#idiots. truly. how could they send me a message to a place that does not exist.

[tchaikovskym]

Why do the state owned websites and communication have to suck so bad Oh my god it's like they hate their citizens

[cookiesupplier]

A Friend Down In Hell - Part Eighteen (nsfw)

pairing: Nick Folio x ofc (Ishtar)

warnings/tropes: slow burn, pining, idiot in love, language, drinking, mentions of violence, mentions of torture, mentions of religious mythology.

summary: Folio can't quite tell you how long he's been dead, but it doesn't matter when he has friends like his, and Ishtar. Ishtar, with whom he fell in love the moment he met her. The problem? She doesn't know it. How does he convince a demon, who is practically immortal, to date him when he's dead? How did Ellie do it so easily?

author’s note: Unbetaed.. Enjoy! You want a background scene, a moment you thought got lost in the shuffle? Feel free to message or inbox me.. it may or may not make my outtakes eventually :P

To read from the beginning: A Friend Down In Hell Masterlist

And for those that missed Noah & Ellie's Story previously, all Hell-Verse stories will be included here: Combined Hell-Verse Masterlist

tags: @spicywhenspeaking @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @lyschko666 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @vinyardmauro @dsireland86 @4rtificialfolio @emmmm127 @badomensls @agravemisstake @sunsshinesunny @blackveilomens @jilliemiw86

Tag lists are open, please let me know if you'd like to be added to this story, the Hell-Verse as a whole, or Everything

As soon as their work shift was over and the handed the office over, Folio planned to be out the door. They didn’t always have to wait for official hand over though, just the time, if the people that followed them weren’t there when the time they were heading out. They had routines put into the system that did something with the souls before they materialised. Folio wasn’t sure what it was, spiritual holding or something, he didn’t know. Someone might wonder why they didn’t send them through that anyway before sending them off to punishment in the first place, Nicholas said holding system wasn’t foolproof, and souls had slipped through before. That was why they had people manning the door now. 

Noah told them that he’d worked the entrance door once, a few lifetimes ago actually, when he was a kid, before he was allowed to work a proper job. He’d just been helping, interning in human terms, learning the ropes around different parts of Hell trying to figure out where he wanted to work in the future. Every young demon did it, and it had been how he’d decided he’d wanted to join the punishment levels, watching those souls come through, and how cruel and nasty some of them could be, even in front of a child. Sure, he’d been a demon child, a demon child who at the time hadn’t been able to make himself look fully human yet, but that changed nothing. A minor was still a minor, demon, human, or otherwise, and some of the disgusting behaviour that walked through that hall while he’d stood there, wide-eyed and innocent. Or at least, as innocent as he could be, being Noah, he was still Noah, was he ever truly an innocent child or a little devil in disguise? 

Exactly.

All in all, by the time it came to leave, and those that were supposed to take over weren’t there.. It wasn’t the first time, and while sometimes one of them was willing to stay a little later, today was not one of those days. They flicked the system over on the computer, hoped it worked, and no souls slipped through, if they did, it wasn’t their fault, it was the team that couldn’t turn up on time, again. Off they went out the door the moment the clock hit time on their shift, no questions asked. While Folio took his bike, Ellie had just walked with Jolly, so by the time those two got there the other four were already waiting for them outside the Pizza Parlour.

Noah standing with Nicholas laughing over something they were all talking about, with Folio grinning with his arms wrapped around Ishtar while they waited, who seemed to be just as amused as the boys at this point. When the pair walking along the footpath came into view, Folio perked up, “There they are, finally!”

“About time, slow pokes!”

Noah joining in on the jibes, and Ellie just rolled her eyes before she went right for giving Ishtar a hug for in greeting. “It’s good to see you again.” “What am I chopped liver, BabyGirl?”

When Ellie turned to look at the faux pout on his face, begging for sympathy, she just smiled and pushed her hand up to his face and pushing him back with a, “Child.” from her. This earned a roar of laughter from the other three males on the group. They hadn’t lied at all about teasing him, just as much as they teased Folio about Ishtar.

“Come on, guys, let's head inside, I’m starving.”

It was Nicholas that put an end to the rabble-rousing between them though before it got too much. As the others filed in, Ellie turned back to Noah, pulling him down towards her with the front of his shirt. She  pushed up to the pulls of her feet and pressing a kiss to his cheek with a small smile before heading in after the others. Nothing more needed to be said.

Sitting around the table chatting away, they decided on their pizzas, and as always it came down to who liked what toppings on their pizzas. Chaos, one might think, after being friends for as long as they had been, at least when it came to the guys, they’d have most of their order sorted. Nope, not even close. They were arguing more than Ishtar and Ellie as to what they wanted to eat. Unsurprisingly, Folio quickly sided with them in their choice of pizza toppings, but not without choosing to add in some meat options for his, it was that simple. 

Now, in saying this, did this stop him from joining in on the argument on the validity of the different toppings with the other guys? No, not in the least. Meanwhile, Ellie and Ishtar sat back, chuckling at how animated they were getting,

“Oh come on, Ishtar, pineapple, yay or nay, settle it for us?”

Noah looked over to her, and she just stared at him square in the eye, 

“Neither.”

“Nope, nope, you don’t get to abstain, you have to decide, one or the other. Pick.”

Nicholas sat back with a low chuckle now,

“Sorry Ishtar, Noah here just can not fathom a world where his opinion, is not the only opinion, and he’ll argue until he’s blue in the face gives him great joy.”

Ellie laughed, added in,

“And denying him that, is the only way to win the argument at all, something that took me awhile to learn, and you’ve stumbled on without even trying.”

The whole table laughed at that, except of course, Noah who was pouting at the argument in question.

“She still didn’t answer the question!”

“Yes I did, neither is an answer.”

“But-”

“No buts, everyone has their preference, and whether I swing towards having pineapple on my pizza or not doesn’t mean I’m going to deny it without a doubt. I might not like it on my pizza, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to condemn it entirely. Have I tried it? Yes. Do I think it's the best topping in the world? No. Will I have it in the future, maybe. I won’t turn down my nose at a slice just because of it like some people seem to insist on.”

Raising an eyebrow at Noah with a little smirk, his eyes narrowing at her, Ellie grinning beside her.

“Fine, neither is accepted.”

“Oh, someone is going to be grumpy later.”

Jolly said deadpanned, and they all laughed as the waiter brought over their pizzas.

The only disappointing part of spending lunch with Nick and everyone, was that right after Ishtar had to go home and get ready for work. She barely got to spend any time with Nick aside from the fact he’d been the one to take her home and drop her off at work, and that was just painful and frustrating. So when she was finishing up work, and she was getting ready to leave, preparing to just teleport home, finding him waiting for her outside,

“You didn’t think I’d drop you off and just leave you here, did you, Princess?”

His grin was just so pure and infectious as she rushed over to him, her lethargic feeling from a moment before disappearing with the joy of seeing him at that moment. Ishtar’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as her lips found his, the taste of his tongue was so perfectly divine as it pressed past her lips into her mouth to mould against hers. Moaning into his mouth as she pressed against him, slotting herself between his legs slightly with how he’d been perched on the seat of his bike waiting for her. The way his hands curved around her body to grasp at her behind had her hips rolling slightly into him. Feeling the press of his hard cock through his jeans, she smirked, her teeth scraping over the flesh of his lower lip as she did.

Nick groaned against her mouth, his hands on her ass squeezing slightly did not help matters any when it just had her grinding her hips against him again, “Ishtar, baby, maybe hold that thought until I get you home, yeah?”

Grinning against his lips before she pulled back just enough to look up at him, low from under her lashes, damn, was he beautiful. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers curved around his neck, playing with the hair at the back of his head lightly with a smile.

“Then maybe you should hurry.”

It was quite possible that he got them back to her apartment in record time, and there was no way that Ishtar wasn’t about to complain about that. She didn’t see one car on the road on the way back to hers, so it was a plus, and it made for a smooth ride. It didn’t mean the tension, however, had eased between them any with the way Ishtar’s arms had been wrapped around him, her hands flat against his stomach to hold onto him as they rode.

No easier when they got to her place, the moment they got through the door, Ishtar wasted no time pulling his jacket from his shoulders. Nick moaned against her lips when she kissed him, his back pressed against the wall of her front hall.

“Feisty tonight, Princess?”

Her teeth nipped against his in response as she pulled him eagerly towards her couch, he didn’t even try to fight her. The fact that they could make it to her bedroom, her apartment wasn’t massive, but she was too impatient to get them there, showed just how she was feeling right then. Ishtar was already reaching for the front of his pants to undo his belt when the back of his legs hit the front of the couch, and she got his pants open. “Nick, I’ve been thinking about you all damn day, but getting a moment alone with you has been-”

“Impossible, I know, oh fuck.” With him sitting back on her couch, she had his cock out and was stroking him in her hand, smirking as she drew the moan out of him. Knowing she could affect him so, now Nick wasn’t her first lover by far, but seeing the effect of her touch, the way he gave into her so easily, it was addicting. She never wanted to stop touching him. Usually she hated wearing a skirt to work, hated it with a vengeance, only ever did when her pants needed to be cleaned. Tonight, however, had been one of those nights, and she couldn’t find it in herself to care. With a click of her fingers, she disappeared her underwear, hiked her skirt up around her thighs, and lowering herself onto his cock. 

“Fuck, Princess, you feel so good on my cock.” Ishtar had to reach behind her to his knees to balance herself as his hands explored her body.. Sliding up under her shirt, up her sides, when she settled herself down on him, him filling her completely. She started to rock her hips. Moaning at the way he was fondling her breast, enjoying the way he loved her body, didn’t shy away from enjoying all of her.. Before his hands slipped back down to her hips and started holding her so he could fuck up into her.

“Such a good girl, just like that.”

“Nick, Nick please.”

When he started like this she couldn’t help herself, she shuddered, she felt like she was just going to come undone around him. His hands on her hips as he was practically using her body now to thrust into her, she reached forward for his shoulder to steady herself with a whimper,

“Touch yourself, Princess, go on, make yourself come. Come on my cock like such a good girl.”

Ishtar whined softly as her hand moved from his shoulder and thrust between them, to her clit, rubbing against the bundle of nerves as he thrust so deep into her when she keened. She’d barely touched herself when she was sent reeling over the edge of her orgasm, moaning against his mouth as she leaned forward and her lips crashed into his with a hungry kiss as she came undone. Barely a handful of thrusts, hard and fast, and she felt Nick shudder underneath her, before being fill with the warmth of him spilling his release inside of her. Gasping, her forehead against his, her heart racing from the euphoric high he’d just given her.

“That was worth the wait, Sunshine.”

Dividers: @saradika-graphics (stained glass) & @cafekitsune (MDNI)

[soopertiddies]

Jesus of Nazareth was famously born of the tribe of King David of Judea, lived over a century before the country of Palestina even existed, and was executed due to the threat he posed the Roman Empire when people started calling him the King of the Jews -- and you think he was Palestinian?? How much propaganda have you swallowed? Just say you're antisemitic, at least then you'd be honest about it.

I wasn't going to answer this, because why would I justify this with a response? I know I'm not antisemtic, I've never CLAIMED to be antisemtic. I've shared so many things about how American Jews are speaking out against Israel and the way Israel silences their orthodox jewish population who speaks out against them.

( 'Not in our name': the Jewish New Yorkers speaking out against 'dehumanisation' of Palestinians (france24.com)

(We are crying with Palestinians: Jewish anti-Zionist group – Middle East Monitor)

But you send me 3 (THREE!) messages, so obviously you want me to answer you very badly.

You definitely got that statement I said from the tags of a post I reblogged, because I didn't say it in a post. And I could have worded it better, for sure. So let me clarify:

I wasn't good at religious history, and I went to catholic school so that's pretty pathetic. But I know for a fact that Palestine has pre-dates the state of Israel, and I know if Jesus was born in modern times he would be Palestinian.

He was born in Bethlehem which is IN PALESTINE, but Nazareth was conquered by Israel in 1948 so Mary and Joseph wouldn't be able to return to their hometown with their child (Nazareth in the War for Palestine: The Arab City that Survived the 1948 Nakba | Holy Land Studies (euppublishing.com)

That's the case for many Palestinians who were born before the state of Israel, they can never return to the places they were born.

Now, you said because I pointed out that Jesus would be Palestinian that makes ME antisemitic. Do you equate every Jewish person to Israel? Are you aware that there are Jews in Palestine? In fact David Ben Avraham, who had converted to Judaism was murdered by the IOF

(Palestinian who converted to Judaism shot dead by Israeli soldier in West Bank | Middle East Eye)

Are you aware the holocaust survivors in Israel live BELOW the poverty line

(One-third of Israeli Holocaust survivors live in poverty, advocates say | PBS NewsHour)

Israel does not care about Jewish people. Israel does not SPEAK for the Jewish population. They care about stealing land and increasing their power. So if you TRULY want to call out antisemitism you wouldn't be in some idiot's (me, I'm the idiot) ask box throwing out baseless accusation. You would be calling out Israel for the way they treat their Jewish citizens. You would call out the way they SHOOT their own citizens (How 3 Israeli hostages tried to save themselves, only to be killed by their own military (nbcnews.com).

You would be calling out the way they TURN DOWN a deal with Hamas because they really don't want to stop killing innocent Palestinians and they don't care about their hostages (Israeli PM Netanyahu rejects proposed ceasefire and hostage deal with Hamas | Euronews).

You would be spending all of your energy on THAT.

I truly do not think you care about Palestinian lives, really I don't. I provided you with links on ALL of my statements. But, sure, I'm gobbling down that propaganda.

You said that I should just admit it because at least I'd be honest about it. I think you should step off anonymous and say all of this with your chest, because at least you wouldn't be a coward about it.

[ledenews]

Santorine: Management, Mediocrity, and Morons

It’s always amazed me how certain seasons seem to bring out the very worst in human nature. My law enforcement friends tell me what full moons do. There is clear evidence that the moon has a lot to do with tidal action, but I don’t know if there is empirical evidence that shows the same for bad behavior. It could be a wive’s tale, very much like my assertion that seasons have much to do with people acting badly. I’m fascinated with extraordinary management and amazing leadership. It’s great implementing it, it’s great considering it from an academic standpoint, and I enjoy helping others with it. My Dad, always the teacher, would have been thrilled that I inherited the teaching gene. It’s never been good enough in my world to know why it works; I also need to know how it works, and the pragmatist in me wants to know how to artfully apply it. Management science has been constantly progressing during every moment of the industrial revolution, and if the woke crowd does not stifle it, will continue to be even better. The basics remain the same, though. People want a safe place to work, where their contributions are appreciated (the paycheck is only part of that), and since they are spending at least a third of their life there, they don’t want to deal with idiots. That’s idiot co-workers, and idiot “management pigeons.” The kind that fly in, eat all the donuts, drink all the coffee, and defecate all over your work. In short, employees want freedom from Management, Mediocrity, and Morons. Managers need to learn their gut response in dealing with employees is generally wrong (think about how you would want to be treated). There are also few things that need to be handled right now. Slow it down. There are things in the people realm that can’t be easily undone. Make it right the first time. What’s almost universally ignored is that managers want that, too. They don’t want to have a group of hyenas reporting to them who feel entitled, because of how long they have worked there or other factors. Sure, leadership has the ability to de-hire those who don’t provide a positive value add or are toxic for the team. But those are truly difficult decisions. Nothing says “I screwed up” louder than having to de-hire (fire) a recent hire. Failing to address a toxic employee sends an equally bad message, one where someone needs to tell the leader to “grow a set” It’s all magnified by a factor of 10 when you’re dealing with someone who’s been there for decades. Add another multiplier when the manager in question is also the man who signs the checks and is on the hook for every penny. Proprietors deserve freedom from Management, Mediocrity and Morons, too. There’s a balance here, and employees are part of the equation. They should bring their “A” game, and too often, they don’t. If you’re leading a small, cross functional team where everyone is customer facing, it is even more of a balancing act. I want to say “your reputation is everything,” and the fundamental truth to that statement is that it applies to the employees, too. Changes need to be made decisively, and there’s a balancing “spinning top” between the team, the reputation of the team, and what the ego of the proprietor can handle. Poke it the wrong way, and that top skitters across the table into collpase. Nothing good comes from that. There is always a right decision, but sometimes the “right” decision isn’t the optimal decision. A manager faced with a big enough moron is going to have to make a decision, and it likely won’t go well for the moron. Employees want freedom from Management, Mediocrity and Morons. So do managers, and your job as an employee is to help the person you report to deliver that exceptional work environment. They can’t do it alone, and you can be a very big part of creating that great place for great employees. Did I mention you’re only going to do that if you’re working for a good or great employer. Bad employers deserve the exact same treatment as bad employees. I hope you don’t experience either, but odds are, you will. We get four seasons per year. I tend to think only two bring out bad behavior. Of course, if that one co-worker leaves for a couple of weeks on vacation and everything runs smoother and better without them, you just might have an actionable item. What say you? It’s always amazed me how certain seasons seem to bring out the very worst in human nature. My law enforcement friends tell me what full moons do. There is clear evidence that the moon has a lot to do with tidal action, but I don’t know if there is empirical evidence that shows the same for bad behavior. It could be a wive’s tale, very much like my assertion that seasons have much to do with people acting badly. I’m fascinated with extraordinary management and amazing leadership. It’s great implementing it, it’s great considering it from an academic standpoint, and I enjoy helping others with it. My Dad, always the teacher, would have been thrilled that I inherited the teaching gene. It’s never been good enough in my world to know why it works; I also need to know how it works, and the pragmatist in me wants to know how to artfully apply it. Management science has been constantly progressing during every moment of the industrial revolution, and if the woke crowd does not stifle it, will continue to be even better. The basics remain the same, though. People want a safe place to work, where their contributions are appreciated (the paycheck is only part of that), and since they are spending at least a third of their life there, they don’t want to deal with idiots. That’s idiot co-workers, and idiot “management pigeons.” The kind that fly in, eat all the donuts, drink all the coffee, and defecate all over your work. In short, employees want freedom from Management, Mediocrity and Morons. Managers need to learn their gut response in dealing with employees is generally wrong (think about how you would want to be treated). There are also few things that need to be handled right now. Slow it down. There are things in the people realm that can’t be easily undone. Make it right the first time. What’s almost universally ignored is that managers want that, too. They don’t want to have a group of hyenas reporting to them who feel entitled, because of how long they have worked there or other factors. Sure, leadership has the ability to de-hire those who don’t provide a positive value add or are toxic for the team. But those are truly difficult decisions. Nothing says “I screwed up” louder than having to de-hire (fire) a recent hire. Failing to address a toxic employee sends an equally bad message, one where someone needs to tell the leader to “grow a set” It’s all magnified by a factor of 10 when you’re dealing with someone who’s been there for decades. Add another multiplier when the manager in question is also the man who signs the checks and is on the hook for every penny. Proprietors deserve freedom from Management, Mediocrity and Morons, too. There’s a balance here, and employees are part of the equation. They should bring their “A” game, and too often, they don’t. If you’re leading a small, cross functional team where everyone is customer facing, it is even more of a balancing act. I want to say “your reputation is everything,” and the fundamental truth to that statement is that it applies to the employees, too. Changes need to be made decisively, and there’s a balancing “spinning top” between the team, the reputation of the team, and what the ego of the proprietor can handle. Poke it the wrong way, and that top skitters across the table into collpase. Nothing good comes from that. There is always a right decision, but sometimes the “right” decision isn’t the optimal decision. A manager faced with a big enough moron is going to have to make a decision, and it likely won’t go well for the moron. Employees want freedom from Management, Mediocrity and Morons. So do managers, and your job as an employee is to help the person you report to deliver that exceptional work environment. They can’t do it alone, and you can be a very big part of creating that great place for great employees. Did I mention you’re only going to do that if you’re working for a good or great employer. Bad employers deserve the exact same treatment as bad employees. I hope you don’t experience either, but odds are, you will. We get four seasons per year. I tend to think only two bring out bad behavior. Of course, if that one co-worker leaves for a couple of weeks on vacation and everything runs smoother and better without them, you just might have an actionable item. What say you? Read the full article

[sepia-mahogany]

Prompt: hearing about xuanwus defeat, madam jin and jin zixuan come to lotus pier and overhear madam yu saying wei wuxian should have let the 'sect heirs die', lwj who's recovering also overhears, the 3 get first hand experience of jiang household situation and decide fk this and take wwx out of there, its a prompt from vrishchikawrites blog (a wonderful write!) So maybe ask permission?

From the prompt on @vrishchikawrites

Jin Zixuan could not forget the young man, the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, who, despite his previous (petty) grievances with, had stepped up when everyone else had been frozen on the spot, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get his blood stained image out of his mind. Which had led to this discussion.

“What? No! I forbid it.” his father responded when he asked for sending reinforcements to Jiang Sect, while he understood with Cloud Recesses burnt down, and Nie under attack, either Yunmeng Jiang or Lanling Jin were next on the table, and despite having well equipped men, with the best of weapons, his father refused to extend help. 

Refused to stand against those who sought to harm his son, ‘in situations like these, know when to step back’ he had said, and Jin Zixuan could feel shame creeping up under his skin, outnumbered and clearly at losing stakes, he hadn’t hesitated to save him, and what would that make him if he forgot the debt so clearly owed? To live the lavish life of a coward..! He could see his mother fuming from where she stood, and closed his eyes to suppress his bitter thoughts, he wanted to do something, anything to help.

And suddenly, anger melted from her face and that smile crept up her face and he felt a chill down his spine, a sense of foreboding overcame him, he could see his father tense as well. “Of course, the Jin Sect sides with them.” she spoke, venom dripping off her every word. “Nothing wrong if the Sect Leader’s wife wants the marriage renewed?” a pit formed in his stomach, he did not want to marry a woman he barely knew, but using this opportunity, they could, in a sense create a bond, stronger than of just two sworn sisters.

However, “Madam Jin meets up with her sworn sister, Madam of Jiang Sect, just as Qishan Wen begins its attacks?” the war has been declared, how would it seem if the two sect Madams, and the Sect heirs are meeting, with or without the Sect Leader? “The risks are completely unneeded, what do we gain from this?” his mother glared at his father, who pointedly ignored her, Jin Zixuan exhaled, thinking things over.

As much as he disliked the engagement, he knew she would not bring it up, unless the situation, as dire as it was, needed it, this bond could provide future aid to one another should the need arise, so Jin Zixuan kept his disagreements to himself, because he knew she wouldn’t force him, not with the concerns of a  cold loveless marriage like his parents, he knew she was using it as a cover to aid her sworn sister.

An opportunity, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then remembered how the Second Jade, Lan Wangji had stood shoulder to shoulder with him,  and Wei Wuxian, Head Disciple, had stepped up to save them. 

Jin Zixuan exhaled, and made a decision, muttering out a half-hearted excuse, he left them on their own, and later into the night, he approached his mother.

--------

The boat landed steadily, unnoticed in the middle of the night, his mother had won the final say in the matter, of course with the reluctant agreement of remaining disguised as just another trade ship, the serene view would have been calming, had his nerves not have been high strung from adrenaline, small sacrifices, he could of course find a way to break off the engagement in a future of more peaceful times.

Jin Zixuan climbed out the boat first, followed calmly by his mother, the disguises were near perfect, for the disciples around the brightly lit place to look curious, but not alarmed. One, he recognised seeing a few times at Cloud Recesses, came near them with a nervous smile. “We offer you our sincerest apologies but...we’d appreciate it if travellers could avoid an audience with the Sect Leader?” 

The disguises were perfect then, for they had been mistaken as travellers that would go to and fro from Yunmeng Jiang Sect, his mother sniffed and looked at the disciple sternly “We are not here for the Sect Leader, but the Violet Spider, we have an important message for them.” Jin Zixuan had noticed before but now it had become more apparent as the disciples shifted around, something was off, it dampened his enthusiasm and the rush he had felt earlier, instead concern filled him, had something happened to Wei Wuxian?

His mother held out a token, the disciple’s eyes widened and he bowed in respect, “I assume this would be enough?” Madam Jin said curtly, and the disciple nodded, though tensely. “This one will escort you to the guest chambers” 

The curious gazes had not been moved, as they moved inside, step by step, down the corridor they went, as the muffled voices became more distinguishable, all 3 of them froze when they heard, unmistakably the Jiang Sect Heir’s voice. “-You shouldn’t have played the hero and you shouldn’t have cared for such a hell of a thing. If in the beginning you hadn’t….” 

