself loll )(for Cheslock, it's after the Arden event the betrayal he witnessed when he lost his faith on prefects and the titles) thus proving the point that Violet didn't actually believe in those; he just did and follow them bcs of he weighed his P3 friends and family rules more than expressing his standpoint.

Most importantly as u can tell from the "please participate properly!" panel, their relationship is more than one-way worshiping - or at least developed til the point of Cheslock the fag is trusted enough and allowed to scold(?) talk down(?) to Violet. Their dynamic is gradually becoming more and more equal. Plus the immediate turn of Cheslock to Vi, so naturally and casually asking for compliments is just too cute🥹 he trusted Vi to be fucusing, to paying attention on him and give him praises🥹 i m sure this kinda stuff happened a lot more in their private situations

Sth extra:

My headcanon is that the first one and two years Violet was still a normal nice student, doing his fag work and didn't violate any dresscode (if theres any (obviously)). Not exactly he was enthusiastic about it but definitely there's nothing to be picked.

After he was familiar with and thought through the smothering principles (mid 3rd year) he started to transform into the Violet that we are looking at today. During this time (mid late 3rd year) he might have swapped a number of brothers due to his slack attitudes. The one that's final might be recommended by others (his early 4th year), who is either being the respectable and understanding type, or he is just as aloof as Violet himself.

The young Cheslock, with silver hair and silver eyes, although he's still quite outgoing and flamboyant, he wouldn't dare to cross the line of social norms. He noticed Violet during the time of him kept swapping his brothers. He felt like Violet's doing something he wanted to and believed in but didn't dare to show - and that's when he was interested and wanted to be nearer to Violet.

Violet was slightly intrigued by Cheslock's appearance and approaching. He didn't care much and didn't mind sharing the opinions that he didn't want to show in front of his P3 friend gang to Cheslock. As this went on, Cheslock developed the admiration towards Violet. During the contacts, Cheslock learned to decipher Violet's non-verbal language better than anyone, including P3. He knew better what's are on Violet's mind; so it's just not surprising that he later evolved into the amplifier of Violet's true opinion. Cheslock was then finally ready to cross the line of social norms and started imitating Violet. And eventually becoming Violet's fag and the end of his 2nd year.

And for their seχ stuff/games - started with hands > mouth -> desensitised to physical contacts -> doublejerking + toys -> first base (finally!) ->> home run.

Cheslock's attitude on his first time using the backside isn't shy or being exposed, mainly adventurous or curious, that's it, not even expectation or nervousness. But most of the time it's Violet taking the dom position and riding Cheslock. Not often but he would prefer spoonhug Cheslock and top him. Cheslock likes to staaaaare at Violet during their seχ stuff - but he might not have the mental capacity to keep doing that- as Violet is pretty imaginative and creative when it comes to playing Cheslock + Cheslock's filter on Violet - body sensation escalate too intense and eventually would take over his sanity

If they graduated properly or wait til the whole drama ended, they eventually would move in together for a while (yup only for a while) - and Cheslock would do most of the chores voluntarily while remaining a submissive to Violet happily. But Violet would listen to Cheslock on the daily errands and chores stuff. After they got used to home runs, Violet learned to become a tattoo-piercing artist purely from interest. He would compromise and sometimes raise little demands like he would like to pierce Cheslock's nipplε, "if that's what senpai wants...i wouldn't mind either"

[dazaiosamusbandages]

ik a lot of peeps said that dazais more than a demon and that he has feelings and that even though he did lots of bad things, he was a kid growing up in a bad environment and yada yada but... doesnt he feel truly demonic sometimes? hes truly a fascinating character to me, but the more i try to understand whats going on in his mind, the more dead ends i hit. its like having a puzzle in front of you and never being able to get the full picture no matter how much you rearrange it. or to put it in a more personal way, his mind feels like an abyss. its dark, cold, vast and chaotic. its very scary to me. maybe its because im around the same age as him when he was in the pm but he really feels inhuman to me. no kid should have this kind of cold and empty energy nor give the impression that they're not real, as if they somehow ended up in this world by mistake. even in the more mellow moments, it always seems like his mind is elsewhere, like three universes ahead, looking for something that's beyond human comprehension. idk, what do you think about this? TuT

sorry for the late response, i have been somewhat busy and thus haven’t had the time really to answer anything

tbh to answer this, i think i’ll try to stray closer to my own personal experiences (as well as some others that i spend time with) to be able to explain that kind of “empty” existence and then connect it back to dazai that way. i think with some parallel to the real world, it might put some of his thought processes into existence

does dazai truly feel demonic sometimes? the realistic answer would be yes—of course the demon of the port mafia would feel demonic. he, himself, doesn’t seem to believe he’s human and everything tends to confirm that. everything including his ability, which also in a way could be interpreted to take away others’ humanity as well.