Jin Zixuan felt a cold pit forming in his stomach, surely he must be mistaken, but seeing the expression twisting  on his mothers face, he could assume he was not, in fact, misunderstanding what Jiang Wanyin was implying. 

The disciple bowed quickly, slightly panicked “If you’d follow me-” Madam Jin pointed at him and he immediately shut up, head bowed, just as the Jiang Sect Leader reprimanded “Jiang Cheng.” Silence followed. “Do you know in which ways what you just have said is not appropriate?” was followed by a glum “Yes.”

Even if slightly, Jin Zixuan relaxed, his mother’s expression lightening into a frown, ‘at least someone is self-aware’ Madam Jin thought. “He’s just angry and speaking without care” another voice added, Jin Zixuan perked up, Wei Wuxian! So he was alright, he felt relieved. Madam Jin continued to frown, Wei Wuxian was clearly trying to lessen the pressure off of the Jiang heir. 

Another harsh voice cut through them all “Yes, he doesn’t understand but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands!?” rang out her voice, Madam Jin’s lips pursed into a line, of what her son had just said, that was what she was focusing on?

 “‘To attempt at the impossible’ is exactly how he is, isn’t it? Fooling around even though he knew it’d bring trouble to his sect!?” Jin Zixuan sneaked a look at his mother to see her eyes cold, her fist clenched tightly, he was aware they shouldn’t be hearing this, but this? It wasn’t what they expected at all, he was frozen in place, what in the world was he hearing?

Madam Jin’s thoughts matched her appearance, for once she felt less than charitable towards Yu Ziyuan, and more and more like a fool, here she was, risking her and her son’s safety, her sects safety, for a woman who couldn't care less about her son’s life, but was also wilfully blinding herself to the war right on the horizon, ‘No’ she thought to herself, ‘it was I who was truly blind’

And it was the boy she heard being called ‘Fengmian’s bastard’ or ‘son of a servant’ who had saved her son's life instead, she bit back the bitter chuckle that threatened to escape her, truly, what a fool she was, to be caught in the violet spiders web.

She looked at her son, whose face clouded over the more he heard, she grabbed his arm tightly, if nothing else then to prevent him from barging inside, with Jiang Fengmian’s favor, she was sure that they didn’t need to interfere, until, “My lady, what are you doing here?” she held back her disbelief, her son on the other hand, inhaled sharply.

This was what he was focusing on? Not the insults to his bas- to his ward? To his sect’s entire foundation? It would seem she was truly mistaken, in her and Yu Ziyuan sharing their miseries, entirely wrong about her character, and who was still throwing around callous words for the sake of it, for what else? If not her own cruelty?

"What am I doing here? What a joke that I am asked of such a thing! Sect Leader Jiang, do you still remember that I'm also the leader of Lotus Pier? Do you still remember that every inch of the earth here is my territory? Do you still remember, between the one lying there and the one standing there, which one is your son?" Disbelief and disgust couldn’t even begin to describe what Madam Jin was feeling, the Sect Leader’s response,  however, “I do remember.” Enhanced those to the heights she didn't even know she was capable of feeling.

And so stood the enraged Madam of Jin Sect, the horrified Jin heir and one ashamed disciple whose head could bow no lower, but that was nothing compared to what was said next “You do remember, but there's no use if you simply remember. Wei Ying, he really can't take it unless he stirs up some trouble, can he? If I had known, I would've made him stay in Lotus Pier properly and not go outside. Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and Lanling Jin Sect? Even if he did, it'd mean that they ran out of luck. Since when was it your turn to play the hero?"

Blood roared in Madam Jin’s ears, her nails digging into her palm, she wanted to bite Yu Ziyuan’s head off there and then. ‘Of all the idiotic, foolish, horrid, things she could utter-’ in her cursing, she only realised she had put too much force in her rage filled haze when her son hissed in pain, she immediately let go of his arm, and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking calming breaths.

She was afraid she would do something terrible and irrevocable if she stayed there any longer, listening to a pathetic mockery of- she exhaled and pushed Jin Zixuan towards the open doors. “B-but mother-” he looked back but she gave him that look and he quietened “Later a-Xuan.” while moving outwards, the disciple trailing behind them, they could easily catch some of the words the woman threw at Wei Wuxian.

Madam Jin gritted her teeth in anger, and left without looking back, once she and her son were seated in the boat. “A-Xuan” she began, lightly ruffling his hair “Your marriage is up to you to decide, I will have no say in the matter from here onwards” Her son was not going to be married into that cursed Sect no matter what if she could help it, she moved forward to pull him into a hug, “Mother was wrong.”

 “But mother what about..?” She heard him say, she pulled back and rest one hand on his shoulder, the other caressing his cheek, her son, who by the Jiang’s standards, should’ve been killed, and her blood boiled in her veins. “We came here to make a bond and talk if it were possible, since that wasn’t possible, it can be done some other day.” She lightly patted him, and seeing his thoughts drift off, thought to herself darkly ‘and if the Jiangs are attacked, well, they ran out of luck then.’

Her son hesitantly nodded, “Wei Wuxian...I owe him, for saving me then, if not for him.....” She sniffed, as if indicating what was obvious “Of course,” When the news spread later that Lotus Pier was attacked, with Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian on the run, she hoped for Wei Wuxian’s survival, more so than the Jiang Sect Heir.

And if, perhaps, after a few years her son proposed sworn brotherhood with that Wei Wuxian, well, it wasn’t without her approval.

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

authors notes i guess?

Okay so writing Madam Yu’s lines legit left me disgusted like wtf was she even saying?? Also like I tried to write Madam Jin similar but a bit less than Madam Yu (ya know madam jin never whipped kids with her spiritual weapons, if she had any, not to our knowledge at least...right?) but ended up venturing straight into slightly dark madam jin heh, also like no engagement, no jin-wei tense relationship, (there’ll be 1-2 parts more probably) also wwx woke up earlier in this one, this’ll serve as catalyst for later years. 

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 57: Text Message

As part of the Muggle Studies class, all of the 8th years received cell phones.

Draco didn't really understand all that much about it (and he hadn’t been listening especially carefully when their teacher had talked about it), but it did come with a little snake game that you steered the snake around to help it eat apples and avoid running into itself.

One of their assignments had also been to put in their peer's names in the phones with what seemed to be random coordinates. He wasn't entirely sure how that works either, if it was meant to transport you some how or something else entirely. He'd overheard Granger say something about it allowing you to essentially firecall someone, but he wasn't sure how that worked either.

He was sitting in the common room late one night (he didn't sleep well) playing around with his phone when he found a little button beside each of his classmates' names that opened up a little box that he could put words into.

It was like a little filing system for letters that Pansy would never be able to snoop through! Perfect.

Grinning, and thinking how cathartic it would be to get the words out of his head without the risk of anyone ever seeing them, he clicked on the bubble next to Potter's name and started typing.

Dear Potter, I know that you won't read this, which is why I feel like I can write it. I've wanted to say thank you for quite some time but haven't been able to work up the nerve. Thank you for saving my life, thank you for killing Voldemort, thank you for keeping me out of prison. I'm grateful, truly. And I know it's none of my business and it's not my place, but you've always gotten under my skin where you don't belong and I can't help it. You always look sad. You are always withdrawn and distant, even from your friends. It bothers me. Are you okay? I know that none of us are okay, but you know what I mean. Anyway, like I said, you won't read this but it makes me feel better to write it down. Best, Draco Malfoy

He tapped the little arrow button that would, he assumed, put it into the top part so he'd have it for later.

With that off his chest, he went back to playing his snake game until his mobile buzzed and pinged, startling him so bad that he dropped it.

Malfoy, you know i can read that, right?

Draco stared at the screen where a little box had popped up under his, uncomprehendingly.

Who is this? If this phone is even a horocrux, I'm done. Get away from me.

it's Harry. Harry Potter.

Came the reply and Draco thought for a moment that he was about to pass out.

don't freak out

Too late for that, certainly, he thought hysterically.

it's okay. this was nice, actually.

What was?

getting your text message.

What's a "text message"?

this. what we're doing right now. we're sending text messages.

But how?

that was the point of putting everyone's numbers in your phone. that way we can call and text each other.

Interesting. You must get a lot of texts since everyone has your number. How have you managed to make time for little old me?

not really, actually. no one really texts me or talks to me for that matter. killing a person makes you unapproachable, apparently.

I find this hard to believe.

you can believe what you want. but it's true. you said so yourself.

So... are you okay?

He found himself asking, afraid of the answer but Potter hadn't hexed him yet. He wondered if it was possible to hex someone via text message.

none of us are. not really. but no. no i'm not.

Of all people, it seems you should be allowed to be not okay.

i literally laughed out loud. startled my poor owl out of her sleep. of all people, i am the least likely to be allowed to not be okay. no one wants to know me. they just want me to be who they think i am.

Well, if it makes you feel better people feel that way about me, too.

i know. but i don't feel that way. i wouldn't have testified for you at your trial if i did.

I ought to say thank you for that.

you already did.

Well, I ought to say it now that I know you can hear it. or read it, rather.

your welcome you're*** i'm not an idiot, i promise

Well, I wouldn't go that far.

ha. ha.

I mean, your master plan for defeating one of the most powerful wizards of all time was to use a disarming spell.

well it worked, didn't it? i've successfully murdered someone by the age of 18. wouldn't my parents be proud?

He stared at the text for a moment, processing, trying to understand what that was supposed to mean. Did Harry feel guilty?

It bothers you. That you killed him.

don't pretend it wouldn't bother you.

Potter, I would have strangled him with my bare hands if I'd thought it would have worked. I won't pretend to understand what you're going through but self defense and saving who knows how many lives, ought to give you a little peace.

There wasn't an answer for a long moment and Draco worried he'd overstepped. He sat there, tapping his forefingers against the mobile, waiting.

it gets hard to see the big picture sometimes. like rationally, i understand what you're saying but...

It's harder when you're the one who has to live with the consequences.

yes

I don't sleep well.

neither do i which is probably obvious since I'm texting you at 2:00am

He typed and erased the starts of sentences repeatedly. 'would you like to come and not sleep well tog-' 'I'm in the common room-' 'do you want to actually talk in per-'.

I'm at the astronomy tower.

I'm in the common room. Some of us can't afford to get caught where we don't belong.

it sounds silly but do you want to sit together? just it might be nice not to be alone ?

Come back to the common room.

He sent before he could change his mind. Then he began to slowly panic; what was he thinking?

A few minutes later, the portrait that guarded the 8th year common room opened and Harry came in, looking a bit windblown. "Uh," Harry said inelegantly. "Hi."

"Hello," Draco replied carefully.

Harry stared at him for a long moment before taking a few steps closer. "Can I sit?"

"Please," Draco replied, gesturing to the couch beside him.

Harry sat and pulled his legs up to his chest. "I don't really want to talk."

"Okay," Draco affirmed.

Harry glanced over at him, "Does quiet bother you?"

He gave him a little smile and shook his head, "Maybe we would just be quiet together."

"I'd like that," Harry whispered.

"Me too."

And that was the first of many nights sitting together quietly, and the first of many hard conversations had via text message.

-------

Day 56: Phone call | Day 58: Voicemail

[todoscript]

Love Capsule

anonymous requested: Can I request a Bakugou scenario where the reader and the Bakusquad drag him out on a shopping trip and they see a whole section of vending machines and decide to check them out to see what cute, tasty or weird things they can find and the reader and Bakugou either get lost/ditched or squeezed together in a tight row but they have a good time and maybe the reader got a rare all might mysery figure and Bakugou wants it, so they they he can have it in exchange for a date?

genre: fluff pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 4.8k+ warnings: bakusquad shenanigans. bakugou cursing. pining.

author’s note: My Bakugou angst fic isn’t done yet but I wrote this request on the side. I wanted to have something to publish after not posting any written work for awhile so I did my best to get this out asap. sorry if it seems rushed! (also reposting this because the post stopped showing up in the tags).

There are only a fair bit of things Bakugou loathes more than wasting his valuable time. And that includes wasting that time by getting dragged into public places he has no desire to be, alongside the four most senseless nitwits the boy has ever had the displeasure of befriending.

It feels less like a friend group to him and more of a gathering of idiots as he watches four out of the six huddle around the aisle of vending machines across the mall. Where’s the other one, you might ask? You’re standing right next to him, sipping a bottle of sweet lemon tea dispensed to you from those vending machines.

“Ooh, look at this one!” The other girl in his squad, styling unruly pink hair, pokes a finger toward a blue machine in particular. What she finds interesting about it is that it’s absent of all buttons except a single one above the coin slot.

“Says here that you only have to pay a hundred yen for a mystery item,” Sero reads the instructions printed boldly across the surface, his grin showing his pearly whites. “Can range from food to even toys and cheap plastic jewelry.”

Popping up behind his taller friend, Kaminari squints incredulously at the sign before his eyes brighten like he’s concocted a conspiracy. “No, dude, I’ve heard of these kinds of vending machines before! They want you to think it’s some ordinary convenience vending machine, but these things actually have some super-secret big prize hidden inside!”

“Uh, no, that’s how you get your money robbed from you, Kaminari,” Kirishima tells the blonde, and yet his warnings end up floating from one ear and flying out the other. Kaminari fishes out a small stash of coins taut in between the lint balls of his pockets.

“Yeah yeah, just wait until you eat those words when I come home with a Playstation 5!”

“Why would there be a Playstation 5 of all things in there?” Ashido asks skeptically. She notes the small slot near the bottom, appearing sizable to dispense a large water bottle at most.

“Okay, maybe not an actual PS5, but probably the voucher you take to the game store to retrieve one, of course!” He waves the doubt away as he kneels and begins his succession of slotting coins in the machine until agitation eventually ebbs his features. About five hundred yen down the drain and all he’s amounted with in exchange are two Gudetama keychains, two packets of off-brand oreo cookies, and one can of that cheap instant black coffee he dislikes. Though if it’s one thing, he and the drink have in common it’s that they’re both positively bitter.

Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido all snicker wryly behind him while he deadpans at the snotty series of prizes with the skin between his eyebrows crinkled in defeat. Ashido takes this as the time to move along the row, dragging her sullen blond friend by the elbow. “Moving on! I want to get to the one with the Yakult drinks already!” She points onward and leads her compadres down the treasure trove of intriguing automated food vendors. Two of the boys press forward enthusiastically. Kaminari has to be lugged out of his brooding in order to play along.

“God, please just take me out already,” Bakugou mutters while leering his signature miffed face behind them. According to the giggle he registers chiming to his left, it seems you heard his complaints.

“Hm, not having a good time, I’m guessing?” you ask. The metallic edge of your lemon tea creases into the cushion that is your plush bottom lip. Bakugou finds himself staring there longer than he should and immediately tears his eyes away before he’s caught.

Your playful tone throws him off a beat later than he should’ve taken to reply. “Of course. I didn’t even want to be here to begin with,” he sneers with a brisk click of his tongue, crossing his arms. In a sense, he’s only telling half of the truth.

It’s true Bakugou did not desire to be here on his own accord. The squad dared to call him at the dead of midnight, when he was already tucked into bed by nine o’clock sharp and indulging in a needed rest, only to be ruefully awoken by his phone blaring across the expanse of his dorm room. The four should’ve suffered an earful from him as they tried to arrange a shopping trip of all things at that hour. However, his disinterest in the subject withered at the bait of your name casted into the conversation. Which to them was hook, line, and sinker. The cunning group of friends reeled him in at the idea that his crush would tag along. So, in the end, they got the rowdy blond to yield to the stupid shopping trip.

Though could it count as a shopping trip when four out of the six in their group were so transfixed by the weird vending machines in the place? The same four that organized said gathering to begin with? They’ve yet to cross into a single store here for crying out loud.

“If all you morons are gonna do is waste your damn money on these things, then this is a complete waste of time.” Bakugou doesn’t sugarcoat his irritation in the slightest. You still try to quell the bitterness in his tone with the saccharine that saturates your own.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, lighten up,” you tease playfully, pinching a small bit of the fabric on his arm to lightly urge him forward.

“You should at least try and join in on the fun with everyone—” At the turn of your head, your sentence cuts off, astonished to come across an empty space where your quartet of friends should be.

“And they’re already gone…” you say in disbelief. Your finger initially pointed in that direction falls limp. With their speedy curiosity plowing down the line of machines, the four have effectively ditched you two, leaving no trace of where they could’ve taken off for next.

The sigh from your lips lingers in amusement. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, Bakugou.”

When your eyes meet him again, you witness the scowl he glares at the abandoned space in front of the vending machine. The leer is menacing enough that if the contraption were an actual person, they might have rattled in fear, dropping down the snacks and drinks contained inside to sate his anger.

“Um, Bakugou?” you attempt to call out to him, but he’s too fixated by the peeved thoughts strewn in his head to hear you properly.

What the fuck are those dunces thinking? They planned this, didn’t they? God, I’m going to fucking kill them all! He babbles a seething torrent in his mind. Each one is more unrelenting and harsher than the last while a vein blisters prominently on his forehead.

What were the odds that going on a little shopping trip would end up with him left behind with his crush? Well, Bakugou thinks it’s absolutely none, and that this shit had to be preordained. If not, then it was just his bad fucking luck he supposes.

“—llo, earth to Bakugou Katsuki? Please send back a reply when you receive this message.”

At last, your voice surfaces, no longer drowned in Bakugou’s turbulent sea of thoughts as the hand you wave in front of him swims its way to his attention. “Huh?” He shakes his head twice to grip himself back to the matter at hand, observing in time the playful smile that curls mischievously on your lips.

“All back together I see. Good.” You start pulling on his arm and lead him in tandem with your steps. “Now let’s get going!”

Though he quirks up an eyebrow, Bakugou, weirdly enough, does not reject the way you drag him along without waiting for his response. In fact, with the other four gone, he finds it compelling that you’re taking the reins and asks mildly, “What? Are we gonna be doing some actual shopping now?”

His joke earns him your laughter resonating in melodic lilts to his ears before you leave his side to toss your empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Nope, we’re gonna be doing something even more fun, of course!” Then you resume dragging Bakugou down the walkways of the mall.

It’s not long until he questions the consecutive twists and turns he’s forced to take, having only been answered by your pursed grin multiple times.

“Hey, no more questions! Just trust me!” you quip at his refusal to be quiet and just obediently follow. The blonde can’t help it, of course, given the circumstances he’s wound himself in. Not many boys his age can control themselves if the person they like is pulling them along with as much enthusiasm as you are right now. But Bakugou is different from those other simpletons, crafting a mask to cover the elation hidden beneath with usual displeasure. Nothing but his uncharacteristic lack of annoyance and the ample glances in your direction could truly give himself away to his affections for you.

So with that, he places a generous amount of hope that you guide him somewhere more entertaining than that borefest he witnessed from the squad earlier.

But the moment you two reach your destination, he wonders if he may have accidentally misplaced that same hope down a rabbit hole instead.

“What the…” Bakugou’s words drift in the air at the quizzical sight before him. Mouth hanging open, he’s unable to conjure any sensible thoughts in time before you step in front of him.

“Tada! The Capsule Toy Gacha Room!” You spread your hands outward to present him an unhindered view of the room. It’s teeming with small capsule toy machines that line the walls, stacked on top of each other not to waste a single space inside. His red eyes squint at the assortment of bright colors painted on each machine that assaults his vision.

“Why the hell are there so many of these things?” Bakugou asks, jabbing a finger at the machines. You reply as you walk inside, “It’s the Gacha Room, Bakugou. Of course this place is gonna be filled with them.” You impart him an answer he is not at all satisfied with.

“I used to come here all the time when I was a kid! Glad it hasn’t really changed,” you say, noting the only real difference between then and now were the new toys and characters updated with the current trends. He begrudgingly trails behind you into the narrow corridors sandwiched with the machines on each side. The modest little tune you hum between your lips is a stark contrast to his disgruntled huffs accompanying his dragging feet.

Bakugou thinks being here is not any different from what the other four are frolicking about outside. This might be the worse alternative, considering you give money to a machine that grants you an item at complete random. You have no way of knowing what or who you’re going to get until the colorful sphere pops out at the bottom. And then, in an instance, your anticipation fades away when you open it and receive the character no one particularly cares about—the little charm inevitably gathering dust, forgotten in the drawers of your desk. Overall, these toy capsule machines were just gluttons devouring the money of parents whose kids always whine about never getting what they wanted.

Still, because it’s you, he stays and watches you indulge in your little nostalgia trip.

As your eyes glide down the row of toy dispensers, trying your best to decipher the items contained behind the blurry glass, you chime in, “Say, Bakugou, don’t you have any memories of gacha machines?”

Bakugou’s brows furrow in contemplation. He racks through the nooks and crannies between the crevices of his mind and recalls some standout memories. “I guess. Few of ’em were stuck in front of the arcade place near my neighborhood,” he answers, but those memories immediately begin to sour the more he looks into the details.

You don’t see how his face slowly contorts with annoyance while he plays back a scene in his head.

At the time, Bakugou had only sprouted to the young age of five years old. He’s huddled around his posse in front of the arcade he mentioned, slotting a coin inside the capsule machine that was stocked full of charms of Pro Heroes, which housed a very special limited edition prize of All Might to honor their collaboration with the famous Number One of Japan.

The boy was positively giddy at what was to come out, remaining hopeful thanks to the giant poster of All Might gazing down upon him with his triumphant grin. Yet even when his squeaky little voice hollered out a “Plus Ultra!” to reinforce his luck, he was given dirt in response.

But you know who did get that mystery All Might prize?

Deku. Fucking Deku.

Right after he had his spin of the machine, the green-haired boy stepped up, gave it a go, and got All Might on his first fucking try. To say five-year-old Bakugou was bitter would only be putting it mildly. The unbridled emotions bundled in his tiny body were just waiting to burst in an explosion.

But in the end, did he fight Midoriya for it? No, he did not. For if he did, his mother would have scolded the hell out of him, and his young self reflected in the moment that avoiding parental wrath outweighed the limited edition Mystery All Might figure charm, as sad as that sounded. So since then, he’s tried to repress that memory in the far corners of his mind.

But it seems God just desires to spite him.

“Hey, look!” You pull lightly on his shirt to capture his attention, eyes trained forward at whatever piqued your interest. Bakugou peeks over your head, and what he’s met with does not please him.

“They have a gacha machine featuring Pro Heroes here!” you shout cheerfully, walking toward it with the hem of Bakugou’s shirt in hand, who begrudgingly follows along despite a groan nearly leaving his mouth.

“Isn’t this cool?” you ask. You squat down to peer into the peculiar machine located at the very bottom of the stack. Bakugou clicks his tongue as part of his reply, hands buried in the pockets of his trousers.

“No.”

“Hey, one day they’ll be making toys and charms of you as well, Mister ‘I’m Gonna Be The Number One Hero,’” you say with a giggle, and your comment sparks a bit of pink to dust his cheeks while he looks down at you from his standing position.

He attempts to join you and your fixation on the Pro Hero capsule machine. However, when he starts bending his knees, he finds this to be a bit difficult. The more he squats down, the more Bakugou realizes they truly made this place for children and not bulky teenagers like him training in hero school. His knees and bottoms almost brush up against the plastic sheen of the machines on each opposing side.

Though he has to fidget into a particular position to get somewhat comfortable, he eventually gets there and kneels next to you.

“Why don’t we give a go at this thing?” you suggest, and he tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

“No way, these are a fucking waste of money,” he rejects.

“Hey it only costs two hundred yen!” you counter, “And plus, you might get a certain hero you want, like say... All Might?” You attempt to lure him in using his idol’s very name, but Bakugou doesn’t take the bait so easily and remains rigid in his stance.

Even if he did want to try for All Might, he’s sure his capsule is long gone by now anyway.

“Aw c’mon, Bakugou, pleaseee?” you draw out your pleas in a cute little tone that takes the blond by complete surprise. Unaware of how much power you have over him, the doe eyes and pout that paint your features make it difficult for him to maintain his hardened facade. Feeling his walls begin to melt away at the endearing sight, he ultimately grits his teeth, eyes shut as his hands rummage down into his pockets.

“Fine,” he mutters in defeat, and that smile appears on your lips once again as you lift your arms in triumph.

Pulling out two separate hundred yen coins, he promptly slides them both into the coin silt. When he hears them clank against the other change inside, he goes for the handle and gives it a quick turn. One of the capsule balls begins its journey down the machine and quickly arrives at the hatch that Bakugou lifts to retrieve his prize.

Snapping the capsule open, he’s met with Endeavor’s ugly mug, seeming even more unsightly from the low-quality production of the charm. The paint job is beyond sloppy, with the colors on the costume not depicted accurately and the figure’s pupils drawn to make him appear cross-eyed.

“Hm, you got the number one hero,” you tease, lightheartedly nudging your elbow at his sides because you know full well it isn’t the number one hero he wanted. Bakugou ignores your taunts and shoves the flame hero’s plastic face down the depths of his pockets, making sure to give it to Todoroki later just to annoy him.

“Yeah yeah, your turn, princess.” He scooches a bit to his right to let you have your go. You gladly follow, taking out the two hundred yen from your money pouch.

Bakugou remains disinterested throughout the entire process but is still attentive enough to observe how you hum those casual tunes of yours despite doing something so mundane. He also starts absorbing the cute shape of your nose and the outline of your lips from this angle. It isn’t long until he realizes how close you are in this position, to the point where he could practically smell your fragrant scent, and soon that pink hue diffuses on his face again.

Fuck, I need to stop that, he urges.

By the time he turns away, the capsule machine has begun its machinations once again.

The sizable sphere descending the hatch this time has striped patterns of red, yellow, and blue, colors that remind him all too much of a certain Pro Hero— Wait. What the fuck—

“This one looks a bit bigger than the others, don’t you think? Wonder what... Oh, hey, it’s All Might!” You go through the emotions—curiosity, anticipation, and then finally, glee.

Bakugou feels like he’s reliving those horrible memories once again as he beholds the shiny, miniature figure nestling in your palms before you lift it to grant a better view of its glory. It twists around from how you pinch it by the attached string while it’s hovering in the air. When the Pro Hero’s face turns in the blond’s direction, it’s like the inanimate object is somehow taunting him.

Compared to Endeavor’s shitty charm, All Might’s is a proper representation of who he is. The better quality plastic molded accurately into the man’s figure, the crevices between his muscles delved into displaying his well-defined physique. The colors on his costume are all correctly painted in his signature red, white, yellow, and blue. They even got the broad grin and shadowy features on his face to the tee.

Whichever company created this toy indeed did All Might justice because it looks exactly like the one Midoriya unsealed right in front of his envious five-year-old eyes.

Bakugou’s body shakes with suppressed anger. His hands clench and then unclench themselves while in conflict with his thoughts. Then, he suddenly moves toward you, darting for the charm that you narrowly pull out from his grapples in time.

“L-Lemme see!” he demands, shifting his hand around to grab hold of it for some reason. The act has you befuddled while you continue to move the toy away to evade capture.

“Huh? Why?”

“I need... to fucking make sure— OOF—”

His sputters are the last things that escape his lips before he staggers off balance due to all those hasty movements. It sends his body toppling over yours onto the floor, where your head would’ve thumped against the hard ground had the boy’s well-trained instincts not maneuvered a hand beneath it in time to cushion your fall.

Your descent to the floor is not at all graceful, wincing slightly at the impact. It’s when the pain ebbs away that you and Bakugou finally realize the very awkward position you’re suddenly both in.

Bakugou is hovering over you, body between your legs as one of his hands is cradling your head. The other is situated next to your face against the ground to keep himself upright, letting his eyes stare down at your stricken expression.

Unknowingly, you had settled your hand on Bakugou’s shoulder out of impulse during fall. The other one is still grasping the All Might figure, which is unharmed despite the abrupt movements.

Bakugou can feel your even breaths caress his lips from how close in proximity both of your faces are in this position. If any of you so much as move the wrong way, your lips would undoubtedly collide into each other. Though Bakugou doesn’t mind the notion, he isn’t going to instigate it if you aren’t willing. But the way your eyes line toward his lips, giving him a similar enamored look to the one he has right now, it seems both of you are on the same page.

Taking your mutual fixations as the sign to continue, Bakugou draws himself forward to close the distance while you rise to meet him in the middle.

And finally, he gets to kiss those lips of yours. The lips that adorn your cute face he always snuck glances at. The lips so unhinged in their playful teasing toward him. The lips he’s been so mesmerized and bewitched by throughout this chaotic excuse of a shopping trip.

And when they meet, they’re as full and soft as he imagined them to be, melding perfectly against his.

The hand he’s nestled under your head allows him to press you further into the liplock. You’re nearly enveloped in his wistful machinations, wanting to drown in the sea of his affections as your arms find their way around him.

You would’ve allowed yourself to do so, if not for the unfortunate security camera you catch in the corner of your eye from where you laid.

Your eyes widen, staggering out of their half-liddedness. You pat your hand in rapid succession against his shoulder, getting the blond to stir and separate from the kiss—an act he detests as he doesn’t want the embrace to end.

“What?” he gruffs. You point up at the ceiling, and he turns in that direction. When he detects the security camera about to automatically shift toward this particular side of the Capsule Toy Gacha Room, his face grows full of panic. He lifts himself off your body immediately.

With the two of you remembering where you are, you rose from the ground and cleaned yourselves up. You try to appear pristine as possible, without letting any suspicion about what has happened get tossed in your direction. Still, the red faces plastering both of your features are already a dead giveaway.

“I… Uh…” Bakugou’s still lost in the haze of the heated moment, unsure of what words he should utter. Much to his relief, his burden lifts when two notifications from your phones ring in sync together, diverting your attention.

When you open your phone and slide across the notice, a text message from the Bakusquad ascends onto the screen.

Mina: heyyyy just finished going through all these vending machines! you wont believe how much money we spent!!

The message follows a selfie of the four holding a myriad of drinks and snacks together in the picture. You can’t suppress your giggle at the endearing sight. Another chime sounds when a new text pops up at the bottom.

Eijirou: let’s all meet up again at that blue mystery vending machine!

“Well, you heard them,” you say while clicking off your phone, “we better get a move on.”

Bakugou relays your words back in a slow nod, following through with a rough “yeah” that cleaves his throat. The two of you walk alongside each other once again while you leave the Capsule Toy Gacha Room. Only your steps padding against the mall’s confounds accompany the quiet atmosphere established between you two—awkward and a bit unnerving.

It’s when you’ve both made it to the meet-up spot in front of the blue vending machine that you alleviate yourselves of the strained tension.

“Soooo… was there any reason you wanted to get your hand on this thing so badly?” you question, drawing out the All Might charm that led those heated events to transpire. It dangles between your fingertips and glances at Bakugou along every rotation. The blonde bounces his eyes between you, All Might, and the ground, unsure if he should admit that he was acting out of childish jealousy and bitterness.

“I… Urgh… Fuck…”

You raise an eyebrow when he fumbles with his words. He mutters blatant obscenities between every possible resolve that crosses his mind.

“Look, forget it. It’s not important,” Bakugou concludes, but you think differently, not satisfied with his answer.

“No. Tell me.”

With that weight in your tone, Bakugou realizes he can’t avoid the subject any longer. He releases a long sigh as he leads you through the infamous tale, observing how your expression grows from concerned to downright amused.

“Really? You’ve held a grudge for that long?” The laughter you initially attempt to suppress ends up bubbling from your throat. Hearing it spurs Bakugou to clutch his hands together into shaky fists.

“Look. If you know me, then you should remember I never want to lose to fucking Deku. The fact he got the All Might charm right after I got garbage fucking pissed me off!” he exclaims loud enough for his harsh words to reach a couple walking by. They spare worried glances at the blonde when they stroll past him.

“Hmm…” you muse in thought. Bakugou can tell by the glint rising in your eyes and your tone that you’re up to something again. “I can give you mine if you want. But only for a very small price.”

He quirks an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what would that fucking price be?”

The smirk prominent on your pretty lips widens while you teeter your weight to your tippy-toes in front of him.

“A date. Just a single date will suffice,” you tell him, and Bakugou’s caught off guard by how simple the offer is. His delayed response has you leaning forward, appraising him for an answer.

“Well..?” You wave the charm before his eyes by the thin string as if to hypnotize him. But in all honesty, Bakugou knows that sweet smile of yours and luster in your eyes is all you need to have him wrapped around your finger.

His playful smirk surfaces his lips. He provides his answer by snatching the figure right from your dainty fingertips.

“You got yourself a deal, princess.”

You happily clap your hands together. “It’s settled then! We’ll have a date here at the mall next week!”

“Hah?! Why the fucking mall again?!”

“Because we didn’t do much here anyway, so I say we should give it another shot together next week!”

“What? And go shopping? I don’t wanna be your bellboy the entire time—”

“Mom! Mom! Look at that boy’s All Might toy!”

You and Bakugou are both surprised by the new, high-pitched voice that enters in the middle of your riffraff. Your eyes trail along to sound and come face-to-face with a young boy staring at the toy in Bakugou’s hand.

“I want one too!”

Unable to control his gloating, Bakugou dangles the charm next to his face.

“Yeah well, too bad, kid. It’s mine so f—”

“Bakugou,” you warn. You halt the obscene words from entering the boy’s ears and avoid giving his mom a hard time.

“Argh… I mean... scram!”

You almost smack yourself. You can’t believe Bakugou has the guile to argue with a child at this age.

Though he forgoes the curses, that doesn’t make Bakugou’s words sound any less harsh. As a result, the kid pouts. He pouts hard. His eyes start to become glassy, lining the edge of his lashes with droplets. Recognizing her child on the verge of breaking out into tears, the mom acts quickly. She’s by his side, patting his back.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go to that blue vending machine over there and see if you can get a toy too,” she cheers him up instantly, dropping a hundred yen coin down her son’s small palm.

“Okay, mom!” he responds, gleeful again.

He dawdles over to the machine with purpose in his steps, inserting the coin, and pressing the lone button on the mystery vending machine.

You and Bakugou don’t perceive any noise emitting from the machine, and yet the little boy is putting his hands into the slot to pull something out.

“Mom, why did the machine give me a paper that says PS5?”

Both of you go rigid. Kaminari is not going to be happy hearing about this.

[blossomkoushi]

it’s what you feel, when you love someone.

summary: tsukishima kei spends his life discovering love. and the heartache that comes with it.

warnings: reader is a bit of an ass, but so is tsukishima one time, childhood friends AU, unrequited love, heartache, heartbreak, general angst things like that. gender neutral reader, referred to as “stinky” in texts. truly all hurt and no comfort in this one.

word count: 2.1k

A/N: i haven’t written angst in forever, so please let me know if this was okay or what i could improve on! i absolutely love angst and i want to get better at writing it, so any and all feedback is appreciated. fic is based off this prompt, thank you for requesting!

The sun shines through Tsukishima’s window. 7:30am. Rolling over in his bed and sighing, he reaches for his phone. The text messages you’d sent after he’d gone to bed sit at the top of the screen. A small smile grows on his face.

[from: stinky, sent at 1:43am] >> kei-kei, did you know that fish cough? Isn’t that so weird? >> like how does that even work >> wait I found a youtube video, look! >> *stinky sent a link* >> …doesn’t really look like coughing, does it? It’s more like a yawn >> kei-kei are you sleeping? >> laaaame >> sleeping is dumb

The nickname makes his heart flutter, just for a moment. It’d always had that effect on him, the blush creeping up on his face until he trained himself to keep it down.

[to: stinky, 7:34am] >> why were you sending me texts about fish at 1:40 in the morning >> stupid

Tsukishima pauses for a moment, hesitating before sending another text.

[to: stinky, 7:36am] >> are you still coming by practice later?

Getting out of bed, he starts getting ready for his morning class and practice. A part of him is grateful that you decided to go to the same university as him, being able to see you nearly every day made his life brighter. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He’s out the door and walking to class when you text him back.

[from: stinky, 8:27am] >> obviously, I need to go see how ‘Taro is doing >> could you steal his shirt so I can see his abs during practice? >> *image attached*

Some kind of horny meme that Tsukishima never bothered to pay attention to, the kinds you always send when talking about his teammate, Kyoutani.

[from: stinky, 8:29am] >> oh, and you’ll be there too, ig

There it is.

He knows it’s a joke. He knows that he’s your best friend and you’re only joking. But the sinking in his chest and the knot tightening in his stomach is refusing to listen to his reasoning.

Swallowing down any anxious and sad feelings, he shakes his head and starts typing away at his phone.

[to: stinky, 8:30am] >> great. I’ll see you after class

Another message of seemingly random emojis pop up on his screen and he pockets his phone, taking a seat in the classroom and bringing out his notebook. He can feel himself zoning out before the professor even starts speaking.

-

Love is a strange word to Tsukishima Kei. It’s something his mom, and occasionally brother, say to him. Something on instinct, as if a promise would be broken if the words weren’t uttered.

Tsukishima had been 5 years old when he asked his mom about it. At the time he only repeated it back to her, an echo of her declaration, unaware of what he was promising her.

“it’s a feeling, Kei. Love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply. And so, you tell them.”

“do you have to say it?”

His mom stops for a moment, pondering before brushing his hair back and shaking her head. “no, you don’t have to say it. But you should at least show it to the people you love.”

Tsukishima continued telling his mom that he loves her up until elementary school. He still loves her after that, but his priorities shifted.

-

Tsukishima had been 8 years old when he realizes that he loves you.

The feeling grew stronger every day, your smile brightening his day and your laughter making his heart flutter in a strange way.

“Kei-Kei! Look, I found a snail! There’s more over there, come on!” your excited voice made his heart swell in his chest. Your small hand gripped his, tugging him through the mud and puddles on the yard, giggling happily despite the rain pouring down.

He starts drawing you pictures of snails. Small doodles placed on your desk before recess. He points them out after it’s rained, pulling you along to bend down and watch them slowly drag along the road on the way home from school.

You get interested in frogs, cats, worms, bees, even ants for a while. Tsukishima joined your obsessions, indulging you with drawings, books and pictures. One time he collected worms in a bucket on his walk home, handing them to you when he arrived at your house, knowing that you were ill and hoping the wigglies, as you called them, would make you happier. The smile you gave him burned into his mind, and he wanted to see it again and again until the end of time.

He loves you, even his young mind can grasp that. He hopes that you can tell.

-

Tsukishima is 12 years old when he realizes that he’s in love with you.

Valentine’s day was never something he’d pay attention to. It seemed silly to him, a whole day just to talk about love? Stupid. Love is something you feel, so you say it or show it and that’s that, why spend a whole day talking about it?

That is, until you run up to him the day before, excitement flashing in your eyes.

“Kei-Kei, do you know what day it is tomorrow?” your hands gripped his arms, nearly shaking him. The familiar blush grows on his face and he shakes his head, hoping you don’t notice how his skin is turning pinker by the second. “it’s valentine’s day! I heard some of the older boys talking in the hallway about what they’re doing for their girlfriends and it seems so cute! Like, oh, one is going to take his girlfriend out roller skating, isn’t that so romantic? And this other boy was saying that-“

Tsukishima tunes your voice out, focusing his attention to your lips moving. Your hands are still gripping his arms and a part of him wishes that you’d never let go, feeling his skin burning under his clothes. You’re standing so close; he could lean his head forward just a bit and his lips could be on yours. If he just-

“-Oh! And I heard some girls talking before gym that the boys in our class were going to confess to their crushes tomorrow! Do you think anyone will confess to me? I hope so” your words snap him back to reality. His eyes go slightly wide, looking into yours. Confess? You wanted one of the stupid boys in your class to confess?

A twinge of discomfort stabs in his stomach, his body filling with sudden annoyance. “no way” he scoffs.

He’s never regretted anything more in his life.

The excitement drains from your eyes and your hands fall from his arms. Before he can think, your chin quivers and you nod silently, turning around and running away.

The discomfort in his stomach only grows, changing and chafing along with an ache in his chest, all annoyance drained from his body in an instance.

He draws a picture of a snail and dinosaur, writing your names over them. Underneath he scribbles an apology. A quick “I’m sorry”, and he places it in your mailbox on his way home.

The next day, he sees you on the yard of the school, standing excitedly in front of a boy and throwing your arms around him.

-

Tsukishima is 13 years old when he realizes that you don’t love him back. Not in the way he wants.

Though, to be honest, he knew from the moment he saw you with the boy from your class walk home together from school, hand in hand.

You’re both in junior high and all you seem to want to talk about is your stupid boyfriend. It’s a different boy, not the same one he saw you with that previous February. This one is taller, not as tall as Tsukishima, but you say that height isn’t something you look for in a boyfriend. He can’t help but to feel the jealousy and sadness seep in at that.

“he’s older, you know. He’s turning 15 in a few weeks and he says that I can meet his family at his birthday party.” You’re seated on Tsukishima’s bed while he’s at the desk, trying to tune you out and do his homework. He hopes you’ll stop talking about him and do the same. You don’t. “oh, and I know you’ve never had a girlfriend, so you won’t know this, but he’s such a good kisser. Like, you can definitely tell that he’s got some experience compared to my ex. Isn’t that so weird? Me? Having an ex?”

Tsukishima doesn’t like this. You’re changing, trying to be older than you actually are to impress this older boy that he’s never even met. Not that he wants to. He’s gotten used to the dull ache of his heart breaking over and over again, the steady and constant reminder that you won’t ever see him the way that he sees you. He’s mastered the art of seeming okay, masking his feelings and pushing them deep down where no living soul will ever see them. But if he had to see you with this… boyfriend… he’s not sure that he’d recover.

So instead, he shuts up. He stays quiet and lets you babble on about all the little things that this boy does for you, letting the ache in his chest grow and grow. It’s better than the alternative, telling you how he feels. No, that’s not an option. He can’t risk losing you.

-

Tsukishima Kei is an idiot. He knows this for a fact after having to watch you pine after endless boys and men all the way up until university. Boyfriends that come and go, the make out sessions that he gets graphic descriptions of and a constant damp shoulder from holding you after your heart gets broken.

He pretends to laugh along when you joke about him being single for so long, his heart squeezing painfully at the reminder that his long-time crush has eyes for every man except him.

-

He only comes back from his heart-break haze when he steps into the gym after class. Only he wishes that he hadn’t.

Calling out a greeting, he sees you standing alone with Kyoutani. Except he’s not sure if it counts as standing, it’s more of a pinning to the wall. Kyoutani’s body caging you in, your back pressed to the wall with your hands around his neck. Even from a distance, he can see your usual excited smile, happy to have gotten attention from the boy you’d been pining after.

“sorry.” Tsukishima can only mutter, quickly turning around and walking out the gym again. He can hear your muffled voice, probably reassuring Kyoutani that it’s okay. He wishes that he’d walked faster, so he would’ve missed the unmistakable sounds of kissing and your soft sighs.

Tsukishima hasn’t let himself cry over you in years. He forces himself to go numb, push away any and all bad feelings until his breathing gets steady and he can look you in the eye again.

But this time, he can’t stop it. He’s fallen to the floor as soon as the bathroom door locks behind him. It’s disgusting, sitting on the floor with his hands pressed to his eyes, trying to force the tears back inside. His classes clink onto the floor, skidding away from him as his body shakes.

Tears stream down his face and drips down his shirt, turning the fabric into a blotchy mess, matching his flushed face and the snot running from his nose. His sobs echo off the walls, arms hugging his knees while the image of your body pressed against his teammate flashes behind his eyes every time he blinks.

He hasn’t cried over you in years. So, when it all hits him, it hits hard.

He misses practice completely, spending his time laying on the filthy floor in the bathroom and clutching his chest, trying to bring the broken pieces back together. He finally stands after what feels like an eternity. Picking up his glasses from the floor, he puts them on and watches himself in the mirror. Face flushed pink, eyes bloodshot and snot running from his nose, he thinks about what his mother said when he was a kid.

“love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply.”

A bitter laugh fills the room, his own hard eyes meeting him in the mirror.

His mother was wrong. Love isn’t what you feel when you care for someone deeply. All you feel is pain. The dull twisting of a knife in your chest as you watch the one you love fall for someone else, over and over again until you accept that their soft and loving eyes will never meet yours. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you’re standing in the bathroom of the gym where you saw said person fall in love with someone new. That you’ve accepted it.

[mahixa]

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 5

Words = 9k

Summary = You’ve been kidnapped by the First Order and Poe wants needs you back

Warnings = No fun warnings I’m sorry! There is a happy ending, but before we get there it’s, kidnapping, forced drugging, aftermath of that, general pain, hurt/comfort, violence, hospital setting. I think that’s everything? Please, please, please let me know if I’ve missed anything - this got a lot darker than I intended (if you have any questions before you read, just shoot me a message and I’ll let you know!)

A/N = Sorry this chapter took so long - i think it might have actually killed me. But we’re at the end! Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who’s read this far, and stuck with the story, I love you all!  

Also special thanks to @michaelperry who beta’d this like a month ago and gave me some really good advice! 

Posted to AO3

Chapter 1   Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

***

When you wake, it’s cold. You're in a chair, hands strapped to the arms. It takes you a long time to open your eyes; your head is pounding and the bright lights shining on you are complicating matters.

The room swims slowly into focus as you blink, feeling like there’s glue on your lash line each time you try and open your eyes.

The room is a bright white, smelling faintly of chemicals and you keep blinking, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. You move your head slightly, trying to think. There’s something just floating outside of your consciousness, something important you should be remembering, but every time you grab for it, it floats away.

You don’t know how long you sit like this, drifting in and out of consciousness, with little to no perception of what’s around you.

When there’s a loud slam, your whole body jerks forward in shock, but there’s nowhere to go. You’ve begun to lose most of the feeling in your arms, but your mind is beginning to feel clearer. Now you can hear a whirring beneath you, the slight vibration letting you know you’re on a ship, and it’s already in flight. How long have you been traveling for? You’re still cold, goosebumps up and down your arms as your teeth chatter slightly.

You focus on the person standing behind you, not bothering to turn your head. “It’ssnot polite … to … to slam t’door, y’know,”  You're shocked when your voice comes out more slurred than you meant it to.

The figure behind you just laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. They walk forwards slowly, a cloak wrapped around their body, hood off. He seems a little familiar to you but you’re not sure why.

The room is coming more and more into focus, like someone’s turned up the intensity of your vision, and you can see that there are cupboards lining the wall in front of you, various tables and medical equipment visible.

The man had pale skin, ginger hair, although he was starting to lose it, his hairline creeping back in a subtle widow’s peak. He smiles, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh dear. Struggling to talk?” His tone is mocking as he leans towards you.

Your mouth feels dry, like it’s been stuffed of cotton wool and you can’t think. You can’t remember … anything. How did you end up here? Who is this horrible man in front of you? Why does he look familiar?

You try to talk again. “Wha’ve’oou givenee?”

It’s a struggle to manipulate your mouth fast enough to separate your words, your tongue clumsy in your mouth, but you try. “Wha’ve you givenee? Given? Given. Me?”

“It’s wearing off, good good. Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll be able to talk properly in around …” he looks at his wrist, considering. “Maybe 15 minutes?”

Sweetheart.

That feels familiar - why?

The man takes a seat, a much comfier looking one than the one you’re sat on, looking prepared to wait. He’s calm, shuffling through papers and clattering objects around. You try and pull it together, closing your eyes in an attempt to concentrate. You have 15 minutes before something’s going to happen. He wants you to be able to talk … so … so … so why can’t you think?

He wants you to tell him about the resistance.

Of course. The resistance. He needs information … and suddenly fear shoots down your spine.

Except obviously you won’t give him what he wants. So he’s waiting because…?

Why can’t you think?!

Someone else used to call you sweetheart.

And suddenly there’s a tan face in your memory, grinning at you and calling you sweetheart. And you can remember feeling frustration, but it’s different. This memory-frustration, it’s like a warm bubble inside you, rising and bursting as you call the man an idiot.

His hair is amazing.

You know his name. You know you do. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue - …

The man in the chair coughs, and the face flies out of your head, leaving a sharp pain in your chest instead. Why?

And gradually, you’re also becoming aware of a throbbing pain in your head. You don’t know what the cause is, whether you hit your head, or if it’s something as simple as dehydration.

There’s a high-pitched beep and the man sits up in his chair.

Poe.

You nearly gasp his name out, stopping yourself at the last second. But why does thinking about him hurt?

The man doesn’t seem to realise your inner conflict, or if he does, he doesn’t care, instead scraping his chair across to sit in front of you. “So sweetheart, let’s run through some basics. I’ll ask you a couple of questions to test where you are, then we’ll see what you know.”

You can smell his breath. It’s minty, matching his too-white teeth, and you hate it. You hate him. You already know you won’t answer a single one of his questions.

“Name?”

You nearly laugh, they don’t know your name?

“Sweetheart tell me what your name is, so I know that the drug is out of your system.”