spending time with a group full of a specific kind of mentally unwell people (jirai, if you’ve ever heard of it) has shown me that a lot of these people tend to dehumanize themselves in the same way you see dazai. they don’t often consider themselves good people, but that self-awareness doesn’t stop them from doing bad things.

dazai does lead a somewhat empty existence, however he does still feel emotion and pain just like anyone else—like when oda died, it was (and is still) very painful to dazai. but even still, emptiness is not a foreign thing. this same feeling of emptiness is what i think leads him to make some of those morally questionable decisions, even despite oda’s final request.

the other thing is, i feel like part of what makes dazai seem so “demonic” in the port mafia is that it gave him an environment where the intrusive thoughts would be allowed to win without an immediate repercussion.

sorry if this didn’t fully answer your question, it was pretty difficult to formulate a good response wwww i still feel like i missed a few things i wanted to talk about too, but they slipped from my mind and i can’t remember at the moment soooo

[naneun-no]

Hi! So... Am I the only one who thinks Jikook haven't been living under the same roof for quite a while now? I feel like some people, esp Jikookers, don't even want to see it as a possibility, but if we don't want to start acting like a cult we need to start developing some critical thinking (which I think is healthy and needs to be done) Also, I've seen a lot of people say "JK is having a hard time, imagine not spending every second with your partner like you used to bc of his crazy schedule" and tbh, I was thinking just like that at first, but now? Jimin is busy, yes of course, but he clearly has time to hang out with Hobi or even going to visit Jin (which was so nice to see btw, not complaining) I honestly don't think JK and Jimin are hanging out much, actually, I dont even think they see each other often, since JK seems to be living his best introverted life and quite isolated from the rest of the boys (except Tae, which Im kind of glad, at least he is getting out of the house and having a good time) Maybe we should start considering the possibility of them just not sharing time bc they simply chose to and not bc Jimin is busy with his album. I now what they chose to share with us is just a small part of their lives, and there could be a million other possible scenarios, Im not saying Im right or wrong, just what's been on my mind lately. Im not coming here as an insecure Jikooker to seek for aproval, or with bad intentions, Im just sharing my thoughts and genuinely curious to know if anyone else thinks on a similar way. Thank you for taking the time to read💜

Hey! I appreciate the kind way you phrased all of this. In short, if you’ve ever read anything I’ve posted you know what I’m gonna say next: maybe that’s true and feel free to think that 🤷‍♀️

I still don’t get why the idea that they’ve chosen not to spend any time together (which we have no evidence of except for a lack of evidence the other way) is more compelling than the idea that they do in fact spend plenty of time together and just don’t share it (which we also have no evidence of except for the way they treat each other when we do see them). Both have a dearth of evidence, except one seems out of character.

Does that make sense? Like it’s perfectly possible they don’t hang. But also, they were like magnets on all the final Run BTS episodes. Not just magnets but affectionate, touchy, best-friend-or-more type magnets. But also, Jung Kook asked Jimin to come over during a recent live, while being all giggly and cheesy and excited to see him. It didn’t seem like a “it’s been so long, I’m saying this just out of an awkward sense of duty,” to me — it seemed like something that probably happens often. Jimin said something to the effect of “I’ll come after work” or something close, right? (He said many other things too but that was the only one that correlated directly to hanging out other than the one where he expressed desire to tie back JK’s hair which could be innocuous or could be something he does when they hang out, who knows?). But also, JK told his boxing instructor that JM would come soon, but also JM talked to that same instructor like he knew him well, and likely has gone with JK to lessons in the past. But also, it really hasn’t been that long since JK’s weirdly sexual/teasing birthday video for Jimin and now several members have had birthdays pass and nobody else got that treatment. But also… the list goes on, I’m sure there’s more but my coffee’s getting cold.

So, I can’t speak for all Jikookers because we are in fact not a cult, so there aren’t established patterns of belief that we all must adhere to. You think maybe they’ve stopped hanging out cause they haven’t shared it with you. Cool. Many others, myself included, think it’s unlikely that you would abruptly stop hanging out with someone who clearly means so much to you while still continuing to treat said person in a loving, flirty, domestic manner. They don’t act like exes, not even a little bit, so we have no reason to think they are. I think it seems much more in character for them to be preserving the final shreds of privacy they have to protect the relationship that means more to them than the other ones; or at least means something different.

Idk, but if you actually believed them to be dating at any point, or even just as close of friends as they appear, regardless of dating, think of how that would look if they suddenly stopped speaking.

Remember when Tae and JK did kinda stop hanging out? Remember how it was kind of obvious through their interactions that they weren’t as close, and then they full on addressed it in that conversation and talked about how they needed to put more effort into their friendship (which kudos to them, like you said, seems like they are). If anything, Jimin and JK’s relationship over the years has seemed even more close and symbiotic than almost any other friendship in the group except maybe vmin. So I would think if that was crumbling away, we’d see a lot more in their interactions than giggly, sweet, heart eyes and “eat well my baby” comments.

Feel free to disagree!