You just blink at him, in that split second deciding on your tactic. Absolute silence.

You don’t get a reaction from him, however, instead he moves onto the next question.

“Date of birth?”

It takes an effort to not automatically respond, but you don’t change your expression.

The man just sighs again.

“Do you know who I am?”

You don’t, but you don’t reply.

“My name is General Hux and I am to deliver you and Poe Dameron to Kylo Ren.”

General Hux. And suddenly you remember Poe telling you something.

You laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You mean General Hugs? Aww you’re my favourite, I’m flattered that you of all people in the First Order would come to find me.”

You get the first flicker of annoyance crossing the man’s face. Then it resolves itself, and he grins. “So you can talk clearly now,” he stands, scraping the chair over the floor. “Good, good.” Opening one of the cupboards he pulls out some clear liquid in a large jar and a couple of bags, placing them onto a small table with a clatter, which he pushes towards you.

And all at once, with a heavy thud in your chest as the memory flashes across your eyes, you remember what you said to Poe. And that after, you walked into the forest-

You love him.

Fuuu-

Your line of thought is interrupted by the man saying your name. You clench your fists, suddenly aware of how cold your fingers are. You’re an idiot.

“You better start answering my questions now.” The man sits back in front of you, pulling the table next to him. And now you can see what’s in the bags. Absolutely enormous needles attached to syringes.

Your throat goes dry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuck!

You try to squash the fear, instead baring your teeth in a grin. “Why? Will General Hugs be cross?”

For good measure, you add a pout in, and maker, you’ve never been so glad to be a piece of work.

“I will. And you won’t like me when I’m cross.”

You ignore the flash of fear you feel, instead concentrating on moving your feet inside your shoes in a futile attempt to warm them up. Your laugh is cold. “Oh I think I’ll be ok.”

He picks up a syringe, carefully unwrapping it, before drawing some clear liquid into it. You continue, ignoring his attempts to intimidate you. “After all, I don’t like you very much now, so I can’t even imagine what you could do to me to make me hate you more.”

He ignores you, tapping the syringe and watching a bubble float to the top. “Do you know what this is?”

Be annoying.

“Well if it’s the same thing as the first one you gave me, I wouldn’t recommend it because then I’ll just pass out again and you won’t get a coherent answer out of me, will you?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, those people had nothing to do with the First Order. They just needed the money.”

“So the First Order don’t even have the manpower to come and get me yourself?” You tut. “Standards are slipping.”

“Mouthy bitch, aren’t you?” He’s still playing with the syringe, and you can’t help but eye the needle warily. “No, this is different. Lowers your inhibitions, your perceptions. You’ll tell me things you don’t even realise.”

“Ahhhh so you see, you’ve made a mistake there.” You’re talking rubbish, but you can’t seem to stop yourself, in full flow now. “I don’t have any inhibitions, anyone will tell you that I’m utterly shameless so I just, I really, really don’t think it’ll worth giving it to me, it just won’t work, and who knows how much the drug cost and what a waste, I really don’t think you, the great General Hugs would be hap-”

Your steady stream of consciousness is stopped when he slaps you with a resounding crack, your head flying to one side.

Pain immediately blooms on the side of your face, and you have to blink away a few tears from the impact.

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know, silly girl, I need to find out where Poe Dameron is and-”

You interrupt with another laugh, and maybe that first injection addled your brain more than you thought it did, because that truly was a stupid thing to do. You’ve never acted like this before, and yet there’s a small voice in the back of your head telling you that Poe would be proud, so you keep going.

“You don’t know? So it’s pure luck that you found me - no wait, that I was delivered to you! Maker I love being right, standards really are slippi-”

The second slap hurts more than the first.

You sit there for a second in dumb shock, blood pooling in your mouth from the blunt force.

When Hugs rips your sleeve up your left forearm, holding the needle against your skin, you start to twist your wrist in it’s cuff, desperate to get away. You can see your wrist turning red, and your hand is starting to hurt from the force you’re using.

Hugs doesn’t waste any time though, using one cold hand to hold your wrist above the cuff still, gripping it tightly, he plunges the needle in with the other. When the needle pierces your skin, it hurts, you can feel the liquid soaking into your muscles and traveling up your arm.

The effect of this drug isn’t immediate, and so you sit there for a moment, arm aching, determined not to show how much this hurts. You turn your head to the other side and spit out the blood in your mouth, the red a bright contrast on the sparkling floor.

A mix of saliva and blood trails from your lips, and you explore your mouth with your tongue, finding the area where your teeth cut the inside of your cheek. You remove your tongue immediately upon finding it, not needing to add further pain to another area of your body.

Stars but the needle hurts.

“Do you-?” You nod towards your arm, naively hoping that Hugs will remove the needle. “Do you mind removing the needle, I mean-”

You stop talking when you move your fingers by accident and a stab of pain shoots up your arm.

Fuck the needle is massive too.

Hugs just grins, and the movement looks unnatural as he stretches stiff facial muscles, leaning back into his chair, tidying up the instruments on the table. “Maybe you’ll learn some manners,” is all he says.

“I thought - … I thought you wanted me to talk?” Your body is starting to hurt now, and it’s starting to be a struggle to speak again.

Except now you can feel the drug’s effect. It’s hardly noticeable at first, but gradually, gradually, the pain is receding. And the effect of this drug is different to the last, it’s lifting you up, making everything dream-like and fuzzy.

Everything thankfully stays in your mind, although you can’t help but giggle. Something’s funny.

“Tell me about General Dameron.” Hug’s voice is stern as he leans towards you and all you can do is let out another giggle.

General. He’s just Poe. Your Poe.

“I don’t know anything about him.” You’re such a bad liar. You’re trying to keep your face innocent and blank, but giggles keep rising up, and you’re sure it’s ruining the effect.

“I think you do.”

You giggle again. Maker this is good fun. Dimly, you register that your arm doesn’t hurt anymore and you stare as you wiggle your fingers, only feeling a faint thrum through your arm.

“Well you think wrong.” Are you singing? Singing sounds like fun.

“Can you confirm he stole kyber crystals alongside you a cycle ago?”

Fuck and you remember that mission so well. It was such a disaster. But as funny as this situation is, it remains in your mind that the man in front of you is a very bad man, and you can’t tell him anything.

“Answer me.” The command is sharp and stern, and you don’t like it. Hugs is mean. With a name like Hugs, he should really be nicer. You’d think he would be cuddlier, like a teddy bear. Instead he’s all sharp angles and words.

You pout. “No.” He’s so rude. Why should you answer him anyway? “Don’t you know? Me and Dameron hate each other - I know nothing about him.”

The phrase feels so familiar on your tongue, yet something about it is clunky, old-fashioned. The denial is an old friend of yours, and maybe you should have pushed down your feelings for him in the same way, and maybe you would already be feeling better. This pain in your chest is too much.

I don’t love Poe Dameron.

Even in your head it sounds flat.

Another slap to your face twists your head the opposite way. This one doesn’t hurt, you only notice it from the movement of your head.

“Answer me.” The commanding tone breaks through your dreamy haze. You have no idea what the question was, but you can feel a liquid pooling at the corner of your mouth. You blow out slightly, feeling a bubble forming.

The safe option is a petulant “No.”

“You will.”

“I will not.”

This is actually quite a fun game - the more you refuse, the more visibly annoyed Hugs gets. He’s trying so hard to stay calm, to stay in control, but you can see it in the twitch of his fingers. It kind of reminds you how Poe used to fight his annoyance towards you, the only difference being that Poe never moved to hurt you.

The questions continue for what feels like hours and hours. You have no perception of time, or how long has passed, only that you’re hungry and thirsty, and Hugs keep giving you more of this drug. You can’t remember what you say in response to the questions, but the one thing you keep in mind is not to tell them anything.

And one by one, each of your friends appears tauntingly in front of you, Rey chasing her head around the room, Rose uncontrollably floating above you like a balloon, Poe looking suspiciously normal, although with heavier eyebrows than usual, causing him to frown more. He upsets you first, telling you he’s glad you’re not friends, before saying that he hates you, he always has, he was just taking pity on you, that sleeping together was just stress relief. And then he sprouts wings, turning into an eagle, flying around the ceiling, where Rose was minutes before, except now you’re sobbing.

You’re aware that you’re hallucinating, each of them have a suspiciously shiny quality to them, a shimmer at their edges. But the idea of Poe telling you he hates you, that you never meant anything to him … it hurts.

Gradually, gradually, you can feel a tug of darkness at the edges of your mind, and everything inexplicably hurts, so you let it take you, if only so you won’t hurt anymore.

***

Back at base, Poe had never felt so out of control before. He’d always struggled with impulse management, the answer usually so clear in his mind. Suit up, jump into his x-wing, blow the problem up.

He couldn’t blow this problem up.

Everyone was moving so fast around him, yet they didn’t seem to be doing anything. You weren’t back, so they couldn’t be. Poe felt almost detached, looking down on his body surrounded by everyone who was working hard to find you.

He made his way to his x-wing, though he didn’t remember getting there. He was holding his flight suit, and some part of him was aware that he had to put it on if he wanted to fly.

“Poe.” The voice was familiar behind him.

Turning, he saw Leia standing behind him, a look of pity on her face. “Droids have tracked the lieutenant through the forest where she was joined by two others, identity unknown as of yet.”

Poe nodded. Numbness was spreading through him, he could hardly move, the idea of speaking was laughable.

“There were signs of a struggle, but we’ll find her Poe.”

What if she doesn’t want to come back? She’s not my friend.

“Poe.” There was a hand on his shoulder. It takes a great deal of effort for him to focus on Leia in front of him. Her hand was touching him, and it felt so familiar to yours, and yet so different, in almost every way that felt like it mattered. “It’ll be ok.”  

“I’ve got to go.” He was going to get you back, hell or high water.

In fact, it didn't even matter if you didn’t want to come back with him.

Poe shakes his head, “We’re not friends!” still ringing in his mind.

You were going to come back to the base if Poe had to drag you, if only so he could have a proper conversation with you before you left for good.

He hadn’t even realised he’d been flirting with the recruit until you’d turned up, and then suddenly you’d commanded his whole world view. How competent and confident you’d looked, hitting the target with each of your shots, before he’d come to the conclusion that you were jealous.

By that point, you’d already stalked away, shoulders tight with a scowl on your face. He had been able to see your lie, that you really were jealous, as soon as the words had left your mouth, your denial too strong, too protective.  

But why? Why didn’t you want him to know you were jealous? As far as Poe was concerned, it was kind of hot.

You couldn’t run away, or die before Poe got the answers.

You couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.

He stooped to pull the flight suit on, shrugging off Leia’s hand.

“Poe I’m not letting you chase after her.”

Poe ignored her, instead bending slightly and concentrating on doing up the buttons and various zips.

“Poe listen!”

General Organa was speaking now, not Leia, and it made Poe stop, straightening automatically.

“I am not giving you permission to leave base. Rey and Finn have already left.”

Poe steps towards Leia, and stars he feels angry.

“I am the best flyer in the resistance and you’re grounding me?”

He ignores the way his head spins when he remembers the look on your face that night you’d told him he was the best flyer, how you’d said his mum would be proud of him, how-

He shakes his head, not wanting the memory right now, blinking hard as tears well in his eyes.

“Yes.” His fingers flex at his side at Leia’s calmness.

“Why not?” He doesn’t want to snap at Leia but he had to get you back. He was going to murder those bastards who took you … if they had hurt you … “I can’t lose her, Leia, I can’t.”

“You’re not in the right headspace right now, and I can’t risk-”

Poe laughs, cutting Leia off and it’s not nice. It’s a little loose and a little mad, louder than it needs to be. “You can’t risk what? Losing me?” He bends again, this time tightening the harness straps around his legs and they’re tight, too tight. “I can’t risk losing her, Leia.” He takes a deep breath, shaking fingers attempting to loosen the straps, attempting to take back control. “I c-an’t.”

Leia’s heart broke as Poe’s voice cracked. For the first time in a long time, she saw the young boy who had come to the Resistance as soon as he was able, desperate to prove himself and throw himself into the middle of the fight.

So she steps forwards and hugs him. “I know, I know.” Leia can feel Poe trembling.  “But you charging off with half a brain isn’t going to fix anything.”

Poe allows himself to be held, head empty for a moment. He feels exhausted, yet every nerve within him is wired up to go, although he doesn’t know where. An indeterminate amount of time passes before Poe realises that Leia is probably doing all she can to stall him.

When this thought trickles down into his mind, he steps back. Perhaps because Leia can read him like a book, or perhaps because she really does want to help, she offers a small smile. “Come with me.”

Poe doesn’t have much chance to reply before Leia’s steering him by his elbow, keeping a tight grip on him. He’s led to comms, a room he’s aware of, but has never been in before.

Rose is sitting, hovering over a comm worker who Poe’s unfamiliar with. They’re sitting at a messy workstation with a number of small screens, a mess of wires cascading out of the back. The comms worker has an earphone in one ear, while the big centre screen is turned on, showing what appears to be Rey and Finn’s position.

There’s a pain in Poe’s chest as he looks at the other, empty, workstations. This is what you're worth to the Resistance. One comms worker and a friend.

Rose stands, flinging her arms around him. She’s talking, but there's a buzzing in Poe’s ears and he’s missing some. “... she’ll be alright.”

Rose has drawn back, and it’s like the bubble has popped around Poe, bringing him back to the present. He nods, suddenly aware of how hard Leia is still holding onto his arm, and briefly wondering if he’ll have bruises.

Poe picks up his own set of earphones and moves to power up the next screen over, clicking through to Rey’s comms, mind clearing as he and the comms worker start to talk through it.

After all, Poe’s always been good under pressure, blocking out all distractions, including Leia’s instructions to the droid by the door not to let Commander Dameron leave until the Lieutenant was back.

***

When you wake, you’re alone. The drug, whatever they gave you has worn off, and your headache has returned. You’re shaking, covered in sweat. When you try and make a fist with your good arm, you can barely apply enough pressure to close your hand.

You’re still strapped to the chair and unable to move your arms. When you glance down at your left arm, the blood makes your stomach turn. Everything seems sharper than it did before, more pronounced edges, yet the surfaces have lost their colour, looking duller.

Your mouth is dry and you know that if you could have some more of the drug, just a little, you’d feel better. But there are more pressing concerns; you need to get out of here.

Your feet are on the floor, good. Your head itches, and your ribs ache like you’ve been hit around the stomach. There’s something dried on your chin, irritating your skin, tightening it.

It’s hard to think, it’s so cold in here, like the ice is numbing your brain. Your headache is pounding behind your eyes and doesn’t help. But you try to stand, thinking you’ll attempt a turtle-like shuffle to the door.

Except you can’t.

You try again, bracing your feet against the floor and trying to stand. It takes you longer than it should to realise that it’s not working because you’re pressing down with your arms too.

You slump back into the chair with enough force to cause it to move, trying to catch your strength, panting heavily and not sure what else to do.

It takes you longer than it should for you to realise what that means, the thought barely trickling down into your mind.

Ok.

With a lot of careful angling and heavy slumps, you manage to twist the chair so it’s facing the door. It’s made of the same material as the walls, barely distinguishable apart from a keypad and metal grille.

Which Rey and Finn are looking at you through.

You sigh. Great. That’s what you need right now, more hallucinations. They look shocked, faces slack, until Rey disappears and Finn smiles reassuringly at you.

Briefly you wonder if Rey’s gone because her head fell off again. Then you consider if your hallucinations can get any weirder.

The next thing you know the door is swinging open, creaking slightly on its hinges and Finn’s rushing over to you, Rey poking around behind you.

“Can you stand?” Finn’s asking, looking down at you, brow furrowed. You can only nod in response, although you’re not confident in your answer. Your limbs are stiff, and even now you can move, it’s a struggle.

There’s a brief pain flickering in your left arm, and you focus on not looking at it, remembering the amount of blood. It takes Finn’s arm around you to help you stand, and you can’t help the gasp of pain that escapes you. Your vision goes dark for a second, before returning, duller than ever.

***

Finn knew what the First Order was capable of, especially when they wanted information from someone, but it was never any easier to see. Especially when it was someone he cared about.

He watched you struggle to coordinate your legs, having been kept in the same position for hours. Rey moves ahead, drawing her lightsaber in anticipation while Finn half carries you down the hallway.

He’s worried at the amount of blood you’ve lost from your arm, but your face is swollen and bruised, with dried blood at the corner of your mouth, and staining the collar of your shirt. You’re still conscious, just about, but your eyes don’t seem to be focusing.

The three of you pass the bodies of the two stormtroopers who were unlucky enough to be guarding your corridor, before sneaking out. Ducking into alcoves, they attempt not to be caught, although it’s hard to stop you from making noise.

If it’s not moans of pain, you’re commenting on something under your breath, and what little Finn can hear doesn’t seem to make sense. The look on Rey’s face tells him that she doesn’t get it either.  

And they’re so close, nearly back to the hangar, when a pair of troopers spot them. Rey is already swinging as Finn rushes to put you down before he can draw his lightsaber and help. The fight is desperate, but brief. Thankfully no alarms seem to be going off, although that thought flies from Finn’s head when he looks back at you.

You’ve slumped against the wall where Finn had placed you, and you’re shaking as you try and stay sat upright. You’re no longer looking at them, instead your brow is furrowed, concentrating on something only you can see in front of you.

Finn isn’t entirely sure how they managed to make it onboard, but he wasn’t about to complain, carefully strapping you to help keep you upright if you faint. He uses the small med-kit to wipe away the blood from your face and arm as best as he can, applying bacta patches where he can see injuries, the familiar sweet smell soon filling the small ship.

Rey is quickly in hyperspace, comming back to base with their status. “Blue-10 with the Lieutenant, medical attention will be needed on arrival.”

Both Rey and Finn jolt with surprise at the familiar voice crackling through the comms in response. “Received and understood Blue-10.”

“Poe?” Finn mouths, and Rey just shrugs. A second later, Poe’s switched to a private channel, his voice quiet.

“How is she?”

Rey and Finn look at each other, unsure how much Poe needs to know. They don’t want to lie, but how can they tell the truth? Rey clicks the private channel open, hesitating before she replies. “She’s stable Poe.”

***

Waking up hurts.

You’re lying down, and although your body hurts, you feel calmer. There’s a steady noise matching the beat of your heart, slow and steady, although the noise speeds up as you blink at the ceiling.  

You’re not sure if you’ve got a plan, but you know you need to get free. Something is holding you down, becoming more and more tangled around you, and your whole body hurts.

And then, suddenly the weight is pulled off you, and you feel like you can breathe again, big gasps failing to get more oxygen into your lungs. You struggle to control your breathing, not feeling ready to face whatever new terror the First Order have concocted for you.

It’s Rose. Holding a brown blanket.

You push yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the flare of pain in your arm, waiting for a second, hardly daring to breathe as you wait for her to change in front of your eyes.

When she doesn’t, you can feel some of the panic recede, although you can’t seem to force yourself to relax. Rose folds the blanket, placing it at the foot of your bed, and you watch her carefully, still wary.

When she meets your eyes, you attempt a smile, pain pulling at your mouth and cheek as you do so. You can tell it’s not convincing by the way she smiles back, tears flooding her eyes.

You look away, blinking heavily to stop your own tears.

Your head and shoulders are raised slightly, and when you look down, you’re wearing a paper-thin hospital gown. It’s scratchy against your skin, feeling like bugs burrowing into you. Rose is sitting next to you, tinkering with something she’s placed on your bedside table, hands hovering just above her lap, like she wants to help, but doesn’t want to overstep.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft. “How are you feeling?”

You nod, not sure what you’re feeling, exactly, just that your hands are shaking when you try and put them on top of the covers, that you’re shivering, and your stomach is rolling.

You open your mouth to tell Rose so, and you throw up.

It’s warm, and liquidy and the smell makes you throw up again, and again. Rose has jumped back, and you don’t blame her, rolling your body to your side so you can spit the rising bile out of your mouth onto the floor instead of onto the mess on your bed.

By the time you’ve stopped being sick, Rose is standing at the end of your bed with a pair of nurse-droids, who escort you to a bath, cleaning you up, and then to a different bed, this time with a bowl in reaching distance. You don’t say anything, hot shame creeping up your neck and face, and hoping, praying, that maybe you’ll pass out again, and you won’t remember this.

No such thing happens, and you’re left to be looked after by the droids. Rose never leaves you, although for the period of time you’re covered in sick, she does keep her distance, only returning when you’re clean in bed again, this time wearing a softer t-shirt and shorts.

It’s only when one of the nurse-droid’s returns, arms full that you notice it. It’s carrying a vase of flowers, which Rose later tells you is from your squadron, and, in it’s other hand, carries a familiar datapad, with a piece of paper on top and a chocolate pudding.

Poe’s been here?

You can’t stop the way your heart stutters in your chest at the thought, and although you want to smell the chocolate, you think that’s probably a good thing you can’t with the state of your stomach at the moment.

The nurse-droid hooks you up to various machines this time, inserting a drip into your non-injured arm, along with a heart monitor, and a couple of other machines you don’t know the purpose of.

Your head still hurts, and you’re shaking, but you try your best to listen to the doctor who checks your vitals are normal and tells you that you’re going to get worse before you get better. The drug they gave you is an addictive one, and the next 5 days are going to hurt.

She keeps telling you things, but you start to zone out as black spots appear in your vision. Rose is nodding in understanding at your side, so you don’t feel too bad, concentrating on just staying awake.

All you can think about is the drug and how light it made you feel, how quickly it made time pass. Every movement hurts, like you fell 50 foot out of an x-wing, but aside from your arm, you can’t see any physical damage.

You fall in and out of sleep, Rose a constant presence at your side. She’s tinkering with something the first few times you wake, and she explains what it is, and what’s wrong with it to distract you from the pain. You ask the occasional question, enjoying the steady sound of her voice, while yours is croaky and hoarse.

When you wake with a clearer head, the lights are dimmed to a soft yellow, and Poe is asleep, head resting on the foot of your bed. Rose is gone and you’re glad; you don’t know how long you’ve been in bed, and you hope she’s getting some rest or proper food.

His flight suit is wrapped around his waist, top half covered by a dark t-shirt. If you bend your head to a certain angle, the light catches on his necklace around his neck. Poe looks exhausted, his body twisted at a weird angle, thick stubble growing on his face, and eyes red-rimmed, even as he sleeps.

Trying not to jostle him, you reach out to the datapad and unfold the note Poe left on top, avoiding the chocolate pudding like the plague.

Enjoy the chocolate pudding, Finn is bullying me to get some rest.

I’ve downloaded a couple of holovids, see you soon Poe x

You’ve never seen his handwriting before, and it’s easier to read than you’d imagined, thinking he’d be the type to write in a messy scrawl, his hand unable to keep up with his thoughts.

It’s short, but something about it makes a warmth flare inside you. You read it until you know it off by heart, before folding it back up and placing it on the datapad.

You still feel tired, and you watch Poe sleep, the room silent except for the steady beeping of the machines at your side. You’re not sure how much time passes, the world around your bed feeling hazy as you half doze, not wanting to tear your eyes away from Poe, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

You jolt awake when he does, his arm reaching across your legs as he grasps your calves in a panic. One of the machines beeps increases with your heart rate, but you ignore it, you and Poe staring at each other, wide-eyed, as though a quick movement will make the other bolt.

His hands are still holding your legs, warm and grounding.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is hoarse as he slowly releases his hands.

You nod, and you hadn’t noticed it before, but your neck is stiff. “Good, I guess.”

Poe nods too, and where did this tension come from? He takes a breath as you look down at the hem of your blanket, idly wondering why the medbay would buy such a horrendous shade of brown.

Maybe it’s to hide stains.

You immediately wish you hadn’t thought that, the implications freaking you out a little, upsetting your sensitive stomach.

“I … I wanted to apologise.” Poe’s voice thankfully breaks through your increasingly worrying train of thought. His hand fly’s up to touch his ring. “I clearly crossed a boundary - I thought we were friends and -”

You interrupt him when you throw up, thankfully into the bowl the nurse-droid left this time, but it’s no less embarrassing as bile stings the back of your throat. Poe immediately moves up closer to you, hand reaching to rub your back as you try and hide in vain from him.

His hand is warm and comforting, moving slowly up and down your back as you continue to heave. When you finish retching, Poe silently hands you a glass of water, which you use to swill your mouth out, moving to place the now semi-full bowl to the other side of you when Poe takes it from you.

You can hardly bear to look at it, let alone smell it, and Poe is carrying it like it’s nothing, taking for the nurse-droids to dispose of. When he returns, he’s wiping his hands with a disinfectant and you wince.

“Poe I’m so sorry.” You decide to risk a sip of water, trying to get rid of the sick taste still in your mouth. “I’ve been sick all day and I’m sorry.” You’re ready to keep apologising but Poe just hands you a towel, which you use to wipe your mouth.

“It’s ok.” He reaches down for the blanket, and you let him tuck you in, suddenly aware that you’re shivering again. He reaches for his datapad, opening it and beginning to talk. He’s reading a children’s story, one you recognise as being from Yavin IV, a sweet story about a frog learning of the perils of the jungle.

Your eyes get heavier, and Poe’s voice fades into the background, the last you hear is the frog swimming in freshwater, unaware of the danger around the corner before you fall asleep.

***

When you wake, he’s gone, but you don’t get much chance to think about it before the nurse-droids are back, along with the doctor. She’s a nice woman, chattering away, telling you her name (Dr Alloso Karga), about her children (she’s got lots), and the trouble they get into (almost constant).

You don’t say much, still feeling the after-effects of the drug, but Dr Karga doesn't seem to need much additional input. You’re glad of her stories, they give you something else to think about while she hooks you up to an IV drip, and takes measurements from all the machines beeping at your side.

She unwraps the bandage around your left arm, revealing a thin scar running alongside one of your veins. “I’ll give you a cream to rub on every morning and night, and it’ll fade.” Her voice is kind as she watches your face, but you don’t react, numbness spreading through you like ice as you look at the scar.

All you can think is how small it is, when you remember the pain it caused, and the blood you lost from it … and now you’re left with this tiny, almost pathetic scratch. Dr Karga places the cream on your side table, next to Poe’s datapad and his note, and you already know you won’t use it.

Thankfully she doesn’t push the topic, leaving soon after.

With not a lot else to do, you fall back asleep, despite the bright light shining in through the window opposite you.

Days pass like this. Rose and Poe are frequent visitors, with Rey and Finn dropping in occasionally, as does Kare, and Jannah. No one seems to expect much of you, which is nice, allowing you to fall asleep at random intervals when the mood strikes you.

***

When you wake again you’re not sure how many days you’ve been in the medbay for. You don’t feel sick at all anymore, your stomach’s rumbling beneath the covers. Your head still hurts, and your body still feels bruised and achy, but your mind feels clearer than it has in days.

You’re still hooked up to a couple of machines, but only by a clip to your finger, wires extending down past the edge of your bed. It’s easy to take off, and you figure it’ll be easy to put back on again.

The chocolate pudding left by Poe has disappeared, and you suspect one of the nurses has binned it, which was probably a good idea. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pause when a rush of cool air hits your bare legs.

You pad barefoot over the cold medbay floor, praying that it’s clean. There’s no one else in any of the other beds in your room, and when you look out, there doesn’t seem to be anyone next door either. A couple of hundred meters to your left, through the glass in a pair of double doors, you can see the busy reception. Meanwhile, to your right the corridor extends.

You shiver a little. You’re not wearing much, just shorts and a thin t-shirt. With no one around, you don’t feel too exposed, but you would quite like to get back to bed. You choose to go right, figuring you’d quite like to eat alone and save yourself any embarrassment if your stomach decides to reject food again and wander casually in quiet curiosity.

You peek through the windows of various spare rooms, some with people in bacta tubes, others with droids chittering away. And, it’s only when you turn the corner, that you see the food sign over the door to a small storeroom.

Letting out a happy little sigh at all the food lining the wall, you fumble for the light switch, the door closing and quickly engulfing you in the darkness.

Moving forwards you aim for the chocolate which has immediately caught your eye, letting out a shriek of panic when a hand lands on your shoulder.

Twisting around in panic, your bare foot catches on the corner of a shelf and you let out a howl of pain. You’re falling, and you’re gonna land on your injured arm when the stranger’s hands grab hold of your shoulders, righting you enough that you can catch yourself.

Muttering breathless ow’s of pain, you look up to see none other than Poe in front of you, his lips twisted in amusement.

“You alright?” He asks.

You can only nod, and before you feel any doubt about what you want to do, you fling your arms around his neck and hug him. He’s so sturdy, and here, and you finally feel semi-normal, and all you want is to be grounded.

Poe doesn’t say anything, just lets out a long-suffering sigh, wrapping his arms around you in response. It’s not until you feel his chest catch on a breath, that you unwind slightly, pulling back so you can see him.

He’s crying.

“Poe, Poe, it’s ok.” You wrap him back in your arms and let him cry. He just holds you tight, like he can’t believe you’re really here standing in front of him. Both too soon, and too late, he pulls back, wiping at his eyes.

“Why are you in here?”

It’s a genuine question, but you marvel at him for a second. “Why are you in here?”

Poe looks like he would quite like to say something he thinks is funny, but eventually lands on on a serious response. “I wanted to see what you were up to. You looked very shady.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I woke up, and I was starving.”

Poe stands next to you as you grab whatever looks good off the shelves, mainly chocolate, but also juice, and some sandwiches. “You should look after yourself.” His voice is gentle.

“I am!” You protest. “I need to eat.”

“You couldn’t have asked for help?”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the two of you move to the door. Poe follows you as you try to explain yourself. “No, I-”

You stop talking as you open the door by a crack, your eyes widening. Rose is stood in the room opposite, slightly blurred from the glass door, running her hand up and down Jannah’s arm, while the other is in a sling.

You gasp as you watch Rose lean forwards, placing a kiss on her lips, hushing Poe behind you. “Poe, Poe, Poe, look at this, are you watching?”

Your whisper is loud and you grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet, momentarily forgetting your aches, before quickly closing the door as Rose and Jannah move closer to kiss. You don’t want to invade their privacy too much.

When you turn, Poe’s grin grows as he takes in your face. “I knew it!” You dump the contents of your arms onto the floor, settling in for a while. “I knew they liked each other!”

He’s managed to get his leather jacket back from Finn, and he takes it off, laying it on the floor for you to sit on. You tuck your feet under you, glad to get them off the cold floor.

The two of you eat together, and you gain confidence as more time passes and your stomach seems to have settled, branching out to more flavourful foods.

Afterwards, he walks you back to your bed, carrying some spare food for you, with his leather jacket hanging off your shoulders. Poe calls a nurse-droid over to hook you back up to your machines and you pout at him in complaint. You’re starting to shake and sweat again but Poe stays for as long as he can, until he has to go to a meeting, promising he’ll be back soon.

He’s not gone for long, and you’re just starting to get bored, when Rose pokes her head around the door.

“Where have you been?”

You can’t help yourself; you grin like a cheshire cat.

“Where have I been? I think I should be asking you that!”

And there’s a definite blush rising on Rose’s neck, tinting her cheeks a faint pink. She still tries to deny though. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you draw it out, “I just so happened to be walking around earlier and was surprised to see that Jannah had managed to injure herself.”

Rose sighs and it’s long-suffering. And then she slumps into her chair, opens her mouth and tells you everything.

How she and Jannah had started to spend more time together, but they’d been friends for so long. How hugs for comfort turned into something more. How they’d kissed for the first time when Jannah had asked her out. And now, how it was turning into something more and, Rose’s voice went quiet here, she thought she might be in love.

“Oh Rose,” you sigh, your heart filling for your friend. “Are you gonna tell her?”

When she nods, it takes all your self-control not to jump up and hug her, instead settling for clasping her hands in yours. “I’m sorry.” Rose whispers. “Will you forgive me?”

Your heart stops, brief panic flickering in you. “What for?”

“That I didn’t tell you sooner.” A heavy sense of guilt starts to weigh down your chest, especially as Rose looks so distraught.

“No! It’s fine,” you try and convince her. “You wanted to wait until you were sure.”

Rose nods, but still looks upset, and you know what will cheer her up. “Besides, I'm not going to be cross. I kissed Poe.”

You wince at Rose’s shout. “What!” She stands, bending to give you a hug, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo. You grin, much more naturally now, glad she’s happy. You tell her everything in much the same way she told you, the first time you’d slept together, and then the next time, how you’d argued, what had happened in the store cupboard.

“Is he coming back?” Rose asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know. He said he would, but I don’t know when.”

Rose settles properly into her chair, resting her feet on the edge of your bed frame, looking smug. You last all of two seconds. “What?”

Rose just closes her eyes, looking more and more pleased with herself by the second. “I just love being right.”

You attempt to kick her, but there’s no malice behind it. You spend the rest of the time discussing the latest topic of interest on base (Snap and Kare’s wedding), and what a recruit had apparently said to Leia, laughing the whole time.

***

When Poe returns, he’s carrying two plates. Rose had left a while ago, and you were idly poking through Poe’s datapad, seeing which holovids he’d downloaded.

The two of you eat your dinner quietly, Poe finishing before you. “Can I ask you something?” He looks nervous in a way that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on him before, eyes shifting down, while his fingers dance nervously in his lap.

You nod, still chewing, not wanting to rush your dinner and unsure how to make Poe feel more at ease. You have a feeling you know what he’s going to ask, and -

“Can we be friends?”

Oh.

You swallow faster than you should, letting out a small cough. You place what’s left of your dinner to one side, and put your hands over his. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You start.

Poe opens his mouth to respond, but you shake your head before he can. “No, don’t - don’t say anything, just listen.”

Deep breath, in and out.

“What I meant was … friends don’t sleep together, Poe. And I know we never talked about it, but I didn’t realise how much I liked you and,” You take another deep breath and when you speak again, your voice is smaller than normal. “I didn’t like the way you flirted with that recruit.”

Poe grins with his teeth. “So you were jealous?”

You look away, not quite ready for that conversation. “Poe.” His name is a warning, and you’re tired.

So Poe lifts your hands, enveloping them in his and gently kisses them. “Sorry.” It’s a murmur. “When we realised you were gone, I’ve … I’ve never been so frightened. I begged Leia to go and find you but she wouldn’t let me.”

You look back at his face. “Good.” His smile is gentle now, and at this moment, you prefer it. “And I’m fine now, Rey and Finn found me …”

Poe rolls his eyes. “You are not fine, you’re in the medbay.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, fiddling with the hem of your sheet, and just when you think he won’t say anything else, he speaks again, his voice quiet and sure.

“I like you too. A lot. And I would quite like it if we could go on a date?”

You don’t reply immediately, letting a slow smile open up your face, nodding, suddenly shy. You want Poe closer, moving to the far edge of the bed and opening the sheet in a clear invitation. “C’mon, get up here.”

It says a lot, you later think, how keen he was to climb in next to you. His body is so warm and reassuring next to yours, a solid presence of real proof, that someone cares about you so much that it doesn’t matter how gross you are when you’re ill, they’ll stay for as long as they can.

You wait until he’s tucked in next to you, desperately ignoring how the machine behind you starts beeping faster. “I would love to go on a date.”

And then you groan. “This is so embarrassing.”

Poe laughs, his body shaking next to you. “You have to finally admit you fancied me all along.”

“Well so do you.”

You’re looking at Poe as you say it, and you don’t miss how his breath hitches a little. His face moves closer to yours, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips as your mouth suddenly feels dry.

Your heart rate speeds up again behind you, but you’re ignoring it, wanting Poe to kiss you. You’re disappointed when he speaks instead. “I like this monitor.”

His eyes are smiling, and stars he’s cute, even if he is being annoying.  

“What?” You’re confused, your eyes had been half-closed in preparation, and it takes a lot of effort to open them again.

“It tells me what you think.” You don’t stop looking at Poe’s lips as he talks.

“Yeah?” You’re breathless. “And what am I thinking right now?”

“That you like me this close.”

You hum, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Anything else?”

“I think you want to kiss me.”

You pretend to think about it, smiling back at him. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He’s so keen. “Do you?”

“I thought you knew the answer to that.” You’re teasing him, and he knows it. Your faces are closer than ever, breath mingling.

And Poe’s just looking at you like he could eat you, and it takes mere seconds before you crack. “Poe will you kiss me?”

“I was going to.”

You huff. “When?”

His hand cradles your jaw, thumb on your chin, and you bend into it, kissing his palm without breaking eye contact. “It won’t hurt you?”

You smile at him, reassured. “No.”

You can tell he’s still hesitant, so you kiss his hand again. “I’ll tell you if it hurts Poe.”

He inches closer and closer, so slowly, until his lips are touching yours. It’s soft, and gentle, like he’s kissing you for the first time. His hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, as you open your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The date is a success, with the worst part enduring Rose’s teasing, and your promise to never doubt her again.

***

Everything taglist:

@fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog

Series taglist

@lady-sigyn @foxilayde @afootnoteinyourhappiness @tellthemall-i-saidhi @wasicskosgirl @seninjakitey @zoriis @zazzysseoul @studentville-struggles

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Aaaaah I’ve finally finished! This has been such a blast to write (but not chapter 5 lmao) and I’ve learned so much about my writing style and what i struggle with (plot I’m looking at you). This series started as a short one-shot which was going to be divided into 4 sections, detailing how reader and Poe’s relationship changed, and what I’ve ended up with is so so so different - my original outline had no kidnapping and was wildly different honestly, but I’m really proud of this - back in June/July i hardly had the patience/concentration to sit and finish a one-shot, let alone a whole series! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story, I love you all!

[my-writings-and-musings]

Can I request the hostage prompt with whirl,cygate and megatron with a human so

Ohoho I've been waiting to do this one... Hope everyone enjoys some silliness mixed with sweetness!

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Whirl

·You've always had a kind of strength Whirl recognized and admired, it's one of the reasons he fell for you in the first place, but even you aren't sure what exactly gives you the fuel to snap with enough force that it freezes your captor at their active communication station. Maybe you're just tired of being chained up, but their arrogant demeanor is more than likely what pushed you over the edge, specifically with that last taunt at Whirl that used "Cyclops" as the punchline for the millionth time. Swears are beautifully melded into an avalanche of fury that starts with you demanding this lazy idiot think of a better insult for your partner than something involving his looks, because "You think YOU'RE hot shit?! There's corpses in here with more charisma than you!"

·Fear doesn't even register as you keep on tearing apart your captor in every way you can. Nothing is off limits with all the taunting Whirl has been forced to endure on the other end of the communication line, and thus you bring out every below the belt insult you can think of. The bad bot's jaw is slack as you continue, looking to their dazed face and declaring "Not to mention you're dumb enough to go after MY mech, you think a loser like you is gonna stand a chance against WHIRL?! Just last week he tossed a combiner off a bridge because he called me "fleshy", what do you think he's gonna do to YOU?!"

· The communicator is still running when your kidnapper leaves it to try and intimidate you into silence, a move that makes you laugh in exasperated dismissal. "Oh, now you're gonna THREATEN me, really? Did I not make myself clear? You've pissed off the deadliest mech in the universe, and he's got the entirety of the Lost Light helping him search, your next few hours would be a lot better spent deciding how you want what's gonna be left of you interred!" Though you're not even knee height compared to your captor, he actually seems to flinch at your words, especially with you raging so close to his gobsmacked face. The rush of finally shutting him up spurs you to continue your roasting with increasingly petty and crude comments on your partner's significantly superior looks.

·In a stroke of fantastic fortune or misfortune depending on your perspective, a tactical explosion tears into the underground base just as you start to elaborate on Whirl's many other impressive skills. Bots rain in to overwhelm your kidnapper and his automated defenses in a coordinated ambush, one quickly ruined when your absolutely giddy paramour rushes forth without a care to take out the captor in a flying jump kick with a howling battle cry. Rather than eviscerate his now vulnerable enemy, Whirl leaves the crumpled kidnapper where he lies, heedless to the battle still raging all around as his optic sparkles as he beholds you. Like a damsel being swept off their feet you're plucked from your chains and pulled into his careful claws.

·All but gushing with euphoria, he explains that your brilliant distraction tactic gave them the ability to trace your location, and that he heard every word of your spark warming defense on his behalf. You can hear the unhindered adoration in his voice, but you also get a chance to see it as he practically dances through the combat with you held in one arm. By the time your kidnapper is the only one left, he looks lovingly into your eyes and primes his gun with a tender whisper. "Want me to kill this glitch just for you, babe?" The other bots quickly interfere to insist on taking him in for a proper trial, something you're quite alright with as you explain all you really want is to get some rest. Whirl insists on carrying you all the way to bed, whispering sweet nothing's and more or less being the most affectionate anyone has ever seen him.

·Afterwards you're told what it was like on the other end of the communication line. He'd been inconsolable at your kidnapping, and it had taken multiple bots to prevent him from tearing apart the ship as the messages came in. But the moment you'd started shouting? He'd been initially frozen like the rest of them, but had eventually leaned in beside the communicator to listen, his optic getting mistier at every passing curse word yelled on his behalf. Some described his demeanor as that of a lovestruck teen listening to their crush sing a love ballad, though they emphasize his emotional reaction to hearing you was undoubtedly genuine, as it was probably the first time he'd ever been defended so passionately by anyone. The endless doting on you he engages in afterwards leaves you little doubt this is true.

Cygate

·Having two loving partners has always been a blessing, which is probably why you're so easily driven to a blind rage in the face of your captor's endless attempts to mock both of them through the brief communications he sends to the crew, which are also made more unbearable by his ever increasing list of demands for your return. At his latest taunting of their "freakish" romance, you hit your boiling point. The communicator is still running when you lay into the callous bot for having the audacity to insult anyone's choices when he's set himself up in a literal evil lair. "There's body parts just thrown around like confetti in here, and you LIVE like this?! Do you think you get to decide who's weird in this scenario?! At least those two were decent enough to have each other as roommates, you couldn't convince anything living to shack up with your creepy ass!"

·At the total silence you somehow find the fury to keep going, but harder and faster this time, your self restraint little more than a memory as you dangle from the chains keeping you still. "Is it a jealousy thing?! Are you just that peeved off you're single? That you had to steal me to cut them down from three to two? Bad news dumbass; they're STILL beating you on the dating front!" It's not helping your situation, but tearing in to the jerk who's dragged you into a cave and spent so long bullying your partners feels too good for you to stop, especially with the stupid look of indignation and confusion twisting his expression. Not to mention he gives you plenty to rip into even as he tries in vain to make you shut up.

·"You think you scare me?! Do you even know who I'm dating?! Do you think they'll let you get away with this stunt?! One of them can destroy your stupid face with one punch, the other is Cyclonus, and you've gone and pissed them both off!" While it may be a little underwhelming to threaten the guy with what others will do to him, you're hardly in a mood to complain when his expression briefly gives way to one of horrified realization. Yet that hardly calms you down in any significant way. Did he drag you to some nowhere planet and chain you to a wall without even bothering to consider the consequences?! Your back is killing you and the bots have been enduring his incoherent demands for hours, and perhaps you could forgive that if not for all his haughty taunting, which drives you to once again begin raging.

·"Did you even have a plan?! Do you actually have any idea what you're up against, or did you just think you'd swipe a human and earn an easy paycheck? Because if you had even an inkling of what my mechs are capable of, you'd be headed for the nearest space bridge and warping as FAR away from here as physics allow!" While it's a new level of ridiculous, even for your crazy life, the absurdities of the nonexistent plan simply make you see red. It's one thing to be kidnapped by someone who at least has goals, but to be chained up in a cave by some idiot who doesn't have any plans beyond profit and bragging? That'd be enough to tick you off in itself, but the additional insults he's levied at your partners bring your tirade into molten levels of anger that seem absolutely bottomless.

·You're practically red in the eyes when the whole place quakes, and by the time you realize your captor is booking it he's already made it to the door, though his escape ends there when it opens to reveal the bots you've been wanting to see more than anything. A single strike from Cyclonus sends the kidnapper clear across the room, and he's followed by a battle ready Tailgate roaring out his fury as the security systems come on. The chaos of automatic turrets does nothing to distract you from the little blue bot pummeling your captor, and it only makes the arrival of a familiar purple mech that much more heroic as he snaps your chains and pulls you into his arms. The battle is little more than a formality before the barely conscious villain is cuffed and prepared for transport to trial, something your two partners are only willing to allow under the threat of personally hunting him down if he tries to escape justice. Before even leaving the cave you're smushed in the middle of a passionate hug.

·Tailgate alternates between ecstatic buzzing and relieved weeping at your rescue, while Cyclonus never loses a soft smile but keeps finding opportunities to hold and touch you as if he needs to be reassured you're here. It's heartwarming, but according to the rest of the crew it all started at your unplanned radio takeover. No bot had been prepared to hear their favorite human erupt in such unbridled rage, but those two had been shocked in the most wonderful meaning of the word, their expressions reflecting awe like no other until the ship had actually arrived at your location. Cyclonus had actually gone slack jawed while Tailgate had threatened to faint in his arms, but joy had painted their reactions more and more as time had gone on. The tiny powerhouse and the colossal mech out of time were still effusive in their praise every time you three were together, neither having ever known someone could truly love the two of them so completely.

Megatron

·Knowing that Megatron has a sizable target on his back and a lot to be criticized for doesn't make enduring your captor any easier, which is probably why you end up reaching a boiling point after a few hours of listening to the bot who's tied you up try to claim some kind of moral high ground. A tiny human being protective of a titanic gladiator may be illogical, but you can't seem to care when you finally hit your limit, the chains keeping you in place rattling from your sheer force of rage. Because seriously, so long as we're criticizing people for immoral actions, can you cut in about the time some raging jerk tied you up just to taunt another bot and get some cash on the side? Your simple but glaring barb immediately gets the attention of the much larger alien as they stare at you in shock.

·At his bafflement you become entirely unhinged. "Really? What, do you need me to spell out the irony of all this?! You're calling MY MECH a monster, but I don't see him running many evil lairs at the moment, do you?! Kind of rich, you claiming the high ground while I'm literally CHAINED TO THE WALL and our only present company is CORPSES, don't you think?!" The various and still unexplained dead bodies dotting the cave remain as the only audience you know of while the communicator is abandoned, your captor leaving it behind so he can approach and try to growl out some kind of intimidation. It has no effect beyond making you more furious than ever before. Had the chains not been holding you down, you'd have certainly tried to swing at his stupid face while you snapped.

·"Are you trying to scare me? You, a two bit kidnapper who holed himself up in a cave, and I'm supposed to be impressed?! I'm DATING Megatron! One look at a bot that terrifies the galaxy and I decided I wanted a piece of him!" You're almost proud as you declare your undying love for your gigantic partner, something that has earned you a lot of grief from others but has made you happier than you've ever been in your entire life. While you ordinarily don't attempt to argue on his behalf, per his request, it's impossible not to just grill a jerk who thinks he has the high ground to criticize literally anyone. Plus your open and passionate fondness for the former warlord seems to be scaring your captor more than the mech himself ever could, something that brings a devilish twinkle to your eye as you continue to threateningly gush over the bot you adore, if only to pay this jerk back for all the gloating he made said mech endure.

·You're absolutely effusive as you passionately and quite aggressively go on about what a gentlemech you're dating, with ample divertions to the many ways his incredible strength and size are used for much more protective and noble purposes, like holding you close or crushing bad guys. It isn't long before you're spinning a terrifying yarn about the time you were caught in a firefight and he tore a hunk of the wall clean off to shield you from the danger before proceeding to beat the attacking forces with the corpse of their leader. The kidnapper is actually backing away slowly, which turns to backing away quickly as you begin to describe Megatron's romantic poetry skills and how some of his greatest talents lie not on the battlefield but in the bedroom, by which point he's preparing his security systems to cover his escape.

·Perfect timing, from your perspective, makes the sudden explosion of every door a beautiful and inspiring sight. In what has to be the most well coordinated ambush of all time, your friends of the Lost Light storm the cave and annihilate the resistance so fast you only have to blink before a very restrained Megatron is cuffing your petrified kidnapper and tossing him to Magnus so he can be taken into custody. When he turns to you he's actually smiling, and there's a lot behind the expression. Relief, gratitude, exhaustion, and a million other emotions swarm in his optics as the chains keeping you bound crumble like dust in his grip, and you're lifted in his cupped hands like a priceless treasure. Though he's mostly quiet for some time after, you can hear how absolutely smitten he is with you every time he speaks, and the lovestruck look of pure affection never seems to leave his face, which you see often as he appears terrified to lose you.

·A couple of other bots feel compelled to tell you; he was on the warpath when he found you missing, and many had been taking bets on how little would be left of your kidnapper once the former Decepticon got his hands on him. Yet, as soon as he'd overheard you, something about his whole demeanor had changed in an instant. He hadn't just softened, he'd been visibly moved by the passion of your defense and the fire of your love for him. The very idea that he could be defended had been unthinkable in his mind. Yet you'd faced a much larger foe without fear because you'd been so angry on his behalf, what could he possibly have done to deserve such a thing? His gratitude is apparent every moment the two of you spend together, from his rather out of character cuddling to his impressive increase in poems written to describe his adoration of you. Though it isn't at all necessary, you do enjoy having been able to let him know how deeply you cherish him.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Inukag *warning this chapter might hurt*

Staring out through the windshield of his car, his darkened home was the picture-perfect mirror of the pain settling into his soul. Inuyasha had no idea how he’d even managed to make it home without driving off a cliff or plowing himself into a stone wall, because his body and mind were completely numb.

‘Read’ but not answered…

Was it a good sign that the woman at least looked at it? Inuyasha rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He’d fucked up… again— just like the night of the accident. His eyes squeezed tighter shut as the emotional pain of everything slammed him with the force of a freight train. This was bad… bad, bad, bad… “FUCK!!” He roared into the still night air. With Kagome’s memories coming back, she’ll remember everything, and it was over. He’d had this second chance to reverse all the damage and he went and fucked it up again.

Not surprisingly, Kagome didn’t respond to his first text, so he typed out a final message for the night: ‘You’re mad at me. I get that so I’ll give you some space but I just wanna say good night Kagome. I love you -Inu’

‘Read’ but not answered…

It was all he could do for now, his only solace knowing Kagome had her mother to comfort her. Inuyasha sighed, long and deep as he pulled the keys from the ignition and dragged himself into his home. His body felt heavy with exhaustion. A weight crushing him down like a boulder. It took all he had to just drop his keys to the floor beside the entrance and shuffle into the bedroom instead of falling right then and there. He didn’t want to move anymore. He deserved the silent darkness of this tomb-like home along with its judgmental echoes of the life it once held.

The next morning after a restless sleep, Inuyasha called out of work. When would he be back, he couldn’t answer them? Part of him didn’t care anymore. Fire him, it wouldn’t matter to the walking dead. Miroku called in concern for his friend, but Inuyasha let it go to voicemail. He didn’t feel like talking to anybody right now, not when he knew it would have a ring of ‘I told you so,’ mixed in. That wasn’t necessary. Didn’t he feel bad enough?

A good morning text sent… left on Read…

An apology text….

Another apology text…

Voice messages left randomly through the day…

All left on Read and unanswered.

The anxiety filled hours ticked on with Inuyasha left curled up in a ball under his blanket. He’d done a number on his living room to physically release the anger he felt at himself, and now he was just dead to the world. All the drapes were tightly closed to the sunlight outside and he only left his bed to attend to bathroom matters. He didn’t wanna give up all hope, but with his mind in tatters and thoughts only of despair, there was nothing left to cling to.

By nightfall Inuyasha was convinced Kagome had truly given him up and he couldn’t blame her for it. This was all his fault. Him and his stupid big mouth. There was no denying it. He shouldn’t have argued with her. Just like before, instead of using his ears to listen, he responded with ego when he had no right to chastise her over not telling him something. The whole reason he was in this mess is because he never listened to her when it mattered the most— and there in lay the heart of it all. Neither of them had the opportunity to talk about what caused the original fight or process what drove Kagome to leave. Inuyasha thought he’d understood its origins and accepted responsibility for it, but clearly, he was wrong, and this new situation is most certainly what would have taken place if Kagome hadn’t crashed her car— a debilitating depression.

If Kagome didn’t want him anymore, then there wasn’t anything left for him in this world as far as Inuyasha was concerned. His yoki called out for her, wept for her loss, and with it all the energy in his soul to care slipped away. He was simply empty without her. No appetite or desire or thirst, just an ocean of dread, and waves of numbness dulling all his senses.

How much time had elapsed, how many days gone by? The clock ticked away hour by hour like a death knell with Inuyasha simply waiting for a release to come. All the messages left on his phone were from everyone other than the one person who could have brought him out of this funk. But her ringtone never came. It is what is it. Was it day four? Five? Six? Inuyasha couldn’t tell, but feeling his body starting to let go, he decided to send one last message to Miroku before shutting off the phone for good.

At the Hoshii residence, Miroku and Sango were on edge dealing with the crisis. Sango had been doing her best to help Kagome to cope with her pain, but Miroku was growing frantic over Inuyasha’s refusal to answer him. He’d driven by the man’s home and knew the car was there, and that was it. No one answered the door and with all the curtains closed he couldn’t see inside. Finally, on day five while they were visiting with Kagome, Miroku heard his phone ping with a message.

Inuyasha: thanks for being a good friend. Tell her she was the only one I’ve ever loved

“What the hell?” Miroku blurted out as he mulled the message over and over in his head.

Sango rushed over at the concern in her husband’s voice. “What is it?!”

“I think that idiot is planning to kill himself— I better… I better go.”

Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Higurashi also came out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about a message Inuyasha just sent,” Sango explained as her husband was digging around in his small pouch and grabbing his car keys. “Miroku is gonna check on him.”

“What did it say?” Mrs. Higurashi questioned.

So, Miroku showed the woman his phone. “It doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, dear!” She reached for a jacket near the front door. “I’m coming too! Sango will you stay?”

“Of course, I’ll be here with Kagome. You two go.”

It was a good thing that Miroku had held onto a spare key to Inuyasha’s home that he’d been given and simply forgotten to return. When he and Mrs. Higurashi walked through the door, chills crawled over his skin. It was evident that the house had been closed-up for several days, no windows opened, or ventilation, just a silent graveyard feeling with a fog of musty air mixed with the scent of rotting kitchen garbage and body odor. It was revolting and only heightened the pairs concern for the occupant.

“Inuyasha?!” Miroku yelled as they made their way through the dark home but received no response. The man wasn’t in the living areas or bathroom, so the logical option was the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway. ‘Please be alive,’ he prayed.

Once inside the room, they could see an unmoving body underneath the blankets and if the buildup of body odor told a story, it was sure to be his friend underneath those covers. “Inu?” Still no response.

Mrs. Higurashi turned on the bedroom light, and the brightness finally caused the blanket to shift ever so slightly. “Oh, thank heavens,” she gasped out in relief as she held a hand to her chest. He was still alive.

Miroku rushed over and yanked the blanket off. “Inuyasha!” Tears instantly gathered in the panicked man’s eyes. The state of his friend was heart breaking. Inuyasha had lost weight. His skin was gaunt and pasty white, hair matted and dirty. “Oh, fuck, we— we should call emergency!”

“No…” Inuyasha croaked out and buried his face deeper under his arm. “Let me die.”

“Fuck no, you idiot! Kagome still needs you!”

“Better… off… without me…”

‘Seriously?!’ It was rare for Miroku to get so upset, but in that moment, the anger that bubbled up to surface took over and his arm flew up ready to strike his friend. “You stupid—!!”

“Don’t!” Mrs. Higurashi yelled at Miroku. “He needs help, not anger right now.”

That seemed to snap Miroku out of his emotions, but the tears broke free. It was hard to see his friend in this position, just so frail— nothing like the tough hanyo that he’s known for years. Even after the death of his mother, Inuyasha didn’t break down this badly. Miroku grit his teeth to his own pain and pushed forward. “You idiot. Dying isn’t gonna help Kagome. So, whether you like it or not, we’re gonna help you.”

Mrs. Higurashi now moved around the bed to where she could sit beside Inuyasha. Her own eyes were clouded too, but the woman pulled on all the strength she could muster to hold it together. She placed a hand on the arm he was using to cover his face. “Inu, Miroku is right. Kagome is hurting just as much as you, and I don’t think you’d want to cause her anymore heart ache by going out this way.”

“But she hates me…” Inuyasha whimpered weakly. “Please just let me go.”

Mrs. Higurashi had to squeeze her eyes shut to hold back her tears. Her heart broke for the man. Gently, she pulled his arm down, her voice shaking as she spoke. “Inuyasha, you’re like a son to me, and I won’t let me son die. We’re gonna figure this out, but you need to live please, for her, for all of us that cares about you.”

Inuyasha’s eyes cracked open just a tad. “I’m so, sorry,” he mumbled. “So… sorry…”

She kept her voice as soothing as possible. “I know, and so does Kagome.” Mrs. Higurashi then turned to Miroku. “Do you think you can get him into the shower and clean him up? I’ll make something for him to eat. He needs something in his stomach immediately.”

“Y-Yeah, I think I can do it.”

It took both of them to help Inuyasha into the bathtub. He was so emaciated and dehydrated, that he had no strength left in his body, just dead weight. While Mrs. Higurashi left them to deal with the kitchen, Miroku stripped his friend of clothing and ran a bath to bathe him. Inuyasha offered no resistance, just a few tears flowing down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Inuyasha kept repeating.

“Don’t apologize to me. Save it for Kagome. I can’t believe you’d think we’d be okay with you dying! You’re my best fucking friend you asshole! I want my kids to grow up with their uncle!”

“But I keep screwing up.”

“And that’s life. It ain’t the end of the world yet.”

“Feels like it.”

“Whether you believe us if not, Kagome is hurting cause she in love with your stupid ass too. You can still fix this.”

“Don’t know how.”

“And that’s why we’re here.”

“Thank you…”

Inuyasha’s eyes started to roll back, so Miroku slapped him hard in the face. “Oi! Don’t you be dying on me now! So, wake the fuck up!”

“So… tired…”

“Gonna clean you up and momma Higurashi will get your strength back, so hang on just a little longer…”

Now cleaned up and dressed in something comfortable, they prop Inuyasha up in a recliner since he was still struggling to hold up his own body weight. He simply had no reserves left to draw from and under human standards wouldn’t have lasted this long. A hospital was better equipped to deal with this kind of situation. Inuyasha should have been put on IV fluids to hydrate him faster along with special supplements pumped directly into his system because after this long, the organs would have started to shut down, and his stomach would struggle to process anything. But Mrs. Higurashi made due to honor his request, starting with a bland rice water chicken broth of starch, proteins, and vegetable nutrients to re-prime it slowly. She also sent Miroku to the store to purchase drinks with electrolytes given to infants when they are dehydrated. It was a painstaking process to feed Inuyasha spoonful by spoonful.

“I need you to help me fight Inuyasha,” the woman coaxed the weakened hanyo. “So, you can live through this and see Kagome again.”

Tears flooded Inuyasha’s eyes at the mention of Kagome’s name. “After everything, why would you still want me around her?”

“Because you love her, and she loves you, and as long as there’s love it can find a way. Son,” she placed a hand on his, “I know it feels like the end of the world, but it will get better if you want it to. Do you want it to?”

“Yes,” he sobbed.

Her hand now gripped his tightly as her expression grew determined. “Then fight for it!”

It took several bowls of soup before gradually Mrs. Higurashi started giving Inuyasha fish and small pieces of chicken meat to eat. She had to stick to easily digestible foods, but at least his coloring was improving, and he could feed himself now. The sun has already set, by the time Inuyasha could finally stand up on his own.

“You’re lucky you’re a hanyo. That’s what’s probably saved your life.” Miroku expressed to his friend.

“I know.” Inuyasha could feel his demon half working harder to regenerate his physical body. Though while his body was recovering, his heart still felt broken. They kept telling him that Kagome still loved him so there is hope, but a part of him struggled to believe it. He’d already hit such a low point, to suffer rejection now was almost too unbearable to even comprehend.

Miroku continued talking. “Inuyasha, you’re not gonna do this alone. We will be there to support both of you, but it’s time you confront this. You and Kagome need to talk… about everything— even though she may not remember, a lack of communication is exactly what triggered this whole situation.”

“I know…” Inuyasha sighed.

“All couples go through struggles,” Mrs. Higurashi added with a comforting tone in her voice. “A strong relationship doesn’t come from a having a perfect one, Inuyasha. It’s developed through adversity. How well a couple can take the challenges thrown at them and grow from it.”

“You remember what happened with me and Sango, we almost didn’t make it because of my bad behaviors…”

“Your damn womanizing,” Inuyasha cut in.

“Yeah, that,” Miroku grumpily agreed. “She had to give me a harsh ultimatum to wake me up. But I did, and now look at us. This is your harsh moment, and you can choose to wake up, or loose the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s your choice.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Inuyasha ran a hand down his face. “Of course, I don’t wanna lose her.”

“Then are you ready to see Kagome?” Mrs. Higurashi questioned.

Inuyasha exhaled slowly. “Ready? No…” he was terrified to face the woman. “But I’ve gotta do it.”

[es-kay-zee]

Goodbyes part 2 | Hyunjin x Reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none

requested: kinda? yeah?

word count: 2.1k

proofread: nope

taglist: @bxngchxn @jisungsplatforms @qtieskz

a/n: i couldn't be bothered making a new moodboard for this one so i'm just using the same one for part 1. maybe i'll make a new one tomorrow but not right now lol

____________________

Four days. It’s been four days since that phone call. And not a single one had gone by where Hyunjin didn’t cry himself to sleep while hugging your pillow. And every single one of those days, he’d dragged himself to practice and put on a face in front of the other boys, pretending that everything’s okay, when in reality he just wants to curl up into a ball and cry.

Four days and you still hadn’t been around to pick up your things. Being honest, he wished you already taken it all. It was getting harder. Coming home each day, expecting to find the apartment empty of your belongings. But when he walks through the door and finds everything in the exact same place as it was when he left in the morning gave him a false hope. A hope that maybe you won’t leave, that maybe you’ll come back and kiss him tell him that you’ll give him another chance. But knowing that that’s not going to happen just breaks his heart all over again.

It’s another two days before you show up. It’s 10 am on a Friday, and you didn’t want to come yet, knowing that the moment you do, it’ll feel real. That it’ll hit you like a truck that the best relationship of your life is truly over. But you didn’t want to wait too long either, after all, it’s better to rip the band-aid off quickly.

You slide the key into the lock, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and pushing the door open. The apartment is quiet, and something about stepping back into the place you called home feel uneasy. Almost as if you don’t belong there anymore. Similar to that feeling when you go to someone else’s house for the first time, and you don’t know how to act. That’s how you feel in the place you lived in for so long.

You close the door and take off your shoes, tightening your grip on the folded-up boxes in your arms. It feels weird. You don’t know what you were expecting but finding everything in the exact same place as it was when you last walked out seems strange. Things have changed, so why does every knick-knack remain in its place as if nothing were different.

You walk towards the bedroom, the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is that of your soft footsteps on the hardwood flooring. You make it to the bedroom and place all the boxes down except for one. You open it up and step closer to your drawers of clothes, and slowly start placing the clothing into the box. You continue like this for a while, silently packing until your drawers are empty. There’s something about the silence of the house that makes you not want to make a sound. Normally you’d put on a playlist and dance as you pack, but not this time.

You move over to your bedside table, planning to start placing more of your things into various boxes. But in the corner of your eye, you stop something on your pillow that you hadn’t seen earlier. It’s a note. A piece of paper that’s been folded up neatly and placed gently on the pillow. Your name is written tidily on the front in Hyunjin’s handwriting, and just the sight alone almost has you crying. Part of your mind tells you to just scrunch up the piece of paper and toss it aside, but a bigger part of you desperately wants to read it. And so, you slowly pick up the note, take a seat on the edge of the bed, unfold it, and start reading.

dearest y/n

you said i probably wouldn’t be here when you come to pick up your stuff. so i decided to write you this so i can tell you what i want to say. well, assuming that you’ll actually read this, which i hope you do. i really really really hope you read this. gosh, i’m getting off track, sorry.

i want to tell you again just how sorry i am. but i know that no matter how many times i say it, and no matter what way i say it, it will never truly convey just how sorry i am. i wish from the bottom of my heart that this didn’t happen. i wish that i wasn’t such a dick and that i was there when you needed me. i have no excuse for not responding to you or calling you for so long. i’m so so sorry for hurting you. i’m not going to ask for your forgiveness, because i wouldn’t forgive myself if i were you. i already can’t forgive myself. all i want is to tell you how sorry i am, and how much i love you. and seeing as i can’t tell you in person, this note will have to do.

i love you, y/n. ever since we met, you’ve brought me more joy that i ever thought i could otherwise feel. you have the ability to make me laugh and blush like a teenager in love. you make my heart feel warm every time i see you. every time i get a message from you i smile. you make me feel safe and comfortable and i know that i can be vulnerable around you. you make me so giddy with happiness and love. i still get butterflies in my stomach every time i see you or talk to you. you make me smile like an idiot and it’s far too often that the boys have asked me why i’m smiling at my phone. you know that feeling when you’re so happy and smiley that it makes you feel all tingly in the best way? yeah, that’s how you make me feel. you make me laugh and you make me feel confident in myself. even when i feel like everything is crumbling around me, i know that you’re there to help me through. you’ve always been there for me when i need a shoulder to cry on and you have no idea just how much i regret not being there for you when you needed a shoulder. every single day i’m grateful that i got the chance to meet you and i’m especially grateful for the time that i got to call you mine. you’ll always have a special place in my heart. it hurts me when you’re hurting, and for me to be the reason that you’re upset and crying is the worst feeling in the world and i wish with everything i have that i was better. i’m so sorry, and i love you to the moon and back a billion times over.

love from hyunjin

The tears that you managed to keep at bay earlier fall freely now, a few dripping onto the page. Your fresh tears mix with Hyunjin’s dried ones at the bottom of the note, and you’re just glad they avoid smearing any of the ink. There’s a part of you, the part that wanted to discard the note without a second thought, that wants to hate Hyunjin. That wants to hate him for what he did, for making you feel so alone when you needed him. But you can’t. You’ve tried to listen to that part of you ever since you walked out of the apartment weeks ago. But you can’t bring yourself to hate him. It’s not easy when you’ve spent so long loving him. You reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone. You open your contacts and hit Hyunjin’s name, typing out a message to send to him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hyunjin sits in the corner, taking a momentary breather from the dance. He’s been going overboard with practicing lately, trying to distract himself from the situation. And it’s worked, until he’s gotten back to the apartment where he’s reminded that you’re gone. His phone buzzes, showing a message from you.

y/n <3: are you busy?

He quickly types back, asking why you’re asking. He hits send, his heart racing, shocked that you’re messaging him. His phone buzzes again with your response.

y/n <3: i was gonna ask if you could come to the apartment but if you’re busy then i won’t

Hyunjin jumps up, walking over the Chan and showing him the message.

“Can I go?” he asks, itching to run out the door and head straight over to you.

“Yeah, okay, you can,” Chan answers. He’s the only person that Hyunjin’s told about what happened, and he’s been worried about the younger man. “If any of the staff asks where you are, I’ll tell them you felt sick and went home.”

Hyunjin nods, says his thanks and rushes out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the apartment door, making the trip in record time. But as he reaches for the handle, he halts. This will be the first time he sees you in person since he left for tour. And it’s not until now that he starts to think about why you messaged. Maybe you read the message, maybe you want to keep the apartment and have him move out instead of you, maybe you want to say goodbye one last time in person. The only way for him to know for certain is to open the door and face you. He’s nervous, but he still opens the door with shaking hands.

“Y/n?” he calls out while closing the door and removing his shoes.

“Bedroom,” is your response, and Hyunjin’s breath hitches at the sound of your voice. He missed the sound; it’s been too long since he’s last heard your voice without you sounding like you’re crying. He heads towards the bedroom, taking one last deep breath before rounding the corner and seeing you. It takes everything in him. Everything to not immediately run up to you and engulf you in a hug just the way he wanted to when he first came home.

You pat the spot on the bed next to you, signalling for him to come and sit. He does just that, slowly walking over, not taking his eyes off of you. He’s missed you too much to look away. If this is the last time he gets to see you, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. You don’t even look at him yet, instead keeping your eyes trained on your hands in your lap. You both sit in silence for a moment, neither of you wanting to speak first.

“I read the note,” you say, holding up the piece of paper in your hands for a brief moment. You pause, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything, but he doesn’t. “Do you really mean everything you wrote?”

“I do, I mean every last word. I love you so much and I’m so incredibly sorry for not answering any of your messages. It was stupid and I regret it so much.” You finally look up at him, and you find his eyes welling with tears.

“I need you to know how much it hurt me, and that I can’t forgive you. Not yet anyway. But what I can do is give you one more chance. As long as you promise not to do it again. Because if you hurt me like this again, then I will leave, and I won’t come back at all.”

“I promise! I promise that I will never do this again. I promise to be there for you when you need me, and I promise to never hurt you ever again.” It makes you giggle quietly, the way he hold his pinkie finger up to make a pinkie promise. It’s the way you’ve always promised each other things, so you don’t think twice as you link your finger with his. “So does this mean you’re not gonna leave?”

“Yeah,” you say, finally smiling. And Hyunjin’s heart warms at the sight. He loves your smile, it’s one of his favourite things in the entire world. He’s often said that if he were only able to see one thing for the rest of his life, it would be your beautiful smile. “Kiss me?”

You don’t have to ask twice before Hyunjin presses his lips to yours. It’s sweet, the emotions he pours into the kiss. Through it you can feel just how much he loves you, just how much he cares about you. You can feel the sorrow he’s felt and the guilt that’s eaten away at him. The pain, the heartbreak, but most of all you can feel the overwhelming joy he feels at being able to call you his again. But you’re just happy to finally be kissing your boyfriend for the first time in months.

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter six: no one but you

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 5.6K

A/N: i sincerely hope you guys like the way this ends, it’s always so nerve-wracking to end a story! the epilogue to this story is posted as well and linked.  thank you to every single person who sent sweet messages of support it means the world to me.  SMUT WARNINGS APPLY IN THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f), unprotected sex (only in fiction y’all) and hoseok thirst.

of course, i cannot post this story without shouting out some of the most supportive, killer people on this site.  you guys truly mean the world to me @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ @hobi-gif​

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*********************

There are perks to being the boss.

For Namjoon, it means calling the shots on the streets from his office in the sky.  Rarely does he leave the climate-controlled comfort of his pristine headquarters to get his hands dirty in the day-to-day business of the organization he runs.

Tonight, he’s making an exception.

Yoongi drives. Like a bat out of hell, as always.

It’s a thirty-minute ride from downtown Seoul to Incheon Port without traffic but Yoongi is on pace to finish it in just twenty.  Hoseok watches the lights on the expressway speed by from the backseat.  He tries hard to focus on the information Namjoon shares, the details he’ll need in order to ensure he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger tonight.  

But fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate with the taste of you still on his lips.  

He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath.  He forces himself to push the memory of your body in his hands and your skin in his mouth and your voice in his ear to the corner of his mind.  

Then he goes over the information again.

Namjoon wants to be in place at least ten minutes before the scheduled meet so he can figure out what’s going on before the Ssijog knows he’s there with his men.  

He wants guns to stay holstered unless he gives the signal.

He wants --

“You must have really scared the shit out of that guy, Jung,” Namjoon murmurs from the front seat.  Hoseok snaps back into focus to search for his boss’s reflection in the side mirror and finds Namjoon already looking at him. “He’s been blowing up his contact since last night, begging for personal protection.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t do worse,” Hoseok shrugs.  “I certainly could have.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Namjoon agrees.  “Someday you’ll have to tell me the story of how you managed to be outside of his apartment when his handler picked him up.  Here I was, under the impression you had the night off.”

Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just doing my job.”

There’s a twist to Namjoon’s mouth that Hoseok can’t read and it puts him on edge.  

“Well, I must thank you for your dedication to your job,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for this assignment.”

Hoseok looks away from the mirror.  “Yeah, sure,” he says quietly.  

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Yoongi clears his throat.  

“So anyway --” he announces loudly, “-- Jimin and Tae were able to track Kang’s texts through some internet bullshit they mess around with. Apparently dude flipped out after you left his place and wouldn’t let up until his handlers agreed to meet him tonight.”

“At Incheon Port?” Hoseok asks, glad for the redirect.  “That’s a hell of a drive for a chat.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Namjoon says under his breath.  

The car falls silent once again.

**********************

Mun Kiwoo has a reputation for being messy.

The man at the top sets the tone for the organization, and Mun is no exception.  His men are known for their brutality, his deals often go south, and by most accounts his syndicate is hanging on by a thread.

But it’s still hanging on.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watch quietly from their vantage point behind a shipping container as Mun waits in the dark, cigarette in hand. He looks like an unmade bed -- shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his wrinkled dress pants.  He lights one cigarette off of another as he answers a series of calls on his cell.  

His agitation seems to rise each time it rings again.

Hoseok takes stock of the two guards Mun has at his side tonight.  They’re bulky men with huge arms and round bodies -- the kind of guys who look dangerous due to sheer size, but would be slow to respond in a physical fight.  Namjoon holds up two fingers to confirm they’re the only men with Mun and Hoseok nods.

Headlights bounce off the pavement after a few more minutes of waiting.

A black car pulls up close to the water’s edge and Mun Kiwoo ends his call just as he lights another cigarette.  

Kang Donghyuk is the first out of the car, followed closely by his Ssijog handler.  Kang is dragging his ass and even from a distance, Hoseok can make out the bandage over the side of his face.

Hope it hurts, motherfucker.

“Mr. Kang,” Mun Kiwoo’s voice is clear now, loud enough for all three men to hear.  “You have been rather insistent about this meeting. I’m a busy guy.  What do you want?”

All three men strain to listen to Donghyuk’s response, but it’s too muffled to catch.  Yoongi brings his hands to his throat to make a choking gesture.  Can’t hear shit, he mouths.  You choked him too hard.

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“That sounds like your problem,” Mun laughs in response to whatever Kang has said.  “Not mine.”

Donghyuk gestures wildly as he tries to make his case, likely pleading for the protection of the Ssijog.   Mun Kiwoo looks unmoved.

“I’m not interested in causing any more trouble with the Gajog, Mr. Kang.  This entire situation has been a means to an end.  Stirring more shit with Kim Namjoon is not in my best interest.”

Namjoon signals to Yoongi and Hoseok that it’s time to move.  All three men step out from their cover behind the shipping container, hands in front of their bodies to demonstrate none are holding their weapons.

“Fucking hell,” Mun Kiwoo groans when he spots them.  “I don’t have time for this shit.”

His guards bow up at his side, both men reaching for their guns.  Mun has the good sense to raise a hand and stop them from pulling their firearms -- which keeps Yoongi and Hoseok from doing the same.  All of the men face off in silence for a moment, each side waiting to see if the other will do something to break the fragile peace.

Kang Donghyuk whines under his breath and Hoseok shoots a warning glare at him.  He drops his gaze to the ground and shuts his mouth.

“You say you don’t want trouble with me, Mun and yet --” Namjoon snarls, “-- you have this piece of shit working my sister. Explain.”

“You know how these rich boys are, Kim,” Mun chuckles.  “They develop a bad habit -- or in this idiot’s case, two -- and daddy’s money isn’t enough anymore.  They’re easy to buy.”

Donghyuk looks from Namjoon to Mun, panic in his wide eyes.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

“So what?” Mun laughs.  He smiles wide to reveal a mouth like an abandoned graveyard, teeth broken and scattered.  “This guy thinks we’re friends,” he jeers, jerking a thumb in Donghyuk’s direction.  “He’s too stupid to figure out that he served a purpose and now he doesn’t anymore.  Simple as that.”  

Namjoon sucks in a breath with obvious irritation.

“I’m still waiting to hear what any of this shit has to do with my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Mun says, stubbing out his cigarette and getting back to the task at hand. “Listen, I don’t have anything against your sister personally, okay? Lim Joowon is my son and I want him back.  He can’t spend the next 15 years behind bars. You understand that, right? Doing whatever it takes for your family?”

Namjoon utters a curse under his breath.

“I’ll give your sister some credit, though -- she’s tenacious.  I thought she’d give up after we took her digital files,” Mun admits.  “Instead she’s cost me a hell of a lot more money.  I’ve had to start cutting a lot more checks to ensure this shit goes away.”

“She’s not the type to roll over and play dead, Mun,” Namjoon growls through gritted teeth.  

“The pigheaded gene runs in the family, huh?” Mun grins. “Look, let me level with you Kim, man to man.  I don’t even need your sister at this point. I’ve paid enough people to fuck this case from the inside out.  But I won’t lie, she is my insurance.  If any of the higher-ups start asking questions about why this case fell apart -- who better to point the finger at than the sweet young prosecutor with the dirty family connections, hmm?”

Namjoon tenses, hand reaching for the gun at his side.  Yoongi stops him with a muttered warning.

“None of us give a fuck about what happens to your son, Mun,” Namjoon says. “What I have a problem with is you sending that piece of shit --” he points at the trembling Kang Donghyuk, “ -- into her fucking home. Invading her space.  You crossed a line.”

“You’re right,” Mun agrees lightly.  “It was rude. Uncalled for.  I’m gonna apologize for it right now.”

He pulls his pistol from his side and the sound of clinking metal bounces off the shipping containers as everyone pulls their guns.  Hoseok trains his pistol directly at the shaking Kang Donghyuk and silently prays for the chance to pull the trigger. Mun Kiwoo’s gun is pointed at Namjoon and Namjoon’s is pointed right back.

Then Mun’s face lights up with a bizarre smile. He swings the point of his pistol in the direction of Donghyuk and pulls the trigger twice.

Donghyuk sputters as he falls to the floor.

Hoseok and Yoongi exchange looks.  

Namjoon stares at Mun incredulously.

“What?” Mun’s nonchalance is comical.  “You wanted to do that too, right?  Besides, that guy owes everyone in the city money. I promise you, his own mother won’t even miss him.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. “This guy is fucking nuts.”

Mun puts his pistol away and his men follow suit.  Namjoon signals for Yoongi and Hoseok to do the same.  

“Consider that a goodwill gesture,” Mun says breezily.  “An official apology from me, to you.  And please pass along my consideration to your sister.  Please assure her that none of this is personal.  But I will make sure my son stays out of prison.  And like it or not, she’s going to play some kind of role in that.”

Namjoon stares off into the water.

“I can’t control my sister, Mun.  She makes her own choices,” he says after a moment.  “But let me be clear, this is the first and last polite discourse we’re going to have about this situation.  I don’t want you, your goons or any --” he glances at the bleeding pile of Kang Donghyuk on the floor, “-- paid help going near her.  Not in her office, not in her home. Nowhere. Are we clear?”

Mun Kiwoo lights another cigarette and smiles wide, the space in his teeth prominent against the gleaming ember hanging from his mouth.  

“Crystal.”

On the way back to the car, Hoseok hears the heavy splash of Kang Donghyuk’s body hitting the water down below.

He shuts his eyes against the rush of pleasure he feels as he climbs into the backseat.

************************

YOU

Something isn’t right.

You stare at the empty seat across the conference table -- the one where Hyejin normally sits -- and something twists in your gut.  She’s out sick today.  You can’t even remember the last time she took a sick day.

All morning, you’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s no big deal.  That you’re working yourself up for nothing.

But Donghyuk is out today, too.  

Vaguely, you register the sound of your boss’s voice at the front of the room. Any minute now, you’ll be asked to brief the team on the status of your case, but you can’t think straight.  You can’t focus on anything but the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong.  

Your thoughts race back to last night, back to your brother taking his men away for business in the middle of the night.

Back to Hoseok.

You try not to think about what it felt like to have his warm body pressed against yours. The way he smelled like fresh laundry and spice. The way you unraveled the moment he touched you.  

Your phone pulses with an incoming text.

namjoon: i’ve asked jungkook to bring you to the office tonight after work [ 1:25 PM ]

namjoon: a lot to discuss [ 1:26 PM ]

Your brain grinds to a halt as you stare at the messages.

It’s like everything is wrong and everything is right, all at the same time.

“Miss. Kim?”

You look up to see your boss staring at you, one expectant eyebrow raised.  You take a deep breath, line up your papers and stand to take your place at the front of the room.

****************************

The sense of déjà vu that hits you as you make the long walk across your brother’s office is nearly overwhelming.  This is exactly how this entire mess began weeks ago -- with you summoned to see Namjoon after hours, with Yoongi and Hoseok flanking him on either side.

But there is one thing different about tonight.

When you briefly lock gazes with Hoseok as you make your way to Namjoon’s plush chair, there is a warmth behind his dark eyes you can see from a distance. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you ever saw him, when you thought you could freeze to death from the ice in his glare.

You look away before anyone can catch the flush working its way up your neck.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you brother begins evenly.  “I finally have some answers for you about what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m ready to hear them,” you exhale, taking a seat.  Your eyes drift over the papers strewn scattered across his desk.  

“We’ve learned that the reason the Ssijog want your case against Lim Joowon to fold is because Lim is Mun Kiwoo’s son.”

You raise a brow.

“That’s news to me.  I didn’t even know Mun Kiwoo had a son.”

“Neither did we,” Namjoon admits.  “Apparently this is his only son and the man he intends to pass control of the Ssijog down to.  So it makes sense that he’s so hell-bent on seeing this case fall apart.”

He picks one of the papers off his desk.

“This is the more problematic piece of the puzzle,” Namjoon says quietly.  Your chest tightens in response to the expression on his face. “Jimin and Taehyung tracked a Ssijog account making payouts.  Payouts to people in your office.”

He holds the piece of paper out to you.

“There are six names on that list.”

You take a deep breath before taking the sheet from his hands.  

Your eyes scan down the document, taking in the blows, one by one.  Two receptionists.  One paralegal.  

Lee Hyejin.  

Kang Donghyuk.  

Park Soo.

You say nothing as you stare at the list, taking in the names again.

Someone you called a friend.  Someone you’d allowed into your bed.  The boss you’d bent over backwards trying to impress.  You stare at the black-and-white evidence of betrayal in your hands, reading the words over and over -- expecting to feel sadness or rage or humiliation or something.  

Nothing comes.

“Give us a moment, would you please?”

Yoongi and Hoseok file out of the room quietly at Namjoon’s command.  The second the heavy door to the office clicks shut, he clears his throat.  “There is something else we need to discuss, Amsaja,” your brother continues quietly.  “Kang Donghyuk is dead.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide at the quick, calm delivery of your response.

You stand to walk to his sideboard to pour a drink.  You have no idea what’s inside the decanter, only that whatever it is promises a burn you want to feel right now. You pour a glass and take a sip, leaning against the heavy wooden piece.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. The Ssijog beat us to it,” Namjoon admits.  “But Hoseok paid Donghyuk a personal visit at home to convey our -- displeasure -- at his involvement in this mess. He damned near choked that man to death hours before Mun Kiwoo put two bullets in him.”

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay.”

The words Hoseok spoke in your kitchen surface in your mind.  

They’d sent a bolt of pleasure through you at the time -- triggering a kind of primitive response you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud.

And somehow that response pales in comparison to what you’re feeling right now.

A normal woman wouldn’t find satisfaction in the idea of Donghyuk cowering in fear inside his apartment.  A normal woman wouldn’t feel warmth spread through her entire body at the mental image of Hoseok wrapping his hands around Donghyuk’s throat.  You slip a finger under the collar of your blouse and search for your scar -- closing your eyes at the familiar feel of the raised skin.  

You remind yourself that you are not a normal woman.

“Hoseok uncovered Kang’s involvement with the Ssijog even before we found the payouts.”  Your brother pauses, a wry twist to his mouth as he continues.  “He can be a very determined man when something is important to him.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for just a beat too long after delivering that statement.  You look away and walk to his office window.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, Amsaja,” you brother says.  You can hear the sound of him pouring his own drink behind you.  “Your silence has me concerned.”

You’re thinking about every time Hyejin feigned concern for you and tried to get you to open up. The days Donghyuk insisted he take you to lunch or to dinner when you insisted you were too swamped.  The bullshit little speech Park Soo gave you the night of the charity dinner about keeping Seoul from falling into the hands of criminals.

You’re thinking about what a joke they all are -- dressing up and looking down their noses at the criminal element they claim to despise.  Wearing their fake piety like a badge of honor and paying for their fine things with dirty money.  

You’re thinking that you’d rather choose a hundred street thugs over any one of their kind.  At least your brother has the balls to wear his sins on his sleeve.  

Namjoon joins you at the window, glass in hand.  

“What I’m thinking, Jaegyueo,” you say calmly, “Is that a lot of things are starting to make sense for me.  I haven’t felt this clear in a very long time.  So, thank you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your brother’s mouth and you return it.

You clink your glasses together in a toast.

***********************

You are two whiskeys deep when you leave Namjoon’s office.  

Hoseok is waiting in a chair in the hallway.  He stands to his feet when you appear from behind the heavy wooden door.  

You suck in a breath as you take him in -- the sharp beauty of his face and the soft curve of his mouth and the way his suit hugs the lines of his lean body.  You realize, with more than a little embarrassment, that you are staring.

“I’ve got the car warming downstairs,” Hoseok says carefully.  “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Yes. Hoseok, I --” you swallow thickly,  “-- I never apologized for what I said to you.  I didn’t mean those things. I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok steps close and reaches one hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear.  You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaling his scent.

“You’ve had a hell of a night,” he murmurs.  “We can talk about that some other time.  Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You open your eyes to look up at him just as Yoongi rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

“Glad this isn’t awkward,” he mutters, before turning to walk back the same way he came.

**********************

The air in Hoseok’s car is thick with tension on the ride home.

You’ve stopped pretending to not stare, eyes fixed on Hoseok while his eyes stay glued to the road.  He guides the car through a sharp turn and you catch the way he winces as his hand grips the steering wheel.  

A throb of guilt hits you square in the chest.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nah,” Hoseok deflects quickly.  “Just a little sore.”

He won’t look at you.  Why won’t he look at you?

“Namjoon told me you nearly choked Donghyuk to death,” you say quietly, studying his face for any reaction. He slows the car to a stop at a red light and rubs his fingers across his mouth, stares out of his window.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admits.  He takes his aching hand off the steering wheel and flexes his fingers as if reliving the memory of that night. “I almost did.”

That embarrassing reaction flares inside of you again.  This time it slides down your back and pools low between your legs and you have to squeeze your thighs together in response.  You shiver as you remember the promises he made while pressing his body to yours.

“Tell me what you want. I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you do Jung Hoseok right now.

*************************

You force yourself to wait for the elevator doors to shut.

The second they do, you crush your body and your mouth to Hoseok’s.  If you catch him off-guard, there’s no way to tell -- not with the way he immediately backs you into the elevator wall, slotting one knee between your thighs.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore,” he groans the words into the shell of your ear, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck.  “Just like no one gets to touch you anymore.  No one but me.”

The strangled sigh that escapes you is the closest thing Hoseok is going to get to a thank you right now.  You whimper in agreement, gasping when his fingers grip your ass to pull you flush against him.  The swollen outline of his cock brushes against your stomach and you shudder.

The elevator ride is too long and too short, all at the same time.  Hoseok backs you through the doors as soon as they open, fumbling in his pocket for the keys while you suck bruises into his throat.  By some miracle, he gets the door open and both of you through it in one piece.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears as you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against his insistent cock.  He has to drag you both into the bedroom as you press against him like a dead weight, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as you both stumble into the bedroom.  You drop out of his grasp when the bed hits the back of your knees.

Hoseok stands back, chest heaving with exertion.

“I need you to hear you say it,” he pants.  “Please.”

You sit up straight on the edge of the bed and unbutton your blouse, slipping it off without hesitation.  “No one gets to touch me,” you breathe, reaching to unclasp your bra.  You toss it away.

“No one but you.”  

Hoseok’s eyes darken to near black.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and slowly pulls off his holster and gun, placing both carefully on top of your dresser.  Then he turns back, body looming over yours.  He cups your cheek with one large hand, looking down at you with such heat that your breath hitches in your chest.

You lean into his touch, fingertips grazing the contour of his cock beneath his suit pants.  

“You promised to give me anything I want,” you whisper, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He nods slowly, the rasp in his voice betraying the calm on his face.

“Anything.  Name it.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say, pulling the hem of his shirt out of his pants.  Your fingers work the buttons open, one by one.  “Let me.”

Hoseok exhales a heavy breath as you open his shirt and stroke your hands down his chest. You give yourself a moment to admire the lean strength of his body, fingers stroking over the metal tags that hang just above one dark, flat nipple.

His stomach tightens and his cock twitches in his pants when you tilt forward to press a soft kiss to the golden skin just above his belt.  You work it open with unsteady hands and his pants follow just a moment later.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling the outline of his length with your cheek.  You push his boxers down his slim hips just enough to expose the head of his cock.  “I don’t want you to think about anything but this.”

Hoseok groans when you flick your tongue against him.  

His cock throbs under your fingertips through the fabric of his underwear when you dip down to tease the head with your mouth.  You lap at the salty moisture gathered at the swollen tip and his head drops back.

“Sweetheart, please --” he grits out, hands reaching for your hair.  He winds his fingers through the strands and jerks when you rake your teeth across the wet ridge under the head of his cock. “-- don’t tease me.”

Some other time you might play the delayed gratification game with him.  You might take hours to torture him and keep him dangling at the precipice of pleasure.  Tonight, though -- the only thing you want to do is make him come so hard he can’t see straight.

“I won’t,” you promise sweetly, pulling the rest of his thick length free from his boxers to wrap your warm fingers around him.  You flick your gaze up to appreciate the way his head is tipped back in pleasure, lips parted.

“Look at me,” you murmur, pumping him with languid strokes.

His eyes are glassy with arousal when he opens them to gaze down at you.  You make sure he’s watching as you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you draw your mouth across his length.  He gathers your hair in his hands so he can appreciate the unobstructed view of your private show.

“No one gets to touch you anymore,” you whisper.  You take him down as far as you can again, tongue dragging against the thick vein that runs the length of his cock.  You are panting when you pull off him, tongue running the seam of your lower lip as you catch your breath.

“No one but me.”

Hoseok’s dick jerks in your hand in response, hand tightening in your hair as you lick a long stripe up his shaft.  He chokes out a moan as you lick at the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, eyes fixed on his.

“No more,” he croaks.  

You pull your mouth away reluctantly, tongue swiping at the taste of him on your lips and the sight seems to set him off.  He grabs your face with both hands, groaning into your mouth as he claims it.

He pulls away, panting.

“Lie back,” he demands between breaths.  You comply without question.

Hoseok leans over you, arms braced on either side of your body as he drops his head down to take one nipple between his teeth.  Your hips jerk at the stimulation and you squirm underneath him, thighs slippery with your own excitement.  He laves at both nipples slowly, thoroughly, until they are aching and wet.  Then he trails a soft line of kisses back up to your ear.

“I want to taste what’s mine,” he whispers, and a pang of arousal hits you so hard you forget to breathe.  You lift your hips to help him pull your skirt away along with your soaked panties and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation.

Hoseok nudges your legs apart with his hands, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs.  His dark eyes are half-hooded with pleasure by the time he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he groans when you are fully spread open for him.  He drops a kiss on your mound and your body jolts at the sensation, every nerve ending standing at attention.  He moves lower, long fingers tracing the outline of your swollen cunt and you suck in a breath.  

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping one finger into your damp heat.  “Is this all for me?��

“Yes,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets as his finger flexes inside of you.

“Only for you.”

Hoseok makes a sound of satisfaction deep in his chest before sealing his lips over your aching clit.  You shudder against his mouth when he pulls back to soothe you with the flat of his tongue.  “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined how you would taste,” Hoseok groans, licking deeply into your wetness.  “It doesn’t even come close.  Nothing comes close to this.”

“Hoseok --”  your hands come off of the sheets to grip into his hair, “-- Hoseok, please don’t stop.”

Your senses are so heightened that just the pressure of the heel of his hand against your cunt is making you crazy.  His finger crooks deep inside you, stroking against your swollen walls while his lips and teeth toy with your clit.  You whine at the stimulation, at the wet drag of his tongue that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’re close sweetheart, I can hear it,” Hoseok’s voice is ragged with arousal. “Let me hear you.  Come for me.”

You clutch his hair between your fingers, moaning brokenly as the heat between your legs simmers to a boil.

“Hoseok --”

“That’s it,” he praises you with dirty words spoken in the sweetest way. “Let me taste you. Let me hear you.”

Hoseok is prepared the moment you come apart.

He grasps your hips firmly in those large, warm hands of his -- tongue and lips persistent as the live wire inside you tightens and snaps. The force of your orgasm shakes your entire body and leaves you begging and breathless. Hoseok savors every drop of your release until your hips sink back into the mattress and you protest weakly against the threat of overstimulation.

The mattress dips under you as Hoseok joins you on the bed, lips swollen with use and mouth marked with your taste.  His head dips into the hollow of your neck, nipping gently at the skin, while his fingers skate over the soft skin of your stomach and thighs.  

You shiver in his hold, closing your eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of his body on yours.

“I want to watch you come like that every day,” Hoseok whispers into your ear.  “Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you agree in a whisper, finding your voice after what seems like ages.  

You slip one hand between you, fingers wrapping firmly around the rigid cock pressed against your stomach.  Hoseok groans when you tighten your hand around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, feeling a pulse between your legs that seems to beat in time with the throb of his cock in your palm, “Fuck me please, I’m losing my mind.”

His hoarse chuckle sends a shiver up your spine as he moves to cover you completely with his body.  He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and you tilt your hips up into his.  

“Please,” you plead again, lifting your head to brush your lips against his.  “Now.”

He sinks his cock into you slowly, inch by inch, groaning at the tight fit of your cunt around him.  The stretch inside of you is nearly too much -- you whimper when he bottoms out and he drops his forehead to yours.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

His entire body feels like a rubber band ready to snap -- coiled energy waiting to be released.  But he holds back the instinct to move until you nod your agreement.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, nudging his hips to move with your own.  You stroke your hands down the slick skin of his back.  “I’m so full right now.”

Hoseok swears under his breath as he tentatively rocks his hips against yours, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you.  You wrap your legs around him as the discomfort subsides and the only sensation that’s left is the pleasant pressure of his cock against your walls.

Hoseok’s hips move harder as your whimpers melt into moans.

“Dammit,” he swears, head dropping low between his shoulder blades.  “So tight and wet for me.  So perfect for me.”

You look up to take in the sight of his perfect face slack with pleasure, mouth parted and face flushed with exertion.  His dog tags hang from his neck, swaying as his hips begin to piston in earnest.  You pull on them to force his mouth close to yours.

“Only for you,” you whisper, “No one else.”

Hoseok’s steady rhythm stutters when you whisper those words into his mouth and press your lips to his.  His hips jerk wildly as his release races up his shaft.  He laces his fingers into yours, fucking you deep into the mattress in those final seconds as he loses all control to chasing his end.

He comes with your name on his lips.

************************

Hoseok breathes deeply into your hair as you stroke your fingers across the lean lines of his chest, fingers tracing the metal outline of his dog tags.  You lie together like that for a while, skin to skin.

Your thoughts are loud in the quiet.  

You’re used to the bitter sting of betrayal by now.  

Long before Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk or Park Soo ever sold you out for a check, your own father betrayed you for the bottle.  You of all people know too well that most people aren’t to be trusted.

But then Hoseok’s fingers drag lightly across your back and they bring you back to the here and now -- back to the promise he made to you tonight.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore.”

And you decide to trust just one more time.

************************

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @jjeonjoon @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jalexa83 @livanthi @fantasybangtan @trviahope​ @mono-kookie@hauntedlilies @sugasaidbultaoreune @yeojaa @secret-alphabets @hodginss@parkjimin-persona​

[bokukawas]

Drunken Mess

pairing; Kuroo Tetsuro  x Reader

warnings; alcohol, suggestive in the end, some grabbing from some random stranger

a/n; ok guys, enjoy, this took me forever to write and idk, i just hope someone here likes it ♥

summary; when you have a shitty day and then your boyfriend presses all the wrong buttons upon his return , you just need a little alcohol to keep your sanity… and maybe have a drink too much

word count; 6k, I actually planned to keep this short. WELL HUH jokes on me, right? 

The only thing that got you through the day was the thought, that when you came home later, your boyfriend would be back from his training camp with his team. Because, seriously, today had sucked. You had to take a double shift at work, because a colleague had called in sick and all the customers had just been annoying and rude. You had expected working in retail to suck, but compared to the reality your imagination was a fucking dream come true. Retail was the worst. The absolute fucking worst. And no one could truly understand it if they haven’t worked in retail at least once in their life.

By the time you could clock out, you were nearly crying from frustration. You were so eager to see Kuroo and leave your work; you nearly ran the whole way home.

When you finally arrived home, you could already see light seep out from under the door, which meant he actually was home already. Your heart made an involuntarily somersault as you pushed the door open and yelled “I’m home!” with a huge smile plastered on your face. You had missed him terribly. Yet instead of your boyfriends loving arms around you, you just found the mess he somehow managed to produce in less than a day. Your smile slipped just as fast as it had appeared. “Kuroo, what the actual fuck!?” No answer to that.

You could see him, lying on the couch, one leg slung over the back of it, controller in one hand, a piece of pizza in the other, headset on his head, while he cackled. He didn’t even seem to hear you. And damn it stung. You waited the whole day with dinner so you could eat together with your boyfriend. And not only that, you had cleaned the whole house before he returned, so you could just relax together once he was back, hell, you even dumped your friends who wanted to go out and have a girls night, and this was how it turns out?

With watering eyes, you inspected the spectacular mess in front of you. Eyes flicking from the kitchen, where he obviously already made ramen before he ordered pizza, to the living room where the whole content of his sports bag seems to just have been dumped on the floor. Then to the bathroom, where the door was open and showed the still wet tiles and a towel carelessly thrown in the middle of it, fog still clinging to the mirror, because he once again had not opened the goddamn window.

In that moment all you could feel inside of you, was burning anger and huge disappointment. It was not the first time you had asked him to just please be a little bit more considerate of you. Why didn’t he fucking get it? The damn flat didn’t magically clean itself; it was all you who did it. The mess he made in literally only a few hours felt like a punch in the face.

Clenching your fist, you angrily throw your bag into the mess he already made, which seemed to finally get his attention. Head popping up from the couch, he pulled down his headset a bit and looks over to you: “Oh hey kitten, didn’t hear you come home.”

“Yeah never mind”, you spit, “continue your thing there, I’m gonna be gone soon anyways.”

You slip out of your sneakers, phone already in your hand to call one of your friends.

“S’ something wrong, kitten?” Kuroo sets down his headset, mustering you with concern in his eyes. Obviously something was wrong, but his brain still felt foggy with exhaustion from all the training he had pushed himself and his team through this week.

The answer came in the slamming of the bedroom door, where you had disappeared.

He sighs and briefly puts his headset back on to give his friends a heads up: “Guys, I’ll be back later, seems like somethings wrong with Y/N”, then he left the game and stood up, slowly walking to your shared bedroom, before he tentatively knocks on the door.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Did something happen at work? Are you alright?” Upon not getting an answer, he pushed down the latch, only to find that you had locked the door. He silently swears. It had to be bad when you actually locked him out. “C’mon hun, don’t be like that. Talk to me.” Door rattling followed, which you blatantly ignore.

You were sitting on the bed, which was, of fucking course, not made any more and stripped out of your work clothes, throwing them carelessly on the floor. The damage was already done, what bad could your few clothes be then, right?

It was then, that Miwa finally picked up. “Oh hey, Y/n, whats up? I thought you were having some quality time with Kuroo?” You could hear loud voices talking in the back; she must have gone outside to answer your call.

“Yeah you know what? I thought so, too. Plan has changed, though. Where are you? Mind if I join you? I need a drink.”

“Are you alright, Y/n? You sound a little upset?”

“Miwa, for god’s sake, just tell me where you are so I can join you. I’m going to explode if I stay here any minute longer.”

You could hear Miwa sigh into the phone. “That bad, huh? We’re at our usual place.”

“Good, I’ll be there in twenty.” You hang up and throw your phone into the pillow and start rummaging through your closet, finding one of the dresses you like very much, but never actually wear, because it is actually very short. Well, fuck it, you think to yourself and put it on, together with your new high heels. Quickly freshening up your smudged make-up, you grab your keys and your clutch and brace yourself for your escape. Because that was exactly what you were doing: escaping from this whole mess.

Then, you unlock the door and push it open, marching straight for the door, which was, of course, blocked by your boyfriend, who was leaning against it and now eyeing you from head to toe. He probably had heard you talk to Miwa and taken his position at the door right away. He did not comment on your outfit though, having the good sense to know he was walking on very thin ice.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m going out with my friends. At least I would like to, but someone is standing in the way. Do you mind?” You look up at him and give him one of your perfect angelic smiles as you try to squeeze through. Even though you were wearing your heels, your boyfriend was a goddamn giant and he somehow managed to still be taller, which was mildly frustrating at the moment.

He does not budge; not even an inch.

“Are we not going to talk about what is going on? Because something clearly is going on.”

“I’d actually rather go right now.”

Kuroo could basically feel the passive aggressive energy radiating from you, but still, he didn’t budge. He didn’t even have the chance to talk to you yet, what could he possibly have done to upset you so much that you could not even stand to be in the same room as him? It was a mystery to him.

“Y/n, please.” He reaches out a hand to brush a thumb against your cheek, because he knows how much you always enjoy these little affectionate gestures, but he stops right in his tracks, when he found you staring at him with barely withhold anger. He was surprised that you did not swat at his still outstretched hand.

“Move Kuroo, I mean it.” And when you try to squeeze through this time, he lets you.

You were rarely in such a bad mood and he knew when he needed to let you cool off, first. As you walk by him, he catches your wrist in the last second, holding you still for a moment. “At least send me a text when you get there, alright?” he whispers while brushing his thumb once over your veins and then lifting your hand up to press a soft kiss against the palm of it.

The urge to just turn around and press your head into your boyfriends’ chest right then was overwhelming, but you were still so mad that you stubbornly continued on your way, leaving Kuroo standing there, watching you go.

When he turns around to go back into the flat, he feels like a train hit him as he takes in the mess he made. “Oh fuck.” He groans as he ruffles his spiky hair, because how could he be so stupid. Of course you would be mad if you came home to such a mess. The worst part was, that he didn’t even contain his chaos in one room, no, he seriously fucked up the whole flat, which by second thought, you had probably cleaned just hours before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your foul mood suddenly made sense to him. Groaning again, he closes the door behind him and goes to the kitchen. He better gets rid of this whole mess before you come home later. But first, he wants to apologize. Fishing out his phone out of his joggers, he opens the chat with you and freezes all over again. There it was, black on white. Dinner later, Tetsu? We can order from your fav restaurant if you like ♥

Oh sweet fucking hell, he was the biggest douche in the whole wide world. How could he forget that you two wanted to eat together? “Ah shit.”

He types out a quick message to you. Y/n I’m so sorry. I’m the biggest idiot in the world. You can punch me later if you still feel like it. I sure as hell deserve it. Pls text me when you get there safely. I love you.

Kuroo really wants to kick his own ass in that moment. You were always so good to him, going out of your way to make the time you got to spend together as pleasurable as possible, taking time where you actually had none to spare and just simply spoiling him in any way possible and this was how he treated you? He didn’t even kiss you when you got home, which was funny, because it was one of the only thoughts in his head, besides volleyball this whole past week. The feeling of your soft lips against his.

He was not surprised that he didn’t get a message back, but he still unmuted his phone, just in case you called him when you had enough and wanted to go home.

Then he starts cleaning up his mess.

You on the other hand nearly arrived at the bar where you and your friends usually met up once a month to keep in touch. You already regretted wearing your new heels. As you turned the next corner, you could already spot the bar and with it, a whole lot of people standing outside at high tables. Your friends amongst one of them.

“Hey ladies”, you call out as you get closer. “Long time no see.”

Fighting a smile to your face, you found your place right next to Miwa, who gently nudges you in the side.

“Stop that grimace and tell us what happened.”

Alisa, who was standing in front of you, just reaches over the table, takes your hand in hers and squeezes it softly.

“Actually, I think I’d rather have a drink first”, you moan.

One drink followed the next and your friends realized later, that they probably should have stopped you after your 5th cocktail or so. Which they didn’t, because you spilled your heart out to them, nearly crying a few times, which was rare to see, because usually you managed to keep your cool in front of others, even your own friends. Moreover, the drink in your hand seemed to be the only thing holding you together. They were a little taken aback, too, because you usually were a very good drinker, and could handle alcohol very well; but by the time you went inside to dance and just bumped into stranger after stranger while trying to walk a straight line, they figured you probably had not eaten anything before coming here.

Miwa squinched up her face. “She’s gonna feel even worse tomorrow. We should probably get her home.”

Alisa just nods, before sprinting in your direction as she witnessed you tumbling into a group of men, of which one luckily caught you in his arms, before you hit the floor, but then couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You just laughed, not realizing what was going on and not feeling the hand, currently sneaking up your leg. Everything looked dizzy and swayed and you felt a little funny in the head. Vaguely you realize that Alisa was arguing with the man who stopped your fall and then her face popped up in front of you, asking you were your phone was.

You look at her irritated, not quite understanding what she wanted.

“C’mon y/n, where is your goddamn phone.”

“My clutch?”

Miwa suddenly popped up next to you, steadying you and gently guiding you to an abandoned empty chair. “Sit.”

Alisa rummaged through your clutch, only to find your purse and your house keys…but no phone.

“Your phone is not in here y/n. Are you sure it was in your clutch?” she looks at you questioningly, with her big green eyes, which were all you could focus on. She always looks so pretty.

„Focus y/n!“

You thought back to when you left the flat… “I think I …left it on the bed”, you mumble, eyes suddenly growing very heavy. Leaning heavily against Miwa, your head lolls against her shoulder. You inhale deeply. Miwa always managed to smell so good; you wonder how she does it. The girls just shared a concerned look. You couldn’t even sit upright on that damn chair, how were they supposed to get you home.

“We need to call Kuroo”, Miwa states, while brushing some strands of hair out of your face. You didn’t seem to notice.

“That was my plan. But I don’t have his number… do you?” Miwas face was answer enough. That’s when Saeko popped up next to them. “Hey girls, I made it after all.” She grinned happily at all of you. “What’s wrong with this one here, though?” She nudges you in the side, which was rewarded with a lazy grunt from you and a silent curse from Miwa as you tipped dangerously to the side.

“Is she drunk!? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk. What happened?” Saeko seemed mildly concerned, which leads to Miwa and Alisa freaking out a little. Saeko usually doesn’t show concern, so it must be just as bad as they imagined.

“Do you have Kuroos number?” Alisa asked her without answering her question in return, not letting her eyes stray from your face, as you looked ghostly white at the moment and started mumbling random things under your breath.

“No? But you have? Right?”

They both shake their heads. Saeko sighs and mumbles something under her breath, which rather sounded, like ‘I should’ve just gone straight home’, before facing Alisa.

“Call your brother then. He must have his number.”

“Oh my god, Saeko you are a genius.”

“Thanks, I know.”

With another concerned look your way, Alisa left your side to go outside and call her brother. She just hoped he would pick up, since it was already the middle of the night.

Meanwhile Kuroo was sitting on the couch, worriedly glancing at the clock all few seconds and constantly brushing his fingers through his hair. No wonder you hadn’t texted him back, he had found your phone lying on his pillow as he had made the bed again. This meant, you were out, with no phone and no means to contact him if something was wrong. He didn’t like that one bit. The worst part was that he couldn’t even blame someone for it, besides himself. This was his fault and he knew it all too well. Scratching at his scalp, he tried to calm down a bit. He knew you could take care of yourself; your small figure belied the strength you actually had, but still. There was always a chance that something happened. So when his phone started ringing he answered it in seconds, without even looking who was calling first. It just had to be you, right?

“Y/n?” he nearly yelped in the phone.

“No, this is Lev.”

Kuroo nearly lost it then, breathing heavily and punching the pillow right next to him, he thought he was going to combust any second.

“What is it Lev? It’s the middle of the night!”

“Yeah, I know, I was sleeping until my sister called me.” Now that he mentioned it, Kuroo could hear the slight strain in Levs voice, as if he had just gotten up.

“It’s about y/n, though. They are worried and would like you to come and pick her up. Apparently she didn’t have her phone with her and got stupidly drunk.” He paused. “…did you have a fight? Are you alright?”

Kuroo swallowed.

“Just tell me where they are, please.” And so Lev does.

“Tell your sister I’ll be there soon… and thank you, Lev. Sorry that you got involved in this.”

“Yeah, yeah. G’night.” with that, he just hung up on Kuroo, probably eager to get into bed again. Kuroo couldn’t even blame him for that, he was tired, too, but he swore he wouldn’t go to bed before you got home safely.

He gets up, just grabs his wallet, keys and his sweater and was out the door in seconds, running all the way to the bar. Never before had it been so bad, that your friends were concerned about you. You had always gotten home on your own, or were sober enough to just give him a call, or get a taxi. Your alcohol tolerance was quite high, too, but alas, you hadn’t eaten today. That was probably the problem.

Alisa spotted him from afar and just starts waving. She was impressed at how fast he was, it hadn’t even been 10 minutes since the call. When she saw him up close though, she realized that he was sweating and breathing hard. He must have run the whole way here.

“Jeez, Kuroo you look like you might pass out any second.”

“Thanks, it’s nice to see you, too Alisa. Now, where is she?”

He didn’t even look Alisa in the face, his eyes scanning the crowd around them, searching for your face.

“Inside. C’mon.”

He follows her tall blonde form through the masses, until she stops in front of a chair. An empty chair. He could barely hear her curse under her breath.

Kuroos head snaps up, when he could hear a commotion start on the dance floor.

There you were, the hands of some random stranger draped across you, while you danced as if you didn’t even notice. Which of course, you didn’t. Not really. You just enjoyed the lights and the music and silently swayed to the rhythm of it, being a little surprised that the world suddenly didn’t seem so shaky anymore. Your back felt warm, too, which was at the same time pleasant and very unpleasant at once. Something somehow felt wrong, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. You were just happy that you somehow managed to get yourself drunken enough, to stop thinking about how little your boyfriend seemed to care about you.

Kuroos eyes wander to the two females next to you, desperately trying to pry the hands off that damn stranger of your dancing form, but they were both so small compared to the guy, it was useless.

He lost it the moment said stranger seemed to thrust his hips into your back. Miwa and Saeko spotted him just the second he lunged at the person, shoving him away.

“Get your filthy hands off of my girlfriend!”

The guy of course didn’t like being handled that way and was in Kuroos face the very next instance. “What’s your problem man? It didn’t seem to me that she didn’t like it.”

Miwa winced. She had seen Kuroo lose his cool once before, and it hadn’t ended very well for the other dude. He had him up by his collar at once, sneering in his face “she’s so drunk she probably doesn’t even remember her own name and you want to tell me she liked it?” He shook the stranger, muscles flexing under his T-Shirt.  “Get the fuck out of my eyes.”

With that, he shoves him so hard that the guy loses his balance and falls face down onto the dance floor.

Your world had become very wobbly again, as soon as the somewhat steadying hands had left your hips. Tumbling to the side, you were caught in strong arms again. Your boyfriend’s arms.

“C’mon kitten, we’re going.”

“Wha-? Kuroo?” Were you hallucinating now? “No I don’t want to go. I want to dance.” You wind your way out of his arms, only to stagger once again.

Kuroo exhales once again and tries to pull himself together, looking at your friends who all watch you with deep worry in their eyes. “How much exactly did she drink?”

Alisa nervously twirls her hair around her finger, not wanting to look him in the eyes. Your boyfriend could be scary, especially if he was worried about you. “Don’t know… I kinda lost count after her 5th cocktail or so… she might have had some drinks on the dance floor, too.”

Kuroo breathes in deeply, watching you as you tried to dance, which was actually just staggering from one side to the other, trying not to fall on your face. He was low key impressed that you had not already broken your ankles in those heels. Trying to remain calm and reminding himself that in fact, this was his fault and he couldn’t get angry with anybody else, he sighs again, starts fumbling in his pocket to get his wallet out and pushes some money in Alisas hand.

“Here, for her drinks. I’m pretty sure she didn’t pay for them herself, did she? Well, never mind. We are going now. Thanks for reaching out to me.”

And with that, he appears next to you again, draping his sweater around your hips to keep your very short dress from flashing anyone, before crouching down and just throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey, what the hell!? KUROO! Put me down, I don’t want to go!” you slur, as he starts to push his way through the crowd.

“Good thing I’m not asking then.”

Your friends watch as your boyfriend singlehandedly maneuvers you two outside, sighing in unison as you leave the club.

“Wow. That was intense”, Saeko deadpans.

Miwa nods. “He was so calm, though? The last time I saw someone touch y/n with Kuroo around, the guy had a broken nose afterwards. I was a little scared for a second there.”

“He must have been really worried. Lev told me he seemed really agitated, which is rare for him. He’s usually very composed.”

They sigh in unison again. “We better call her tomorrow and ask if she’s alright”, Miwa states, to which the others all nod. Saeko starts grinning a moment later. “I’m pretty sure Kuroo is gonna take good care of her now, so let’s not worry. The night is still young.” She throws her arms around the waists of her friends and pulls them all in direction of the dance floor.

 Meanwhile your world shakes violently with every step your boyfriend makes and your hair was jumping in tact with it. His shoulder blade pressed very uncomfortably into your stomach. You could feel the warmth radiating from his hand at the back of your knee, where he gripped you softly to keep you steady.

You hadn’t spoken to him since he had thrown you over his shoulder and just marched out of the bar. In fact, you felt a little ashamed. It had been years since you had gotten so drunk you could barely stand. It was a mystery to you, how he even knew where you were.

Another step, another bounce, another uncomfortable press against your roaring stomach. You clutch your hands into the hem of Kuroos shirt, trying to steady yourself a bit, inhaling his familiar smell and focusing on that, instead of the turmoil in your stomach and your head.

Kuroo of course feels you clench fistfuls of his shirt and slows down a bit, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Kitten, you alright there?”

The fresh air had sobered you up quite a bit and you were fully aware of the gentle grip your boyfriend had on you, same as the every so often brush of his thumb across your thigh.

Since you didn’t answer, he just presses a quick kiss to your leg and then continues on his way, a little more slowly, but still persistent. You groan, as the nauseous feeling in your stomach got overwhelming. Not only that, but you could also feel your feet burning and hurting. Those heels were really not the best choice for tonight.

“Y/n?” he stops once more and tries to look over his shoulder again.

“First of all Kuroo, I’m still mad at you, secondly I feel like I might puke any minute if your shoulder is gonna press in my stomach again and last of all, my feet hurt.”

It occurred to you that you were whining, but how could you not? Today has been hell and now everything hurts and you couldn’t even just press your head into your boyfriends’ chest because you were supposed to be mad at him.

“Hold on a sec, hun.”

“I mean it Tetsu, I’m gonna puke.”

Kuroo smiles at that, not because it was fun to him that you had so much to drink that you felt like puking, but because you used his first name…which in conclusion meant you weren’t in fact as mad as you tried to be.

He could already see his target at the end of the street, so he just ignored you and walks on a few minutes longer.

“Ok, I’m going to put you down now, be ready.”

He slowly lets you slide down on his front, so that you were now standing in front of him. His hands were on your hips, steadying you slightly in case you still needed it. You wince as your feet hit the ground, your heels pressing against every sore spot on them. Kuroo could tell you were avoiding looking in his face, even though he stood right in front of you.

Sighing, he puts his slender index finger under your chin and lifts your head up, so you had no choice but to look at him. “I’m sorry Y/n, I was a total dick earlier and I didn’t even realize it. But for now, can we ignore that so that I can take care of you properly? Please?”

Damn it, it wasn’t fair. As you look into his catlike, earnest eyes, so full of love and concern for you, you could already feel your anger melt away. “You’re the worst, Tetsu.” Your words significance was betrayed by the fact that you leaned your head against his shoulder the exact same instance and inhaled deeply. He chuckles deeply at that and presses a soft kiss against your neck, holding you a little while longer.

“Sit down here for a bit kitten, I will be right back.” He guides you to a bench right in front of the 24/7 he had aimed for, noticing you were still very unsteady on your feet and actually limping now. After you sat down, he squats down in front of you and takes your foot in his hands. “Let me see.” He slowly peels off your shoes and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Damn hun, you really butchered your feet.” You decided you didn’t even want to see it and just wriggled your toes at the new found freedom.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back”, and with that he rushes into the store behind you.

After a few minutes, you feel something cold against your cheek. “Here, drink.”

You take the bottle of water out of his hands, suddenly feeling very thirsty and drink a few mouthfuls, as he squats down in front of you again, inspecting your feet once more, before applying patches at the worst spots. When he was finished, he just looks up at your exhausted form in front of him, bracing his hands on your knees, his thumbs already drawing gentle patterns across your skin. It seemed cold to you suddenly and you shiver, which leads to Kuroo taking off the sweater he had put around your waist and pulling it over your head.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” He grabs your shoes, and turns around, squatting again in front of you, his back muscles flexing under the shirt as he motions for you to get on. With a sigh you did exactly that. No way in hell would you walk the next 10 minutes home on your own two feet. You put your arms around his neck and try a weak little jump to get on his back, which was rewarded with an amused chuckle by your boyfriend. Luckily, he caught your legs just fine and adjusted you on his back with a little wiggle, so that he now could give you a proper piggyback ride home.

“Y/n?” he asks as you got closer and closer to your home, already walking up the stairs to your shared flat.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”                            

Ah damn that bastard really knew how to play you. Even though you could feel your insides warm up at that, you thought he could feel bad a little more, so you didn’t comment on it, as he puts the key in the locker and opens the door.

The moment he switched the light on, though, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Ah fuck Tetsu, I love you, too. Asshole.” That made him laugh in return. It seems like he had cleaned the whole flat after you rushed out to drink yourself stupid.

“I realized why you were so mad the moment I turned around to go back in here”, he confesses and slowly lets you down from his back. “And as I said before, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was a total douchebag.” He comes to stand in front of you and puts your face into his hands. “Can you forgive this asshole?”

You punch his chest in return. “Stop being cute!”

“Can you forgive me? Pleaseee?”

He actually pouts as he squishes your cheeks, already knowing he had won. You tried to fight the smile that wanted to spread on your face at the ridiculous show of your huge boyfriend pouting in front of you, but you fail miserably.

“Just kiss me already, idiot.”

So he did, his one hand sliding from your cheek to your neck, as his lips press against yours in a feather light touch. Your own hand finds its way into his hair at once, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, as the other steadies you against his hips. He sighs contentedly in the kiss, brushing his lips against yours as he mumbles “I missed you so much”, before kissing you again, this time a little more hungrily. Your lips move eagerly against each other and after a little while, you feel his tongue grace against your lips, which makes you shudder. Your knees started feeling dangerously wobbly again. Luckily, he had already pulled you flush against him and now lifted you up by putting his hands under your ass to carry you to the bedroom, where he gently lays you down on the bed, before slowly climbing on top of you.

You smile fondly at his expression as he kisses you repeatedly, every kiss getting a little rougher than the last one, moving your lips in time with his and then there was his tongue, finally in your mouth. He could still taste the alcohol on your lips.

When he finally breaks away from you, you were both panting. Your hands were gripping his shirt greedily and you were already pulling him down on you again, wanting more. God his kisses gave you life.

“I’m not sure we should go there today, kitten, as much as I’d like to. You’re still very much drunk, and I’d like you to feel and remember all of what I plan to do to you.”

He smirks and plants another kiss on your lips, teeth grazing teasingly against them as he did so, then snorting at the bewildered and somewhat outraged look you gave him when he pulled away. You were clawing at his biceps the moment he starts to get up from you, trying to pull him down again and groaning when you realized you were going to lose against his strength.

“Tetsuro”, you moaned in a last attempt to get him back to you, which made him freeze on the spot. “Wow you’re mean, kitten, but still no.”

And with that, he simply helps you get out of his sweater and your dress, always swatting your grabbing hands away, before he manhandles you into the bathroom to get you ready for bed.

You were getting pissed at him again, because first, he got you hot and bothered and then he didn’t want to do something about it. How rude. That would get him payback, you swore to yourself.

Still, not even your naked form had him thinking twice about his choice, he simply wrangles one of his tees over your head and pulls you flush against him in your shared bed, having a death grip on you, so you couldn’t even move around, as much as you tried.

“Sleep now kitten, and then maybe tomorrow I’ll give you what you want so desperately right now.”

He runs a hand down your side teasingly and you could feel his smile against your forehead at the way your body quivers against him.

“On second thought, I think I’m not able to forgive you yet, you are actually the worst”, you mumble against his chest. He only acknowledges this with another kiss against your forehead. Still, somehow your boyfriend had made the right call, because it only took you seconds to fall asleep in his warm embrace. 

He watches your sleeping form on his chest fondly, pressing little kisses to your face from time to time and thinking to himself, that he deserves a price for self-control, because he seriously had not wanted to restrain himself at all.

Groaning, he presses another kiss to your face as he sleepily mumbles, “I love you, Y/n.” before squishing you even more against his chest. This was what he had longed for all week after all, he thought to himself, as he tried to ignore the bulge in his pants. This was going to be an extremely long and very torturous night for him… he just hopes he would fall asleep just as fast as you did. Morning could not come fast enough…